A/N: Oi, I overslept a lot. I've got two days off this weekend, hurrah! Oh, and Happy Veterans' Day, everybody. Go thank a soldier.
Also, I lied. Because I'm a terrible person. This isn't the ridiculously long chapter, chapter 13 is, it's almost 7K words. SORRY!
Thank you to the reviewers, you are all so incredibly amazing.
And a thank you to Greg for his mad beta-ing abilities. He likes chapter 13 a lot, so yeah...look forward to it.
XII.
After their scuffle in the community center, Ben had expected Hal to be distant. So it was a little disconcerting the way his older brother hovered at his shoulder, following him around as though attached by a leash. On their bikes it wasn't noticeable, but as soon as they took up their 'stake-out' positions on the top of a several storied building, it became painstakingly obvious that Hal wasn't going to leave Ben alone for five seconds that trip.
After an hour and a half taking turns with Hal making notes on the enemy movements in a wide-ruled composite notebook, while Dai sketched a detailed map of the area, and Pope practiced hocking loogies off the rooftop while keeping an eye on their surroundings for any enemies that may notice their presence, Ben stood and started for the roof access. Hal immediately rose to follow.
"What?" Ben snapped, reeling round to face his brother with fire licking through his veins.
"Where are you going?" Hal demanded.
"To pee; and I would really prefer to do it alone," Ben explained haughtily. He could see Pope sniggering, standing on the edge of the roof several yards away. Dai remained attentive to his sketching, though a small smirk curled in the corner of his lip.
Hal flustered, embarrassed at the outburst, and muttered, "Fine. Just…don't take too long."
"Are you going to time me?" Ben returned, spinning around once more and stalking towards that blessed door that opened to the stairs and to a haven from his older brother's 'mother hen' act.
On the base level, Ben stole a peek up the stairwell he'd just sprinted down with unburdened ease, listening for the possibility of his brother spying on him at the top. Nothing. Hal had, hopefully, returned to his recordings. Ben smirked and shook his head, too easy. He checked his wrist watch, set its timer for two and half minutes then swiftly exited the building.
Out on the streets of that ruined city overrun with six-legged beasts, Ben unsheathed his knife and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds around him. He narrowed his focus to a two mile radius from where he stood, ticked off the number of Skitters in his head. Fourteen…fifteen…no wait, seventeen. He took a deep breath and invited the kick of adrenaline into his system. His heart quickened its pace in his chest for just one second, and then steadied itself at a near sub-human rate.
Everything: sights, smells, sound bombarded Ben at once. He could taste and identify every molecule in the air, he could feel them, pushing against him, flowing around him. He let it all seep in, it overwhelmed his senses at first, and then he eased it under control, counting his heartbeats. Then he took off, aiming for the Skitters farthest away from the alien structure. His kill the day before may not have been noticed, shrugged off by the enemy as unremarkable, but if Skitters started dropping dead all over the place, it would undoubtedly alert the enemy to Captain Weaver's planned attack on their odd translucent mass.
Ben found his first kill several yards away, picking through the debris of a half-destroyed convenience store. He snuck up on the unassuming creature, sliding his blade into the base of its neck before it knew there was any danger upon it. For Ben, there was a strange satisfaction in the way its scaly body collapsed on the ground, gagging on blackened blood.
The second kill was just outside the back of the convenience store. He stepped through the backdoor and arched his arm out, stabbing it through the throat as it rushed him from the side. He ripped out the blade sideways and leapt out of the way of the offal that spewed from its gaping throat wound. It convulsed violently, slumped against the back wall of the building, and sunk to the ground. Its death rippled ecstasy through Ben, pumping more adrenaline into his bloodstream, and amped his hyper-senses to a new height.
Down the street, climbing over an uprooted and scorched maple tree, Ben met his third kill. It put up a fight, knocking him back against a red brick building and pinning him down on the cracked sidewalk. He sliced and stabbed his blade expertly into the most vulnerable spots of the Skitter as it screeched and wailed on him. His timer went off and he growled frustrated, punching the Skitter full-force in the face then dragging it down as he lunged upwards with his knife. He kicked its dying body off of himself, catching his breath then rolling onto his feet.
