Blood on the Moon

Chapter IX

By Lydiby

A broken cry pulled me out of my sleep. Dizzily, I turned to find the source. As my vision began to focus I realized I was still in the car. Mamoru's face was contorted in some nightmare. Sweat beaded along his upper lip. He cried out again and the sound was painful enough to make me shudder.

'I can't imagine what would cause anyone to make a sound like that,' was my first thought.

"Mamoru," I called softly, cupping his face in my hands, "Mamoru, wake up. It's a dream, wake up Mamoru." He was caught in it too deeply. Another cry tore from his throat. I cringed; it was terrible.

"The cry of the damned," a glacial voice supplied.

I whirled around to look for the speaker, but no one else was in the cab. The driver was in front of the divider and male. The voice had been female somehow.

Wiping the sweat from his face I tried to decide what to do next. One thing came to mind, but it was blush worthy. If it worked, it would be worse. When he began to thrash and made that soul frosting sound again, I decided I didn't care. Leaning forward I moved to kiss him; at that exact moment the chauffer must've hit the breaks and I flew off the seat instead. This effectively woke him so I was content enough; I could already tell that sound would be haunting my dreams. I pulled myself up onto the opposite seat.

"You were having a nightmare," I said. I flickered my gaze to him, intending to look away immediately, but got caught. It was as informative as looking into a fog, but I felt like I was made of glass.

"Sleep."

Halting movement woke me and I lifted my head to observe the leather interior of a compact limo. I shook off the disorientation as best I could; hadn't we been on the other side of the car? "We're here," a voice whispered. I shivered with an empty fantasy of waking to that voice every morning. Instead, I was handed out into the cold light of a mid autumn Romanian morning.

"Bucharest," I said softly to myself. Reading what little I could of the signs indicating we were at an airport.

"Our flight leaves at eight," Mamoru said stepping out behind me, "do you want anything before we board? Breakfast, coffee?"

"Maybe some coffee. I am not really hungry," I murmured. I followed him into the building shaking out my wrinkled clothing as we went. I burrowed into the coat, feeling drastically out of place among the moderately large throng of people moving through the buildings to and from terminals.

"Usako?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I guess…Reality is sinking in, but I don't want to face it. Not yet," my voice died away as I spoke, but I've no doubt he heard every inflection in my voice. I was equally sure my face painted an echoing portrait of my emotions.

I couldn't afford to be uncertain about anything. When he bought a German paper I got a lighter inlaid with an ebony rose. While he read I practiced lighter tricks Melinda had taught me one boring Saturday night months ago. Making it a silver blur over my knuckles I thought about her. How whenever she saw me she would sweep down and drag me around swing dancing in circle just for the sake of being silly. How she always had a pack of boys at her feet. Melinda had turned out to be missing as well as Chris, the drummer. Could Mamoru

"He has them, Usako."

The lighter clattered to the floor.

Another set of people I'd failed. Another, how many would the list include? Was I so cursed that I would fail the entire world?

"Usako," he hissed into my ear. His arms were wrapped tightly around me. "If anyone has failed you, it is I. I should have interfered. You've lost four friends to the blood; it is my fault, don't blame yourself."

"Five," I whispered and his arms tightened almost imperceptibly.

"You think so?"

"I hope not," I replied.

"I'll die again before I see you harmed."

Blood pounded in my face. These feelings were old, but completely new. Any other time, any other situation, they'd be welcome, welcome enough. Now I hadn't time to deal. The first roadblock was so utterly insurmountable I couldn't even face the problem. There was no time to be selfish; there was a greater enemy.

"…Tokyo…" out of a long stream of foreign words from a newscaster came one I knew with clarity. My head jerked up as did his to watch the suspended television screen. A shaken broadcast of Tokyo came on, static ripping across the screen as the camera was jostled and knocked about. Smoke rose from various locations, but one thing out of all the images of destruction one truly got to me.

Over Tokyo rose a blood red harvest moon.

"Get me home, now," I gasped out in anguish.

'How many are already dead? It's hardly begun and how many are already dead?' my heart wrenched and next to me I felt Mamoru flinch.

"Hold onto me. This won't be pleasant," his mind said unto mine.

It was as though every molecular bond within me had been instantaneously ripped apart and reassembled. It was the most painful millisecond of my life. My stomach's first act upon its regeneration was to revolt. Mamoru held my head still while my body violently wracked upon itself. Gradually it subsided and I sobbed for breath.

