Chapter 1: Vital

"Stop cryin' and smile."

Was this a dream? Another illusion? A desperate wish made true by her own mind?

Despite everything, or perhaps considering it—she just couldn't smile. Now more than ever, forcing the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards, even in the slightest, was all but impossible. For so long she'd waited to see him again, to know their promise could find salvation before her grave, so how could he honestly expect her to stop crying? She was so overwhelmed with relief, a foreign sort of happiness she'd not felt since she was little, because now he was here, all she could see, all she could fathom. Most of all, he was still alive.

This was real.

Her dead, tearful expression bore into his asymmetric, golden eyes, the azure orbit reflecting a gaze set only upon Isaac Foster. There was only one thing she wanted more than to stay in that single moment forever. At least it'd be her last. Her lashes fluttered shut as his larger palm remained holding hers petite, and just like he'd always, always, always promised, a sudden, unrelenting pain rebounded through her form in the fraction of an instant. This was it.

All went white, like the wings of an angel, and the last thing she could remember was falling forward, and farther into his embrace.

Finally, their promise...

"Zack!"

Instantly, Rachel jolted awake on high alert, panting heavily as sweat dripped down the side of her forehead. Her lids snapped open, and she blinked rapidly in a blur of confusion. "Geezus!" a startled voice echoed the sentiment from beside her, causing the moving structure they were in to jostle slightly. It made the tendon connecting her shoulder to her torso ache abnormally and without mercy, a familiar feeling. "Where's the damn fire?"

Her intense heartbeat seemed to slow, if not stopping entirely. Rachel's awareness was slowly beginning to settle back in: they were in a car, in the driver and passenger's seats respectively. Her blurry vision drifted about, observing their surroundings before settling on him. After a moment, he seemed to relax.

"Well, well, look who's finally awake," he exhaled a laugh to accompany a teasing tone. "I was almost worried for a second," he lied, "but, hell, I know it'll take a lot more than a gunshot to take your crazy ass down." Ray let out a curious "huh?" and, as if on cue, she flinched in pain, clutching her shoulder. "'Ey, 'ey, easy!" Zack exclaimed, though it resounded more-so in a tone of annoyance than concern. "Didn't you hear what I just said? The cops popped a cap in you!"

"I was," Ray let out a breathy exhale before she could finish her sentiment. She looked to her shoulder, wrapped shoddily in medical bind stained a shade of bright crimson. It felt nothing like her last gunshot, it tore through part of the tendon, but it wasn't fatal. Trying to wrap her mind around the idea, she repeated after him, "I was shot."

He laughed again, as if to say, "no shit".

Rachel paused to remember the moment, how the distant red and blue lights resounded with sirens, and he'd even said they didn't have much time. The police must've had orders to shoot on sight, but as was always the case, there was no match for a seasoned killer-turned escaped convict. "Poured the whole thing of that anti-hemma-whatever shit on ya." Wondering where her own wraps had come from, Ray's gaze fell to his palms, gripping the steering well. He was wearing a dirty pair of gloves. "Gonna have to stitch yourself up, though."

Her heart twinged with the notion of disappointment; he didn't need to go through all that trouble to save her. Really. Regardless of the fact, she could see a fresh shade of red on his hoodie among the coagulated splatters. She gave him a weak look, clearly concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Just grazed my side," he reassured her, just as he always had. "You're lucky I left the motor running, or we'd be up shit creek without a paddle," he gave an amused chuckle. Finally taking notice to the situation, Rachel gave a momentary pause. He peeked over to her, feeling her gaze stuck to him. "What?"

"I didn't know you could drive."

He raised an eyebrow, mouth slightly agape in an entirely unamused look. "Please."

Right. She supposed grand-theft-auto didn't seem far out-of-character for him. After a moment, Ray looked towards the forward window, and the long, open highway, the sight of a seemingly unending nothing making her shoulder ache deeper. It'd be a while before they'd find somewhere to stop. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Across the state line," he replied. "The old preacher has a safe-house for us."

Father Gray? "He's... alive?"

"Yeah," Zack exhaled a laugh. "Sumbitch made it out of a that buildin' right under our noses, can ya believe it?" He had a knowing smirk on his face despite the fact. "Doesn't surprise me though, he's the one who broke my ass outta the slammer."

Huh. She wondered if Zack would deny the preacher's affinity for him, now. "Do you know how to get there?" Rachel asked, genuinely curious (and depending on his answer, also impressed.)

"He gave me directions, ain't too hard to follow." The young man reached forward, grabbing a wrinkled roadmap before tossing it to Ray. She studied it for a moment, and it looked to be a pretty straight shot on the highway. "Besides, I've been there before, when he and I met," Foster explained simply. "Geezer had a church around my old stomping grounds before he started that hell hole."

"I see," replied Rachel softly, a pause lingering as he offered nothing more on the matter. Wondering what she felt was the obvious, she had to inquire: "Do you think we can trust him?"

Zack shrugged, taking the matter in stride. "Hope so, or I'ma beat his ass for makin' us drive all the way there just ta' fuck with us." He took his eyes off the road for a moment to flash Ray an amused smirk. As he looked away, Ray couldn't help but echo the sentiment despite her vacant optics.

The girl leaned back in her seat, staring up at the roof of the car and then out the half-drawn window, gaze landing on the azure mass in the sky, as if gravity had pulled her into orbit. The full moon was again that brilliant, fluorescent shade of blue, the real moon. A gloved palm reached for the FM radio, and after muttering a string of annoyed curses among the static, smacking the dial, Zack settled on some rock station or another, a song Ray thought she may have recognized (something about going and staying?) Despite the ruckus, it was oddly calming to his younger companion, reminding her that he was actually, sincerely here.

Zack, you're really alive.

After a moment, however, Rachel's brow knit together. While she was relieved, there was still one keen question she just couldn't stop repeating in her mind.

Now, why am I?