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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WRATH OF AN ANGERED SIREN
*
Love is much like a wild rose
Beautiful and calm
But willing to draw blood in its defense
-Mark Overby-
Vacant.
The expansive bridge is bathed in the cerulean glow cast by the moon–whatever portion leaking through the vast and clouded sky. The storm is long past, the ground damp and sodden. A heavy mist remains in the air. Shadows swallow everything attainable, blanketing the DC area in a dark cloak. The air is still, but brings with it a frigid bite that isn't begot by the cold.
A single silhouette, lithe in shape and a deeper sable against the black sea of night, has posted itself at the steps of the familiar bank building. A lock or two of long hair billows in the newborn breeze like dark ribbons. Slowly, as if entranced by the pull of the stars.
Other than the brief flutter, the form is perfectly still. The world is quieter now.
Inexpressive.
A sudden shift disturbs the silent harmony of twilight. A dirtied foot ventures forward. Testing the waters. Attempting faultless stealth. Slowly, another pursues, moving discreetly for the form at the bank's threshold. More follow. A single troop of hunting predators, paying no mind to bare feet scuffing against the harsh pavement or uncovered flesh in the frigid night air. Sullied garments hang in rags.
Their pace quickens, the carnal knowledge that their quarry cannot possibly escape now swimming through their broken minds. Their speed is notable, adrenaline surging through powerful muscles. They're nearly upon their prey. Closer, closer. The lamb that has so foolishly exposed its back to the treacherous outside world. Hunger and awakened instinct rage within the inner confines of the figure's would-be captors.
Empty.
Behind them, headlights materialize with a sudden glare. The rev of an engine pierces the night.
The Infected skid to a halt, instantly on the alert. Whirling, they bare their dirtied teeth in confused surprise. The glare back-lights the brunette mannequin perched lifelessly on the bank's steps. Illuminated in the brilliant twin spotlights, the sickly forms targeted appear a ghostly army. Even with their keen eyesight in full use, they have to squint past the white glow to see the large Escape speeding straight for them. And, for the first time, they feel fear.
Hollow.
Behind the wheel: savior and reaper.
Pale knuckles choke the wheel, ground tight. Brennan feels a darkness flush within her chest, expelling much needed light. Tears sparkle in her eyes–what little emotion she yet retains. Angry tears, furious and pained. The steel blue taking in the sight of the unsuspecting Infected hardens. Her brow slams downward in a combination of unadulterated rage and pure satisfaction.
Come to Mommy, she thinks vengefully, flooring the gas. Absolute despair. An aggrieved cry tears from her raw throat–a declaration of war. Screaming is all she can achieve. The first victim Infected strikes the frontend with a collision that rocks the entire vehicle.
Broken.
Sweets had once said she possessed a reverence for life that belied her from ever being capable of such massacre. Such needless killing. Booth had stood on trial for her, swearing determinedly that she could never harm another human being in such a manner. His speech alone that day had been the closest to a declaration of love as she'd ever heard or seen. It had been three words away from a confession. He'd bared himself to the world, vulnerable in front of judge, jury, and God. His feelings for her had never been clearer.
But Sweets was wrong. Her partner… is wrong. That reverence is gone. And her actions now disprove his loving defense.
And so she screams. Anything to kill the silence his absence leaves in its wake. She sees red. Painful, despairing, bloody heartache. Others soon follow. Struck directly and head-on before tumbling up the windshield and over the roof. Their screeches and startled protests fill her ears and claim her senses. Brennan feels every impact, and is glad for it.
Cold.
This is what despair truly feels like. Heart slowly falling to pieces. Memories invade her thoughts, disrupting her objective. Laughter, singing. Foreigner. Slamming on the brakes, she watches as her last roadblock slides off the vehicle's hood before shoving the gear into reverse and peeling backwards. Christmas trees and mistletoes. Glancing behind herself, she witnesses one charging at her vehicle, now properly provoked and growling wordless, unintelligible obscenities. An earring winking in the light. Brennan picks up speed.
Ruthless.
She is the brain person. He, the heart. Together, they had functioned as one. Think and react. Rationalize and feel. Partners in absolute.
