"You sure this is right?" Mark felt himself being shoved into the familiar loft, protesting at each step. "Nate wanted us to. . ."
"Nate is a crackpot. Trust me." Roger shut the door behind them, agitated. "He's bullshit. This is some big, elaborate prank pulled by our former buddy, who's trying to get a bit of his own back at us for being decent people." He removed his jacket and tossed it onto the table.
Mark just shook his head, putting his hands to it, standing in the center of the large room. "You just can't get over him, can you?" He looked up. "Aren't we done with all that?"
"Are you?"
"I guess. I mean, it's better to be, isn't it?" Mark tossed the question out casually, then sighed and walked to the sofa. "So, what are you gonna do? See Mimi?"
"I don't know. I just had to get out of there." Roger was pacing, running a hand through his hair.
Mark nodded knowingly. "He got to you. Nate. Something about this has you scared to death."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Look at yourself! Since when are you nervous about anything?"
Roger realized he was pacing, and stopped. "What do you know about it?"
Mark's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "I know there is something going on. You feel something, and you won't tell me what it is." He cast around for a comparison. "It's-it's like you just woke from a nightmare that you're trying to forget."
Roger realized he was sweating. He ran an astonished hand over his face. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. I can see your pulse racing from here. Sit down." He stood and reached out.
"I said I'm fine, damn it! Just stop it with the whole oversensitive- ESP crap!"
Mark cringed from the outburst. He stepped back, then planted himself, staring defiantly at his friend, giving him some space to be angry without backing down. "Doesn't take any mysterious power to see something's wrong," he said, rather sullenly.
Roger sighed and complied, realizing his body language was giving him away. He threw himself onto the sofa. "I'm just tired."
"Don't doubt it." Mark dropped down beside Roger, looked at him, and unconsciously started to rub his friend's arm, soothing him. "It's been a busy day, that's all." He kept rubbing his friend's arm, not thinking anything of it.
But Roger was. He felt his eyelids droop heavily, felt his breathing steady. "Wow," he muttered. "I am tired. Didn't know how pissed I was, either. Weird."
Mark suddenly realized what he was doing and checked up, but didn't stop. "Why are you so angry?"
"I don't know." He felt better, like after taking a sip of alcohol, like everything was going to be okay, if just for a little while. "Guess I'm – scared. I don't like to be scared." He shifted. "This is all just too weird, you know? What's even more weird is, how we're taking it. Shouldn't we be freaking out or something?"
"I'm freaking out on the inside."
"Man, this is nice." Roger burrowed deeper into the cushions. "Why's your hand so hot? I can feel it through my shirt."
"Adrenaline, I guess." Mark stopped rubbing, but kept his hand on Roger's arm, very self-conscious of the fact that Roger looked too damn relaxed. "Look, you're not...I mean...this isn't..."
Roger snapped up. "What the hell? I just said it felt good, I didn't say stroke me or anything!"
"I was just. . ."
"No, forget it." Roger sighed again. Then he raised his head again, his brain finally registering what his eyes had told him, what had bothered him since he first pulled Mark away from Collins' place, why he was so irritable. What had happened. He stared at Mark hard enough to make the other man cringe, then yanked him to his feet, and pushed him across the room to look into the small bathroom mirror.
"Roger! What the hell are you . . ." Mark's sentence was cut off as he stared at his face. His nearly unblemished face.
His hand slowly rose to cup his cheek. He angled his chin. Roger was standing at his shoulder, his face visible, and uncertain. Slowly the hand lowered.
"Seems you have another gift," Roger said softly.
Mark stared at his reflection in disbelief. He could almost see the heavy bruise fading, feel smooth yet prickling sensation underneath the skin. "This can't be right."
"Like any of this is." Roger raised Mark's hand. "Looks normal. Feels like a fucking furnace."
Mark hesitated, then put his hand to the cut on Roger's lip. Roger jerked back, but Mark grabbed the back of his neck, holding him in place as he cupped his hand over Roger's mouth, and closed his eyes.
It almost felt like being abducted. Roger tried to back away, then felt himself falling, relaxing, only he was still standing. His head swam, and it was all he could do not to let himself sink, to land on the edge of the toilet seat. When Mark released him, that's exactly what he did.
