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The Rise of Wonderless
‘Oh…hot water is so nice…’
Water ran down her back as she stood under the water. It darkened her already dark brown hair as it worked down her scalp, tingling as it rolled down in droplets.
It was their third day in France and the second shower. The first had been bone chillingly cold with their inexperience with the foreign mechanisms. The whole bathroom scene was strange and alien with no curtain or door to the shower and tub combo. It was a welcome relief to have a nice warm shower that was just the right temperature. It was more like home than she ever thought it’d be on this trip.
She shut off the steady rain of water, the button for the shower popping out with an echoed click. There was a stat iced click and the tan speakers on the slightly lighter ceiling stopped emitting the drone of a French tv station. She heard the rustle of covers, her two roommates settling in for the night at the end of another too full day packed with spontaneous, erratic walking and strange meals. Peaceful at last.
She dried and dressed herself in a loose-fitting dark gray tank over tight holding black shorts that stopped just above the knees. Her pale skin stood out against the colors, but it wasn’t overall unflattering. Though she’d towel dried it twice, her mid-back hair hung as wet and stringy as ever, though looking more wavy at the moment than it’s normal straight demeanor.
She was soon acutely aware of two things. One was the sound of many cars revving their engines and the other was the fact that her gut was screaming for her to run. She wouldn’t have time.
Things happened lightning fast, in the blink of an eye. A crash was heard and instantly the red walls of the bathroom degenerated around her as she was pressed against the counter from the force. The small glass shield that was an excuse of a shower shield held cracks that formed a spider web before shattering into millions of pieces. The mirrors behind her followed suit. She could feel the granite of the countertop crumble and felt the pieces of it flying through the air, heard them passing through the wall behind her. The peaceful world was quite literally cloaked in darkness and dust.
There were sirens as the dust cleared and darkness slightly gave way to smoke and then brilliant fire. There was nothing but rubble and the scarce remains of skeleton walls in what was once the hotel. Her eyes surveyed the area in horror. They fell on one person who was easily ID’d as the one roommate she’d only met on the flight over. Her lanyard would have read Joanna. The other roommate was quite simply, no where to be found in this veiled piece of Hell. Her chosen bed was a mere pile of debris.
Despite the need to move, to get away from the crackling of fire and the approaching gunfire, she could only stare on in horror. Her vantage point through a hole in the lefthand wall (the only left standing) showed her a demon’s delight. Parts of Paris were burning, new explosions setting light to more fiery graves.
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“You have your orders. The first target is the Haven Hotel in downtown Paris. Bring the building down from the inside out! You sacrifices to the world will not be in vain.” The earpiece prattled on about forming a new world order as a group of five men stood on the slope of one of the many overpasses. They watched the cars crash into the building, exploding in wreaths of fire. They pulled on masks and scattered into the fray.
It was time to go. Their group, one of the many sacrificial teams to be sacrificed to raise the new world, had their objectives. Attack the world powers. Prey on the animosity that had been building against the United States as a catalyst. Throw this off on them and simultaneously do in another power. US children were in Paris tonight as delegates of ‘peace.’ The fact that this mission would accomplish both the main and secondary objectives, the latter being to wreak havoc in the major cities of the world. Paris was ideal at this point.
The mean of the five man cell, beings from all nationalities and walks of life, fanned farther out, either hiding or entering the crumbling castle of a building. Some moved with the stealth of a ninja while others moved with all the grace of a bulked street fighter. It had begun. The attack would be complete and the world would be one step closer to being theirs.
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Her friends: Dead. Her roommates: Dead.
She stared blankly at the carnage before her, the dust turning her clothes and hair a rather uniform shade of gray. She was terrified, this was not what this trip was supposed to be. It was anticipated to be grueling…but not this. Something in her mind told her to be afraid, to run and hide. All she could manage to do was stand in shock. Her body felt numb and cold in the evening heat and fire light, like she’d been given some cruel painkiller.
A pebble dropped from a pile. For some reason, the sound stood out above the roars of fires, above the distant explosions and gunfire.
Another fell, bigger this time. By now, trying to hear was like trying to hear through thick, soundproof glass, only… the stone fall stood out like the tick of a clock in an empty room. Of all things, she couldn’t dredge up enough thought power to figure out why. Why was that sound so clear?
A brick. A concrete slab. These brought back some of her senses, basic as they were. She slowly turned to her right, blank eyes looking up a pile of rubble from where the ceiling had most likely crashed upon a mass of fallen walls. Death had found her at last, as if the search weren’t so hard as much as it was too easy to force effort.
