Missgoldy's Rather Large Author's Note:
There's been a lot of confusion with some of you regarding some aspects. I've left the explanations vague or lacking for a reason, since I'll give away a major plot line if I explain too much. But I'll give you a brief rundown.
The future Planeteers have had the same experiences as our Linka UP UNTIL THE ALASKA TRIP — up until Future Blight left the message on the mirror. This is the point where the shared past and future timelines deviate — branch off, if you will.
The future Planeteers never lost Linka in a portal. They never saw her disappear. You'll find out later on that there was no conversation with MAL for them and no visit to the compound.
The future Planeteers (including future Linka) all continued on TOGETHER after Alaska with eco-missions until an unexplained event caused them to disband a few years later. We have also been told that a few years after they went their seperate ways, Future Linka returned to Russia for reasons unknown. I have not divulged this information yet. I know the reason and our Linka's not going to be too happy to hear it.
That's all I can say for now, but in a nut shell: We had one shared timeline that has now split off into two seperate paths, courtesy of Future Blight's meddling. She's done this for a reason.
We have the future timeline that our Linka is in now, and the past timeline with our past Planeteers that has veered off in a different direction entirely now that Linka is gone.
This chapter is rated M for one particular scene with horror themes. This fic will switch over to the M section in a few days, so you may want to follow the story if you wish to receive updates on new chapters. PM me if you have any questions :-)
Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Fifteen
The sun was setting behind the hills, casting long shadows over the landscape. Linka coughed as she sat by the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees and taking in the scene around her. The group had retired for the night under the protection of a weather-beaten gas station shelter.
The fire was kept small. Matt — an investment banker from Orlando — had jokingly suggested they set the drum up next to the fuel pumps. Met with quiet laughter, the others had known it wouldn't have had much effect. The pumps had been drained years ago.
The sign that had once advised passing motorists of the fuel prices was lying crooked now. The price board was broken — hanging by electrical wires and it made a metallic thumping sound as it bumped against the main post. Linka jolted every time she heard it, eyes scanning her surroundings — but with the exception of the small flame burning, there was only darkness visible in all directions.
The darkness was absolute. It frightened her. The ever-present haze blocked the moonlight and she was unused to such intense blackness. It seemed unnatural.
She shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders and occasionally tuning in to the chatter going on around her. She felt shy around these people. More reserved than usual. Strangely, the same feelings had begun to manifest themselves when she was around Kwame.
She felt a tad uneasy around him. Almost distrustful.
He sat quietly beside her, occasionally adding a comment or an anecdote to the conversation which was currently centred on the weather conditions. Regardless of the familiarity, she found herself nervous around him. Not just because of the revelations she'd been shocked to learn earlier. It was more than that.
The uneasy feeling had been prickling away at her all day — the suspicion that he knew more than he was letting on about her situation. Despite her curiosity, Linka felt that he was intentionally avoiding or skirting certain questions. In the end, she'd given up asking due to the same blanket response.
The answers are coming, Linka.
Linka blew a frustrated breath outwards. She re-shuffled herself, stretching her cramped legs out in front of her and propping herself against Kwame's back-pack.
"Is it always like this?" Linka finally asked, and she felt her face flush as a dozen pairs of eyes focused on her. She coughed again, before clarifying. "The sand, the wind." Gesturing around her, she shrugged. "The dark?"
"Yep," came a voice from the other side of the fire and she guessed it was Tyreese's baritone note that answered. "Nights take a long time to get used to out here. Has anyone else noticed that the wind has died down?"
The others murmured their agreement, curious that the sand was no longer blasting in their faces as it usually did. Many hadn't even bothered wearing their masks or face-wear during the walk.
She frowned, glancing down at her ring and noticed that Kwame was also peering down at her hand, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Do you still have your ring, Kwame? I haven't seen you use your —"
"Shhh," he whispered, raising his eyes to the other members of the group. He shook his head, before jumping to his feet and motioning for her to follow him. She did, looking perplexed. They trod carefully, their feet dislodging the dust as it swirled upwards courtesy of the illumination from Kwame's lantern.
