Chapter Fourteen

How long Seven sat there, she couldn't tell. Blood formed a sticky crust around her mouth, and her eyes ached. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and with a trembling hand, she reached for the half empty cup on the table and poured its contents into her mouth. To her dazed mind, the water seemed like blood, hot, viscous, and painfully tantalizing. She recoiled, coughed, and pushed herself further into the corner, away from the drops of water glistening on the floor. A faint red tinge darkened each drop.

"Come on," Seven rasped to herself, "Get up. Someone will come, sooner or later. You have to go."

Her legs refused to move. Using her arms, she hoisted herself into a chair and reached for the pretzels. She shoved a handful into her mouth and chewed. The taste, like sawdust soaked in brine, smothered the taste of blood. This time, when she drank, she was able to keep the water down.

A howl, further in the building but close enough to hear clearly, made Seven jump to her feet. She crouched, peeked around the door frame, and waited for another sound.

The sounds of footsteps echoed from down the far hallway, at least four men accompanied by the howling Pokémon. She thought first of turning invisible and running back, but there was nowhere to go. She looked around for a hiding place, ran into the medical room, assumed Darry's appearance, and lay down, as if her throat were slit on the bed. Though the illusion had closed eyes, her own were opened, peering through the door. By some sick twist of fate, Lou's corpse lay in her sight, belly ripped open, organs strewn across the floor. She gagged, forced herself to swallow the vomit creeping up her throat, and glanced away.

The Mighteyna came first, a black blur that raced over to Lou's corpse and sniffed at the strewn entrails. A white-clad man ran after, his feet squelching against the blood-slick floor, and cuffed the hound on the head.

"Enough!" the man barked. He glanced down at Lou. Despite his armor, the man visibly shuddered. "Sweet Jesus," he spat, "Those Rocket bastards aren't human."

Seven clenched her hands. The motion of her muscles made a faint creak in the mattress underneath her. The man, as if hearing the noise, turned towards her. Seven caught the breath in her throat and waited, begging her throbbing heart to quiet itself. The rush of blood filled her ears as the man, gun raised and pointed right at her, approached the room. He swung the door open with the barrel of his gun, jumped to the corner, and half-slipped on blood. He caught himself on the wall and lifted his right foot to examine the red smear on his boot.

Resisting the urge to turn her head, Seven looked at the man, no, the Captain, judging by the gold stars and embossing on his armor.

"Damn. Everyone, stay on alert! They may still be here." He knelt, keeping his knees from touching the floor, and examined the dead Captain. "Fan out in pairs and search the other rooms. Call if you find anything."

Footsteps thundered towards the other rooms. The Captain checked Raz's corpse, tipping the head back and pressing a finger into the gash. "Still fresh," he murmured. Then he turned towards the door. "Rascal, here!"

The Mightyena, which was poking its nose into Lou's stomach, bounded over to the Captain's side. It put its paws onto the bed, sniffed at Seven, and growled, low, wild, and menacing. Its fur bristled, and its teeth glowed like polished silver.

"Down Rascal!" the Captain shouted. "You'll eat later." Then he muttered, "Good God, what kind of maniac lets their Pokémon eat people?"

Seven twitched again. The captain whirled, gun pointed at her. He checked under the bed, then circled the perimeter of her mattress, before bending over her. His fingers grabbed at the gauze around her arm, and she stifled a scream as he pried open the gauze. Sticky, clotting black blood made thick strings, like a cat's cradle.

"A bullet wound, but all the rest are knife wounds. Why is that?" He turned the bed sheets in his hands. "Not much blood on here either."

The Captain walked out of the room, stopping just outside of the door. The Mightyena glared at her, and then followed its master. The Captain raised his hand to the side of his helmet and spoke.

"No sign of Rockets here," he reported. "All members of squad twelve died of knife wounds to the throat very recently. What are your orders?" After he paused, he said, "Yes sir. We'll hold position and re-establish the perimeter. I will check in every ten minutes."

The Captain returned to the medical room, followed by his hound. He studied the counter, and found the blood-soaked gauze on the floor. Picking it up, he noted the frayed ends where Seven tore off the clean gauze. He compared it to the loose end that hung heavy with her own blood.

Then he stared long and hard at Seven's arm, and she could imagine the frown behind the shining black visor. Taking a scalpel from the drawer, the sight of which made Seven tense up again, the Captain walked to Seven's left and cut the gauze off of her arm. Fresh blood, brought to surface by the removal of all the congealed mass, trickled onto the bed. The Captain pinched a drop between his fingers and stared at the bright red stain.

"How is he still bleeding?" he asked. Then he dug his fingers into the wound. Pain shot up Seven's arm, she let out a stifled cry from her gritted teeth, and her illusion vanished. The Captain jumped back, shocked by the sudden transformation, and fumbled for the pistol at his side. Seven rolled off the bed and jammed her knife under the Captain's helmet. The thicker armor around the neck stopped her blade halfway, with just the point piercing the Captain's throat beneath the jaw. With her throbbing arm, Seven dug her nails into the Captain's helm and wrenched it up, exposing the weaker fabric beneath. With another push, the blade dug a bit deeper into the man's throat, releasing another spurt of blood.