Her heart is gone. These Infected creatures have torn it straight from her chest, right out of her life without mercy. Without hindrance. She can no longer feel. Anything. She feels no regret as she smashes an Infected's body between a lamppost and her back windshield. Feels no remorse.
Brutal.
She hates them. Their suffering will bring her little peace, but that tiny fraction will be enough. She's unrepentant, consumed by a fury she doesn't even recognize. Rules are for people with something to lose, and she's already lost everything now. Her body shakes, swamped in grief, breath emerging in ragged gasps, angry tears choking her.
To the world, you may be just one person. But to one person, you may be the world. Booth was all she had left. Her only friend, her only anything. Peeling forward, the limp Infected sinking to the ground when no longer sandwiched between two solid pieces of metal and steel, she shouts again. Screaming against the sobs gathering her throat. Demanding their torment.
More tears, fresh tears, spring into her eyes. She's thinking of him again. Even through the hateful, barren void that has seized every fiber of her once merciful being, traces of him remain. The memories will, in the end, destroy her. The sorrow is fierce, but all things of him must be purged.
Vengeful.
She flinches when the driver-side window shatters upon another collision. Soon more stains and blood smears distort her windshield–surprisingly still intact. It won't be for much longer. After everything, she can take no more. He'd been her solid shield. Her confidante and sole protector. She had loved him–still loves him. Without him, she can't face all that's happened. All that will happen.
Unforgiving.
Without hesitation. Without remorse. Without guilt.
A father's daughter.
Cranking the wheel into a hard right turn, the Escape spirals furiously, taking out numerous bodies with the rear that juts out past the two back tires. Rubber squeals loudly, unashamed, into the night. In the spin, she feels a stronger impact than any human body could possibly instigate. The sudden lurch of the vehicle puts her on immediate alert and she feels the posterior half lurch downwards.
Her tactic has taken out the weakened bridge rail. The back tires have slipped off the side altogether, spinning wildly. Shattered bricks tumble and rain down onto the level far below. The Escape teeters dangerously over the edge. She forces the vehicle into fourwheel-drive. Before she can even find the time to panic, a body comes flying through the air to land violently atop the hood. The Infected screams at her through the glass, crouched and ready to attack. It slams its forehead against the glass barrier when more follow suit, piling up on her hood like monkeys gone mad.
In her favor, it does well to right her suffering vehicle where it then proceeds to slam its frontend back onto solid ground, smoke rolling around the whirling tires. Undeterred, Brennan surges forward again, the single Infected still bashing its forehead into the now spider-webbing glass. The second time she strikes the lamppost, she finds herself shying back from the exploding airbag.
Up the steel post, a tainted body clambers, hurrying for the summit. Reaching the lighting mechanism located at the upmost pinnacle, it begins to violently sway. Fellow pack members shimmy up at its heels, working together to bring down the heavy contraption. With a creaking moan, the towering post plummets, rocketing down and smashing against the Escape's roof, denting the metal. Each window projects glass shrapnel.
Acting on instinct, she fights to ignore the rapidly approaching figure in her peripheral vision and struggles to switch gears. Her own adrenaline, despite her desire for the situation, causes her hands to shake and her breathing to come in quick, shallow takes. Backing up as swiftly as the abused vehicle will allow, metal and fixture alike scrapes off paint along the roof and hood. At last, she pulls free of the daunting debris.
Too late or too soon, all that matters is the conclusion.
A body slams into the driver side panel of the SUV, rendering it into a two-wheeled totter. The vehicle spins erratically from another hit, and Brennan shields her eyes from the spray of glass.
A distance away, the alpha male Infected observes. Its eyes narrow petulantly under the dulling light of the moon. It huffs a sharp growl–an order. Others rush past it, the SUV as their destination and target. Brennan can only watch with glassy eyes as they narrow in.
Moments before impact, the male draws itself up and spreads its maw to release a war cry of its own, loud and deafening the night with blood-stained teeth glinting. Thunderous slams carry for blocks as multiple Infected throw themselves into the side of the vehicle, until it's upturned completely. Barreling over, the Escape lands viciously atop its hood, glass and other parts dispersing onto the barren street.
