First of all: Congratulations Frank and Jamia omg I'm so happy for you 3
Second: I am a fucking prophet, I predicted that x333
Third: New chapter is here and I love it because ACTION I love writing action scenes
kthnksreviewplzbai
CHAPTER 21: HE BURNS MY SKIN, NEVERMIND ABOUT THE SHAPE I'M IN
October 30, 2013
California
7:22 PM
He was running.
He didn't know where, and really, it didn't matter. He sprinted ahead, legs burning in protest, arms pumping at rapid-fire speed, breath heaving in and out of his lungs in bursts and gasps. It wasn't that he was running to somewhere—he was running from them.
Five Draculoids, chasing him down. They'd already got his three friends—they were lying on the dirty street, stunned or dead he didn't know. He was the only one left.
Keep going. Ten steps, turn right. Sprint the alley—it's too short, make another turn. Left this time. Just run, run, run. Keep running.
Keep running.
But he couldn't keep running, there was a wall. The alley was a dead end. Quick, backtrack—turn around—get out of here! The first Draculoid was turning the corner. He couldn't get out. He was trapped.
The gun was out, pointed straight at his temple. He knew that kind of gun. It didn't shoot bullets. The closest thing he could compare it to were lasers, white-hot and dangerous. Deadly.
The Drac released the safety, smiling cruelly. "Time to say goodnight," he hissed.
A flash of light, and he could see it, white beam, shot straight at him, piercing through his mind—
"Gerard! Gerard!"
The black-haired boy sat straight up in bed, his eyes flying open in shock. Frank was leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and staring down with wide, concerned eyes.
"Seven-thirty," his friend told him. "You're on morning shift. The alarm went off, but you weren't waking up…"
"Bad dream," Gerard gasped. He fell back onto the cool pillow, eyes wide open and staring at the bare ceiling.
Frank groaned. "Again? Same one?"
The older boy nodded weakly. "It's really getting old," he muttered. But it never gets better.
He lifted himself out of the bed with difficulty, yawning and stretching his hands over his head. The night terrors were regular by now, there during the night more often than not. And it was always the same. The Draculoids took Ray down first, the Mikey, then Frank, as they ran through the maze-like streets of Battery City. Gerard ran alone for nearly five minutes before he landed, trapped, in that dead-end alley. Sometimes he woke up before the Draculoid could actually pull the trigger, but today had been one of the worse days. He could nearly feel the shining ray piercing his forehead.
A loud knock sounded on the door as Frank flopped back onto his mattress, pulling the covers over his head to drown out the noise as he tried to fall back asleep. "Gerard!" Mike D's voice shouted. "You up?"
"Yeah," the younger boy groaned, pulling a black t-shirt over his head.
"It's you, me and Rob today. Come down when you're ready."
"Okay!" Gerard called out sleepily. He heard Mike's heavy footsteps move away down the metal catwalk, presumably to check on Rob, before sliding his old pair of dust-caked jeans on and running a hand through his scruffy jet-black hair.
"Your roots are showing," Frank mumbled, his eyes just visible over the top of the blanket.
Gerard stuck his tongue out. "I'll tell Billie to steal some more hair dye for me from Battery City tomorrow."
"It was banned, remember?" his friend reminded him. "No individualism. They don't want you to express creativity."
"Fuck that," he grumbled. "And fuck BL/ind for ruining my look."
With one last swear, Gerard pulled on his heavy combat boots and waved goodbye to Frank. The rubber soles of his beat-up Doc Martens clanged against the metal ladder as he climbed down to the main floor where Mike D and Rob waited by the door.
"Don't make us late, Poison!" Rob called out jokingly.
"Coming, coming!" Gerard jumped the last three steps of the ladder, landing on the concrete floor with a thud. He was sprinting across the long room the moment his feet hit the ground.
Mike laughed and threw open the doors, letting warm sunshine stream into the darkened room. He led the trio out of their home and to the old Trans-Am they used for radio broadcast trips.
"Alright, Poison, Wolf," Mike said, turning to them. "The piercings and tattoo ban. That's pretty much all we've got to talk about…"
"And hair dye," Gerard added angrily.
The older man nodded. "And hair dye."
"I'm still pissed about that," Gerard muttered to Rob as they piled into the back of the Trans-Am.
"I'm sure we can find more," his friend soothed. "They can't have taken all the black hair dye from Battery City…"
"Let's hope," the boy grumbled.
