Yay, I'm heeeeeere! *Is rained on by flying projectiles* Ow. Yes, yes, I know. I promised myself to do a chapter per month, and I didn't. Well I wasn't too late this time, was I? *Dodges a keyboard* All right fine, I'll try harder for chapter 8. Now, as I said last chapter, this was originally the second half of chapter 6. So when you're reading it, keep that in mind.
THIS is the chapter, boys and girls. The chapter where stuff ACTUALLY HAPPENS! And Raven ACTUALLY DOES SOMETHING! Yay! In regards to that . . .
WARNING: this chapter contains copious amounts of violence, guns, blood, people getting shot, and a little bit of swearing. If that kinda stuff isn't your thing, then leave. I'm not going to be responsible. Anyway, I had quite a ball writing this, as I've been waiting to do it for quite a while. Enjoy!
I don't own Zoids. I just own all my plot devices, like the guns and invading army :D
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I'll Pity You When You're Gone
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Seven: Change Of Atmosphere
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Raven couldn't sleep. He had slept in the day, on and off. There had been little else to do. The nurses had come and gone; bringing food, water, medication. They informed him that he was still sick, though getting marginally better, but would not improve faster unless he ate more. But he couldn't seem to do it. Eating made him feel nauseous and strange. He was terribly weak; he knew that. It must have been why he slept so much.
But tonight he couldn't sleep. Lying on his side, he gazed numbly out the window. His left hand stroked the bandages on his right. Throughout the day, he'd had nothing else to focus on. The material was soft and indistinct in the moonlight. There was a wound underneath there. At the edge of his memory he recalled looking at it one night. The skin had been red and raw, caving inwards a bit from savage tissue loss. He couldn't feel. His palm was dead to him; blank. Unless he looked at it, it was as though the surface of his hand didn't exist.
Such an awful scar, and he couldn't remember where he'd obtained it. It could have been there for days, or weeks, or months. Even years. But he didn't know. Everything was so foreign, and yet it wasn't at the same time. It was perpetual deja-vu. He would see something for the first time, and his mind would recall a fact; a name; a meaning. Never anything deeper than that. No personal feelings, no memories, no connections. For most things at least.
Turning onto his back, Raven ran through the objects and people that had disturbed the fog. The thing he felt closest to, the nearest he came to connection was the black organoid, Shadow. He had always been near, though not always in sight.
Army bases had always drawn him. Whether it was because of forgotten agendas or because he had nowhere else to go, he headed towards them. The destruction he wrought there called to him as well: a call that wound itself into a dark harmony within him. It was both pleasure and pain to recall such harmony.
People. Only two people seemed to stand out to him from the sea of faceless others. The girl, Fiona Alisi Linette. She had taken him across the desert to this new place. She had spoken to him, though he couldn't recall her words. There wasn't any hostility in her character or voice.
And then there was the other. Van Flyheight. He had seen him once and once only. But the reaction he had gone through was enough to convince him that this person was a vital part of who he used to be. That night in the Republican base was vivid in his mind. The part that kept reappearing was this Flyheight's attack on him in the Blade Liger Zoid, with blades extended. It had a fractured connection with the other memory. The one he was afraid of. The one he couldn't bring himself to remember yet.
The moons were not to be seen through his window, which left the room considerably dark. Having adapted to the blackness hours ago Raven could make out the equipment and door.
And, facing the door as he was, he saw the flash of shadow through the viewing window.
Instantly he froze. The instinctual part of him, dormant for so many days, opened up with a rapid fire of suggestions and prompts. He remained fixated on the door for a few minutes, not moving. The shadow didn't pass again. Silence pressed in around him eerily. But he did not doubt that he had seen something pass the window. Or someone.
Then Raven heard the faintest sound from the hallway. It wasn't even loud enough to be able to tell what it was. But it was enough.
Slithering out from under the sheets, he felt his bare feet come into contact with the cool floor. He waited a moment, allowing himself to regain his sense of balance upon solid ground. Then he silently padded to the door. Ducking down he kept his head underneath the viewing window. He looked at the door handle. It was the lever kind. Quiet, but be wary of letting it spring back afterwards, offered his subconscious. He accepted the information without question. He hardly knew what he was doing, but he was just compelled to do it.
Grasping the handle with his uninjured hand, Raven slowly turned it. Very slowly. He couldn't afford to make a sound. With the handle turned all the way he moved it back. The catch made no click as it slid past the door frame. He halted the door when it was open only a thumb's width. The slice of corridor he could see was dark, and still.
