Chapter Three:
Treeple Threat
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Vincent had his hands tightened into frightened fists; Claire felt the rain wash over her, wide eyes glaring at the dead mightyena on the floor. It wasn't Smile, she noticed, and felt oddly satisfied, though she didn't know why. No, she corrected herself, it was because she wanted to be the one to get Smile. Without the help of a dazed girl, without the help of a well-placed flamethrower – no. Just her, Capucine, and that cracking sound again.
"What the fuck," Mike was whispering, standing still. His shoulders were taut, hiked up, and he still looked pale. Sophie, leaning against Vincent's electabuzz, looked at him with an airy glance, hiking an eyebrow in distaste. "Jesus, I—I thought—" he swallowed, ran a hand through his wet hair. Claire could see his hands shaking.
"I'm fine," Vincent said, finally relaxing his fists. He sighed, and then grinned.
"That's great," Claire said flatly. "We need to go. We're like sitting ducks out here."
Vincent's grin faded, his mouth shortening into an awkward pucker.
"I'd be thankful if someone were to explain what happened thus far?" Sophie asked, in a voice that wouldn't have sounded out of place in a court of law. Mike glanced at her and grinned, but Claire cut in before he could talk.
"After," she said, taking one last look at the mightyena's corpse and beginning to walk. That had been too close, too dangerous – too uncontrollable. "We need to get out of the tall grass." Sophie opened her mouth, looking placidly defiant, but Claire glared at her; the taller girl thankfully got the hint, silencing and nodding calmly.
They hurried, after that. They had stopped running after a few tense minutes—Mike had slipped on the mud and he was still trying to shake off the pain continuously needling his ankle. Claire didn't particularly wish for another person to be injured – seeing as both her and Sophie were already in need of assistance (though Claire was obviously more bothered about it than Sophie, whose expression hadn't shifted since she'd woken up). She had then told them they would simply march, instead of jogging.
Claire was second in line – Vincent and Sophie were trailing behind her, while Mike and Hemlock dutifully checked for more mightyena. She soon figured the other mightyena were being wary – one of them had already been eliminated; perhaps they were reassessing their strategy, or perhaps they were simply waiting for someone to slip up.
She spent the journey looking right and left, tirelessly squinting towards the shadows between the grass, trying to make out any sounds. Claire wasn't exactly aware of how much time had passed since the mightyena had attacked Vincent; her nerves were frazzled, impatient and paranoid, and the fact that she kept replaying that cracking sound over and over in her head wasn't helping.
She'd never killed a pokémon before.
She'd heard about it, when there were rampages against trainers and they did what they could to survive, or when an inexperienced trainer set out to battle wild pokémon more skilled than theirs and lost a pokémon instead of their life. But she'd always assumed it would never happen to her. Those things were limited to the news' channels, to the documentaries, to other people. She was more skilled, she was better, she was always in control of the situation. But Capucine's arm had struck, a blur of dark-green and needles, and the mightyena had gone, its jaws still wide open, its tongue lolling out. It had reminded her of the cartoons she used to see when she was younger, but the comical element was gone.
She closed her fists, glaring daggers at the floor. She hadn't eaten since Fortree but she still felt sick, queasy. Disgusted – mainly with herself.
"We're free!" Mike suddenly said, grinning widely, pointing to the end of the path.
The tall grass came to a stop there, almost too abruptly; the soil was drier where there wasn't any grass, and Claire dimly remembered Mr. Lehrer's geology lessons, about earth layers and Fallarbor's fascinating ash storms, and the way bogs would sometimes flourish into tall-grass fields. Our best example here is Route 120, one of the two roads connecting to Fortree City. Due to the heavy precipitation, the tall grass thrives rather well, which means it attracts pokémon to it. Oddish have made Route 120 their home, as well as hunting pokémon who use it as means to attack prey that doesn't navigate as seamlessly through the leafy labyrinth – such as linoone or mightyena.
Prey, Claire thought, distracted, watching Mike grinning at them, his hand waving ecstatically. She had always been the hunter, not the other way around. And she made up her mind, straightening her spine in spite of her rib, feeling the water sliding down her shirt, like a lover's icy hands, glaring in Mike's direction. Right then, she swore she would succeed where Alex had failed. Right then, she swore she wouldn't give her father another empty grave. Right then, she watched as a mightyena jumped from the grass, claws extended, its eyes trained on her.