The three were fully awake by the time they reached the motel, due in part to the desert's bright scenery and in part to the loud rock CD from Mike S's collection that they were blasting through the stereo. The Asian emcee had the biggest record collection most of them had ever seen, and the discs were constantly playing somewhere or other in the warehouse or in one of the cars. Ever since the alternative station was shut down, they'd been depending on Xero's live practices and Mike S's CDs for their music fix.
The motel rose out of the horizon quickly, and they were in and out of the building in fifteen minutes. The radio show wasn't long, only ten minutes of quick jabber about BL/ind's oppressive new laws and how they'd affect individualism. It didn't really matter what they discussed as long as it kept the citizens of Battery City sharp and thoughtful. The show only needed to be an alternative to the constant lies. The rest of the Killjoys still weren't awake by the time they got back, as was usual—it was normal for them to sleep until ten o'clock if they weren't the poor bastards with the morning shift on that day.
"I'm going back to sleep," Mike yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "I can fit a couple more hours in before I have to do anything, right?"
Rob checked his watch. "An hour, at best," he laughed.
"Still good," he groaned as he made his way over to the ladder. "Goodnight…"
Gerard grinned and made his way over to the nearly-gone pile of food supplies. "We've gotta go back into Battery City tomorrow," he announced. "Think I could tag along with Billie, Mike and Tré?"
"Don't see why not," the brunette man shrugged.
"I'm still pissed about the hair dye thing," the younger boy grumbled as he grabbed a package of food so crushed and dirty that he couldn't read the label anymore. He ripped it open and groaned in disappointment.
"What'd you get?" Rob asked curiously.
"Fucking dried tomatoes," he muttered. "Seriously, who comes up with these things?"
"Ooh, harsh," the drummer laughed. "Those suck, man. I think they made Phoenix puke a couple weeks ago."
"Gah!" Gerard's face turned queasy, and he dropped the packet, turning away in disgust.
"That's the only breakfast you get, remember?" Rob called out,
Gerard rolled his eyes. "I know, I know," he answered. Because of the questionable nature of the food they found in the city, the rule with the Killjoys was that for each meal, they had to stick with whatever food they opened—they couldn't put it back. If they were hungry enough, they ate it. If not, they could chuck it and go hungry.
"Can I have them?" Rob called after Gerard as he walked back towards the TV.
The younger boy gave a visible shudder. "If you want them, they're yours," he called out. "Good luck eating them…"
Rob happily descended on the abandoned food, the sounds of his eating reaching Gerard's ears almost halfway across the room. He flipped on the TV, trying to ignore the vicious growling of his own stomach, and concentrated on the show.
"Temperatures are cooling down with the near of winter—lows will reach forty degrees in the desert," the young Asian woman, familiar by now for performing all of BL/ind's weather reports and commercials, said. "As always, Battery City remains at a pleasant seventy degrees."
"She's lying," Rob commented, coming up behind Gerard. "It was fucking freezing when I was there last week."
"That's what they hired her to do—tell lies," Gerard responded grimly.
Both turned their attention back to the TV at the newscaster's next words, though. Gerard's mouth fell open, sure he had misheard, but the weather report continued with the odd statement.
"Scientists are predicting rain over the next couple of days," she repeated. This statement was news within itself—there hadn't been any rain since the acidic downpour on Day Zero. But what she said next was the shocking and disturbing part of the broadcast.
"Due to unusually high levels of debris and disturbance in the atmosphere due to Day Zero, there is a high possibility of acid rain similar to the kid we experienced last December. Better Living executives are urging all citizens to take cover and to not leave their place of shelter today."
"Not more," Rob groaned, nearly dropping his breakfast. "Please, God, the first time was bad enough…"
"We have to tell Billie," Gerard exclaimed.
"Tell me what?" The sound of feet clanking down the metal ladder reached Gerard and Rob's ears a moment too late, and Billie stood over them with a curious and suspicious look on his face.
Gerard pointed to the TV. "Acid rain again," he muttered.
Billie turned pale. "When?"
"Later today," Rob informed the head Killjoy.
Suddenly, Billie was all authority, shouting to the others to wake everyone up as he dashed out the front doors of the warehouse. Gerard and Rob exchanged a confused glance and a shrug before following his instructions.