Mark just looked at him, and slowly backed away. He turned and walked out without a word.
This prompted Roger to stand quickly and look at his reflection. There was a bright pink spot where the cut had been. Roger touched it, and instantly wondered if Mark could heal other wounds.
Deeper, sickly wounds.
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"You'd be surprised how many people would love to have your gift," Nate said quietly. He had appeared from nowhere in his uncanny way earlier that evening, seeming to know when he was needed. It had occurred to Mark that no one had a way to get in touch with the mysterious man, yet he always managed to show up in time to answer a question, or help one of them cope with a new skill. It took only once glance for Nate to ascertain what was bothering Mark, and Mark only had to hold up a hand to tell him exactly what the problem was. "This is instinctual. It branches out from your natural compassion that allows you to sense what you do about people. Now, focus."
Mark just stared.
"You're not focusing."
On the contrary, he was focused, incredibly focused. The wind that tore over the rooftop chilled him, but not as much as what just happened. "You – you just sliced your arm open!"
Nate rolled his eyes. "And it hurt like bloody hell!" he gritted. "Now fix it."
Mark felt something akin to panic. "Are you nuts? I-I can't! Wh– "
Nate snatched Mark's hand and placed it on the bleeding wound. "You can."
Mark breath caught in his throat as he tried to yank his hand back in disgust. "I don't know how to do this!"
"You've already done this! Just close your eyes. Tap into the Source. Picture the blood slowing, the skin healing." The voice would have been calm if not for masking the pain.
Mark fought to pull away, but Nate held him tightly. He felt the warm stickiness clotting underneath his fingers, and gagged, tugging. "No. No, I can't do this, don't make me do this," he said gutturally.
"Are you afraid?"
"No! It's not that. I think this is cool, I mean . . .I-I'm just not the right person for this." He still wanted desperately to pull away, but Nate wasn't letting him.
"Who would you recommend?"
"I don't know. Arnold Schwarzenegger?"
"He's not good enough."
Mark barked a laugh.
Nate sighed and squeezed Mark's hand onto his arm, wincing. He didn't look at the smaller man. His eyes roamed the city, the lights twinkling in the polluted haze below him. For a moment he looked older, the grey streaks in his hair standing out in the reflecting street lights. "You say you aren't the right person for this, showing me that you still do not understand. This is who you are. You have these abilities because of who you are. Why is that so difficult to comprehend?" There was no answer. "There are a lot of people out there counting on you, Mark."
"Don't say that."
"They're counting on all of you."
"But me in particular. Don't think I don't know. I've seen you watching me, I know that all this brow beating is for a reason. They always say the teachers rag on the kid with the most potential." He had stopped trying to pull away, albeit reluctantly, letting the warmth from his hand fill the wound.
"And here I thought you weren't much for stereotypes. That's the second time in this conversation you've referred to one."
"So I'm wrong?"
Nate smiled and returned his attention to the city below them. "No. You're correct, but not for the reason you think."
"Then why? What's going on?" Nate said nothing. He gently pried away Mark's grip and studied his healed flesh. He flexed his fingers, and turned to go, prompting an outburst from the frustrated man. "Dammit, can't you just tell me? For once, can't you just play this straight? I think I've earned that!"
Nate stopped. He pulled his shoulders back, and for a moment Mark thought he was going to get his way. "No," Nate said flatly, and walked on.
Mark gritted his teeth and turned angrily back to the distorted view below him, ignoring the drying blood on his hand.
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Benny walked into the office the next day, his suit feeling too tight over his squared shoulders. He rolled his neck from side to side, releasing the tension. He wasn't normally nervous about meetings, hell, half his workday was meeting with people, but for some reason this felt different. He took a deep, calming breath and opened the door, seeing four people push their chairs back and stand to greet him. He shook hands over the table, wondering if they sensed anything in his grip.
Nate had coached him about the power of influence. That it was in the eyes, in the confidence portrayed, and especially in a firm handshake. He always knew he could be persuasive. Now he seemed ready to conquer. All during the week he had sealed deals that would have seemed improbable, if not downright impossible, in the previous month. His bonus was assured, and then some, and he already knew how to spend it.
