Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Nevergreen ❯ Chapter 10

Nevergreen 10/?

Heero reclined on the pile of pillows and blankets Trowa had lain out across the dining room floor, beer in hand, the radio at his feet, Trowa not an arm length away, candles lit all around them as they stared out the large glass doors that led from the dining room to the back verandah. Heero had never even noticed there were doors in that part of the house, hidden away behind heavy red drapes, always using the doors from the living room and kitchen to reach the verandah. Now, with the curtains open, the dining room table pushed into the lounge room, he wished he had known. Before the lights had gone out he had had a full view of everything from the house at the top of the hill down to the river in the valley below, long paddocks and roads between them, the dust thick and menacing as it permeated.

He had never seen anything like it. Storms rolled in, skimming in off the horizon and spreading over the vast expanse of a sky far above. But the dust…it didn't roll, smothered, and it didn't sit, it sank; it ate everything in it's path, both horizontally and vertically until at last Heero could barely see the back step, and it was only getting thicker, the wind starting to howl, with nothing between it and the blues; just endless flats of red dirt for hundreds of kilometers.

When the power had gone out, Heero had known a small moment of panic before Trowa lit a match and handed over a bunch of candles. They had enough to light the entire house better than electricity had, but were using the bare minimum, unsure how long the storm would last, let alone the blackout. The TV had been issuing a warning all afternoon but it had seemed they weren't really sure what they should suggest people do. In the end they had just told people to get indoors and stay there.

Looking through the hazy glass, trying to make out the vague shapes outside the door, Heero could have sworn he saw something move. Shards of fluorescent light were smashing their way across the glass as the wind splattered the dust in all directions.

"The sun is setting," Trowa noted, taking a swig of beer and they watched it in silence, the last fight for dominance against a darkness Heero could not honestly see an end to. It lit the dust like a fire and it seemed to Heero the entire world was on fire and was burning blood…his veins felt hot under his skin, his eyes watered at the intensity of the colour and the air seemed thicker…somehow tainted. He didn't think air would ever taste the same.

The last of the sun was about to disappear when a lone meager sound, drowned entirely by the wind finally reached his ears, a flash of movement swallowed by the darkness and dust the last thing he saw before panic seized him. He was on his feet before his mind had fully processed what he had seen.

"Heero?" Trowa was as confused as Heero's shocked body, which demanded to know why they were moving, even as Trowa stood and made to follow.

"Sandstone!" Heero moaned, racing for the laundry.

"Fuck!" Trowa raced for the dirty towels, closing the dining room door, blocking off the laundry from the main house and opening the door through to the garage even as Heero wrenched open the door.

It hurt. He had not expected it to hurt. It was just dirt, but dirt is essentially minerals with fine edges, and when it's pegged at you at a hundred k's an hour it…stings. Gritting his teeth, feeling it rubbing his skin raw in an instant carpet burn, he pushed out, the wind screeching at him as the dust pushed, the two working in tandem, trying to knock him from his feet as his nose, mouth and ears were clogged instantly. He choked, coughed, spluttered, tried to draw in breath, but there was nothing but filth. And he had left the lamb to suffer in it…

Cursing himself, Heero stumbled forward, falling to his knees and crawling forward. There was less dirt, just wind, howling, whipping past, picking up any loose item and tossing it out into the torrid night. A miserable whine came from somewhere to his left, and Heero followed, straining to hear anything through the madness.

One last whine, and he pegged the location to the far corner, where Trowa kept the watering can. Heero thought it a sensible place, the collected junk, rose bushes and lattice providing the best cover in the yard from the storm. He struggled to get there then spent a good minute crashing through the clutter to fish the lamb out from amongst it.

It was a sign of the animal's fear that it did not fight. There was no biting, kicking, panicked last plea, just a shivering bundle that seemed suddenly too small, too frail. Heero took one deep breath, gritted his teeth and stood, racing for where he thought the laundry was. He could not see. Could not hear. Dared not breathe.

The door was further away than he had dreamt and he barely reached it, only Trowa's hand grabbing hold of his neck and hauling him inside keeping him from being lost to the dark. The laundry door slammed shut and the lamb was snatched from his arms, Trowa's form retreating through the candlelit haze into the garage.

