Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Forty-Two
The rain beats down outside. The ensuite window is partly open and the noise of the downpour would usually comfort her. She has no idea what time it is; just that it's dark and it's night.
"So much for energy conservation, Gi," Kwame mutters. He's leaning against the wall, watching Gi vigorously wash out the excess dye from Linka's hair. He shoves several soggy towels aside with his foot, bending down to pick one up. "You've used up the entire floor's worth of laundry here."
"Bite me," Gi says viciously, twisting and glaring at him. "You think you can do any better, then you —"
Linka gasps as her head is jerked to the side. She squints into the basin; her hair trailing down the porcelain sides. Dark brown water slushes down the drain. The blood is rushing to her head as she stands hunched over the sink; fingers gripping the sides. Her knuckles are starting to throb.
Her body sways again with Gi's movements. A familiar ring tone starts buzzing somewhere behind her, probably from the couch where she left it. She already knows who it is without seeing. Mishka is in an absolute state. She called him two hours ago, willing herself through a very distressing conversation and her phone has been ringing frequently since.
"It is your brother again," Kwame says. He has her phone and is unsure how to proceed. "Do you want me to answer —"
She nods, feeling the water trickling into her eardrums. Her upside-down state isn't exactly conducive towards another long, overwrought conversation. Neither is her state of mind.
Kwame's voice is low and hushed. Linka turns her head, watching a moment of their conversation before he calls Wheeler over. The Yankee raises his eyebrows as Kwame hands him the phone. Wheeler disappears into one of the bedrooms, talking softly to her brother and closing the door behind him.
Linka sniffs as the water is turned off. She's guided towards a chair in the middle of their shared bathroom. She finds herself staring at the floor tiles as Gi towel-dries her hair. They're hideous — lime-green geometric patterns, a relic from the late 1970's. There are chips and dents visible, and the room is in desperate need of a modern overhaul.
"Just a warning — I'm not a hairdresser," Gi whispers, wrapping her arms around Linka's shoulders and hugging her tightly. Linka smiles in response, but it's automatic. Painted on.
The scissors are beside the basin and Linka's mouth is suddenly dry. She's held it together thus far but the thought of losing her prized mane sends a bolt of anxiety through her. Contract killers, leaving her friends, leaving him; yet the largest emotional response has been provoked by something as simple as a hair cut.
She recalls nights spent seated in her grandmother's lap when she was a child. Their shared ritual — brushing Linka's hair while sharing stories of her beloved mother.
Babushka always loved her golden tresses.
She wills herself to calm down. Gi runs a brush through the strands. Her hair soon falls to the middle of her spine and she winces as the comb snags several times. Linka's eyes soon follow the movement of the scissors with a sense of mounting apprehension.
"How short am I going?" Gi whispers, squeezing her shoulder with her free hand. "Any suggestions?"
Linka shrugs, eyes downcast. The room seems to be converging, reducing in size. The air is pulsing and a cold sweat has broken out on her brow.
"Shoulder length?" Gi checks with Linka first, waiting for her approval before she proceeds.
Linka nods quickly. Her feet are tapping nervously on the floor and she feels Gi's gentle hands pulling her hair away. The dull snip of the scissors replaces her heavy breathing. Her hair falls away in dark-brown waves, descending to the floor.
Her lips part as she watches the pile increase. Grief surges through her and she bites it back. The lump in her throat is increasing.
"Was that straight?" Kwame pokes his head around, watching Gi's careful cutting. "That looks crooked —"
"Really, Kwame?" she hisses. "I'm doing the best I can!"
"I am just saying you may be better off —"
"Since when did you become a barber?" she snaps, glaring at him. "Do you know how hard it is to do this with you two standing around?"
"Just cool it, guys," Ma-Ti voice warns. He's watching Linka carefully, aware of her mounting stress. "Leave it alone."
Kwame raises his hands in mock defeat. "Just trying to help," he says.
"Well, don't! I can handle this myself!"
Linka grits her teeth. She just wishes that Kwame and Ma-Ti would leave them to it. They're hovering. She can tell Gi isn't coping, and having an audience is making it worse.
