Hello, readers!
Jeez, it's been almost a year since I published any more edits or revisions. . . . I'm really falling behind here. Hopefully, though, I'll be on track and get this finished and updated within the next couple months. Dunno, I'll do my best.
This chapter was one of the easier ones to edit. I think it was the least heavily edited, as well? I had to do a lot of rearranging, I remember that. There was a lot of weird stuff going on with her injury and such. Hopefully, I got everything kind of...oriented better than it was. I feel like I kind of ended up ignoring the injury altogether in the original chapter? I don't know. Let me know if it makes sense!
This chapter has been updated as of 4/30/2017
~ Crayola
Chapter Twelve
Endless Night
One second I was hacking wildly at what I thought was an enemy, the next my arms were jarred with the solid impact of metal against armor. I reeled with the blow, but didn't move in for a second attempt. This was Wolf, after all. It wouldn't matter how many I times I may try. He'd flatten me in no time flat without effort.
The acid burn on my back throbbed and I stumbled away, hunched over and holding my arm tight against my chest to keep my shoulder blade from moving too much. I attempted to straighten and stand my ground, but the pain left me breathless.
"I—" Words failed me as I gaped at him, wincing. He stood there with his arm up, gauntlet facing me as if preparing to ward off another swing. I hadn't even seen him move to block.
Eventually my wits returned to me through the fog of pain. "I—I'm sorry! I wasn't expecting—I thought you'd . . . I'm sorry!" I took a tentative step away from him and raised my blade a few inches in front of me, afraid of retaliation. Though it drew the angry skin on my back taught, I grit my teeth and held my blade with both hands.
Wolf watched me, head cocked to the side, then turned to look at the drone's corpse. He studied it for a moment, then glanced at me again.
Suddenly, he closed the distance between us with a single stride. It wasn't a particularly threatening gesture, but I was still wound up from my close call and afraid of being punished. I took a step back and tried to dodge around him.
However, he grabbed my upper arm and held me in place. I went rigid, ignoring the vast helplessness I felt. He was faster, stronger . . . . I should have been more afraid of him up until right then. He hadn't done anything so far to harm me—maybe used me as bait, maybe threatened to kill me one time, but never physically attacked me.
But I'd never threatened him, either, and right then I'd tried to cleave him.
We stared at each other for a few moments. When it was clear I was powerless and I stopped struggling, his grip on my arm loosened to a more comfortable level and he relaxed, filling me with relief and giving me reason to relax as well.
Not gonna hurt me yet.
His thoughtful chittering took on a different edge as he turned me around. He left me to wallow in my own dark thoughts as he examined the burn on my back. I winced as he gently drew a claw over it, but if it concerned him he didn't show it.
You're always freaking out about everything, I chided myself. Forget the fact that death lurked around every corner. Complacency wouldn't get me anywhere in here.
Not Wolf, though. Wolf didn't seem interested in killing me. Only helping. So far, anyway.
Odd, but I wasn't about to complain.
His fingers were warm to the touch and rough. Each tug of the burned fabric of my jacket made me cringe, but I bit back any protests. He heaved my jacket up until he almost pulled it off me, but I couldn't get my arm high enough without blackout pain. I squeaked a myriad of profanities and squirmed, but he held me firm. Somehow, his utterings sounded irritated.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a puny fragile human who's not wearing any armor. Bite me." I croaked.
As if affronted, he snorted and leaned away from me, letting go of my jacket. I rolled my eyes and said, "I didn't mean it literally!"
Shaking his shoulders like an irate dog, he reached for me again and tore the back of my jacket more, trying to undress me. I swatted at him with my good arm and danced away from him. "Could you not? I don't have any more clothes to wear." He might be confident enough not to wear a full body armor suit, but I didn't have solid muscle to hide behind, just the jacket.
Sighing, I shot him a glare and started to remove the coat. Each movement twisted the sensitive flesh of my back and threatened to drive me to my knees. Though sheer force of will, I managed to peel it off me. When next I spoke, it was terse from pain but sharp with frustration. "See? It comes off easy."
Wolf chittered belligerently and spun me around to examine the wound more, then sat me down and pulled out his medical kit. I hadn't seen him refill it, so I assumed he'd done it while I was inebriated by the drug he'd given me. Or maybe even after he'd ditched me. After a moment of mixing, he spread the concoction on my back.
It stung, and my skin crawled. I managed to stay still, though, except for a few seconds of squirming and let him finish it. Eventually the heat soothed and numbed, and then he let me up.
Tentative at first, I moved my arm around and rolled my shoulders. After a few seconds of testing out my movements, I decided I would be okay. There was minimal pain and I could feel the skin stretching and rubbing, but there seemed to be something covering the wound.
