Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Cold As Death ❯ Nineteen ( Chapter 19 )

Eyes Cold As Death

Chapter Nineteen -- The Raging Storm

Quatre crouched in the shadows, melting amongst the land of the dead. He was watching -- biding his time. Waiting for the opportune moment. He was stalking his prey, hunting them with careful diligence. His prey would not get away. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth butt of his gun, reaffirming that the cold weapon was still concealed in its holster. He stroked the dead metal and waited.

He had tracked his prey from Preventer HQ to this cemetery. He tried to place the cemetery, but could make no rational explanation for the stop. He turned his head slightly bringing the hangers into focus. Well, he supposed; that could be one reason we are here. The hangers loomed from the other side of the cemetery, ghostly in the accumulating mist. He turned his head back so he could watch Jezebel. She was fiddling with something he could not make out. She was constantly looking up from her work, eyes darting frantically around as if she could feel that she was being watched. Quatre grinned slowly. She was being watched.

Quatre reached up and patted his hair, making sure that it was still holding in its braid. When Duo had dragged him out of his house in a panic because of some atomic bomb plans, Quatre's hair had been in a loose ponytail, but that would impair his ability to fight. Loose hair could blow in one's face if the wind was just right, plus, he figured, he would most likely have to fight Jezebel hand-to-hand. Which, he reflected, he was quietly hoping that he'd be able to fight her and kill her. Shooting her from afar didn't correspond with his vision of justice. So, if he did get his unacknowledged choice, he couldn't risk his hair getting in his eyes and blinding him, or getting stuck in his mouth. So, he had, en route, braided his hair haphazardly, all the while tracking Jezebel and ensuring that she didn't see him following her.

Jezebel stood, brushing her hands on her pants after placing the object she had been fiddling with down with great reverence. Quatre's muscles immediately coiled as she slowly turned her back to him. She was still an alert, but she was slowly relaxing. The opportune moment was close. She knelt again, and he could hear her knees popping in reluctance. He couldn't see what she was digging for, but he could hear her rummaging in the duffel bag that she had appropriated from her apartment.

He had waited in the lobby of her apartment building for her to come out. He had checked all other possible exits to make sure there wasn't a rear exit or an exit to a parking garage. After satisfying himself that if she were to leave, she had to pass through the lobby, Quatre had loitered, content to wait for all eternity if that was what it had come down to. It hadn't. He waited for less than thirty minutes before Jezebel appeared in a change of clothes and a large duffel that hung from her shoulders. Her clothes, Quatre had observed, were black and tight, with little to no excess material. There were several pockets, but each pocket had either a zipper or a Velcro flap. He had discovered the Velcro when she had pulled something from a hidden pocket, and he had been reluctantly impressed.

She had walked straight to the cemetery -- the cemetery that was adjacent to the hangers where the Gundams were stored.

Quatre heard a distant explosion. His head turned automatically toward the hangers. He cocked his head slightly, concentrating on the sounds from the hangers. A low rumble shook the ground as he heard another explosion following quickly after the first. He looked at Jezebel from the corner of his eye and noticed that she too, was watching the hangers with a raptor gaze. Then he felt the heat fan his face.

In the next instant two Gundams blasted out of the hangers at desperate velocities, another shockwave spreading through the surrounding territory. Quatre shielded himself from the excessive heat that followed. He followed the Gundams with his eyes, watching until they disappeared behind the wall he was sheltered under. He turned back to Jezebel and noticed that she was opening a door to a tomb. He waited until she had disappeared inside before slinking to its entrance. He pulled his gun, not wanting to venture into an unknown situation. He crept inside.

The tomb was dark and musty with the tint of death stinging the air as he had expected. What he hadn't expected was the faint smell of lilacs. He shuffled out of the way of the entrance so someone couldn't take aim at his silhouette. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the light. He gazed around the darkened tomb taking in the limited details. The burial sarcophagus loomed in the center of the crypt. Dead and rotted husks of flowers were entombed around the sarcophagus. Dusty light filtered in from the doorway in an almost solid beam. The walls seemed to be bare, but he could make out a difference of texture of the darkness in the wall behind the sarcophagus. He moved quietly toward that subtle change in the darkness. Using his outstretched arm, he felt his way along the solid wall until he reached a hole. He crouched, straining his ears in the darkness. He could hear soft footsteps echoing from inside a tunnel from the quality of the reverberations.