The rhythmic snipping noises settle over her and she stares harder at the floor again. Refusing to watch in the mirror, because she's afraid her barely-maintained restraint will falter.
Snip, snip, snip.
"Do you need —"
"No, Kwame," Gi hisses. "I don't. Will you two just go away? You're annoying as —"
"I am annoying?" Kwame glares at Gi; arms crossed and standing tensely. "Living with you lately has not exactly been —"
Gi rounds on him — scissors still clutched in her hand. The argument continues, spilling outside into the living area. Linka finds herself alone in the center of the bathroom. She finally raises her eyes, glancing at herself in the mirror.
Her heart sinks.
She doesn't recognise the person staring back at her. Dark hair falling to her shoulders. The length is uneven, since Gi has yet to finish what she started. Sunken eyes and her skin is pale and pasty. Grainy rivers of dye stain her forehead and cheeks. A large smudge has dried on the tip of her nose.
Bottom lip trembling, she tears her gaze upwards. Wheeler's distant figure is reflected in the mirror, framed in the bedroom doorway. Her phone is still clutched in his hand and he's watching her closely.
Kwame and Gi's bickering reaches a crescendo. The bathroom walls are closing in. She's claustrophobic; desperate to escape. Unable to draw enough oxygen into her lungs.
"Just leave it alone, Kwame! You're constantly on my back about —"
"How am I on your back?"
"You're always riding me about something! I'm not even allowed to have an opinion anymore! Why —"
Linka pushes herself to her feet with a sob; flinging the towel to the floor and rushing out of the bathroom. Gi's cries ring in her ears but she ignores them; shoving the hotel door open and barreling out into the corridor. She sprints towards the fire escape; shouldering through the heavy door and descending the stairs rapidly.
The air is suddenly frigid as she reaches the ground floor. She pushes through the exit and flees through the alleyway, heading towards the street.
Police officers are posted around the hotel entrance. They're looking for suspicious men entering the premises — they don't give her a second look. They wouldn't recognise her anyway. She dodges through the peak-hour traffic; through the cars, blinking rain away from her lashes. The headlights are blurry but she wipes her eyes and presses on, heading for the park opposite.
A large pine tree looms in front and she slows, weaving unsteadily through the grounds until she reaches the gnarled root system. The canopy gives her some reprieve from the downpour but not much.
Linka raises a trembling hand to her hair, an automatic reflex. So used to wrapping her fingers around her curls when she's nervous or stressed, but there's nothing there to grab hold of. She gasps, wiping away more tears.
She paces for a moment, before pressing her hands and forehead against the rough bark. She crouches over as she screams into the night; the anger and fear finally finding an outlet over the noise of the rain and the car horns from the street behind her.
Hot tears fall and she doubles over again, wrapping her arms around herself as she slumps against the tree trunk. Her face contorts with grief. She's terrified; grief-stricken at the thought of leaving.
There's movement behind her and she knows who it is without seeing. Hands grip her shoulders. She's spun on the spot, feeling firm arms wrap around her, drawing her in, holding her tightly as she howls into Wheeler's shoulder.
"I cannot do this," she sobs, choking back more tears. She clutches at him in a panic, twisting her hands into his saturated shirt, not willing to let go. "I do not want to leave!"
"I know, baby," he whispers hoarsely, rocking her slowly. "I —"
"It is not fair!" she wails. "I have never hurt anyone! Why is this happening?"
He shakes his head and she cries harder, gasping into his chest. Wheeler has always represented strength and safety, and she burrows into him accordingly, seeking comfort.
"I cannot do this," she moans. "I do not want to go!"
"I know," he repeats. He cups her face, leaning forward and kissing the tip of her nose. "I'm comin' with you."
She starts to cry again. Trying to speak, trying to tell him how afraid she is of losing him; how terrified she is of getting her hopes up, only to be let down by circumstances beyond their control but he shakes his head.
"We need to talk, babe," he says. "You know we do."
