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IT WAS SCARY, HOW QUICKLY EVERYTHING WENT DOWN. One second I'm watching the Ken-Doll looking biker get his brains fucking exploded mid air and making a thick loud sound as his insides drop to the ground - the next I'm getting pulled behind masses of people by an arm.
The bullets from EVA are ricocheting from behind me as we weave through the crowd, and even more people, masses of them, are killed. I know because I can hear their bodies hitting the ground behind me. Despite this though, it's better for us to get lost in the crowd. When people start screaming and freaking out - even more chaos is evoked.
I feel safer in the tsunami of bodies, but I can still hear gunshots surrounding the perimeter - so my heart continues to beat at an increasingly rapid pace before I'm slammed against what I think could be the back of an ice cream truck or a van or just a massive fucking car.
It gives me time to see who's been leading me this whole time - and oh! It's my lucky day. Mr. Helmet has decided to both save my life but then also kill me because there is no way I will be able to continue breathing when in vicinity to him.
"What the fuck is going on?" I call to him over the sounds of screams and gunfire.
We're deep in The Slums now. Without any more biker protection. Just the two of us - fuck, Blake and Sylvie better have not gotten injured in the crossfire - and none of Helmet's little biker gang left to give us scary dog privileges.
Although this camouflages us into the people, it also puts us in more danger. I have reason to believe the only reason we were untouched before was because of the quantity of bikers storming through The Slums, without that group of people, we're easier to kill. And I have a feeling a lot of people from The Slums may or may not have beef with Helmet.
"They didn't find any use for us anymore." Is all he gives me before he pushes away from where he was previously pushing me up against the van, "C'mon. I know a place we can wait it out."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." I say instantly, jumping to look over the still squirming crowd of people to try and spot Blake or Sylvie (or, fingers crossed, both).
"You have no choice." Is all he can tell me. And despite my hatred for him, he has a point. Right now, I should stick with somebody. Or deal with either EVA, zombies if I get alone, or the onslaught of members of The Slums who I doubt will be anything but kind. The people here aren't people they're the gruliest and most violent survivors. There, I have heard, is a difference.
"I'm not in your hands anymore." I tell him, "And the only reason I'm coming is because-"
"Blake, whatever, I know. This way." He interrupts, grabbing my wrist again and proceeding to dip us back into the screaming crowd that has had trouble scattering thanks to the quantity of people that reside in The Slums.
He leads me in a direction no one is headed - further out into the stark cold and lonely part of this city. Slowly, as we rush through, people start to skim out, the gunshots become a muffled sort of sound, and there are no fires or torches or any forms of light to signify other's presences.
It also means we're in the dark. And the sun is setting. So that is not ideal.
"Why isn't anybody here?" I ask cautiously. Because that can only mean one thing.
"Unguarded territories. Possibilities of zombies." He lists quickly.
Of course. Perfect.
But...I'll take them over EVA. For now. So long as they're just the regular ones and not widows or whatever other toxic adaptation has evolved over the past year.
I follow him keeping a good distance between us to what looks like an abandoned parking lot four stories tall. I'm guessing we'll be staying on the second floor in case we need to make a quick escape or want to sleep peacefully. I'm not sleeping tonight though. Because I don't trust him and I don't even know if I'd be able after all this shit.
"Second floor." He mutters, quieter than usual. I hum in acknowledgement and stay behind to keep an eye on him in case he tries anything. This is the same guy who has a cage filled with zombies after all, I don't care if he saved me from EVA - he definitely didn't from the undead.
We climb the open stairs and get to a point high enough in the building where there are visible fires out in the distance indicating people in The Slums. I wonder if EVA is going through each and every alleyway to search for us. I assume it was Helmet they intended to shoot. And me by association.
"You're taking me back first thing tomorrow morning." I say when he stops at a certain clean part of the concrete floor and just...sits down.
"Sure. Sit." He leans his head back against a pillar directly behind him.
I'd object but I really have no reason to and my legs do hurt, so with a little attitude, I sit down across from him, a good distance away, and bring my knees to my chest.