Claire took a step back, mind furiously listing off the mud, the cold, the time she had, and then dove, sliding through the ground. The mightyena glared at the spot beneath his claws, and Claire grinned at it, feeling her face pull so hard it almost hurt, baring her teeth at it – her? Him? Would it even be worthy of being assigned a gender? Claire knew she wouldn't let it survive (despite the bitterness hiding inside her brain, despite the disgust she pretended not to feel, mentally mapping out an anatomical chart of a mightyena).
"Meurs," she hissed, as the mightyena landed on all fours, facing away from her. Capucine, who had been glued to Claire's side ever since she'd been released, lurched towards the mightyena, her arm already ready to strike down, ready to rob another animal of its life. Claire smiled savagely, leaning forward in sick anticipation, thinking of Alex's breathtaking smile, thinking of her father's steady hands around hers as he kneeled, thinking of a revenge she'd forgotten about.
Her ribs, pressed down against the mud she was lying on, didn't let her celebrate. The hot, gooey pain spread across her, making her flutter her eyes as it went, and Claire felt hot, rotten breath sticking to her cheek before a loud whine smacked into her eardrum. She flinched, her hand reaching for the side of her face, brushing against thick, wet fur.
Claire opened her eyes, found herself inches from a dying mightyena's panting jaws. Her stomach lurched with a violent sway, and she tasted bitter bile before she swallowed it down, thickly. The animal keened once more, this time in a low voice, and then its abdomen deflated, the final breath taken.
Someone's hands were gently pulling at her shoulder, trying to make her sit up. Claire's hands gripped at the mightyena's pelt, vicious, and she rolled her shoulder back, away from human warmth.
"Fuck you," she said, her teeth bared, just like the beast's fangs were, her knuckles white.
The hands curled around her cheek, this time harsher, pulling her eyes away from the body's, and it was Vincent's brown eyes that replaced the dim of red. Claire could see Mike in the back, battling another two mightyena, Hemlock's tail squeezing around the neck of the closest one, the blade gliding across but not cutting. Sophie was leaning against Tesla still, but her magcargo was keeping a couple of mightyena away. Would Alex have been disappointed in her for not being able to battle?
"Alex," she said, bringing her hand to his cheek, fingers softly padding across the eyebrow, the forehead, the lips, anywhere she could reach, "I'll get it for you. Je promets."
And then the warmth in her chest reached her eyes, and they finally closed.
Inside the entry hall, the heat was suffocating. Claire huffed, attempting to get her hair out of her face without having to move her hands; they hung limply at her sides, sweaty and warm.
"Calm down, Claire," Alex said, checking his pokéballs one by one, blue eyes squinting. "We'll get our turn."
"You mean you'll get your turn," she shot back, but her anger didn't rise, didn't boil. Alex pocketed his last pokéball, smiling. For a moment, his hand moved, hovering in the air for a few seconds, and Claire thought he was going to rest it on top of her head, but the warmth of his palm never came. She looked away, feeling annoyed.
"You need to be more patient," he said, instead, intertwining his fingers behind his neck and looking up at the ceiling. "No one likes people who are angry all the time."
"I don't need to be liked," she growled, crossing her arms, her eyes stuck on the glass pane. Outside it was sunny, and the sea breeze snuck in through the open window. Alex's sigh followed it, drifting with the salt and rolling across the skin of her bare arm. It was a heavy sigh, heavy like an anchor. Heavy like the ones out of her father's mouth when he thought he was alone and it was late at night.
Claire turned to look at Alex, ready to apologize, ready to promise that she would try – and found herself alone. A tight, springy something was blossoming within the pit of her stomach, and Claire got up from her chair in time to watch the mightyena jump across the clean marble floor, claws scraping loudly.
It stared at her, grinning, flicking its tail.
"Are you going to kill me?" someone said, though Claire wasn't sure if it had been her or the mutt. Its tongue licked at its lips, looking wet and rough and dripping. Dripping pink, she noticed. Alex's hand settled on her shoulder, his strong fingers curling protectively.
"I'm not going to be able to protect you forever," he said, and Claire lunged at the mightyena, hands outstretched, ignoring him.
"You never got the chance to do it – nor even once," she hissed, jaw as tight as her hands felt, sunk into the animal's pelt, short fingernails scraping. The mightyena twisted around in her grip, barking, and tiny flecks of spit smacked into her arms, her face. It was warm – she could feel it as it slid down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she added, voice breaking, the strength in her arms fading.