But now, he was nervous.
He met their eyes, kept his grip firm, and followed every hint of body language that Business-101 taught. He reached out from his fingers in an invisible wave and could feel the client's intention with each pump. All of these thoughts that raced through his head took place in the amount of time it took to shake four hands, and for the door to open and admit a fifth, and late, arrival.
Benny turned, and his stomach clenched. He had no idea why, and proceed to shake the fifth hand offered.
He felt nothing.
And suddenly he knew why he was nervous.
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"It was like the man had no soul," Benny explained later. He looked at Roger, who had snorted. "What?"
"I don't know, the whole 'no soul' thing seems a bit ripe, coming from you."
"What the hell?" Benny straightened from where he was leaning on Collins' kitchen counter.
"I'm just saying." Roger waved the expression away and leaned against the small breakfast bar, folding his arms. On the other side, Collins watched, saying nothing. His expression was one of tolerance, like watching the same temper tantrum from the same set of kids for the millionth time.
"You're just saying crap! You got a problem with me?"
"Should today be any different?"
Benny put his hands on his hips and stared Roger down. The other man didn't flinch. "You wanna explain that?"
Nate looked at Collins, who shrugged and stayed out of it.
"How can we trust you after what you did?"
"What?" Benny laughed. "Is this about that whole rent thing?"
"It's about the fact that you lied to us!"
"That-that was over a year ago! I had no choice! Besides who paid for Angel's funeral, huh? Who put Mimi in rehab? Who got her the best care after she fell ill?"
"Well of course you did it for her!"
"What about Angel's medical? Who took care of that?" He bowed up in Roger's face, nearly nose to nose, posturing. "Who kept you guys in that loft? Who's still fighting to keep you there?"
"What are you, martyr-man?"
"I'm saying this grudge you've been holding has gone on long enough!"
"He's right," Collins said.
Roger spun to him, and turned back to Benny as though uncertain who to attack. "Look, I"ll decide when it's time to end the grudge, all right?"
"That figures. It's all about you, anyway," Benny huffed.
"You betrayed us!"
"I saved you!" he yelled, jabbing his index finger painfully into Roger's chest. "You think for a moment that my ex-father-in-law cared if you got tossed out into the street? I saved your asses! And I paid for it! Besides, this isn't about that! This is you being scared because I can afford to take care of Mimi! I'm divorced, and you feel threatened."
"That's crap."
Benny stared him down, nose to nose. "You are a child," he said pointedly. "You've got so much crap inside that you don't know how to deal with, so you take it out on who you can. Even Mark's got past this. Why the hell can't you?"
"Because you were the one person I trusted, and you screwed me over!" Roger yelled at the top of his lungs. He was suddenly glad Mark wasn't around. Both Benny and Collins look startled.
"Me?" Benny asked, his voice lower.
Roger looked like he wanted to cry after his outburst. His hand waved about helplessly, and he let himself collapse back against the counter limply. "I know. Mark's my best friend, but at the time . . . I don't know. He'd do anything for me, and I didn't want that." Roger fought to explain as thought he didn't understand the reasoning himself. "I trusted him with my life, I still do, but you . . .you had this strength that I needed. During all that with April, her death, those few months after, you were the one that brought me down to earth. Mark was a shoulder to cry on. You were a rock. God, this sounds pathetic." He rubbed at his face. "Collins had gone. You were the one stable thing I had, and you turned on me." He sniffed, looking at the floor. "Happy now?"
"Why the hell didn't you say something?" Benny asked quietly.
"You had your new life. You had your girl, new money, people to impress. Why the fuck would you want to deal with me?"
"But it made you and Mark closer. He put up with a lot of crap through your withdrawl, you know, and he stayed with you. I didn't."
"And yet again, when I needed that rock I got nothing."
Benny looked like he'd been slapped. His face pulled back in a pained grimace. "I'm sorry, man. I had no idea."
"Yeah well, now you do." Roger was uncomfortable. He hazarded a glance at his old friend, wondering if they could become friends anew. Benny's hesitant, then sudden embrace answered that question for him.
"Take more time, if you need to," he muttered, "but know I'm here for you. I never left."