They entered the adjoining pay-station shack and he waited for her to enter before he closed the door behind them.
She frowned, a little perplexed about the secrecy. "What —"
"Sorry," he said. "I try not to discuss the rings around them."
"Why?" She shook her head, confused. "Do they even know who you are?" Linka frowned, correcting herself. "Or who you were? I'm assuming the Planeteers are no more."
"A few of them know, yes."
"Do they know who I am? How I got here?" The familiar frustration was mounting and she bit it back, willing herself to remain calm. "You didn't answer my question. Do you still have your powers?"
"Look, there is plenty of time. The answers are com —"
"Da, I know," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at him. "The answers are coming. I am not a … a precious little puppy dog to… to…" She groaned, frustrated by her inability to come up with a suitable word. Stamping her foot, she turned and gave him the cold shoulder. "Oh, dyermo!"
Kwame sighed, resigning himself to appeasing the tempestuous Russian somewhat. "We haven't been Planeteers for quite some time, Linka. We retained our rings but relinquished our elements."
"Why?" Linka stared at her friend, at a loss to process the reasoning behind this new information. "What does that mean?"
"Around nine years ago, things were getting incredibly dangerous for us. Gi was nearly drowned." Kwame pointed to his face with a pained look. "Greedly wasn't chopping onions when he did this."
"Bozhe moy," she gasped, reaching forward and touching the roughened skin. "This happened during the Planeteers?"
Kwame nodded. "Wheeler was shot twice through the chest by Looten Plunder. We nearly lost him. Gaia was fading by this stage. We simply couldn't keep a handle on things. When it all started to go bad, she chose to permanently combine our powers." He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor. "It backfired on us."
"Permanently combine…" she said. "You mean, Captain Planet took over our duties?"
"Yes."
"Well, where is he?"
"We don't know."
"You don't know?" she asked, slightly incredulous.
"No."
Linka frowned. "What do you mean when you say it backfired?"
"We know he is still earth-bound because our ring powers never returned to us. He's here somewhere, we just don't…" Kwame trailed off, sighing heavily. "It backfired because we are missing Cap, we have no Gaia and no powers. We are on our own."
"But my power exists here," she said, her mind ticking over. A headache was starting to form and she shook her head, trying to clear the fuzzy white noise invading her brain. "I do not understand…"
"That was always your problem, Linka," he replied and Kwame's face was sad, now. Reflective. He reached forward and touched the tip of her nose with a fond smile. "You were always too curious for your own good."
She sighed, stretching her arms behind her head and yawning loudly at the same time.
"There is more, but I promised the others we would all be together so we could fill you in on what you had missed." Kwame linked his arm around her neck and pulled her in for a cuddle. "Regardless of the circumstances though, it is so good to see you, my friend. I have missed you. We have all missed you."
She smiled, squeezing him back. "It is a pity I will be unable to have a serious talk with my other self. Why on earth would I have chosen to return to Russia?" she muttered, more to herself than to Kwame. She foldedher arms. "Not that older me should even exist. That is psikh. I am still struggling to get my head around that."
"Once again — too curious for your own good," Kwame repeated in a low voice and she made a face, elbowing him in the ribs. He tightened his hold around her neck and they half walked, half stumbled towards the camp fire. "I know you have more questions. We have some theories but nothing concrete. The others should be arriving within the next week or so and we will fill you in on everything we know. I would prefer to do it as a team. I promised them I would."
"All right," Linka conceded, settling herself down on the ground. Using Kwame's back-pack as a pillow, she turned onto her side and wrapped the blanket tightly around her.
There was a definite chill in the air. Her eyes drooped almost immediately and she fell into a restless sleep.
Flies.
Thousands of flies. The air was thick with them. She pressed her mouth shut, waving her arms in an effort to dislodge the swarming mass. Her hands cut through them like a knife through butter, her heart pounding hard as she realised they were getting thicker. Panic and anxiety spiralling through her as she fought them off.
Each movement caused a few seconds relief, but then they returned with a vengeance. They seemed to gravitate towards her; like a magnetic pull.