He assumed the footsteps belonged to Jezebel, and after a moment of pointed listening, he was able to determine that she was moving further away from him. He moved inside the tunnel, his hand felt along the tunnel's wall, and he placed his feet carefully -- blindly -- in front of him, expecting any moment to trip over something in the thick darkness. He kept his gun in his hand.

An indeterminable time later, Quatre realized that the light level had increased. The darkness wasn't quite so dense, and he could make a few details out. It was a slight lessening of the darkness, but it was something nonetheless. He continued at his slow yet steady pace, reluctant to move any faster. The tunnel curved to the left and he followed the turn. The light suddenly was brighter, and Quatre squinted in response. He thought he could see a small silhouette ahead, but it was probably a trick of his light-deprived eyes. He raised his gun slightly, his fingers automatically reaffirming their grip. He continued forward, his eyes constantly flicking from the floor to the increasing exit, watching for obstacles and enemies.

When he finally reached the exit, Jezebel was no where in sight. He stepped a few paces to the left of the tunnel, listening for movement. Nothing. He moved the same distance to the right of the tunnel and listened intently. Wait? Was that something? He tried to concentrate harder, but the soft noise didn't come again. He moved in that direction anyway, hoping that his ears had truly heard something and that the something was Jezebel.

He was in the heart of the hangers, now. If he walked down the corridor that the noise had seemed to originate from, he would end up passing the junction to the hangers themselves. His Gundam would be there, along with any other mobile suits the Preventers had managed to build. Heero's and Wufei's Gundams were gone, so he believed that others would have departed as well. Probably Duo and Trowa were all ready off doing whatever Heero and Wufei were. Some mission perhaps, or a retaliation. The retaliation made more sense to him given the recent bombing of Preventer HQ. The other four Gundam pilots surely wouldn't let something like that go unpunished. He grinned inwardly, he would take care of Jezebel and they would take care of everyone else.

Just how it should be.

As he neared the junction, the sound came again. It was metallic; perhaps someone had dropped something onto the hanger floor. Quatre jogged softly down the remainder of the empty corridor, transferring his single-handed grip to a double-handed grip. Upon reaching the junction, he pressed himself against the wall, flattening himself so no one in the joining corridor could see him. He cautiously peeked around the corner, flicking his eyes to either side of the hallway. Empty. He turned the corner, stepping into the joining corridor and moving toward the main hanger where the Gundams usually waited in silence. Another muted bang occurred, louder than before. Quatre moved quickly to the entrance of the hangers.

The entrance to the hangers was on the second floor. It opened onto a catwalk that stretched around three side of the perimeter of the hanger. The Gundams and other suits were spaced evenly around the crosswalk. There were six partial crosswalks that stretched parallel to each other and the hanger doors. Three of these were on either side of the hanger pointing to the center of the room, leaving a center aisle so the suits could navigate to the hanger doors.

Access to the suits was from these catwalks, but apparently, Jezebel was not interested in the remaining suits. Quatre could see Jezebel working on the ground floor as he peered at her through the grated metal flooring of the entry catwalk. The catwalks were basically hanging bridges, and he knew that he would not be able to walk across them without making some sound. However, he didn't have a clear shot at Jezebel through the grating. He watched her for a brief moment, realizing that she was wiring a bomb to a support. She had bombed HQ. It was a thought that had come unbidden to his mind, and didn't bother to push it away, though he had no proof, other than circumstantial evidence, of the claim. It didn't matter if she had placed the bomb in HQ; he had other crimes to bring her to justice for…

Who was he kidding? He was going to execute her. He would be the judge, jury and executioner. Bombing HQ was just another entry on an already long list of offenses.

Regarding his current circumstances, he made the only decision that presented itself in his mind. He didn't have time to think things through, and he was already blinded by anger. Instead, he ran toward the railing, and bracing himself with one hand, launched himself over the railing. He tucked his legs underneath him, vaulting into the nothingness above the ground floor of the hangers. He had time for one thought before he hit the floor:

"One story is certainly higher than it looks…"

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Zechs grimaced as his mobile suit shuddered with enemy fire. He had been out in the front lines for almost ten minutes before Noin had managed to join him. And then they had battled together for almost another twenty before Heero had contacted him with the blessed news that he and Wufei were launching at that moment. But it had still taken them several minutes to get to the air battle. Two mobile suits were no match for over a thousand Dolls. And that was just the first wave. He closed his eyes momentarily, wishing that they could have found a way out of this predicament before it had ever happened. When had everything gone so horribly wrong?

