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7. Alone in Company
Zack pounded along the corridor. The lab assistant had been surprised when he woke up on the table and ripped off the brand new headgear she had been attaching. Zack's skull had been newly perforated, the other nine vials of unknown drug cocktails ready to inject themselves into his brain and nervous system. Evidently Hojo had gone hard-core again. If he couldn't cajole or force Zack's will, he would find a way to force his body into a transformation.
Well, he sure got more than he bargained for.
The shiny floor made traction difficult. Likewise the antiseptic smells that hung in the air like fog. His lupine senses sifted through, trying to find Cloud's scent-signature.
This way, Alpha commanded. The wolf left actually turning to Zack, but the directive was clear.
Zack headed left. The ground sloped a little, making it even more difficult not to crash into walls at high speed. He sprang at the wall and used it to push off, like a swimmer launching himself into another length. Alarms had yet to blare, but it was only a matter of time before someone found the unconscious assistant.
Here!Alpha barked.
Zack burst through the door. It was a lab much like the one he had left. The assistant at the terminal saw him and gaped. He smelled of old blood, sudden fear and fresh urine. Zack growled, the sound low and menacing. The guy froze for a moment in indecision.
Don't do it –
Too late, the guy ran for the tranquiliser gun kept in an emergency case on the wall. Zack slammed into his from behind, the impact enough to send the guy hurtling into the wall with bone-rattling speed. He slid to the floor, hopefully just unconscious, but if he wasn't, and the things Zack could smell were right, then he couldn't bring himself to grieve over one of Cloud's torturers.
In the centremost tube, Cloud hung like a marionette with tangled strings. Zack didn't hesitate. He threw himself shoulder-first at the glass. The hole was big enough to empty the evil-smelling liquid without spraying Cloud with broken glass, though Zack's shoulder stung where the shards cut him. For a moment Cloud dangled with his face upturned, the headgear almost like a noose. It snapped under the weight of a grown man and Cloud tumbled into the bottom of the cylinder. He made a weak moaning noise, nothing like words, just an exhalation of pain.
Damn it, I can't talk to him like this, Zack thought.
Cloud was out of it, eyes barely open as he came out of the mako-fug. There was no time to wait for him to wake properly. The moaning noise was the only clue he was still alive, since breathing and pulse points were no indication anymore.
Zack nosed his way under his friend and got him into an awkward carrying position, like a pack mule. Cloud slipped from side to side, wet skin not gelling well with fur.
This won't work! Zack thought in frustration. I'm going to have to change back!
Wait, said Alpha.
But –
Trust.
Slowly, Cloud's arms snaked around his neck. Zack couldn't grit his teeth in this form. He hoped the grip would be enough and took off, once again sprinting for an exit – any exit – and freedom.
"He doesn't respond to questioning?"
"He's practically insensate, and it's getting worse. Before he made noises. Now he just sits there."
"I should have known this was why you came looking for me. You only seek me out when you want a favour."
"Don't make me beg. The boy is a key witness in the Gongaga scandal."
"Is that all he is to you?"
"He killed a vampire on his own, untrained and using just a wooden sword – a child's plaything!"
"So he has potential – may even be a prodigy like yourself. Are you now doing the Turks' job and scouting for potential recruits to fight the vampires?"
"If I had my way, nobody would have to fight them. Just tell me whether you can help him or not."
"Careful, Sephiroth, your heart is showing on your sleeve."
"All right, all right, maybe I do feel sorry for him. His parents were among those killed. By the looks of the scene, he may have had to finish at least one of them himself. When I arrived the rogue was about to drain him. The boy was … unclothed."
"Unclothed? They'd stripped him?"
"Possibly. He definitely didn't undress himself. The clothing we recovered was torn off."
"You mean the vampires have sunk to even lower levels of depravity?"
"I don't think so. Medical tests showed no signs of sexual assault, but there may have been a ritualistic element to the blood-drinking that I interrupted. The rogue was injured – one hand newly amputated."
"By a wooden sword?"
"I don't think so. The wound was ragged, like one of the other vampires may have bitten or torn it off. Maybe there was another high level subject amongst those of the town that he infected, and they clashed when the rogue tried to control it. The point is, we won't know unless we recover our key witness. Plus …"
"Go on."