Roger merely nodded into his shoulder.
Collins straightened, blinking in astonishment at the display. "Daaaamn," he said, and the two men instantly parted. "I need to get me someone to bitch about for a year."
Nate took that moment to calmly walk up to them. "Finished?" he asked. He waited until two sets of eyes settled on his. "Good. We've got work to do." Nate pulled out a map of the city and spread it on the table. "These areas that are marked in red are places where, in past years, the same ancient designs that are on this artifact we found. I think it signifies a power vortex."
"A what?" Roger asked, allowing one more sniff as he tried to refocus. He felt better, but very embarrassed.
"A place where power can be channeled," Collins supplied. "Sometimes it can be used to open a portal to another dimension." Roger stared at him. "What? I've been reading."
"Only in this case," Nate added, "we're not talking about a portal, but more of a power map. These places were once thought to be natural veins, so to speak, for power to travel, similar to ley lines." He pulled out a black marker and started to connect the sites. "The Museum of Natural History," he crossed town, "this small park, there are a lot of old trees there. . ."
"That's hardly a park."
"It's trees and a bench. It qualifies," Nate muttered. He continued to draw lines, going from old churches to bars in dilapidated alleyways. The lines merged, then pointed to a spot just outside the city. "Here." He dotted the spot with a loud thump of his marker. "This is it."
Benny leaned over and studied the map. He looked up. "This is what?"
"This is where it should be." Nate pulled out the small ceramic piece he held. "This is where we will find the rest of this."
Collins straightened from his own examination of the map. He took the small ceramic piece and looked at it. "You want us to go out there and look for a pot?"
"It holds substantial power."
"Not if it's busted," Collins chuckled.
"Buddy," Benny gestured to his friends, "we got power already. What do we want with more?"
"Do you remember that man you met? The man with no soul?" Nate nodded at Benny's stricken expression. "That's why we have to find this. They want it, too. Get Mark, and go there. Tonight."
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"This is insane. How the hell are we supposed to find a pot in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night?" Benny cursed as he jerked the Rover around a corner and onto a highway exiting the city.
"This is hardly the middle of nowhere," Mark muttered, angling the map in the small beam provided by Roger's flashlight. "The middle of nowhere would be like . . .Oklahoma or something."
"It's a field. There are no buildings. It's the middle of nowhere."
"You grew up in the city, didn't you?" Benny didn't respond, he just turned up the heat in the Rover.
Roger was feeling carsick, facing the back. He passed the light to Collins and returned his sight to the road ahead, easing his queasy stomach. "What are we supposed to do with this thing, anyway?"
"Give it to Nate and forget any of this ever happened?" Collins offered as he took over lighting the map.
"I don't know, I kinda like having this. . .power." Benny shrugged. "Damned convenient at work."
"For me too," Collins admitted. "Just saying it ain't natural."
"What's natural?" Mark asked, provoking a groan from Roger in the front seat.
"Don't get him started," he said.
"Who?" Benny frowned.
"Either one of them. Mark'll start in on his inability to film reality and Collins will go in on his theory that reality isn't what we make of it but is a series of coincidence that combine to influence our way of thinking." There was silence in the Rover. Roger noticed, and shrank into himself.
"So . . .we should be there in about ten minutes," Mark said, still looking at Roger.
"Provided this place exists," Collins added.
"Oh, cut it out," Roger muttered.
It was, in fact, fifteen more minutes before they reached the pull-off. Roger though it was damned convenient that there was a pull-off, then cursed himself, determined not to say anything in light of their previous conversation. He opened the glove box and pulled out Benny's flashlight. Collins handed Roger's back to him.
They exited the Rover and found themselves lighting up a small field with trees stretching into a semi circle further from the road. Mark crackled the map down into a fold, smoothing the crease as he took in the area. "So, what, we just look now?"
"How the hell?" Roger swept his beam over the area. The grass was grown nearly as high as their knees, and looked mashed down in places. "He can't be serious."
"Not gonna be easy," Benny agreed, shining his light over the space. "But we're not gonna find it standing here. Pair off. You and Mark, me and Collins."
Roger glanced back at Mark. The teams split and headed to either side of the clearing.
