Chapter Seven
It should've been the most obvious thing in the world but I was shocked out my skin when everyone opened fire. Maybe I was expecting a Mexican Standoff or at least a quick exchange of smart aleck remarks, but our group of six and the other mob of twelve didn't waste time blowing holes into each other. Croc barreled through the men with a roar, tearing at the clown thugs. I dove, or I would have if my legs hadn't just given out, to the ground, and propped the heavy metal case of guns up like a shield. Yelping at every jolt the case received, I shuffled sideways, screaming when one of Black Mask's thugs collapsed onto me. Something warm pooled in the dip of my lower back, I pulled the case closer, tucking my legs under the corpse. It was probably only minutes before the room quieted.
It took me too long to realize the gunfire had ceased. Trembling, I pulled my arms away from my head. The only sounds I could pick up through my ringing ears were snapping and wet. Peeping over the case, I realized why. Croc's back faced me; he crouched over a pile of mutilated bodies. Struggling a bit I managed to push the body off my legs and lift to my feet, surveying the suddenly calmed chaos.
Blood everywhere, bullets riddling the walls as much as the bodies. Stepping over the carnage on my way to the other gore splattered gun cases it became obvious Croc and I were the only two left standing. I ran a hand through warm, damp hair, biting my lip to keep under control. How had I managed to come out unharmed in this mess? I shook my head, momentarily dispelling the survivor's guilt. I moved about the dead men methodically checking their pockets for goods and removing their weapons. Black Mask would be pissed if we didn't come back with at least our guns and Penguin's, Joker's guns would set him in a good mood. Maybe he wouldn't do the intimidation routine with me.
Croc remained on the other side of the room. I busied myself with building a pile of what I couldn't carry, avoiding coming to terms with the cannibalism the other man was no doubt participating in. I lugged the last case of guns to the pile, rubbing sweat from my forehead. The wet snaps of his meal had silenced. He was breathing in deeply. I watched his back for a bit, he didn't move. I stepped over a few corpses, peeking at Croc's face.
"You okay?" my voice was a lot coarser than I'd thought it'd be. By this time I was at his side and got an eyeful. At his feet were bodies ripped apart, his bandaged arms were dripping with blood. His pale mouth only lent to the stark contrast of the red rivulets pouring down to his belly. He sniffed the air, turning so his cold eyes bit into me.
"Someone's playing dead." The words were barely past his teeth before the body below me catapulted upwards and bolted. Caught off guard I tripped backwards, landing painfully on one of the guns I'd strapped on. Croc lunged, a gore-stained hand missing the fleeing clown by inches. The man threw himself over the bars on the stairs, dropping out of Croc's reach. The giant scaled man growled over the guardrail. I got up, readjusting the guns slung over my shoulders.
"It's fine, right? We should get going," I urged, realizing I wouldn't stand a chance should that runaway get reinforcements to show. With a final growl, Croc turned from the stairs and began grabbing at the weapons I couldn't carry. "Doesn't matter. I've got his scent."
The walk back I followed closely behind Croc, more scared of running into another group of clowns than I was of a blood-spattered cannibal. He set a difficult pace, his aggressive disposition and mile long legs had me at a jog.
Focusing on keeping the guns from sliding down my shoulders I ran smack into Croc's back when we made it to Black Mask's office. I moaned, rubbing my nose as Croc cough-laughed at me. I felt the beginning of a smile plucking at my lips as he folded awkwardly through the doorway; at least his bad mood was gone. Unfortunately, as I laid eyes on the white suited mob boss seated at his desk, my disposition was turning defensive. I didn't bother hiding my glower while his acidic eyes trailed over us.
The exchange went well enough. He was pleased as punch over the extra twelve guns, enough so that he shrugged when I explained why we were lacking manpower. After a few jokes at my expense and plain mean comments the session was over and I trudged my way down to the food stores. Gathering up a prepackaged meal of peppered beef jerky, a cinnamon honey bun, bag of apple chips, and a bottle of lemonade I slithered my way back to my room and burritoed up in the blankets. Shoving a handful of sweet chips down my gullet, I munched appreciatively. This was what I deserved. Sure, I was getting crumbs of food and flakes of some other guy's dried blood all over my bed, but I deserved a break.
Continuing with the self-righteous pity party, I flopped onto my other side. This was really a garbage situation. Why was Blackgate still out of control? Shouldn't the police have absolved the issue by now, it's almost been two weeks of this nightmare. I pushed a piece of jerky past my lips, sucking on the peppery meat. What about that Batman guy? He usually put an end to these types of things. I rolled onto my stomach, whining into the two inches of cotton this place called a pillow. I'd been lucky, ridiculously lucky, to make it this long without something horrible happening to me. I had my ugly past and body to thank for what got me here and what had ultimately kept me alive. Coming to no conclusions I decided to at least bathe and soak my clothes before going to sleep.
With the chores done I changed into clean underclothes and a tank top before settling in for the day.