It was no good. He'd have to go out further. Gulping a breath, he eased the door open wide enough to slide through. He was tense with anxiety from what he was doing. Being discovered at this point by the enemy would be fatal. His breath caught. Enemy?
Shutting the door behind him, he kept his back to the wall as he squinted down the right stretch of the corridor. Nothing, just the dark corner a few hundred metres away leading into the next hall. Down the left side of the corridor it ended in a T-intersection, branching off both ways. He could not see anything down that way either. For some reason, he could not believe that he had imagined it. His whole being seemed to know otherwise. Beyond doubt. He remained fixated on the left end of the hall. It was well that he did. Another shadow started past at the end, running down the adjacent corridor. This time, it was obvious: the shadow was human.
Everything suddenly snapped into place for him then. No lights. No nurses on ward duty. No guards. Shadows in the dark.
He had to get out of there.
Rather than risk discovery down the way the shadow had gone, Raven started to move quietly down the right side of the corridor, keeping close to the wall. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was maybe five steps away from his room when he heard it. A faint scuff of a shoe coming to a stop. From behind him.
He snapped and started to run down the hall, throwing all caution to the winds. Run, run, run, RUN! his mind was screaming at him and he listened. The world seemed to shut off and consist only of blind escape. He couldn't hear anything. But he did feel something hard and small slam into his right leg. Stumbling a bit, he forced himself to keep running.
The second bullet, however, could not be ignored. He felt it blast into his body, bringing with it incredible flaring pain. The first wound responded then, shooting white hot daggers through his leg. The world rushed back to his senses. Raven crashed into the ground with a shriek. Blinding agony filled his head, coursing outwards from the two shots in him.
Somehow, through all the pain, his instincts reawoke in full force. They clamped down on him instantly, withdrawing all of his control. His body froze up; movement ceased. Aware of his frantically beating heart, Raven halted his breathing. A long forgotten technique came into play and his heart rate steadily slowed. He didn't know how he was doing it, or why, and he didn't care. The burn from the bullet wounds was tearing him to pieces mentally. It was only through his subconscious force of will that he didn't start screaming and writhing on the ground.
Distantly he was aware of footsteps coming towards him, light and almost inaudible. He couldn't see who it was as his eyes were shut, but it was obvious to him anyway. The invader who had gunned him down. This moment of rational thinking was smothered again by renewed waves of traumatized hurt. Detached, the instincts held his state of stillness and observed.
A soft squeak was rubber-edged shoes was all that alerted him to the soldiers' presence beside him. He felt rather than saw the person drop down next to him, close enough to smell the sharp gunpowder scent mixed with a faint twinge of tobacco smoke. It took a tremendous amount of restraint not to flinch when two fingers pressed into his neck. They were there only a second before being taken away. Dimly he registered that his pulse was now painfully slow.
The person shifted. Suddenly he was alone as the unknown person darted away, padding quickly down the corridor. And then there was silence.
Raven waited only a few moments for safety's sake. Unable to last any longer in this state, he regained control of himself. With the instincts gone, all that was left was the pain. He gasped for air in an attempt to regain breathing and a faster heart rate. But it was more reflexive than anything as he twisted on the cold lino floor, trying in vain to get the agony to go away. His leg was burning and any feeling below the thigh was lost to him. The other wound was far worse in the degree of pain it inflicted upon him. The bullet had torn through his left side, leaving both his back and front severely injured. He couldn't even think straight. All he could do was clutch at his chest and leg as he desperately fought to keep breathing and keep quiet. There was no telling when another invader might show up.
An undeterminable period of time passed before Raven managed to have a coherent thought. Hide. But where? Lying on his back, he opened his eyes again. Through the flashes of black and red he could make out what looked like a door behind his head. Panting, he shut his eyes again and managed to flip over onto his stomach. The impact sent shockwaves of pain through him, and he let out a clipped yelp. Looking up, he saw with something akin to relief that the door was ajar; he never would have been able to stand and open it.
He began the arduous task of dragging himself into the room. It was excruciating. Using his arms and hands, he had to pull his body forwards bit by bit. Every movement in this way sent blinding pain through both his leg and chest. In distress his breathing got shorter and faster, and yet he couldn't seem to get enough air. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of being found and shot again.