Whatever it was, it was probably like alien Neosporin, or liquid bandage. I looked over my shoulder to try to get an idea about what it was like, but I couldn't. The wound was too far down my scapula. There was a distinct pucker close to my shoulder, but anything else was lost from perspective. I wouldn't truly know the extent until I found a mirror or something.
"So I'm gonna live?" I asked, my voice flat even though I'd meant to be humorous.
He nodded his head and I sighed. At least he hadn't had to stick me with that horse needle again. Once I had my jacket back on, he made me take up my weapon. I picked it up where I'd left it to remove my jacket, but I had to hold it in my right hand, and it was that shoulder blade that was FUBAR.
Even with the treatment, my arm was still stiff. The drone bite from earlier hadn't so far given me any issue, so I was sure that with some time my shoulder would be okay, as well.
At least until I could seek more in-depth medical help.
His posture told me he was displeased and he grabbed my arm again. I stood rigid as he started to manipulate me. Despite my minimal struggles and protests, his grip was gentle if firm. He adjusted my hold on the blade's hilt, pushed my shoulders back, then kicked my legs apart. Before he was satisfied, he had to make more minute changes to my posture.
The concoction he'd rubbed on my burn helped mute the pain, but there was still discomfort caused by the slightest movements. I could work through it, though. I'd been kicked and stepped on during games and played through twisted ankles. A treated burn was fine.
So I stood there, dumbfounded, until he stepped back and appraised my stance. Before, when I'd thought I'd needed to defend myself against Wolf, I had been standing like I was at the batter's box. After his ministrations I was bent at the waist, my arm held out to my side and blade raised. I felt absolutely ridiculous, if not more stable.
Mostly ridiculous.
He extended his own, smaller blade and mimicked my posture. I let my stance slacken, afraid he was asking me to fight: the last thing I wanted to do. Wolf showed me his displeasure by lashing out and striking my arm with the flat of his blade. He punctuated it with a sharp growl.
"Ow!" I recoiled and gave him a stung look. "You hit me!"
Once again he smacked my arm with the flat side and growled.
"Ow! Knock it off!"
You can't even block his half-assed strikes.
When he raised his arm against me again, though, I was ready. Wolf had made it clear he wasn't actually trying to hurt me, but I still didn't like it. So when he struck out, I batted him away with my own sloppy parry. His chest rumbled in what I thought was a satisfied purr.
Thinking we were done, I stood at ease, ready to follow him wherever he went next. However, he raised his blade to smack me again. I was able to block before he smacked me.
"Fine! God, stop," I muttered, glaring at him.
Grumbling profanities, I did my best to slide back into the stance he wanted and glowered at him. He appraised me, then gave me some space and mimicked my pose. What the fuck was going on? Was this a challenge? A lesson? Why?
What did he even care anymore? I'd had an emotional breakdown and ran off after he'd told me to stay put. He shouldn't want to teach me anything let alone treat another wound.
Yet here we were. I didn't understand him.
After a second, he swung his blade, making me flinch. It didn't come close to hitting me, though, so I held still. He showed me the swing a couple more times, then watched me expectantly. I huffed, realized that he wanted me to give it a shot, then tried my best to replicate the way he'd swung, though my range of movement was still limited.
Despite being out of my comfort zone, my shoulder was loosening up and the strike was simple. The blade was heavier in one hand, but still light enough that I could swing without issue.
He made me repeat a few more times, then stowed his blade and nodded in approval.
I stared at him, bewildered—but happy to let my arm rest.
"What are you doing here?" I blurted out, sounding more demanding than I'd meant.
I didn't falter when he shifted his gaze toward me, his head cocked. My confidence grew as my anger built. Anger at my situation, anger at myself, anger at my friends' deaths. . . .
"Why are you even bothering with me anymore?"
Wolf clicked something at me, shifting his weight. I didn't understand, so I continued.
"Teaching me how to swing this stupid thing? I had a complete meltdown and ignored your orders and . . . ." When I paused for breath, Wolf rattled something like a question at me.
"I'm not like you! Those were my best friends in there, and it was my fault. I can't just walk away! I can't just get over it. I don't know how you people handle the death of a friend, or a comrade, or whatever, but I can't just . . . just deal with it," I ranted, slumping my shoulders near the end.
He tilted his head to the other side and watched, waiting for me to finish my tirade. I found his silence even more infuriating.
