Rogues of Overwatch

by Dustin Martin

  Chapter 8- Emergency Pickup

  Lydia’s mind and senses became dull, fuzzy, and lethargic, except for her hearing. “Let me go,” Heather said, pushing against her. Let her go. That sounds like a good idea. She should do that. Let Heather go.

  On the edge of her thoughts, an inner voice refused and demanded that she hold onto Heather. She’ll escape if you let go! Escape? That sounded bad, but at the same time, Heather repeated her command, and that seemed to be right as well.

  Heather punched Lydia in the ribs. That automatically loosened her grip and Heather slipped free, rubbing her neck. No, you have to stop her! Stop her. A retributive urge rose inside Lydia, which she’d felt before. Awkwardly, she crawled toward Heather in large, clumsy movements and latched onto her legs. Heather looked back at Lydia, shocked. She tried to shake Lydia from her legs, but the girl held firm.

  Reaching backward, Heather elbowed Lydia in the temple. “Let go!” she said more loudly. Lydia’s arms loosened, then stopped.

  Defend yourself. She blocked Heather’s next attack with her forearm. Heather frantically jerked one foot out and kicked Lydia’s face and shoulders. She dug her heel into Lydia’s arm and pushed until her other foot popped out. Then she used a tree to pull herself up.

  Get her. Lydia scrambled to her feet, the thought breaking a larger hole in the fuzziness. Just enough so that she ducked low and rammed her shoulder into Heather’s back, pinning her to the tree trunk. Lydia spun her around, held her by the throat, and raised a fist. Heather almost escaped again. Her hand tightened on her neck, squeezing slowly. The fist’s fingers clenched tighter, ready. She would make sure this woman never escaped to cause more pain, to hurt anyone else.

  The thought, No. Not like this, interrupted Lydia. A great desire to let her fist fly whispered in her ear, but it was one she was warned not to give into. Lydia dropped her arm. In the distance, several voices were calling her name. She threw Heather to the ground and kept one foot on her chest. Heather tried to twist her leg off, but Lydia pressed harder, trapping her there. That was all she could do, with the strong commands swirling through her foggy mind

  Flashlights swiveled back and forth through the forest until Sylvia, Aidan, and Jando found her. “Over here!” Sylvia yelled.

  “Whoa, nice job,” Jando said, shining his light at Heather, then at Lydia.

  Lydia nodded and formed a drawn-out, “Thanks.” She was vaguely aware of something warm trickling down to her lip and touched her nose, staining her fingers in blood.

  Sylvia tilted Lydia’s head higher and held the flashlight up. She checked her eyes and turned her head to the left and right. “She’s been gassed,” Sylvia said.

  “Is she okay?” Aidan asked, shining a light in Lydia’s eyes. She shielded her face and pushed away the bright light.

  “I think so. She’s still alive, so it’s the nontoxic one. Acting on her own. Heather probably hadn’t built up a full blast.” Sylvia still seemed surprised, but she turned her attention to Heather. With the flashlight on her, Heather looked worse than Lydia expected. Her face was pale, drained of most color besides dirt and stains, some covering up the scar on her cheek. Her dirt-stained emerald scarf hung loosely about her white neck, exposing purple finger marks, and Sylvia glanced at Lydia, concerned. Heather’s hair was a mess and she shivered in pain. The blood on her leg soaked through the rushed dressing on it, and Sylvia wondered aloud about infection. “Need to get this looked at by the paramedics.”

  Sylvia dug through her satchel and popped a pill into Heather’s mouth. Then she produced a mask with pencil-point holes in it. Sylvia attached it to Heather’s nose and mouth, strapping it tightly around her head. “New designs from Dr. Barrett and Dr. Brentle. The pill can track her. They based it on the ones Rooke used and added their own touches. His was better, but ours isn’t too shabby.” She pulled out a handheld device and flipped on a switch. The screen on it lit up and zoomed in on a display of their current location on a geographical map. “It’ll kick in in a few minutes. Good for a fifty-mile radius. And that,” Sylvia said, pointing at the mask, “should filter any of her gas and make it harmless.”

