Hello, again! I've tried to make this a quick update. Like I said before, this chapter's pretty long, and I invested quite a bit of time into it, so I hope you enjoy and leave some feedback! Also, I've highlighted my favorite lines again in bold - I think I'm going to start doing that for the rest of the story!
CHARLIE
We've run straight into the middle of a full-on bloodbath.
Machine gun bullets pound repeatedly into the earth, spraying up plumes of dirt and blood. Weapons are blazing, smoke infusing the air with an acrid, metallic taste, and glass shatters in buildings, cars, street lights, you name it. People scream and scream and scream, their dying shrieks mixed in with the sound of heavy artillery at work.
Everything is chaos and mayhem and pure pandemonium.
I'm so very tired, yet my heart betrays me by racing, pumping adrenaline through my veins. My trembling arms ache from supporting my own relatively small gun, yet I continue to aim and pull the trigger anytime someone gets too close. The fear within me escalates into full-blown terror the longer I stay hidden, crouching and panicked, yet I manage to swallow most of it down and keep an intense focus on our enemies.
Beside me, Aaron shakes and heaves with dramatic, gasping breaths. His white-knuckled hands grip a dusty semi-automatic with barely concealed alarm. Still further back, and several feet to the left, my mother and Nora crouch, eyes skimming every so often over the pile of junk they're hiding behind. Miles is somewhere out there amid the smoke and bullets and dying (or dead) bodies. He's fighting back on the front lines, recklessly throwing himself in front of the people he's trying to protect, just as he's always done during desperate times…
…while I cower here, too afraid to move out into the open. I am still afraid of death, and even more so of pain.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tom Neville sprint to the safety of an armored truck that could pass, if you're a little imaginative, as a makeshift tank. Tropes of soldiers jog one way and then the other, always in tight formation despite the immediate danger at hand. Every so often one of them will be struck in the leg or hip with a bullet, and down he'll go. His comrades won't slow, and the injured man won't yell out for help. He'll succumb to death in silence. My throat tightens with dread every time I'm forced to watch this play out in the open Texan desert.
Somewhere out there is our worst nightmare, the man who's responsible for so many deaths and so many tragedies that it's a wonder he still calls himself human. Somewhere out there stands Sebastian Monroe, general and president to the formidable Monroe Republic. These are his men, wielding his weapons, wearing his uniforms, and sooner or later, winning this battle. For him.
Needless to say, things aren't looking so great for Matheson and Co.
For one, we've been separated. I'm stuck with Aaron, who doesn't appear to be a major help, and we're much closer to the action than I'd like to be. Nora and my mother are trapped a dozen feet behind us, and they can't move toward us or out of range without risking the damage of a stray bullet. Miles is alone in the midst of battle, and Danny is hopefully inside the building behind us, where I told him to stay.
Even so, despite our predicament, everything seems to be going okay, at least for the moment… and by "okay," I mean "not as bad as it could be, which is very, very bad."
That is, until Miles introduces the rocket launcher.
When I catch my first glimpse of it, my body reacts in a strange way. It starts in my head: a low buzzing. My throat tightens and the tips of my fingers go numb. My stomach roils like my intestines are squeezing together. I look around, and everything is suddenly so obnoxiously vivid that focusing on one object for too long sears my eyes. I hear my pulse pounding away in my temples. My mind blanks.
Dread. What I'm feeling is pure, unadulterated dread.
I see Miles standing with the rocket launcher, stationed between two large, broken pillars. He hefts it over his shoulder, adjusting its position for a more accurate aim. I see my mother watching him, wide-eyed, and I see several expressions explode across Nora's face. I see Aaron gasp and cringe away, even as he tries to get a good view of what's about to go down. I see Tom Neville swivel his head in my uncle's direction, his already narrowed eyes squinting further as he strains to get a decent look at the monstrous weapon. I see my brother, watching this unfold from deep within a wrecked building, and I can't help but feel an urgent need to get him away from here. Not just "here" as in the middle of a deserted town, but "here" as in this whole situation. I need to protect him, and I'm not doing such a great job. I'm worried that one day, I may fail him.