She twisted and writhed around, feet flicking up sand and unable to see where she was going. A sneaker snagged something hidden beneath her and she tripped, sprawling face-first.
Lifting herself onto her hands and knees, the black mass ebbed away and she found herself nose to nose with something else. The flies were all but forgotten. She neglected to breathe for a moment, unable to tear her gaze from the image before her.
A body lay half buried; the skin mottled and partially mummified from the elements. Doctor Blight grinned back at her — flies escaping from her ears and nostrils. Her mouth was an undulating wave of black and Blight's eyes were wide and unseeing. But not.
"Dead," the Doctor croaked with that terrifying grin, spitting flies into the air. Blight winked, making gagging noises as the thing regurgitated a large amount of the winged insects. A trail of maggots had descended down Blight's chin, dribbling down the underside of the neck in thick, white globs.
A gaping wound was visible across the jugular and the vocal cords underneath were visible underneath the dead tissue, stretched taut.
Linka shrank back in horror and Blight's arm shot out with lightning-fast reflexes. Leathery skin gripped Linka's wrist, pulling her downwards. She drew back; a high pitched whine starting in the back of Linka's throat. She fought back with every ounce of strength she had left but the pull was too great.
"Dead," the Blight-thing said again, almost cheerful in its demeanour. It beckoned, inviting Linka in. Welcoming her.
She tipped her head back and screamed into the night.
"Linka?"
A soft voice called to her and she felt Blight's hand tighten on her wrist. She screamed again, desperate to drag herself away, hitting out at the dead thing intent on pulling her down into the earth. Punching and kicking it away with all her might.
Unbeknownst to her, she had reverted to Russian as she begged, cried and pleaded. Her breath was ragged and shallow, as if inhaling too deeply would result in flies entering her lungs. Or worse.
"Linka! Wake up!"
The voice was on the edge of her subconscious. It was enough to shake her back into reality.
Linka scrambled into a sitting position, nostrils flaring and eyes wide with fear. Like a deer in the headlights she shuffled away from Grace's concerned figure, grazing the palm of her right hand in the process. She barely noticed.
Grace approached with her hands out, crouching down and placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. Breathing heavily, Linka collapsed onto the ground, letting out an involuntary shudder. Blight's mummified face was still burnt into her memory as she ran a shaky hand through her hair, blinking back tears.
"Linka, are you okay, hon?" Grace sat patiently beside her as Linka composed herself. "Linka?"
She nodded, regaining her breath. "Da. Bad dream."
"Sounded like a doozy," Grace murmured, rubbing Linka's back in a soothing, circular motion. "Sure you're all right?"
Linka nodded, attempting to give her a small smile as Grace moved away with a 'thumbs up' signal. Linka rubbed her face with a groan, still disorientated. People were in the midst of packing away and she realised that it was morning.
She stood and began packing her meagre possessions into Kwame's back pack, intent on being ready to move when needed.
"It was just a dream, Kwame."
"Just a dream?" Kwame commented drily, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. She sniffed, clearly embarrassed at her rather loud vocal performance.
"I dreamt about Blight," she said, and Kwame raised his eyebrows. Linka was suddenly aware of the fact that she hadn't clued Kwame in to the identities and current whereabouts of her travelling party. "She was here with me. She is dead, now."
"What?" he said sharply, distracted from his constant state of vigilance. "What do you mean? Did your Blight not survive the…"
"The scavengers killed her," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground and Kwame gripped her shoulders.
"I assumed she was in the car with you? Our view from the rooftop was obscured at times. We were not able to find them all after they scattered from the vehicle. Lambert slipped through our fingers," he added, looking disgusted with himself.
"Lambert? Is that James? John? she asked, struggling to recall the given name of the man who'd seemed so nice and normal. Pleasant. Eager to help — until he'd drugged her, used her as a human shield and held a knife to her throat.
Wonderful judge of character, Linka.
"Lambert is Blight's second in command. Does all her dirty work. So your Blight did not survive?"
Linka shook her head. "Nyet. Blight never left the scavenger camp. I saw her body. They killed another man who travelled with us too. I… I had never seen him before that day. He had apparently started working for Plunder? I think he is Russian."
