Eleven
2016
Pain coursed through Killian's body as he writhed on the back seat of the beat-up jeep his father had commandeered. Every bump in the road, every sudden turn, sent a new wave of agony shooting through his body. The jeep jerked again and Killian let out a cry, the unrelenting pain becoming too much for his little body to bare. He just wanted it to go away. He wanted it all to stop.
"Come on Killian, just hold on," Liam urged.
His brother leaned over him, his hands pressed down on Killian's side, on the origin of all the pain. Killian craned his neck in a desperate move to see, hoping that Liam's actions would soon end the pain. The sight he was met by was terrifying; a pool of blood oozing around Liam's hands, red rivers trickling onto the seats, the formerly dirty cream leather staining a dark red.
He took in a sharp intake of breath and turned his head away as quickly as he could, fixing his eyes on the back of the driver's seat. He threw his arms over his forehead, grimacing at the discomfort which shot through his body; a harsh reminder to avoid moving.
"It hurts," he croaked.
"I know, Killian, I know it does. Just hold on," Liam repeated. "We're going to find you some help. You're going to be just fine."
He was convincing, assured in his words, his voice steady and firm, but Killian had seen the look on his brother's face, the older boy's facial expressions betraying him. He'd looked worried, grimacing, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, toward the driver's seat, making a silent plea for some help.
Killian struggled to believe a word that Liam had said. Born into a world run by machines, where every man was out for himself, Killian had seen his fair share of blood and death. He knew from experience that the two often went hand in hand, if not from the wound directly then from the infection which was almost guaranteed to come after. Medical supplies were precious, few and far between, and medical professionals were a dwindling kind, nearing extinction. Death, however, death was a constant in the machine dominated world. It happened all around him, all the time, but it had never once crossed his mind that it could happen to him. It didn't seem like something which could. He had never contemplated his own mortality before. He had always assumed that he would live forever, condemned to a long, hard life of fighting.
Except he was bleeding. With blood came death, and he was scared. He longed for one person, just one person; the person who gave the best hugs, who always knew what to say whenever he was scared or sad, and who always looked after him whenever he grazed his knee or bumped his head.
"I want mum," he blurted.
But he couldn't have her. It was impossible. She was dead. She had been killed, right in front of him, taken from him by a machine. Her blood had stained his clothes back then, just as his now stained Liam's.
"I know, Killian, and she's here. She's right here…" Liam told him.
The older boy lifted a blood-covered hand from Killian's side and placed a finger on Killian's chest, right above his heart. When Liam removed his finger, returning his hand to applying pressure to the wound, he left behind a blood-stained fingerprint on the off-white shirt.
Liam continued, "She's going to help you get through this."
The sentiment was somewhat soothing, it was a nice thought, but it wasn't enough. Liam was doing all the right things in trying to comfort him but neither boy was naïve enough to actually believe any of it, too accustomed to the harsh reality of the world they were raised in. Killian couldn't see his mum, but he could see blood, everywhere.
Liam was his brother, and Killian trusted him with his life, but the older boy only had a few years on him, and Killian couldn't help but wonder whether someone older, like their father, may have more knowledge on how to help soothe the insufferable pain. His father had survived the war after all; he had grown up in the old world when televisions actually worked. He had once heard his father say that all his medical knowledge had come from shows and movies on the television. Killian hoped that some of that knowledge could help him, if only he knew where his dad was. He hadn't seen or heard the man since he had bundled him into the back of the jeep.
"Where's dad?" he asked.
The question prompted Liam to glance over his shoulder again, looking towards the driver's seat.
"I'm right here, Killian, my boy," Brennan called back from up front.
"I'm scared," Killian admitted, his voice shaking as he spoke. "Dad, please, it hurts, I don't want to die."
"That's not going to happen. I'm going to get you help, son, I give you my word. You're a survivor, Killian. You can survive this world, I know you can, you're a fighter," Brennan spoke adamantly. "Okay? Now… remember what we always say. Whenever you feel scared, all you have to do is…"
"Look inside," Killian finished.
"That's right, good lad," Brennan encouraged. "You're going to hold on and you're going to get through this because we're all braver than we think if we just look deep enough."
Whenever things started to go south, whenever the machines loomed or menacing groups of other humans got too close for comfort, whenever Killian started to feel just the slightest bit scared, his father never failed to soothe him with the same words. There was something calming about them, as if initiating a hypnotic trance, something about the words always made him feel like he could take on five machines at once and come out victorious. It was preposterous; just taking down one machine was impossible, yet his father was just that good with words. His words made it seem like anything was possible, and he always knew exactly what to say to make Killian feel like he could take on the entire messed up world and survive.
He was a survivor, after all.
A calming sensation overcame him and he relaxed as the pain numbed. The hard seats beneath him morphed into clouds, creating a sensation that he was floating through the sky. For the first time in forever, everything felt so peaceful. The world around him slipped away. There was nothing beyond the old jeep. It was just him, Liam and his dad. Only the three of them, he felt safe; he didn't have to be alert and on edge, ready to run for his life at any given moment. He could relax, rest his eyes, drift off into much welcomed sleep…
"Killian, hey, Killian!" Liam pestered him within seconds.
His brother tapped lightly against his cheek, his hand wet, smearing blood across Killian's face as he forced the younger boy's eyes open.
"Hmmph," Killian grumbled, using all his energy to swat Liam's hand away.
"You've gotta keep your eyes open. Stay with me, Killian," Liam ordered, his voice wavering, sounding panicked. "Dad! He's not going to hold on much longer. We need to get him help, now!"
Even those words didn't concern Killian. Unlike Liam, he wasn't panicking. He was just tired; all he wanted to do was close his eyes and go to sleep. He knew he'd feel better once he got some proper rest. The pain was easing, he could sleep. He just needed to sleep it off.
