Aura - Pt. 2

             It was a short drive downtown with slow drivers and NPR. Windshield wipers worked furiously to shoo away sheets upon sheets of rain as more fell to replace it. Dwight parked the car as close as he could get it. What followed was a disappointing moment of realization as he looked into the back seat. He had left his umbrella back at the office. For as smart as he was, he could be so forgetful about the little things sometimes. Luckily there was a three day old newspaper in the backseat of the dark blue Oldsmobile. It would save him some trouble.

            The heavy car door opened and the rain was warm as it pelted his neck and hand. Flimsy newspaper overhead for cover, he quickly shut the door and launched across the street, avoiding a small white jeep that only had one working headlight. The brick sidewalk was slick and darkened by the constant water, this part of downtown was mostly brick with green and red overhangs near the banks and restaurants. Christian Towers and the BB&T buildings loomed overhead, both over fourteen floors high.

            Ragnarok sat In between two older buildings in the downtown area. One belonged to a local school as a part of their offices, but the building didn’t see much traffic on the weekends. The structure to the right though was a dinner theatre called the Barefoot Tavern. Richtor took note of both buildings before looking up at the nightclub. The three businesses were all of a similar architectural style. The base of each was four layers of brick. The outside walls were solid stone with concrete corners and cast iron light fixtures that held dim yellow bulbs. For how extravagant the club was on the inside, the outside sign announcing it was a simple gray rectangle with red slanted lettering, Ragnarok. Dwight wondered who had come up with the name and how much they actually knew about Norse mythology.

            Two normal double doors with diamond shaped glass windows had been added recently. The handles were attempting to look ornate in their reflective gold plating, but thankfully that was the only part of the building that had fully been replaced for the most part. Detective Richtor hesitated before touching the handle. He felt uncomfortable, even though he knew he was in the right place.

            The doors opened into a lobby area that could have been mistaken for any other club in town. Past the desk were two entrances. The left doorway led to a bar area for those that where there more to drink and socialize, a medium sized room with yellow walls and a lot of old looking light fixtures. Behind the bar was a large well painted mural of Odin, the All-Father. He stood tall in dark colors with an ominous look and two large black crows with hungry eyes, one on each shoulder. Dwight paused to observe the painted mural before looking to those gathered in the room.

            He was staring into Odin’s eyes, transfixed on the ideas of Norse mythology when the voice of one of the officers snapped him back to reality.

            “So are the rumors true?”

            “Hmm,” he couldn’t muster much of a word, more a sound. He realized that the man in uniform addressing him now was Carter Bryan, a beat cop who had been on the force almost as long as he had. “I’m sorry, is what true, sergeant?”

            “Someone told me you were retiring at the end of the year.” His words sounded almost remorseful. Perhaps it was a sign that his time was soon to come as well.

            “No, I mean yes. That is correct. I’ll be gone at the end of the year or as soon as I can get all of my cases in order.”

            “Oh, and here they are slapping another missing person on the pile for you.”

            Dwight nodded and looked around at the others in the room.

            “Allow me,” Carter said as he pointed to each individual from left to right with a subtle gesture. “On the far end you have Hunter Stuart and the hot read head is Callie Wright. They’re two bartenders that were working the past couple of nights.”

            Dwight observed the male a female that were standing very close but off a bit from the others. They had been whispering to one another but ceased when they realized the attention was on them. Hunter was a little over six feet tall with his white hipster glasses and a bowl style haircut that was straight out of the 90’s. His hands were in the pockets of his skinny jeans and he shifted his weight back and forth from left to right, fidgeting nervously. Callie stood around 5’4 with three inch heels that didn’t match her jeans and UGA hooded sweatshirt. Her hair looked disheveled and only one hand had fingernail polish on it. They had all been called in for this and she looked like she rolled straight out of bed.

            “Then there is the DJ, a guy named Rick,” Carter paused and checked his pad to make sure he was saying the name right. “Rick Yoshida, he’s their regular DJ and sometimes bartender.” Yoshida was Japanese and Hispanic mixed. He had dark skin and jet black hair with brown eyes and a thin goatee. Dwight noticed the black cloth bands on his wrists and figured that they must have been for sweat while he was performing. The young man had several piercing and some sort of family crest tattooed on his neck that he couldn’t really make out due to the collar of the black button-up shirt he wore.

            “And then we have the two security guys that worked Friday and Saturday, Josh Bryant and Chris Lynch.” Carter pointed them out as he named them. All the while, the two bulkier men eyed the cops back just as harshly. “Bryant has some priors for B&E and concealed weapons cases, but he got off promotion about seven months ago.” Carter smiled. “And you should know Chris here. Chris is Jeffery Lynch’s cousin. You know Jeff, from Internal Affairs.”