Heero leant back against the door, sliding down the wood, grabbing the matt off the floor and pushing it under the door to fill the small gap. He drew in deep shuddering breath between heaving coughs as he tried to splutter the filth loose from his lungs, fingers scraping at his ears and nose but all he could taste and smell was the soil and all he heard was the wind, still roaring, some forgotten God demanding he be remembered.

Trowa appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets. He looked hazy and Heero thought for a moment he had gotten too much dirt in his eyes until he realized the entire laundry was coated in thick red dust. He suddenly understood why Trowa had sealed off the laundry from the rest of the house.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Having a drink. I made him a bed in your new car. He seems to like it," he quirked an odd little smile, offering a hand and hauling Heero to his feet, passing him a towel and putting out a hand expectantly.

Looking from the hand to his clothes and the towel, Heero sighed and stripped down to his briefs, tossing the caked clothes into the laundry sink before wiping himself down with the towel and tossing it after the clothes. Only then it seemed was Trowa willing to let him through the door to the rest of the house.

Heero looked at his beer mournfully as he passed through their posy, heading through the kitchen, down the hall and straight to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the hallway closet on his way past.

At least the water was still working. The warmth was welcome, but it burned, working the dirt out of his raw skin, cleaning it away. He put his arms out and allowed himself to lean against the wall, leaning his head back to gargle the water, washing out his throat and letting it trickle through his hair, wishing not for the first time that there was something called water pressure in the house.

It was the longest shower he had had since his arrival in Condo, and he couldn't help but think he deserved it when he finally turned off the water and wrapped the towel around his waist, heading for his room. As he passed through the living room he noticed Trowa had a weird little gas stove out on the bench, a pot of water on the boil. He stopped to stare but didn't say anything.

"Tea?" Trowa asked politely and Heero just snorted as he went into his room.

It was pitch dark and for one frightening moment he was reminded of what it was like outside, only there was nothing trying to tear his skin from his bones in his room. So he settled, shoved his hand into his closet praying the spiders had taken a hike for the duration of the storm, and felt for the textures of his clothes until he found the familiar heavy weight denim of his black jag jeans. From there it was simple to scrounge a cheap t-shirt from the lot Duo had found in Orange.

Trowa appeared at the door just as he was pulling the shirt over his head, holding out a cup of tea in one hand, a candle in the other. Heero couldn't help but smile as he wrapped his hands around the steaming metal mug, pleasantly surprised at the way the usually ice cold mug was just shy of burning his skin. It felt good.

The taste left something to be desired, a little too watery and tainted with the metal of the makeshift billy, but it didn't taste of dirt and for that Heero would ever be thankful.

"Thanks."

"Can't believe we forgot about the bloody lamb," Trowa noted idly as he spun on his heel and headed back to their posy in the dining room. Heero followed slowly, snatching glimpses of the nothing outside through the windows on his way past. It was…spooky, in a bad way. It made him think of the ghost town, of Ootha, and that one brief moment when he could have sworn he and Duo were not alone…only this moment refused to pass, and no matter how many times he blinked the storm did not go away.

So Heero just sat, leaning against the wall as the radio reports came in, the warning continued and the wind tried to drown out them all.

*

Something was shaking him. Pushing himself through the groggy haze, Heero forced his eyes open and glared at the dark shadow looming over him.

"Fuck, Yuy, GET UP!"

Something in Trowa's voice made Heero sit up, though he fast regretted it as his head spun. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but he had been quite comfortable and the last thing he had wanted was to have to get up at any point before dawn, which it most certainly was not!

The candles were casting long shadows across the room, the radio was scatty at best, and Heero realized he was cold. Really cold…Trowa was grabbing every blanket and pillow in sight, bundling them into his arms as he hurried through to the kitchen. Blearily forcing himself to his feet, Heero gingerly leant down and started picking up the few things Trowa had not managed to grab. Every inch of his skin ached, stung and itched and he recalled his run into the storm, snorting as a particularly loud thunder clap bellowed behind him, followed by a flash of white light that provided enough time for him to see his way clear through the kitchen.

Trowa raced around the corner, hair brushed out of his face as he caught sight of Heero walking sedately through the kitchen.