Alarms blared in his cockpit, and he jerked the controls harshly, cursing himself for his lapse in concentration. Heero pulled his Gundam beside his suit, blocking most of the attack on him. He didn't replay with thanks; knowing that Heero would understand and hoping that he'd have a chance to thank him for his protection after the battle.

They had met the enemy about forty miles outside of the town's outskirts where the hangers were located. So far, the Dolls had maintained a close knit battle with the Preventers, but Zechs could see Dolls now starting to pour over the fighting Gundams and blaze toward the city. He turned back to his battle -- the advancing Dolls couldn't be his concern right now, he had to focus on his fight here and now or he wouldn't live to try and stop the advancing lines.

"Heero! Stop them! We'll try to hold these off, but we can't give any ground." Wufei's voice crackled over the stressed comm.

"Acknowledged." Wing blasted away from the battle in pursuit of the advancing Dolls. Zechs' heart sank. They were no down to three suits in their battle, and Heero was going solo into his own suicidal fight. This fight could not end well. After all, the two Gundam pilots were both injured, Heero more severely. When Heero first contacted him, he had been surprised by the gash on his temple, but they had come anyway. And now, Heero would be fighting a battle on his own.

Zechs turned his suit to fire on another group of Dolls, catching three of them before they could scatter. He tried to swallow the fear and the hopelessness, but they refused to be beaten into a corner and persisted in his mind. He jerked the controls again, barely missing another well-aimed shot. He turned his rifle toward his attacker and fired.

Would they make it out of this alive? Zechs didn't think so. Would they prevent the Dolls from getting to the city? Zechs lied to himself and told himself that they would prevent the Dolls from attaining their goal.

He knew that he was lying to himself.

______________________________

Dorothy held the phone to her ear with her shoulder; half focusing on her phone conversation at she typed furiously on her laptop. She was trying to disable all power to the city of Svetlaine, but she kept having to answer that asshole Senator on the other end of the line.

"What are the Preventers doing about this threat? Where is President Dorlan?"

"The Preventers are currently doing everything they can to neutralize this threat. As for the President, I am unaware of what has become of her." Dorothy was vaguely surprised that she could say this with such a controlled tone of voice. She had already heard of the explosion at HQ, as well as Relena's visit to see Une. Past that, she hadn't found anything else out, being too occupied with her own assignments, and she was worried about Relena. She was working at Relena's desk, glancing between her laptop and Relena's desktop. She flicked her eyes over to Relena's machine, and pausing in her frantic typing, reached over to touch a few keys. She could see the wave of enemy Dolls approaching the city. But what bothered her more was the lack of Preventer resistance. She thought she could see one of the Gundams meeting the onslaught, but she couldn't be sure.

She ignored what the Senator was saying in favor of her own thoughts. If there wasn't sufficient Preventer support up there, then it was all too possible that the enemy would break through the Preventer defenses and attack the city. If that were to happen, there were civilians that would surely suffer. She dropped the phone into her cupped hand, holding the receiver more securely to her face.

"Evacuate this city immediately, Senator."

"What? I can't just--" Dorothy had no time for games, and roughly cut him off.

"I don't give a shit! There are enemy suits approaching this city, and unless you want the deaths of hundreds of innocents on your conscious, I suggest that you evacuate the city immediately!" She shouted and slammed the phone onto the desk, not bothering to hang it up properly. She returned to her laptop, hacking into the electrical mainframe.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to push her worry for Relena out of her mind.

______________________________

Quatre didn't linger on it, but he was never sure how exactly it was that he managed to hit the ground rolling, tucking his chin to his knees and letting the impact send him rolling rather than sprawling. He missed Jezebel's initial reaction to his kamikaze stunt, but when he finally came to a halt, her gun was already aimed unerringly at his head. He slowly let his gun fall from his fingers as he crouched like a coiled snake on the cold cement of the hanger floor. Jezebel brushed some stray hair from her face and risked a glance at her bomb. Quatre took that moment of inattention to spring into his attack.

He hadn't landed far from her position, and was only a few meters from her when he had come out of his roll. He launched himself at her, gun lying forgotten behind him. Her eyes flickered back to him, widening slightly in surprise, but she did not hesitate to fire.