            “Oh,” Dwight said with a soured tone in his voice. “I’ve met Jeff Lynch. He lives up to his name.” Chris Lynch was the one standing in front of him at the moment though; a young man who couldn’t be older than twenty-four at the most but was just as intimidating as his cousin. He stood at a little over six feet and was very athletic. Much like his cousin, he guessed the young pale kid spent a lot of time in the gym or on the basketball court. The other bouncer, Josh, was also probably a gym rat but his skin was covered in tattoos and a band-aid over his nose. It looked like it could have been broken recently. Both Detective Richtor and Officer Bryan took an extra long look at these two men and their stoic expressions.

            “Then we have the owners, the last two over here. Caleb Tufts is here on the left and Ricardo Richardson, they call him Big R or Rico. They both co-own the club and that restaurant two streets down on Poplar St., Lucieno’s is the name of it.” Caleb Tufts was mixed also with smooth fare skin that he took care of. He was wearing a pink polo shirt, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Vans. Currently, he was running a purple pick through his mini-fro, watching the police officers with his hazel colored eyes as Rico whispered something to him. Ricardo was Puerto Rican, though he didn’t look it with his pale skin and brown curly hair. His attitude on the other hand came through very clearly by the expression on his face. He was dressed in a grey hooded sweatshirt and wind pants, looking as if he had just come from the gym. His sneaker was tapping against the linoleum slightly, impatient.

            Dwight and Carter stood there for a moment in silence. There was a strong tension in the air as everyone was silent and the two policemen approached the group. Detective Richtor pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began to write some things down, observations he didn’t want to forget; the rest he could get from Carter later. Dwight glanced at one of the other uniformed officers that were there.

            “Keep them company for a moment won’t you, Officer Bryan and I going to do a walk through real quick.”

            There was an almost collective sigh or grunt of disapproval from those being held there, now forced to wait a little longer. The officer nodded to him and Dwight motioned for Carter to follow into the next room. Both came in with their notepads out, Carter reading off of his and Dwight placing different notes onto the other.

            “This is the main dance floor area,” Carter told him as he waved his pen around in a pointing motion. It was a large room that you could enter through the bar area or take the second door in the lobby down a short hallway to skip the bar if you wanted. Two exits that led to one, something to keep in mind. The colorful lights were all off in favor of the few florescent white bulbs that lit the room. They could all be seen though, reds, greens, yellows, and blues that could be mixed and matched and spun on different types of devices to rotate them from the ceiling. There were colored lights on the walls and strung up around the bars and other doorways. The large bar in this room was shaped like a long boat to fit with the Viking and Norse themes. It was different and the spouts had been built into it in a clever design. Other murals of Thor and Loki claimed a wall. The artist had taken advantage of the large canvases he had been given, they were well done. There were also several steel cages that those who wished to dance as an exhibition could climb in and out of. Two were next to the DJ booth, which was raised above the dance floor. The paintings around the booth drew attention to his position, like he were a high priest or reigning god, distributing sound to his subjects.

            “This is where the subject spent most of her time from what I gathered. It’s their main attraction and had the most eyes on it throughout the night.”

            Dwight nodded. He peered behind the bar as they passed it. The large area had a tiny, almost invisible stairwell that lead down into the storage room. Like many of the other older buildings around this area, that was a common feature and meant that there was likely another exit down there as well. He would want to look at that later.

            The two walked through the hallway with the bright neon lights that held three doors. On the left side of the hallway were the two gender-split restrooms with the doors open so that the two could see in. On the right was a small storeroom closet that held all of the cleaning supplies and boxes of toilet paper.

            That hallway led into the back room, a second dance floor and bar area with its own music and a large mural of Hel. The background of the full wall mural was a dark image of the underworld done with grays, blacks, and a deep purple at the top. The image of Hel sitting upon her throne took up the center. The figured had a dread gaze with eyes that formed small skulls and features that looked like stone. She was almost lying across the metal chair with green cloth draped over her and one breast exposed in its proud plump pose. A skeleton knelt at her throne served her, keeping those that begged for mercy away. A dark raven sat upon her shoulder, contrast to bright blonde hair. By her side, a wolf lingered with hungry eyes, already contemplating devouring those whom she would find unworthy.

            The other black walls held neon paint and strings of hanging lights. The back room was smaller with its own bar that wasn’t themed, just brightly lit with green and purple lights. The double doors that lead out the back and the door to the right beside them that gave entry into the office were painted black. Only an exit sign gave note that there were doors over in the far back corner. Dwight took note of the office but headed to the double doors first.

            “So this is the exit they think she was taken through?”

            “Right,” Carter said. “It would be the easiest way to sneak someone out if you timed it right.” He opened the door for them to walk out. “It’s the least watched.”

            A parking lot that was shared by multiple businesses in that area was revealed. It wasn’t too bad looking in the day time, but Dwight noticed several busted out lights and two pretty intimidating alleyways.