She cries harder. "Yankee, they will not let you —"
"I have a plan," he says, wiping her tears away with his thumb. He kisses her lips softly, tenderly and she slumps in his arms. "But just hear me out. There's some stuff I've gotta get off my chest first. Been carryin' it around for far too long."
She sobs; fingers tugging at the drenched cotton of his shirt as he cradles her in his arms. He ducks his head low, lips brushing against her ear. His voice is low and soothing.
"At the very least, I owe you the truth. Because I've been tip-towin' around the subject for nine years and if I can't be honest with you now, then I don't deserve —"
She moans, about to reply but he kisses her again, shushing her.
"But I —"
"Enough," he whispers. "Enough pretending. I'm done with it. Not gonna push it aside any longer."
"Oh God, Yankee —"
"I love you," he murmurs, tilting her chin and forcing her gaze upwards. "I always have. It's always been you."
A fresh wave of tears starts. She breaks down again, and he hugs her tighter, bumping his forehead gently against hers as the rain beats down harder around them.
"I've loved you since the first day I met you — that day when you called me a sweet imperialist dog." He gives her a sad smile, tugging gently on her earlobe. "That was the point where I thought 'Yep. That's the girl for me.' And nothin's changed. You're perfect."
She gazes up at him with wide eyes; rain streaming down her face. "Wheeler, I —"
He shakes his head. "You're feisty and passionate. You're funny. Clever. Completely clueless when it comes to relationships though, I gotta say. Freakin' frustrating, actually."
She closes her eyes as they sway gently under the steady downpour.
"You're kind. You're quirky. Drop-dead gorgeous — one look at you and I just…" He trails off with a sigh. "You're brave. Humble. You've got one hell of an independent streak. Stubborn to a fault and you shut yourself down when things get too hard or uncomfortable."
She winds her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She knows he's right.
"You look terrific in a bikini though, so I can forgive you," he offers and she can't help but give him a weak smile. He sighs, pressing his forehead against hers again. "I adore you."
"Wheeler —"
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispers. "I've just hung about all these years, figurin' that if I couldn't be with you, it was enough just to be around you."
She reaches out, touching his cheek in wonder. Another smile breaks through the tears.
"In the back of my mind I always thought you were way outta my league. Plus, I was too much of an idiot to tell you how I really felt, beyond the flirtin'. So that's on me."
"Wheeler," she says softly. "You were never out of —"
"You said you'd hear me out," he warns and she bites her lip, listening as the rain falls harder around them. "Let me say what I need to, then you're free to tell me to get lost."
She moves to argue and he silences her again, bending down and kissing her fiercely. Her knees buckle and he wraps an arm around her waist to steady her. She gasps, tipping her head back as he nuzzles her neck.
"You're the first thing I think about when I wake up," he says; his mouth hot against her throat. "Last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. Can't say those night-time thoughts are entirely innocent, but you know I'm a degenerate, so that'll be no big surprise to you."
A bubble of laughter escapes her lips. It's unexpected and she welcomes it. "I do not want to know."
"You're usually naked," he admits and she struggles against him, smiling again. "Sometimes costumes are involved."
"Bozhe moy." She shoves him and he laughs, wincing slightly with the movement.
He pulls her back towards him; his voice hushed and close to her ear. "I've adored you for so long. So many years. I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with you, Lin."
She winds her fingers into his hair, pressing a kiss against his cheek and hugging him tightly.
"That's the way it is — the way it's always been. And if you don't feel the same way, I'll respect you enough to let you go. But I can't bear the thought of you walkin' outta my life tomorrow mornin'. The thought of you leavin' on your own terrifies me."
"Nothing frightens you," she whispers. "You are fearless."
"Losin' you scares the livin' shit outta me." He grips her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I love you. That's just the way it's gonna be. But it's your choice. I've said my piece."
She smiles, lulled by his hand moving through her hair. "I love you, too," she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. "Ya lyublyu tebya."
"Thought as much," he says. "Stubborn mule."
"Da," she says.
He squeezes her gently, resting his cheek beside hers. "So are we doin' this?"