We sit in silence for a moment. He seems to be resting, maybe thinking, catching his breath. He still has his helmet on so I can't really gather an accurate reaction from him right now. I turn my cheek against my knees and look out of the building towards the lit fires again. They're sort of disturbingly beautiful. A fucked up city in cold, blue silence with fragments of orange and warmth scattered throughout.
"I'm going to ask you a favour now." Helmet breaks the silence.
I scoff. He's the one who supposedly owes me after I went through the arena.
"I got shot." He adds.
My head snaps to his so quickly I think if I were any years older I would have given myself an aneurism. I scan his body, and funnily enough, see blood leaking through his shoulder where there's a darker patch of red at the centre of the wound.
"What?!" I untuck my legs immediately and stare at the wound. How did I not realise? It's that why he hasn't been as snarky or moody? He's busy bleeding out? It doesn't look that bad...I mean it's definitely bleeding...but bullet wounds could be worse right? Right?
"Yeah, before we ran. It's no big deal - I just need-"
"No big deal?" I interrupt, gaping at him.
He sighs and lifts his gloved hands to his helmet, and I realise quickly he's taking the damn thing off. I brace myself, holding my breath against my will at how casually he's done it. He tucks his leathered fingers underneath it and pushes up, lifting the thing off of his head and then running a hand through his dark brown practically black hair.
What. The. Fuck. He was meant to be ugly. Not...whatever this whole get up is. Which is dark thick hair, a clean face with no cuts (seriously? He was supposed to have a scar from cheek to cheek) and hooded eyes with a small silver eyebrow piercing.
Again.
What the actual fuck.
"You took your helmet off." I blurt.
He draws his eyebrows in, "Yeah?"
"I thought you didn't do that." I say, and the words sound stupid coming out of my mouth but oh well I've already said them.
"You're right," He sighs, "I never take it off and I feel myself through a tube that goes underneath-"
"Oh, shut up, I get it." I narrow my eyes at him.
"Perfect. Thank you Mars. You have been oh so understanding." His sarcasm could rival my own, "Now I am currently bleeding due to a bullet wound - would you mind helping me with that?"
My eyes dart to his shoulder and back to his face I can't seem to stop looking at. I'm savouring it, because I don't know when he's suddenly going to make himself masked again and the sight is so uncanny I can't seem to stop looking.
"Why would I do that?" I ask, trying to keep control. If he's injured, I'm in control. If he needs me for something, I'm in control.
"Because without out me you won't make it more than five minutes in The Slums, so preferably, you'll want to keep me alive and unharmed." He doesn't miss a beat.
"What do you need me to do?" I relent.
"Stitch me up."
I frown immediately, "I've never done it."
"I'll talk you through it." He says, already shrugging off his leather jacket and grabbing the bottom of his shirt to pull it up and over his head. I blink at how quickly he did that, barely wincing at the movement which is surprising considering where his wound is. I'm also surprised by the bare skin on display, riddled with tattoos. Different tattoos to Blake's though. Helmet's are more scattered with space in between and I'd say he has less. There's an intricitate and thinly drawn butterfly on his sternum with red writing in characters I don't understand above it. I don't ask despite my curiosity.
I swallow and look away from his chest, "Where's the equipment?"
He pulls out a small kit from his jacket pocket as his answer, opening the tin up to reveal thread, needles, wire and bandages tucked away neatly like a mini first aid kit. I shuffle forward and cross my legs when I'm close enough in front of him that I can touch him. Helmet hands the items to me individually before he rolls his shoulders and sighs like he's regretting this already.
"Don't I have to clean the wound first?" I ask, staring at the blood on his shoulder in front of me. Once upon a time ago I may have winced or possibly gagged, but the apocalypse has changed me, and so this is nothing.
"Don't have anything." He shakes his head, dark strands falling over his eyes with the notion, "Gonna risk it."
"That's dangerous."
"Leaving the wound open is even more dangerous." He tells me, "I'll take my chances."