"Watch for ant beds," Mark said, gingerly stepping through the grass.
"Yeah, great, thanks," Roger sighed. "That's what I need, to be eaten alive by killer ants."
"Not killer. Not to me, anyway." He wondered vaguely if Roger's medical condition would worsen if he were allergic to bites.
Roger's next comment brought him to a heart-stopping halt. "Course I guess you could just heal me."
Mark didn't move. The taboo subject had been approached. Roger pressed on for several yards before realizing he wasn't being followed. He shone the beam at Mark, careful to keep it out of his face. "What is it?"
"What did you just say?" His voice trembled.
Roger frowned and walked back to him. "I said you could just heal me. The bites."
"Oh." He felt like his insides crumbled.
Roger squinted at him. "What did you think I meant?"
"I – I thought . . ."
"You thought I meant my HIV, didn't you?"
"Did you?" Mark's voice was small.
Roger said nothing. His chest hurt like a thousand pound weight was on it. "Yeah," he said softly, "I think I did."
Mark exhaled forcefully, his shoulders slumped. He searched the ground for support, and knew he wouldn't find any. "Roger, god I – Jesus. I don't know."
"I know."
"I mean I . . ."
"I know! Forget it."
"No!" He reached out and grabbed Roger's arm. "Listen to me. I thought about it. Shit, ever since you showed me my reflection in the mirror, you know what my first thought was after I saw that my cut was healing? It was that I could take this from you. I want nothing more."
"Then what's stopping you?" Roger asked tightly.
Mark was breathing heavily. "I can't do it." His voice broke. "I tried to. I swear I tried to . . .but it didn't work."
Roger's chest pain grew. "What do you mean, you tried?"
"I didn't want to tell you, because I couldn't do it. I don't know why. Maybe that takes a different kind of healing, not like a wound. I – fuck I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!" Mark broke completely at the despair he saw in his friend's eyes.
Roger said nothing. He just held his friend loosely as he fought to hold back his own tears. He had hoped. He had hoped so damn hard.
Mark sniffed. "We should get moving."
"Yeah." Roger slowly released him, and composed himself, giving Mark a chance to do the same. He was aware of a warmth between them, like a barrier had been crossed. There was suddenly no doubt in his mind that he would do anything for his friend, and that his friend would so anything for him. The tensions that had built up over the past two years suddenly eased. In that moment, all was forgiven, the shit with Mark, with Benny, even the fear and regret over April and Mimi. He suddenly felt lighter, boundless, and his energy seemed limitless. Screw his illness. It made him what he was . . .a fighter. The realization nearly made him laugh, and he could sense Mark's confusion. "Forget it. Let's go." He threw an arm over Mark's shoulder. It was apparent that he felt the change as well, because he didn't flinch. Roger pulled him into a one-sided hug and released him, increasing his steps. "Come on, we're falling down on the job."
"Right." Mark refocused, eyeing the flat spots. They seemed to make a dizzying trail. His eyes followed the curves as they walked on.
"Benny!" Roger called out. "No luck?"
"No," he called back, "just out here freezing my ass off!" Roger chuckled and kept walking.
Mark has stopped again. His vision adjusted to the dark as the light bobbed on ahead of him. He felt something, a surge of energy, almost excitement. "Guys, turn off your lights," he called out.
"What?"
"Turn off the lights!" They did so, mumbling in the distance. Mark nodded and chose a flat path, and followed it. "Look, find a path where the grass is mashed down. Follow it. Each of you start at a different spot." He heard more mumbling, questioning, and ignored it. He followed his own path, and they followed theirs.
They merged in the center of the field. Collins looked up. "I'll be damned." His sight now adjusted, he took in the area.
Mark nodded, backing down his path. He spied a tree in the distance with branches low to the ground, ran toward it, and started to climb. The others stayed in their spots, waiting for the revelation that they knew was coming. And Mark gave it to them.
"It's a spiral. Like what's on that ceramic. It's the exact same pattern!"
"I'll be damned," Collins muttered. He laughed.
Roger smiled. They'd found it, but had no idea what finding it meant. He looked back to where Mark was, turning on his light and shining his beam toward him.
It caught a pair of unfamiliar eyes in the distance, crouched low, watching them.