Only the wind breaks the newborn silence.
Marred and disoriented from the crash, Brennan blinks dazedly until the blurry interior of her vehicle slowly comes into focus. She feels the blood from the fresh wound on her forehead soaking into her hair, trailing down the side of her face. If her fierce display of sadism hasn't attracted their attention, the tempting red aroma certainly will.
As she tries to move, a harsh ache rises in her limbs, instantly dousing her efforts. Nothing is broken or too badly damaged, she knows. Feeling a light spray of mist, however, piques her bemused interest. Looking around, she realizes she's now clear across the bridge, all but safely dumped onto solid land again. Directly opposite the faraway bank building. Off to her left, she discovers the source of the freezing rain comes from a disturbed fire hydrant. Too far from her to cause any concern, though the temperature is no less arctic.
What does concern her are the hollow thumps she begins to hear coming from the underside of the vehicle above her. Slowly, she turns her head and watches as a deathly wan hand reaches down, strong and bony fingers curling around the windowless doorframe on her passenger door. Her heart hammers.
Its face at last comes into view... the visage of the alpha male. Its eerie calmness unnerves her. She feels her pulse begin to pound faster against her ribs. She holds her breath, attempting to squelch the rapid tempo. Her wide eyes gaze directly into its own, emboldened by a defiant spark. Prepared to face the inevitable. She tips her chin fearlessly as it draws itself into the vehicle, piercing stare cutting her through.
She knows her sidearm is impossibly concealed away in the glove compartment which now seems unreachable. She'd have to stretch past the Infected male to retrieve it. That just isn't happening.
Reaching forward, the creature brings its jaws inescapably nearer, parting pale, chapped lips to emit a slowly growing snarl. Brennan closes her eyes, hoping it will be quick. Everything seems to slow, her heartbeat becomes a steady boom in her ears. Breath catches, stalled completely. Chest seizes.
Suddenly, though, everything changes. Everything happens at once. It's like a time warp, watching the expression slowly change on its grotesque face into something unreadable. A new feeling claims her every awareness, and without knowing why, her heart leaps. She knows this, it's familiar. But everything's uncertain still. All at once then, time rushes back. With a startled grunt, the male collapses against the base of its roost, arms no longer able to balance itself upright. A second later, it's being dragged, screeching, from the vehicle. Blunt fingernails carve into metal and leather alike.
Once out, a great force hurls the powerful Infected through the air where it collides against a fallen billboard parallel to the street. The impact resonates like a thunderstorm, and both bent metal and provoked human mass announce their protest and grievance alike. What remains of the raving Infected army falls uncharacteristically silent–having just witnessed their mighty pack leader tossed clear across the street like an unwanted toy. They twitch uncertainly in place, waiting anxiously for a retaliation or subsequent attack.
Brennan feels a gasp rise in her throat at the sight. Not of the violent display or the slack-jawed creatures, but rather of the interloper. She knows his form anywhere. Though the sheer force of his strengthening power startles her into stunned immobility. She whispers his name, the sound of it like a heavenly choir on her lips.
Booth stands his ground as the rival alpha male fights to disentangle itself from metal and twisted support beams. It pants furiously, screaming its ultimate resentment as it whips aside scraps of billboard to get through. A sense of foreboding closure at the rising standoff fills it to the core, for reasons its broken mind care nothing to question.
A carnal growl whispers in the back of Booth's throat, barely heard in the silence the stunned darkness provides. Muscles coiled and ready to snap. His gray eyes hold a dangerous glow in that same black realm, his face a thundercloud of emotion. It's impossible to mistake the protective fury leaching from his form.
He hasn't moved away from his place between the Infected and the upturned vehicle, blocking their path. Not one of them dares to challenge the stalwart barrage his body provides. One by one, they shift back, casting hesitant glances at their superior pack leader. The hulking male has yet to look away from its oppressor, jaw set and broad shoulders squared. It stands with a slight crouch, prepared at any given moment for attack.