In the dark Raven's fingertips came into contact with the doorframe. Wrapping both hands around it, he took half a second to brace himself; then he heaved and managed to pull himself halfway into the dark room. Shaking and almost crying, he kicked up his right leg and pushed against the frame. Now fully inside the doorway, Raven bit down into his fist to stop himself from screaming in pain. This was the best he could do. Getting himself out of the corridor was as close to safe as he was able to manage. Opening his eyes again, he could make out the faint light from the corridor through the open door. He had to shut it. Though he was utterly drained, he moved his right leg again and just managed to push his foot against it. It swung back towards the frame, and stopped just short of shut, leaving a sliver of a gap.
He sobbed. It was hopeless. He was going to die in this little room; a storeroom with only a set of shelves against the back wall with spare linen. Then he realized that he could still see, despite the fact that the door was practically closed. A dim red glow illuminated the room. Fighting fresh waves of hurt he twisted to look up at the wall adjacent to the door. About waist-height off the floor was a red light, seemingly for emergencies. And next to that was a large raised button. He knew what that was. An alarm trigger, whispered his mind as he tried to focus on it. Still gasping for air, he felt an irrepressible urge to activate it. It was the only thing that he could think of aside from the suffocating pain splintering his head. Without pausing for thought, he slowly slithered across the floor towards the button. He could hardly breathe anymore. Hand brushing against the wall, he drew it back and planted both on the floor. Fighting nausea and pain he managed to push off the ground with his arms, and bring his uninjured leg up to kneel on. He was shaking so badly that he was in danger of collapse. Keeping his flickering sights on the button Raven painfully reached up towards it. His chest was screaming in agony as he strained. Finally, he saw his fingers touch the button, and he threw as much weight into it as possible. It locked in.
He couldn't breathe. Sliding rapidly back to the floor, he gasped for air. But it wasn't working. He lay on his side, hurting and fading. He could feel the shortness of breath and pain culminating in his mind. He couldn't breathe. Shadow . . . where are you?
Darkness slammed down on him.
~*~
"I don't understand a word of this," Van muttered aloud. He flipped the page idly, seeing if the next one made any more sense than the last.
When trying to learn the rune language, it is best to remember that this isn't like our language. Our language is constructed from twenty-six letters and ten numerals; runic language was originally conceived as and derived from communication through pictures, or pictographs. As such, each symbol does not represent a part of a word: it is the word. However, there are some exceptions to this rule in Ancient Zoidian form . . .
He slammed the book shut. "I give up." He had no idea why he'd borrowed this book from Fiona in the first place. Sure, he'd wanted a book to read that might help him sleep, but why had he gone and picked "A New Age Guide to Runic Zoidian Language" of all things? Perhaps he'd thought it would bore him to sleep.
Well, it had almost succeeded. Sighing, he pushed away from the desk and got up. Time to at least try and get some rest.
He didn't know which happened first; the sudden ringing of an alarm or his door bursting open. Perhaps they happened simultaneously. Whatever the case, it was sheer luck that saved him from death.
As the alarm blared out, Van saw the door swing wide open. The desk was behind it. Fear seized him and propelled him into action. He darted out from behind the door and came face to face with a man he'd never seen before. Not allowing any time for thought Van drew his fist back and swung it around towards the man's face. In surprise the man had raised a gun but Van hit first. However, he was a millisecond too slow. His fist connected at the exact same moment the gun went off.
Van howled in pain and was completely oblivious to the man crumpling to the floor. His entire attention was on his arm. The bullet had shot right through his upper arm and was causing agony like he'd never believed possible. With shaking fingers he clamped over the wound in an attempt to stem the blood. He fell back against the wall and merely shivered with pain for a couple of minutes.
Though the pain had lessened none, he knew he had to move. The alarm was still ringing, loud and frightening, and there was no telling how many other intruders there might be. Gritting his teeth, he stumbled over to the desk and picked up a pair of scissors. He began clumsily tearing his bed sheets into strips with the wrong hand, his right arm still burning and twitching uncontrollably. After he'd cut enough strips Van made a haphazard bandaging attempt around the wound. It was extraordinarily difficult, having to use only his left hand and teeth to pull it together. The sheets were already soaked red but it would have to do.
He glanced at the far wall by accident. A hole had been punched through it by the bullet. He blanched at the sight and quickly looked away. Bending down he grabbed the man's rifle off the floor where it had fallen and ran out the door.
