"It'll be okay, Church. I know you didn't mean it."
My name is Leonard L. Church Jr. (please, for the love of god, call me Church), I'm named after an asshole, and my life sucks.
No, it really does.
Not only was I practically disowned by my own father, but I couldn't even figure out how to use a fucking sniper rifle when my sister literally took me by the hands and showed me how, like I was some goddamn baby and not her older brother. I could never compete with my younger siblings' proficiency with hand-to-hand combat, knives, pistols, and whatever else was needed to be considered fucking useful in my fucked up military family, the head of said military family also happening to be an incredibly intelligent, douchebag director of a top secret branch of the military.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a smart guy, fuck yeah I am, but I could never fucking compete, wasn't even in the goddamn race.
I often look back to my fucking stupid younger self and think about all those nights of staying up late, of wanting to tug my fucking hair out as I read, of cursing whoever made physiology, anatomy, psychology, and any other fucking -ology, before slamming my book closed and wanting to beat my head against a wall. I could just never come close to what my siblings' could do on the battlefield, but if I could just outshine them at one fucking thing...
Too bad no matter what I did, I was never fucking good enough, so when dear daddy started up his project, my siblings were chosen as soldiers.
And what happened to me? I was chosen as a goddamn lab rat ("not a lab rat," The Councilor had tried to soothe in that infuriatingly calm voice of his, "an intern." Yeah-fucking-right. I wasn't stupid. I knew The Director played loosely with rules and certainly wasn't the most ethical motherfucker around, so I knew one day I would be the one with a needle shoved up my ass).
But still, lab rat (intern, whatever) or not, it wasn't as if me and my siblings had been dragged, kicking and screaming, there in the first place, no. It was almost expected of us to follow dear daddy's path, given who the man was and all. And it wasn't as if it was a bad choice to go, it was actually a pretty sweet deal. We were practically guaranteed jobs and, in an age where more kids were getting handed battle riffles than books, joining the army was almost a no-brainer.
Damn, what a fucking mistake all of that was. I remember wondering what it would be like to go to college, if it would have been just like TV with Frat Boys getting drunk and making slip-and-slides out of garbage bags. I often wondered if I would have been the one to suggest to the most drunken fucker that, nah, of course it's a good idea to try and do a keg stand on the roof, what's the worst that can happen?
Instead, all I got were The Director's disappointed stares, his speeches of what it meant to be a Church, of the expectations of what that meant for all of them, of him pushing down his black framed glasses, glaring down his nose. There would be no failures, no inadequacy, only results.
And I was tired, so tired of being seen as worthless. I know I had a big ego (most of the Church's seeming to have that particular trait), so every time each set of the lab results were turned in, each time I gave a project demonstration, and each fucking time he said, "not good enough, run the tests again," made me just want to get something right, for once.
But my stupid fucking pride took a beating when I was demoted ("not demoted," The Counselor had said, "just transferred to make better use of your...skill sets." Yeah, bullshit. I got demoted) to the lesser of the two testing sites for The Director's "key to victory." The better, more well known one, being called "Valhalla." The other, more shitty, more backwater in the middle of bumfuck nowhere one, was "Blood Gulch."
And "Blood Gulch" is one of the major reasons why my life sucks.
...It's also the reason I have to be fucking carried like a drooling infant, 'cause that might as well be what I am.
"We'll find Tex, yeah. You like her, right? She's scary, but she makes you smile sometimes and you never do that around me so she must know what to do. You'll be better soon, Church."
It was nearing midday, the sun rising high into the cloudless sky, the rays shining down and painting the dusty landscape different shades of orange and red. It would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been so hot, the sun's light making the distance shimmer and waver like Caboose was on a boat and not lifting his feet wearily through a plateau, the depths of a canyon miles behind him.
Sweat dripped down from Caboose's hairline, sliding down his tan temple and dripping onto his collarbone, before sliding down and soaking into his already damp t-shirt. His gray sweatpants were starting to become too hot, Caboose wishing he was wearing shorts instead. Well, he was almost wearing shorts. His right pant leg was in tatters, the shoe on that foot also missing. He could feel the rocks cutting into his foot, each step becoming more painful and more awkward to manage. He was probably leaving a bloody mess behind him, though he didn't think about that. He didn't think about the cut on his foot, or the one higher up on his leg, or where that one came from, or what it meant, if it meant anything. All he was thinking about was moving forward, that, and not dropping the man in his arms...again.
Church had his head lying against Caboose's shoulder, his black hair damp with sweat and blood. His eyes, if Caboose could see them now, were blank, staring at the blue fabric of Caboose's shirt unseeingly. He didn't complain about being carried like a goddamn child, didn't bitch about how he thought Tex wouldn't be much help or that, if she was, they wouldn't be able to afford her help, what with being escapees from what might as well have been a jail and the apparent end of the world-thing happening making carrying cash difficult. He didn't say any of that, not because he didn't want to (oh, he wanted to), but because he couldn't.
Church's mouth was slack, drool escaping it instead of words. Church couldn't get his mouth to work, or his arms, or his legs. In fact, he was surprised his brain was still functional, let alone his lungs and heart. He was trapped in his own mind, for how long, he didn't know, with only Caboose for protection. He was going to die.
Caboose adjusted his grip on Church, tightening his hands where he was holding him. That man had said to run and that he would try to join them soon, that if he got lost to just follow where the sun rises and to make sure to hide at night, hide anywhere, just hide. Well, Caboose was doing that. Okay, he wasn't running. He had gotten tired, but he had ran, at first. People had been running after him, their bodies hitting the ground with a thud as bullets hit their mark. There weren't any more people running after him, weren't anymore hands reaching for his back or clutching at his leg, fingernails digging at his calf before going slack, a gun raised above the body. That wasn't happening anymore, but somehow Caboose didn't feel safe. It was starting to get dark. He didn't want to be in the dark.
Caboose shifted Church's weight in his arms, the muscles there starting to feel the strain of being in one position for so long. The night was quickly chasing after him and it didn't matter how far Caboose walked because the night would catch him anyway. He needed somewhere to hide, but he had no idea where he was. The plateau was fading and making way for a forest.
Caboose stopped at the edge of the treeline, looking into the forest's depths as the sun dipped below the tops of the trees. He could hear the insects starting to come out, the chirps of crickets and the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew adding to the spooky atmosphere. Caboose swallowed, his throat feeling like it was coated in dust. He wanted to turn around, wanted to go somewhere else, but there was no where else to go. And it was getting dark, he was supposed to hide when it did that and standing around wasn't hiding, so he held tighter to Church, felt the contents of his backpack shift as he started to walk again.
He hoped Wash was okay.