"You take left, I'll take right," Gerard offered at the top of the ladder. Rob nodded before sprinting off down the hallway.
"Mike? Dude?" the boy called tentatively, knocking on the first door on the right. He knew the older man would be grouchy that he was being woken so early after he had managed to get some more rest, but what Billie told him to do, he did.
"Go away, Gerard," he heard a groan from inside the room.
"I can't," the younger shouted regretfully. "Everyone's got to get up, Billie's orders."
He faintly heard Mike mutter something like 'fucking Armstrong,' but then a box spring creaked and a light switched on, telling Gerard he'd achieved his goal. He moved down the rest of the hallway to rouse Tré, Frank and Ray, each moaning and cursing both him and Billie before shouting that they'd be out in a minute. Rob reached the other end of the hallway a moment after him, slapping him a tired high-five.
"Where's Billie, anyway?" Mike D. yawned, joining the two and running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
"He ran outside when we told him about the rain," Rob shrugged.
Mike groaned. "The cars. That's what he's doing. We'll have to get them somewhere safe, last time there was acid rain the car we first came out here in literally disintegrated…"
"Shit," Gerard breathed.
"I bet that's why he wants everyone up," the older man continued. "We're probably moving the cars somewhere."
"At least BL/ind will keep their fucking Draculoids in Battery City cause of the rain," Rob muttered.
Mike sighed. "I guess we should count our blessings."
It didn't take long for the rest of the Killjoys to assemble, as an air of urgency had hung over Gerard and Rob as they roused their friends. Soon, all twelve were gathered in the bright morning sunshine outside of the warehouse.
"Here's what we know," Billie announced. "The base holds up fine. Whatever it's made of, that shit doesn't crumble under acid rain, so we should stay in there. The motel and the station are probably sturdy, too, so in case of emergency we can stay there if we get caught. But the cars completely die if we leave them out—and so do we."
"We had the van under the motel awning last time and it's fine," Joe offered.
Billie nodded. "That's good. The van's the most important, so it'll go there."
"But the Trans Am…" Gerard cast a long glance over the vehicle that he'd so lovingly decorated with the massive black spider splayed over its hood.
"We'll find somewhere for the Trans Am, don't worry," Billie grinned. "But now we've gotta get the vehicles to the motel, make an emergency broadcast…and then take shelter there till it's over."
Various groans and protests arose at the leader's words, and Billie sighed. "I know, I know—it's bullshit. But it's the only way we can all stay safe…"
"We don't all have to go, do we?" Ray exclaimed.
"Well, whose turn was it to do the broadcast this afternoon?" At this, Frank, Mikey and Billie raised their hands.
"Then we need two others to come for backup in case we split up. Any volunteers?"
Mutters and joking whispers of "no, you do it," were passed among the reluctant Killjoys, while Billie, Frank and Mikey stood awkwardly by the vehicles. Finally, Gerard and Ray stepped forward.
"Thanks, guys." Billie smiled gratefully. "Everyone else, stay in the warehouse no matter what. If we're not back and it starts pouring, don't look for us. We will come back."
"This is too dangerous, Billie," Mike piped up. "Isn't there another way?"
"'Fraid not, Dirnt," Billie sighed. "Wish us luck."
There was an ominous air as the six climbed into the vehicles. Gerard had a weird feeling that either something was going to change by the time they came back, or they wouldn't be coming back. Things with the Killjoys had been pleasantly routine and stable since their first encounter with the Draculoids, with no recruits and only a few brushes with BL/ind and their creepily emotionless soldiers. Later, though, he doubted he could ever have predicted what was coming next.
Things were about to change for the Killjoys…again.
"Are we really gonna have to stay there for the whole day?" Mikey groaned from the backseat of the Trans Am.
"It's only gonna be a few hours," Billie promised. "We'll be home as soon as the rain ends. Think of it like camping out or something."
"In a creepy, abandoned, motel. A freezing-cold motel that could be overrun with Draculoids at any moment."
"Basically."