The echoes of his feet rang strangely with the alarm as he pelted down one corridor after another. Only one thing was on his mind, and that was to find both Fiona and Thomas to make sure they were all right. He skidded round a corner to be confronted with an awful sight. Bodies were strewn around the corridor with wild abandon; all of them Imperials. Gulping, Van only slowed enough to pick his way through and then kept running. There had been too much blood to hope any were alive.
Distantly, he heard what sounded like an explosion from another part of the base. The lights flickered alarmingly and almost went out, but snapped back on as the rumble faded. This is bad. It's not just one or two thieves; this sounds like an invasion. He turned another corner, without the slightest clue where he was going. And to kill all those men . . . no thief would have done that.
He had to pause to catch his breath at the C corridor. The violent pain in his arm still went on, making him wonder where exactly the bullet had hit. Though he could still feel his fingers he wasn't able to move his arm much, whether it was from pain or a severed nerve he didn't know. After a few moments he started running again. Down the C corridor, left into the D corridor, right, left . . .
Fiona. Fiona, back against the wall. Fiona, with a gun leveled right between the eyes. Fiona about to die.
There was no time to think; no time to worry, no time to deliberate. There was only right here and now.
He fired the gun.
Fiona screamed as the man trapping her fell limply to the ground. She looked around wildly and spotted Van. Running over, she latched her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. "Oh my god, Van, thank you. Thank you so much." He held onto her as best he could with one arm, still holding the gun.
"It's all right. Calm down," he urged quietly, desperately aware of the situation. "Come on, we have to go." She pulled away from him and nodded resolutely, despite being obviously shaken. "Can you get that guy's gun? We might need it." While Fiona hurried over to the dead intruder, Van yanked the bandage back up his arm, having slid down, and bit back a yell at the bolt of pain it sent through him. He looked up when he heard Fiona returning. Suddenly she noticed his arm.
"Van, what happened!" she cried. He shook his head absently.
"Don't worry about it, it's not serious."
"But all that blood . . ." She didn't sound convinced. "What happened?" she asked again in a harder tone. Van sighed.
"I got shot." He hurried on when he saw her about to speak again. "Look, I do know it's bad, but it'll have to wait. We have to get outside and help." Hesitating, Van thought she would protest, but after a moment she nodded again. They started running down the corridor together, jumping over the man's body as they went.
With Fiona now leading them through the maze-like building, Van no longer had to worry that he was going the wrong way. He merely needed to keep going, keep running, keep the pain from consuming him. He had thought the initial shock of the wound had enhanced the pain, but it was obvious now that it wasn't going to fade any time soon. And he was certain that it was only the adrenaline screaming through his system that kept him on his feet. Even so, he could feel how exhausted he was. Shaking his head violently he focused on Fiona's back as they ran. Just keep going, stop thinking so much.
Suddenly they came upon the double entrance doors and burst out of them. He only caught a brief glimpse of the pandemonium before he spotted another of the black-clad enemies running past. Quickly he raised the rifle again and took him down. There was a loud bang from beside him and he didn't have to turn around to know that Fiona had also gotten one. Alone for the moment he tried to take in the situation. To his right the buildings were covered in darkness; the power out. Directly in front of him across the tarmac was the medical wing, still with emergency lighting on. However, the left side was a hive of activity. Huge flames licked the sky in one spot, and gunfire-flashes were exploding frequently from the hangar areas.
"Shit, they're after the Zoids! Come on!" he yelled to Fiona and they sprinted across the dark runway. As they drew closer the noise became unbelievably loud. Within a few seconds the full view of the battle was presented to them. A wide line of men, dressed in black, stood in front of the military Zoid hangars. Churning in and out of the invaders were the Imperial soldiers, engaged in bloody combat. It was apparent that the invaders were preventing access to the Zoids at all costs. Having been frozen by the sight for a moment, Van regathered his wits in a snap. He called out into the night.
"Zeke!" Without waiting for the organoid to appear he dove into the frontline of battle. It was madness. All around him guns were firing, men were screaming and blows were being exchanged. He spun on his heel and shot a man in the chest as he jumped at him, then staggered backwards as another tried to punch him across the face. Bumping into the back of someone, Van fired at the assailant before turning to find an Imperial soldier frantically slam his gun across an intruder's head.
"When did this start?" Van shouted as he dodged a misguided tackle and unloaded his rifle into him.
"I have no fucking idea! But this started about ten minutes ago," yelled back the Imperial. "They've been holding the Zoids like their lives depended on it!" Van had no chance to answer as he saw a bright bolt of light flash down nearby. Beating his way out of the skirmish he half-stumbled over to Zeke.