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‘Kill her. Come on. KILL HER!’
A sharp nosed, olive skinned man of mixed descent watched from the rise as their last minute member stared down the young American. He could shoot her from his sheltered seat. His auburn eye stared through his scope as it moved quickly back and forth between the girl, the target of the moment, and his ‘colleague.’
His golden eye stared blankly into the distant darkness as he made several more passes between them. He growled as he watched the brick and then the slab come to rest at the bottom of the pile. ‘Fool.’ He’d kill them both if the Orient didn’t get it together and kill her.
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She looked up at the man, coffee black eyes taking him in. A thick looking gas mask of some sort covered the entirety of his face. Large yellow shells covered his eyes, giving the man a very alien, bug-like appearance as a tube ran from a bulging nose piece to a canister on his left hip. A row of black boxes with red tape hung around his waist like a belt, a pull cord ran from on box to hid black gloved hand while a second hung limply down his right leg.
His actual clothes took a bit longer to register, the more alien features of his clothes standing out and stealing away her attention. A black short-sleeve shirt was tucked into similarly colored cargo pants that fit snuggly at his waist. A set of straps, not unlike belts, crisscrossed his chest. The brown and silver straps were apparently holding onto the boxes on another belt with a gleaming silver clip. Seemingly heavy, thick soled boots were gently covered by the pants and plastered with the dust that covered everything around them.
A voice in the back of her head once again told her to run, that this man was no friend of hers. The voice seemed so dim in the world that contained only he and herself. Another few bricks shifted and he shifted on them in turn to keep his balance. Even then, only the bricks made up any noise her mute and deaf form could collect.
“Run.” The voice rang out clearly in her mind, of was that her ears? It broke the silence more cleanly than the bricks and rubbish. The voice was undeniably male with a mixed American accent. Eyes that had focused on the falling bricks looked up once more. They took in the man removing his mask, the words spoken as the bug head slid free from the smooth pale skin that was highlighted by shoulder length black hair.
Her mind didn’t understand, grinding to an abrupt halt at the words that had come so out of sync with the speaker. Was he not death borne down upon her? Someone to take her life away in this foreign land? Dull eyes sparked with the faintest confusion as her brow knitted at the unendingly puzzling scenario.
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Things happened quickly again, this time it came in flashes. On moment he was on the pile of debris. The next he was right up against her, arms around her, as he jerked her with him in a run.
Of two things she was absolutely certain in that moment, the boxes were no longer around his waist and it was unbearably loud now. A flash came to her of the man detaching the boxes, tossing them away. It was a puzzling prospect as he appeared near her in another flash. It just kept playing in her head.
It took a minute for the warmth to register. It was hot and sticky, yet it was a steady stream that ran down her arm. There was a strong smell that made her stomach turn in knots. It was only now that she really noticed that they were running. The man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, dragging her along at a break-neck pace, her right wrist tightly clasped in his left hand.
‘Oh…’ It was all she could think of. It was still quite surprising to be running and suddenly realizing that it was her that was running and not someone else. The warmth that trailed down her arm curved up his. His shirt was stained even darker than before, two ragged holes in his shirt hinted at what had happened. The warm, red trail gleamed in the half light of passing fires as they ran. Her stomach made another twist that furrowed her brow before she settled with the fact that her normally sensitive gag reflex was on vacation.
There was the vague thought that this was not a good thing, that she was in more danger now than ever before. At the same time, another voice spoke up with a no. She continued running, not that she had control over that. (She was still vaguely wondering how she was running.) It puzzled her. He kept tossing glances at her with piercing, near black eyes. Each time, there was a look mixed of worry and curiosity. (mostly worry.)
As they ran, more flashes of memories passed. Broken video clips played in her mind. One stood out vividly, playing every other time…
~He stood on the debris, his mouth forming words that she couldn‘t hear. No words came out. Suddenly, there was gunfire out of nowhere. Bullets crashed into the rubble pile as the man leaped away from the semi-automatic firing. The gunfire and the bullet blows were muffled like she was trying to hear words that were above water while she was submerged. A half snarl of pain as red appeared on his pale skin as it ejected from his shoulder. He dragged her away.~
“Hey.” That echoed yet clear voice again. “Hey…” What does it want? “You okay?”
