I.
The ant bites along Shera's ankles began to itch again. She pulled off her gloves, so she could have access to her nails to scratch the irritating welts. "Okay, time for a break." She was going to go crazy if she didn't put some sort of reliever on them.
With a yawn, Shera dusted planting dirt from her thighs and tried her very best to ignore the itchiness on her feet. She knew she should have put on some boots instead of going bare foot, but Shera didn't expect to fiddle with her garden for long. Oh well, lesson learned.
She assessed the work she had done, and the work left to do before standing up straight. Shera stretched out the stiffness in her back, and bent out the strain in her knees. With eyes focused on the grass for any more anthills, she made her way toward the back porch. A little clump of something passed in the very edge of her peripheral vision. Shera slowly came to a stop. What was this?
Her joints popped from crouching again. Shera gently combed her fingers through the grass. Frizzy little fibers clung to the texture of her sweaty digits. She rubbed the hair between her pads and found that it was incredibly soft. The sunny, russet tone of the hair struck her as familiar. Shera had been picking the darn stuff out of the laundry.
If there was animal hair (Maybe from the creature?) in the yard, how in the world had it been getting in their clothes?
II.
"Yes, thank you. I would love some." Ross, Rocket Town's top community official, gave the interior of the Captain's home a brief scan. She took her seat at the table, unclipped the colorfully beaded chain of her glasses, and placed the lenses down on the wood top.
"How do you like your tea?" Shera was a little nervous while she tried to make the older woman more at home. Of all of her time living there, she'd never talked to the official on a personal basis. She wondered what Ross was here for. She was at the door almost as soon as Shera changed out of her gardening shorts.
"With a teaspoon of butter. No sugar." Ross folded her hands in her lap. "You know, I was hoping that Captain Highwind would be here." She tightly pursed her lips; thanking Shera again when a steaming tea cup was placed in front of her. Her wise, snake-like eyes followed Shera's movements as she sat down in a creaking wooden chair across the table.
"I was hoping he'd be here, too." Shera was brushing potting dirt from under her nails beneath the tabletop. She was a little cautious of where this unexpected conversation would go.
"You're probably wondering why I'm here." Head Honcho, as the residents liked to call her, cleared her throat. "I wanted to thank the Captain, so no worries. We've had a very peaceful week or so, and I thought it best to give him and possibly his group my best regards face-to-face."
Shera awkwardly smiled. "Um—"
"I was extremely worried about this whole 'creature' business. I've been keeping tabs on some of the nightly ShinRa dirt dishes, and my, the mound that they have is endless. "
"Ma'am?" Shera didn't want to interrupt; but…
You couldn't imagine how displeased I was to catch wind that some of the dirt made its way here again. Killing things, and possibly people, no less." Ross dismissively waved her hand, and took another sip from her cup. She thickly swallowed and licked her lips. "So, if you happen to catch your…companion, tell him I said thank you."
"I wouldn't say thank you just yet, Ma'am." Shera gracelessly tugged on her t-shirt collar. Ross caught the avert of her eyes, and the smile vanished from the older woman's face.
"Care to explain what you mean by that, Ms. Joules?"
"The Captain and his friends did stay here three or four nights before leaving, to see about the creature, but it never appeared. Still hasn't." A very stiff pause filled the kitchen after she spoke. The silence was accompanied by the slow roll of Ross' red, glazed finger nails on the dining tabletop.
"I promise they'll be back again to follow up." What a horrible time for murphy's law to prove itself true.
III.
Cid's cabin hammock swayed like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. He rocked back and forth; body weight in the strained fabric causing the pulley system holding him up to gently squeak. His half-lidded eyes were trained on the rhythmic twinkle of bright red, bright green control lighting above. He was hypnotized.
A few moments ago, his mind was bustling with contemplations. Cid was thinking of Shera again. She normally radioed him around six in the evening, but she hadn't called, and it was almost nine now. He was thinking of Vincent. All of AVLANCHE was there but him, and he really did miss talking to the old guy. He was also thinking of Nanaki. That topic was an open bucket of worms.
His inner monologue grew numb after a while and faded to half-conscious static. Cid was falling asleep, and sleeping was confirmed when his eyes drifted closed. In his dream his lungs were filled with wrath and the marrow cores of his bones were on fire.
IV.
Cid spat cigarette filter fuzz from his mouth. He'd grinded the orange portion into mush between his teeth. He was fed up goddamnit! The Highwind wasn't this problematic on her own.
"What seems to be the issue now?" Cloud traveled up a set of thin, bracket stairs. Cid paused him before he could come up all the way and get a good look at the damage.
"Just busted another pipe." He lied. "I told ya she was getting old. Still working on a new ship backn' Rocket."
"How long will this one take to fix?" Cloud ran a hand through his spikey head. This whole pattern of repairs and delays had long since turned into a regular thing.
"Eh, not all that long." The Captain changed the subject. "Y'all seen Red?!" He called out; gloved hands cupped around his mouth.
"Nope!" Yuffie was kicking her feet over a metal rail while sharpening some of her knives with the rock she'd stolen from Cid's home.
"I don't think anyone has since dinner last night." Tifa called back from across the bridge. It was true, no one had seen him. "I'm really worried."
"Me, too. I'm uh, I'm gonna go n' find em' before I start working on this." Cid scowled while turning back to the mess in front of him. It felt as if every night, something was trying to claw its way out. He stuck each of his fingers in the deep, individual slashes through the aluminum lining and followed the cuts all the way down until they stopped. Déjà vu struck him in the back of his head.
V.
