by Alex Fall
"Hold on, I'll be right there!" Reggie added.
Eventually Reggie and two other people rushed into the room. By then I was awakening, but I had developed muscle tremors and stomach cramps. I was able to sit up, but the pain forced me into involuntarily growling and moaning with every movement. At the sight of Reggie, Brent turned and said, "She's a little better, I think..."
"Holy mother... What the..." Reggie said upon seeing me, as if censoring himself. "Move, she needs pain medication."
I knew that Reggie was largely unfamiliar with my medicine, but he at least knew what pain medication was. He pulled out the injectable kind, pill form, and a bottle of water. My muscles allowed me enough control to grab hold of the syringe, though I was trembling. Though I could have, he gave it to me in the leg, a surface of me not yet burned. Now another minute or two and I might be able to speak and move.
"How big of a blast did you make?" He asked.
"She blew up a building," Brent answered.
"What?" Reggie asked in tandem with the two other Rebels.
"I ain't ever heard of a burn blowing down a whole building," one of Reggie's escorts said. Brent answered by pointing down at the street.
"Our people aren't going to see anything down there..." The other escort said.
"I heard that stuff isn't good to breath," Brent said.
"That's not too big of a concern right now," Reggie replied. "Can you see anything from up high?"
"Not really. But I saw the whole thing happen. She got every vehicle. Both vans. Both airships."
"Both airships? I only saw one," an escort said.
"Another came out at the last minute. Must have been the stragglers you guys were handling in camp."
"We captured quite a few of the Reds," the second escort threw in.
"Vick..." I managed to spit out.
"What?" A couple people asked, one of them being Reggie.
"Wyatt...Sharon..."
"What are you saying? Where are they?" Reggie asked.
"Skiff..."
"Huh?"
"Second....airship," I sighed out between breaths. My voice sounded hoarse.
Reggie hardened his face to understand, but when it clicked, a deep concern took over his face and he looked into the smoke.
"Guys, we have to get down there and look for survivors," Reggie asked.
"There's already some people down there," an escort commented.
"F-find....them..."
"What's she saying?" Brent asked.
"Go!" I said, now with added volume.
"You guys meet on the ground," Reggie said. "I need to stay here and make sure she's going to make it."
After some coaxing, the Rebels left to go help the search, leaving my comm with my stuff. My ears were already picking up strange sounds from ground zero, but there was a ringing in my ears from the blast and crashing down of the building.
"OK, what else do you need?" Reggie asked.
"Go down...there. Find Vick... And Wyatt," I said.
"But...captain, you're in absolutely no condition-"
"I don't care!" My shout hurt me more than the searing pain already had, but I was anxious, drugged, frightened, and angry. "I don't give...a *cuss* about...myself...right now. Get down there..."
Reggie looked into my eyes for moment, the only pure part of me on my nasty body. He looked torn between following an order or helping me.
"Now!" I said.
"Yes captain!" He gathered up what little he brought and rushed out the building.
Shortly after he left, two medically trained members of Rick’s camp returned to assist me. With their help and my coaching, it took me about half an hour to stabilize my body enough for me to pick up and leave the building. In the meantime, I heard occasional gunshots down in the smoke. Shouting was mixed in too. I even heard a boom from some kind of explosive. Stumbling onto the streets was liking walking into a battlefield. There was ruin everywhere up the road, and smoke obscured most of the view. Lights shined randomly all over as people searched through the gloom. Char marks filled the streets and scorch marks covered the buildings and road starting at where I blasted. There were still burning bits here and there, and people rushed in and out of the smoke. As I walked out, I saw two stretchers being rushed in. People largely ignored me, likely because I moved so slow. The person supporting my damaged body and carrying my packs recommended me to stay still while they moved to locate a stretcher for me. He set my things down and trotted off.
"Captain?" My comm squelched. Definitely messed it up a little when I made my burn.
"Yeah..."