I took a breath and continued. "At least don't pretend this is something it isn't! I'm nothing but fodder! I'm not a warrior. I just asked for this thing so I could live a little longer, but now I don't care! If I die in here, maybe I'll have made it up to her, to them. So use me as bait, fucking kill me afterward, I don't even . . . I don't fucking care anymore," I muttered, staring at his chest so I didn't have to look at that impassive mask.
There was a long pause, each heartbeat making me more and more horrified. I'd just gone off on this guy, and for all I knew he hated mouthy little humans.
When he finally made a move, I looked up at him through my lashes. He extended his hand and set it down on top of my head. I glowered and assumed he was patronizing me. Then he chittered something and turned to motion at the dead drone I had slain. For a moment I just stared at it, then I looked back up at him.
"Yeah, so?" I muttered.
He let his hand fall from my head to my shoulder and then took a step back. He straightened up and then thumped his closed fist against his chest. I watched him, brow knitted, then looked back to the dead drone.
The one I'd killed. By myself. Without his help.
My eyes widened and I looked up at him. I took in the way he was facing me, holding his fist to his chest, the heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder. . .was he acknowledging the kill as some sort of accomplishment?
I supposed in a way it was. The only things I'd killed were a bunch of unborn facehuggers, a couple live ones, and a chestburster or two. None of them were particularly capable of defending themselves, they were just super obnoxious. Any drones I'd come across I'd either run from or Wolf had killed for me.
This was my first, real, solo kill.
"What, so like . . . ." I fumbled, staring at the corpse. "Are you congratulating me?"
Wolf said something incoherent. It was a single statement, a long word. Nothing like the ones I associated with "yes" and "no". I shook my head and averted my gaze, staring at the dead thing. I said, "Well, thanks, I guess. Just got lucky."
"Nichole."
Startled, I snapped my head around. That voice—it was Jess'. For a moment I had thought . . . but it was just Wolf standing there, looking at me expectantly. I blinked away the tears and reminded myself that he knew not what he did to me, though I wanted to punch him for it.
"What?" I intoned, eyeing him.
He lifted his fist, wrist rotated outward. I stared at him for a moment, confused, until he urged me on with a gesture and a word. For a few beats I wasn't sure what he wanted, so I just lifted my own arm, shadowing the way he held his wrist out. It seemed like it was the right thing to do, because he nodded and bumped his wrist against mine.
Realization washed over me and I made an "o" shape with my mouth. It was like a fist bump.
I narrowed my eyes, but couldn't stifle the smile. "So . . . we're cool, then? I mean, you're not mad." Somehow I didn't think he'd understand what "cool" meant in this context.
He nodded and turned away from me to look at the drone. He stared at it for a moment, then grabbed it by its tail and dragged it across the ground, away from the wall. It rolled on its side when he nudged it with his foot, and I wondered what he was doing.
"What's your name?" I asked. For some reason the question brought a heat to my face.
He paused for a second, then rattled off something I couldn't quite follow. He must have read my expression, though, because he repeated it again, a little slower this time.
I did my best to imitate the sounds he made, but my tongue wouldn't make the right sound. I gave it two tries, and when he started laughing at me I gave up. I felt a blush creep across my face and I grumbled to myself. "Fuck it—I'm going to call you Wolf. Is that okay? Wolf?"
Once his deep, rolling laugh petered out, he nodded his head.
"Alright then . . . what now?"
My escort-turned-comrade turned and motioned toward the dead thing on the ground. I stared at it, then looked up at him and shook my head, not understanding. He cocked his head to the side, then kneeled down by the corpse and motioned for me to move by the wall. I stared at him, looked around, then sighed and followed his order.
The body shifted as he looked it over. After a moment, he pulled out a short knife and started sawing at the neck, as if attempting to remove the thing's head. That's what I assumed, anyway: I couldn't see very well as he was sitting in my line of vision.
Shaking my head I asked, "Do we have time for this? What if something else comes by and tries to eat us?"
Wolf glanced at me, then chittered and continued his work. I pursed my lips, but decided not to argue. This was his show, now. If he wanted to take his sweet-ass time, whatever. I had no desire to escape anymore, so the longer I could stall facing my friends' parents, my own parents—fuck, the whole town, the better.
I ended up lying down on my side while I waited. I was so exhausted and I knew I'd pass out without the help of adrenaline. The only thing keeping me going was the thrill of staying alive, and breaks like these made my whole body ache.
The acid burn on my back still smarted. I had to shift to lie comfortably, but I was tired enough that the pain didn't keep me from closing my eyes.
A loud growl startled me just as I was about to fall asleep and I bolted upright with a jolt. I rubbed at my bleary eyes, blinking in the darkness. It was warm, it was dark . . . I just wanted to sleep. When could I sleep?