"Heero!" Trowa bellowed and Heero had only enough time to realize he couldn't actually hear Trowa's yell before the entire house seemed to shake and he was blinded, for a single terrifying instant before his senses were engulfed in darkness and the sound of glass shattering, burning, melting, spraying, the shards hot as they landed against his skin and tried to mate with it.

And he was fully awake as he ducked under the level of the kitchen bench and rubbed the glass loose from his skin with the blanket, crawling his way along the freezing tiles.

"Heero!"

"It's okay, I'm fine…I'm coming…" And there was carpet under his hands, so he turned right and headed along the wall until he found the hallway, lit like some weird inner sanctum with half the candles of the house.

Trowa looked down at him and snorted, grabbing the blanket and pillow and tossing them into a pile with his own as he snuck a peak around the corner, a lone candle in his hand. Heero forced himself to stand and snuck a look around under Trowa's arm. He couldn't help but gape at the sight.

Constant flashes of white light were lighting the world as lightening crashed all over the horizon, driving white streaks of electricity into the river, the trees, the paddock behind the house, the backyard…and the house itself. A soft drizzle of rain was floating in through the kitchen windows, which had literally exploded when hit with a stray lightening bolt, and as it dripped and drooled down the empty windows it looked like blood…

"Blood rain," Trowa whispered, and Heero detected a touch of awe in his voice that he couldn't deny he felt somewhere within himself. In all the storied he had heard during his life in the city, he had never really understood, had never comprehended the terror of a storm in a place where it never storms. He knew he was seeing something that might happen every few decades, that the sheer size of the event would mark it in the town's small history. It would probably make the news and some politician would use it as an excuse to win a few more votes at the next election before they promptly forgot places like Condo existed at all.

"It's beautiful…" And it was. They watched it for a few minutes more before they heard another crash, watched something bright slam into the verandah and heard the now familiar sound of exploding glass. Heero was very pleased he was not still sound asleep in the dining room.

"How did you know?"

"I was watching the storm," Trowa shrugged as he went back around the corner and settled in the small alcove of the hallway between the bathroom and the toilet. He had sealed all the doors, creating the only possible completely internalized room in the whole house. He had thought remarkably fast, things considered. Heero wished he had thought the same, but he had never thought this type of storm would hit. He had not known that dust was followed win, wind by thunder, thunder by lightening, lightening by rain…

"The radio died for a while, so I knew there must be lightening. When it came I figured it was time to move. You sleep like a fucking log stuck in bog, mate."

Heero just quirked a grin and shrugged. He couldn't exactly deny it. If he made a conscious decision to wake in the morning he usually did, but if not…J had once said it was impossible to wake him. That wasn't quite right, but it was damn close.

Heero sat down and wrapped a blanket around himself, grabbing a pair of dirty socks from the bathroom floor, wishing he had more clothes on. It was getting colder, the storm brining back the chill of the nights of desert winters across the plains and into the Bush. It was not a pleasant thing, that cold, but Heero idly mused that it suited the weather.

"You ever been in a storm like this?"

"Fuck no!" Trowa almost seemed to laugh. Almost. "But, similar. Lived in an area where it flooded a lot. Got useta lotsa rain."

Heero just grunted, barely able to hear Trowa over the storm anyway. He was more than a little surprised when Trowa grabbed his feet and yanked him around so they were facing opposite directions. Trowa leant back against him, back to back, and the warmth was good so Heero just clutched the blanket closer to his chest, making sure he covered his feet as he watched the small candle in front of him struggle to sustain life.

"You were with Duo." Trowa's voice rumbled through his back and Heero felt it rather than heard it. He merely grunted in return. He wished he was still with Duo, but he didn't want Duo there with him, in the cold and dark with nothing to do and nowhere to hide from the storm. Wherever he was, it had to be better, right? Not wanting to consider that possibility either, Heero forced his thoughts back on the candle.

"Do you ever dream of…something else?"

Trowa sat up a little straighter at the question, but then slumped once more, a sigh escaping him. Heero just waited.

"No," finally came and Heero was more than a little confused. He knew Trowa could leave, if it weren't for the sunsets, so what would he have left for, if the sun never left?