"Andrei Kroi." Recognition passed over Kwame. His eyes darkened for a moment and he resumed walking, his body tense. He seemed anxious about something. Edgy. "That sadistic bastard. Did he hurt you?"
"He tried." She sighed, pointing to the wound on the back of her head and Kwame groaned, clenching his fists. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.
"I'll rephrase my question, Linka, since I have a far more comprehensive history with him than you do." Kwame stopped again, tugging her back and turning her to face him. "Did he hurt you in any other ways?"
"Oh," she said, realisation dawning. "He tried to…" Linka's lips parted as she returned his worried gaze. She blushed, crossing her arms and feeling uncomfortable about divulging something so personal. Swallowing, Linka pressed on regardless. "Um… Kroi tried to force himself on me, but Bleak pulled me away before he could… you know."
"Thank God," he muttered, his body visibly relaxing. The relief was palpable. "The man is a complete sociopath. Argos Bleak is here too?"
"Da. He left just before you found me." She scrunched up her face at the irony. "Twice, now Bleak has saved me. How did you know Kroi might —"
Kwame's face held a distinct look of disdain. "Let us say that Kroi always held a very inappropriate interest in you, Linka. You had a few unpleasant experiences with that man after he started working for Plunder. Nothing serious," Kwame stressed, seeing the worry etched on her face, "but I remember one mission where Wheeler beat the living daylights out of him over something he'd said."
"Oh," she remarked quietly. Knowing Wheeler, she assumed the comment must have been extremely unpleasant. Wheeler had a temper, but rarely showed physical violence unless provoked.
They resumed walking again, skirting their way around sidewalks and dodging rubble strewn along their path. Members of the group weaved through the ruins ahead, their heads bobbing just within Linka's line of sight.
They were in what looked like central Los Angeles now and Linka stared at the damage; her mouth agape. The downtown LA had been levelled. A few buildings still stood but they were empty shells standing amongst debris and trash.
They stayed close to the buildings, careful to avoid treading the centre of the road. A whistle sounded from behind them and Linka gasped as Kwame grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her into the hollowed-out remains of what once was a cafe.
"Shhh," he said, keeping her out of sight. Grace and another two men in their forties had caught up. One was bald but she couldn't recall his name. She'd overheard the other sandy-haired man — Peter — talking about explosives with Kwame the day before and she'd assumed he had military experience. They all crouched together, alert and wary.
The distant rumble of a car sounded from the direction they'd just come from. Two short whistles followed and Linka glanced at Kwame's tense face, unsure what was going on.
He leaned forward. "First whistle means someone's coming. Second signal tells us if they're friendly."
"Are they friendly?" she asked, peering into the distance. She could definitely hear an engine but the source of the noise had yet to present itself.
He shook his head. "No. It will be Blight's people."
"We movin' on them?" Peter asked, reaching around and removing his bulky bag from his shoulders.
"No." Kwame nodded towards Linka. "They're desperate to get their hands on her. I don't want to risk it."
Peter shrugged, leaving his pack on the ground in front of him. The rumble of motors became louder; the sound all-encompassing since there was a distinct absence of any other noise. For the first time since she had arrived, Linka became aware of the fact that just as the night was un-naturally black here, the days were unnervingly quiet.
No electronic buzz. No people going about their daily business. No televisions. No traffic.
No birds.
"Where are the birds, Kwame?" she whispered, aware of the distinct lack of wildlife around. "Where are the animals?"
"Gone," Kwame said quietly. "At least from here."
"Oh God," she gasped. Wiping her eyes, she turned and froze as a black sedan drove by; its tyres crunching slowly over the gravel. Dark tinted windows shielded the occupants from outside scrutiny. Another vehicle followed the sedan and they soon turned the corner and disappeared from view.
"Heading back to Blight," Kwame muttered. He motioned towards the street and they followed, falling into step behind him. "Let's get you home… or at least, your home until we can get you home. We're two blocks away."
Linka nodded, grasping his outstretched hand and letting him lead her onwards.