Burning. Fire. Pain. His shoulder screamed in agony as the bullet ripped through his flesh. He gritted his teeth against this inner fire and fell upon Jezebel. They tumbled to the floor, limbs tangled. She lost her grip on her gun and it skittered across the floor. Quatre swung his fist at her face but she was able squirm out of the way. She brought her knee up, grunting as she connected with his thigh. She bucked under him as he tried to get a grip on her neck. She dislodged him, and he rolled away so he would have a chance to get up unhindered. They both stood, staring at each other. Her eyes flicked over to her gun, the waning light glinting uselessly on it. Quatre watched her, expecting her to go for the gun. She did not disappoint him.

He ran after her, dropping into a slide, his body following his feet as his slid across the smooth concrete. He kicked the gun away before she could reach it. She kicked at him, but he rolled out of the way. He rolled on to his back, and kicking his legs up, performed a kip-up. Once he regained his feet, he executed a roundhouse kick at Jezebel's temple. She didn't move fast enough, having been surprised by his fancy method of getting up. She tumbled to the floor, splaying her hands out to catch her. Quatre followed up with a sweep of her legs, not wanting to let her regain her balance. She fell, her chin impacting with the unforgiving pavement. Dazed, she rolled sluggishly, attempting to get away from him. She staggered to her feet, blood dripping from her chin, and moved toward him. He beckoned her with a grin. She punched at him, her punch coming straight and hard. Quatre leaned out of her way and clasped his hands around her outstretched arm. Before she could register her captive arm, Quatre backhanded her ribcage while pulling her arm to tilt her off balance. Using her momentum, he pulled her into his block, dislocating her arm with a sickening wet sucking sound.

She groaned, eyes rolling up into her head as she collapsed to the ground. Quatre turned toward her gun, sprinting toward it and stooping to pick it up. He spun around, the room spinning after he stopped. It was then that he remembered his burning shoulder. It was then that he also realized that in his leap from the catwalk, he had landed on his ankle wrong and it was now throbbing with an increasing urgency. He hobbled back over to the stirring Jezebel. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, but it was no longer enough to numb his various aches and pains, and they began to clamor for his attention. Jezebel groaned and opened her eyes. She looked up at Quatre.

"I know you." She whispered. Quatre nodded slowly, his gun trained on her.

"You tortured me."

"You shot me." Quatre shrugged. He couldn't remember if he had or not.

"You tried to wage war here. Why?" Her eyes scrunched up.

"It was the last order of my Commander-in-Chief." Quatre let a small disbelieving chuckle pass through his lips.

"What, given to you two hundred years ago?" She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. "Don't you think that things have changed since then."

"Doesn't matter. I'd be betraying…" Quatre cut her off.

"You betrayed your fellow human beings by bringing war back. After everything we did to end the threat of war."

"Can't let Hussein rule." She whispered.

"Who the fuck is Hussein?" Quatre asked, bewildered.

"Terrorist."

"We don't have terrorists except for you." Jezebel swept her legs across the concrete, knocking Quatre over. He fell heavily to the ground, but the gun stayed in his hand. Jezebel lunged over him, pushing him to the ground and stabbing a knife into his stomach and jerking across his abdomen. He cried out in pain, his body instinctively trying to curl in on itself. He couldn't dislodge Jezebel from her position of triumph above him. His mind tried to remember where the knife had come from, but she must've had it concealed, because he couldn't remember seeing it. The hand not gripping the gun wrapped around the hilt. He didn't pull the knife out.

Intense pain swallowed his abdomen whole, and he could concentrate on nothing but the blinding pain radiating out to his limbs. His fingers clutched and sweat broke out over his entire body. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly; too confused and shocked to do anything else. Tears welled in his eyes and his toes began to chill. He fisted both hands, one around the hilt of the invading knife, and one around the butt of the gun. The gun! He remembered the gun. It was already cocked, just waiting for the trigger to be pulled so it could unleash its deadly payload at some target. Quatre raised the gun, pointing it at Jezebel's forehead. She was still leaning over him, keeping him against the concrete while he bled to death. Her eyes widened as the gun pressed against her forehead. Quatre pulled back his lips in a grimace and pulled the trigger.

The loud rapport echoed through the hanger. Jezebel's body was flung backward by the force of the bullet entering her skull. Her brains decorated the column behind where she had been crouched. Blood and gore splattered in a random pattern. The sharp smell of gunsmoke hung in the air. With Jezebel's weight no longer holding him down, Quatre rolled to his side, his knees coming up to protect his ravaged stomach. He released the now warm gun and pressed both hands to the laceration in his belly. He could feel blood and visceral fluid ooze between his fingers.