"Childhood dotted with bodies.
Let them go, let them
be ghosts.
No, I said,
make them stay, make them stone."
•••
Carlton Blake rubs aggressively at the grease on his longsword, trying to do anything that will take his mind off the situation at hand. The others are out trying to connect to the surrounding bases, attempting to locate Jason Warner, and doing God knows what. At the moment they are totally alone, nobody to help them and nobody to guide them.
The thing was his first earned weapon in his time with the military, and it still reminds him of his training days. It's a simple silver blade, long but strong, with a rounded hilt designed for precision strikes. A blue ruby rests in the bottom handle, black leather wrapping around its grip.
He wants to drive it through the throat of Nasim Kieran. And anybody that possibly had anything to do with the bombings.
"Soldier Blake." Jacksons voice sounds from the opening of the tent, but Carlton doesn't look up.
"More bad news?" He replies, finally getting a stubborn streak of black off the edge of his blade.
"Yes and no."
Now he looks up. "Let me hear it, then."
"According to the satellite images that came through last night, four of the eight Hawaiian islands are untouched by the bombings. The four smallest ones. They seem completely fine, but since we have no access to a hovercraft there's no way we can go investigate."
Carlton inwardly sighs. That does no help to his family. Sure, it's good that those four islands survived and people didn't die on them, but it still does nothing to help the massive knot of worry growing inside him.
"What are we going to do about it then?"
"We're working on locating a boat. Or stealing a hovercraft from one of the nearest enemy bases. It's the only chance we have."
Carlton closes his eyes, swallowing down his conflicting feelings of disappointment and excitement. "Ok."
***
"Luke."
The boy doesn't look up. He's leaning over the sheets of paper they made the other day, his fingers tracing the lines of the map obsessively. It's well past midnight. He's still bleeding and bandages on his torso are clearly not holding up well, but he doesn't seem to care.
"Luke." Ivy says again, irritation creeping into her voice despite her vow to stay calm. They're in the same alcove he was treated in, because it's the only place she could think of he would be. It's a tiny room, with thick wooden walls enforced with tin on the outside. She came here earlier on his request, thinking he would want to talk, but all he did was bark out directions on where they were supposed to go the second he was better.
"Ivy, I'm a bit tied up right now." Luke finally wretches his blue eyes away from the paper to glare at her. "Unless you have important news or want to train, please leave."
Ivy balls her hands into fists, but doesn't respond. She won't feed into his little game. "Ok, fine." She replies, and unsheathes one of her swords. "Lets train."
Luke sighs in exasperation. "Ivy, go b-"
But she doesn't let him finish his sentence. She swings the sword in a wide arc, aiming for his calves, and Luke flips backward over the maps to avoid being a double amputee, landing gracefully on two feet. A dagger seems to fly into his right hand, and his eyes shine dangerously.
"So that's how it's gonna be." He says, and lurches forward.
Ivy blocks his strike with her blade, their weapons crashing together in the low light of the building. He jabs another toward her midsection, and she whips around in a circle to avoid it, unsheathing her other sword in the process.
They stand, face to face, both hands gripping weapons. Luke's eyes are blazing. Ivy knew this would get through to him.
"Calum's death wasn't your fault." She says bluntly, swiping her foot underneath his in one swift kick. Luke launches himself out of the way, his body twisting through the air as he brings an arm back and lets the dagger go. It sails straight into the sleeve of Ivy's shirt, nicking the skin of her forehead, and the fabric is strong enough to grip around the knife and fling her several feet back into the wall, the blade quivering from where it stuck.
Blood is blurring Ivy's vision, a side effect of Luke's throw. It's the first thing they learned in weapons training. A cut on the forehead equals blood, and blood gets in eyes.
"It was." Luke pants, and with a flick of his fingers another dagger is slamming into Ivy's other sleeve, pinning her completely to the wall. He's sweating, his black hair wild in the low light of the room, his right hand already gripping another knife. Ivy's still got her fingers around her swords, and Luke seems to notice this, but when he moves forward to disarm her she jerks an arm free and delivers a hard kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back. Fresh blood soaks the bandages on his skin, but again, he doesn't seem to notice. "I don't expect you to understand."