If it weren't for the flame on the tip of Nanaki's tail, Cid would have never found him. He followed the dull light illuminating the undersides of machinery until he came to the source. Hand on a humming pipe, he crouched down and looked to find that beast was curled up in the dark corner beneath. Nanaki raised his head from his paws and waited for Cid to say something. He knew good and well he was behaving abnormally.
"I don't want to dig in yer business er' nothin', Red." Cid sank down onto his bottom. He rested his forearms over his knees and scratched under the band of his goggles. "But I think you know, and I know somethin' ain't right."
The beast lowered his head again and deeply sighed through his nose. His hind legs shifted out from under him and he moved from a lying on his stomach, to laying more on his side. "I…I apologize. I honestly haven't felt well."
"You sure you want to talk about it? Don't have to." Cid lowered his voice and looked around the corner to see if anyone was coming. It'd be his luck if Cait Sith popped up with his megaphone and broadcasted personal business to the whole crew. Maybe Reeve was on the other end, just as curious as everyone else.
"I don't know what affliction I'm meant to be speaking of. I must sound strange." Nanaki grunted.
"A lot of stuff has been strange, Red. You can tell me. You're worryin' the hell out of us." Cid's eyes adjusted to the dark. He was finally able to get a good look at his friend. It looked like Nanaki had visibly lost some weight, and his coat was missing its usual luster. The beast's normally bright eye was dull. In a rare demonstration of intuition, Cid removed one of his gloves. He gently swept his thumb across the very tip of Nanaki's nose. It was hot and dry. "Red, you're sick."
"I know."
VI.
Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, but Shera routinely got cravings. Not typically for food, of course. Sometimes she craved activities. She went through a short list of 'chores' before deciding she deserved to go out.
The very first task on her list was venturing to the garage and radioing Cid since she had neglected to yesterday. They talked and caught up for a long while. She told him of the uncomfortable two hours she had to endure ' displeased rambling, and then the extra hour of trying to coax the older woman into leaving.
"Everyone seems to think that you all took care of it." Shera adjusted the radio receiver in her palm and picked through the supplies in a tackle box. "You should have seen her face when I told you about it never appearing. Abracadabra, her good mood was gone." She mumbled and untangled a three sectioned hook from an old piece of line. "She'll probably let the town know that the threat might still be out there."
"Shoulda told her not to get her granny panties in a knot. We'll be back in Rocket tomorrow to see if it'll show up this time. We gottah drop Nanaki off anyway."
"Nanaki? How come?" Shera tossed a knife in the tackle box and snapped it shut. She looked around the garage for one of Cid's old poles. The radio cord twisted around her shoulders.
"He's sick. Whole crew had to convince him to see a doc…er, vet. Don't think he likes bein' in a 'sterile environment'. It's for the best though." She could hear the Captain scratching his chin.
"You think taking him to a professional and seeing what's wrong will stop the creature from ever coming back? I don't want to point a finger at your friend, but the moment you leave, the damage here disappears and pops up again where you are. I think the poor fellow is our culprit, and whatever he has is what's making him vicious at night."
"Makin' it sound like reverse rabies, but I get what yer' trying to say, Shera. It's alright. Never seen Red sick before, he looks real bad."
"Have you told anyone else? AH!" Shera squeaked after almost yanking the radio off the work table.
"Nope. I don't want to tell Red's business. If anybody else has been trying to figure things out, they ain't said nothin' yet." He was confused in his voice. What the hell was she doing over there?
"I look forward to helping when you get back. I think I'm going to go fishing so you all have something to eat when you get here."
"Ain't it a little late?" Cid hummed in slight disapproval.
"Just a bit. I promise I'll be careful." The speaker rattled with her trying to set the radio back upright. She unwound the cord of the receiver from her arm.
"Bring one of them spears just in case. Y'hear?!"
"Yes, Sir." Shera rolled her eyes.
"Oh, and ah, Shera?" He had one more thing to say before signing out.
"Yes?"
"I miss you."
"I miss you, too."
VII.
Cicadas wailed out their last raggedy notes for the evening, joining the warm breeze that swept through to rustle grass and leaves. There were at least two or three more hours of sunlight left, and Shera figured it was enough to bring in a decent bucket of fish. Part of her walked down to the creek behind the house because she genuinely wanted something fresh for Cid's friend's to eat. Another portion, because she was a little stressed. Another portion, simply because she felt like it.
She redistributed the items in her hands. Shera held a plastic pail with all of her supplies in one grip, and one of Cid's spears in the other. She used the weapon as a guide while she walked a worn path back into a small section of woods. She very cautiously, checked the ground for threats, behind her for any surprise visitors, and confirmed that her cellphone was still on and in her pocket. Shera couldn't help but feel paranoid; even if much of her logical thinking confirmed that the reason for her caution was miles and miles away. Always, safe than sorry….sort of.
The soothing trickle of flowing water greeted Shera at the end of her walk. She propped the spear against a tree and unfolded a familiar wooden chair in front of a secure section of pressed down bank. Methodically, she dipped down in her bucket to begin preparing the rod she had taken with her. The cork segments were placed down on the grass, the reel, and tackle box after. Shera was going to click open the tackle box when she noticed an odd clump a short ways down the end of the bank. It was an unmoving mass of something old and ripped. Inwardly kicking herself in the leg, she placed the tool box down and traded it out for the spear still resting against a tree.
Sharp portion down, she paused a pace or two in front of the mass and prodded. Nothing dangerous, thank god. It was just old fabric. Old…familiar fabric. With a perplexed squint, Shera placed the spear upright, and used it as a support while she crouched down. She tugged the shredded material aside so she could better assess it.
It was Cid's flight jacket? Heavy emphasis on the 'was'. She only knew because the patch of his last name's initials was just barely intact. When Shera retracted her hand, it was covered in sunny, little russet fibers of animal hair, and old gritty clumps of blood.