"I want to… I want to be with you," she says slowly, closing her eyes as fear settles over her again. Worrying that despite their best intentions, it may not be possible. "I do, more than anything. I am so frightened that they will not allow you to come with me."
"Let me worry about that," he says. "I can be very persuasive."
"I know," she says faintly. "I have noticed that. But what if they still refuse to relocate —"
"Then we'll leave on our own," he says, gripping her hands. "I've got a few contacts. Probably shouldn't in our line of work, but hey."
She rests her chin on his shoulder. The dread and fear from earlier have been replaced by a cautious sense of optimism. Butterflies are swirling and they're not entirely unpleasant. "What about Kwame and the others? What about your family? You are giving them up by —"
"I just want you."
His hair is plastered over his forehead: water trailing in rivulets down his cheeks. His blue eyes are sparkling nonetheless and an impish grin is on his face. She reaches out, stroking his cheek with her fingers.
He's willing to abandon the only life that he knows in order to be with her. He will cut contact with his friends and family so that she won't have to be alone. He's risking everything — selflessly and without hesitation.
She arches up, kissing him softly. Lingering and slow, a contrast to the energy surging around them. Lightning flashes every few moments around them. Water beads on the tips of her eyelashes as his hand cups her cheek again. She eventually draws back; maintaining her hold on his shirt and gracing him with a watery smile.
"What will we do for money? If they do not —"
"I have savings," he reassures her. "Mishka's already deposited your end of the house funds in case we need to access —"
"Oh?" She shakes her head slightly, surprised by this revelation. She wonders suddenly what their conversation entailed. "What else did my brother say to you?"
"You don't wanna know."
"Da, I do."
He rolls his eyes. "Um… told me in no uncertain terms to get my American butt in gear and seduce his sister."
"Bozhe moy," she coughs, flattening her hands against his chest. "What did you tell him?"
He shrugs. "Told him I'm still workin' on it."
She hides her face against his good shoulder, embarrassed. "Mishka likes you."
"Poor judge of character."
"Nyet," she says, shaking her head. "He has been… how do you say? Like a broken record. Many years. Telling me to slow down with my life and start letting things happen. To… to allow certain people in."
"Uh-huh," he says, deadpan.
She's struggling to articulate now. Not sure whether it's the situation or the biting cold affecting her ability to enunciate, but he seems to understand where she's coming from.
"I am so sorry," she whispers. "I really am."
"For what?"
"For not… for keeping you… for not being honest with you. I wanted to, I have always… I am just so… I do not wish to be a burden. I worry that you are sacrificing…" She trails off, swallowing nervously. She's rambling now. Apologies have always been difficult for her. They show weakness. "I am so sorry, I know I am stubborn."
"S'alright." He shrugs, tipping his forehead against hers with a mischievous grin. He hugs her closer.
"You have always taken care of me," she murmurs. "Even when I did not deserve it. You have always been so good to me."
He shrugs, sweeping the hair out of her eyes.
"I did not wish to get my hopes up," she says, peering up at him, desperate to explain herself. "I was scared. I though they would deny you… refuse you to come. I would not have been able to cope with that."
Wheeler nods.
"I do not show my feelings very well," she says, still trying to explain — still trying to apologise — even though her nose and fingertips are going numb. "I know that. I have always… I used to be so nervous around you."
"Nervous?" he says, frowning slightly and she shakes her head.
"Nervous of how you made me feel," she says, trying to explain. "It was hard for me… You are so confident. Easy-going. So open with your feelings."
"Evidently not enough," he says with a faint smile.
"Are you sure you wish to do this?" she asks, blinking up at him. "I worry about you, Yankee. You will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. It will be —"
"I'm fine with lookin' over my shoulder," he says, smiling down at her. "So long as it's your pretty face behind me."
She hugs him tightly, burying her face in his chest. She's tense again. Fretful. Thinking of the future. The uncertainty. Everything will change once the sun rises and she has no control over the outcome.
"I am scared, Yankee," she whispers. "I am so very scared. I have worked so hard. All of the study. It is all for nothing. I am not ready for this!"