"You're right, I don't." Ivy snaps back, getting her other arm free just in time for Luke to swing his blade forward. She blocks it with her sword again, a massive clanging sound ringing through the room as their weapons collide. She can feel her own anger coming to a boil inside her, bubbling over from her thoughts to her words. She swipes the back of her hand roughly across her forehead. "I don't understand why you feel the need to play daddy to everyone all of a sudden."
Luke drives out at her again, and she blocks it, again. They fight back and forth, each of the girls strikes parrying the boy's, sounds of metal on metal filling the air around them, until Luke jams his elbow into Ivy's wrist and sends one of her swords clattering across the room.
"I won't let one of you get hurt." He replies, and Ivy moves forward, using the butt of her remaining sword to knock one of the blades out of Luke's hand. Luke catches her wrist, twisting it downward, and she drops her other weapon, swearing. "Not again."
Ivy manages to deliver a hard blow to the side of Luke's ankle with her left foot, and then they're both on the ground. Luke lashes out with a knife-clad hand, and Ivy kicks it away, rolling to her feet with ease. Luke joins her almost immediately, weaponless, his ring empty.
"Well, looks like we're going hand to hand." Ivy says, a wicked grin forming on her face. "Dad."
Luke shakes his head. "I'm trying to protect you."
Now, there are tons of things Luke is better at then Ivy, but this is not one of them. She mastered hand to hand combat within the first few months of training, lots of practice under her belt due to the assholes at her group home. She knows to aim for the weak spots and protect her own, so when Luke performs a fluid butterfly flip and drives his elbow towards her throat, she blocks it with her wrist and knees him right in the stomach.
The hard muscle flinches, and Luke grabs at her leg with lightning speed before she can pull it back. Ivy uses this as leverage to launch herself upward and over him, turning her body sideways in the air and landing behind him in a crouch. He's still a little distracted by pain, so Ivy yanks him around with a hand on his shoulder and shoves him backwards against the wood.
She snatches up one of his daggers from the floor and presses it up against his throat just as he starts to recover, effectively pinning him to the wall. She sees the surprise in his eyes, feels it in the tension of his shoulders where her arm has him trapped.
"I don't need your protection." Ivy whispers, her eyes narrowed, before dropping the weapon and walking out of the room.
***
Alex
Dehydration, I've discovered, is not fun.
My muscles feel weak, my tongue is a heavy weight in my mouth, and I haven't peed in over twenty four hours. Twenty four hours.
Of course, none of this is anything compared to the enormous pain of realizing every second just how alone I am in this world. My family is gone. My dad is probably dead. My only friend has one arm and may or may not be dying as well. Good Lord, less then two weeks ago I was worried about a Biology exam and now I'm worried about whether or not I'm going to survive the night.
"I don't need a distraction, especially not one like you."
Luke's earlier words claw at me constantly, no matter how much I try to shove them to the back of my head. A distraction. That's probably all I am to him now. He blames Calum's death on himself, because of me. I saw the guilt in his eyes. The pain of it all. He can hide his expression all he wants, but those blue irises tell all. The expression 'the eyes are windows to the soul' has a lot more meaning then I thought of before.
Because of me. He feels guilty because of me. Right?
It's all too much for me at the moment, so I shove all of the thoughts to the back of my head and stare straight up to the ceiling of the warehouse, barely illuminated by the various fires set up around camp. There's a dim light coming from the small alcove in the back corner, where I assume Luke is. Ivy went in there a few minutes ago, and by the various crashes and clanging sounds I can tell they aren't the 'talk out your feelings' type.
I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, before pulling out my phone. It's on 1%. I press the home button with a shaking finger and stare at my families smiling faces, swallowing down the tears that threaten to come.
I'm just so... angry. Angry at the world. Angry at Luke. Angry at myself. Angry at the sick bastard that bombed my only home, killed the people that I loved more than anything. I dig my nails into my palms again, breaking through the bandage, and shove my phone back into the pocket of my pants.
The stinging pain is what finally brings me to close my eyes for the final time. I wrap my arms around my middle, swallowing, and slowly let myself drift off to sleep.
