Normally, Sniper loved the quiet. Just being alone with one's thoughts and whatever ambience the day had in store. Silence was something he rarely got on the battlefield. From the explosions and war cries to the constant listening for any telltale signs of a Spy creeping up to kill him, there was never a moment of peace. So when Scout and himself started down the road again, Sniper thought he would be overjoyed to learn that the runner was content just staring out the window. But now it just made his skin crawl.
The marksman took a break from watching the empty road and stole a glance at his typically chatty companion. Scout had only said two things in the entire two hours they had been driving. The two times Scout spoke had simply been the word "fine" when Sniper told him to keep his feet off the dashboard and a comment about how it looked like the rain was starting to clear up. Sniper had thought the opposite. In fact, the sky was darker than when they began, starting as a soft ash white and into a dim bluish gray. And it was during that comment when Sniper finally realized something about himself.
He hated the rain. It obscured his vision and the droplets would cling to his aviators and scopes, blurring the heads he needed to hit. The water would drench his shirts and stick them to his skin, sending shivers through his body and messing up his aim. Rain and storms brought cold winds and actual colds, something the Australian couldn't afford to catch. Everything about the dreary weather made it harder for the assassin to do his bloody job, and he hated it. Sniper never complained though, he was a professional, afterall. But if the sharpshooter had to choose between taking a job in the Pacific Northwest or the Middle East, he wouldn't hesitate to pick the place where he'd feel Mr. Sun on his back and arms.
KaTHump! The van bucked and Sniper was knocked back to the present. He hadn't even seen the pothole! But from the way his van hitched, he knew it had been a doozy. Mentally apologizing to his vehicle, Sniper looked over at his teammate. By the looks of it, Scout had leaned his head against the window at the wrong time because now he was sitting straight up and rubbing his head. He was swearing up a storm under his breath.
"Sonofva- didja not see da stupid hole or somethin'?" Scout snarled. Sniper didn't respond as his attention was caught by something slightly concerning.
"We'll run out of petrol if we don't reach a station soon." Sniper informed, gesturing at the low fuel dial.
"How long will it last? And it's gas not freakin' 'pai-troll', whaddeva dat's supposed to be." Scout snickered without a hint of humor. Sniper gave him the side eye.
"Oi'd say another thirty minutes before we're stuck. And petrol is short for petroleum, it's fuel for motorized vehicles."
"Yeah. I know what gas is. It's still just gas though, which is short for gasoline, in case ya hadn't figured it out. No point in saying petrol when gas is shorta."
"It's just another way of saying gasoline, they're synonyms."
"Then just say gas! What's so hard about dat? It's-" Scout began counting off on his fingers. "Crap. How'd you spell 'petrol'?"
"P-E-T-R-O-L. Petrol."
"One, two… it's three lettas shorta!"
"Look, it's jus the word we Aussies and Europeans use instead of "gasoline"! Oi don't get whoi you're so bothered by that."
"Cause it's freakin' weird! Why use some weird bootleg version when you can just say "gas" and be done with it?"
"First of all, it isn't a "bootleg" version of gasoline when it's an english word used by english speakers, that's like me saying the word "depressing" is a poor man's version of "sad" when, if anything, it's the other way around. It sounds nicer."
"Oh, so you admit dat you people use it justa sound smarta!"
"How did ya even come close to that conclusion-"
"And also, you lied."
"When did Oi lie!?"
"Petrol isn't another word for gas, it's a type of bird!" Sniper was beginning to miss the silence. He took a deep breath and sighed, restraining the urge to slap a hand to his face.
"You're thinking of Petrel, that's a type of seabird! It's spelled with an E instead of an O! And Oi said it was short for petroleum!"
"Oh yeah, ya did." Sigh. "But I still haven't heard you say 'gas' once! Are you allergic ta da word or somethin'?"
"Ya sound like a mini Soldier right now," Sniper chuckled, "Yammering on about "UnAmerican words" and "smartie language"."