"I know, baby."
"I am exhausted," she sobs quietly. "I feel I am being pulled in so many directions." The words are tumbling out as she blinks back fresh tears. "I feel drained, as though I have nothing left to give. And now this."
He nods. "It's been a really shitty few months."
"Kroi frightens me." She wipes her eyes again. "We will be unprotected, and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to —"
"One thing at a time," he says. "Let's just get through tomorrow. We'll work out the rest later on."
"We will leave on our own?" she says, clutching his face, seeking confirmation. "If they do not allow you to come, we will leave together and —"
"Yep. I'll smuggle you out the fire escape tomorrow mornin' if I have to."
"All right." She bumps her forehead against his chest, feeling calmer as the rain increases around them. Another flash, followed by the low rumble of thunder. "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere but here," he mutters, glancing around the sodden grounds of the park. "I vote for an extended vacation regardless of what happens. Beach. Swimmin'. Cocktails."
"Rest," she whispers. It's been so long since she's had any time off.
"Decent sleep-in would be a good start," he says. "We'll be all right, babe."
She nods, trembling but reassured as she pulls him closer; hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she says, kissing him again.
"C'mon," he says, a crease in his brow as he inspects her closely. "You're like a popsicle. Turnin' purple."
"Cold," she murmurs. Her teeth have started chattering.
He slings an arm across her shoulders and she burrows into him as far as she can, letting him lead her back to the hotel.
"Whaddya mean, he's gone?"
Doctor Blight was livid, standing just outside the refuse room where the Earth Planeteer had been held — up until now, that is. Andre Kroi was behind her; arms folded and leaning against the wall, regarding the kid with a bored expression.
"I don't understand, he was there during the —"
"Who was guarding him?" she shrieked, bearing down on the pimply teen. He recoiled, stepping back in fear.
"Anderson was here, but —"
"Where the fuck is he?"
"I don't know," the kid pleaded, holding his hands out in a redundant effort to placate the mad woman. "He hasn't checked in. Neither has the entire back-up team. Five of our drivers have disappeared and —"
"We have company," she said, turning and glaring at Kroi. "Rest of 'em are here. If you'd done your job properly to begin with, we wouldn't be —"
"Potrapyty tobi," he said sharply, spitting on the white tiles and glaring back. "I barely got away, you stupid —"
"Find them," she said. "Pin them down. I don't care how, but make sure they're alive."
"And the little Russian girl?" Kroi's arm flung out, grasping the neck of the teen who was trying to slink away noticed. The boy gasped for breath as Kroi slammed him against the wall, frantically clawing at the meaty fist cutting off his air supply. "You will allow me some private time with my malenʹka divchyna?"
"Bring her to me first. Need a girl-on-girl chat. Use her as leverage. I don't care. Just keep her alive until she's served her purpose. Won't matter what happens after that anyway."
"What do you mean?" Kroi glared at Blight suspiciously. She looked away quickly, folding her arms. She hadn't told him what the grand plan was.
"Just find them. Lock them down." Her headache was returning. "Bring her to me."
Kroi grunted, releasing the boy and slinking off down the corridor.
The teen slid to the floor; crouching on all fours as he regained his breath. A metallic scraping sound issued from somewhere above him and he stilled, feeling the touch of something sharp against his neck. A body was pressed against his side. A sickly sweet smell accompanied Blight. The smell of death.
"Goin home to see my baby," Blight crooned, flicking the blade against his skin and drawing blood. "Goin home to see my schmoopsie poo."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to extract himself but she held fast, wrapping her arms around him. They collapsed onto the ground awkwardly as Blight hooked her leg over; sitting across his hips and peering down at him. The knife was positioned above his throat.
"Wanna know how I got this scar?" she asked.
The kid shook his head vigorously but she pressed on regardless.
"I wasn't perfect enough," she said; her free hand touching the roughened, withered skin. "Sulphuric acid peel. Invigorating. I recommend you try it one day." She giggled, grinning down at him. "You'll feel like a new man."