"What do you think I'm doing here, Liam!" Brennan snapped. "I know a man. He was a doctor in the old world. He owes me a favour. He's his best chance."
"We're on the verge of losing him! We're not going to get there in time! Dad!"
"Do you have any better suggestions, Liam?"
"I do, actually. The Resistance are said to have a base somewhere around here. If we can-"
Brennan scoffed, "Ha. The Resistance."
"They say they have doctors, Dad."
"They say a lot of things, Liam. They also say it's possible to blow a machine to hell but that's a load of crap. Almost two decades of this hellhole of a world and I've never seen one destroyed. The Resistance is nothing but a fairy tale to give kids just a slither of hope in this bloody world. That's the only reason we listen to those radio broadcasts, Liam; for Killian. But you, Liam, you are far too old to be believing in fairy tales."
"I don't believe in fairy tales. I believe in Hope."
"This is a hopeless world, Liam."
"That's a load of crap, Dad! You're driving all the way to this man you know with hope that he'll be able to save Killian's life! We may not have much in this world but we do have hope. The machines can't take hope from us. I believe in the Resistance, Dad, and so does Killian! Let them help him, please!"
"Man, that broadcast sure has filled your head with dross. This hope baloney is going to get you killed, Liam."
"If anything, hope will save us," Liam stood strong in his belief. "And I know that the Resistance can save Killian. I believe, Dad, you should too."
"You can believe whatever you like, kid, but I'm not wasting time searching for a fairy tale," Brennan maintained. "The plan remains the same."
"But-"
"That's final, Liam. Your only job right now is to keep him alive until I can get him to a doctor. Now, can you do that? Or are you going to keep harping on about this Resistance crap?"
It wasn't often that Killian wished for Liam to continue to argue with their dad, but this was one of those rare occasions where he wished his brother had, for instead Liam opted to do as he was told and returned to pestering Killian, calling his name and prodding him. When he refused to let up, Killian reluctantly forced his heavy eyes open and stared groggily at Liam.
"Let me sleep," Killian complained. "I'm tired."
"It's not tiredness, Killian. It's your body shutting down," Liam was blunt in response. "You're a fighter, Killian, fight it."
"I just want to sleep," Killian grumbled.
"Hey, look at me," Liam's voice was sharp, firm, and Killian followed his orders. Liam's voice softened as he continued, "Talk to me. Tell me about the house we're going to live in, when the Resistance wins and this is all over."
Killian smiled loosely, "We're going to build it ourselves. Big rooms. A big kitchen. Filled with food. We'll build it on the edge of a lake."
"A big one," Liam contributed.
"Yeah. We'll have a boat. Dad can teach us to sail like he once sailed. We'll name it after mum. We'll be co-captains, sailing together, watching the sunset, and stargazing into the night," Killian continued.
"The whole world safe to explore," Liam mused.
Killian thought about it; how nice it must be to live in a world unplagued by machines and considered how strange it would feel not to have to watch his back. Having a single place to call home was a luxury he had always longed for; to have roots, to have possessions to his name. Such a lifestyle felt like a foreign land; a world long lost, and a future he realised he wouldn't be around for.
"It's a nice… dream," Killian said.
"It's not a dream. It's our future," Liam replied adamantly. "The Resistance will rise up, the machines will lose. Don't lose hope on me now, Killian, you've always had hope."
"I still have hope, Liam. That future will come," Killian maintained. He looked at the pool of blood forming around him, tears threatening to escape his eyes. "It's just… it's just… too late for me."
"No. Killian. No."
Liam shook him lightly in protest. Killian winced as the pain returned, shooting through his torso, eradicating the tranquil state he had fallen into. His face contorted as the unbearable pain flooded his body.
The jeep hit a sudden stop. Doors opened and, before Killian could comprehend what was happening, he was pulled away from Liam, swept into his father's strong arms. Brennan broke out into a run, each jolting step far more painful and frequent than the jerks in the jeep had been. The tears Killian had fought so hard to hold back streamed down his cheeks and blurred his view of the dark clouds in the sky.
"Whale!" Brennan's voice boomed, making Killian's ears ring slightly.
Killian's poor view of the clouds became even more obstructed by the run-down remnants of a gas station roof. The things appeared to be barely standing, large holes in the roof and loose cabling hanging down; just one hit from a Dark-Knight ariel strike and the entire thing would collapse upon them.
"You shouldn't be here, Brennan," a man's voice – Whale's, Killian assumed – spoke warningly.
"My boy needs your help," Brennan pleaded.
"There's nothing I can do," Whale responded immediately, detached.
"Like hell, there is," Brennan growled.
Killian was placed down on the back of a truck, Liam immediately hopping up to join his side, returning his hands to putting pressure on the wound. Killian looked to Liam in search of the same reassurance he had been spouting since the injury occurred, but his brother was preoccupied, watching their father apprehensively.
Killian followed Liam's gaze. Brennan was stalking across the run-down gas station, straight towards the man Killian assumed to be Whale. Despite the intimidating, thunderous stare that he knew would be on his father's face, Whale stood his ground, his arms folded across his chest. Brennan stopped right in front of Whale, imposing slightly on the other man's personal space; not enough to be threatening, but to make his presence known.
"My youngest is hurt. He's dying. You can save him," Brennan stated, cutting straight to the point.
Whale glanced in Killian's direction, his eyes scanning over the two boys, then shrugged, sucking air in through his teeth, "Medical supplies are so hard to come by. Like I said, there's nothing I can do."
"You son of a bitch, Whale!" Brennan exploded, grabbing the smug man and shoving him up against the nearby pillar. "Don't hold out on me. You've got a good set-up here."