"Yeah? Well… you still haven't said 'gas' so I win."
"When did this become a competition?"
"When you refused ta say 'gas'! I've said 'petrol' like, a dozen times already!"
"Then Oi would be the winner, because Oi got ya to say moi word plenty of times and you haven't gotten me to say yours once. Makes more sense that way, hm?"
Scout opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. A few moments passed and Scout slumped back into his seat with a sour expression.
"Screw you."
"'Preciate it." Sniper replied, cool as a cucumber.
They drove in silence after that, letting the gentle whooshing of the windshield wipers fill the cramped space. The tall pine trees on either side of the road thinned ever so slightly as the van drove on. Then, the bright red of a neon sign filtered in through the deep green branches.
"Ah, finally a petrol station!"
"UGH! Gas! Station! Gas! Station! It's written on da d*mn sign!" Scout furiously pointed at the bold letters. Sure enough, that's what it read, but Sniper really didn't care. What he did care about was the sorry state of the Station he pulled up into.
This had to be the saddest petrol station Sniper had ever seen, and that was up against some tough competition. The sign that the sharpshooter spotted through the treetops had most of its letters burnt out and the remaining were flickering so violently Sniper reckoned he'd have a seizure if he stared at the "S TTON" sign too long.
The small store accompanying the fuel pumps was as run down as an outhouse during a concert. It had faded red and orange stripes painted across the walls smeared with something even Sniper grimaced at. The windows were fogged and caked in grime. And the small lanes for parking had so many dips and holes it would make swiss cheese blush.
"Dis place is a dump." Scout stated the obvious.
"Well, there has to be someone still working here," Sniper told himself as he parked the vehicle. He opens the door and steps outside. And immediately gets blown back inside. As Scout laughs from the admittedly stupid display, Sniper grabs his coat and steps back out to fight the elements.
"Crikey, this weather!" He shouts. The roar of the falling rain and wind covered anything quieter than a jet engine it seems. Looking, well, squinting at the fuel pump, Sniper begins his quest for a full camper tank.
"YO, do ya need any help or somethin'!?" Scout hollered. Sniper had opened his mouth to say that no, he didn't need help but thanks for the offer but instead got a faceful of dripping wet polyester. Slapping the disobedient hood away and ignoring Scout's mad cackles, Sniper turned his attention back to the fuel pump that was now filling the van's empty tanks. Through the deafening weather Sniper thought he heard some little whispers to the left of him, but honestly, his ears normally played tricks on him during storms. There were tons of little droplets stuck to his aviators and it was annoying him to no end. He brought his glasses down to wipe them off.
"SNIPA!"
"GAH!" The bushman shot up and snapped his head towards the Bostonian standing right next to him with a frustrated look.
"Oh, now ya hear me, when I shout ya frickin' name." The kid was glaring at Sniper, hand and stump on hip without a coat and stamping his- he wasn't wearing a coat!
"Whot are ya doing out here!?" Sniper shouted.
"Askin' ya a question, Dumb*ss!"
"No, whoi aren't ya wearing a coat!?"
"You took da only one!" This kid. THIS. KID.
"Ugh, here!" Sniper unzipped his one defense against the storm and tossed it at the speedster. "Oi won't need it in the store."
"Wait, why're ya going in there?"
"Oi wanted to get some supplies for the ride and for you, since Oi don't exactly want to share a toothbrush with ya. Oi'm guessing you don't either."
"Ride? What ride? And ya still didn't answer my first question!"
"Oi'll tell ya when Oi'm done."
"So you're just gonna leave me out here?"
"No one's forcing ya to stand in the rain so ya can either come with me and stand around or wait in the van and sit around."
"There's no way I'm goin' in there! It probably smells like smoke and toenails! Sides, I wanna stretch my legs anyway."
"Then whoi do ya care if I leave ya out here!?"
