The Human Stain: Chapter 15
We've been searching all night long
But there's no trace to be found
It's like they all have just vanished
But I know they're around
I feel them getting closer
Their howls are sending chills down my spine
And time is running out now
They're coming down the hills from behind
-Within Temptation, The Howling
Claire crouched low behind an upturned van, peering over one end to lay her eyes on the two large figures dominating the terrain.
For a moment she could not identify a sudden ache that welled up in her chest, but after a second of puzzlement she realized what it was.
Claire felt helpless. She wanted to help Smokescreen, she wanted to do something, but she was just an insect in comparison. If she suddenly had three wishes from a genie's magic lamp, she knew exactly what she would wish for. She would sprout fifteen extra feet, gain invincibility, and have the power to shoot deadly laser beams from her eye sockets.
But, alas. She was only a mere human. Frankly, it sucked. Her eyes strayed from a strict scrutiny of Smokescreen to a more fearful one of his opponent.
Okay, maybe she'd better recant on those wishes after all. She wouldn't have the guts to get that close to something like that in a million years, even if she did have magical abilities. You could empower the human, but you couldn't take away a human's natural fear of something they did not understand. It just didn't work that way.
So, here she was, back to square one when all things were said and done. There was a thrum of modulation along the airwaves that suppressed even the irritating drone of the helicopter. It appeared that the two Cybertronians were communicating loudly with one another, but she couldn't be sure. She heard Smokescreen's distinct voice, but it... it was altered. It sounded somewhat like the discombobulated mishmash of tones and voices you would hear by turning a radio dial too quickly when scanning through stations in a car. It was high, it was low, and it was everything in-between in quick succession. The Decepticon responded in kind, operating on a much deeper garble than Smokescreen.
It was almost like they were goading one another.
They were speaking in another tongue, another language. No, not just any language – it was their language. Claire was broad sided by this knowledge, but then she was just as surprised by her own shock. They were from another world – why wouldn't they have their own language? Why did she not consider this before? The answer came to her quickly, just as she expected it to. She felt somewhat ashamed, but it was true – she needed to start thinking about perspectives other than her own. She had been doing too much self-pitying lately, and it had confined her to her own narrow perception.
Deep down she felt a curl of exhilaration drift up, like smoke, and she thought, very quietly, that if she had never lost her leg so many years ago she would not have known Smokescreen, would not have reached this inward revelation, would not have realized how much more there was to life had she not almost lost it all and gained it back again.
And, all things considered, she would not have appreciated it as much. She would not be here now, behind a tipped vehicle, watching live what most regular people would never see in their lifetimes. The very fact that she was still in place said something greater than any dream ever could.
She would not have, at this moment, found herself with the strength of resolve to stay had it not been for everything else. For Smokescreen, for all of it.
Claire would have mused over it more, had the Decepticon not made the first charge. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed the sounds the robots emitted had quieted, settling to a grave silence before the eve of action.
Just as his dark foe launched himself forward, Smokescreen darted sideways. The strides that both took were so long that they stepped on several other homes around the one they had already destroyed. People ran out of one, screaming. There were children there, too – little dots crying and sobbing as they were pulled along by the guidance of their parents' insistent hands.
Shit. This couldn't happen here, not now. Smokescreen seemed to recognize this, or at least she hoped he had. He was veering away, over a drainage ditch and into a fenced area inhabited by the high voltage power lines that supplied electricity to the neighborhood. Three homes now lay in collapse in the wake of their movements, and it was only the beginning. Silently, Claire prayed that no one was dead.
The Decepticon sprang again, and she marveled at their speed despite their immense size. Smokescreen immediately reacted, or rather his shoulder cannons did – one swiveled to target the enemy, the second followed suit, and then both fired. It wasn't a missile or a bullet of any recognizable kind that Claire could identify. It was a white spray of sparks that entangled the air immediately around the Decepticon. They flared and faded like distant stars, perfectly spaced to form what appeared to be a net. Smokescreen's opponent was temporarily taken off guard by this, and stilled – he seemed dazed, of all things.