I'm just hoping that day won't be today.
"Let's go!" my mother shouts, her voice barely distinguishable above the loud booms and crashes of the war unfolding around us. "We need to get out of range!"
Nora takes point as I grab Aaron's arm and race behind her, gesturing for my mother to follow. "We need to head into that building! That's where I told Dan –"
A massive vibration moves through the earth, and I struggle to stay on my feet as the world tilts.
Aaron staggers to his knees. "What the hell?"
Nora shields her eyes with her hands, searching for the cause, and then yells, "Over there! We need to get out of here now!" Following her finger, which points somewhere over my shoulder, I glance behind me and see that a large military helicopter has approached the scene. It has apparently let loose a miniature bomb of some sort, which caused an explosion that's destroyed most of our meager defenses. The Republic's frontmen surge forward, emerging through the smoke like mindless drones.
"Nora's right," my mother says, her mouth brushing my ear so that I can hear her clearly. "We've got to leave. I'm sure Miles will find us at a rendezvous –" She suddenly stops talking, jerking her head one way and then the other, her eyes widening. "Get down!"
I don't question her strange change in behavior; I just do as she says and throw myself to the dirt. I hear a loud whining noise zip over my head, and then the building fifty feet away from us explodes. Flames burst from ruptured gas tanks, searing through broken pieces of cement. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the whole structure implode.
"Danny!" My brother's name rips from my throat, and a spear of agony pierces my heart. I'm shaking so hard I can't get to my feet without Aaron's help.
Somehow, through the chaos, my mother has heard me, and her face pales to a deathly shade of white. Aaron, who's breathing even more laboriously than before, says, "I'm sure he's fine, Charlie. He might've been watching from –"
"Why would he be stupid enough to stand near the windows?" I shout, feeling insanely frustrated. We don't have time for this. "I need to see if he's okay. I need to –"
My entire body goes slack when I spot a slim form zigzagging through the carnage. He leaps over several twisted poles, his shaggy blonde hair flying wildly around his head. His cheeks shine with a bright red hue, from a combination of exertion and adrenaline, I assume.
"I'm alright!" he yells once he's within shouting distance.
I throw my arms around his broad shoulders. "Danny! Thank god." I pull away for a moment and smile widely with relief. "For once, I'm glad you didn't listen to me."
He pretends to be shocked. "That's the first and probably only time I'm going to here you say that," he remarks with a smile just as big.
"Okay, guys, I really hate to interrupt, but we need to get a move on," Aaron says, his eyes moving again and again to the battle still raging relentlessly on.
"Right," I say breathlessly, checking to make sure everyone's here and accounted for. "Ready?"
My mother nods, but before any of us can actually start to move, Miles appears, bounding over a huge hunk of charred metal, dreaded rocket launcher in hand. "Hey, guys," he huffs irritably, "hate to break up the party, but looks like Monroe's got more of those 'copters on the way."
"You only need to take down one," my mom reminds him, pointing at the helicopter that first flew into sight. "Our best bet is that one over there. Above the tank."
Miles nods, adjusting the launcher on his shoulder. "Okay. Everyone…back up a little, give me some space. I only have one shot at this and I'm not going to screw it up."
"You better not," Aaron grumbles under his breath, wincing a little as he limps out of the way.
"Here goes nothing," my uncle mutters, aligning the helicopter in the rocket launcher's sights.
Nora, my mother, Aaron, and Danny and I wait several paces back, anxiously scanning the area for threats. If anyone comes too close, or spies what Miles is up to, it'll be our job to make sure that information is destroyed and the messenger is silenced. Permanently.
The marked helicopter rises above the collapsed buildings, and it suddenly becomes visible through the gray smoke thickening the air like a submarine surfacing out of water. I hear Miles inhale as he shifts the rocket launcher into its final position.