At this rate, probably not until I was dead.
"Hmm?" I hummed, trying to focus long enough to see what he wanted to show me. My shoulder was stiff and the skin tight, and I kept my arm tucked against my chest.
The drone wasn't completely gutted like what we did with fish. He'd only cut up parts of it and detached the head. I had no real idea of how he'd done any of that. The skull was a little mangled, parts of the spine were missing . . . . I wished I had paid attention, but the short nap I had taken was probably more important than my curiosity.
I examined the dead body from where I sat, wondering what he was doing. When the body gave no clues, I glanced at him. He was holding something in his hand, and I forced my eyes to focus on it in the dark.
A small, under-developed skull dangled from a leather thong, a few pieces of vertebrae and teeth lining it on either side. It looked like . . . a necklace? Maybe?
"Are these . . . ." I lifted my hand tentatively, waiting for a rebuke, but when it didn't come I held the skull in my hand. It looked like a chestburster head. I glanced up at him, unsure what to think. "Are these, like . . . my trophies?"
He nodded and thrust his hand forward, insisting I take it. I rubbed my fingers against my palms, nervous about touching weird alien bones. I didn't want to be rude, though, so I took the trinket from him and looked it over. The bones were clean and perfectly bleached. I didn't see any tools around, so I wondered how he'd managed that in such a short time.
Why did he make this trinket, instead of something else? The denizens of the ship mounted skulls on the wall, so I didn't understand why he made such a bauble.
The head was obviously too big to take. It would be cumbersome while traveling the ship. He likely wouldn't want me mounting it over my mantle at home, either. I studied him for a few seconds to see if he wore anything similar, and did recognize a few similar things here and there attached to his person. Maybe it was more common than I realized.
I rotated the skull in my hands, wondering where he'd picked it up. It wouldn't be some random thing he'd found or killed. Like the vertebrae and teeth from the drone I'd slain, it would be something I'd killed, but the only one was . . . .
My eyes widened and I rubbed my index finger over the smooth forehead.
It can't be. He wouldn't.
"Is this . . . from . . . ." I had a hard time trying to say it. It felt like my throat was going to swell shut if I tried. I took a steadying breath and looked up at him. "From my friend . . . ?"
When had he had the time? The last thing I saw of him was his back receding as he led the Echo away. Between that and my wandering, how would he have had the time to ditch the Echo, find the chestburster, then me? Unless he assumed I'd gone back to their bodies and looked there first.
He nodded his head, and I fought to control my expression. It twisted first into horror before I gained the control I needed to keep it neutral.
Then I had to stop myself from hurling it down the hallway in disgust.
This was his way of saying he was sorry, that he held some sort of sympathy for me. Or maybe this was just custom in his culture. I didn't know why, what it would be for. It was the centerpiece of this trophy, instead of the kill I'd made solo. Obviously it meant something to him, and he thought it would mean something to me.
But to me, it wasn't anything but salt in the wound.
How could he know it would be a constant reminder of my mistakes? The fact that it was my fault it had happened?
Anger battled with grief. He hadn't meant this to hurt me. My fingers tightened around the strap holding the trinket together and I chewed on my bottom lip. Tears welled in my eyes; the gesture infuriated and touched me.
But I could fake it.
I had gone through years and years of terrible Christmas presents, mediocre birthday gifts . . . . I had practiced false gratitude all my life. The fact that he thought it was important should have honored me. He was honoring my friend, in his own alien way, and I had to try to respect that. Her death was still fresh in my mind. With time maybe it would make more sense.
So I forced down the initial, gut-wrenching reaction, and tried to see it for what it was: a testament to all that had happened. A reminder that I was stronger than I thought, and that Jess's death hadn't gone unpunished.
None of their deaths would. I would do everything in my power to make sure we killed every fucking one of them.
I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, then looked up at Wolf with a forced smile. My voice was hoarse when I spoke. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."
Wolf rolled his shoulders and babbled something under his breath. He was already on his feet, and he heaved me up by the back of my shirt as well so we were both standing. I protested mildly at the manhandling but steadied myself and straightened my shirt. When he turned his back to lead me onward, I did what I thought would please him: tied the necklace-trophy around my neck.
Even it was all kinds of morbid, the last thing I wanted to do was insult him. Maybe I'd learn to like it. Though I wasn't fond of the gift, it was the thought that counts.
Before he could pull too far ahead, I bent down to pick up my weapon and jogged after him.
The necklace bounced heavily with the dog tags and I held it down. Despite the gloomy reminder, I told myself it was an honor. It was him telling me I wasn't bait. Maybe not quite an equal, but I was worth something.