He glanced at the gas station store, the stronghold of whatever group it was Whale was a part of. All the windows were boarded up save for one which acted as a display window, its shelves stacked full with canned goods, fruits and vegetables, just daring someone to try and take them. It was an intimidation tactic, used by many large groups with such strongholds, to warn off stragglers, insinuating that they had just as strong supplies of weapons as they did food. Very few individuals were foolish enough to attempt stealing from such places, giving strongholds a wide birth, though Killian still remembered the time Brennan had single-handedly pulled off a stronghold heist, just two years ago when their whole family had been on the verge of starving to death. A man with nothing to lose could accomplish the impossible.
"Yeah," Brennan continued, pulling his gun and pointing it at Whale's head. "Don't take me for a fool. You've got medical supplies. I saved your life once, now you're going to repay the favour by saving my boy."
"And if I continue to refuse? Then what? Come on, you're smarter than this. What's your plan here, Brennan?" Whale challenged, still smug, as his eyes flicked to the gun at his temple. "See, you threaten me that gun but we both know you're not going to pull the trigger. For who will save your boy if I die?"
"If you just stand here and let him die, you're going with him," Brennan threatened through gritted teeth. "What the hell happened to you, Whale? You once said you'd do anything to repay me. Now, you're just going to stand by and watch a nine-year-old boy suffer and die?"
"Believe me, Brennan, if I could help him I would, but my hands are tied," Whale told him, his voice low, hushed and urgent; all prior smugness gone.
Brennan's eyes narrowed, "Who are you scared of?"
"I'm not scared of anyone," Whale insisted. "But you should be. You can't be here, Brennan. He'll shoot you dead the second he sees you."
"If it means Killian lives then so be it," Brennan stated. "I'd gladly lay down my life for his."
"You have no idea what you've walked into," Whale warned.
"I'm done talking," Brennan declared.
He released Whale, allowing him to step away from the pillar, but kept the gun steadily held at the doctor's head, his finger hovering beside the trigger. Killian's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the two men. He had seen his father kill before but only in the heat of a fight, a necessity, a kill or be killed situation. Not once had he ever seen his father point a gun at an unarmed man, let alone pull the trigger. The desperation in Brennan's eyes made it clear he was nearing a breaking point.
"Now, get the damned supplies or I'll shoot you on the spot," Brennan ordered.
Everything happened so fast. One moment Brennan appeared to have total control of the situation, the next Whale's swift elbow took the other man by surprise, connecting right with his ribs. With Brennan grimacing from pain, a hand going to his ribs, Whale made a move for the gun. Brennan flung himself at Whale, both men toppling onto the dusty floor, grappling for the gun. A shot rang out amidst the commotion, a bullet firing past the wrestling men, pinging off the gas station roof.
The forecourt flood with people instantly, all armed with guns and prepared to take any means necessary to defend their stronghold. The majority of weapons were pointed at Whale and Brennan, still wrestling on the ground, but Killian also found himself and Liam being held at gunpoint.
"What the hell is going on out here?"
The demand for information came from a man standing in the centre of the gas station forecourt, an air of authority about the way he stood. If he had a weapon, it was concealed somewhere upon him, for he did not hold it in his hands. Instead, both hands rested on his hips and he stared at the scene before him whilst the rest of the group watched him attentively, awaiting instructions.
With Brennan's gun secured, Whale staggered to his feet, his hair messy and sandy, a faint cut beneath his left eye. Brennan remained on the ground, breathing heavily, hunched over, with blood dripping from his chin.
"Look who had the audacity to stroll right up and demand medical help," Whale sounded rather pleased with himself as he grabbed Brennan by his shirt collar and pulled him to his feet.
Standing upright, Brennan's eyes fell on the authoritative man for the first time, recognition hitting him instantly. His head and shoulders slumped for a second. He took one long, deep breath and raised his head, a brazen smirk on his face.
"John Silver," Brennan named the man.
Beside Killian, Liam let out a gasp and his eyes went wide as he muttered, "Shit."
"What's… wrong?" Killian forced the words out.
Liam didn't answer him, frozen like a deer in headlights, eyes fixated on Silver, anxiously awaiting his next move. Liam was pale, white like a ghost, as if he were the one losing blood.
Brennan broke the tense silence which had fallen over the gas station with a cheery, "Long time, no see."
Brennan received a strong right hook to the jaw in response.
"You've got some nerve, Jones," Silver remarked.
Brennan lifted his head again, nursing his jaw. All the cheery pretence was gone; he looked a broken man, any hopes he had once held dissipated. He glanced over at the truck, checking in on both his sons but was unable to look either one of them in the eye.
"If it makes a difference," Brennan spoke, looking to Silver, "I didn't know this place was yours now."
"What?" Silver threw his arms out to the side, "Did you think I was just going to stay at the last station after you wiped me out? I'm a survivor, Jones, and a damn good one. I rebuilt everything you stole from me, ten times over."
"So, what you're saying is, I did you a favour?" Brennan remarked, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Silver chuckled dangerously, "I don't take lightly to thieves, Jones."
"Fine," Brennan growled out bitterly. "Do whatever you like to me but, please, just save my son. He's innocent in all this."
"Your son?" Silver questioned.
"The boy bleeding out all over the truck," Whale filled him in, gesturing loosely in Killian's direction.
Silver turned his head, meeting Killian's eyes. The young boy boldly held his gaze with a steely blue stare, doing his best to put on a brave face. Silver saw through it all; he saw the clenched teeth trying to hold back pain, the twitch of the boy's eyes as he fought against drooping eyelids, and his pale skin; white like death.
"Oh, he's not looking so good. Looks to me like he's barely holding on. Death is headed for that one," Silver remarked then turned to Whale, "Could you save the boy?"