***
Luke feels like he's dying.
Every part of his upper body hurts, the cuts irritated and some even open due to the brawl with Ivy, but that's not the pain that phases him.
When he stumbles outside and fetches up against the nearest tree, all he can think about is Calum. Calum, his best friend, his brother. Calum, who was with him through everything, from training to his first battle to his first kill. Calum, who bled out on a broken concrete floor less than twenty four hours ago.
Because of him. All because of him.
It makes Luke want to rip out the bitches heart even more.
His chest is heaving, his breath coming out fast and hard. He doesn't know what's happening to him. Growling in frustration, he moves away from the tree only to rip a knife from his belt and hurl it at the bark, splitting a clean line down its middle. His hand aches, adrenaline flooding his veins as he arms himself with another one and throws it.
The tree falls down immediately, already weak without the tremendous force of the knife to knock it over. Luke's shaking, his veins hot, everything inside him wanting to scream. He falls to his knees and places his palms flat on the ashy ground, his chest burning.
He sees the first tear before he feels it. Watches the wet spot blossom on the ground just next to his pointer finger. He curses himself for crying, knowing what Calum would think, but for some reason he can't stop. The tears come relentlessly, sobs with them, and no matter how hard he tries he can't hold them back.
It's like the sobs start at his toes, slowly burning their way up through his legs, his torso, to his chest, a horrible pressing weight that suffocates him. Luke is almost curled in a ball now, his head buried in his hands, trying desperately to muffle the sounds of his own grief and mostly succeeding.
"Calum." Luke cries brokenly, balling his hands into fists over his eyes, fresh cuts opening up on his arms. "C-Cal, I am so fucking sorry."
He rolls over to press his back up against the jagged stump of the tree, sucking in fast breathes, his chest heaving. He tangles his hands into his hair, grabbing at the black strands and tugging, trying to grasp some form of control. He manages to slow down his breathing, but the tears still stream down his face.
"Get a damn grip, Hemmings." Luke growls to himself, slamming his fists on the ground. "Stop c-crying."
He doesn't.
Luke remembers the first time he realized that he was alone in the world. He was thirteen. All of the other children in the orphanage had cleared out for rec, and he was left alone to butcher Mrs. Emery about his real family until she told him the truth. He was found in a dumpster. Probably an unwanted product of sex work. Crying, hopeless. His parents didn't want him. Nobody did.
But Calum was the same. His parents we druggies, and killed themselves by snorting too much of the stuff. He understood Luke, loved him for who he was. And the crushing fear that he would never have anybody disappeared.
"Calum." Luke repeats again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. "Calum, I don't think you can h-hear me right now, but I'm gonna say this anyway."
He blinks, hard, hiccuping once. He stares pointedly off at the skyline, trying desperately to stop crying.
"I never m-meant for this to happen. I swear. And I know you don't want me to cry, I know you want me to m-man up, but I can't."
Luke closes his eyes.
"I'm so s-sorry, Cal." He whispers. "I'm so, so f-fucking sorry and I swear on Warner, I will avenge you."
Luke picks up one of his blades and traces his finger along the edge, watching the little cut blossom beads of red as a result. He doesn't care. He deserves it. He deserves any amount of pain that he can possibly receive, including cutting Alex out of the picture just as they were making progress. He doesn't deserve happiness. Only pain.
"I will avenge you." Luke murmurs again, before pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in between them.
***
Alex
When Luke walks into main camp first thing in the morning, the first thing I can even remotely think about is how shitty he looks.
There are massive bags under his eyes, his whole torso is even more bruised and bloody than before, and his cheeks are devoid of color. His hair is all over the place, and when he reaches up a hand to smooth it down, I can see his raw, bleeding knuckles. It's obvious he didn't sleep at all.
"Alright." He says, loud enough for everyone to hear. Despite his appearance his voice is strong and even. "We're moving in ten. Get packed."
Luke rummages in a random bag until he comes up with another black muscle top, and slips it on over his damaged skin. Ivy gives him a look from where she's already dressed and armed, kicking out a fire from the night before. There's a shallow cut just above her right eyebrow, already scabbing over. Must be a result from the brawl she and Luke had last night.