Ben turned the timer off on his watch and began inspecting his body for visible clues of his recent deeds. His back felt sore, probably bruising from his impact with the brick wall, but beneath his shirt, they wouldn't be seen, so it didn't matter. His clothes were dusty though and slightly rumpled from his skirmish with his last kill. He absently slapped at his body in attempt to somewhat clean his garments.
Ben used the dead Skitter at his feet to wipe the blood from his blade best he could and frowned at the red droplet that landed on the top of his hand as he did so. He sheathed the blade and ran his fingertips tentatively along his face, wincing when he found the injury, it stung at the touch and felt dampened with blood. He drew back his hand to find his fingers stained crimson and scowled. This, unlike the bruises on his back, would be seen.
Stumbling back the direction of his unit's stake-out, Ben searched the area for a means of cleaning his head wound. He knew if he didn't return soon, that Hal would go looking for him, and it wouldn't take the older brother long to figure out Ben hadn't just gone 'to pee'. That was when the strange ringing from the last time they were in the area erupted in Ben's ears and he winced, falling to his knee and gripping his skull between his hands. It felt like his brain was being cut open with a knife.
A white light exploded across his vision.
On a rooftop a couple blocks away, Dai straightened considerably in his crouched position, leaning forward and lifting his binoculars to his eyes. Hal paused in his jotting down of Skitter formations they had so far noticed. Pope stood on the other side of the building, perched on the short wall that lined the roof, and glaring out into the distant surroundings, scouring for alien evils.
"What's wrong?" Hal questioned.
Dai didn't respond at first, shifting slightly to get more comfortable and adjusting his scope length for a farther range, "They're converging around the structure."
"The Skitters?" Hal pressed.
Dai held his lips in a tight frown and watched the events unfolding a moment, then nodded shortly. Abruptly, he lowered the binoculars and stood.
"We're leaving," he announced, "Pope, are we still clear on the backside?"
"Whoa, wait," Hal protested, "Leaving? What are you talking about? We're supposed to be doing surveillance on that thing and you want to leave as soon as there's actually something of interest to survey."
Dai remained stoic as ever, retrieving his rifle and leading the way to the stairwell access. Hal sighed; falling in line behind the older man, and Pope shouldered his own rifle, hopped from his perch and followed the other two.
On the stairs leading down, Hal paused, leaning over the railing to peer down and then questioned, "Where's Ben?"
Dai and Pope exchanged a look and looked over the railing as well, straining their ears for any sounds that might reveal their missing party member's whereabouts.
"Ben?" Hal called out. No answer came and that silence beat into Hal's chest, the sharpened spike of dread. He rushed down the stairwell past Dai, and the other two fell in line behind him, as he hissed out frantically, "Ben!"
"Mister Mason…Mister Mason…Benjamin Mason!"
"What?" Ben stammered, blinking away the white, color and shapes taking form before his eyes.
All the students in the classroom adjusted themselves in their desks to stare back at their startled fellow. Ben gaped around the room, his heart pounding erratic in his chest; Mrs. Hargreaves glared at him from the front of the room, her perfectly maintained eyebrow arched audaciously high in the air, her neatly French-manicured fingers strumming noisily on the top of her podium.
"I'm sorry, Mister Mason, did I interrupt your sleep?" Mrs. Hargreaves droned sarcastically, a malicious sneer on her lip, the she barked out command, "Please answer question fourteen."
Ben dropped his eyes to the desk in front of him, studying the textbook open and sprawled out atop it. Algebraic equations littered its pages, swirling together, this black and red, and white mass of numbers and lines and variables. His brain hammered him with thoughts, muddled and confused.
"This isn't where I was…" he murmured, roving his eyes around the room. Beside him, Marty sent questioning looks and in front of her, Lindsey grinned viciously.