And I hear him exhale in a rush as a second helicopter breaks free of the smoke on our right.
My mother gasps and gestures frantically for everyone to get out of sight. I drag Danny down beside me, my eyes swiveling back and forth between the two helicopters. My stomach has once again jumped into my throat, clogging it with dread and panic. Nora clutches her gun against her chest while the whites of Aaron's eyes show, evidence of his terror.
Miles examines the situation in a split second, deciding which course of action is best to take, and then he inhales and exhales in a sudden burst, pulling the trigger while simultaneously aiming.
Thankfully, Miles has had so much practice with shooting down targets that at this stage his accuracy is like second nature. The rocket explodes from the launcher itself and soars directly into the underbelly of the helicopter. The entire contraption ignites like an orangey-gray sun, blowing up in one giant, soundless blast. The pressure, however, is another story. Danny instinctively claps his hands to his head, and Nora screams, taken aback by the painful assault on her ears. My mother grits her teeth while Aaron appears to have fallen over in a dead faint. Miles watches the entire scene rapturously, the empty launcher dangling from his limp hand.
I swallow and open my mouth to tell everyone to stop gaping and get a move on, but it's at that moment that I remember the other helicopter. My eyes bulge from their sockets as I immediately adjust my words into a scream, but it's too late. Tiny little rocket-like grenades burst along the ground right in front of us, in a line that effectively cuts us off from the remainder of the Republic's forces. I lurch backwards, rolling in the dirt to put as much distance between me and the grenades as possible, and I watch as Miles is flung against our twisted metal barricade, his arm bending unnaturally beneath him.
I roll to a stop, coughing up dust, and look around from my new position. At this vantage point, I can't see Nora, Aaron, or my mother, but I see that Danny's body has been tossed two dozen feet away. He's sprawled facedown amid the wreckage, limp and unmoving. A shriek starts in my throat, and I push myself to my knees, half-dragging and half-staggering over to him.
I'm a little more than two-thirds of the way there when the smoke surrounding my brother clears…and I see who's standing above him. The black boots come into view first, originally shiny but now coated with a new layer of dust. Then there's the black military-issued pants and cuff-linked coat, decorated with stars and other gold and silver jewels. There's a sleek black gun in his hand, and a pretentious smirk on his lips, and it's all I can do to keep from screaming in despair.
Because I know who that is. That's General Sebastian Monroe, and he's holding a weapon. He has a gun in his hands and my unconscious brother at his feet, and all the signs say that this isn't going to end well.
Despite the threat that lies ahead, I continue to stumble towards them, desperate in my determination to reach Danny before anything happens to him, and nothing will happen to him because I'm coming, I'm running to him, I'm going to stop whatever Monroe might have planned, and I'll take Danny away to some safe place where we won't ever have to worry about bad men and women hurting either one of us again.
Danny's head lifts, and Monroe reaches down, dragging him to his knees, without ever taking his eyes from mine. I'm gasping for breath, straining for my brother with my body and mind, and yet I am still too out of reach, I am still too damn far, I will never get to him in time, I –
"I think that's close enough, Charlie." His voice is like chocolate and velvet and thunder all rolled in to one. I stumble to a halt, staring at him with wide, deer-in-headlight eyes. I will do whatever he says. Whatever, whenever. Just as long as he doesn't hurt Danny.
"Don't do anything to him," I say, my own voice tremulous and not nearly as stern as I would like.
"Oh, trust me, Charlie, that's certainly not on my agenda. In fact," he adds, his blue eyes narrowing, "what happens to him is entirely up to you."
"What do you mean?" I'm confused. Is this a trick? Could I be hallucinating? Most important of all, why is the general of the Monroe Republic talking to me like we're long-time friends?
He gifts me with a charming smile. "I'll let your brother go, unharmed…"
Go on! Ask me! Anything, I'll give you anything! I scream internally, desperate, pleading.