"You ok?" Xavier's voice comes from next to me, where he's still stretched out on top of one of the scratchy blankets. I've been awake for a few minutes now, but it's clear he just came to.
"No." I reply, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. My eyes follow Luke as he makes his way over to Michael, whispering something to him under his breath as the boy types away on his smart computer. Michael eyes him up and down, raising a thick eyebrow, but doesn't appear to mention anything about his appearance. "But I'm better than yesterday, if that's what you mean."
It's a blatant lie. Luke's words hit me like bullets last night. But Zay doesn't know that.
"Thats good." He yawns, getting up. I get to my feet as well, brushing off the cargo pants. The tank top is still holding up, keeping my boobs in, at least, and the shoes are as sturdy as ever. I just pray to God that I don't start my period. That wouldn't end well.
I comb my fingers through my hair and pull it back, tying it with the only band I have. I try not to think about the fact that those same fingers pulled the trigger that ended my mothers life.
Zay grabs one of my hands when I start to pack up, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Even though it hurts my wrists, I pull him into a hug instead of thanking him. He returns it without hesitation.
I can feel Luke's eyes on me even as I pull away, but I keep mine away from him. He doesn't want a distraction. He wants to be left alone. So alone I will leave him.
I'm still staring straight ahead when we make our way out of the building, stepping over piles and piles of bodies to keep making our way through the city.
***
It's only after four hours of walking and incredibly tense silence that we hear it.
It's a distance warring sound, like a large fan blowing in another room. Luke notices it immediately, stopping the whole group with an open hand, and within seconds his entire body is as still as a statue, slipped into high alert.
Ivy is ashen faced. She seems to notice what's happening before Luke does, and by the time realization dawns on the boy's face she is already speaking.
"Hovercraft." She hisses, and Luke cuts her off.
"Find a piece of metal and get under it!" He yells, sliding all of his knives back onto the ring on his belt. "It's minutes away, but if it's an enemy one, it'll be red. They don't just search with cameras, they search with thermal radars. Hot metal will disguise the shape of your body. I'll give the signal when it's safe. Go!"
Everybody scatters like mice, diving under pieces of tin and bits of rooftop. My feet are glued to the ground. Zay has disappeared, probably to get to Ivy, but it's like I can't move.
Hovercraft. Enemy.
Bombs.
They've come back.
"Alex, come on." Luke's voice hisses from behind me, and before I can respond his arm is slinging around my waist and he's yanking me to the ground with him, a sheet of rusted tin in his hand. He won't look at me, just drags the piece over the two of us and tightens his grip, holding up the metal just enough for us to be able to see over it.
His arm is burning around my waist, like a fire that doesn't want to be put out. I can feel the hard muscle in it, and shiver as the goosebumps surface on the back of my neck. I don't say anything, though. Not the time.
"Let go of me." I mutter with some difficulty, side eyeing him, and he does. He won't look at me. His eyes are on the sky.
The warring sound is undeniably close now, and I watch as the ashes on the ground begin to pick up and blow around as if an invisible wind is carrying them. Then, out of no where, it's above us.
The hovercraft is absolutely massive. It's obviously an Asian one, a deep ruby red with the Asian flag imprinted on the bottom. Two large missiles rest under the thing, ready to be fired. My throat goes dry.
"Stop shaking." Luke whispers, grabbing my waist again in an attempt to still me. The surprise of his gesture makes it worse.
The hovercraft seems to stop for a second, idling in mid air, before lifting up and moving on slowly. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Luke waits for several minutes after the thing is out of sight before he gives the signal, and everyone slowly comes out of their hiding places.
Luke pulls me up, his hand in mine, and holds it for a few seconds. His eyes drift from our fingers to my face, a wildfire of emotions in his expression, before letting go quickly and turning away to get a headcount.
What hurts isn't the way he looked at me, or even how quickly he pulled away.
What hurts, is that for the entire time he was next to me these past few minutes, he never once met my eyes.
•••
yo camp was lit but I missed writing so here I am
back to normal every ten days schedule now
if you're reading this I love you!! please vote and let me know what you think
see you in the next chapter
xoxo
~Camryn