"Well, I am terribly sorry to hear that, Mister Mason, but we are on fourteen if you would care to join us?" Mrs. Hargreaves replied sternly and Ben flinched, clearing his throat and straightening up in his chair.
"Uh…yeah…sure. Sorry…um…fourteen…" Ben repeated, flipping through the pages and through his notes on his desk, scanning them for the aforementioned problem. He shook his head, unable to make sense of the chaotic scribbles, "Uh…which…page are we on?"
"Mister Mason, if you had something else better to do then please don't let us interrupt, go right back to daydreaming," Mrs. Hargreaves bit out harshly and Ben winced, shrugging apologetically.
"I swear, Mrs. Hargreaves, I don't know what…I just feel…" Ben stammered, wracking his brain for an excuse or explanation. He darted his eyes around the room, still trying to get his head on straight.
"Mister Mason, I'll see you after class. Miss Brinkledge, would you care to give us an answer to question fourteen?" Mrs. Hargreaves said.
"Sure thing, Mrs. Hargreaves," Lindsey cheerfully chirped from her seat, shooting Ben a quick condescending sneer, "The answer is…"
Ben slumped in his desk, rolling his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck roughly. Being in math class seemed logical at that moment, it was fourth period, after all. So why did he feel so lost and out-of-sorts. His stomach was grumbling the way it always did right before lunch break, and he could somewhat recall that he'd smoked Lindsey in the 'Great Speeches' pop quiz in history class that morning. He lifted his eyes, scanned the room solemnly, and caught sight of a few students walking past the door, a flash of blue, and his heart slammed in his throat.
Before he realized what he was doing, Ben was on his feet moving towards the door, every student in the room was now looking at him, Lindsey faltering in her explanation of how she solved number fourteen's equation. Mrs. Hargreaves narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, making a low, disapproving gurgling noise in the back of her throat.
"Mister Mason, is there something that you need?" the teacher hissed.
"That boy…" Ben spluttered, continuing in his slow, uncertain meander towards the door, "I was looking for him…before…I don't know…" His brow furrowed and he shook his head, a sudden throbbing headache
"Spacin' is at it again," one of the boys in the front row sniggered and the class erupted into laughter.
"That's enough, everyone. Mister Mason, please sit down," Mrs. Hargreaves screeched.
Ben hesitated a moment at his teacher's command, his hand resting uncertain on the doorknob. At his back, his classmates spoke in low murmurs, still watching him amused if not slightly flummoxed by his actions. He tried to peer down the hallway the direction the boy had wandered but he couldn't get a good look.
Mrs. Hargreaves continued to issue him instruction, her voice growing shriller with every word, but he wasn't listening. He turned the knob and pushed the door open and was swallowed by the white of the hallway, until all he could see in every which direction was that pristine nothingness stretching to forever.
"Well, half-pint, are you going to let us in or not?"
Two boys stood on the doorstep, their varsity lettermen jackets fit snug around their bulky forms. Cole and Nathan, they were on the lacrosse team with Hal. Ben stared blankly out the house at them. It was the middle of Saturday; he could hear the cartoons playing in the background, Matt laughing at the screen. His cheeks flushed with heat as he realized he was still wearing his pajamas – sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Suddenly conscious of his bare feet, he curled his toes under in a pathetic attempt to hide them.
"Yeah…okay, sure," he murmured, stepping back and allowing the two older boys entry.
They strutted in as though they owned the place, Cole ruffling Ben's hair in passing, and causing Ben to fluster. He made a face, attempting to reorganize his mussed locks, though not much could be done about his hurt pride. He hated when Hal's friends treated him like a child, as though they were so much older than him. He hurried retreat into the living room, Cole and Nathan trailing after, and plopped on the couch, scooping up the book he'd left held open by the armrest and burying his face in its pages. The older boys sat on the couch beside him, started watching the cartoons with Matt.
"Hal should be back soon," Ben mumbled, not that anyone was listening.
Ben settled back into his book but frowned. He couldn't make any sense of the passages, the words didn't appear to be in English, they didn't appear to be any written language he knew, but somehow he could read it, not that he understood the words. He flipped to the cover but didn't recognize the title.