Then, as the Mightyena leapt at her with a snarl, Seven yanked out the blade and held it out in front of her. The hound landed on the blade, with the point piercing its ribcage. With a faint gasp of air, the Mighteyna quivered, slid off the blade, and fell at the Captain's feet.

Blood welled up in the Captain's throat, and he fell to the floor, coughing violently. He wrenched off his helmet and reached for the cabinet of medical supplies, leaving a thin trail of blood as he wriggled across the room. Seven started towards him, but a rush of footsteps warned her to get back on the bed and hide herself.

The four Knights rushed in, guns raised, and fired blind shots into the walls of the room. Finding no obvious enemy and seeing their captain wounded, two men rushed over hand helped him into a sitting position.

"Where did he go?" one asked.

The Captain tried to speak. "On the… on the…" his words were interrupted by fits of coughing. The two Knights by him stepped back as blood sprayed on their suits.

"Where?" the insisted.

The Captain couldn't stop coughing. Instead, he feebly pointed towards the bed. The Knights followed the line his finger made past Seven and out the open door. With a word, two Knights stood watch on either side of the door.

Seeing that they still didn't understand, the Captain used the last of his failing strength to raise a finger to his mouth. He coughed a thick stream of blood and spit onto his finger and drew it across the floor, writing first a b, then an e. Then he drew a long, vertical line, but before he could finish his last letter, he coughed a mouthful of blood, shuddered, and died. The stroke of his finger as it fell left an arc on the line, and it now resembled an h.

The two Knights puzzled over this unfinished message. "Beh… behind?" one said. "Behind what? Behind us?"

They whirled and faced the bed. Seven flinched beneath their searching eyes, but they didn't notice the subtle shift of the bed. They circled the room, scanning every inch of the room, and returned to the Captain. Then they noticed the claw marks on his helm, which tore up flecks of gold paint.

"Damn. How did someone do this?"

"Something," his partner corrected. "It was probably eating that guy before it heard Rascal and ran. Question is, where did it go? And what the hell is it?"

An idea struck Seven like a bolt of lightning. Surrounded by enemies, with nowhere to run or hide, she needed to distract them and kill them. So, she feebly coughed, drawing the attention of the two Knights in the room.

"Holy shit, he's still alive!" one shouted. A Knight outside the door turned towards her, but the other nudged him, and they resumed their vigil, though the one Knight kept glancing inside.

"Hey, what did this to you?" they asked. Smiling to herself, Seven raised a shaking hand towards the ceiling. The Knights looked at each other and raised their guns. Seven, thinking that one would go up to search the ceiling, felt a pang of dismay, but she amended her plan. Straining her weary senses, she produced a harsh, wounded cry as the Knights riddled the ceiling with bullets. A single drop of blood, which she made fall from the ceiling, completed the deception.

"Cover me," one Knight said. "The higher ups will want to know what it was."

One Knight stood on the counter, pushed up a ceiling tile, and wormed his way into the ceiling.

Once they were alone, Seven coughed and tapped the lone Knight on the arm. She parted her lips, as if to speak. The Knight took off his helm and leaned closer, turning his head so his ear faced her. She wrapped her left arm around him and plunged the knife into his neck. She held his mouth shut and pinned his arms as he struggled.

Once he was dead, she lowered him onto the bed and glanced towards the two outside. They hadn't noticed the faint scuffle behind them, but the man on the right turned back to peek into the room. Seven abandoned the illusion, lunged towards him, and stabbed him. The blade ripped through the fabric beneath his helm and released a fountain of blood. Whirling around, she knocked the other guard's gun aside and lunged. Two shots rang out as the man spasmed in her arms.

The last Knight, hearing the gunshots, wriggled out of the ceiling legs-first. Seven grabbed his feet, yanked him down, and knocked his head on the counter. The man raised a hand, but Seven jabbed the blade past his outstretched fingers and found his jugular.

Fresh blood seeped over the old as Seven staggered away, holding closed the bleeding wound on her arm. She tore off a fresh roll of gauze, made another poorly tied bandage, and went back to the break room. After drinking another glass of water, Seven started down the far hallway, but the thought of Lou's mangled corpse turned her gaze. She couldn't look away Gritting her teeth, she grabbed a handful of paper towels from the break room. She carefully laid a few layers over the open stomach, covering every trace of the wound, and then scattered the rest over him. The towels turned black as they soaked up the blood.

Once the burial was completed, Seven turned away. Though it taxed her weary body and mind, she kept up the human appearance as she plodded down the hall.

Changelog

9/3/18 - tweaked the word choice a bit, cut out a few bland descriptions