            “Not too safe at night, I’m guessing.”

            “You’d be right detective. Anything could have been waiting out here for that girl.” Carter shut the door.

            Detective Richtor took one last look around before stepping towards the opened door of the office. Glancing in he ran everything he had just seen back over in his mind.

            “So what do you want to do now?”

            “Use this office to interview them, but keep them waiting a few more minutes while I set up, will you Officer Bryan?”

            Carter smiled, “yes sir.” 

Aura - Pt. 1

            Aura moved against the lights of the club, chasing them. It was early in the night still, the time that she liked to dance. She was good at it, a childhood of ballet and gymnastics saw to that. She had lived in poverty with a hippie mother and a dead beat father. There had been many struggles that lead to her need to find a release. She found it in dancing, with the help of a kindly neighbor who let her work in the dance studio to pay off her lessons. No matter what had happened in her life, from her mother’s cancer to losing her best friend at sixteen, Aura could focus on her dance. She had tried to find work in the ballet, but it was too competitive and political. She wanted to teach, but that takes a good bit of start-up capital. So she worked at the post office down the street and in her spare time walked down to the club not far from her downtown apartment.

            When she arrived to the club early the dance floor was not crowded. Aura had room to move and be free. It was not crowded, like it would be a few hours from now. There were no men trying to rub up against her or dance with her. She did not mind being hit on, or even dancing with someone, but few could keep up with her. No, there was a freedom to this. She could just feel the music coaxing her to move along with it, turning what she was taught and her own style into a beautiful performance. Moments like these, at the top of her game, she loved these moments most of all.

            Her body moved against the music, making it her own as she let loose. Her form pushing the air around her, side to side, in the dark jeans with the silver studs that formed the bird shaped pattern on the lower right leg. Aura’s balance did not falter, even in the two inch pumps. A close fitting shirt with the bell sleeves and low cut V-neck completed her ensemble, letting her stand out with splashes of deep reds and dark purples. The Hispanic girl wore a thick red lipstick that accented her brown skin big silver earrings that formed multiple crosses.

            She would dance until the club filled up, until her friends got there. For now though, it was just her and the DJ, Rick, she came here so much she knew most of the staff by name, and they knew she wasn’t there to try and get laid or pick up anyone. So they smiled at her and left her alone to do her thing. They were all nice to her, even the owners. They liked girls like Aura coming into the club, attractive young girls brought in more young guys. So they encouraged her to keep coming, buying her a few free drinks and watching her perform. Hunter had even once told Rick that he thought she looked like an angel when she moved.

            She would do this once or twice every weekend, up until the night she disappeared.

            MISSING PERSON REPORT

            Case #83927

            Name: Aura Lilly Johnson

            Age: 28                                   DOB: 01-08-85

            Height: 5’8”                            Weight: 118

            Hair: Black                             Eye: Brown

            Ethnicity: Hispanic                Primarily Language: English

            Phone#: 478-955-3743           Other Languages: Spanish

            Blood Type: A-                       Health Risks: N/A

            Last Known Address: 938 College Street Macon, GA

            Last Place Seen: Club Ragnarok

            Last Seen Wearing: Jeans, heels, purple and red top

            Safe Word (if any): N/A

            Relationship to missing person: Acquaintance

            Synopsis of events leading up to disappearance: Subject last seen on 6/22/12 at club Ragnarok. [Address attached] Crime reported by the bartender, Hunter S. Stuart. Stuart claims that she was dancing in the second room of the club and vanished around 2:20 a.m. He tried to call and went to her apartment afterwards with no answer. Johnson did not show up for work the next morning either and after forty-eight hours is now officially considered missing.

Additional Information: Johnson’s father has been contacted. Edgar Johnson claims he hasn’t spoken to his daughter in nearly three years.

           

            Her file had lain on Dwight’s desk for nearly thirty minutes. He had read it almost six times now. His head was hurting and the constant ringing phones and slamming of file cabinets were not helping. The detective couldn't see the pieces of the puzzle yet, because there wasn’t much to see. Nothing was falling into place. The crosswords didn’t have enough letters, the sudoku problem did not have the right numbers, and the hangman’s bar was short a few spaces. There just was not enough for him to contemplate yet and he would need to go talk to the suspects. Interviews would have to be conducted. From the initial reports no one that really knew this girl could be reached, and that was annoying. Something had kept him here though, re-reading that file. There was something that stuck out to him, an irritation, but he couldn’t put his finger on it and he was out of time.

He stood, pulling his coat up from the old decrepit office chair. He had been asking for a new one for three months now, even though it wouldn’t matter soon. He wrapped the long coat around him tightly as he headed to the side exit of the second floor. The police station was crowded, stuffy, and loud. It had been a busy summer, with several unsolved cases and two state manhunts that had put half of the black and whites on overtime. Tempers had been flaring between a lot of the guys and Detective Dwight Richtor was tired of it all.