"Whatever you say Helmet." I mutter, running my thumb and pointer finger across the thread so there are no knots. I know the first bit of this. I connect the needle and black thread together, making sure it's tight enough and raise an eyebrow at him as if to encourage his instruction.
"How old are you?" He asks me instead.
"Seventeen. Eighteen soon." I answer, "What does that have to do with-"
"So have you ever taken a textiles class?" He interrupts.
"Yeah..."
"Same thing as that. Except with skin. And blood." He shrugs.
"Gross." I mutter, leaning forward and placing my palms around the wound before just...getting started. I loop the thread through his skin and then the other side across, pulling the thread strongly and watching one edge of the wound close up. I look to Helmet to check up on him but there's no hint of pain on his face. He just watches me, curiously.
"Tell about you." He murmurs.
"You're the one with secrets." I pay attention to his wound again.
"Give me your last name."
"I don't even know your first." I scoff.
"Gray." He says with a simple shrug that's careful enough not to fuck up my work.
Gray. Huh. It's weird to put a name to a face - but I'm definitely grateful for it. I was having a hard enough time with him being faceless and nameless. And now he's pretty, and has a pretty name - and I don't know which I prefer.
"Your last name." He tuts.
"Del Varo." I roll my eyes.
"Yamamoto." He returns.
"Where's that from?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Japan. Yours?"
"Spain. How old are you?" I keep the questions going. Because despite my reluctance to speak to him, I realise this is an opportunity. A time for me to sleuth and come back to ACE with information on the biker's leader.
"Eighteen." He answers.
I stop threading and look to him, "You're kidding."
He raises his pierced brow (my left), "I am?"
"You can't rule a fucking biker gang and ride a motorcycle and look like that and be eighteen." I say like it's enough reason.
"Really? I didn't know that." He muses.
"I don't believe you." I shrug.
"I don't really...care." He tilts his head.
"You're at least turning nineteen in like two days though, right?" I ask. Because, truly, I'm baffled. He too mature to basically be my age, he's built too...well and not scrawny - and he literally has grown men who listen to his orders!
"I turn nineteen April." He answers.
We're in May right now. WTF.
"Fuck, man." I say, mainly to myself.
"When do you turn eighteen then, hm?" He asks, soundly slightly entertained by my reactions.
"September." I clear my throat.
"September...?"
"...eleventh." I mutter.
He doesn't laugh. Or out right laugh really. He just slowly nods his head and thins his lips to stop himself from doing so. I glare hard at him, "It's not funny."
"Oh, of course not." He shakes his head quickly and looks anywhere but at me.
"Gray." I say his name, "It's not funny. Look at me."
He looks at me, humour dancing in his alluring eyes. I repeat, "It's not funny."
"It's not funny." He nods. But he's so close to laughing. I want to punch him.
"You're..." I trail off before shaking my head, "God, you keep getting worse and worse."
"Oh yeah?"
Now I hate Gray Yamamoto, but I'm a normal human being and also a teenage girl, so when he says those two words, in that tone and voice, it takes everything in my power for me not to look away from the stitches I'm almost complete with. I'm glad I'm doing this anyway. It's good to focus on blood and stuff to get your mind elsewhere.
"Done." I say, shuffling back a notch and staring forward at my work. It's...fine I guess. It looks tight enough to hold and the only issue is the blood that I had nothing to clean it with. Gray looks to it for a moment before back at me and nodding as if impressed before he reaches into his lap and grabs his shirt again, pulling it over his head (which I'm grateful for, I don't like distractions).
"How'd you do it by the way?" He asks.
"Do what?" I play with the old bandage on my hand. I need to replace it. But in private. I can't have people seeing what's underneath.
"Get through the zombies in the arena." He elaborates.
"I..." I think for an excuse and take a deep breath, "I just calmed my breathing and sort of blended in I guess."
"Mm." He hums. I can feel his eyes on me. It makes me shiver.
"You're fucked in the head for that by the way." I look up to shoot another glare at him (he has to be familiar with them by now).