"I'm a selfish person," Trowa said softly, and this time Heero knew he did not hear it. It trembled through them both, but it didn't seem strange, to feel words. They took on some greater meaning, no longer a spoken thing but a physical, shuddering tangible one. "I dream of more. Not something else, just…more."

Heero thought he understood that; knew that even if he couldn't fully comprehend he still felt it, knew it in a myriad ways.

"I'm selfish too."

The wind howled. Thunder roared. Lightening slaughtered.

*

Mud encrusted farm boots. Blinking in confusion, Heero looked up the dirty jeans leg and caught sight of pale hands on hips, slender hands; feminine hands. Up and up his gaze went over trails of thick muddy hair that dripped brown droplets on his face to flaming green eyes that glared at him as if he were someplace he should not be, doing something he should not be doing.

One of those hands left the hips, pointed down at him, demanding, accusing, he could not tell. Her eyes were screaming at him, the weight of the air between them pushing him, and he felt he was sinking through the floor, down, down, ever down…The carpet under his hands turned to slush as he tried to turn away from her, to find something to grip, silken mud that refused to hold him or release and she just stood there, pointing, and he couldn't breathe!

Heero saw her mouth open, saw her take a breath and she screamed, loud and strong right in his ear. He tumbled back, hit his head on the wall, blinked back the pain and stared all around. One single candle remained lit, flickering and fluttering on the floor, the others cold and long extinguished. Trowa was asleep, curled against the cupboard below the vanity like some big cat, oblivious to the storm still wailing without.

Breathing hard, Heero raised a hand to his face, wanting to make sure he was indeed awake, that the dream was long past, but his hand fell against his cheek and made an odd slapping sound. He pulled his fingers away and they glinted in the candlelight. Heart tight in his chest, he crawled closer to the candle and held his fingers in the soft light.

His fingers were smudged with muddy water.

Rubbing his hands vigorously on the blanket, and then rubbing his face for good measure, Heero struggled to his feet, backing away from the small haven, for once wanting the cold; wanting to feel the bite of reality, not really sure what to think.

He poked his head around the corner to look at the living room and kitchen. The doors were still in tact, but water was spraying in through the shattered dining room doors, flooding across the tile floors, ruining the carpet. He didn't want to think about the insurance bill!

It was, perhaps, only because he already had his head around the corner that a strange, totally out of place sound reached his ears. The phone.

Staring at the far wall, where the phone rested directly beside the large glass doors, Heero wondered if he was just hearing things, but the damn machine was persistent. Either someone didn't know there was a storm, or…

Rushing to the phone, Heero picked it up, praying the lightening would hold off long enough for him to get off the phone, out of the water on the floor…He wondered when he had lost his mind.

"Hello?"

"Heero!" He could barely make out the voice on the other end of the phone. There was just…a roaring.

"Quatre?"

"HELP ME!" Blind panic.

Crawling onto the bench to get out of the water and grabbing the cutting board as a shield against the rain pouring in, Heero struggled to make sense of what was happening, his gaze fixed on the storm and the lightening still smashing into their backyard, though less frequently and more sporadically. It terrified him.

"Where are you?"

"Hangman's bridge! Please…Dad…he crashed the Ute…I think…He's…I mean…the water!" Heero could barely make out every second word and knew Quatre had to be on the mobile phone, barely within range.

"Quatre , the phone's cutting out!" He had to make a decision and all he knew was fear, and all he could see was the lightening and the vague memory of the dream that had woken him. Decide.

"I'm on my way." He hung up the phone and leapt off the bench, running for his bedroom and grabbing his boots, a jumper and his backpack. He didn't think it would help, but it was better than nothing. He raced back to the vanity and all but kicked Trowa awake, wrenching open the drawers and grabbing the first aid kit.

"Heero?"

"There's been an accident. Get your boots." He didn't understand how he could be so calm, why his voice was so calm when inside he was screaming. He didn't understand what he was doing, what his body was running on when all he wanted to do was wet his pants and stay right where he was.

"Heero?" Trowa appeared at his side, pulling on his boots, face pale in the dying candlelight.