Smokescreen spoke again in his alien tongue, his intonations high and fast. It might have been words of triumph, or a perhaps he was mocking the Decepticon. She couldn't understand any of it, but knowing Smokescreen… he was probably engaging in the latter.
She was following them slowly, suicidal though it may be. She wound her way around large objects, keeping a relatively safe distance. It was all she could do to support Smokescreen, really. She didn't want to admit it, but she worried for him. It bothered her on too many levels that she was more concerned for his well being than that of the people running for safety, but that was the truth of it.
The metal bird above her followed, mutually interested in the outcome. She wished she could shoo it away, wave it off, but there would be no such luck. The police were all around by then – they were out of their vehicles (real police and real cars, thankfully), herding throngs of curious onlookers away from the epic scene. The other portion of the police force was poised at the ready on their knees, automatic assault rifles aimed at the two combatants. Claire wasn't sure the tiny weapons would do much good, but she could let them hope. She kept out of their way and notice by edging along the sides of cars and homes, keeping low to the ground.
The shriek of a broken sound barrier temporarily interrupted her advancement, and she hazarded another look skywards.
W… Tee… Eff… her mind railed.
It shot down from the heavens like a silver bullet, headed straight for the hovering helicopter. Gunfire erupted from its wings, blazing in orange bursts.
The helicopter promptly exploded.
Fiberglass chunks rained down upon the earth, slapping the neighborhood heavily with debris. A metal blade from the tail rotor narrowly missed slicing her in two – if she hadn't been watching the event in disbelief, she wouldn't have had the foresight to dive beneath someone's deck. Her palms bit the dirt below her aching body, and she bit her lip hard in the process. Flinching at the self-inflicted pain, she peered out at the new threat.
The bevy of law enforcement officials stationed on the ground instantly fired upon the quick aircraft. A military jet, of all things, had just shot down a civilian helicopter. It raced through the air again, taking another downward swipe towards Smokescreen and the Decepticon. Its guns opened up again, and Claire knew it was not just a jet.
Smokescreen was getting into more trouble than he could handle. The Decepticon had regained his bearings and the electric net had disappeared. He advanced menacingly on Smokescreen while the Autobot was being pummeled by air. Claire's eyes widened to the point of popping free of her skull, and then she raced from beneath the deck.
"No, no, no, no," she repeated rapidly as she ran.
Claire didn't know what she was doing, or how she was going to go about doing it – all she could think about was how she had to help Smokescreen.
"Going somewhere, dear?" The mocking words punched a hole straight through her frantic thought processes, stopping them cold. An arm snaked out, manacling her by the midsection and swinging her around like it was connected to a dance partner. She spun, lost her balance, and fell heavily on her hip. Groaning, Claire attempted to regain her bearings when a familiar shape loomed over her prone form.
The thing that killed Simon grinned manically. He unfurled one of his arms like a ringmaster unveiling the wonders of his carnival acts and held it in the direction of the battling robots. "The fools! It is all working as it should!"
"What?!" Claire murmured from the ground, holding her head. It still hurt. She lifted her eyes to Simon's face, but did not recognize it.
The Trans-Organic's rabid excitement was showing through the mask he wore, twisting Simon's features into a wild expression. It was the face of a psychotic inventor, a crazy doctor. No sane person could attain such a visage without the fanatical enthusiasm behind it. "It's amazing how these things play out, is it not? Just wondrous!" The Trans-Organic ran a trembling hand through Simon's dark hair, his awed face turned towards the battle.
Claire had no idea what he was rambling about, but she didn't take chances. She lifted her leg, the prosthetic one, and jammed it back behind the hybrid's knees. He went down fast as he lost the locked support his lower joints supplied him, and Claire scrambled to her feet and took off running again.
Mocking laughter filled the air behind her, and Claire dove around charred helicopter fragments as her legs bore her through the drainage ditch. Wastewater slowed her movements, slogging her legs in a filthy mixture of liquid. She was already dirty, burned, skinned, and who knew what else – this was nothing. The human woman waded through the mess until she ascended the opposite bank, climbing the rise that led to the line of tall power lines. A heavy reverberation shook the ground like an earthquake, and it took her a second to realize one of the titans had fallen.