            The rain had not stopped in almost a week. Off and on, it had almost drowned them out. Much like the water expelled from the heavens, the cases had continued to pile up on his desk. Most of them really could wait, or were just near-unsolvable. There were several that would remain unsolved, ones that he had no hope for. Some, he could pass off to others. The Johnson case though was the newest and most pressing on a very large pile that had begun to lean a bit to the right.

            Stepping out under the overhang he glanced over to one of the secretaries from the arson unit smoking a cigarette with Denise, a regular prostitute who was most likely there to bail out one of her cohorts. He did not go near them. He had been down a long hard road out of hell to quit the things and didn’t want the temptation. He had forsaken all of his old smoking partners and with that, much of the habit. It was now just a matter of keeping his hands busy while his mind worked to keep them away.

            Leaning against the wall he looked out at the sheets of rain that fell against the beautiful grey sky. He couldn’t help but watch it for several long moments, eyes trying to catch each droplet as it fell with such force from up above. In his mind, it was like the falling rain was some kind of pattern or code. When he was able to pull himself away from the peaceful white noise that Mother Nature was making he reached into his coat pocket. From there Dwight pulled out a near-completed Rubik’s cube. His eyes quickly studied the different colors and where he had left them before his fingers began their work. The act soothed him. His headache was subsiding, slowly but surely.

            “You just gonna play with your toy all day there, Richtor?”

            Well, it was. Dwight looked up and with a nearly audible sigh he slid the cube back into his jacket pocket.

            “Something I can help you with, Drake?”

            “Oh no, nothing,” Detective Drake said as he leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette. “I just couldn’t help but notice a lot of good hard working cops busting their butts in there,” he lit it. “Then I come out here and you’re taking a moment for a brain teaser while you have plenty of those sitting on your desk. I heard you had a new missing person’s this morning.”

            Richtor took a step away as two large puffs of smoke escaped Drake’s mouth. When the man spoke he waved his cigarette wielding hand around to emphasize his point, which sent a thin trail of smoke waving around under the protective cover of the buildings outside, and spread the aroma of the expensive cigarillo, the brand he had always smoked.

            “I was taking a break, is there something on your mind or are you just out here to bust my balls?”

            “Stating an opinion,” he said defensively, “nothing more.”

            “Well Drake,” he said leaning off the wall. “You picked a hell of a time to get a stick up your ass, get it in while you can though.”

            Richtor didn’t wait for a response, he had somewhere he could get more thinking done and more questions answered. He headed out into the rain, the brief trip to his car soaking him, showing the storm’s power.

            Drake watched the other detective hurry through the bad weather to his car and simply shook his head in disappointment. He flicked the cigarillo out into the drink and went back inside to the station with the metal door making a loud clanking sound as it bounced shut behind him, something akin to his mood now.  

New Years Eve

             I was thankful to get away for a while, and it is rare I go to these places. It was 11:50 p.m. on December 31^st 2012, the end of an uneventful year—for me at least. The air was very cool, but not quite cold on the beach. My feet were not-so-firmly planted in the soft sand and my mind was elsewhere. I pulled my hood up to block the wind so that I could light my last cigarillo of the year, a vanilla Black clove, a sweet taste on my lips when it finally came to life—a rare treat. I left the hood up because the fireworks were bright. When they explode with chalk white radiance they hurt my eyes, even more sensitive when they’re forced to adjust like that. I stood away from the others, those I knew, but more because of those I didn’t. I needed a moment alone before it hit midnight and the obligatory celebrations would begin, my surroundings were quite serene.

            The sky was a tapestry of monochromatic gray, though I’m unsure how many shades that is. It looked to have been painted by one of the old masters. The moon remained obfuscated behind the clouds, accenting them with broad strokes. Only an S-like sliver of pure white moonlight came through, not enough to lighten the beach or show off the true white brilliance of the sand. The waves crept closer, each one stretching watery tendrils out farther and farther, beckoning. Small waves lead to medium than large as my eyes followed them back to try and spy their point of origin. Curious as to the journey they must have had to make it to this shore. There were no reflections in the water though, under the cover of the moon, thus any revelations or epiphanies could not be found tonight.

            The ocean is a roaring cacophony from Mother Nature’s stereo surround sound. Booming roars come from the large waves off in the distance, small more comforting noise from the smaller waves up close, and the constant hum of moving water from all around. It sings. Some believe you can find many answers by gazing into the moving waters, to scry into the future. I doubt it’s trying to tell me anything, but I want answers. That’s what I’m here for. The sound is important, it focuses me. I have so much and nothing at the same time, all on my mind—weighing. The truth was, I had less personal problems, no drama, and a little more opportunity than I had possessed in a long while, so much was missing though. So I listen to the ocean. I feel my Adidas sink deeper into the loose sand. I want to know how to find all that I seek.

