Thank you everyone for reading and following along.
I originally planned to post this one as two chapters but when I saw how short they were, I combined them-hence the break in the middle. This chapter functions as a bridge into the rest. The story will start to pick up in the next chapter, so please hang with me a little longer.
Usual Disclaimer: I do not own G.I Joe, Hasbro, Marvel or any affiliates. I do not make any profit on these stories. I merely borrow the characters for my own enjoyment (and hopefully yours).
The sky had turned pink; it was time to be moving. Taking Alison's hand, Shana pulled her to her feet. Dirt and leaves clung to Alison's clothes and hair. Alison, looking down and frowning, brushed at them clumsily with one arm.
Shana laughed. "Before you fall over—here, let me." She quickly brushed Alison off and then plucked a few leaves and twigs from her hair. "There." She grinned.
Alison nodded her thanks and smiled. "We certainly are the pair," she said, taking in her friend's equally unkempt appearance in amusement.
"That we are," Shana said, smiling back. "Come on. Let's go." Wrapping an arm around Alison's waist, she helped her to the road.
Shana's relief and Alison's improvement following the removal of the bullet had been short-lived. Shana gave the amoxicillin tablets to Alison for three days. But after each dose, Alison had reacted badly, falling ill and vomiting repeatedly. The episodes took such a toll on Alison that they travelled little in that time, and only at Shana's fierce urging. Shana knew Alison needed the antibiotics. But seeing her best friend in tears after another gut-tearing episode, Shana decided that the cure was worse than the infection. She threw the rest of the tablets out.
They set out each morning as soon as the sun rose high enough to give light. Then, during the heat and brightness of the day when they were most exposed, they hid and rested. When the shadows stretched long in the evenings, they walked again. In this way, towns slowly disappeared behind them, leaving only the occasional dilapidated farmhouse or barn—with, thankfully, more than half of those abandoned.
They walked without talking, Alison leaning heavily on Shana. Their soft-soled shoes made little sound on the faded asphalt, nothing like the determined clump, clump of combat boots. When they had ditched their uniforms and gone with civvies, they had opted for the athletic shoes. But like her hair, Shana missed her familiar boots. She couldn't help feeling strangely underdressed and vulnerable. She was constantly looking around for threats, though there wasn't much they could do if she found one. Other than the knife strapped to her leg under her jeans, they had no weapons—not that that bothered her. She knew she could overpower anyone hand to hand. The real concern was Alison. Her fever had spiked, and the infection was worsening. Alison no longer had the strength to dart from bush to hedge or dive for cover in tall grasses. She could barely manage the paved road they were following.
The morning wore on and the sun turned brassy, promising to be a hot one. Shana's arm ached. Her back ached. Sweat trickled down her spine when she stopped and adjusted her grip on Alison. She hated to admit that she was nearly as exhausted as Alison, but she was.
"Let's call it a day—" Shana panted, wiping the sweat from her brow with her free hand. Her short hair stuck to her neck, poking into her skin. She scratched irritably. Just another thing about it to get used to, she supposed. "There's a grove over there." She pointed.
Alison nodded. Once. She had no breath for talking.
Shana grunted. "Come on."
They started walking again.
Alison's footsteps dragged. Her face was flushed and her eyes too bright. Shana could feel the fever radiating from her body.
"You ok, Allie?" she asked in concern, tightening her arm around Alison's waist as she willed her strength into her.
"Fine. Can—do it." Alison gritted her teeth.
Shana nodded, and led Alison off the road. Dust rose with their steps—the old dust of where they had been mingling with the new dust of where they were going. The trees Shana had seen lined a small ridge not far away. They had climbed halfway up the slanting hill when suddenly Shana stopped.
"Alison. Look. Over there." Shana said, pointing. She pushed down her excitement. "Is that it?"
Alison lifted her head to look. She nodded.
A farmhouse was just visible in the distance. They both stared at it as they panted for breath. Flat and wide and covered in red rooftiles, it was more a ranch house than a farmhouse. From the outside, it looked to be in no better condition than the other buildings they had passed, but Shana knew better.
And so did Alison.
"Finally—" Shana smiled, allowing herself a small spark of excitement. "Come on, Allie."
They forgot their weariness as Shana led them back down the hill to the road. They covered the distance to the house quickly. The burst of energy that had come over Alison lasted until they reached the farmhouse property. Then, the little strength she had gained gave out and her knees buckled. Shana half-carried, half-dragged her the rest of the way, up onto the wobbly porch, and to the front door. They stood trembling as Shana pushed the doorbell—one short buzz, one long buzz, and one more short buzz—S.O.S., the international distress code.
The door unlocked and swung open with a creak.
"We made it," Alison gasped, her voice as soft as a whispery prayer.
"Of course, we did," Shana laughed, giving her a happy squeeze. "Now, let's see who else is here."
Shana led Alison into the abandoned house. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and a thick coating of dust covered everything. She shuddered. Shana hated spiders.
"Where to?" she asked.
"Kitchen," Alison whispered and pointed.
Shana pushed open a swinging door. She cringed as she ducked under more stringy webs and entered the next room. She tried not to imagine things crawling on her—especially those of the eight-legged variety.
Alison pointed to a corner and Shana led her across the dusty floor to the door of a small pantry.
"This?" she asked.
Alison nodded, and then swayed. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Hey, you ok?" Shana's stomach knotted with worry. "Don't you pass out on me," she said sharply, tightening her arm around her.
"Trying...not to."
To the right was the square panel. Shana pressed her hand to it, and it sprung open on a hinge like a small door. A keypad was hidden inside. She quickly punched in the secret numbers—known to every full Joe member—and the back wall of the pantry slid open revealing a dimly lit tunnel. With Alison leaning on her heavily, she stepped inside.
The tunnel sloped down, and Shana followed it. At the end of the tunnel was a door and another panel. Shana paused, unsure what to do next.
"Hand," Alison whispered.
Shana nodded and pressed her hand to the screen.
"Stand. Still."
Shana stood still while she was scanned. Then, she helped Alison put her hand up to the screen so that she could do the same. After finishing the scans, the door opened.
The sudden brightness blinded Shana. Squinting, she tightened her grip on Alison and entered for the first time, Lighthouse, the secret Joe base known only to Joes.
Joe Colton had had the base commissioned in secret when the Joes were just being formed. Then, once it was built, all records of its existence had been destroyed. A small team of tech Joes known only as The Ghost Squad, kept it running at all times. None of the Joes knew who they were. They weren't supposed to. Lighthouse was the contingency plan—the place where the Joes were to go if something ever happened to G.I. Joe. Like now. Alison had been there once before, but Shana had only learned that recently.
As the door shut behind her, Shana, blinking rapidly, slowly made out the muzzle of a shotgun pointed straight at them. She froze. "Not quite the welcome I was expecting," she said calmly.
"Red! Am I glad to see you. And—Lady Jaye?!"
Shana blinked. She knew that voice. So did Alison. She lifted her head.
"Flint," she said softly.
The gun quickly lowered and was slung over his shoulder.
"Allie," Flint cried, rushing to Alison's side. He slipped his arm around her waist, helping Scarlett support her. "Scarlett, what happened?"
"Bullet," she said bitterly.
Alison raised a hand and touched his cheek. "Flint—" she whispered. Then, her eyes rolled back, and she went limp. Flint caught her as she fell.
"Doc," he cried frantically. He spun around. "Doc!" he shouted, louder.
Doc appeared through a set of doors, his eyes going immediately to the unconscious Joe. "Take her to the infirmary," he barked.
He didn't have to tell Flint twice because he was already running.