Predictably, it was Smokescreen. Claire's heart hitched painfully. She drove herself towards him, acting beyond all reason. Her brain was screaming for her to turn around, to shift directions, but she would not listen. She would likely die for this, but her arms would not stop pumping, her legs would not stop cycling, and she could not reverse her trajectory.
Smokescreen was laying half askew against the skeletal tower of a crumpled power line. The steel structure had impacted part of his fall, and a smoking crater had formed over one of the headlights on his upper chest. The ground around her started shaking again, indicating the footfalls of a giant behind her. She had been spotted.
Falling to all fours, Claire scrabbled around Smokescreen's left foot until she was next to his lifeless right hand. "Smokescreen…" she whispered hoarsely, wondering if he could hear her from so high up. Her body tilted and she turned herself to face her pursuer.
It was the dark Decepticon.
A blast of hot wind blew her bangs out of her face, cooling the perspiration that had collected on her forehead. The jet now plummeted towards them, stealing the breath from her lungs as it transformed just before it made landfall. Claire bowed her head as a plume of smoke and sand blasted her point-blank from the jet's sudden landing.
The woman's heart thrummed erratically in her ears as the second Decepticon appeared before the first. One small hand, the one closest to Smokescreen, absently began groping the ground beside it as Claire sought the reassuring metal plane of his nearest finger. The press of her yielding palm against the hard metal surface of his small digit did nothing to quell her fear. The two Decepticons advanced, tangling the sound waves with their unintelligible electronic modulations. Claire stole one last glance up at Smokescreen, willing the dust to clear so she could see his face. If she were to die – and it seemed inevitable – she at least wanted him to see she came. She wasn't sure why it mattered, but somehow it did – at least to her.
Smokescreen's blue eyes were not lit. Was he out? Unconscious? His face was slack, unmoving and unresponsive. A mechanical whine stole her focus from him, and two gray eyes widened with the realization that the flying Decepticon had transformed one of his arms into a missile launcher trained specifically on her. The small geometric plates composing the Decepticon's metal face moved downwards, effectively creating a dark smile of satisfaction. As a whole, this new Decepticon carried a keen physical resemblance to a wasp – he was all sharp angles and carried plenty of stingers.
She licked her lips, grimacing at the gritty slide of sand granules against her tongue. She tasted salt. Had she been crying? Her eyes were definitely wet, but that was only because of all the dust in the air – had to be.
"Foul thing," the hornet-like robot said in English. His voice had a rough, sandpapery grain to it. His weaponry lit up, and Claire braced herself –
- but the hand beneath hers moved, grasped her around the waist –
- she was tossed, airborne –
- and landed several feet away, sliding along the gravel like a loose rock. Her chin struck the ground hard on landing, and pain lanced through her brain. Behind her, the ground exploded into shards of earth and a bright bloom of light surrounded her vision. She felt searing heat, and pressed herself to lie as flatly as possible.
If they made it out of this alive (and that was a very big IF), the very next thing she was going to do was draft an 'Autobot Sympathizer Bill of Rights' and make sure Smokescreen was the first to sign it. Rule number one on said list would be the right to be handled in a respected, safe way - no more of this rag doll crap. She was being thrown left and right like some negligent child's plaything, and it was really starting to get old.
She was sure she could keep adding new rights in the future – the need for them cropped up more often than not. People would thank her left and right for pioneering such an ingenious idea. In fact, she was surprised she didn't think of it before.
Then again, being at death's door one too many times had the power to give people some pretty uncommon insight.
A snort of derision cleared her of her sudden inspiration, and she wearily lifted her head to stare over her shoulder. Claire's eyes widened.
The Trans-Organic was there, staring down at her with Simon's hard brown eyes. Smokescreen was no longer down – he was on his feet and locked in struggle against the dark Decepticon. The flying robot stood between them both, his focus going wild in a vain attempt to lock down on Smokescreen without taking out his peer in the process. Their odd language filled the air again, loud and insistent. The lighter Decepticon that had fired on her must of thought her dealt with, because he did not look her way nor acknowledge the Trans-Organic next to her.
