Chapter 8: Help

Shunichi-

The motel had exploded.

"Ash?"

The motel had exploded. It was on fire. Black smoke rose steadily into the sky. Orange, yellow, and red flames peeked out of the windows and doors and broken walls. People were screaming, guests ran out of the motel. People from near by homes and businesses ran to help. Someone shouted, "Call 911!"

Through all the chaos, Shunichi sat where he'd been thrown and stared. He couldn't breathe. For a terrible, long moment, he felt as if the air had frozen in his lungs. His heart was a pulsing ball of pain in his chest and all he could see in the billowing smoke was Ash on the motel floor, alone and helpless... alone...

Then he was standing. Shunichi didn't remember getting to his feet, but he was standing. The shriek of a siren broke through the sound of screaming. Police? Firefighters? A siren. Getting closer.

Ash was still inside.

Ash... life was always against him. Everything bad that could happen to a person happened to him, it seemed. Shunichi didn't know all that had happened in Ash's life (he was sure Eiji knew more but kept it secret for Ash's sake) but he knew enough to know that Ash had led a lonely, sad life filled with pain and fear. Thank God he'd had Shorter's friendship. Shunichi even found himself thankful for Ash's beloved teacher, Blanca, the man who'd taught Ash to kill and had taken him to the library every Thursday. Ash had sounded so happy when he'd spoken about Blanca taking him to the library, as if the privilege of being allowed to go was a great treat, something to be highly anticipated, to be so grateful for. At least there had been one adult in his life who'd given Ash a taste of happiness. Two people. Two people in the whole world who'd cared for Ash. That wasn't nearly enough. And now, he was alone, again. Alone and, on top of all the other garbage that had been thrown at him, Ash was unconscious on the dirty floor of a cheap motel as it went up in flames.

"No." Shunichi felt the word breathe out of his mouth, nearly silent.

That thought - Ash laying on the floor, completely helpless - kept running through Shunichi's mind. Over and over, it flashed through his mind, a million lightning strikes in the night, the thought lit up his brain and Ash was still inside!

Shunichi ran. Across the street without any care for traffic, he sprinted to the door of their room, his eyes locked on it. He completely ignored the people milling around, gaping at the ruins of the motel. Someone grabbed him by the arm and tried to stop him, but Shunichi pulled away without even looking at them. He had to get Ash. Ash was sick and helpless and Shunichi had to get him out.

Parts of the motel were all over the place. There was debris everywhere, in the parking lot, in the street, littering the lawns on the houses on either side of the motel, strewn on top of cars and truck. The smell of smoke in the air became nearly suffocating as Shunichi got close to the motel. Shunichi went straight for the door of their room. The window had been blown out and glass was scattered all over the ground. Parts of the siding had been ripped off and lay all around the parking lot. Shunichi grabbed the doorknob, but it was hot and he pulled away with a cry. He yanked off his coat and covered his hand with it before he tried the door, again. It wouldn't open. The door was jammed.

"Ash! Ash! Wake up!" He hoped, with Ash's paranoia and insane survival instinct, that Ash wouldn't have slept through the motel exploding, but if Ash was awake, he wasn't coming out. He screamed, again, "Ash!"

Desperate, Shunichi went to the broken window. He yanked down the curtain and saw, horrified that Ash still slept on the floor, apparently completely unaware of what was happening around him.

The sound of sirens was getting closer.

He hit the broken shards of glass that remained in the window frame to clear the window. He cut his hand, but didn't feel any pain. It only took a moment to clear the window but smoke kept pouring out and it choked Shunichi. He coughed as it burned at his throat and lungs. He breathed in not only smoke, but heat and it hurt. His eyes stung and watered. When the window was finally cleared, he climbed through the window. One of the walls was on fire. The inside of the door was burning. The room was becoming choked with smoke despite the open window.

He tried to speak to Ash, but he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs to speak. He shook Ash by the shoulder, but there was no response. It was very quickly becoming too smoky to see. He had to get Ash out.