"Zeke," he gasped, hooking his arm around the organoid's neck for a brief hug. Zeke's fretful growl made him pull back. "Zeke, I need you to get in there and start piloting a Zoid. Any Zoid. The one closest to the door. It's the only way to beat these bastards." The silvery-white organoid was clearly torn between obeying his wishes and his concern for Van himself. To make his point he nudged Van in the chest with his nose and whined at him. Van tried to look reassuring despite the catastrophe surrounding them. "I'll be all right. Please Zeke, we need to end it. I don't want any more people dieing tonight."
Zeke's red eyes flashed and he exploded off the ground with a howl towards the nearest shed. Van staggered back against a wall as the organoid tore through two enemy soldiers before crashing through the shed wall. There was a great deal of shouting from the men trying to keep the Zoids secure and many fell dead as the Imperials took their chance. And then there was the unmistakable sound of a Zoid smashing against the metal wall. The whole side of the hangar bowed outwards with the impact, but didn't break. Before Zeke made his second run the enemy soldiers all realized what was going on. There was a single shout, and they began to flee willy-nilly from the battle. The Imperials were taken by surprise and didn't know which way to fire. A great rending crash tore the hangar open and a grey-plated Command Wolf charged outwards, miraculously missing a group of Imperials. With a roar it sprinted after the largest pack of retreating intruders, firing its back-mounted machine gun. Van watched transfixed as Zeke mowed down half the group, a cacophony of screams trailing in his wake. Then the Command Wolf halted, for no apparent reason. It backed up a bit, lowered its body into a straight line, and bounded forward three steps before flying upwards in a leap. Oh, the fence!
The Command Wolf was out of sight now, still hunting its prey into the night. Sounds from around the base reentered his ears and Van turned away from the fence to where the hand-to-hand battle had been fought. Dozens of men, both Imperial and enemy, lay dead across the tarmac. The dieing flames nearby threw flashing reflections off the pools of blood. Those left alive seemed dazed and confused, hardly knowing what had happened. The gaping hole in the Zoid hangar behind them stood as testament to the violent acts just committed.
"Van?" He started and saw her standing in front of him. She was clutching the gun to her chest with both hands, eyes wide. Belatedly he realized his rifle was missing. He didn't remember dropping it. "Van," she said again. "Are you all right?" Looking at her, he didn't know how to respond properly. Then he smiled faintly.
"For once, I'd like to know if you're all right . . . Fiona."
The gun clattered to the ground as she came forward and hugged him tight. He accepted gratefully. "Let's just not answer the question and call it a truce," she said.
"Agreed," he sighed.
~*~
Shadow . . . where are you?
The organoid's head snapped up in shock. Twisting he looked to the west, across the sandy cliff tops he stood upon. All he could see were the quiet stars, shining like they could not around the artificial lights of men. It was hundreds of miles away. But he had heard the call. The call he had heard only once before, so long ago.
Bittersong.
Black wings erupted from Shadow's back as he shot off the rocky cliff into the night.
~*~
It was still horrifying to think about. Such an awful attack, a massacre of human life. But there was no denying it had happened.
As he walked along the half-lit corridor, Thomas tried to keep his wayward thoughts on the job at hand. Checking for the injured. He was almost at the end of the D corridor in the hospital, and hadn't come across anyone at all. Just luck, he guessed. Some of the other soldiers had found some wounded, cowering in rooms or crying on the floor. And others had found the dead. Opening a door, he looked around the last room before the junction. Apart from some sparsely stacked boxes, nothing. It had also been lucky that the hospital had very few patients in it today, as this was one of the first places struck. Not struck in the high-and-mighty explosion sense. No. What the infiltrators had done here was sabotage. Almost every major medical piece of equipment had been cut from power or disabled in some way. They had also hit the two power generators, leaving only the tertiary generator still running; all that one did was power the emergency lighting.
One thing was for sure . . . these guys had been professionals.
Coming out of the corridor into the junction, Thomas found three other soldiers – privates and a tech supervisor – waiting for him. He was in charge, after all. The tech supervisor, a mild mannered fellow called Langley, gave a half-hearted salute. Thomas didn't blame him for being so uncaring about procedures, yet saluted back out of habit.
"Lieutenant," Langley said. "We've checked all the corridors A through C. That means the B wing is done."