Her hands fell beside her hips again, and Claire hated herself for it—she wanted to fight, to roll around angrily, to smack the mightyena against the floor, the wall, anywhere. She wanted to get even. Her body didn't listen to her, however, instead choosing to hike her chin up, offering her neck.
Alex walked up to her, his hand ruffling her hair affectionately, his back turned to the snarling danger. The mightyena jumped, jaws wide and sharp and pink, someone's blood already dilluted, and Claire watched, helpless.
She woke up with a start, hands outstretched, ready to maim. Vincent, beneath her, tensed when she gasped, the drawn-out noise slipping into a hiss instead. Her ribs were worse than before, bad enough that she didn't have the time to shout at him to let her down, and her leg was cold and oddly numb, and who the hell did he think he was carrying anyway, she didn't need help—
Frantically, she somehow managed to squeeze her fingers between the pocket of her shorts and Vincent's back, feeling a rush of satisfaction when they brushed against the round surface of the pills. They were a little dissolved already – her shorts had been wet for a while now, after all – but she didn't care, savoring the bitterness before swallowing.
Finally, she grabbed at Vincent's shoulders, thumb hooking under the bone (a threat), and hissed: "Que s'est-il passé? Let me down right now."
Vincent's ears flushed as he stammered, and Claire could feel his hands under her thighs, could feel them tremble in indecision. She was about to dig her thumbs in when Mike called out to her, expression glum. Turning her head in his direction, Claire belatedly realized they weren't in the tall grass anymore. Inwardly, she felt oddly relieved.
"Don't hurt him, he's the only one who can carry you," the shorter boy said, frowning. Claire mimicked him, taking in his awkward limp, the way he now favored his right leg. "After you fainted—"
"I didn't faint," Claire hissed, fingers tightening around Vincent's shoulders, who seemed to be torn between dropping her and fleeing or attempting to kill himself. She ignored him, feeling a flood of warmth seep into her face, her stomach, her hands. To admit she'd fainted – which, no matter how Claire tried to pretend hadn't happened, had been the truth – would never happen. She would never allow it.
Mike's expression twisted into angry disbelief at the same his hands did, curling into fists.
"You've been asleep for twenty minutes now," he said. "We managed to take care of the mightyena ourselves, but if you faint again while we're being ambushed we're not going to make it—"
"I didn't faint," she said, shouting and wishing she were standing on her own two feet, looking down at Mike's freckled face instead of being carried like a child, like a helpless little girl. "Va te faire foutre!" she added, for good measure, trying to squirm out of Vincent's arms, almost aching to feel the mud give under her weight.
Mike stared at her, for once too dumbfounded to bother hiding his confusion behind a mask of amusement. And even though Mike couldn't find words to shout back at her, Claire felt not superiority – but warm anger and bitterness. Vincent's hands had tightened instead of letting her drop to the ground. She grit her teeth, finally grinding her thumbs into that soft space under the bone of his shoulders, and Vincent's shoulders shook with effort, with pain, but he still didn't let go.
Her face was warm. She thought about saliva, slimy and pink, and then she thought of tears. Her wrist jerked slightly, prepared to rub the rainwater and her wet hair away from her face, but she set it down again, wondering how long she could keep her hands around Vincent's neck before Mike and Sophie managed to pry her off.
"Um, I'm sorry, but—" Vincent said tightly, keeping his face resolutely turned down to the floor, "we were worried. For, um, your sake. Sorry."
"What Vinnie's obviously trying to say is that we need to get moving," Mike finally said, having managed to return to his happy-go-lucky smile. Claire was starting to think Mike wasn't half as cheerful as he let on. "Always eloquent, eh, Vinnie?"
The back of his neck reddened, but Vincent still followed Mike when the other boy started to limp away. His pants were ripped at the knee, she noticed, looking dark and brown. A crimson shade hid under the mud. Sophie walked past Claire and Vincent then, glasses still meticulously folded on the collar of her shirt, and gazed at Claire nonchalantly.
"What?" the blond hissed, and Vincent's shoulders tensed in fright, but she didn't even pay attention. Sophie stilled, mid-step, her expensive hiking boots (the brand Claire knew best) sliding in the mud.
"It would be for the best if you were to eat something," she said blandly. Her expression hadn't yet changed, not since Claire had seen her writhing and wheezing in Tesla's yellow arms. This irritated her, but Vincent was stealing glances every two seconds – probably fearing for his life – and Claire let the subject die, though she didn't want to. "I apologize if I've offended you," Sophie tacked on, moving on.