Whale raised an eyebrow, failing to hide his surprise at the question posed to him, "With the medical supplies at our disposal? Most probably but time is of the essence."
Silver's laugh rang out around the gas station, taking great amusement from Whale's confirmation. He strode straight up to Brennan, grabbed the gun that Whale had taken from the man, and played with it in his hand, twirling it around in his glee.
"D'you know what I call this, Jones?" Silver questioned the other man, waving the gun in Brennan's general direction. "I call is just desserts. Your boy's life now lies in my hands. Just one word from me and Whale gets to work saving his life."
"Then do it," Brennan pleaded.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple a decision," Silver responded playfully. "You stole from me, remember?"
"Yes, I did! I stole from you. My actions!" Brennan took full responsibility. "He played no part in it. He's innocent."
"Ah, but the sins of the father…" Silver mused.
"You're one huge bastard, Silver," Brennan fumed. "He's just a boy! Do whatever you want to me but save him. Please."
"Hmm, I'll tell you what I'm going to do…"
Silver grabbed a fistful of Brennan's shirt, taking him from Whale's grip and leading him over to the truck. He ordered on the nearby men to grab the older boy, the man in question getting more than he bargained for as Liam struggled, putting up a fight, landing a punch to the man's throat, and ultimately had to be overpowered and pulled from Killian by two men.
"Dad?" Killian questioned weakly.
His eyes flicked tiredly from Brennan and Silver in front of him, to Liam being held off to the side, his arms pinned behind his back. Unlike Brennan, resigned to Silver's control over the situation, Liam was frantically trying to writhe free of his captor, attempting to take matters into his own hands.
"Save your breath, boy," Silver shot callously at Killian and promptly turned his attention to Brennan, "Here's how this is going to go down, Jones. You're going to stand here and you're going to watch, pathetic and helpless, as life drains from your boy. You'll watch him die and then I'll shoot you with your own gun and you can die knowing that you failed him. As for your other boy? Well, I haven't anything in mind for him yet, but know that his fate lies in my hands."
Killian had never seen anything like it. His father's head dropped, seemingly resigning to the inevitability of Silver's words. It looked as if a hidden weight had been lifted from his father's shoulders as the man eyed the gun in Silver's hands, almost longingly. Killian's heart dropped. His father, with all his words of surviving and fighting 'til the end, had clearly giving up.
A single tear ran down Killian's cheek. His time was up. Though he had never before considered his death, as he lay there, waiting for the pain to end, waiting for it all to stop, he realised that it wasn't the way he wanted it to happen. His father may be content to give up and accept death, but he wanted his death to stand by his father's words; by fighting. He had spent so many evenings sat by the radio, listening to the broadcastings of the Resistance, to the words of Hope Swan that his dream at night had been influenced by it all. He dreamt of finding the Resistance, of him and Liam joining up, fighting the cause, and taking down the machines. If he ever were to welcome death, in the same way his father now did, he wished to welcome it by going down fighting against the machines, in the name of Resistance.
But in his cruel world, wishes were not granted. He was dying, pathetically, on the back of a truck.
"No!" Liam yelled, fighting against his captors with all his might it was nice to know that his brother hadn't given upon on him. "Killian Jones! You're a fighter, a survivor; don't give up on me! Help him, Silver, you son of a bitch!"
Gun shots rang out around the gas station. Ten of them, one after the other, fired into the air, loud and imposing. An uneasy silence fell over the forecourt and twenty-five sets of eyes turned on the man responsible for the racket. He stood in the doorway of the gas station; an elder man, around early sixties, with gray hair slightly visible beneath a battered black top hat, a huge grin plastered over his face, his wild, blue eyes gleaming as they frantically darted across the entire forecourt.
"Gah, you bloody madman!" Silver exclaimed. "Are you trying to bring the machines down on us?"
The man didn't even acknowledge Silver. His eyes had settled on Liam, and he rushed across to him, all but skipping, with all the energy of a much younger man. Liam warily took in the sight of the man before him, unsure what to make of the newcomer.
"Killian Jones!" the man called out gleefully, his entire demeanour a stark contrast to the tension of the forecourt prior to his arrival. He waved a pointy finger repeatedly at Liam. "You said Killian Jones!"
Liam stared at the man.
"I need Killian Jones," the man continued, throwing his arms out with dramatic flair. "We all need Killian Jones."
"Ignore the Mad Hatter," Silver ordered. "He lost his mind long ago."
The gun in the older man's hand was lifted once more, not in the air like before, but fixed on a target; the barrel pointed directly at Silver, whose authority dissipated in seconds.
"Watch your tongue, John," it was the older man – the Mad Hatter, as Silver had called him – who spoke with authority now, a menacing singsong to his voice. "I gave you control of my compound. I can just as easily take it back. Now, where is Killian Jones."
"Bleeding out," Liam spoke up hastily, seizing his chance to save his brother. "On the back of your truck."
"What?" the man exclaimed, his eyes widening. "No! No, no, no, no, no. Don't take this from me. Not now. Not when we're this close."
He charged over to the struck, taking a look for himself. Killian came face-to- face with the Mad Hatter, their eyes locking. The man's blue eyes lit up and a smile dared to flash across his face.
"Whale! Save Killian Jones. Save him now! Today is not the day that Killian Jones dies," the man proclaimed. "Save the boy, save the world. Times are a-changing!"
Whale flung himself into action, calling out orders to the men around him to help him move Killian and to fetch supplies and equipment he required. Content that his orders were being followed, the Mad Hatter practically hopped, skipped and jumped back to the gas station building.
"Oh, and get his family food and water," the Mad Hatter made one last order before disappearing inside.