"If you let me touch you."
My mind stalls, as do my thoughts, and I stare at him for the longest time, uncomprehending. This doesn't make sense. Touch me? We're in the midst of a battle, for Pete's sake! Does he have some ulterior motive for asking this of me? Will he somehow implant a tiny microscopic chip into my skin so that I'll unwittingly lead him back to rebel headquarters?
My questions are endless, but I know that stalling for time is a very unwise move to make. Monroe's obviously expecting an answer, and really, with Danny at his mercy, what can I do other than agree?
"Okay," I say slowly. "If I let you touch me, Danny goes free."
He nods once, firmly, decisively, in agreement.
I inhale deeply, wondering where Miles and my mother are, and what they'd think if they could see this. For a second I entertain the notion that they're actually witnessing all of it and will come charging out to put a stop to Monroe's shenanigans any moment now. But when a few seconds, and then a full minute, pass, and there's still no sign of an avenging Miles Matheson, I resign myself to my unfortunate fate.
I step forward cautiously, aware that I'm about to place myself in a very vulnerable position. But then I remember – this is for Danny. This is to ensure Danny's freedom and safety. I can do this. I can make this one sacrifice. Having Monroe's rough hands on my bare skin isn't going to kill me – though it might traumatize me for life.
I skirt around Danny, giving him a wide birth, hoping that he won't be subjected to this unseemly sight. Please let him still be unconscious. I don't want him to be even more frightened, especially not for my sake. I can handle this. I can do what needs doing. He just has to stay out of the way and keep his mouth shut. We'll both come out of this alive if he justremains invisible.
"There we are," Monroe says softly once I'm standing two feet away. He examines my face, scouring every inch of it with his sickly blue eyes. He moves his arms, and it takes everything I have not to flinch away. The second our bare skin touches, I grit my teeth.
The general rubs his hands up and down my arms, bringing up goosebumps in their wake. He touches my exposed shoulders, the slender bump of my collarbone, and then presses his palms against my chest. The heat emanating from them is so intense I have to focus on drawing oxygen into my lungs so that I don't suffocate. We are still skin-to-bare-skin, and he's staring intently into my eyes. I'm not sure if he's searching for something or merely watching my reaction, but I don't allow myself to wonder for long.
Monroe moves closer, eliminating the distance between us. Our lips are inches apart. He smiles as his eyes slink down to my mouth. "I'm so glad you're not injured," he whispers, and then he presses his lips to mine.
Instantly, I'm transported into an alternate universe, one where kissing General Sebastian Monroe is an actual, real-life possibility. His lips are comfortably warm, and his hands roam to my back, pulling at my waist. He breathes me in, even as he tastes my lips again and again. Tangling in my hair, one of his hands maintains a tight grip, allowing me no room to back away. His other hand massages my hip, and, moaning, he parts my lips with his tongue, sucking on my lower lip.
I'm captivated. I'm enthralled.
I think I'm in love.
At once, I return to myself and reality. I return to a universe where kissing or even touching a man like Sebastian Monroe is as despicable as killing a school bus full of children. It is a disgusting act of treason. I shove him away from me, gasping so harshly for breath that I feel like I'm screaming.
Monroe stares at me with wide, perplexed eyes.
"Stop," I wheeze. "That's not part of our deal. A kiss wasn't what we agreed on. Let alone –"
"A kiss like that?" he finishes, smiling wickedly. "Oh, but Charlie, we can do so much more." He reaches for me, but I swat his hand away.
"Don't touch me!" I cry hoarsely. "You've done enough of that."
His easy expression shifts into one of outright rage, and, throwing me a hard look, he abruptly turns on his heel, dragging Danny up out of the dirt where he has collapsed…again. Pressing his sleek gun to my brother's head, he says, "Don't think I won't do it."
My eyes flicker in shock. "What are you doing? I did what you asked! You said you'd let him go."