She looked up, How had those eyes found the ground? Another confused look barely lit her face as she realized they had stopped running. Heck, they were sitting down and he was wiping some blood from her arm. Had she been wholly herself, ‘Perv’ would have come to mind, but right now…all she could think of was how long had they been sitting there.
“Mmm…I see.” He merely hummed it out as he took a seat a ways off to give her some space. He gently ran his fingers over his shoulder, wincing as he came across the holes. It was obviously tender and he simply took a small bottle of spray from one of his pockets. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would be enough until he could get someone to look him over.
He slid the shirt over his head, careful not to agitate his left shoulder too much, and revealed a vest. It would have been helpful for the bullet proof item to have more coverage, but he couldn’t complain that it wasn’t helpful. He wiped his shoulder down a bit, reaching for the bottle that he’d set down. He shook it a few times and sprayed it as best he could on both the entry and exit wounds. He took a few deep breaths through clenched teeth before he got used to the apparent burning. The bleeding was stopped.
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A rush of ‘videos’ ran through her head at that moment as she watched him. She creased her brow as she watched the video that played over and over, blotting out her vision. The video she saw…she knew it was real. Joanna dying was real. This hell that was once Paris was real. It wasn’t right and yet, it was. She felt fear dip into her heart and hold on with all it’s might.
Her head dropped to her knees as they came up to her chest. Her arms held her dirty legs to her as her head rested on top of them. He didn’t have to look up to know that she was crying. Her broken sobs were more than enough to share that with him. He turned his black eyes on her, a wave of sympathy touching him as he approached.
He made his way over, dropping the bloodied shirt on his way. There was no need to attempt to hide it, it’d be common enough in the coming times. He made sure to be quiet and slow, shushing her as he came into contact range. No reaction and his arms slipped around her. He never did understand why this usually had a calming affect on people. Be it children or adults, they almost always sought the comfort of even he, a stranger.
She froze, even her breathing stopped as he touched her. She wanted to pull away and run on some level inside herself that she was only partially aware of. On a different level, she found the embrace strangely comforting. Her body found a happy medium as it leaned into him of it’s own accord.
He waited. There was time for that. He needed time to think anyways. It seemed like only one member of the 5 man cell was watching him earlier. Even so, they couldn’t see his face and they’d never really be able to find him. If they cried out that he was awol, it wouldn’t matter, more signs pointed to his death than his disappearance. His weaving had probably gotten whoever might be following him off his trail. They were safe for now.
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She woke up. Wait, WTF, she woke up. Her coffee black eyes stared at the ashen looking ceiling as the horrors came rushing back to her. Dead. Dead. Dead. She sat up, her head spinning as she did so. Her left arm propped her up as she attempted to hold onto her head with her right should it decided to just spin right off her shoulders. Her pale fingers soon traced the slightly swollen edges of her eyes.
It was now that she examined the place she was in. The room was fairly simple, bare basics really. The whole place was lit with a pale blue light from a lamp on the far end of the relatively small room, painting the apparently cream walls a blue-green hue. The ceiling was also light, probably a clean white while the carpet was most likely a tan color. The bed itself was a simple twin size backed against the walls in the corner with white sheets and a pillow case that looked too clean to be under the mismatched blankets. The three were thin but ranged from something that looked like it belonged in training camp to something off the streets.
There was a desk on the far side of the room where the lamp sat. It was simple wood, probably a cheap store bought one, with a rather expensive looking computer atop it. To her right, there was a nightstand with a simple lamp and a digital clock that read 7:00pm in glowing red numbers. A couple of doors were on the wall across from her. A dresser, fairly simple still and painted white with a thin line of black outlining each drawer, sat between the doors. It was really a very unflattering place, though the simplicity was somehow a relief.
She didn’t say a word, she simply sat there musing over how she got there. Vague memories of being lifted and carried at a pace that was far too fast came to her. She remembered feeling like she was going down, the bobbing like she was being taken down stairs. Even the air felt cooler in her memories.
“Yeah, it‘s probably hers.”
Foot steps were growing closer now, getting louder. The voiced murmured with only a few short remarks that were the clear voice she remembered from the moment she entered the nightmare. Despite her still being in a daze, she could feel the fear bubbling up in her chest, strangling her. The clear voice didn’t make it much better, though it was decidedly less scary with it conversing with the other murmurs.
“Are ya‘ shure it‘s her‘s?” A deeper voice with a strange accent not unlike what she would imagine to be an awkward cross between deep south slang and a more Scottish voice.