  Lifting Lydia’s leg off of Heather, Sylvia assured her that it was fine. “She’s not going anywhere. Isn’t that right?” she asked Heather, tapping on the filter. The woman mumbled behind it. “What? Can’t hear you. Looks like it’s a bit tight. Sorry about that,” she said, a disingenuous smile streaking across her lips.

  Sylvia picked up Heather, produced a set of handcuffs from the satchel, and slapped them on Heather’s wrists behind her back. During the arrest, Heather continued to stare at Lydia, not angry or defeated, but curious, thoughtful. Lydia turned elsewhere and focused on clearing her mind and her bloody nose.

  The cloudiness was dissipating at a gradual rate, replaced by sore, sensitive bruises and tender spots from the fight. After Sylvia radioed to the other groups and they started to head back to the cars, Lydia’s walk was slow and heavy, like she was in a dream. Jando helped Sylvia watch Heather, while Aidan supported Lydia through the forest, her arm around his shoulder and leading her. They met up with one of the other search parties along the way, effectively containing Heather and keeping her from suddenly bolting.

  When they reached the cars, they loaded Heather into one of the open Jeeps, with no windows and a skeleton frame of bars for a roof. “Tell everyone we’re thankful for their help,” Sylvia said.

  “Will do,” one of the cops said.

  Many of the search parties returned, some gawking and pointing at Heather. She glared at them, breathing heavily into her mask. The ambulance had arrived for the downed searchers, and one of the EMTs examined Heather. He concluded that she should be fine for travel and cleaned and dressed her wound. Then he examined Lydia while Aidan let her rest on his back. Her nose had already stopped bleeding, but the EMT offered her gauze for her nose and checked her bruises and coherence from the gas attack. Near to them, Jando flirted with one of the younger park rangers.

  “Yeah, this isn’t the first time we’ve chased her down,” he said, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “It was much worse in Golden Springs. Took a bullet in my leg there, but I didn’t care. I was only concerned about saving the people in the hospital.” She seemed to have lost interest and was busy filling out paperwork.

  One of the rangers called out, “Has anyone seen Sammy and John? I can’t raise them on the channel.”

  “They probably got a bad battery,” one of the older rangers said. “C’mon. Let’s go find them.”

  Lydia stayed close to Heather, while Sylvia talked to the officer who drove them to the forest. As her mind cleared, she realized Heather was watching her, those thoughtful eyes refusing to leave her alone. Lydia looked elsewhere, her nerves settling down. They had caught Heather. All was well.

  Except I nearly lost it, she reminded herself. The temporary rise on the plane was a sneak peek. All the anger and fury from Golden Springs came rushing back. Lydia believed herself in control after that incident. And now? Now, she didn’t know. She feared that all the training, and then who knew what would happen.

  In fact, being close to Heather wasn’t helping matters. Lydia moved away to one of the other vehicles, keeping Heather out of sight. She folded her arms and leaned on the driver’s door.

  “Hey, you okay?” Aidan asked, approaching her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Just, you know, relaxing.”

  He nodded. “Must’ve been pretty intense.” She agreed and they stood there for a while. Aidan kicked his feet. “Gas still messing you up?”

  “Not so much,” she said.

  “What was it like?”

  “Kind of like you’re half awake and not really thinking yet, you know? Your mind’s all mixed up and everything she says sounds good to you.”

  “Well, you did well,” he said.

  “He’s right,” Jando added, coming over and nudging her shoulder. “You should be proud of yourself.”

  Pr
oud of letting her anger ambush her and get the better of her? It was just leftovers from before the vow. A little pent-up rage. But it’s out of your system, and you overcame it in the end.

  Barely, she thought. That’s what she first believed after killing Finster, but thinking of him or the others still riled her.

  This whole thing was a side effect of the gas. You weren’t in full control of your body. That sounded plausible. She hoped that the aggression was gone. If she relapsed into her hate—well, she brushed the thought from her mind. Lydia forced a smile and thanked Aidan and Jando. They headed off to the car as Sylvia finished up with the officer. She waved to Lydia that they were leaving.

  “I’ll appreciate your sticking closer and not chasing someone down on your own again,” she told Lydia at the car. “But good job.”

  Lydia mumbled a thanks, and climbed into the front seat with Sylvia.

  * * *