The creature with Simon's face stood over her like a vengeful god. He bent at the waist, encircling her closest forearm with his hand. He wrenched her painfully to her feet, and she met his glare with her own. A whirring sound dropped her eyes to his arm. His hand had transformed into that taloned claw she had seen on her own clone – and as if to prove to her the danger, he held it to her throat. The sharp blades traced the thin skin beneath her jaw line, and she swallowed delicately against the points.
"Watch," he rasped in her ear. "They will eradicate one another without any work from our end."
Claire kept her head tilted up, attempting to ignore the fact that her pulse was at blade point. Any sudden move from her would bring his metal claws right into her throat, ending her life in an instant. She drew herself up as regally as possible despite her broken state. "Why?" Her voice was strangled and she frowned at the reedy pitch. The question was simple, true, but it was enough to hopefully buy time.
"Why?" he mimicked. The Trans-Organic barked out an acidic laugh as if it were the dumbest thing he had ever been asked. "Why, indeed?"
She wasn't going to play mind games with him. Smokescreen had managed to overpower Barricade, and the two were tumbling like wrestlers along the ground. The power line towers were in a complete state of disarray – some were felled completely, some were only halfway standing, and others had yet to succumb. Live electrical wires hissed and showered sparks everywhere, giving Claire an idea.
Stall, she needed to stall. The jet Decepticon was growing ever more frustrated, evidenced by the warning shots he fired over both interlocked robots. He was on the verge of shooting them both if something did not happen in the next few moments.
Worse yet, it was all up to her, the human. She was the weakest creature there, and if anything was going to save Smokescreen and herself… well, it had to be her.
She gave a cautionary wriggle, only to be awarded with the press of hot pricks against her throat. "I do not think you would be so stupid to try something else," the Trans-Organic reminded her matter-of-factly. The hand banded around her forearm tightened, and he pushed her towards the Decepticons – and inadvertently towards one of the sizzling live wires. Black smoke was rising from the contact between the ground and wire, creating a blinding white light with a blue corona at the top.
Yes…
"What are you planning?" she asked, hopefully turning the Trans-Organic's attention back on his cryptic remarks.
"Too many questions… you ask too many questions. I would stop." He played his metallic claw along her skin, tapping her jugular mindfully. "We wouldn't want you to lose your ability to speak, would we?"
She swallowed the urge to curse him – literally choked off the word.
He drove her forward and she did not resist. Her eyes continually flickered between the Cybertronians and the hissing cable nearby. Her captor spoke without moving his lips from behind her, issuing forth the strange inflections of the aliens by way of some robotic voice box. If her life were not in peril, Claire would be marveling over the fact that the hybrid was able to not only speak through a human esophagus, but through a computer as well. They kept proving to be more and more a melding of human and machine.
Twin flares of temporary blue light from the propulsion jets of the waspish Decepticon made an arrant display of frustration as he turned to glance down at the Trans-Organic behind him. The two exchanged heated words in the Cybertronian language. The fully robotic Decepticon narrowed his red optics at the woman the Trans-Organic held before returning the glare to his equally small comrade. There seemed to be no love lost between them.
In the meantime, the squad car Decepticon locked in physical combat against Smokescreen was proving to be the stronger of the two robots. He shoved Smokescreen back once more, raised a spinning disc connected to one arm over the other mechanoid's head, and the two lost balance and were propelled backwards.
Claire noted the proximity of the wire, and that was when she made her move.
Using the Trans-Organic's terse distraction with the flying Decepticon to her advantage, Claire shifted the entirety of her weight sideways and back. The Trans-Organic instantly brought his razor-sharp points up into her throat, but she was past the point of caring. They pierced her skin as they both went down from the loss of balance, and her eyes saw red.
Smokescreen toppled with the dark Decepticon on top of him, just as Claire landed heavily on the Trans-Organic behind her. She angled her body sideways as she did so, and felt the tear of flesh across her neck as the thing's talons raked bloody welts across her skin. The woman tumbled away, saved by the Trans-Organics instinctual need to cushion his fall. Both hands released her, moving behind him to brace his landing – but instead he touched the bare wire instead.
Unfortunately, the same was true for Smokescreen.