"What're you reading?" Nathan asked. Ben startled, both of the older boys peering at him curiously. He showed them the book front and they both made noises of acknowledgment, "Man, you like some difficult books."
"That's because he's such a smart kid," Cole teased and Ben scowled, glaring at the pages. He made another attempt to read but the words were not becoming any clearer.
"This isn't right," Ben muttered.
A dot of red splattered across the crisp white page and black text. Ben furrowed his brow and smeared the crimson color with his fingertip. Another drop fell to the page. He touched his hand to his temple, pulled it back coated in blood. He put the book aside. None of this was right. He rose to his feet; he needed to get out of there.
"Hey, you okay, kid?"
"This isn't right," Ben insisted. He started away from the couch. Then Hal entered, followed by the lithe blonde with soft gray eyes.
"Hey, Hal, what took you so long?" the boys greeted, on their feet but Ben's eyes locked on the girl.
"Who are you?" he demanded, accusingly, "What are you doing to me?"
"Jeez, Ben, what the hell is your problem?" Hal seethed.
"I…I don't know," Ben faltered, "I don't know…I wasn't here before…something…"
The world faded into bleak white, then became a field of extraterrestrial flowers. Only Ben and the girl remained; her in that cotton dress and he once more lost and confused.
"I…I think I…I was looking for…" Ben stammered, turning every which direction, but the field stretched into forever. He furrowed his brow and grabbed hold of the girl non-too-gently by the shoulders, "Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this to me?"
She cocked her head to one side and replied, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
Ben blinked rapidly, taking in his ruined surroundings as he gasped for air and released the vise grip he had on his own throbbing head. The searing pain beneath his skull slowly faded, and he was able to stand. His heart slammed hard against the front of his chest, he fumbled for his blade.
A Skitter stood in the distance. It stared dead straight at Ben. He waited for the creature to advance, held himself tense in a fighter's stance. Several heartbeats drummed by, the two locked in an immortal battle of wills, and then, as though merely taking a stroll in the park, the Skitter turned and left.
Ben scrunched his features, loosening his stance and lowering his knife. He couldn't fathom why it hadn't attacked, he tried to sense if there'd been malice in it, standing and staring at him, but he couldn't recall. He strained to listen for sounds of an ambush, but there were no other enemies in the area.
When the Skitter was far enough away that Ben felt certain it wouldn't return to attack, he re-sheathed his knife and checked his watch. He felt a strange sort of vertigo looking at the digital readout on his wrist. He'd been gone for over seven minutes, Hal was going to be pissed, and the last thing he needed was another falling out with his older brother, especially in front of Pope.
The building where Ben's unit had been staked out was only a short jog away, but when he reached it, the three men he'd left there were gone. He closed his eyes, focused a moment on the bustle of noise all around him and got a bearing on their location. They were several yards away, sneaking through the area. He could hear Hal hissing his name.
Ben rolled his eyes, his elder brother never trusted in his ability to take care of himself. He slipped through an alleyway and snuck up on the group, clearing his throat to gain their attentions. They spun round, guns poised at the ready, and he held his hands up, perked a brow at them. Dai and Hal quickly lowered their weapons, but Pope was reluctant to shoulder his own rifle.
Hal strode toward Ben and cuffed him behind the ear.
"Dammit Hal," Ben groaned, bristling and glaring up at the older boy.
"What the hell, Ben? Where did you take off to?" Hal demanded, in a harsh whisper, "You said you were just going to take a piss, instead-"
"I heard a Skitter nearby," Ben hastily lied, "I thought it might discover our location and report back, so I went to take care of it. I can show you its dead body if you want?"
"Yeah, let's see it," Hal challenged, and Ben nearly choked on a sudden lump in his throat. He hadn't expected his brother to call that bluff. All the Skitters he dropped were too far away to justify his leaving the stake-out point to slay them.
"No. We don't have time," Dai interrupted, "We need to get out of here."