Roger yelled out, hearing Mark do the same as his senses suddenly kicked into overload. "Everyone back to the car!"
Men ran at them from all corners. Roger crouched, ready, hearing the angry shouts, pushing Benny and Collins away from him and toward the Rover. "Get out of here, now!"
"Shit!" Collins yelled, seeing the men, seeing Roger prepare himself, seeing Mark stuck in the tree with a man climbing for him. The car would have to wait. He ran for the tree as Mark kicked out in self defense.
Benny was knocked to the ground before he'd realized their attackers had closed in. He fought back, years of fighting for his life in the gutters kicking in. Even so, it was the first time he'd seen Roger fight, and he took pause.
The man was a natural, and a blur. There was no point in following the actions, or even worrying about him. He was more than holding his own. He threw off the man holding him, saw Collins being attacked under Mark's tree, and Mark being pulled from a branch. He ran to them.
Roger fought without thinking, without planning, just letting his body take over, the same body that seemed so intent on giving out on him. But not now. Now it was fluid, well, strong, and hell-bent on rescue. He downed man after man, fists flying, his kicks knocking jaws loose. He saw the other three struggling, saw one man trying to pull Mark into the darkness of the treeline, and something inside him broke.
With a raging cry, he went berserk.
No one could say later exactly what had happened, or why. But within minutes the men that could still stand were running, Collins and Benny were leaning against each other, gasping, stricken by what they saw. Mark was on the ground, regaining his breath, his eyes bright and lit from within. He actually scurried backwards as Roger approached him, and it was enough to make Roger hesitate before hauling his friend to his feet. "You guys okay?"
"Wh-what the fuck was that shit?" Benny breathed.
"Me getting pissed because someone was messing with the wrong people," he said calmly, watching Mark regain his equilibrium. "You okay? You're eyes are funny."
Collins and Benny looked at him, wincing. "He's right," Collins said, taking a step forward. "They look almost . . .silver."
"It's the dark," Mark said quickly. "Let's go before those guys decide they want to come back."
The others agreed and hurried to the Rover. Collins shoved Mark in as Benny started the engine. "I'll tell you this," Benny said hurriedly, "those guys were like that one I shook hands with that day. I knew it when I touched them."
"Souless?" Roger asked.
"Uh-huh. Like the devil himself."
"I don't need to know that," Mark said. "Really don't need to know that." Benny pulled out onto the road and floored it.
"Bet Nate'll be happy to hear about this," Benny continued.
"What?" Roger asked beside him. "That we found a fucking crop circle? He'll be overjoyed."
"It's something!"
"It's not a pot."
"Maybe it's not supposed to be a pot!"
"Then where the hell did the ceramic piece come from?" Roger shouted.
"Hell if I know!" Benny shouted back. "I just know it has a spiral, that damn piece that Nate won't part with has a spiral on it, and he should know!"
"Fine, you tell him! Tell him we had a sign and we smashed it to bits fighting on it!"
"Step on it, man, there's someone behind us," Collins said suddenly.
"What?"
"Just go! Go, go, go!" he yelled, and Benny stepped on the gas.
The black Rover tore off into the night on a road that should have been much busier than it was, heading back to the city lights in the far, far distance. The car behind them laid on the gas, and bumped them.
"Shit!" Benny swerved. "No he didn't!"
"He did, man, now floor it!" Collins darted a glance behind him. Mark pulled forward and clutched the back of Benny seat, as though the few inches spared would save his life. Frightened eyes jerked from the car behind them to the road before them. The car bumped them again, harder this time, and he slammed into the seat that was supposed to protect him.
"Fuck!" Roger's hand flew to his head, cradling where he had smashed it against the dash board. He wrestled with his seat belt, struggling to fasten it.
"Where are they? I can't see them!" Benny yelled, looking into his rearview mirror.
"Oh, they're there!" Collins said.
"Where?"
"Behind us, just go!"
Seventy-five, eighty, ninety miles an hour and the Rover was humming. A bump in just the right spot would send them flying in a way they didn't want to go. Just on the edge. . .and that bump came, and they spun, and flipped.