Mikey frowned and muttered something under his breath, toying with the red raygun lying in his lap absently. They'd brought four of the five weapons captured from the Draculoids along with them. Mikey had the red one, Frank had the green one, Ray the blue, and Gerard held the yellow one, which had unofficially become his after he painted it. Somewhere along the line, the device had stopped being so scary and had become familiar…a friend, even. The rayguns were actually really cool. Mike D, Phoenix, and Mikey, the most technically knowledgeable of the Killjoys, had been running experiments on the fifth gun, taking it apart and studying the components to try and see how BL/ind had made the futuristic weapon. All they could figure out so far was that BL/ind had some really smart technicians, access to some very dangerous chemicals and other radioactive materials, they'd figured out how to control plasma rays…and the Killjoys were completely out of their depth. They had five of the guns to protect themselves, but it was barely enough for twelve men. And who knows what they would come out with next? Those things already far surpassed any regular bullet gun the men had seen, and if the company had access to this kind of technology…
For now, the rayguns would have to do. And they actually did just fine. The Killjoys had all practiced with the guns, taking turns shooting at targets painted on the wrecked convertible outside of the warehouse. Although Gerard had never really been able to recreate the perfect shot he'd executed when saving Frank's life, it was commonly agreed upon by all the Killjoys that he was definitely the best shot in the group. He wasn't sure if this made him proud or scared.
"Where are we putting the Trans Am?" Mikey asked Billie.
Billie sighed. "I was thinking about that…the gas station might he our best bet. I'm not sure if it'll work too well but it's all that I've got."
"The gas station's like miles away!" Gerard protested.
"Do you want this car to dissolve?" the leader shot back.
The younger Killjoy groaned, but he had to agree.
Gerard and Ray stayed in the car, listening to the radio for any weather announcements as the other three friends broadcasted their temporary absence to the airwaves. Rain was predicted to start in Battery City in a little less than half an hour, possibly sooner for surrounding areas. They'd have to rush to get the Trans Am to safety or risk getting caught in the downpour.
"We're cutting this too fucking close," Gerard sighed, swinging open the car door and hopping out. He stretched his arms over his head gratefully.
"Aw, we'll be fine, Gee," Ray promised. "You worry too much."
Gerard smirked. It was probably true—but then, it was hard not to worry about stuff in the situation they were in.
Something cold and wet fell onto his cheek, and Gerard moved a hand up to feel it. His skin hurt where it had impacted.
"What was that?" he muttered, glancing up into the suddenly gray sky. There was nothing there but rainclouds.
Shit. Rainclouds.
"Fuck!" Gerard yelled, and threw himself into the Trans Am, revving the engine. "Ray, get the fuck inside!"
"But the van!" Ray gestured helplessly.
"I'll deal with the van. Just go!"
Ray glanced back at his friend, worried, as he sprinted towards the front door. Gerard was pulling the Trans Am under the front awning and running back out for the van, but the rain was beginning in earnest now, and already he could see the boy's skin beginning to redden from the acid. He threw himself into the can and sat in the driver's seat, shivering, as the skies began to pour down.
"Gerard!" Ray screamed, the sound somewhere between a growl and a shout. He started towards the white vehicle, determined to help his friend, but Gerard pointed towards the motel and mouthed a swear at Ray.
"I'll be in here in a minute!" he shouted, the sound just audible though the can. Ray nodded and turned back to the safe building.
It was only once he was inside the lobby that he remembered Gerard didn't have the keys.
"Ray?" Mikey gasped, spinning around. Frank desperately covered for him on the radio, cutting in with "-gun. What was that about a raygun, Kobra?" He shot the younger boy a fierce, angry look, silently reprimanding him for letting one of their real names slip, a dangerous mistake.
But in that moment, Ray couldn't really care. "Gerard," he gasped. "In the van. Trapped. Rain started."
Mikey and Frank gasped and dashed for the windows, Billie hastily spitting out "Stay safe—Killjoys, make some noise!" before joining them.
"He'll die out there!" Mikey moaned, his nose pressed against the glass door. He stared at his brother helplessly.
Billie grimaced. "He's Gerard. He'll figure out what to do."
But Gerard had no ideas. He could barely stay conscious—his face and arms were peppered with burns, small scorch marks on the pale skin wherever the rain had hit. They stung worse than anything he'd ever felt before. And it was freezing cold in the van.
The boy reached out a shaking hand and grabbed Ray's leather jacket from the backseat, wrapping it around himself in an attempt to conserve some of his body heat. He'd realized as soon as he got in the vehicle that he didn't have the keys, but he refused to let Ray go through the pain he had in running through the acid downpour and possibly condemning himself along with Gerard.