"I thought maybe … with your capabilities … I thought perhaps you could …"
"Yes?"
"Relieve him of his traumas."
"Sephiroth, you know better than to ask me that."
"… I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't have asked."
"You really do feel sympathy for this one, don't you?"
"He was the only one left. The rogue slaughtered an entire town. There were corpses everywhere. Some he killed himself, others he changed and then set them on their loved ones like rabid dogs. There were … After the team swept the place, I went through it. It was horrific. A husband in one house had ripped out his wife's organs and started eating them while she was still alive. Some children had ripped apart the family dog. I found one woman slumped across a crib. She'd drained her own baby. I've been doing this work most of my life and I was affected. This boy … I can't imagine what it must have been like for him."
"Taking away memories isn't within my power anymore."
"I know. Just do what you can."
"I'll try my best, but I make no promises, Sephiroth. Sometimes wounds of the mind and heart are too deep for anyone to heal."
He heard the two voices as if from far away. He didn't move. Even when someone touched his face, he didn't flinch. He couldn't.
He had in the beginning, when the men in uniforms poured out of the trees and swallowed up the carnage-strewn scene. He had woken to find himself under a sheet, being checked over by someone who smelled too strongly of antiseptic and blood. His skin had felt like it was on fire. The medic's touch lit up his brain with sensory input, the merest brush feeling like knives scraping off layers of epidermis.
Everything had suddenly smelled too strong too. Everything had sounded too loud, tasted too fierce, and looked too bright and dazzling. He had tried to huddle away from the sensations under the sheet, screaming when the medic pulled him towards her. He thought the hypersensitivity was just because he had been wrapped in the silence of unconsciousness for too long. He was wrong.
He had been so wrong ever since that night.
It didn't get better with time. The world continued to press in around him, overwhelming his senses. He couldn't talk – his voice sounded wrong and hurt his ears. He couldn't eat – even bland things made him want to throw up. He started to waste away. Dark circles appeared around his eyes when his senses denied him sleep. All the while he remembered what he had seen from the moment his mother opened his door to his father and his entire life shattered.
He retreated inside himself. It was kind of like meditation; forgetting the world by forgetting himself. Why would he want to stay in reality, where everything was wrong, wrong, WRONG?
Yet even inside his own head was a morass of wrongness. In addition to the memories of that night, he saw and remembered things that were impossible. It was as if he was recalling more than one life, none of them his own. Images flourished when he shut his eyes, fragmented and wrong. Eventually to get away from everything he retreated so far inside that he barely remembered he had a body at all. He wanted to fade away where nothing could hurt him anymore. Surely he had earned it.
"Come on now," said one of the faraway voices. "Let's see what we can do for you, shall we?"
Memories of blood and fire. Dodge flames. Corner deer. Nobody else brave enough to hunt while forest burns. Pack too scared – wait at edge of trees. Young alpha is foolish alpha. Prove wrong. Young alpha is better alpha. Deer shrieks. Fresh kill warm in his mouth. A creak. Sound of wood breaking. Turn too late. Falling branch! Pain and then blackness.
"You've buried yourself deep in there, haven't you? But you have to come back. You have to … wait. What …?"
"Have you –?"
"Shush. Let me concentrate."
Crisp white snow and a brilliant moon. First howl. Only alpha gets first howl. Fought hard for this. Lived long for this. Old now. Many first howls gone. Many pups grown. Many hunts run. Many moons seen. Tired. One last howl, then lay down in snow. New alpha. Pack safe. Can rest at last.
"Sephiroth, do you know the boy's name?"
"Description and records list him as 'Zack Fair'."
"Zack, can you hear me? Listen to my voice. Ignore everything else and listen to the sound of my voice, Zack."
Dark cave on a dark night. Wind howling more than pack howls at moon. Leg hurts. Steel teeth ambushed it. Paw missing. Wound black and filthy despite licking. Made pack-mates leave. Hindrance now. Alpha must be strongest, not weakest. Pack must survive. No sick in strong pack. Others tried to stay, but made them go. Stay here, in dark cave, until dark night becomes dark forever.
"Zack! Listen to me Zack!"
"What's wrong?"
"It feels like … like he's not the only one ... Zack? Zack!"
Not Zack.
"Who's that?"
Alpha.