"Right." Thomas rubbed his forehead with his fingers, attempting to stir his mind back to the task. "There's only the A wing left for us to do, then we're done. The others have the rest covered." He motioned for them to follow and they headed down the short connecting main hallway in silence. When they reached the next corridor, with smaller ones branching off periodically along its length, he turned to them again. "Okay. Langley, you take A. Ein, you get B, and Tivrusky has C. I'll take D at the far end. When you're done, you're free to go."
One by one the men peeled off from the group and went down their own corridors. Eventually Thomas was left to walk the last stretch alone. Turning right, he began the disquieting task of searching all the rooms. Something in him kept jittering whenever he first went in a room, only to find nothing. At least this is the last corridor. I don't think I could do this for much longer.
Before he knew it he was at the halfway point. Opening another door, he looked inside. It was a regular hospital room, with a bed against the wall, sheets rumpled and empty.
Shutting the door again, he took a few more steps down the hall . . . and stopped.
He didn't like what he was seeing. Something that looked an awful lot like blood was splashed across the floor here. And there were smears, as though something had been dragged through the blood. Following the trail with his eyes, Thomas saw it end abruptly at a door nearby. He looked at it for a long while, still standing above the gore. Then he moved.
Stepping around the spattered blood he came up to the door, with a sign upon it marked "LINEN". Taking in a breath, he brought his hand up to turn the handle, only to find it open a bit. So he pushed it instead. The door swung back, and he felt his insides turn to ice.
Against the far wall were a couple of metal stack-shelves, stocked with some sheets. The room was stone grey-coloured, except for where the hallway light fell from the open door. Partly illuminated and partly covered by his shadow was the sprawled form of Raven. He wasn't moving. He lay on his side, eerily childlike, dark hair thrown around his face, eyes hidden. The light green hospital shirt and pants, uniform for patients, seemed unreal on him. Dark red stained half of his side, pooling on the floor beneath him where he lay. One arm rested within the red pool. His right leg was dark with blood as well. He wasn't moving.
Thomas didn't know how long he stood there, unable to look away from the renegade's body. Something inside him had broken when he opened that door, and he couldn't repair it yet. The creak of the door as his hand slid off it was enough to wake him from the trance.
He blinked, and then slowly moved forwards. Getting down onto his knees, he knelt next to Raven, unsure of what to do. There was no logical solution to . . . He reached out and gently tilted Raven over onto his back. To his utter shock, the boy he'd been sure was dead suddenly inhaled. He snapped his hands back in alarm. Yes, yes he was breathing. But . . . hardly. It sounded wrong. Too choked, and wheezing. His eyes drifted back to Raven's chest and he realized.
Thomas shivered. He then slid one arm underneath Raven's shoulders, and the other under his legs. Making sure of his grip, he carefully got back on his feet. He was so light. How in the world did he not die? It didn't matter. Right now, he needed to get Raven to the temporary hospital tents. Or he would die.
Once back in the corridor, he set up a steady stride that was faster than walking, but not violent enough to further injure Raven. He didn't even bother thinking about the other rooms. There wouldn't be anyone in them. Echoes of his lone footsteps bounced around in the otherwise lonely silence.
Every few moments Thomas would glance down to check on the person in his arms; checking that he was still breathing. Pale beyond belief, he looked like he was already dead, and that his stubborn lungs refused to accept it. But even that seemed difficult to maintain. His breath came too quick and made a definite wheezing noise. Thomas had deep suspicions that wherever he had been shot, it had been near the lungs.
He was aware of the blood as well. The blood, freshly soaking the renegade's clothes, stirred into life again by the movement. Blood on him as well. Echoes, echoes in the hall. Blood on his gloves, his hands . . . No, not now. He forced his mind to focus only on the layout of the base.
Turning a corner, Thomas spotted a low-level soldier checking a fuse box. "Private," he said, wondering at the steadiness of his voice. The man turned around and gave a startled look at who the lieutenant was carrying. "I need you to tell me where the temporary medical tents are." To his credit, the man only stared at the infamous child a moment before returning his attention to Thomas.
"Yeah, sure, sir. Go out the main doors, and you know the Zoid runway? It's at the north-end, near the power station."
"Thank you," he murmured distractedly, picking up his pace again. He hardly noticed the corridors going past, so intent was he on getting out of them. The entrance doors appeared before him suddenly, and he spun around and backed out, unable to use his hands.