"I found Lori. She doesn't look so good. We're rushing her back to camp now."
"Anyone else?"
"...not yet captain."
My legs beckoned me toward the smoke. An anxiety still weighed heavily on my mind. What will I find in there?
Behind me, up the street, a manhole cover lifted and scraped along the ground. I stopped and gripped my shotgun in preparation. A hand reached up and struggled to pull the person it belonged to up. Something was strange about that hand. It had a Templar Unit. Wyatt stood up out of the tunnel.
"Wyatt?" I asked with relief.
He groaned in reply, holding his head and looking around for the source of the voice. I hobbled up to him, but as I drew closer, I could assess his damage. Blood looks like it had been pouring out of his nose. He was very, very dirty, and he had scrapes, bruises and cuts all over. He definitely wasn't in critical condition, but he looked battered.
"Ugh...Erin?"
"You're alive!" I said.
"Uh...yeah. Kind of...What's going on? How long was I out? What...what happened to you?" He asked quietly as he pulled himself up to sit on the lip of the hole.
"What? No, where's Vick?"
Wyatt looked up at me while holding his head and shutting one eye in pain. He didn't answer.
"Wyatt! Where's Vick? He was with you right?"
"I..." He closed his mouth and bit his lower lip. Come on! Spit it out! Where is he? Something's wrong, normally Wyatt is the loudmouth. He's neither loud nor mouthy.
I patted the side of my leg to break the silence. "I..." He repeated. "Didn't..."
"...what does that mean?" I asked quietly. The anxiety hit me again. My heart began to race.
"Captain, I found Sharon. She's not so good either. She's headed back to camp," Reggie said. I could hear other voices in the background coupled with Sharon wailing.
"Where is everyone else?" Wyatt asked.
"Where is Vick?" I asked.
"I told you..." He replied. His breath was shaky, like he was stunned or about to cry. "I didn't...save him."
"So Vick died?!" I asked with raised volume.
"The building came and...I need to get back to camp. Where is the camp? Where am I?" I could tell he was panicking. He seemed antsy all of the sudden.
"Wyatt, tell me what happened."
"No, where is camp? I need to eat. I need to get medically examined. My head hurts so much. Where's the rest of the crew?"
"Wyatt."
"I heard someone talking on your comm. Was that Reggie? Where's Reggie? Is he back at camp?"
"Wyatt," I repeated.
"And what happened to you? How are you still walking? Are you OK? We should both go back to camp."
"Wyatt," I said, this time reaching out and touching him.
"No! Don't touch me!" He shouted in a startled way, swatting my hand away.
A loud growl of pain left me and I grabbed my broken hand back. "*Cuss*, Wyatt!"
He took some steps back, like he was dazed. "I'm sorry! I...uh.." Then without words, he found someone else and followed them back to camp.
The next couple of hours were largely disorganized. People searched the wreckage and fought off the remaining Reds, most of which that could still fight were tanks. All the people that were taken in vans or the airship were rushed back to camp. Almost all of them needed some kind of medical attention. Nicolette was
among them. The Reds likely would have taken her somewhere and tortured her to death, given her reputation. Rick began making plans to move the camp again. All our stolen supplies were removed from the Reds vehicles and returned to camp as well. A group of people worked on questioning the Reds that were captured. Sharon wasn't as bad off as I first thought, just extremely frightened, a couple cuts and bruises, and a fractured arm. Lori was a bit worse. She was still unconscious. She took a blow to the head from falling debris of the building. She too suffered a couple fractures in her arm, along with a gunshot wound that went off during the crash, besides cuts and bruises. Wyatt had light scrapes, cuts, and light bruises, and a massive headache, and now he's developing P.T.S.D. Apparently he doubled up on his Templar Force field and it still broke. The feedback knocked him out for a while, however the force did shove his forcefield down into the ground, creating a small opening to a tunnel below the street. To escape the building's remains, he blew a hole in the ground to the sewer tunnel below with a grenade of some kind. And Vick...died in the building's collapse. Their skiff was struck by a Bolt, who sucked the power from their vessel. The skiff hit the ground and skidded until it was crushed by debris. Supposedly the people here are going to have some kind of memorial for those that died during all this. My crew will probably want me to say something for Vick. I don't really want to...