Her amusement quickly turned to discomfort as a coughing fit tore through her. Seizing this moment of distraction, the boy pushed her off and scurried to his feet, running full pelt away without a second glance.
Blight sat up, slumped against the wall and cackling loudly. The halls were indeed nowhere near as busy as they should be. There were currently around thirty people on site and most had vanished.
She smiled to herself.
All of the brats were here. It was showtime.
"I feel like a worm on a hook," Linka whispered. "Bleak's grand plan."
"Bleak's a fuckin' idiot," Wheeler replied. "There was no way you were comin' in here alone."
"Why is there a hole in the ceiling?" she asked, peering up at the afternoon sunlight filtering into the large area. A large, transparent tarp covered the gap; fluttering in the desert breeze generated outside. "Do you think Blight —"
"No windows," Wheeler said. "Probably done to let in as much natural light as possible."
"You know, the last time I was here, there was a large statue of Anubis standing right over there," Linka said, pointing towards what she assumed was the middle of the galley kitchen. "It may still be there — not that I can see it. A little more overcrowded now."
"Is that the Egyptian dog-dude?"
"Da," she said. "Jackal, I think. I am impressed that you know that."
"Not just a pretty face."
"Didn't you say Ma-Ti was shot here?" Gi's voice piped up from behind them.
"Da," she replied, side-stepping around an ornate bathtub filled with moisturising cream samples. "I do not even know if he was all right…"
"I'm sure he was fine, Linka," Gi said. "I'll bet they're missing you as much as we did."
Linka nodded, biting her lip.
"Some serious shit in here," Wheeler muttered. "Can barely move."
Linka nodded, her mouth hanging open as she took in the sheer magnitude. "Blight had a rather large collection of strange things here back in my time, but I think she has increased her hoarding ten-fold."
The kitchen was packed to the brim.
Boxes, crates and supplies were stacked to the ceiling in some spots, perched precariously close to tipping over. The trio had no choice but to squeeze through narrow spaces, weaving their way through the over-packed room.
"At least you know what the supply runs were for," Wheeler said, glancing back at Gi.
"Kwame's gonna pitch a fit when he sees all this," Gi said, reaching into a random box and pulling out bars of pre-packaged soap and toothpaste. "Bastards have been keeping it all for themselves, leaving the rest of us with nothing!"
"You expect anything less of the old bat?" Wheeler said. "Woman's nuts but she's lucid enough to stockpile this shit."
"Batteries," Gi said, picking up a pack of AA's and tossing them to Wheeler. "Kwame's definitely gonna want to cart all this back."
"Won't need to if Lin can power us back up before she goes."
"I am not confident," she said, glancing around nervously. "I will do my best but —"
Linka froze as a box on the other side of the room fell to the floor, seemingly of it's own accord. The contents scattered loudly and the trio dropped to the floor, seeking hiding places.
Linka watched with wide eyes as a can of food rolled along the tiled surface; coming to rest beside a stainless steel counter. She swallowed, recognising the bench as the same one Blight had been perched upon just before she'd been carried screaming towards the lab — and the gaping maw that had awaited her.
It occurred to her that she was tantalisingly close to heading home.
"Can you see anyone?" Gi's voice was low, barely audible. "Is someone there?"
"I do not know," she whispered back. "I have locked most of the people here down. There should not be many le —"
Another clattering sound startled her. Linka flattened herself against the boxes, risking a peek around and spotting a dark figure cross her field of vision, disappearing amongst the clutter.
Der'mo.
She looked around, panicked; trying to find Wheeler but he was no longer visible. Gi's shoe was poking out from behind a large stack of pallets and she contemplated running to join her.
Another box of objects overturned nearby, but this time on the other side of the kitchen. She froze, trying to pin down Wheeler's location. The sound of a scuffle came from the same direction and she waited for the smoking evidence of the fire ring, but nothing happened.
More footsteps. Quiet, creeping. Linka held her breath, sensing another presence close by. She squeezed herself in-between two boxes, holding her ring out in front of her. Waiting for whomever it was to show themselves. Intent on blowing them through the hole in the ceiling.
