Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity. I did not
create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have
any hand in the creation of Pitch Black. I did however create Spook,
and the other
characters not seen in Pitch Black.
"Are you going to be able to get up?" She leaned over him, slipping her shiv into the sheathe at her thigh. Her hand settled onto his shoulder for a brief moment before she recoiled.
He stared up at her for a moment, then slowly rose to his feet. The blood squelched under his boots. He glanced down, then back to her.
"You ghosted five?" He peered down at her, raising an eyebrow.
"You're covered in blood…" She shrunk away from him, shoulders rising as she cringed away, wrists crossing over her chest.
"Answer me."
She stared, wide eyed into his gaze, then nodded. Her mouth worked a few times without a sound.
"Th-that blood… It's all over you." She looked down at her own hands, touched by spots of color in the low light. She blinked, as if confused by the drying life on her hand. She lightly touched the spots with delicate fingertips. "Me too. Follow me?" She began to slowly turn, reaching towards him once again.
He stared at her for a moment more.
She indicated the two bodies he had left, crumpled, discarded, on the floor. Again, her tentative movement down the corridor.
With a nod, he followed.
She moved easily, if cautiously, in the dark. Her hand trailed on the wall. Her head swung to the side at any hint of noise, eyes wide, nostrils flared, searching for any hint as to the source of the sound.
She chose few passages, stopping every so often at corners, feeling the corners, just above her shoulder height, running fingers over them, frowning. She was softly sniffing the air, peering into the near inky darkness, lit only by strips of softly incandescent material near the floor. With a few tentative steps down one of the branches of the corridor, she turned, heading the other way, peering ahead. Then back, continuing with a little more confidence down the first passage she had aborted.
"This way. It's this way."
Riddick peered at her for a moment. His eyebrow twitched slightly. He took in his breath, to speak, but she was moving away on light, soundless feet.
Another few forks. Another few changes in direction. Her feet, bare, silent, found a path while she ran her ling fingers over the walls. Each corner they reached, each fork, another replay of the same ritual.
Fingers seeking over the corner. A few steps down either path. Her chewing her lip while she pondered their direction.
Her face contorted as she peered in the dark, her body shimmering, red and cream to Riddick's sight, her hands seeking for something.
With an exclamation, she turned her head back to where she guessed he was. She nodded, patting the corner, her face breaking into a wide grin. When he approached, he saw that there were a few small pocks in the wall; marks that looked like something had once been bolted there. A hinge, or a plaque.
Feeling the heat of his body, she tilted her head up to him.
"This way," she breathed, "we can clean off the blood nearby."
A few more turns. A faster pace now, almost jogging in the dark.
Ahead, her eyes fixed on it.
A point of light, pouring faintly into the passage.
She raised her hand, pointing.
"You insane? That's a barracks!" Riddick grabbed her by the arm, spinning her to face him. His face twisted into a snarl, scowling and growling low at her, holding her by her arms close by him, peering into her face.
Her face, now reflecting her fear, her sudden realization of what he thought.
"No! Nearby is an abandoned guard washroom! Lights don't work- electrical problems. They don't use it. We can!" Her head began to shake from side to side, "Not gunna turn you over to them! P-please believe me." A rim of white shown around her dark eyes. She went still in his grip, staring into his face, shaking in his hands. His face returned to its chill mask.
He slowly let go of her, straightening, squaring his shoulders. He gave a slight nod.
It was several paces past the barracks when she finally led him through a door. The room wasn't too large, benches in the center, lockers on the walls. A doorway opposite the entrance.
"The barracks is for on-duties. They've never pushed to get the electric fixed in here." She slipped through the doorway, into the next room.
Showers.
A large room, separated into smaller ten by ten open sided boxes. The boxes were defined by two walls, walls that ended two feet before the ceiling. Walls that, like the back ones, sported showerheads, each with a pair of knobs under it. There were nine heads to a space.
She slipped to the furthest back, shedding her bundles and torch in the back of one. The torch sputtered slightly before shedding its dim light to the small space. She set the shiv from her thigh on the bundle. That done, she headed across the recessed walkway down the center of the room to the showers directly across from her gear, She turned on one corner; four of the heads. She leapt back, letting the water hit the floor and heat up.
"Also makes a great time to clean clothes." She smiled a little, looking over at him. "There's soap in the stalls. And hot water."
She slipped into the spray of water, letting it soak into her clothes, her skin. It slicked her hair to her skull, shoulders, neck. The red slowly slid from her hands and arm. Long fingers closed over the soap, rubbing it into the course uniform.
"Why don't you take off that necklace. Looks ugly, uncomfortable." Riddick had started the water in the other corner, standing in the cold spray as it warmed. She opened her eyes, blinking owlishly in confusion. He pointed to her throat. Her hand lifted.
"This? I can't." She bit her lower lip, and he shrugged.
"How'd you ghost those men?" Again, the large, slow blink. "I saw you. How."
"Bare feet are silent. And they were distracted." She shrugged. "Couldn't let them kill you."
"Why not? You don't owe me anything. And I'm not the protective type."
She shook her head. "It would have been wrong," was her simple answer, earning herself a harsh, barking laugh
"Someone actually concerns themselves with right and wrong in this pit?" He turned to grin at her, eyes sparkling with humor.
She frowned, her face still, her eyes sad.
"Well, some of us still have our morals, twisted as this pit makes them." She looked into his face for a moment more, chewing on the corner of her mouth. Then she turned, letting the water rinse lather from her shirt and arms. "I think that even your brand of morality would say that bringing six men with you to fight one is bad form."
"Yeah. We proved he needed more." He watched the water on her, the clothing sticking to her. She looked over her shoulder, then extended her hand, offering him the bar of rough soap. Taking it, he peeled off his wet shirt, rubbing the soap into the material. "Where did you learn to ghost men like that?"
She turned, shrugged.
"A girl learns to protect herself in here. 'There are no Innocents in Slam' after all."
He watched her in silence again, letting the time ease over him with the water.
"Tell me, Spook. Why you here?"
"Spook?" She peered over her shoulder, squinting a little as the water flowed over her brow.
"Well, rabbits don't get blood on their hands. Rabbits also don't fade in and out of shadows. Ghosts do, but ghosts don't kill. So," he spread his hands, "Spook."
She made a soft noise, sending the water blowing away from her face. "I like it better than Rabbit."
"Don't evade. I asked you a question."
"I'm here because I got on the wrong side of some powerful men. You're here because you're a dangerous criminal, probably a murderer, deemed a Security Risk at other facilities. Why is anyone here?"
He moved in a rush, his arms to either side of her, fists against the wall. His face was inches from hers, the water pouring over him, heat rushing from his body.
"I told you. Answer the questions." His deep voice had dropped to a cruel hiss, the sound of an impending avalanche, of the hint of a blizzard