God, where was Max? Shunichi didn't think of himself as weak, but Max was big and muscular and had proven that he could easily throw Ash over his shoulder and tote him about. Shunichi wasn't nearly big enough to do any such thing. Ash was skinny, but he was a good several inches taller than Shunichi and his thin body was packed with lean muscle. There was no way he could carry Ash. So he dragged Ash to the window and only then did he make any attempt to lift him. Three times he tried to lift Ash, but it didn't work. It was awkward and he feared that he wouldn't be able to do it, that they would both die in that motel room because he'd be damned before he left Ash to die alone.

There was a noise behind him and Shunichi looked up and saw, through the thick haze of smoke, two firefighters climbing in the open window. The men were nearly hidden under their fire fighting gear, their faces almost entirely obscured. They wasted no time. One took Shunichi by the arm and started to pull him while the other went to Ash. Shunichi was pulled to his feet, but he held onto Ash, irrationally panicking that they would separate him from Ash, but it was no good. He was so weak and disoriented from the heat and smoke that the moment the firefighter started to pull him to the window, his hand slipped away from Ash. He turned his head in time to see the firefighter with Ash easily lift him and sling him over one shoulder before he headed towards the window, too. Before Shunichi realized what was happening, they were both on the far side of the street, well away from the fire. The firefighters made sure Shunichi was sitting on the sidewalk and carefully laid Ash down. They pulled off helmets and masks as one knelt next to Shunichi and the other next to Ash.

"Kid? Hey, kid, can you hear me?" The firefighter with Ash rubbed his cheek and called out loudly, trying to wake him. When Ash didn't respond, he looked at the firefighter with Shunichi. "No response. No visible burns, at least."

The other firefighter was trying to examine Shunichi. "Ambulance will be here in a minute. Sir," he said to Shunichi. "Are you hurt anywhere other than your hand?"

"Please," Shunichi looked imploringly up at the firefighter. "He's sick. He has a fever. He hasn't been feeling well."

Ash's firefighter, a middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes, gave him a quick nod. "Thanks. Don't you worry, I think he'll be just fine. Do you know what he was sick with?"

"Fever. He has a fever. It didn't get bad until now. He has a fever." Shunichi started to cough and it hurt. It hurt like someone was burning his lungs.

"Okay, buddy. Okay. Don't get worked up; I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." The firefighter with Shunichi reassured him with a soft voice. "Let's worry about you. Let me see your hand. Those are some nasty burns." The hand Shunichi had used to try to open their room's door with was red and blistered. He hadn't realized. Hadn't even felt it. "Sir, are you hurt anywhere else? They're going to give you an exam at the hospital just to be sure, but if you're hurt now, you can tell me and I'll let them know."

"N-no. I don't... I'm not... onegaishimasu, look after him." It terrified Shunichi that Ash hadn't so much as opened his eyes the whole time that strangers were all around, touching him. "I'm alright. Daijobu. Tasukete. Tasukete." He didn't even realize that he'd slipped back to his native Japanese.

And then the ambulance had arrived, bright lights illuminating the night. More people rushed out and someone flashed a light in Shunichi's eyes. The firefighters were giving reports to the paramedics. He listened to it all, feeling rather detached, while trying to keep an eye on Ash. Ash wouldn't like all these people around him when he was sleeping. He wouldn't like that at all. Someone was taking Ash's pulse, someone listening to his lungs. They ripped his shirt get better access to his chest.

"Leave him alone. He doesn't like it. Please, leave him, alone." He might have fallen back into Japanese, he wasn't sure. The dark-haired firefighter heard and came back to sit next to Shunichi on the ground.

"These are the paramedics that are going to take care of the kid. They're great people; friends of mine. You don't have to worry about him."

Shunichi said, "Please, I got him medicine. From the store." He tried to take the bottle of fever reducer from his pocket, but it was gone. He checked both pockets. "I had some. I did. The man at the store said it was good for fevers. I had it." Part of him realized he was probably in shock, he felt as if he were holding onto his reason by a thread and the fact that Ash's medicine was gone was almost enough to sever that thread. "He needs his medicine!"

"Hey, now, don't panic." The dark haired firefighter gave Shunichi a reassuring smile. "Everything's gonna be just fine. He's going to the hospital and they'll take real good care of him. They'll give him all the medicine he needs. They're great doctors."