Ben hid his relieved smirk, thinking 'thank god for Dai', before the young man's words registered. His brow wrinkled and he darted a look up at the unit leader, then glanced between the other two men.
"What's going on? Why are we in such a hurry…? We aren't due back at camp for another four hours," Ben questioned.
Dai led the way back to the bikes, as Hal explained the situation, Pope lingering behind – maybe to watch their backs, most likely so he didn't have to walk too close with the others and could abandon them in a heartbeat if the scenario called for it.
"Skitters started acting strange while you were gone," Hal was saying, his anger towards Ben still evident in his tone, "And then the structure started…" He trailed off, "Dai thought it best we get out of here. He thinks we need to drop the mission and focus on relocating the 2nd Mass."
"What?" Ben gaped, "We can't drop this mission!"
"I didn't realize you were so invested in it," Hal remarked, looking startled at the outcry.
"I'm not, I just…" Ben shook his head and fixed his glare forward, "We've put so much time and energy in it and I think this could be an important strike against the enemy."
"Almost sounds like you know something we don't," Pope commented, in his usual rough brogue.
Hal and Ben glanced warily back at the older man, mirror expressions of uncertainty and mild fear. Pope appeared skeptical, he wasn't looking at the brothers, his demeanor gave nothing away, he walked with a swagger and his lip curled upward in its natural sneer, but there was a hard line to his features. Something written in them that betrayed a darker intention. Hal turned back to Ben, his own expression inquisitive, and Ben shook his head, vehemently denying the former-criminal's assertion.
"We'll talk about it later," Hal muttered under his breath and Ben rolled his eyes but remained silent. There was nothing to talk about later.
As they mounted their bikes and kicked off towards home, Ben let his mind wander back to his blackout. He couldn't remember the details, but he knew there had been some sort of reverie like a dream, a few bits and pieces of which still lingered before his eyes. The girl in white, her soft voice susurrating in his ears though he couldn't hear what she was saying, her words long faded from memory.
It didn't seem a coincidence that strange happenings began around that alien structure at the same moment Ben lost a chunk of time, and he did not like it, not at all. That thing needed to be destroyed, whether the 2nd Mass was willing to do it, or he was forced to do it himself.
.
.
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A/N: Another chapter about the alien structure...and another 'alien daydream'...hm...and another brotherly...uh...fighting moment.
Right. Anyhow. Let me know what you guys think (translation: review please!).
Otherwise, see you Thursday!
Reviewers: Greg, eternal love, hm? We'll see about that...bwahahahaha! And, also, always glad to turn someone into a sappy romantic. 'Tis what I'm here for :D. JDMlvr1, sweet, that works! Haley, glad to have you back. Oh, it sucks being busy, but I guess I can relate. SassySavannah190, those four certainly don't make things easier on our boys, that's for certain. I'm looking forward to intro-ing Rick, I liked his character quite a bit too, so he may have a fairly important role in this story. As for Roman, the 'leader' of the razorbacks...yeah...he's something. Facepalmer123, really? Because I thought the compass scene should've done it. Oh well, sorry to let you down. I'm sure this chapter didn't help much either...apologies. DancerIntheDark101, s'okay, welcome back. Glad you liked the last few chapters, you have said it before, but I don't mind hearing it. I hope you have the time to stop in this chapter! IcicleLilly, I know what you mean about the boys being frustrating. They drive me up the wall, and I'm writing it...well, that is kind of why...I swear, lately all they've been doing is fighting...when their not supposed to be fighting! It's making the chapters difficult to write, because I got to rewrite, because I'm like, dude, Jimmy, stop being a prick...no, no, bad Ben, that is not how you win friends and lovers! See what I got to put up with? Cookie97, aw, I'm glad you liked it so much! And I like your take on Jimmy's motives, because he's not feeling so great about them...
Okie dokie. I got to go eat breakfast, shower, write an essay on linguistic diversity in the Aleutian islands, and then pump out chapters of Fire Light. Also, I should probably do laundry...I wore my green, weekend only pants to work yesterday, never a good sign. Later people!