            It is not what you think. The traditional fret is over a love interest, or something lost. I have nothing but room to gain. Don’t get me wrong, women are great, but that path makes its own way from what I have seen. I have other things to consider, different ventures that need attending to. Old habits do die hard though, too hard. The leather feels good against my hand as I fish around for my phone in the inside pocket. I hit the button only to be greeted up close and personal with that which I had been trying to avoid, a bright light, but this one was from the LCD screen that opened up to my text messaging. I typed slowly, checking behind my work. I want to keep up appearances, showing a level of carefulness. I construct something simple, a message that seems short but says a lot poetically. I think. A mistake? Perhaps. The older I get the more I like to gamble it seems. That also may not be a good idea.

            It’s sent though. Fireworks explode in the distances, left and right. Greens, blues, and reds starburst into accented patterns signifying my actions perhaps. I watch the reflected colors in the waves. Inhaling the essence of the ocean, I dream of things to come. The cigarillo is done. I shove the butt in the pocket of my half-coat as a drunk friend yells my full name, wanting me come. I sigh. So much rests on ceremony, something I see no point in. At least it is with friends though. Annoying drunks aside, the New Year was swinging in, and the gauntlet had been thrown for change. Tick tock.

            

For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 16

            She broke out into a full run. Her boots carried her quickly over the torn grass and disturbed dried up ground. Nyx almost tripped but she didn’t allow it, running quickly to the sound that she knew she had heard. He was behind a dip in the ground, on his side.

            “Pierce, Pierce talk to me,” she shouted.

            His only response was a groan that almost sounded like crying. She saw why, he had landed on his leg pretty bad, there was a lot of blood and a small piece of bone that had ripped out through his pants. The leg was folded behind him with his foot pointed the wrong direction.

            “Oh no,” she muttered.

            Her hands worked quickly to open up the emergency pack. She wasn’t even sure where to begin but tried to calm herself. She could smell the blood, it bothered her stomach. She knelt down though and looked up at him.

            “Pierce,” she said softly. “Can you hear me?”

            There was a moment’s pause. Her concern grew.

            “I’m not dead yet…”

            She sighed slightly. “Thank the heavens for small miracles, I guess.”

            Dine came up jogging behind her. He stopped and looked over Pierce. He was concerned to but for a different reason. Dine took a knee next to his soldier and put a hand on Pierce’s shoulder.

            “I thought we had lost you.”

            “You thought that,” Pierce said in a sarcastic low tone. “I got to go skydiving for free. This,” he paused with a series of coughs. “This is the second time I’ve almost died just today.”

            Dine nodded. He took the emergency kit from Nyx who really did look like she was a deer in headlights. Her basic first aid skills were outmatched. Luckily, Dine was trained a bit more in battlefield triage. He arranged everything and then pulled out his knife, cutting the cloth away from Pierce’s leg. One deep breath later he was letting his hands act off of his training. He had done this before.

            “How bad is it,” Nyx asked as he worked as he worked.

            “It isn’t great.”

            She watched hesitantly. Dine turned and with red soaked fingertips he tossed her a thing of gauss.

            “You’re making me nervous. Take the disinfectant and go check on Bronson.”

            Nyx hesitated but didn’t argue. She picked up a few of the supplies and turned to head back to Bronson who had been waiting patiently, taking in his own damage. She could see him in the distance after she had taken a few steps. Something stopped her dead in her tracks though. Looking back over her shoulder, she felt a pain in her side. Something was bothering her about leaving Pierce there. Or was it leaving Pierce alone with Dine? What if he saw him as too much of a hindrance now? No, he wouldn’t be taking the time to patch him up if that were true. He’d have said that was a waste. She forced herself to move on. She went to Bronson and brought him the supplies.

            “He alive?”

            She nodded. “His leg is really messed up, bad. He won’t be able to walk I don’t think.”

            Nyx was padding some of the gauss with the disinfectant. She didn’t know where to start, there were so many cuts. Bronson had already removed much of the glass from his arm. She began there.

            “I can do that. You should be there helping him with,” there was a scream that interrupted. It was from Pierce, “resetting his leg. I think that just happened though.”

            Nyx looked back in that direction trying to hide the concern on her face from Bronson.

            “I still don’t like him,” Bronson reminded her. He stood from his seated position on the rock and lifted his shirt up over his head with a slight wince. He was analyzing the wound on his side. “It’s not deep.”

            There was another, weaker scream. Nyx looked at Bronson and shook her head.

            Bronson took a moment and re-tied his hair back into a proper ponytail where it was out of the way. He looked over at her.

            “Go back and check on him if you want. I’ll finish this up and then I’m going to find my hat.”