"I dunno! Maybe ya wanted company or somethin', y'know?" Sniper gave him a very long, very annoyed look before turning on his heel and walking through the squeaky double doors. Scout flopped down the hands- hand he hadn't known he was gesturing with. Welp, so much for having a cool friendly chat with the only other person for miles. Whoever was working in the store, if there was someone, Scout was still skeptical, didn't count. Truthfully, Scout had just gotten bored, more bored than before. He had been stuck in a cramped van for the past two hours with nothing to do!
The only thing Scout had done was stare out the window. He had sat there for so long that he thought up a new class position he could use as a failsafe: The Watcher. Scout was really good at watching things. He watched the trees fly past. He watched the raindrops trail down the foggy glass. He watched the mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. Yeah, Scout was the best at watching things. Nothing got past him.
And right at that moment Scout was able to add more proof to his claims. For as he stared down at his rocking feet, he spotted a glint of sunset orange on the shiny wet asphalt. Sniper's shades.
Musta dropped them when I nabbed his attention. Scout bent down and picked up the admittedly more summer appropriate attire. But Scout could see why Sniper always wore them, they looked cool as h*ll! He slipped them into the pockets of the coat he was holding. Wait. The coat, he was holding. Scout furrowed his brow.
He had been standing this whole time. In the rain. And was still uncovered. Even though he had been holding a waterproof jacket.
Sighing at his incredibly rare blast of sudden stupidity, Scout slipped the dripping coat on. It wouldn't even help that much anymore, he was already soaking wet with his walnut colored hair sticking to his forehead. But letting himself stay wet and catch a cold wasn't on Scout's To-Do list, which consisted right now about ten pages of "Don't Get Bored" and "Don't Die". So he put the jacket on.
Just in time too, as a sudden gust of wind sent thousands of droplets to pepper him like a shotgun blast.
"Sonofva-" Scout began before Sniper's jacket decided to reenact an event five minutes ago and slapped him across the face like a wet fish.
Ugh. He brought up a hand to move the hood away. He couldn't grab it. Oh. Right. Scout brought his actual hand up to finish the job while he examined his once appendage.
Still just as bandaged, still just as sore. Of course Scout hadn't said anything to the Australian about the missing arm, he didn't need those pity looks and false gestures of niceness. Scout could take care of his own injuries, he already did all the time on the battlefield. It was an unspoken rule that "Medics don't heal Scouts" or at least they're low on the priority list so he kept to taking medkits and wrapping his own wounds. At least the ones that didn't need magic healing rays like broken ribs and blown off limbs.
So… Scout might be a bit out of his medical expertise on this one, but that doesn't mean he needs anymore help! As long as he wasn't in horrible, agonizing pain, then Scout was good to go in his eyes. Besides, he thought, jabbing the medical wrappings, it was only sore from the gauze scratching the skin constantly-
"S**t!" Scout seethed, cradling his stump. He drew in the frosty air through clenched teeth. And with a shaky exhale and with great care, poked the damaged arm again. Searing, pulsating burns shot throughout his nerves and muscles.
Scout held the arm away from him as if it were a ticking bomb. And, with delicate and quick fingers repurposed for disarming, Scout unwrapped the gauze.
His only hand shook as the runner rewound the bandages. He wrapped, and wrapped, and wrapped. And in no time at all, the sight was hidden from the prying eyes Scout felt around him. Ears burning and heart racing, Scout whipped his eyes across the empty gas station. No one was here. Except himself.
Scout looked towards the store. Just as dark and desolate as before. Was Sniper even in there? For less than a second, as fast as a flicker, Scout feared that his companion wouldn't escape that dark building. But that was a stupid thing to think. And he didn't want him out here yet. Not only did he forget what he was going to ask Sniper before, but now the sharpshooter with his sharp eyes would definitely notice the hurried cover up Scout did on his arm. And he would ask questions. And would want to see his arm. And wouldn't take "H*ll no!" for an answer.
Maybe he should wait in the van.
"Took ya long enough." Scout jabbed from within the now cold van.