His brother released from the grip of his captors and Silver storming away from his father, Killian couldn't help but feel like they had massively gotten away with one. As people worked around him, he stared at the door through with the Mad Hatter had disappeared. The man was a whirlwind, gone as quickly as he had arrived, changing everything in just a few minutes. He may be a madman, as Silver had so nicely put it, but he had just saved their lives. With the knowledge that his family were safe, Killian let his eyes close.
Killian woke up a little dazed, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings confusing him. It gradually returned to him, pieces falling into place as he recounted the day's events; running from cover from the approaching Hunter Guard, falling on a metal spike, the rush for medical help, the run-in with Silver, and the so-called Mad Hatter stepping in at the last moment and saving his life. He looked down at his body, a new shirt replacing his old blood-stained one and he lifted it up to find a large bandage over his wound, a small circle of red forming in the centre of the white material.
The unbearable pain was gone. A tube was stuck in his left arm, some medical solution being pumped into his body. He didn't care what it was; whatever it was, it was working and that was good enough for him. All he had wanted was for the pain to stop, and it had. He pushed himself into an upright position, his arms threatening to betray him, shaking under his weight. He was weak and he didn't like it. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable, unable to stand up for himself. If the machines attacked, he would be in some serious trouble. He could do nothing but distract himself from that worrying thought by looking around the room he had woken up in. He assumed that he was somewhere inside the gas station, seemingly a medical area that the group had set aside. It was like nothing he had ever seen before; the room boasted some impressive equipment, the function of most of it lost on him.
The door opened behind him, and Killian eagerly craned his head in hope that he would see Liam or his dad. It was neither but a wave of curiosity hit him when he recognised the man who had entered as the man responsible for saving his life.
"Aha! You're awake," the man smiled at him.
Killian stared at him, dumbly, "They… they called you the Mad Hatter."
"They think they're clever. It's a play on an old world saying, 'as mad as a hatter'," he answered with a shrug. "It doesn't matter what they call me. I know the truth."
"What is your name?" Killian asked.
"Lost to time. I'm not the man I once was," he answered cryptically and moved on, "How are you feeling?"
"I-" Killian began to reply then caught himself, prioritising gratefully, "You saved my life. Thank you."
"I had to," he spoke as if he'd had no choice.
Killian frowned at the man's unusual response whilst the man stood quietly, staring at him, almost studying him. It felt unnerving.
"It's strange," the man remarked. "You look the same and yet so different. Just look at you, so young, so oblivious."
"What? We've – we've met before?" Killian deduced from the man's words.
"Indeed, we have," the man confirmed with a nod.
Killian stared at him, taking him in, but couldn't recall ever meeting him before. He was fairly certain he would be a difficult man to forget; the top hat, the wild, blue eyes and the mad grin all seemed incredibly memorable. The 'Mad Hatter' didn't strike him as a character he could very easily forget.
"I don't remember you," Killian admitted.
"You wouldn't," the man shrugged, unfazed.
"Oh… was I just a baby when we met then?" Killian asked.
"Not at all. You were older. Older than you are now," the man told him.
Killian stared; was he dazed from the medication being pumped into his body or was the man making no sense? He replayed the conversation in his head, going over it word by word, determining that it was most definitely not him.
Killian wasn't afraid to call the man out on it, "That doesn't make sense."
"Perhaps not right now, but it will in days to come," the man returned.
"When?" Killian asked.
"In days long gone by," the man answered cryptically once more, then let out a loud laugh. "Time travel! It messes with your head, doesn't it? Are we talking about the future or the past or both? Your future, my past; we're headed in two different directions!"
"I'm not in the mood for games," Killian grumbled, frustrated by the nonsense; he felt too groggy to try and get his head around the man's riddles.
The man's grin faded and his blue eyes hardened. Killian swallowed hard; had he just offended the man who had saved his life? Killian shifted uncomfortable on the bed as the man approached him, getting right up close, encroaching personal space, and staring him dead in the eye.
"Believe me, boy, this is no game," he spoke low, his voice hushed and urgent.
"I… I just don't get what you're trying to say," Killian told him. "You're not making sense. You sound crazy."
"You people are so quick to categorise things you don't understand as crazy. I'm making perfect sense," the man protested, offended by the statement. He jabbed a finger at Killian's forehead. "It's not my fault your brain can't keep up. There's a giant jigsaw at play and you're missing all the pieces."
"So help me find them," Killian reasoned.
"There's no need, young one. You will gather the pieces in time. One day, you'll see the world as I do. You will understand the part you must play."
"What part?"
"The part," the man emphasised. "You, Killian, are the key to humanity's salvation. Such big responsibilities on such small shoulders."
"I think you've gotten me mistaken for someone else," Killian told him. "Like Hope Swan."
"Ever the unsung hero," the man sung. "Emma Swan. Hope Swan. Two legends, names that will go down in history. And then there's you; Killian Jones, the man who made multiple sacrifices for the cause – forgotten. By all but me. Emma and Hope Swan may be given all the plaudits for saving the world but this isn't about that. I only care about my world and you, Killian Jones, you will save my world."
"What?" Killian scoffed. "Your world of madness?"
"I'm not mad," the man insisted. "Though I suppose I can't blame you for thinking that. I once thought you mad, a long time ago, in nineteen-eighty-four. See, you warned me of all that was to come, of the machines and the war. You told me we would be safe in Mexico but I didn't believe so I didn't listen and the day the nukes fell, what I loved was ripped from me; my daughter, my darling Grace."
"I'm sorry for your loss, I really am. I know how it feels. I lost my mum and as much as I wish I could go back and change it, I can't," Killian said. "Time moves forward, and we can only hold onto the memories of those that we lost."