"You wouldn't be able to," she snarled, despite herself, but Sophie only nodded gracefully, stepping over a puddle.
Silence fell, broken only by the sounds of their wet, muddy footsteps. Claire looked over her shoulder, watching the prints on the ground. Vincent's prints were deeper than the rest's, and Claire felt that anger bubbling once more, but she only said:
"We should cover our tracks. They can follow us if we don't."
Mike huffed, turning to her.
"I thought about a while ago, but I don't think they'll use our footprints." He shuffled awkwardly, frowning into the distance. "They have fabric from my pants." He pointed at them dully. "They've got my scent. And I'm still bleeding, though not as much as I was before."
Claire huffed and Vincent tensed, fingers tightening around her legs. Mike grinned.
"Ticklish, eh, Vinnie? I wish I could trade with you—"
"Ta gueule," she snapped, oddly aware of how red Vincent was, aware of how uncomfortable she was. "Have you bandaged it?"
"Sophie did." The smaller boy shrugged. "But they bit pretty deep. As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm having a bit of trouble walking around," he added sarcastically.
"What happened?" she asked, voice steely. Inwardly – not as deeply as she would have liked – she felt satisfied; it was obvious that they had been attacked without her there to help her out. But then again, what would have changed, had she been awake? She didn't have many pokémon that were ready to battle—what if she had failed? What if she hadn't been able to do anything? Had she avoided a greater degree of humiliation by fainting?
"Sophie, d'you wanna explain?" Mike said, instead of answering. He had stopped, leaning over his leg, picking at the hole. The rain slithered across his hands, running inside his pants, and he hissed, pulling his arm away.
Sophie, who had been walking beside him, turned on her heel, eyebrow raised very, very slightly. Claire was impressed at the display of emotion before she realized she was doing it, and twisted her face into a frown again. The taller girl's hand brushed past her temple, like she had been meaning to push her glasses up her nose. She brushed her long hair past her ear instead, and began talking in a lifeless voice.
"A few moments after Claire was—" a contemplative pause, "busy, three more mightyena arrived. I believe they were all males, since their build was wider and larger than the rest's. As such, the only remaining female directed them to attack Claire, for her cacturne—Capucine, isn't it?—was momentarily confused. Michael managed to divert their attention with a somewhat unneeded—and potentially suicidal—act of heroism, which resulted in his current injury. We succeeded in taking down the remaining five mightyena eventually; I provided defense, utilizing my magcargo as a wall against oncoming attacks. Vincent was able to finish them off while I bandaged Michael's leg." Sophie sniffed slightly, brushing her hair back once more. "Is that sufficient information?"
Claire frowned at her, momentarily taken aback. Vincent and Mike offered no expressions of surprise, though Mike's face was twisted, his nose wrinkled.
"Do you really feel the need to call me by my whole name?" he asked, wiping his hands on his shirt. They were pink, Claire noticed. "You sound like my grade school teacher."
"How much longer do you need," Claire cut in, ignoring Sophie's solemn expression as she turned to Mike. "We have to find the secret base."
"Well, not everyone has a ride."
"Piss off."
Mike rolled his eyes, stretching briefly.
"I'm good as long as we go slow, I guess. And as long as it doesn't infect, or anything." His tone was too light, too nonchalant. Claire saw himself in him and felt a swab of sympathy, but she washed it off, looking at the prints on the ground again.
"I might be able to carry you for a few minutes, if it comes to that," said Sophie, and Claire could feel Vincent's chest shaking with the quietest of laughters, before she, too, burst into stifled chuckling.
"That's fine," Mike said dryly, looking slightly pinker in the blue, dim atmosphere. "Let's just go. We shouldn't stick around here for long." He looked at the open field, eyes fixed in the distance, as though he was attempting to see past the tall grass, into the no-longer seen outskirts of Fortree.
"We're at an advantage here, though, aren't we?" Vincent said, voice rising with curiosity. Claire turned to peer at Mike and Vincent straightened suddenly, as if remembering she was climbing on his back. The rest of his question, whatever it had been, died in the back of his harrumphing throat.