"Quatre called. He's at Hangman's Bridge. We have to go. Now." He leaned over and snuffed out the candle, vaguely amused that he didn't even feel the brief touch of the flame as he rushed down the hallway, through the kitchen, through the dining room and into the laundry, then through to the garage.

Trowa was on his heels, apparently struggling with his own fears that Heero understood all too well. If that was Duo out there…And he had only known Duo a week. How long had Trowa been here, with Quatre? He had never even bothered to ask.

Sandstone bleated from her bed on the passenger seat of Heero's shell but he paid her no mind as he jumped in the Ute and turned on the ignition, completely impatient as Trowa pulled on a Drizabone and wrenched open the garage doors. The storm poured in them and Heero forced himself to let the wind drown out Sandstone's pleas as he backed out and waited while Trowa closed the door and got in.

"You answered the fucking phone? Are you nuts?"

"Would you rather I hadn't?" Heero replied stoically and when he received no answer he backed the Ute into the street.

"Shit…" Trowa was looking past Heero's shoulder at the house across the street. Heero glanced and realized Mr. Black was still on the front porch, in his seat, burnt black and smoking…

"Fat fuck," they said in unison, more than a little shocked as Heero revved the engine and floored it down the street just as lightening struck the road behind them.

"Drive, Yuy!"

"What do you think I'm doing, Barton?" Heero growled, deliberately avoiding the west end of the main street and the pub where Duo lived. Everywhere they looked there was nothing but storm and destruction and there seemed no end to it. They reached the Railway hotel on the north-east edge of town and Heero looked expectantly at Trowa, but received no information.

"Barton!"

"What?" Trowa snapped and it was the first real sign that he was nowhere near his usual calm self.

"Where the fuck is Hangman's Bridge?" Heero demanded, forcing himself not to speed up as they hit the open road. The last thing they needed was another crash.

"Head toward Evergreen!"

Heero headed the ten k's out of town and then turned off at the railway, but something collided with the Ute. Looking at Trowa, Heero kept driving, hoping it hadn't done any damage. Trowa was squinting as he looked out the window. They hadn't gone two hundred meters when they hit something else, again small and rather insignificant. Trowa gasped, shoved his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead after that. He didn't relax until they had passed a good fifteen k's.

"What did we hit?" Heero demanded.

"Dogs…"

"WHAT?"

"The Pound musta been hit by the storm…"

Heero's stomach dropped, thinking of Sandstone and he shuddered but pushed it all aside, forcing his mind to stay on the road.

"You need to turn up here." Trowa pointed to a point ahead and Heero slowed obediently.

"What were they doing out here anyway?" Heero mumbled to himself.

"Probably trying to round up the cattle," Trowa noted quietly as they turned off the main road.

The drive was quite then, subdued, the road winding, curling lethally around trees, bare dirt and loose gravel, dangerous even in the best conditions. They passed a flaming tree that smoked and steamed in the rain. It was taking all of Heero's concentration just to stay on the road, which was fast beginning to resemble a river, the rain thickening, forming a small waterfall on the windscreen as they splashed their way ahead.

"Turn," Trowa ordered harshly and Heero could see lights down the side road, so he followed it, down through the paddocks and into the river valleys, which were fast filling and overflowing into long empty billabongs. Heero spared a momentary second for long dead bunyip hole at Ootha and then they were cresting a small rise and the headlights met the familiar white shape of one of the Station Utes.

"Fuck…" Heero hissed, mind numb.

"Quatre…" Trowa's voice cracked.

The Ute was half submerged, pushed up against a tree, branch through the windscreen, headlights still on, highlighting the bridge it had slid off the edge of, and the waters swirling all round it. The entire place was filled with water, churning and pouring through the old waterways, slurping and gurgling its way around and through the wrecked vehicle.

"Quatre!" Trowa bellowed and he would have raced forward had Heero's hand not instinctively reached out and held him still. There was a faint cry in return and Heero forced his senses to focus on it; to hear it. His heart sank as the garbled phone message finally made sense.

There was something pale and limp on the branch through the windscreen; a hand. And Heero knew. Quatre was trapped between a tree they could never hope to move and the body of his very dead father.

The water was rising, and he could see no way to get him out.