"Maybe that's true for most people," the man conceded, "but not for you, Killian. In the future, you'll have access to time travel. You can do it. You can save my Grace, you can change it all."
"I'm sorry," Killian apologised, and he truly was; the idea of destroying the man's hope was horrible but he could only go with reality. "But I don't believe you."
"You don't have to believe me," the man responded, unfazed. "One day in your future, everything I have told you will come to pass and you will know I was telling the truth. All that will remain then, is for you to convince me. Save my daughter. Right the wrongs. I believe in you, Killian Jones."
Bang! Bang!
Killian woke instantly, startled by the gunshots. He bolted upright in the bed, his heart beating fast, ready to fight, ready to run if need be. His eyes searched for a window, to gain a visual on the source of the commotion outside but there was no window; the medical room cut off from the outside world.
"Relax," Doctor Whale's voice made Killian jump. "It'll merely be warning shots to ward off a group who have wandered too close. You're jumpy this morning. Good sleep?"
"Too good," Killian grumbled.
He was not used to the luxuries of a mattress or pillows. His nomadic lifestyle had him accustomed to sleeping in much poorer conditions; across the back seats of a car or even on the ground. The bed he'd been given in the gas station was almost too luxurious, lulling him into a false sense of security. He'd all too quickly allowed his guard to drop, and he didn't like it. Killian threw his hands down in exasperation, his left hand hitting against something even fluffier and softer than the mattress he had slept on. He looked to his left, his eyes falling upon an off-white (from collection of dirt over the years) stuffed rabbit, the very rabbit the Mad Hatter had quite literally pulled out of his hat whilst droning on about Grace until his voice had sent Killian off to sleep.
Killian picked up the stuffed toy with a huff and chucked it across the room where it landed on the only other bed. Whale chuckled to himself. Killian sent him a glare.
"You know, you're allowed to be a kid," Whale told him, sounding amused.
"Not in this world," Killian returned and pointed accusingly towards the stuffed rabbit, "That's not even mine."
"I know," Whale returned. "It was Grace's."
"He told you about her?" Killian asked.
"He tells everyone about her," Whale answered. "She's practically all he talks about. It's a parent's worst nightmare to bury their own child."
"He would have wound up burying her eventually, whether she survived the war or not," Killian shrugged coldly. "All that talk last night about unicorns and tea parties, she would never have survived this world."
Whale stared at him, even looked slightly taken aback, "She deserved a shot though, wouldn't you say?"
Killian shook his head, "This is no world for children."
"Spoken like a true child," Whale sarcastically muttered to himself.
Killian didn't care for his comments. He wanted out of the blasted room. The entire stronghold felt off; too cosy, too safe, too untouched by the machines. The number of gunshots the Mad Hatter fired the previous day should have, in Killian's experience, attracted at least one machine. He didn't like it. The whole place felt too good to be true. He ripped the tube out of his left arm and stood up, heading for the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Whale questioned him.
"For some fresh air," Killian told him.
He wasn't asking. He was going. Whale could try and stop him if he wanted but he was back to his best; alert, on guard, and ignoring the minor throbbing to his lower abdomen.
"Just don't overdo it," Whale warned him. "You're still healing."
Killian continued onwards, opening the door and stepping through into what was once the store area of the gas station. It had been stripped out, fashioned into what looked like some kind of social area for the stronghold's residents. Tables and chairs made up most of the room, old, stained decks of cards, candles and empty bottles scattered across the tabletops. The windows at the far side of the room looked over the forecourt in which the standoff had taken place the previous afternoon. Killian's eyes fell on the truck he had believed he was about to die in. They hadn't hung about in cleaning it; the truck looked as close to new as things could in the new world, no signs remaining that he had almost been left to die in there. Even the beaten-up jeep he and his family had arrived in was no longer out there. It was as if someone had erased any evidence of their presence.
Killian hesitated, an uneasy feeling overcoming him with that realisation. He hadn't seen Liam or his dad since that standoff. The Mad Hatter had insisted that his family be looked after but Killian couldn't shake the memory of just how hellbent Silver had been on getting his revenge. He took in a deep breath, silently reassuring himself, reminding himself that there was no point in worrying over something he was fabricating in his own mind. He would find his family, even if it meant asking someone for their whereabouts.
He looked around the room. Empty. No one. That was strange in and of itself – there were at least twenty people out in the forecourt for the standoff, now the place looked deserted. He considered going back to the medical room, asking Whale where everyone was, but quickly opted against it. The room was windowless and he liked to see threat coming. He continued onwards, stepping out into the forecourt for the fresh air he had originally wanted.
He let the sun hit his face. It was a new day; a day he had thought he wouldn't see. It made him appreciate the small things, like the warmth of the sun and the gentle blow of the breeze; things he didn't typically spare a second thought to. His left hand ran against the brick wall of the gas station, fingers tracing over the rough ridges of the brickwork, cold against his touch.
"Killian."
Killian looked up from the bricks, finding Liam stood at the corner of the building. He looked startled, surprised to see him and he swiped a hand across his eyes, drawing Killian's attention to how red and puffy they looked. Liam glanced shiftily to his right, to the side of the gas station that Killian couldn't see.
Liam swallowed, clenched his jaw, and nodded to himself. Killian had seen that move before, plenty of times, every time his brother needed to muster up some courage. He turned back to Killian, a hard, determined look in his eyes. Liam stalked over to him and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along to the other side of the building, a newfound air of authority in his movements.
"Liam, what are you doing?" Killian questioned him.
"They parked the jeep round this side," Liam spoke, focused, avoiding the question. "Don't worry. Dad taught me how to drive, you remember? We'll have to gather supplies as we go, start from scratch, but that's alright, it's good, it's fine. We've got each other. That's all we need. Me and you, we'll look out for each other."