One of the paramedics was looking at Shunichi's hand, asking him questions. He heard someone say something about shock, smoke inhalation, lacerations from broken glass, fever, non-responsive, burns.

"What's his name? Sir, can you tell me his name?"

That simple question helped ground Shunichi. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He remembered what Max had said about using fake names at a hospital. "His name? Henry. Henry Woods."

"Great. That's just fine. And your name?"

"Yuki Matoh. He's my nephew. His father will be coming back soon. He went out for food." It was suddenly vitally important to find Max, because Max would know what to do. Shunichi looked around and when he didn't see Max straight away, he tried to stand up. "Where is he? Where...?"

The firefighter pushed Shunichi gently back down to the ground. "Just sit for a bit. You're in shock, I think, and you're going to the hospital with your nephew. Just do what the doctors tell you and everything is going to be fine. Another ambulance will be here soon."

"No! I need to stay with him. I will ride with him. Please."

The firefighter looked at the paramedics and they all shrugged. "I guess so, but you have to stay calm and do what they tell you. Got it?"

"Hai. Got it. Yes." He ran a hand through his hair and winced at a painful lump on the back of his head. He might have hit the sidewalk when the explosion had thrown him. "I… I'm sorry. I can't pay. All my money was in the motel." He felt sick at the sight of the burning motel. At least the others hadn't been in the room. He could hardly help Ash, what would he have done if Max had needed to be carried out? Or Shorter? They were both bigger and taller than Ash. If everyone had been in the room during the explosion someone would have surely died.

Ash was carried into the ambulance on a gurney and Shunichi was helped in where he took a seat and tried to stay out of the way. He needed to contact Max. And Shorter. Shorter would panic when he came back and found the motel on fire. Poor Shorter. He had such a tender heart; such a warm, sensitive nature.

Shorter-

"I'm gonna beat you into the ground!" Shorter slammed both hands down on the table top and half-stood over the man sitting at the table with him. "I'm gonna beat you and then I'll stomp you and then, when that's done, I'll shovel up what's left, put it in a barbecue pit, and burn it!"

The man who sat with Shorter, copied his moves and also half-stood up with the palms on his hands on the table between them. "You've got a big mouth for a runny-nosed kid!"

"I can back up it up, too!" Shorter thumped his chest with a fist. "I'll have you know this," he ran a hand over his mohawk. "Is the height of fashion!"

"And I say any dude that dyes his hair a sissy color shouldn't complain when he gets called a sissy!"

Shorter brayed out a laugh. "Sissy? What are you? In the third grade? I've heard better insults from ten-year-olds!" It was all going according to plan. Shorter had done similar schemes many times in the past when he'd needed a few bucks and the blow-hard in front of him who insulted Shorter's magnificent hair was the perfect target. "You wanna see who's the tough-guy here?" Shorter sat back down and slammed his elbow on the table top with his hand raised in the air. "Arm wrestle!"

The bar Shorter was in was more up-scale than he was accustomed to, but still common enough to stink of beer and sweat. Shorter had walked from the motel until he'd found the bar and it had only taken ten minutes or so. With his hands stuck in the pockets of his insulated vest, Shorter stood outside and eyed the bar with professional detachment. The building was old, the sign over the door proclaiming the name - DUSTY DEVIL - was faded, the paint peeling. There were a few cars, two pick-ups, and a half-dozen motorcycles parked outside on a parking lot that had several security lights. Two people left, their arms wrapped around each other, and another entered. The Dusty Devil was a popular spot. The trucks were clean, polished and shining under the lights. The cars were high-end, mostly. The motorcycles were well-cared for. Shorter had to admire them, for a moment. They were makes that he'd never be able to afford. The patrons had money to spend and he was going to be very happy to take it off their hands. He'd be back to the others with money for their quest in less than an hour.

The mark laughed at Shorter's challenge. "Are you kidding me, small fry?"

Shorter smirked. "What's wrong? Don't want to fail in front of your buddies? You don't think you can take me?"

"A kid like you? I'd break your skinny wrist!" The man sat back down, across from Shorter. He was bigger than Shorter, but not by much. He wore a leather vest with a biker gang symbol on the back, just like three other men in the bar.