"Oi was only in there for fifteen minutes." replied Sniper as he handed Scout a store bag.
"Yeah, yeah, whaddeva. Whaddya get anyway?" Scout scoured through the plastic bag's contents. Inside was a packaged toothbrush, some beef jerky, two flashlights, a stack of expensive looking first aid kits, a sturdy looking climbing rope, and what looked to be several pairs of high quality socks.
"Yo! Now these are some socks!" Scout hoisted a pair into the open to study them further. "Steel-toed, cushioned heels and water resistant!?" He gasped, "And they're made of wool and cotton!"
"Out of all the things ya get excited over, you choose the socks? Whoi are ya drooling over footwear?"
Scout looked over at the confused Australian, with an expression of pure deadpanned disbelief.
"Did you really think dat da only tool a guy whose main job is on foot like me needs is good shoes?" Scout asked, his irritated eyes adding "Really? Did you really think that?"
"Well, in case ya forgot, Oi ain't exactly on moi feet very much when working," Sniper's expression shifted as well as his attention.
"Whot happened to your arm's wrappings?" Crap.
"Nonaya business, now can we get goin'? You're lettin' the rain in!" Why did he phrase it like that!? Snipers eyes narrowed into a cold stare. The shades weren't there to help shield Scout from their harshness.
"Whot's wrong with it?"
"Nothing! Will you just get in the d*mn van?" Scout made a mental note to work on his verbal diversion tactics as cold sweat began building on his forehead.
"Let me see it." Oh crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap! He swiped his left arm away from Sniper's reach when an idea hit Scout like a freight train.
"How about this," Scout began, shoving his hand into his coat's pocket, "you won't ask anymore questions about my arm, and i'll give you something ya can't live without!"
"And whot would that be?" The Sniper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Nope. First you accept da terms then I give it ta ya!" An awkward silence followed, with Sniper and Scout staring each other down. Then, Sniper threw up his hands in defeat.
"Fine, Oi'll give." The man entered the driver seat with a huff. "But only because Oi'm sick of standing in the bloody rain."
"Here ya go." Pinned between Scout's index and thumb was Sniper's aviators. Their owner's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"So that's whoi everything was bluer than usual! Whoi'd ya have these?" Sniper's expression darkened.
"Ya dropped them when I went ta ask you a question, rememba? Left them lyin' on da concrete, anyone coulda stepped on them!"
"Oh." Sniper placed the sunglasses in their rightful spot as a slight hint of red formed in his cheeks, "Well thanks for keeping them safe."
"And thanks for implying I'm a thief, Jack*ss." Scout slumped back into his seat, careful to not crush his shortened limb between the other and his chest.
The ignition erupted to life and within a couple seconds the two were driving through those tall pines once again.
"We had an agreement!" Scout hollered at the older man blocking the only exit.
"Oi agreed that Oi wasn't going to ask ya any questions. And Oi'm not asking, Oi'm demanding that ya let me look at your arm." After another two hours of driving, the two stopped at a very old, very rundown campsite. The only other person there had been some bald crackhead living in a beaten up tent, and that pretty much killed any and all intent to chat with someone not Australian that Scout had felt. Once they had set up for the night, Sniper had apparently not magically forgotten about Scout's injury like he had hoped and instead was planning on examining it right then and there.
"Oh yeah? And just what are ya gonna do about it if I say no? Didja thinka dat!?"
"Oi did actually. Oi'll just let ya die from Sepsis, dig ya a shallow grave and be on moi merry way." Sniper gave a sardonic sneer towards the indignant younger man. Scout bit back the comeback he had thought up. It was a good one too. But Sniper sounded serious, and Scout had no idea what Sepsis was. So the marksman could either be lying about Sepsis and its existence to violate the agreement Scout kept or he was telling the truth and wouldn't feel a thing if Scout died in agony from some horrible disease. And neither of those options made Scout feel any better.