“Yeah. They match the scent I got from Erin‘s head.” A more keen voice this time. One from a most likely younger that her though very well educated…Perhaps even a little snobby.
“In any case--.” The sharp, clear voice cut itself short as the door opened silently. The man that had dragged her through the flaming streets of Paris stood in the doorway, his face lit with a decidedly surprised light. His hand lingered on the handle as the other two froze in place behind him, though it was more from her reaction to them than anything.
She was frozen with that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. Every muscle was tensed as she looked at them, eyes wide. Despite that, she still looked pale and sickly, more dead than alive. There was only brief recognition as she realized she’d been right about the owners of the voices.
A younger man, probably in his mid teens, stood behind Mr. Clear voice. His hair was a sandy, dirty blond and his skin was pale, as if he’d spent all his days indoors. A lanky character, he was dressed casually in jeans and a red shirt. His pale face was simply adorned with rounded glasses, each lens being a perfect circle, and vibrant green eyes. The look on his was face stunned and he stood with nervous rigidity.
This kid, and the man from earlier in her ‘dream’ were dwarfed by a far harder, older man. The other two in this group of three looked to be no farther into 20 than she happened to be, the sandy blond being younger than her and the dark haired savior most likely older, but this brute was probably in his forties. He was nearly seven feet tall with dark red hair and a thick, matching beard encompassing his lower jaw yet managing to not encroach on his face. Thick bands of muscle were well defined under a tight fitting t-shirt, allowing his arms to be clearly shown. Leather bands were wrapped and strapped here and there on his forearms, a few tattoos visible on his upper arms. Camo pants completed the look of a terrifying dwarf meets a Scottish body builder and an army drill master. Her eyes locked onto him in horror as he stood in terrifying greatness behind the other two.
“Good to see you up and about.”
It was that voice again, clear as the first time she’d heard it, seeming sharper now that she wasn’t trying to hear from underwater. He turned just inside and took a black suitcase and backpack from the giant, mythological dwarf behind him and turned again. He stepped forward again and she unlocked her body and scrambled back a bit with ever move forward he made. He paused momentarily, contemplating her movements in reaction to him, before setting the items down in front of the dresser just to the right of the door.
“I‘ll leave these here for you…” His voice trailed off. Was that his hand flickering from his pocket to the dresser? “There‘s a bathroom right down there, the far door and there are towels and other linens in the door to it‘s left.” He continued without looking at her as he turned and joined the other two in the door. His face changed slightly for a moment, seeming to actually have to think about something for once in a long time. “You‘re welcome to anything in this room.” He murmured just loud enough for her to hear before giving one glance and shrugging between the others and from the room. It almost sounded as if there was a hint of laugher in his voice… The door managed to be closed by someone as the other two followed him with perplexed looks.
Her eyes held on the door, waiting and waiting for them to suddenly burst into the room. The footsteps faded and there was only the distant hum of some machine or light that she’d simply missed before the arrival. They were going to come back, and she was going to toss herself under the bed at that moment when they did. Minutes passed and nothing happened, there were a few very distant sounds from the hall, but they were simply creaks in the floor or a pop of the building settling around them.
Slowly, she inched herself of the bed, eyes still locked on the door as first one foot and then the other touched the carpet below. It was deceptively soft, looking like cheap grade carpet while feeling like a dream. Standing there in her dirty night clothes, she tried to drudge up what it was that she was suppose to do now. It occurred to her that she should at least take advantage of whatever horror might be in that bathroom. There was the subtle idea that if it could wash away the constant reminder of dust, she might possibly be able to think clearly…well, more clearly anyway.
She ran to the closed door, struggling to work the simple lock on the handle. She froze with it in the locked position, waiting for them to come crashing in because they heard the sound of her running. Another few minutes and she was enjoying the minute comfort the lock brought her. That voice in the back of her mind was screaming that the giant could easily bust the door in with the flick of his little finger, but she skillfully told the voice to shut up.
[Okay folks... There's more where that came from...I'm just not done tweaking it. It's turning out to be the beginning of Wonderless (hence the name) from A Price to Pay. The "Guess-what.-I-formed-the-screwed-up-world-your-story-starts-in-thing." biggrin Anyhow, light critiquing and a lot of help finding grammar errors.....are much appreciated.]
 Tsume Rokaro · Fri Aug 15, 2008 @ 06:11pm · 0 Comments |