A strangled yelp sounded, followed by dragging noises. Muffled cries and Linka's heart lurched, aware of the one person in the room who lacked access to the element needed to power her ring.
Defenceless.
A scream, followed by a loud crashing sound. She gasped, watching Gi's body hit the steel counter, before bouncing off onto the floor. The mystery figure — a man — suddenly appeared and Linka aimed her ring, stepping out with fury coursing through her veins.
"Wind!"
Objects went flying as the man leapt for cover.
She made her move, running and vaulting the steel bench and crouching down — doing her best to drag Gi away. Gi was dazed but conscious. In pain.
"We have to go," she whispered, tugging at Gi's shirt. "I cannot find —"
Her hip knocked the oven behind her as Andre Kroi stood amongst the mess she'd created, a furious look on his face. A gun was clutched tightly in his hand and she was suddenly terrified that history was about to repeat itself.
He ran at Linka without warning and she screamed, sending another gust in Kroi's direction. He lunged for the floor instead, skidding headfirst into the bench legs; arms outstretched. He quickly stumbled to his feet, aiming the gun in their direction and clambering over the counter.
With her heart in her mouth, she made a split-second decision. She sent the next gust of wind towards Gi, blowing her out of harm's way just as Kroi barrelled into her.
Linka was knocked to the floor; kicking and scratching wildly as he locked his arm around her neck; pressing the gun against her temple.
"You will not shoot me," she whispered, trembling. "You need me."
"I need you?" Kroi laughed, tugging her to her feet and pulling her back against his chest. "I do not need you, but I do intend on using you."
"Coward," she spat, struggling against him as he dragged her away. Her feet skidded against the tiles as she struggled, still trying to locate Wheeler. "You are nothing but a —"
"You think Blight is the issue?" He laughed again, grabbing her between the legs and lifting her off her feet. She shrieked, elbowing him hard in the ribs and she received a blow to the temple for her efforts. "You wait until I am finished with you, malyshka. I will make it last for —"
"I am not afraid of you," she gasped, still dazed from the butt of the gun impacting upon her head. "I am going home and —"
"Move."
He pushed her onwards, guiding her through tightly-packed passages and areas.
"Where are you —"
She trailed off, passing those familiar double doors with the circular glass window. The lab. She knew Kwame and Ma-Ti were probably inside — searching for MAL's hardware — but instead of dragging her inside, Kroi continued onwards. She struggled again, glancing back at the lab doors with a sinking feeling as they wove their way through the compound.
They were deep within the building now. A left turn, then right. Winding. Rooms upon rooms lining the corridors. Some doors partly open and she moaned in fear, spotting a bloodied body manacled to a guerney.
Bleak was right. Blight had indeed been experimenting. She was terrified, whimpering as Kroi turned another corner. There was nowhere left to go, just a plain, nondescript door at the end of the hallway. Kroi gripped her by the hair and rapped three times on the knotted wood. He turned the handle and kicked the door open, shoving Linka inside.
She went sprawling to the floor; throwing her hands over her head as she crashed into the base of what looked like a circular bed.
With a terrified cry, she flipped herself over and tried to sit up, but Kroi's massive boot pressed down on her upper chest, holding her in place. Looking around, she was surrounded by pink. Pink walls, pink furniture, pink bed. The brightly-colored duvet dangled down over her face and she swatted it away as a second person came into view.
She stopped struggling, breathless with shock. Staring at the woman who had caused all this chaos and mayhem both within her past and her future.
Blight was barely recognisable now. The scar was the only physical feature that resembled the woman she knew. Her face was bloated. The scar was deathly pale like the rest of her face. Stretched and withered due to the bloating. She had lost all of her hair and Linka was shocked to see dark veins passing over her bare scalp and neck. Eyes sunken and she was missing a few of her teeth.
The walking dead.
Dressed in a dusty pink cowl, Blight quickly advanced on Linka; dropping to her knees unsteadily as Kroi held her down.
Taking in a deep, ragged breath, Linka let loose a desolate scream until Blight's clammy hands descended upon her mouth in an effort to silence her.