"Yes, Charlie, I agreed to let Daniel go free if you let me touch you…but I did not specify in what ways I could touch you, or how much, or where."
Understanding slaps me like a frigid wind. He never meant for Danny to survive this. He wanted me, and he knew I would give him what he wanted as long as he had Danny in his grip. Monroe couldn't care less about what happens to him, but he knows I do. The sadistic bastard used my brother as leverage against me until he got what he wanted.
Well, in the end, he got half of what he wanted, but that's apparently good enough. Now he's going to eliminate Danny altogether.
"No," I whisper. "No, you can't. You said –"
"I know what I said, Charlotte," Monroe replies gently. "But you didn't fulfill your end of the bargain. Maybe once we get this pesky child out of the way, we can –"
"NO!" I scream, lurching forward. "Don't hurt him, you can't –"
"Too late," he says mildly, and pulls the trigger without looking.
The bullet passes through Danny's head, spraying brain matter and other bodily fluids as it exits out the other side, and I feel myself falling down a dark, empty hole where nothing can touch me, least of all General Sebastian Monroe.
"I will have you to myself if it's the last thing I do," I hear him say before I disappear entirely.
CHARLIE
I wake with a scream caught in my throat.
Shaking with fear and a haunting sense of pain, I sit up, rubbing a hand across my sweaty forehead. My whole body is on fire, glistening with perspiration. A heavy blanket I don't remember sleeping under is twisted around my legs, and my hair is matted to one side of my head. I swallow, my dry throat clicking, and glance at Monroe, who's still asleep. He looks peaceful and undisturbed, his left hand tucked into my lap.
As the last remnants of my horrible nightmare dissipate, I realize that it's very early in the morning. I assume it must be a little before dawn, as the sky's not fully dark anymore nor fully light either. I'm surprised that Monroe hasn't awakened yet; he's usually a light sleeper, and we seem to have been sleeping exceptionally close. My heartbeat slows while I lower myself back into my nest of pillows. Trying to get comfortable, I turn my head and silently scrutinize Monroe.
He's asleep on his side, and I'm so near him that I can see the faint blue veins on the backs of his eyelids. His breath fans across my cheek, and the rise and fall of his chest is even and unhindered. He must either be dreaming good dreams, or not dreaming at all.
I try not to think about the nightmare, but it keeps popping up no matter how intensely I ignore it. A situation arose a little more than a year ago that was almost identical to the one that played out in my dream. However, the ending had a much different outcome. I hadn't come into contact with Monroe at all, and we certainly hadn't…kissed like that. Danny died as a result of that mission, but not at Monroe's hand. The second helicopter shot him to death right after Danny destroyed the one holding my mother's stolen amplifier.
The question that I don't have an answer to is this: what possessed my subconscious mind to dream up a scenario like that? Is this just another side effect of my worsening infection? Does it have something to do with Monroe, now that we seem to be growing more intimate? Or maybe the emotional pain I experienced over Danny's death still lingers in my mind, unwilling to be put to rest. Whatever it is, that dream has shaken me. Tremendously.
But it was a nightmare. That's all. Nothing more than a silly, feverish nightmare.
My eyes droop shut. The adrenaline I felt as an effect of my nightmare is already wearing down. Turning on my side so that I face Monroe, I snuggle under the pile of blankets and pillows, watching his face as my body succumbs to sleep yet again. Sighing drowsily, I wonder if I'll even remember the nightmare in the morning. I really hope not. Lately I've become extremely susceptible to Monroe's kisses, and I would be lying if I said I hated them.
Before I allow myself to fall back into dreamland – or nightmare-land, in this case – I lean forward and gently press my lips to Monroe's. He stirs slightly, murmuring something I can't quite make out, a quick smile passing over his parted lips.
I sigh a second time, shut my eyes, and focus on ignoring Danny's brain matter splattering again and again and again as the scene plays in an endless loop across the backs of my closed eyelids.