Brennan slowly and carefully begins to hoist herself out of the vehicle with trembling hands, knowing that being boxed in only makes her a more appetizing target. A small chorus of rumbles erupts from the group from afar, and they look among themselves on how to proceed. A silencing bark from the chief male quashes them immediately, and then it turns back to Booth. Eyes expressing its hate.
With a final howl, it tears away and makes for its pack, shoving members aside in its shameful rage. Each one huffs in response and several, who are pressed into the spray of frigid water, yelp in horror and struggle from the line of fire. One by one, they disperse until none remain.
The phenomenon catches her eye, but her focus almost immediately strays back to him.
They're alone now. A fact that's she's shockingly aware of.
His back is to her, covered by only a t-shirt. His shoulders are hunched just barely, and his chest rises and falls with rapid succession. Despite this though, he seems strangely calm.
She doesn't know what to think. He shouldn't be here, defending her against a small troop of Them. He should have been one of the animal's trying to shove her off that bridge. It is not her partner now, so how? Perhaps it is the Infected body that's corrupted now? A Booth-strain it won't take much longer to be rid of...
"Booth?" she speaks tentatively.
His fingers curl into gentle fists, trying to still the unending movement they almost need to maintain. He turns finally to regard her uncertainly, gray eyes flitting to hers. She can see his ribcage expand and contract with worrying alacrity, quick and shallow, but his breathing is quiet. He watches her.
He appears to concentrate, unsure if he should take a step closer. "You never came back," he says finally. His voice is different somehow, deeper. There's a hitch to it, as if speech is difficult for him. His stare falls away from her, as though self-conscious of his condition. "I was…" His entire form tenses, as if remaining immobile brings him great difficulty and great unease. "I was worried."
Her breath catches in the back of her throat and she mirrors his newly assumed silence. They remain away from each other, almost at odds. An uncertain standoff. For a while, this is all there is.
He breaks first, submissive to the need of movement. He progresses her way, eyes glancing around in alertness before resting on her again.
"Bones," he says. This is what he remembers. Everything else is fading, but he knows this. Knows her. He'd seen that monster ready to harm her, and something in him had snapped. The sensation had been electric, buzzing in the pit of his stomach and sending an even hotter tingle across his burning skin.
This had been instinct. Impulse was a part of the Change, so it couldn't be lost. Not yet, not this instinct.
Bones in danger. That's what he'd seen. And so had reacted.
He sees her now, glad of his actions moments ago. But there's still a lingering tingle in his chest. "You should… you have to come home," he tells her. "Please." He doesn't know why this is important, only that it's important. He needs her to be safe. The feeling of home doesn't bring that unsettling feeling in his midsection.
She bites her lip, rebellious against the tears welling in her eyes. She's about to yield to his earnest request when something extraordinary happens.
The wind shifts. Carries the freezing mist across them, making goosebumps rise on her flesh. But it isn't in her which her interest is drawn.
He shivers. Just barely. And everything clicks.
Silence falls in absolute, stillness pervading the sounds of the night. Flashes dart across her memory, recalling. She sees them clearly, rapt with attention, as images of fleeing Infected shriek against the cold onslaught of water.
She reaches out her hand, catching stray drops. She imagines in a month or two they might even freeze against her skin. Stars blink and the universe stutters on its axis. Yes... every morsel, every aspect, of her being realizes.
It's as if a thousand tiny voices begin whispering in her ear.
Listen… listen… listen…
Even the crickets seem afraid to sing. The fire hydrant continues to spray a thick geyser of frothy water into the air, creating a mini lake. The unruly mist reflects in her clear eyes, and in his. His eyes show her. Her breath catches, recessing, in her throat. Epiphany seizes her.
…Hopeful.
When they'd first returned to DC, the Infected fighting to get into the Jeffersonian? They hadn't been behaving violently toward she and Booth… they'd been trying to get inside. Away from the cold. The very beginnings of a smile takes shape on her parted lips.
Listen.
Sometimes, if you want to find something, you have to stop looking.
Faith isn't faith until it's all you're holding on to.
-Anonymous-