"Over here!" she croaked out, letting her head roll limply back against what remained of the ship's metal skin. She felt worn and tattered and exceptionally weak. It bothered her to be so vulnerable. She felt the need to be prepared, on edge, to be able to react swiftly and with strength at any moment day or night. Damn, she thought with an inward sigh of frustration, what the hell had she been? She allowed her aching eyelids to slide closed, awaiting her rescuers wearily. There was more noise, the heavy thud of boots making their way across the floor and the scraping of metal against metal as debris was pushed aside.
Her eyes opened as a young boy appeared from within the dim interior of the wreckage. A boy or a girl? She couldn't decide, squinting in an attempt to make a clearer assesment. As the child came closer she decided that it was indeed a male, noting the boyish clothing and the close cropped hair. He hurredly knelt beside her, placing a grimy hand upon her shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he asked, worry evident in his voice. His face seemed taught with anxiety. This entire ordeal must be harrowing for him, she realized. She didn't imagine that he had ever experienced something like this before.
"I'm alive aren't I?" she replied, forcing a smile. He sighed with relief, returning a tense grin, and then his eyes caught sight of the blood stained bandages wrapped about her injured thigh and they widened. Just then another survivor appeared on the scene and the boy turned his head as he entered.
The tall thin man seemed utterly confused as he stepped into the light, pushing his dusty glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he looked around. The boy quickly ran over to grab his arm. "Over here," he said urgently, dragging the dazed passenger towards Erica. He looked down at the child and then his gaze lit upon Erica. He blinked, seeming to come out of his stupor.
"Dear me," he said, kneeling by her side and reaching up to remove his spectacles. He wiped them off with a corner of his tunic, managing to smear the lenses with grease. As he slipped them on he spotted the crude bandages that were soaked in crimson blood. He blanched. "W..well," he stammered, trying to get a handle on the situation, "that doesn't look too terribly good." When he spoke it was with a distinct English accent. Erica guessed, by his appearance, that he was the scholarly type. He smiled wanly at her. "I'm Sydney," he offered, waiting for a response. Erica raised an eyebrow and his falsely pleasant mask faltered.
"Erica," she said after a drawn out pause, and his drooping smile quickly reasserted itself. Lets all pretend we are one big happy family, she thought sarcastically of his mental strategy. If it was how he dealt, it was how he dealt. He reached out then.
"Lets have a look see shall we?" he asked as his knobby hands reached out towards her bloody thigh.
"No!" she spat sharply. He flinched in surprise, drawing back. The boy stared in confusion. Though she admired his willingness to assist despite his obvious adversion to blood, she would not allow it. Her stare was hard. "No," she said again, this time more quietly but no less sternly. The befuddled Englishman seemed to collect his scattered thoughts and was about to open his mouth when a woman broke suddenly from the dark shadows of the inner hold.
"Captain!" the boy called out urgently, forgetting the awkward moment in favor of turning to a more competent person. An uncomfortable expression spread across the woman's face, as if she wasn't crazy about the title. Erica's eyes narrowed. Her reaction had been strange somehow.....But she pushed the sudden suspicion from her mind as the woman, Carolyn if Erica remembered correctly, caught sight of her and strode over to join the boy.
"I'm not your captian," she snapped shortly before bending over to examine the wound. She looked up into Erica's dirt-streaked face. "Is the only place you're hurt?" she asked, beginning to peel back the make-shift dressing. Erica nodded shortly, her eyes on Carolyn's swiftly moving hands. It seemed as if she were adept at bandaging wounds. Erica knew that crew members on a ship such as this were required to have undergone somewhat extensive training in the art of medical treatment. It seemed as if being busy kept Carolyn stable during a stressful situation as she was extremely focused on the task. She instructed the boy to run back into the hold and dig out the medical supplies if there was anything salvagable left. Sydney seemed to have slipped back into his distracted state, surveying the mangled wreck and mumbling to himself.
"Are we the only survivors?" Erica asked, watching as Carolyn began applying a proper bandage which the child had produced.
She didn't look up from her work as she replied. "I'm not sure," she stated.
As if on cue, Johns appeared directly behind Carolyn. He seemed to disregard the others, his eyes settling on Erica. "You okay?" he asked, causing Carolyn to jump. She turned her head to look up at him.
"She's fine," she replied before Erica could respond, "she won't be able to support weight on her leg, but she isn't in any mortal danger." She noted that Carolyn knew who John's was worried about. This shed some light on his character. Of course he was more concerned about his merchandise, and not about anyone else.But she had known that he wasn't "a do good merc" as Riddick had phrased it. She felt her heart sink and mentally slapped herself. How foolish of her to hope otherwise. Did Carolyn know that he wasn't an officer as he led people to believe? She doubted it.
As soon as Johns was assured that his merchandise was in one piece, he slipped back into the recesses of the ship, no doubt to hunt for Riddick. Erica glared after him. She hoped he didn't find him. She frowned. Although she found Johns extremely distasteful, she realized that she needed him. He was the key to unlocking her memories. She couldn't help but sigh exasperatedly.
As Carolyn finished up her patch job, the small group assembled heard a loud commotion. By now, the miner woman Erica remembered seeing had appeared, as well as her partner and a holy man with his disciples. The battered survivors watched as a pair immerged from the gloom. Riddick came first, melting from shadow into reality, and everyone scrambled back in fear. Erica stared up at him from her seat on the floor. After their close encounter, he didn't seem so menacing to her. She even managed a smirk. So, the great muderer had been taken had he? Johns was close behind, prodding the bound criminal along. He struck out with a booted foot and caught Riddick in the back of a knee. The giant man went down into a kneeling position with a metallic thud. He didn't struggle nor did he make a sound. This only served to intensify his dangerous aura.