The two men stared each other down, neither seemed to bend under the other's icy glare. To them, it was a battle of will. But to any onlookers just happening to see them, it would have made for a ridiculous sight. The pair were in their casual slacks, ready to nod off the moment they hit the sack. The taller leaned on the doorway wearing a plain grey top and koala patterned pants. The shorter had on a tank that was far too big for him and coal colored sweats that had been rolled up to his ankles. Both their hairs were spiked and poking out at odd angles from their dampness.
After what felt like hours but was really only three minutes, Scout had his turn to finally back down. He didn't want to, but what Sniper had said really stuck with him.
"Fine." Scout groaned, "But only cause i'm frickin' tired, not because you told me too." Sniper patted the countertop and Scout hopped up with a sour frown. As he felt his arm being unwrapped, Scout turned away. He knew what Sniper would see, and he didn't need nor want to look again at what his once wonderful batting hand had become. And once the final bandage fell away, Scout heard Sniper swear under his breath as the grip around his upper arm locked up.
Scout knew that his companion had done the best he could with fixing up his arm, he couldn't blame him for the state of the wound now, even though he wanted to. Afterall, there wasn't much you could do when the only way of keeping the injury closed was a normal sewing needle and thread. He could picture it the way it had looked when Scout snuck a peek back at the station.
It was not a smooth amputation. Inflamed muscles were still gleaming from underneath the small pieces of tattered skin Sniper had managed to sew back onto his stump; Black stitches ran down what was left of his forearm and across the blunt top; The tissue was a bright red and the pieces of flesh were refusing to heal, content to stay like torn pieces of paper; And Scout knew that if you pressed down on the limb, sickening discharge would seep through the crudely sewn stitches.
"Bloody…" Sniper murmured. He felt up and down the infected appendage, testing out where the key points of discomfort were located. "It hadn't been like this yesterday, had it?"
"I dunno, man! I just started poking it and it hurt like a b***h so I unwrapped it and saw dat!"
"Awright, awright, no need to panic."
"I ain't panicking! I'm telling ya what happened!"
"Ya jus' sounded nervous is all."
"DUH! If you had an arm dat looked like dis, you'd be pretty nervous too, I'd think!"
"Well it's a good thing Oi stocked up on medicinal supplies back there," Sniper checked a cupboard and brought over a first aid kit. "Otherwise you'd be writing your last will and testament."
"You know how ta fix dis?"
"Oi know how to delay it from getting worse. That's it." Sniper opened the kit and began pulling out fresh gauze and strange bottles. Scout watched in silence as the sharpshooter began tipping one of the bottles into a fresh cloth.
"Awright, this'll sting a bit," Sniper took the damaged appendage into a firm grip and made to place the cloth over the wound, "Oi'd suggest ya bite down on something."
To say it stung a bit would be the greatest understatement the world had ever heard. As soon as that dampened cloth made contact to Scout's inflamed skin, a white hot pain engulfed his nerves. Scout's vision filled with blinding stars and something tore through his throat to escape. His toes curled and his grip on whatever he had taken hold of was numbing from strain. That horrible burning wasn't letting up, and neither was his screams.
"Calm down! Oi'm done! Crikey, ya scream like a girl!" Sniper's annoyed voice cut through the harsh pain. Scout peeked an eye open. When had he closed them?
Sure enough, Sniper was now applying clean wrappings to the still stinging arm.
"Wha- what the h*ll was dat crap!?" Scout rasped, his voice raw from his cries.
"Oi told ya to bite down on something." Sniper deadpanned as he cleaned up the scattered kit. "It's something to keep your wound from getting worse. Now as long as we keep doing this everyday, the infection shouldn't get worse."
"I'm going ta have ta go through this again!?" Scout shouted in disbelief.
"If ya want ta not die from Sepsis, then yeah." Sniper put the first aid kit back, giving Scout room to hop off the counter. "But, Oi have an idea that'll help with your arm and our communication dilemma."