Glowing artificial lights shone from the far end of the runway stretch. It was a long way. Darkness and chill air enveloped them as Thomas kept walking, still holding the ailing Raven. A stronger gust of wind blew the black hair around his face, and Thomas tightened his grip. He was afraid, terrified, that Raven would die before he got him there. He didn't want to be alone with a dead person; didn't want to watch helpless as he stopped living.
Glancing up, he saw the lights were closer now, and he could make out the boxy shapes of the tents. You're halfway there. There's still time, there's still time. Don't quit on me now . . . please . . . Of course, there was no answer to his silent plea; only a few irregular gasps of breath.
He felt a twitch. Looking down, he was shocked to see Raven's stormy eyes crack open and try to focus. He started shaking and moaning from pain, distressing Thomas to no end. Raven's confused whisper broke into the night.
"What is . . . where . . . where are you . . .?" Thomas could see the alienation and fright in his eyes.
"I'm taking you to the hospital," he said in a voice he hadn't heard in an age: his own, real one. "Don't worry, we're almost there." He wasn't sure if Raven took the words in or not. Wincing, he screwed his eyes up and panted harshly.
"I . . . I want Shadow . . . Duskwing . . ." He fell limp again. That was enough to panic the Imperial, sending him into a dead run towards the tents. Luckily, it took mere seconds to get there from where he was.
He dashed into the open entrance of the nearest tent. A nurse, tending to a soldier, looked up in surprise.
"I need help, quick!" Thomas half-shouted at her. This was as much as he could do. Feeling the unconscious Raven's weight in his arms, he could only pray that it was enough.
And that it wasn't too late.
~*~
"You know . . . I still don't get why I have to wear a sling." Fiona gave Van an exasperated look.
"Because you need to keep your arm immobile. The doctor told you that."
"Yeah, but I didn't get shot here," he said, indicating his lower arm. "I got shot here."
"Van, you had skin, muscle, nerves and bone shattered by that bullet. I don't think you'd be able to move any part of your arm even if you tried."
"I suppose you have a point. But did you really need to include that bone part again?" He winced at the very idea of it. "It was bad enough hearing about it the first time, not to mention the actual . . . shattering."
"Well you wanted the explanation," she sighed, brushing back a blonde strand of hair. "Will you be able to manage getting the sling off when you go to bed?"
"Yeah, probably." The smile faded from his face. "He said I wouldn't be able to pilot properly for a while. I can make the Zoid move, if I reconfigure the controls for one-handed operations, but I won't be able to fight or run flat out or dodge." Seeing how dejected his partner looked, Zeke lowered his head onto Van's shoulder and crooned in sympathy. Van stroked the organoid's snout a bit. "After seeing how many bandages he wrapped around my arm, I'm not gonna doubt his opinion." Fiona tilted her head up, gazing at the dusty stars.
"Hopefully you won't need to pilot for a while anyway."
"I don't know, Fiona." He sounded weary and tired. "After an attack like this, it's pretty likely there'll be another."
"I know," she murmured. Van looked at her a long while, and then dug around in his pocket.
"In any case," he said, changing the subject quite obviously. "I'll at least be able to finally sleep, what with these little beauties." A small bottle was withdrawn from his pocket and he grinned at it. "I swear I could have kissed Doctor Grey for that."
"Van, at the risk of sounding stupid . . . drugs aren't the answer."
"They are not drugs. They are painkillers with a drowsiness side effect."
"Painkillers are drugs!"
"Oh calm down," he laughed, pocketing the pills again. "Honestly Fiona, you're so easy to string along." Seeing her scowl he quickly changed tack. "I won't use them every night. Just until the wound gets better." His eyes clouded over a little. "I never thought one bullet could hurt so much."
Before she could answer, Fiona spotted someone exit the tents. She nudged Van and pointed. "Is that . . .?"
"You know, I think it is. Thomas!" The person stopped and looked over, and she could tell for certain then that it was the Imperial. Van waved his arm and shouted again. "Thomas, over here!"
After a moment's hesitation Thomas started to come their way. Fiona glanced at Van. I wonder . . . She turned back and saw Thomas jog the last few metres and stop.
"Hi. You guys okay?"
We're fine, thanks, was on the tip of Fiona's tongue when she suddenly gave Thomas a proper look. Gasping, she grabbed hold of his arms, much to his apparent surprise.
"Us?! What about you?! Gods, Thomas, what happened!" Thomas looked completely non-plussed, and a little scared.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at you!" she cried, pointing at his chest. "There's blood all over your clothes!"