"I'm sorry Usako, I'm so sorry Usako," ran Mamoru's frantic voice in my mind. Death was near and the sensation made me want to purge again, for it was not merely death, but macabre. Before me lay Tokyo in ruins. It wasn't clear what building had survived; the smoke was too thick but I thought I saw the Tokyo Tower. The rest of the massive city lay desecrated. My eyes burned with tears. It was similar to images of Hiroshima, only bigger. Smoke rose in columns, funneling into a void. It was difficult to discern exactly what it was, because there was nothing to really been seen. It was such complete blackness that it sucked in the surrounding light, making it impossible to gauge shape or size. After a moment a sickening headache forced me to look away.

Beyond us Mount Fuji rose as implacable as ever and it gave me hope.

"The 'wise men' were called in this morning and gave the order to evacuate the city," said a voice I knew, "The earthquake hit around noon, it was around 8.2 on the Richter," Haruka said as a black cat climbed up me.

"Luna!" I cried, burying my face in her fur.

"Tsukino Usagi, you are not leaving my sight again!" the feline tried to reprimand me, but her voice shook.

"It's an inferno down there, Serena-hime. The senshi are guarding the Imperial Hotel. We set up headquarters bringing in wounded there we've been trying to defend it…" Haruka trailed off, "You can't exactly keep vampires out of where they want to be, Serena."

I sank to my knees at the implications.

"How are they holding out?" I asked weakly.

"I left Setsuna in charge Makoto's powers have been going haywire, we've had some narrow calls. Mostly they've just been gathering across from the Hotel."

"What color are they wearing?" Mamoru's voice cut in.

"White."

Mamoru swore; I stared at my beautiful city, petting Luna with numb hands.

"How many are dead?" I asked, a thousand miles away.

"As little as two thousand, as many as seven," Haruka replied.

I closed my eyes; something inside of me had just woken up, something swift, deadly, and virulent.

"Haruka, return to them. Try to hold off any direct attacks, tell Makoto it will be all right. See that she calms down. I'll be with you shortly," I told her, fury leaking into my voice as I thought of the wrongfully dead.

I was knocked back as two arms were thrown around me and Haruka unceremoniously slammed into me. Luna quickly scrambled onto my shoulder to avoid being crushed.

"We're going to get them, Haruka. No one messes with my people; this is going to end," I whispered.

"I've got to go then, we don't want little Mako-chan to turn herself into one of those meatballs she makes so well," Haruka whispered.

"It's her first time in combat, Haruka"

"I know, Odango, I'll take care of her."

I watched her use her senshi powers to harness the wind to carry her back into Tokyo. Admiring her skill she welded her element with dreamlike detachment; I gathered myself. Wiping away a stray tear, I tried fiercely not to think about Shingo, and Mama, and Papa. What if they were among the dead?

"Usako?"

"Mamo-chan, I—" my mouth went dry as I turned to face him.

Tuxedo Kamen; I was so blind. He was Tuxedo Kamen.

Dazed I only managed, "Why?"

"You had more than enough to deal with," he replied.

There was a brief pause.

"Then can we get down there in a more, comfortable, manner perhaps?" I inquired.

Deep inside of me, around the age of six, something finally snapped. My six-year-old self threw an all out temper tantrum. Kicking and screaming classic phrases such as, "It's not fair!"

It wasn't; my hero whom I'd been forced out of lingering hope to label MIA was still very much In Action. I wanted to deal with this knock for six as I felt like, but we didn't have time. So my six-year-old self threw a wholehearted psychological tantrum.

'I want reparations,' I thought, but nothing was guaranteed.

There wasn't anytime to assess this new fact; I just had to accept it. Later I could analyze it if we won and if we didn't, well it wouldn't matter then, would it? With the latter in mind I gave way to impulse.

"Would you do something for me?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Kiss me," I said bluntly, before logic and fear caught up with me. A slow smile spread across his face, partially hidden by his mask. He removed it and slowly slid his hands around my waist. The contact made me shiver and his eyes were so warm I couldn't move. My heart was pounding erratically and it seemed to be forcing a kind of terror I'd never known before through my veins instead of blood. His head moved down my neck, lazily caressing my jugular. Entranced, I laced my fingers through his hair. Light pressure brushed against my skin and I waited for it to break, holding my breath. Instead his mouth moved to my jaw and then teasingly to the corner of my mouth. The sensation was unbearable. Closing my eyes I brought his mouth to mine.