Naturally, Smokescreen's large limb shot out to catch his own loss of balance. The radius of electrical fire created by the wire was large enough to extend to them both, and the results were instantaneous.
Claire's vision exploded. She hung in the moment, balling up into a fetal position that ultimately saved her life. Her body tumbled away, the wind rushed past her ears, and she kept abreast of the infernal heat nipping at her heels. She wished she could be anywhere else but in that moment, but she could not stop the universe from rolling forwards just like she could not stop her body from rolling along.
There was no breath, nothing but abrasion from below and heat, heat, heat –
She came to a stop. A burst of dust shot sideways from where her body landed, and she slowly turned her head to avoid jarring her throbbing cranium any further. Her heart hurt with every beat it took, and she realized that blood was seeping down her collarbone in red rivulets. A weak hand rose, fluttered about the damage on her throat, and then fell back to the ground. The gashes were possibly terminal, and she would bleed to death if the flow of blood was not staunched quickly.
A raging inferno had spread on the spot where Smokescreen lay, and Simon's killer was nowhere to be seen. She caught sight of a dark squad car peeling out of the ruined remains of electrical lines, as well as the sound of a jet's distant screams.
They left?
Refusing to think about it too much, Claire just thanked her lucky stars. Panic loomed over the backside of her brain, and she shrugged her soiled shirt off in haste. Down to just a bra, the woman turned the article of clothing inside out. Both sides were filthy, but the reverse side was less so. Claire wrapped the shirt around her throat like a dirty scarf and tied the sleeves at the nape of her neck. The air was even hotter on her exposed midriff, but she hardly took note. Once the shirt was secure, she began her approach on Smokescreen.
Smoke and burns blackened his exterior, and he lay in a crumpled heap surrounded by small fires. The live wire that had toasted him had jumped on contact, and now lay several meters away. It was still going off, as if daring its next victim to get close – Claire gave it ample room.
"Smokescreen!" she called, getting as close to his body as possible. He was surrounded by a halo of fires, none of which she could cross without risking third degree burns. As it stood, she already had several first degree burns that could easily deteriorate further.
No response.
"C'mon, Smokescreen, wake up!" Claire cupped both of her hands to her face to amplify her voice. When this too had no effect, she walked the loop of the fire's radius, attempting to catch his attention from different angles. She would have run, but her body could not take much more. It was already pressed beyond exhaustion, and frankly she was surprised she was even standing.
Damnit.
He was made of metal, but he was not impervious to flame. Near his feet, his exterior had peeled away, revealing curling flakes of automobile paint and ash. He was turning a sooty white-gray color as the fire consumed whatever was first burnable. His eyes were no longer lit, and he just lay there – Claire's despair grew, and she wrung her hands helplessly. She could not get to him, could not put the flames out, and the police were advancing.
Throwing a shaky look over her shoulder, her eyes confirmed what her mind would not. The local law enforcement was nearly upon her. There was a smattering of F.B.I. agents amongst them as well, and god only knew what they would do with Smokescreen's body. The only small relief she could feel was from the sight of the fire trucks pulling through the entrance to the power grid from the right. Firemen were disentangling hoses, readying the nozzles for a water battle.
"Ma'am?" a concerned voice inquired, pulling her attention to the face of a young police officer in a pressed uniform. Beside him stood a taller man with a goatee, most likely his superior. Others worked around them, hustling to and fro as they carried out their duties. Oddly, none of them seemed to hold panic or concern over what exactly caused the destruction. They were the perfect vision of professionalism, moving with purpose and intent.
It was almost as if this was not at all new to them.
Claire mumbled something, unsure of what she said. Vertigo pressed down on her from all sides, surrounding her with the need to lay down. It was from blood loss, no doubt, but all her glassy eyes reflected was the image of Smokescreen.
"Ma'am," the older man tried, stepping ahead of the younger officer. "You need to get examined. We have an ambulance waiting… please follow me." The man with the goatee took her by the shoulders, turning her to the correct path of the waiting dispatch. Claire fought him tiredly, attempting to keep her vision on Smokescreen. Like the other people working around them, both men acted like he was not even there. He was a large shape dominating the downed power lines, but she remained a focal point of concern instead. It didn't make sense.