Air and land became one, all surrounded by black metal as the vehicle stopped flipping and screeched across the pavement, landing upside down in a ditch, smashed. The wheels spun and smelled burned. Steam poured from the hood. The car that caused the wreck had skidded to a stop; now it pressed on, seeing no movements from inside. But they didn't wait long enough.
A window busted out. Roger's heavy boot was exposed and disappeared, followed by his head as he forced himself out of a small, crushed hole. He rolled onto the ground, shaking, aching, bleeding. There was a sound of coughing from inside, a groan, followed by another and some cursing. Roger winced, half on his back, half on his side, his bloodied hands held in front of his face. He didn't want to move, he couldn't, everything screamed out pain. He watched as a dark hand stretched out from the window. "Benny?" he coughed. "That you?"
The fingers splayed, then curled. There was another loud cough, and a full arm wrapped around the edge of the door, pulling out a thick body. Benny managed to upright himself before leaning over and vomiting.
Shit. That wasn't good. Roger could only blink at him, his hands still held before him, his body feeling colder and colder by the minute. "Benny?" His friend slowly raised a hand, staying any further questioning. Again he heard noises from inside, voices, two of them, talking lowly. "Mark?" he tried calling out. "Collins. You guys okay?" His body racked with coughs, and he moaned loudly, unable to stop trembling, every movement tearing through him like knives. "Fuck. Mark? Can you – can you h . . ." he coughed again, and felt someone at his side.
"Easy." Benny was leaning him over so that he could get some air.
"Bleeding," Roger warned.
"Roger, I see that, you don't have to announce every time it happens." Benny coughed again himself, squeezing Roger's arm hard as he did so. "You okay?"
"I – I don't know." Not really. No.
"Hang on. I gotta . . ."
"The others. . ."
"I know." Benny half-staggered back to the demolished vehicle and knelt down, looking inside. Roger could hear more words though he couldn't make them out, and another dark hand emerged. Benny grasped it, and within minutes Collins was lying on the ground, on his back, dazed and unwilling to move. Roger managed to push himself onto one elbow as he waited, and finally a pale hand showed. Mark was pulled out easily, looking well shocked, but none the worse for wear.
Thank god. Roger fell back, and blacked out.
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He woke to a halo of red and blue flashing lights, the white lights steadily lighting the path they'd tumbled from. The Rover shadowed him. He heard voices, heard his name, was aware of someone messing with his hands and his head, felt the pain smashing into his senses, forcing him to take notice. He blinked, wincing, wanting to go back to sleep but the pain was too much. He gasped himself awake, suddenly much more aware than he wanted to be. "Fuck!"
"Sorry." The paramedic almost looked sympathetic, as much as they were allowed to. "Can you tell me your name?"
Roger widened his eyes, forcing his vision to cooperate. "R- Roger Davis," he said between breaths.
"Date of birth?"
"Uh, October twentieth, nineteen-seventy." He yelped in pain. His head jerked up accusingly.
"Easy, almost done here. Do you remember what happened?"
"Rear-ended. . . ." he muttered, trying to relax, resting his head against the ground.
That was all he was asked. He heard words tossed around like, "too fast", "not drunk", "damn reckless" and knew deep in his gut that Benny was in for it. He wasn't sure money would get him out of the inquiry he'd face, and for a panicked moment, he wondered what the proud man would tell the cops. The thought made him raise his head again. "My friends . . ."
"They're being treated. You and mister tough guy over there got the worst of it." The paramedic cocked his head toward the ambulance. "He usually use language like that?"
"Which?"
"The driver."
Roger just snorted painfully and rested his head once again.
The paramedic clapped him on the shoulder. "Can you sit up?" An arm was curled behind him, and Roger felt himself pulled upright. Nausea swam threateningly, his vision blurred. Gingerly, he reached up and tapped the bandage on his head with his thumb. "I – I got HIV, did you get blood on you?" He forced himself to meet the paramedic's eyes.
He held up gloved hands. "We take precautions, and your friend over there told us. He was sitting beside you, wouldn't shut up. Had to practically carry him to the back to check him out."
"Mark?"
"Blond guy? Yeah, that's him."
Roger grinned, then laughed the best laugh he'd felt in a while.