"Oh geez, she's right! Thomas, what happened?" Van yelled with an unmistakably guilty edge to his voice. Thomas looked down at his clothes, then his hands, and suddenly comprehension dawned on him.
"Oh, that."
"What do you mean "oh that"?!" Fiona nearly screamed, feeling unaccountably panicked. There was blood all over the man and he didn't seem bothered at all. He tried to take her hands off but she didn't let go. When he realized that she wasn't going to unhand him until he explained, he sighed and flushed a bit.
"Fiona, it's alright. Really. That's not my blood." Relief flooded through her and she loosened her grip a little. Van spoke up then.
"Who's is it then? What were you doing to get covered with blood like that?" Thomas looked away, seemingly composing himself. Then he looked back with a clear expression that didn't give anything away.
"It was Raven." Silence followed his words. He averted his eyes again. "I found him in the hospital and . . . it was my job to find injured and bring them to the tents." Fiona released him entirely. She didn't dare look at Van, in case what she saw wasn't pleasant.
"I'm just glad that you weren't hurt, Thomas." He still didn't look at her. Oh god, she realized, he thinks we're judging him because of what he did for Raven. It was common knowledge that Van hated Raven, and so, he thought that saving him would put him in a bad light. And after the fight they'd had . . . "You did the right thing, Thomas." She finally managed to look him in the eye as he glanced back to her. "A life is a life. I would have done the same thing in your place." His shuttered green eyes stayed with her for a few moments, before flickering over to where Van undoubtedly was, who still hadn't said a word. He nodded his assent slightly to her.
"Yeah, I suppose . . . well. I'd better . . . go change." Turning to leave, he shot one last look at Van before facing the other way. Biting her lip, Fiona looked over at Van. He was staring hard at the floor, apparently having a tortured argument between two parts of himself. Suddenly his head snapped up and he ran after Thomas a few steps. He grabbed Thomas by the shoulder.
"Wait, Thomas." The two stared at each other; the taller man waiting for the shorter boy. Van twisted at his shirt with his hand, then dropped it and looked up at him, a mixture of shame and need on his face. "I wanted to say . . . I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I was really upset and stressed and . . . it was completely unforgivable, the way I treated you. I wanted to tell you today when we called Karl but . . . I couldn't. I just want you to know it wasn't your fault, it was entirely mine. And I . . . I completely understand if you don't want to forgive me."
Thomas seemed frozen, and yet Fiona could still make nothing of what he was feeling. She saw him pull at his gloves a bit. "It's all right, Van . . . you don't have to . . ."
"No, I do. I really am sorry, Thomas." He looked up from his hands and focused on Van, standing there firmly and the most sincere Fiona had seen him in ages. Thomas gulped and dropped his hands.
"Of course I forgive you . . ." he said softly. "How could I not?" Van smiled, and finally seemed to be rid of all that was haunting him.
"Thank you."
"I'll . . . I'll see you later," Thomas said, turning to leave again. Fiona watched him go. He truly doesn't know how to respond to friends. Maybe he's never had any. At least he has us now. She walked over to Van and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Well done Lieutenant." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Now, off you march to bed."
"Oh come on, Fiona . . ."
"Uh uh. It's 2am. Time all good boys were in bed."
"Whoever said I was a good boy?"
"Your sister."
"Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
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Notes: Some of those scenes were EXCRUCIATING to write, and the main cause of my delay. Namely the "Raven gets shot" scene and the "Thomas finds Raven" scene. Those were absolute bitches to envision and pen down. I'm sure you could feel my pain during those.
Some of the soldiers' names were taken from two anime series. If anyone can pick which ones you win an imaginary medal.
I really have no idea if anyone could survive as long as Raven did riddled with bullet holes, but cut me some slack if it's not possible. We don't want him to die now, do we?
I suppose you're wondering if anyone will ever find out about Raven's little act of heroism. The short and long of it is: no. No one will ever know, not even Raven, because he's going to forget it. How sad.
You may have picked up on it, but Thomas is really quite unstable. I'm getting to that shortly, as it'll become a far bigger focus point. Kinda like replacing Van-angst with Thomas-angst. Van's over it, pretty obviously, having killed about 20 people in this chapter without blinking. Hooray for him.
And those strange words I keep dropping in with Raven and Shadow's thoughts? Next chapter, all shall be revealed!
- Vappa