And then there's me. Massive burns. Overload of pain. More food for nightmares. While I was sitting in my tent, someone approached from outside with an escort.
"Sapphire?" Rick's voice asked.
"Mm?"
The flap unzipped and he walked in with an armed guard. "I need to speak to you for a moment."
"Well I'm not moving. You should be able to tell why."
"I understand." After a brief pause, he picked up speaking again. "We've been talking to the Reds that we captured. A subject of great interest to me was how they were able to find the location of our camp. It seems somehow linked to you."
"What?!" I shouted. The volume hurt.
"Not...in the sense that you're leaking information, but somehow they tracked you here."
"I don't know how!" I shouted defiantly.
He raised a finger. "There's another point of concern. All first hand accounts point to you of...if I understand correctly, collapsing a building? I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that."
"So what are you trying to say?" I asked with irritation behind my voice.
"You don't deny that those accusations are true?" The escort asked. Rick held a hand up for him to be quiet.
I glared at the two of them. "No, I don't. Or did you think I just happened to get a massive burn on me from picking flowers?"
"That is a curiosity that I have yet to see. I don't know of any burns that self inflict when they use their abilities," Rick commented.
"If you came here to discuss details about me, you can turn around and leave."
"No, I'm afraid not," Rick said. "I came here to ask you to pack your things. I can't afford to keep you around any longer."
"What?!" I shouted again. This time I stood when I said it, causing the escort to hold on to his gun.
"I'm sorry, but my daughter is in a hospitalized condition. It’s because of you, whether you meant to or not. And clearly you don't need time to heal before taking drastic actions...So for the safety of the camp, you need to leave."
"No one just up and kicks me out."
"If you try to return," he continued, "You're actions will be viewed as unclear and hostile. We will defend ourselves."
I gritted my teeth behind closed lips. "You do NOT want to make me and my crew an enemy."
"Then you'll have to prove yourself at another time. And your crew and your dweller are staying," he said.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.
"They need medical assistance for the time being. You, as a lone girl, can't possibly handle three injured people, yes?"
"You'd be surprised."
"I expect you to be gone within the next forty five minutes," he said as he dismissed himself. The escort stayed, and quickly, three more escorts surrounded the tent at various points.
“Did you see how jacked up I look? And you're booting me anyway?” I shouted at him.
“Like I said, it doesn't stop you,” Rick replied. I cursed him in return but he was likely too far away.
The next hour, I found myself wandering with all my stuff to who knows where. I was in pain and very mad, but anytime I turned around towards the camp, a green laser dot reminded me that there was a sniper who didn't want me coming back. I couldn't tell where he was situated. I cussed under my breath for almost an hour, trying all kinds of mental scenarios of trying to get back. I was far too wounded to battle or make more burns. I had nothing to offer them, no way to prove anything to them. They even took my comm, because I would be able to communicate with my crew that way. I was infuriated, but I couldn't intimidate them. They wouldn't even let me inform my crew what was happening. They wouldn't let me see Sharon. I tried shouting to them, but my voice wasn't full strength, and they threatened to taze me if I didn't stop. The entire camp turned on me.
The sniper dot kept reminding me to walk on for about a two kilometer radius. I considered wandering around the backside and sneaking into camp, but the sides and rear of the camp were level and open. That sniper could pick me off fast, and he would surely be watching the cluttered front approach all day long. There was no returning for now. Where do I go? What do I do? I checked my tracker and found that the screen had been busted from my burn. I couldn't find the warp gate and go home. I'm lost. I'm purposeless.