Killian pulled his arm free of Liam's grip and wordlessly took a few steps back, trying to put all the pieces together in his head.
"Killian, come on. We have to go," Liam urged.
Liam moved towards him, making another grab for his arm but Killian was expecting it and he was faster, jerking his arm back. He took another step back for good measure, glaring at Liam, just daring him to try again.
He had no clue what was happening but there was a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach, a horrible thought he couldn't quite shake from his head. As much as his brother had a tendency to argue with their father, Killian knew that Liam would never ever suggest abandoning him. There wasn't much else they had in the world, besides their dad.
"Where's Dad?" he barely dared to ask and his own voice betrayed him, shaking.
Liam stared at him helplessly, his head shaking from side to side as if begging him to retract his question. He opened his mouth then promptly closed it again, struggling to find the words.
"Liam," Killian forced his voice to stay steady.
"Killian, don't," Liam implored.
"Where… is he?" Killian repeated.
"He's… he's gone," Liam reluctantly forced the words out and then it was like the barriers had opened for the words flooded out, "He left. He couldn't stay here. Not with Silver about. Silver was going to kill him, there was no chance of him letting him live. The Mad Hatter has only so much sway, he can only see so much. So, Dad ran, in the middle of the night, he just upped and left."
"No. No. No," Killian shook his head adamantly.
He didn't believe it. He didn't believe a single word of it.
"We need to go, Killian," Liam maintained, glancing eagerly towards the side of the gas station the jeep was parked at. "Who knows what Silver may do to us."
"No. You're lying! Dad wouldn't just leave us. He wouldn't!" Killian defended his father.
"Drop it, Killian!" Liam snapped. "He's gone. Accept that. Now do as I say and get in the bloody jeep!"
Killian stared at him. Something had happened. The older boy before him may have looked like his brother, but the way he was acting was nothing like him. He and Liam were close, they had to be with the way they had grown up. They argued occasionally, all siblings did, but those were only ever over small, pointless things. Big things, and this felt big, they always discussed, swift and quick; in life and death situation they had to, communication was key and arguments only led to mistakes. Liam had never pulled rank like that before, never thrown orders at him and expected him to follow just because he was older. There was something Liam wasn't telling him, something worse than the prospect of their father abandoning them. Killian had to know.
He turned his back on Liam, looking to the corner which led to the right side of the building, from where Liam had first come. His heart rate quickened, threatening to jump out of his chest. Did he really want to know?
"Killian," Liam's voice was softer, desperate, barely more than a whisper. "Please, please, just come to the jeep with me now."
Killian squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to. He wanted so badly to go to the jeep, to leave the unnatural stronghold behind them but the more he thought about his father, the more the anger rose up inside him. His dad would never leave him, he was certain of that. Liam would never let them leave their father behind. It meant only one thing. Silver had taken him from them.
He couldn't just run away.
It was daft, it was probably the most reckless thing he had done in his whole nine years of life, but he didn't run away, he ran towards. He ignored Liam's shouts from behind him, he powered on forwards, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, even faster than the times he had run for his life from the machines. He kept running until he got to the corner, until he took the turn, until his worst fears were confirmed; then he stopped, dead.
He took in a sharp intake of breath. It was one thing to theorise something, it was another thing to see it, right in front of him. His father's lifeless body lay in a pile of blood, one shot to the chest, one to the centre of his forehead. Killian had seen enough death and killings to know that the precision of the shots meant only one thing; someone had wanted to make sure he had gone, for good.
Killian squeezed his fists shut tight, his nails digging into his palms as he seethed with anger. It wasn't fair, it was unjust, that his father's life had been spared a day ago only for it to be taken from him so viciously. Killian hadn't even gotten to see him since that moment; the last memory he had of his father was him giving up, resigning to the inevitability of death. His eyes fell on his father's gun, caught in the loose grip of his hand. His father had seen his killer coming, he'd tried to fight back – he had wanted to live, to fight another day. Someone had ripped that from him.
And Liam had tried to lie to him about it, tried to give him false hope that they would one day see their father again. Liam had tried to baby him, like he couldn't handle the truth, like he hadn't watched his own mother being murdered right in front of him, like he needed to be protected from the world's harsh reality of death. He knew of death all too well; he had seen it, he had been on the brink of it, the only thing he hadn't yet done was to impose it. But he was ready to. He wasn't prepared to let his father's death slide. He wasn't going to run and hide. He knew exactly who was responsible and a murderous rage inside him was desperate for revenge.
Killian looked up to the group gathered nearby, Silver and his men, casually chatting and daring to laugh. The disrespect did not help Silver's case and only fuelled Killian's hunger for blood.
Liam came up behind, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry Killian. I was going to tell you the truth. I just didn't want you to have to see it. But we need to go now. He wanted us to leave. It was what he was trying to do, to get you and go."
"Get off of me," Killian shrugged him off.
He didn't give a damn what his dad had wanted, not in that moment. He only cared what he wanted, what he needed; to see Silver lying in a puddle of his own blood so he could stand there and laugh over his dead body.
"There's more at play here than you understand," Liam hissed. "Dad doesn't want you involved in this."
"Yeah? Well, he's dead," Killian challenged coldly, not taking his eyes off Silver. "He can't want for anything anymore."
He charged forward, swiping the gun from the cold hand of his father. He checked the safety, already off, his dad had been so close to killing Silver himself. Forget leaving, as far as Killian was concerned, killing Silver had been his father's last wish. Wishes weren't often granted in their cruel world, but his father's last one was one that he could grant. He lifted the gun, took aim, ignoring Liam's shouts, and fired, taking out Silver's left kneecap. The man let out a satisfying yelp as he crumbled to the ground, watching the man succumb to pain subduing some of Killian's anger, a smug smirk forming on his lips. He was upon Silver in an instant, towering over the older man, empowered, as he held the gun at his temple.