"Communication?" Scout repeated, rolling his shoulders, "Communication with who?"
"The Administrator, or Miss Pauling, either of the two. We haven't made contact with them in over three days now. For all we know, they believe the team just up and left after destroying the base. Now, Oi doubt that Miss. Admin doesn't have some clue as to what went down, but we should get in contact with them as soon as possible. Maybe they know more about what attacked us and what the next step should be."
"I already told you what attacked us! It was a-"
"A shape-shifting monster or alien. Yes, you've said that again and again." Sniper continued saying something but it was like a dense fog had rolled into the cramped camper van. Scout stared at his teammate, face devoid of emotion as the cold hands of realization gripped his chest.
"You don't believe me." Sniper stopped talking to look up at the runner. He sighed.
"Oi know that something, we don't know what, attacked us and killed our team. But what Oi don't know is that it was some horrible monster that ya can't even describe in detail!"
"It's da truth!" Scout shouted in earnest.
"And ya ain't exactly the arbiter of truth now, are ya!?" Sniper snapped. Scout jerked his mouth closed, glaring daggers at the older man as Sniper continued in a more gentle tone.
"Look, Scout, Oi know you believe what you're telling yourself. And Oi know that you went through something bloody awful," He gestured at the bandaged arm, "but Oi also know that ya tend to exaggerate your stories and convince yourself of falsehoods so blatant that a blind man could see straight through them."
"Like what?" Scout's words dripped with liquid nitrogen.
"For starters, that you could handle an infection by yourself. What, did ya think it would just go away if ya ignored it for long enough?" Scout looked to the floor. Strike one.
"And you said yourself that ya can't even remember what happened that day besides walking away from the base, blacking out, and running into me with a missing hand! You can't remember being attacked, can you?" Scout didn't answer, his guilty silence was enough. Strike two.
"And ya still can't give a clear picture as to what this thing looks like, ya just circle around and act as though your flimsy description would be enough to convince anyone. Oi didn't see a lick of evidence that the thing that destroyed our base and killed our team wasn't from Earth. Not a single trace of something inhuman."
"But its screams, you had ta have heard dat!"
"Through the pouring rain and the bloody crows cawing? No, mate, all Oi heard was something that sounded like a mountain lion roaring."
"It wasn't a mountain lion," Scout muttered, trying to convince Sniper of that horrible creature's existence. Or was he trying to convince himself? Either way, Sniper just gave him that look. That look he got all the time back when his team was around and were witness to his amazing stories. Stories of epic fights down in Boston or his awesome feats during battles. His brothers had given him that look too, when they all still lived together and Scout was trying his very best to stick his foot through the door of his family's attention. The look of apathetic disbelief. A look that told Scout that no matter what he said, and no matter how much he stomped and raised hell, Sniper wouldn't believe him. Strike three.
A tense quiet had fallen over the van after that. The two had agreed to sleep without speaking a single word. Sniper had taken back his bed which left Scout struggling to get comfortable on the small cushioned bench. Within the hour the pair had fallen into a restless slumber. The only noise that could be heard was the patter of rain against the van's ceiling.
It was deep into the night when the younger woke up in a cold sweat. He made no noise as he shot up besides the deep breathing to quell his pounding heart and churning stomach. Soon, the boy's pulse had lowered into a calm rhythm, but that nausea remained, digging itself deeper into his core like a writhing worm. Scout would get no more rest this night.
Ah, Americans and Australians arguing over lingual and cultural differences, what's not to love? Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than I would've liked to make. I rewrote most of it and hit a writer's block even though I have the plot lined out in specific bullet points, goes to show that even the most prepared can't predict everything. I also realized that the tone is still a bit more lighthearted than I want so the next chapter will start to nudge the plot to move and the tone to darken. As always, leave a review if you notice some things that I can improve on or if you just want me to know that you like the story. Also, I'll be working on drawing a permanent cover for the story, since art is my strongest suit, writings just a hobby. Have a good day and go read some more stories!