"For the cage?"
"What the fuck else?" I roll my eyes.
"I guess." He shrugs, "But...well. We're living in a dystopia. People do weird things to survive."
"And yours is locking up innocent people and forcing them to fend for themselves in a massive cage littered with unalive cannibals?" I raise a brow.
"Wow," He breathes, "Your vocabulary. It just gets me every time."
"Don't avoid my question."
"Who said they were innocent?" He decides on.
"Were they not?"
He scoffs, "No. They weren't. They're people who have crossed me, killed one of my own, raped, stolen, done it all. Giving them second chances tells the rest of The Slums that I give second chances. I can't allow that if I want me and the people who rely on me to live."
"And where did Blake, Sylvie, and me fall?" I tilt my head.
He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, "You're a different case."
"Oh?" I let out a bitter laugh.
"I assumed you...well." He gestures to me broadly with a gloved hand and looks away.
"I what?" I snap.
"You're really going to make me say it?" He faces me once again, eyes boring into mine.
"Say what?"
"Your immunity." He answers rather plainly.
No amount of acting ability or credit could prepare me for that. I can't control it when my eyes widen or when I feel my skin go cold and drain of colour. My heart starts beating rapidly fast and I have a feeling if I check my pulse right now it would actually explode.
How the fuck did he figure it out? How did he-
"I'm observant." He says as if he can read my mind. I'm angered suddenly and with the knife left on my person that never got taken off (they still have my bat the fuckers, but I plan on getting it back) I spring forward and unsheath it from the waistband of my trousers.
I dig my thumb into his bullet wound, which for the first time earns a wince, and hold the knife against his throat with my other hand. I don't know where this feral sort of attitude has come from - but Helmet, Gray, whoever, really likes bringing it out of me.
"i'll kill you." I say.
"No you won't." He whispers.
"I will." I say meaning it, "What do you want?"
"With your immunity?" He leans forward, pressing into the blade and drawing some blood, "Nothing."
"Then why are you taunting me. What game are you playing?" I ask, pressing into his bullet wound further.
"I'm not playing a game."
"I'm not immune." I say, which is sort of pathetic, but it's worth a shot.
"Oh, no?" He looks genuinely baffled, "My bad. You can let go of me then."
I don't.
"Why do you think that?" I ask.
"Convenient bandage placement, constant fidgeting with said bandages, and the fact that when I first met you the mark on your arm had bled through the bandage and appeared as a bite mark." He answers like this is some class. Some lecture. Like he'll get fucking points.
"Could be a dog bite." I swallow, fidgeting with the handle of the blade.
"Wanna explain the arena then?" He scoffs.
"That has nothing to do with immunity." I say quickly. Because truly, it doesn't. Not even I can explain what happened then. How the fuck I managed that.
"Right."
There's some silence there as well. He doesn't believe me. And I'm not going to be able to change his mind. So I may as well bargain and hold the power and authority I have with this knife against his throat will I can.
"You're going to take me back tomorrow morning. I'll let you try and find what's left of your crew for twenty minutes max and then you're taking me back to ACE. You'll hold your promise that you and your bikers will never go into ACE territory again, and you will promise me, that you will take every action possible to never ever see me again." I list.
Gray takes a moment, staring at me before almost smiling and nodding, "Okay."
We stay in that position for a moment longer before I slowly release my grip on him and shuffle back again. He doesn't make any move to threaten me.
"Who else knows?" He asks after a moment.
I almost don't respond.
But what else could he even do with the information anyway?
"Blake and two others." I answer quietly.
Gray hums and nods to himself before catching my eye, "Good. Keep it that way. People will kill you for what you have."
I hold my breath and look out into the city again. The Slums. The scattered fires indicating people alive throughout.
"Yeah." I breathe, staring out.
If I could give it to all of them I would.
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Fav chapter? Fav chapter. (So far).
EXAM SEASON STARTED UP AGAIN IM GONNA KMS <<<333
(Dw, this won't affect uploading severely).
Mars when he's hot:
- Juana.