            “Of course you are,” she said. She stepped forward, picking up her pistol and machete, placing them back on her belt. “He said I was making him nervous.”

            “You have that effect on men, just go.”

            Nyx sighed at him and walked back over, feeling more confident for some reason, better about the whole situation. Bronson could have his opinions but she was starting to warm up to Pierce. Her thoughts were interrupted though when she noticed them talking. Dine and Pierce were whispering back and forth to each other in very hushed tones. They stopped when Dine noticed her. The captain waved her over.

“I set his leg. I need wood for a splint though.”

Nyx didn’t waste time responding. There was no lack debris around, which included several long 2x4 and wooden siding pieces that had been broken and thrown about. She wanted to find two good pieces though. She searched. Captain Dine was still looking over Pierce’s leg where the bone was broken and showing. The scream when he set Pierce’s leg ringing back through his mind. This wasn’t the worse break Dine had seen but, as Pierce lay there with his eyes closed biting his lip as he dealt with the pain the captain began to consider how much mobility Pierce could have.

            After their private conversation, away from Nyx and Bronson’s prying ears, it was pointed out how painfully low on weapons they were. Bronson still had his rifle and his .45 revolver. Nyx and Pierce also still both had their 9mm pistols, but all of the other weapons had been lost in some way or another. They were at the last leg of their journey, but things had just gotten harder. Dine pulled out the metal case, feeling the pain in his stomach, his nerves getting to him. He popped one of the purple pills and swallowed hard before putting a hand back on Pierce’s shoulder. A shadow fell over him.

            “I’ve seen worse,” Bronson said to Dine as he dusted off his black hat.

            Dine narrowed his eyes as Bronson replaced the large thin-rimmed hat on his head, adjusting it. He hated that hat, the hat made him hate Bronson more.

            “Yeah, so have I.” Dine looked back down at Pierce who was mumbling something that he couldn’t make out. He was afraid without more medical assistance that he might have gone into shock. He had given him the pain meds that were in the emergency kit, and then taken a few himself. Dine had also given him some antibiotics to fight any infections but he wasn’t sure how to make sure Pierce didn’t go into shock on them. That could be a problem.

            “What’s your plan now, especially with Pierce like this?”

            Dine heard Bronson’s question but he didn’t respond for several moments. Bronson couldn’t see the expression in his eyes. He stood after he took a moment to compose himself and faced Bronson.

            “You think I’m going to leave him.”

            “I think you want to,” Bronson admitted, “and I’m sure you wouldn’t be the only one to think that way. We’re all banged up, I’m evidence of that. We are low on weapons and we haven’t had the right gear since the start of this mission.” Looking around them, “and if my math is right we’re approaching zero hour and just lost our transportation with little-to-no chance of getting that lucky of finding a working vehicle with gasoline in it again anytime soon.”

            “I’m well aware,” Dine napped. “Do you have a point here?”

            “Orders, maybe a little motivation,” Bronson said plainly, looking back at Dine. “We’re hurt and down but we aren’t out. I don’t think even you could have predicted a giant Nanite-slug-thing, but we’ve gotta keep going and figure out how we’re going to get Pierce there, if you are still going to get Pierce there.”

            Looking back over his shoulder at Pierce, lying there on the ground with his broken leg, Dine couldn’t help but consider his options again. There was something at play that Bronson didn’t figure into his equation though.

            “We aren’t leaving him behind,” Dine stated. “We move him as fast as we can. We make Tower move the LZ closer to Fairchild.”

            Bronson nodded, slightly surprised at Dine’s response. Both men probably had something else to add to the conversation but they turned, hearing heavy padding of feet coming towards them. Nyx was running at them, three pieces of wood under her arm. She was smiling broadly.

            “Guys, come look! Hey,” Nyx screamed, getting there attention. She wouldn’t have usually yelled out in the open like that, she knew better than to attract ghouls in that way, not that there were any around with the Nanites so close. She was excited though. “I found something!”

            Dine checked on Pierce and placed the wood Nyx brought back near-by so that they could finish the splint. Bronson and Dine followed Nyx back to where she had come from, over several small upturned dirt mounds and past numerous destroyed houses, picked clean by the Nanites. Bronson was cautious, they could have been anywhere, but Nyx seemed to think this was well worth it.

            When they reached a clearing that had been stripped of grass and overturned by either winds there were large planks of wood piled up in various spots. She ran over to one of the bigger piles and yanked off two small slabs of wood and pointed out it with a Cheshire grin, like a proud childe who had just found the answer to everyone’s great question.

            “Look,” she said, still pointing diligently at something still half covered by planks of old dry wood.

            The two got closer. A semi-demolished stone structure with two half-exposed metal pipes running from it to what used to be the foundation of a house or trailer had almost been completely hidden away, a well. They looked down into the long shaft and something barely glistened at the bottom, water.

“Well shit,” Dine muttered.