He looked to Silver's men, "Any of you tries anything, you'll be to blame for his death."
His finger hovered threateningly over the trigger, his cold glare scanning the gathered men, just daring one of them to try something.
"Killian! Have you lost your bloody mind?" Liam exclaimed from behind him.
"I'm done letting take everything from me, as you should be, Liam!" Killian raged. "Mum was killed by a machine, I couldn't avenge her, but I can avenge Dad."
Silver laughed, loud and hard, almost mockingly. His one hand covered the wound on his keen whilst the other went to his side, as if it were aching from laughing too much. Killian fixed his grip on the gun and pushed it harder against Silver's temple, so to remind him of the stakes. A man in his position should not be laughing.
"What's so funny, mate?" Killian demanded.
"You're quite the little warrior, aren't you?" Silver mused. "Cut to the chase, bold and brash. I like that. It's far better than the sneaky tactics your father was oh-so-fond-of."
"Don't talk of him!" Killian fumed. "You killed him. Now I'll kill you."
Silver dared to laugh again, "I didn't kill him. And you certainly won't kill me, boy. A killer kills. A killer doesn't hesitate. A killer shoots for the heart or the head. A killer doesn't aim for the kneecaps, and a killer certainly doesn't stand around and chat."
"Don't deny it! You were ready to kill him yesterday," Killian stood firm in his accusation.
"That was yesterday. Today's today," Silver responded. "It may not mean much to you, but I give you my word that I did not kill your father. I admit to my kills, boy. If it were me, I'd tell you."
"He's telling you truth," came the sing-song taunting voice of the Mad Hatter.
"Killian, we need to go. Now!" Liam urged.
"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," the Mad Hatter disagreed. "We're only just getting started. Your brother and I have a long partnership ahead of us. Now Killian, do you want to do me a favour and put the gun down?"
"Don't trust a word he says, Killian. I don't know what he's told you but you can't believe a word he says," Liam called desperately. "It wasn't Silver, it was him – the madman, the hatter – he killed Dad!"
"You can avenge your father, Killian, but not with the gun pointed at me," Silver inputted, jumping at the chance to remove the Mad Hatter from his life, to truly claim the stronghold as his own.
Killian pulled the gun back from Silver's head and turned it on the Mad Hatter. Liam wouldn't lie to him – not again, at least – but none of it made sense. The hatter had talked his ear off all night, rambling about how he was the only one able to save his daughter. The man had even insisted on his family – including his dad – being looked after. Killian could find no reasonable explanation for the hatter killing his father. Except, nothing the hatter said made any sense; his actions were most likely the same. He was delusional and that made him dangerous. Killian only wished he could have realised that sooner, maybe then he could have saved his father. But what's done was done, and all he could do was avenge him. He steadied the gun in his hand.
"You're not going to shoot me, Killian," the hatter sounded bored. "I know you."
Any anger which had melted away in his confusion soared back through his veins. His grip tightened around the gun, preparing himself for the recoil, and he fired. The Mad Hatter buckled, just as Silver had, his hand instinctively going to his knee, nursing the gunshot wound.
"You don't know me! You know nothing about me!" Killian growled, waving the gun dangerously. "I want answers. You killed my father. Why?"
"He wasn't a believer," the Mad Hatter spoke simply.
Killian stared at him; he shouldn't have been surprised that the answer made no sense and yet he was. There was no reason the hatter could have possibly come up with which would have wavered Killian's mind; the man was a dead man, every breath he took, every second he remained alive, was a luxury, yet he had expected a better excuse than that.
"No one here believes you!" Killian exclaimed, gesturing towards the gathered men with his gun; the uneasy looks on their faces as the gun pointed towards them making him feel powerful. "Yet they all get to live, so what's the real reason?"
"I don't care what anyone believes," the hatter contradicted himself. "I care about only one thing; saving Grace. The only way that can happen is for you to get to the Resistance. Your father didn't believe in the Resistance, Killian, he would have kept you from your destiny! Without him, you are free to become the man I once knew, the man who can save my daughter."
"You killed my father so that I would save your daughter?" Killian yelled, enraged.
He didn't care to hear anymore of the hatter's madness; it was time to put an end to it. The Mad Hatter had to die, he was too dangerous. Liam was all Killian had left. If the hatter's madness deemed Liam as a threat to saving his daughter, it was clear what the outcome would be. Killian didn't want to lose his brother, he didn't want to be alone in the world. The hatter on the ground before him, entirely as his mercy, was a clear example of what loneliness in the new, cruel world did to a person. Killian didn't want to become him.
The man was knelt on the ground, staring death in the face with wild blue eyes and a huge grin plastered over his face. He was surrounded by death and blood, the end in sight, and yet he was an image of hope and optimism.
"You can do it!" the hatter spoke enthusiastically. "You, Killian Jones, you are they key. You can change our fate! You can save her! You can save my daughter!"
"Know this, madman, if what you say ever does come to pass, if I ever find myself with the chance to save your daughter…" Killian trailed off, letting the sentence linger, allowing the madman's mind to race as he came up with possibilities of how the sentence may end, "I'll do nothing at all. I'll let her suffer and die. And now you can die, knowing that you failed her."
He lifted the gun higher, from the man's knee to his lower abdomen. A shot in the head was too quick, too kind a fate. He wanted it to be slow and painful, for the hatter to be aware, as he lay in his own pool of blood, of just how badly he had failed. He wanted the pain to be insufferable and the thoughts in his head even more so. The man would suffer for what he had done.
"Killian, no!" Liam protested.
Killian pulled the trigger.
Bang.