"I want to speak to Zack."
Hurt.
"Hurt by the vampires?"
Hurt by self. Human thing. Guilt.
"Did you hurt him?"
Not deliberate. Small human. Only puppy. Not strong enough yet. Had to help, but too soon. Fragile. Maybe broken.
"Broken? What do you mean by broken?"
"What's going on? Are you talking to the boy?"
"I said shush, Sephiroth!"
Puppy hurt. Lost pack. Heartache. Guilt. Vampire use. Nearly kill Puppy. Alpha help, but too soon. Puppy not ready. Body safe, but mindheartsoul fading.
"Who are you?"
Alpha.
"What do you want?"
Help.
"Mine?"
Yes. No. Help for Puppy is help for Alpha.
"I don't understand."
Puppy not strong enough. Can't hear Alpha. Sees pack memories, but not whole, only pieces. Alpha worried Puppy disappear or turn foam-crazed. Both bad. Alpha not want body. Puppy's body.
"What does that mean?"
Lose sense. Madness. Packs must kill past alphas gone foam-crazed.
"That's not what I meant. What do you mean 'disappear'?"
Alpha strong. Stronger than Puppy. Puppy submit. Puppy let Alpha take over. Puppy want to fade away. Alpha not want. Want Puppy alive.
"How can I help?"
Puppy not strong enough yet. Will be someday, but only if alive.
"You're staying?"
Alpha is Alpha. Puppy is Puppy. Two. One. Linked now.
"I don't understand."
Look. See. Understand.
Images detonated like a bomb blast: a thousand lives lived, a thousand deaths died, a thousand battles for leadership fought and won, thousands of breaths taken, sights seen, paths run and meals eaten. Everything crowded together like wisps of smoke from a thousand fires twining into one impenetrable mushroom cloud.
"Oh my…it's you. I remember you."
Help. Too much for Puppy. Easy to lose self in pack memories.
"I … I don't know if I can …"
Help! Puppy fading! Self DYING! Soon will be all Alpha in Puppy's body.
He whimpered, in his mind and with his body. It was all too much. He just wanted to let go and vanish already!
"No, Zack!"
Something grabbed his mind roughly and dragged it into the light. The touch burned like a branding iron on bare skin. He screamed. Brilliant white light exploded everywhere. Voices rose in a chorus of incomprehensible words. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Just as suddenly as it had come, the sensations stopped. Whatever had grabbed his mind and pulled it back from the edge of oblivion let him go.
He gasped and opened his eyes.
A man crouched in front of him, holding his face in wide, calloused hands. The man had a square jaw and slightly overhanging brow that seemed custom-built for scowling, but his eyes were kind. He was breathing hard. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck.
Over his shoulder, another man with long silver hair looked on in alarm. "Are you all right?" His green eyes widened. "He's awake! What did you do?"
"What I swore I wouldn't do," the crouching man panted.
"You used it?" The silver man sounded surprised and angry. "You used your divinity?"
"Some of it."
"But I said I shouldn't have asked! You don't have enough left to –"
"I know, Sephiroth, but I had to."
He looked at both men, uncomprehending for a moment. "S … Sephi … roth …" His voice was croaky with disuse. How long had it been since he had spoken? He had a sense that a long stretch of time had passed between breaths. His last memory was of the canyon and the vampires. He tried to remember what had happened since then, but couldn't. His memory was hazy aside from a few, impossible facts.
His parents were dead.
Gongaga was gone.
He was alone.
"Careful now," cautioned the crouching man. "Sephiroth, get him some water." He ordered the Silver General around like a cadet. More unbelievably, Sephiroth did as ordered.
He stared at the crouching man, mouth open. "Wh-where …"
"You're in Shinra Tower," the man said gently. "Sephiroth brought me to you when you didn't respond to regular treatments. You've been out of it for quite a while. Your name is Zack, right?"
He swallowed and nodded. "Who …?"
"My name is Angeal."
He blinked. He was seeing that night again, but the colours seemed muted. Everything was still clear, but it was as if someone had put a buffer in place around him, cushioning him against the shock.
But not the grief.
"It's all right," Angeal soothed. "Cry it out. It's better that way."
He did cry, but even then, at the beginning, he knew nothing would ever be all right again.
To Be Continued …
.