Shorter snorted. "Some threat. Put your money where your mouth is?" He pulled a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table. "Or maybe you shouldn't. I wouldn't want to aggravate your arthritis, grandpa."

In less than thirty seconds, they had a crowd gathered around and money on the table waiting to be claimed. They both put elbows on the table and clasped hands. Shorter could feel the strength of the other man and felt a surge of eager anticipation. The guys in his gang wouldn't go against him out of respect. Ash wouldn't arm wrestle because he knew very well that when it came down to brute strength, Shorter had him beat hands down. So it wasn't often that Shorter had a chance to test his strength. This opponent was no easy mark and Shorter looked forward to the challenge.

The self-appointed judge of the contest, a woman who dressed like a teenager, but looked more like a grandma, shouted, "Go!" And they were off.

Shorter strained against the man and had to work at it, but, in the end, he slammed his opponent's hand down on the table top and won. He started to put the money in his pocket when another man from the crowd stepped forward and asked for a match. He'd bet twenty bucks. Shorter obligingly took his money, too. Four opponents and one sore arm later and Shorter had a hundred and fifty bucks in his pocket. He was ready to take on another challenger when a loud noise shook the building.

The noise was awful, like a hundred cracks of thunder all at once, and so horrible that glass in one of the bar's windows cracked. There was the shattering of glass as bottles of booze fell off their shelves and broke on the floor. People shouted, fell over, ran for the door, or just panicked. Shorter shoved his money in his pocket and ran out the door. His head whipped this way and that as he looked for the source of the chaos and, when he found it, his heart nearly froze at the sight. Down the road, near the motel, there was an orange glow in the night sky. Near the motel. Where the others were. Where Ash was helpless.

Shorter took off running and didn't stop until he reached the motel.

There were people in night clothes standing around, staring in horror. Firefighters. An ambulance racing away. Orange fire lit the night in the most fearful way. Shorter looked around at the gathered people. He didn't see any familiar faces. "Max! Eiji!" He didn't see the truck. "Ibe!"

"Hey! Hey, calm down!" Someone grabbed Shorter's arm and when he turned he found that it was one of the firefighters. The man looked exhausted and had soot on his face. "You looking for someone?"

"My friends. I don't see them. Damn! They're still in there!" He took only one step towards the motel when the firefighter grabbed him with hands that were shockingly strong. He wouldn't have wanted to arm wrestle a firefighter. "Let me go, man! My guys are in there!"

"Stop that!" The firefighter spun Shorter around and looked him square in the eyes. "It's too dangerous to go back in. Who are you looking for? We sent some people to the hospital; maybe that's where your friends are. A blonde teenage boy and an Asian man with a beard?"

Shorter's shoulders sunk with relief. "Thank God! There were two others. A big guy with dark blonde hair and a little Asian teenager."

The firefighter nodded. "Yeah. They were just here, too. I sent them off to the hospital. It's Grand General Hospital." He gave Shorter directions before he had to head back to battling the flames.

Shorter ran for the hospital. The town was so small that he knew there wouldn't be any public transit or taxies or anything else, especially so late at night. So, he ran.

He'd only gone about five minutes before he saw the little car sitting on the side of the road. For some reason, he just happened to glance at the driver. Red hair. A cigarette in her mouth. Ibe's stalker. Max had said her name was Charlotte Nesbin. Shorter stumbled for a moment. He stared and then he knew. He knew it was her. She had done it. She'd blown up the motel. She must have. A hot coal of fury burned in Shorter's gut. He heard a growl escape his mouth as he started towards the car. It was her fault. She scared Ibe. She'd informed to Golzine. Got Ash's step-mom killed. Now, his people were in a hospital and he didn't know if they had a few cuts or if they were dying and it was HER FAULT! He was going to kill her.

The car suddenly turned on and she pulled away from the shoulder of the road. Shorter put out a burst of speed, as if to catch the car, but she was already speeding down the street and, in moments, she turned a curve in the road and vanished from sight.

Left alone on that street, with all the noise from the crowd and the sound of the burning motel and the darkness all around, he realized something dreadful. Something utterly terrifying. Charlotte was headed towards the hospital.

To be continued...