            He and Bronson began removing the rest of the debris that covered the well while Nyx followed the line of pipes. Dine and Bronson were discussing how to safely get down into the well. They had no rope and didn’t want to risk climbing, but they needed a way to extract the water and get it into their containers to purify.

            “I think I can make it down there,” Dine said.

            “Yeah, and if you fall and we have to deal with two people with broken legs, I’m not carrying you.”

            “No, listen,” Dine insisted. “We need this water and we don’t have time to-“

            His sentence was cut off by the sound of running water plopping down against the ground. They had both spun around, looking for the sound. Nyx was leaning against a half destroyed wall with an old outdoor faucet on the side of the house spurting out water that had started off as a sickly brown but now poured clear liquid near her feet. She was smirking.

            The trio began to work quickly bottling as much of the water as they could in the bottles that were left. They never found Pierce’s pack, but thankfully each of the other packs had at least two containers that could be used for this purpose. Pierce’s leg was fitted with a make-shift splint and it was decided that making a carrier would be best for the next section of their journey. Bronson and Nyx constructed a stretcher from an old hammock and two even wooden poles they found in one of the piles of junk. Dine wasn’t keen on making camp anywhere near the Nanite location, even if it did mean there was no threat of ghouls. The group eventually agreed on a location about ten miles from where they had found the well. Bronson and Dine carried Pierce on the stretcher while Nyx ran point with Bronson’s rifle. She was rather surprised when he offered it to her, it was the first time in all of the occasions they had gone out hunting that he had been willing to part with it of his own free will.

            The sun would be setting soon and they had found their way to a truck-stop area near the main road. It would do for their needs. Pierce had been resting off-and-on as they traveled, not saying much. He looked paler and even though they dared not drink the water yet, he had stopped complaining about not having any. After the camp had been set up the first order of business was to boil the water and make sure it was pure enough to drink. Had their equipment not been lost, there was a simple pellet that they could have used to purify it all at once, but for now they would have to do it all the old fashioned way.

            Soon though, there was plenty of drinkable water to get them through the rest of their journey. Bronson ran a perimeter while Nyx tried desperately to figure out how one last MRE ration was going to feed four people. She was discussing her faulty proposed methods with Dine while he changed Pierce’s bandages and reset his splint.

            They almost didn’t hear Bronson’s quiet footsteps as they were talking. Looking up, Nyx saw he was carrying something other than his rifle. He was holding a large brown hare by its ears. She was so excited to see the food in his hand that the giant cut across the rabbit’s throat almost didn’t phase her, almost.

            “Found this little guy hiding out near a dried up pond not too far away.”

            “He clean,” Dine asked, but he couldn’t hide that he was quite pleased with the idea of actual meat for dinner as well. “I don’t want to become like those Zhegan-fucks, all messed up in the head.”

            “He’s clean,” Bronson said, but he couldn’t help consider how choice Dine’s words were, speaking of messed up in the head. “No bite marks; he was acting fine.”

            Pierce coughed.

            It wasn’t long before Bronson had finished cooking the rabbit he had killed earlier over the small fire. Bronson ate first, testing it, he gave his seal of approval. Nyx and Dine dug in furiously, hunger causing so much pain in their stomachs that the pain had seemed normal. It was the best they had ever tasted, not hard to do when most of the Elysium City food was altered in some way.

            Nyx forced herself to stop eating hers and take Pierce some.

            “Pierce, here eat this.”

            She offered him the meat first and then water that had cooled. Pierce took the meat in a shaky hand and bit more off with each bite. She had to try and slow him down. He only stopped when his mouth was full before washing it all down with huge gulps of water. She thought she saw a smile cracking in between huge bites. He devoured it.

            “Oh man,” Pierce sighed pleasantly. “That was amazing. I knew we brought you for a reason. You’re an amazing cook.”

            Bronson was stifling a laugh before Nyx could even finish sighing. Pierce looked over with a raised eyebrow.

            “Bronson caught and cooked it,” Nyx corrected.

            “She’s a horrible cook,” Bronson added with a half smirk as he finished picking at the meat.

            Nyx looked for something to throw at him and clenched her teeth.

            “I don’t get a lot of chances to try and- You know what, screw you all.” She stood. Bronson and Pierce shared another chuckle.

            The moon was up in full, the night was bright and the winds were beginning to pick up even though they had been calm most of the day. They stuck with the system that worked last time, sleep rotations. There would simply be three sentries to divide the time up between instead of four, like the last two times. They were all pretty worn out. Tomorrow would be day five that the group had been planet-side, with little to show for it so far. Each of them knew that time was a factor now. Dine recommended six hours of rest witch each person doing a two hour shift. Nyx volunteered to take the middle shift, trying to be nice. No one argued, they were ready to rest.