"Please, no, you have to … you have to put out the fire … help him."
"Help who?" the officer asked.
She threw a lifeless look to Smokescreen. Could they not see? Were they blind? He could be dead! Claire had refused to think it before, but now that she was aware of this real possibility – well, all she could feel was a staunch dread. It spread over her limbs, a cold gloom that doused the pain of her burns and made her go numb. No. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. What would she do? He had turned into some kind of crazy companion. Sure, the Autobot had been a real jerk to her on more than one occasion, but he didn't deserve this end. Not this.
It seemed surreal, an impossibility made definitely possible by the slip of a second.
"N-no," she muttered, putting more effort into her attempts to turn around. Dimly, she became aware that it was quite possible she was shell-shocked.
"Ma'am," the taller officer warned more firmly.
"I will go with her," a new voice intervened, turning three sets of surprised eyes on the speaker.
Claire's hearing was decidedly sadistic. She thought she heard Smokescreen in that deep voice. Instead, she saw Simon. He walked up to their small cluster with a mismatched gait that was likely an effect of his injuries in the blast.
Wait… how did he survive that? her muzzy mind pondered. He should have been incinerated upon contact with the wire.
"G-g-get him away from me," she chattered, stumbling backwards. One of her hands came up, and pressed itself into the cushion of her cheek. Stupid, she told herself. She had forgotten that the Trans-Organic was still possibly around. It could be a costly mistake to make the assumption a second time, and she vowed not to.
"Who are you?" demanded the younger police officer. His brow furrowed at Claire's reaction, therefore instilling his own with suspicion and distrust.
"I'm…" the man trailed, and again Claire heard Smokescreen. The young woman blinked rapidly, flitting her gaze all over his face in order to find the origin of the voice. It couldn't be coming from the Trans-Organic's mouth, after all. A wild look over to Smokescreen's immobile body made her feel awash with even more content – the firemen were spraying the area down, and he was no longer burning.
Two accusing eyes darted back to the creature that wore Simon's face.
"I'm Simon Walters. We used to be married," he supplied with a finish. "I was here with her when this all happened, and we got separated in the chaos."
Oh, god.
It was definitely Smokescreen's voice.
Claire appraised him with unconcealed awe, wondering if it was just another trick of the Trans-Organic to mimic the voices of others. She would be inclined to believe that, had she not noted the awkward way the man stood, or the way he breathed too fast when speaking – as if he did not know how to moderate his intake of air.
Smokescreen would not know these things, being a robot. As it stood, as he stood, he seemed very awkward with himself. He was burned badly in spots, but nothing extensive. It was mind-blowing that his physical form had somehow withstood melting into a bubbling soup of flesh and metal after the explosion, and she could not conceive how that was so.
There was a moment of intense silence, and then both of the officers looked to her. "Is this true, ma'am? Do you know this man?" She felt the fingers of the older officer's hands on her shoulders tense and then relax. He was doubtful, but so was she.
Her mouth moved, but no words came. She hadn't realized just how chapped her lips were until then. Her pupils had dilated to such a size that they nearly swallowed the gray iris that circled them. She saw, she heard, but she could not believe.
It was too much – it was just too damn much. Her body had been put through too much stress, and her mind was in complete upheaval. She felt her brain begin to shut down, and the last thing she heard was Smokescreen speaking through Simon's body. An alien robot, occupying the physical manifestation of her ex-husband – it was like a bad sci-fi movie -
- and she was smack dab in the middle of it.
"She needs medical attention," Smokescreen-as-Simon said.
Claire blanked out, with one crucial, nagging thought occupying her last moments of consciousness.
How..?
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All original characters are mine.
A/N: Uh-oh. Now Claire has to deal with Smokescreen in Simon's body. It's bad enough to have to hang around your ex-husband, but now she has to deal with the fact that a transformer happens to look just like him.
I'm working on getting a picture done of Smokescreen and Claire 'meeting' for the first time in the desert (when she first wakes up after being attacked by her Trans-Organic look-alike). It should be done this weekend. This will be my last update until after I move, so expect updates to begin again in late April. Sorry, guys! Thanks for your support and reviews!