Mike didn't answer, simply limping away after giving him a quick look. Sophie pushed her wet, brown bangs behind her ears with both hands, and walked after him after making sure Vincent could keep up. With a half-shrug, his hands snaked over her thighs a little more firmly, and Claire was reminded she still wasn't feeling the southern area of her leg. Leaning to the side to glance at it (Vincent held his breath, hands tightening in surprise, shoulders tipping sideways), she found the left side of her leggings ripped, her ankle standing at an odd angle.
"What the fuck," she whispered, right hand darting to meet her leg. It was cold to the touch, and it only throbbed dully when she pressed her fingers against it, but Claire couldn't tell if it was from the cold, from the painkillers she had taken, or from lack of blood flow. "What the fuck," she repeated, at a loss.
Mike and Sophie had not heard her, but Vincent had; while Claire was busy trying to come up with answers as to why her leg was bleeding – or was it her ankle? Was it sprained or broken? –, he glanced at her, at the floor, and finally said, "I'm sorry, um – I wasn't fast enough to – um—" and then he silenced, keeping his face frontwards. "I, um—"
"I get it already," she said, meaning to sound angry, but couldn't. She just sounded tired – or perhaps that was just to her own ears, because Vincent shrunk into himself slightly. "Just let me down, I'll bandage it myself."
He didn't stop walking, however; though she could see his head twitching when he looked at her from the corner of his eye, he didn't even slow down. Claire growled under her breath, threatening, but this time Sophie turned to look.
"Um," started Vincent, ears red under his dark hair, "I'm sorry—"
"What are you even sorry for," Claire growled, patience running so thin it was almost becoming two-dimentional. She turned her eyes on Sophie, who had stopped walking once more. Mike, in the near distance, was leaning against a tree, waiting. "Why didn't you bandage me when you were taking care of Mike?"
"I apologize, but I didn't have much time," the taller girl replied quietly, but not softly. Never softly. "As our priority was to put some distance between us and the pack, we decided we would use Vincent to carry you until we were inside another secret base. As I'm sure you've noticed by now, all of our pokémon are inside their pokéballs."
Claire felt the rain wash down her back, colder than ever, and had to focus not to look around her, searching.
She hadn't noticed. A drop of icy water ran down her temple, over her cheekbone, and she breathed in, feeling lost. She hadn't noticed. It was the second time this happened – first, assuming she wouldn't be tracked down, and now this? How had she missed Capucine's loyal presence, or even Garra's uppity behavior, or even—
But Sophie went on, apparently unaware Claire was only half-listening, "—it took a little more than I had expected, so we decided we would return them in order not to tire them out. Your cacturne was particularly stubborn to convince. She's very, ah, focused."
"Isn't she?" was the only thing Claire could think of saying back, one hand unlatching from Vincent's shoulder in order to pat at her waist, fingers tingling. Relief flooded her when she found all of her pokéballs there. "I'm a pretty strict trainer. That's probably why."
Sophie nodded gently, as if to say, I see, and then proceeded, this time keeping a slower pace. Vincent took the cue, slowing down as well. Mike, by the tree, was looking at them, but he must have caught on, because he didn't tell them to hurry up. Instead, he grinned half-heartedly, sitting down with a sigh.
"He's not going to last long," Claire said. "Let me down."
Sophie, however, raised a hand. "I'll take him. You're taller, thus harder to carry—"
"I can walk," Claire spat, squirming again. "I'm fine now."
"Hm. If I had to guess, I'd say you're experiencing a mild overdose of painkillers," the other girl said, cocking her head. "You probably no longer feel your bruised rib or your ankle, but that doesn't mean you will be able to walk by yourself without damaging it even more. If it's just sprained, we can fix it up temporarily, of course, but if you break it, the odds are you'll only hamper us even more."
"Um," Vincent said, urgency in his voice.
"Ta guele, putain," Claire hissed, halting in shock. "I could kill you if I wanted to."
Sophie didn't react, other than wiping some water off her face.
"Mm," she acquiesced, "but I'd rather you utilize your impressive skills in our favor. I'm not trying to offend you, as I've said before. But I rely on facts, most of the time, and the fact is—"
But Sophie never got to finish her sentence. With a hissed cuss, Mike slid between the three of them, skidding across the ground ungracefully. With a strange, hurried gesture, he released his seviper, standing up and grabbing onto Sophie's arm for support. Claire saw her lose her footing momentarily, though she did try to steady the shorter boy, and then looked at the direction Mike had come from, expecting the rest of the pack.
However, she only found three Aqua members, arms folded and grins leery.
"Evening," the woman in the middle said, playing with a minimized pokéball.