Well, now he was trapped in the van, and at least he was the only one. He began to seriously consider another mad dash towards the motel. The can was going to start leaking any moment, if what Billie had aid about what acid did to vehicles was true. He had only a few minutes. Either way, he was going to have to face it again.
Gerard made his decision. He pulled the leather jacket over his head, holding it up with his hands to try and form a tent-like shield for any kind of cover he could get, and ran.
He could hear the rain splattering on the jacket and feel it soaking his jeans, burning his skin, but somehow, his hands and arms weren't affected for the thirty seconds he spent sprinting for the door. He refused to let himself register the pain he felt as he ran. He only concentrated on staying alive.
A few moments later, he collapsed in front of the door, completely spent. His friends rushed to the entrance and threw themselves down next to him.
"Gerard! Dude! Stay conscious!" Frank begged, already tearing off Gerard's acid-soaked shirt regardless of the pain in his palms. "You'll be fine, just get inside!"
"Cold," he shivered, wrapping his raw red arms around his now-bare torso. All over his body, the skin was bright and angry with acid marks. He was an absolute mess.
"Get him in the motel," Billie said gruffly. He stooped down to pick up Ray's leather jacket as Mikey and Frank wrapped their arms around Gerard's shoulders, supporting him and moving him inside. He expected the material to be ragged and hole-riddled, but instead, it was good as new.
"Weird," the leader muttered before following Ray inside.
The rain kept pouring for nearly six hours, but it seemed like six years to the desperate Killjoys. Gerard was passing in and out of consciousness, shivering and muttering incomprehensible sayings. The van was still outside in the rain, but none of them dared to see what it had dissolved into by now. They had no way to contact the rest of their group at the warehouse. And on top of it all, there was still the mystery of the jacket and why it hadn't sustained damage.
Gerard woke at three o'clock, sitting up and glancing around wildly then wincing when he realized the condition of his body. "Wassappening?" he slurred, looking up at his group sleepily.
"You passed out," Frank told him grimly. "When you ran through the rain…Jesus, Gerard, why are you so damn stupid?"
"I was trying to help," the older boy muttered. "Is Ray okay?"
"We're all fine," Ray assured him.
The boy sighed in relief. "That's all that matters then, right?"
And for the moment, it was.
Around five o'clock, Mikey glanced out the window. "I think the rain stopped," he exclaimed.
"Seriously?" Frank, Ray and Billie jumped up, Gerard following slowly.
The rain had stopped, and the desert was awash with a harsh post-storm gray light. The van stood, weather-battered but still whole, where they'd left it.
"Holy shit!" Ray exclaimed, running for the vehicle. It had certainly taken a beating, but shockingly, it looked mostly fine. He jumped into the front seat and pulled the keys from his pocket, sticking them in the ignition with his fingers crossed. The engine sputtered once, twice, then came to life with a wet growl.
"Unbelievable," Billie murmured, pulling open the passenger door. "Unbelievable."
"Epic!" Frank cheered.
And finally, after six hours, the Killjoys began to head home.
They were barely five minutes away from the warehouse, more than ready for the afternoon to be over, when Gerard called out "Hold up, Frankie. What's that?"
Frank took his foot off the pedal of the Trans Am at his friend's request. Behind him, the van with Billie, Ray and Mikey stopped too.
"What is it?" he asked Gerard, turning to the older boy. But Gerard was already jumping out of the car and sprinting across the still-wet sand.
"There's something moving over here," he called out.
"What?" Frank shouted back, running over to his friend. Gerard was bent over, kneeling on the wet sand next to something. No, someone. Two someones.
"Who…what the fuck? Is that a girl?" Frank gasped, reaching the pair. He stared down into the figure's face—her very feminine young face.
Gerard didn't glance up at him, instead focusing on the smaller figure's face. "Go get Billie!" he shouted, frantically removing his jacket and wrapping it around the girl's shoulders.
"But Gerard…" he protested.
"She asked to talk to him. Go, Frank, now!" Gerard yelled. "Fuck it, they're dying!"
"What—"
"Please don't argue!" he gasped out in a strangled voice. "She might have just passed out!"
"Ah, shit," he muttered, and sprinted back.
"Talk to me," Gerard begged, laying a hand on the girl's forehead. Her body temperature was dangerously low, and her lips were turning blue. Short, shallow gasps of breath passed between her lips.
The girl's eyes flickered, and he caught a glimpse of bright blue before her breathing stopped.