Marionette (A 'The 5th Wave' Fanfiction) [COMPLETED] #wattys2017

40. Silver and Blood; Chapter III.

    I'm not dead. Again, not very poetic. But my thoughts are hazy and fluffy. Making up something deep and meaningful would require a clean, drug-less mind. One I don't have at the current moment.

    And if this is heaven, it sucks. I feel like a junkie that collapsed and when he got up realized he slammed his bottles of vodka and slept on the shards. Simply, everything hurts.

    Plus it's noisy. Not loud, just a quiet, irritating hum. Buzz. It's driving me crazy. When will it stop?

    Maybe I'm in hell. Seems fitting enough. I haven't been a saint lately. Despite Ben calling me an angel.

    My high thoughts slightly make way for the rational ones, at the mention of Ben. Where is he? Is he safe? Did he survive the bombs?

    Only one way to find out.

    Slowly I force my eyes open. It's difficult. Rays of light stab my vision and I cringe.

    I'm not outside or in any place I recognize. I'm in a seat that's slightly bent so that I'm not upright and I'm covered by a blanket. I feel like a mummy with all the bandages criss-crossing over my body. Sissy's necklace is still protecting neck, but its silver is in places dirty from my blood.

    I begin remembering. The psycho girl, the bullets, the knife, the silhouette. Did he save me?

    It becomes obvious I'm in a plane. And even more that I'm not alone.

    Sitting elegantly with his legs crossed and in the uniform with golden badges at the front is Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Vosch. His icy blue eyes are bright, reflecting the dim light from the circular windows. Despite everything that happened -the bombs, the deaths and screaming- he smiles. "Rose. I knew you would come around." His fingers tap the armrest of his chair. "You're not one to stay out for long."

    I frown. The terrible pain and pounding all over my body makes thinking harder. I want to scream. "Where . . . am I?" I ask instead.

    Vosch tilts his head. Is he amused by this? By me? "Isn't it obvious?"

    I don't admit that, though. I swallow through my dry throat. Every move I make is like another dagger added to the suit of them I'm wearing. "Where are we going?"

    Vosch smooths his uniform down. It's already perfect, why bother? "A military camp, Camp Haven II." It's obvious they put great effort into making the titles. "It's a few miles north from Lake Erie." As if I knew where that was. "We're already moving our resources there."

    My mind is whirring. "Oh," is the best I come up with. "Can I go to Zombie? I would like to thank him for saving me."

    There are explosions that overlap the sound of the plane. We'll be ascending soon. Dust blocks the view.

    Vosch raises a brow at me. "Private Zombie didn't save you. It was a young medic named Razor. He was nearby and heard your screams. You nearly bled to death."

    Well maybe Ben didn't carry me off into the sunset. Who cares? "Then . . . where is Ben? He's on-board, right?"

    Vosch glances out the window. A quick gesture, but not unnoticed.

    The plane shakes. We're running out of time. "S-sir?" Nothing. "Where is he? What happened?" I demand in a panicky voice.

    He looks at me with regret in his electric eyes. "Benjamin Parish has gone Dorothy, Rose." That sentence alone is enough to load a gun. Now all he needs is to fire it. "The whole squad was. They set the bombs." Bang. There goes my sanity and everything along with it.

    I can't crack. Not yet. "You're leaving them here?" To dramatize the moment another bomb goes off. Camp Haven has to be in ashes by now. And Ben in the center of them.

    Vosch does something that reminds me of a shrug. "The rest of the squad is waiting for him outside." Is that his way of saying they'll make it?

    I remind myself to breathe. "Why did they come back?"

    The way he looks into my eyes makes it clear. "He wants to take you with them. You and Nugget."

    My eyes water. "Then let me go," I whisper, leaning in an attempt to stand. We both know I'm not going anywhere.

    He shakes his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Private."

    I let out a strangled sob. "He came for me. I want to go with him! Please let me go with him."

    No reaction.

    The plane starts leaving the ground and panic grips me. Tears spill over my cheeks. "No! No! You can't do this! Ben!" I shriek as if he can actually hear me.

    I ignore my wounds screaming in protest and bang my fists on the window. "Let me out! Ben! Ben!"

    We're in the air. Only a matter of seconds and Camp Haven's ruins will be but a dot. The ground is disappearing and falling in on itself. I see two silhouettes running out of the giant hole where Camp Haven used to be.

    I slam my fists harder. Every hit feels like the knife is cutting through my skin again. I don't care. The pain seems distant. "Let me out! He came for me! I want to go with him! Ben! Ben! BEN!" My lungs burn as if someone filled them with gasoline and lit them.

    Blood is starting to leak from the wounds again, running down my hand and into my sleeve. It doesn't stop me. "BEN! BEN! BEN!"

    I don't care if he's Dorothy. He could even be an Other for all I mind! But I can't lose him. He slipped from me so many times before. I can't let it happen again.

    Some time into my hysteria medics come in. They quickly realize calming me with words is pointless so they move onto sedatives. A doctor jabs an injection into my arm.

    Vosch waves them away and patiently waits for the sleep to come and devour me.

    It doesn't take long. My eyelids start drooping and my breath is becoming level again. Before I'm completely gone I whisper, "Ben." I won't say I love him. He has to come in order to hear me say those words. Dorothy or not.