I wandered for the rest of the day, occasionally startling some birds or a squirrel. It was so quiet by myself. At first, I was seething, cussing under my breath and yelling at the air when my pain became too great to bear. But as night fell, so did my mood. I turned from angry to sad, condemning myself and convincing myself with poisonous ideas over the day's events. It’s all my fault. I hurt myself. I tore away my own crew. I KILL my own crew. I hurt Sharon. I promised her I wouldn't hurt her...and I did. What do I care? I've never kept promises. The only thing I ever use promises for is lying to someone so I can catch them off guard. It makes sense that I couldn't protect Sharon. And Vick? He trusted me. I got him killed. I hurt everyone around me. That's all I'm good for. Every happy story I've ever been told included the stalwart qualities of humankind; honesty, bravery, loyalty, love. I had none. I was worse than a soldier. I have no human qualities. I'm just an angry, volatile, weapon. I'm...a program.
I found myself in a basic, small building, what looks like it was once a small bank. I curled up in the corner, letting the pain cloud my mind. How long had it been since the pain medication wore off? I hurt so much, inside and out. Tears began to form and roll down my cheeks when I sat down. The nightmares already started to haunt me. Among them was Vick asking who killed him. Make it stop! Make it go away! The pain! It's too much!
I began to tremble slightly and my breathing turned to crying. When I dared open my eyes, I saw the cello case looking back.
"Fine," I whimpered out loud, as if he were sitting nearby. "You were right. You win..."
The pain was unbearable. I reached in the medicine bag and pulled the bottles of pain and sleep medication out. My mind found further reason to condemn me. It doesn't make the nightmares go away, it just let's me ignore them. Go ahead, take them. Take the easy way out. Be a coward. I cracked the bottles open and straight swallowed both types of pills, choking once or twice as they went down. Disgusted with myself, I tossed the bottles across the room and buried my face in my arms. The motion hurt, so I raised my head and rested on the wall, letting my sad wails carry through the air.
"You win....you win..." I repeated.
Make the pain stop.
"Adjustment..." I went to say the word "session" but instead it came out and ugly, pained cry. Make it stop! The pain, physical and mental! Make it stop! I don't know how to make it stop, but i
t has to stop!
No, there is a way to stop it.
I grabbed my shotgun, turned the safety off, and bit down on the end of the barrel. My fingers fiddled with the trigger as I cried, contemplating how low I was to do this to myself.
Make it stop...
I don't know at what point I passed out, but my dreams left me in the same setting. Perhaps my mind wanted to know if I really would pull the trigger. I was still crying in my dreams, still admitting defeat, still fingering the trigger. I don't deserve to live. I cause death, I should be able to take it too. It’s not like anyone will miss me. If I pull the trigger in my dreams, will I pull it in real life? I was scared. I was lost. I was purposeless. I should pull the trigger…
I'm going to pull the trigger.
Before my finger tightened on the trigger, a gentle hand rested on my back. It felt foreign and soothing. The other hand pulled the shotgun gently from my mouth. Fake Arty kneeled in front of me.
"Now Erin..." He playfully scolded.
I examined his face for a moment, before breaking down in open, ugly crying. He didn't say anything, but rather, he scooped me up and rested my head on his shoulders. I didn't bother trying to fight it. I already knew he won, that he was right, that he always has been right.
"You win!" I choked out in wailing words. I gripped his shirt in defeat and let my tears soak in.
I couldn't tell for sure, but as he held me, it felt like his ever present, compassionate smile was upon me.
Part 22
My tears stopped flowing but my body was still flushed. I felt the warmth from holding onto him, but we didn't say anything for a while. Eventually, I was the one to break the silence.
"Where did you go?" I asked.
He took a deep breath and stirred. "You told me to get out."
I backed off of him, feeling a little more defensive now. "You never left all the other times I told you to."
"I know. Actually... The day I told you everything, you got so mad, your mental barriers came up. It shut me out of your mind. It also gave me a rough headache and the inability to mind read for a bit."