As John's secured his captive to one of the few remaining support beams, the entire party of survivors watched, transfixed. All but Erica. She was busy examining Carolyn's handywork in a disinterested fashion. Johns turned on the group and set his jaw, a stern look plastered across his face. "Everyone stays away from him you understand? Don't try to talk to him," his gaze fixed on the young boy, "he is a dangerous criminal." He swept the room with his eyes. No one seemed to have a problem with his wishes.
Carolyn stared over the mercenary's shoulder with a fearful curiousity before nodding her head. "Right," she agreed in a firm, decisive tone. Heads around the cabin mirrored the gesture. "I think we should check out our surroundings," she ventured, "I've searched this part of the ship for survivors already." She didn't bring up the death of her crewmate, an incidence which Erica had missed.
"Alright," Johns said, turning towards the sunlight that filtered in. "You," he said then, gesturing to Sydney with his baton. The tall, lanky man seemed surprised. "Stay here and watch Riddick," he finished, "shout if he does anything suspicious." Sydney paled considerably at the request. Erica thought he looked as if he might even faint. The small troop marched out into the daylight then, leaving Erica and Sydney alone with the silent monster.
Erica cocked her head as she considered the British man. His eyes darted back and forth between herself and Riddick. "I need a drink," he declared, wiping his forehead with the back of a hand. With that, he disappeared into the wreckage. Erica sat silently watching Riddick. His eyes were bound and a strange bit-like device was wedged into his mouth. What was he thinking? Most likely planning his next move she imagined. And just exactly how did he plan on getting out of this one?
Sydney was back as quick as lightning, a bottle of alcohol gripped in one sweaty palm. He uncorked the top quickly and tipped it back, taking a long drag of the brownish liquid. "You don't need to stay you know," Erica said, breaking the tense silence. Sydney flinched at the sound of her voice. Skittish, she thought.
"But I cannot leave you alone with this...this creature," he exclaimed, though the idea certainly seemed to appeal to him.
Erica flashed a reassuring smile in his direction. She wanted some alone time with the mysterious man, she wanted to know where they had met before. She wanted to know what he knew about her past. "It's alright," she cooed, "what's he going to do anyway? He's chained up."
Sydney seemed to consider this for a moment, looking over the stone still figure with his thick arms bound behind him, securely cuffed about a sturdy steel beam. "I suppose you are right," he agreed, relief evident in his voice, "then if you don't mind, I think I'll join the others." Erica nodded. Sydney wasted no time. He practically flew out the jagged hole facing the outside world.
They were alone. To hell with John's orders. Erica took orders from no one. Erica gave orders....She blinked. Gave orders? How did she know that? If she was into the habit of giving orders then what had she been? A general of some sort? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. No matter what she had been, she didn't feel like upholding the law of silence placed upon the survivors by John. She would talk to Riddick if she felt like it. "Riddick," she said, quietly, as if contemplating his name, rolling it over her tongue. He didn't so much as flinch. "Who are you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Riddick, a murderer, a convict. But thats not all he was. He was something to her. Something to her past. But what? Ally, enemy...she had no idea. Still Riddick remained silent. Erica could feel her temperature rising. She wanted answers! "Who am I?!" she screamed at him in frustration. No response. Angrily, she slammed her fist into the metal floor, cursing at the pain it caused.
After a few moments of steaming and glaring vehemently in Riddick's direction she sighed. The sigh turned into a yawn and she realized just how drained she felt. Her eyelids began to droop, her head lolling to the side. She fought sleep for a time, but the effort was haphazard at best. As she slipped into unconsciousness she wondered at how easily she was able to slumber with Riddick so near. In her deep subconscious mind, her training told her it was an extremely foolish decision on her part, but somehow she felt at ease. Perhaps because he reminded her of herself, whatever she had been, in some way or another that she couldn't decipher.
Crack. The noise jarred Erica awake. Her eyes flew open all at once and her head swiveled around to pinpoint her shackled roomate. At the moment her eyes lit on the massive man that was Riddick his arms were high above his head, shackles sliding through a missing chunk of the support beam, his shoulder joints relocating themselves with a sickening pop. She barely had time to shake off her shock as the convict leaped forward, grasping a dangling rebar and using it to destroy his bonds and at the same time scooping up his goggles and ripping off the blindfold. Erica began to scramble back, but Riddick was much too quick, like a deadly animal. He was upon her before she could stagger to her feet, pinning her easily against the floor, a short and wickedly curved blade to her throat. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she stared up into his glowing eyes.
"You're coming with me," he declared, a statement that left no room for debate. Erica knew better than to resist, not with that blade in his hand. She was at an extreme disadvantage and she wasn't foolish enough to have her throat slit. Her gut twisting fear was rapidly forming into a ball of fiery anger in the pit of her stomach. Hostage, she thought, I will be no such thing. Swiftly, Riddick scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder as if she was nothing. His blade was held firmly against the back of her thigh, poised to slice the major artery that lay within the muscles. For now, she was a hostage, whether she liked it or not. With a quick scan of the area, Riddick stepped out of the doorway, and into the desert.