            She found herself looking up at the full moon from her sitting position against the tree. Her arms were underneath her shirts, trying to stay warm. Her fingers wrapped around the golden cross on the silver chain that she pushed up through the collars of her shirts to look at. Nyx was thinking about her mother, and Mai. She was remembering the last time she saw her mother, her face was almost glowing. A happier memory crept in. There was a time when Mai would Nyx and her mother over for ceremonial tea. Nyx would serve them both with a large smile on her face and they would listen to her stories about exploring Elysium City and watching the asteroids through the bay windows.

            She smiled there underneath the eye of the moon, the memory having warmed her slightly. Feeling the cool metal of the pistol against her leg and the machete on the other side seemed to pull her away from that though. Nyx wondered if her mother would recognize her now—her stripper-ghoul-hunter-daughter. She had cut off most of her hair and turned her body into a canvas, a sort of dedication for her mother and her shared beliefs. There was so much she wanted to change, afraid her dead mother would see her some day. She couldn’t help but think about what Bronson had said though, her particular set of skills had helped keep the incident back at the Zhegan camp less bloody, until Dine decided to execute Griffin that was.

            Her train of thought was interrupted by a series of coughs. Her head turned towards Pierce before pushing herself up off the tree. There was a pain in her hip and a slight pinch in her neck, probably from the accident earlier that day.

            Nyx stumbled over to him, taking a moment to balancing herself. She looked over Pierce as her eyes readjusted. The fire had died down from the wind and Pierce had rolled over slightly in his cough. She was worried about his leg and kneeled to try and steady him before he did any damage.

            “Pierce,” she whispered. “Pierce, don’t roll over too much, what’s wrong?”

            She went to put a hand on his shoulder, yanking it back when he threw up. The smell hit her hard and she stood back up.

            “I’ll get you some water,” she said before covering her mouth.

            Nyx went to grab his bottle of water. The container felt cooler, now that it had sat in the cool wind. She checked to make sure there was still enough in it before heading back over to him. Pierce was done throwing up, still hacking slightly in the aftereffects though.

            “Here you go,” she said softly, hoping his sickly noises hadn’t awoken the others. “Drink, slowly.”

            Pierce did, but only a small bit.

            “I’m fine,” Pierce told her. “I’m good, just…I swallowed wrong.”

            “You sure?”

            “Yeah,” he rolled over after his quick response.

            He made a grunting sound. She watched him for a moment, concerned, thinking she should move him away from his vomit. Pierce already looked like he was back asleep. Debating for a moment on whether or not to wake him, she decided against it, wanting him to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a rough day. Nyx stood, heading back to her tree. She had lost track of time. Clicking the black box on her belt, the communicator lit up and one of the multi-colored buttons revealed the time, almost time for Bronson to wake up. She was preoccupied in thought again and didn’t see Pierce trying so hard not to scratch his arm.

            They were all up before the sun. Bronson and Dine had rounded up the gear while Nyx checked on Pierce. There was some discussion about the best way to carry the stretcher, wanting to make good time. Bronson covered up their tracks, getting rid of as much evidence that they had been there as he could. They were ready to go, finally. With no computer to guide them, Dine had to take a moment to try and lead them from memory.

            “It’s this way,” Nyx pointed.

            “How do you,” Dine spun around, one hands on the stretcher to help carry Pierce. He paused when he realized Nyx was pointing to a leaning road sign. “Spokane 15m”.

            “And you were worried about the computer,” Bronson added as he urged him on.

            Fifteen miles wasn’t too much, they could do it. It would take longer with two of them carrying Pierce, but there was no way he was going to be able to put any sort of pressure on that sort of compound fracture. They would switch off and try to take several breaks, letting them all rest. The sun wasn’t helping matters much either, it was coming down hard today. They were all covered up as much as they could be. Sweat poured from each of them and Pierce had fallen quiet on the last leg of their journey.

            It was around the five mile mark that they decided to take their last break, under the shade of an old motel building. Most of the glass of the structure had been broken out and there were burn marks along the walls where someone had tried to burn the structure down, or perhaps defend themselves with fire.

            Bronson and Nyx found two ghouls inside that seemed to have been barred in from the outside. With so few bullets left, they both used their machetes. While they were inside doing what they were skilled at, Dine was conferring with Pierce on the outside.

            “Are you up for this?”

            “I,” Pierce hesitated, he looked weak. “I am, I just…man I don’t feel well at all.”

            “We’ll get you home soon. Your leg will heal fine. I need you ready though, you still have two good arms.”

            “Yeah but,” Pierce paused, tempted to tell him about the bite. He wasn’t feeling well at all, maybe they needed to know, just in case.

            “They’re about to be done in there. Say what you have to say now, Pierce.”

            “No,” Pierce decided, “I’m good. I won’t let you down, Captain.”

            Dine nodded to him. He gave him a pat on the shoulder, Pierce winced.