Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Walk On Vanity Ruins ( Chapter 14 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The Bad Men Versus the Good
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.24.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.4K | Visits: 247 | Status: Completed
The Bad Men Versus the Good
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.24.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.4K | Visits: 247 | Status: Completed
AU, OOC, violence...supernatural themes, violence...slash, gore
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own but worship. ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I RECOMMEND if you’re into that sort of music, and both of which I do not OWN in any way.
A/N: Eh, I apologize for this chapter. I just couldn’t seem to put more...effort...? into it, or something. It feels stunted and forced. Le Grr...I hate when that happens...
Gray Pheonix: Yup! Just more confusion for the, er, masses. I hope to explain more soon, but–with the way things are going, they’ll just get even more confusing in the end and NOTHING will be explained–EVER. Heh. Glad you are still around to continue reading this wreck of a fic...
Chapter Fourteen:
Walk On Vanity Ruins
There was a short wall that surrounded the hospital–beyond this wall was a parking area that led directly to the hospital’s parking garage. Around them were various administration structures that led out onto the main street–the maze of the area was confusing within the darkness. Virgil wasn’t sure where they were exactly, having been too focused on the pain in his foot to have noticed his surroundings. It was a place that was beyond his familiarity, even in the ‘normal’ days of lost.
They took cover behind this short wall, choosing a position in that they could peer around an opening to take in the chaos that was happening just beyond it. The stench of these zombies was a faint discomfort. Virgil and Maureen peered out into the chaotic scene, both their eyes widening at the sight. Feminine shrieks of rage grew ear-piercing the closer they ventured, and the appearances of the zombies were frightening. In the middle of it all, Junior was unleashing his hatred into the growing mob of women–he was trying to slay them all, but it was apparent that he was blind with his rage, lashing out at any that came close. The women were bent on their murderous intents–using all that they could to hurt him. Their fingers were curled, slashing at his skin, their teeth bared. Some were using various weapons to attack, but with their uncoordinated actions they ended up hitting each other.
Virgil gaped, limping to stand in sight as Maureen nervously chewed on the sleeve of her jacket.
“Oh, good Lord,” he murmured as Junior wrapped his hands around the neck of the closest zombie, either ignoring the savage attacks of the other women or just fueled with his rage in that their actions were unnoticed. The former counselor was snarling fiercely with his revulsion, his shouts drowned by the screams of the zombies that mobbed him. Every visible inch of his skin was either covered in congealed blood or his own. His clothes were slashed and shredded by the attacks, his vest hanging only by the left armhole, his flannel shirt torn in various areas. One of his eyes was a disturbing red, scratches lined down both eyelid and cheek. His teeth were colored by his own blood, his lip swollen and split. One of his ears was bleeding heavily, his light colored hair dark with gore.
Virgil wasn’t sure how to approach him, or even if the man would even acknowledge him. It was as if Junior were trapped in his own world of murderous rage, too caught up in single-handedly eliminating all that was in his path to see the world around him. Virgil was frightened, really–he didn’t know what to do.
Maureen covered her face with her hands, as if trying to block out the sight of the zombies mobbing Junior. She whimpered and whined, Virgil catching a few words, registering that she was talking to someone else. But he was too focused on the sight of Junior and the mob to really process what Maureen was saying.
With a lost expression, Virgil looked around them to see that snow covered the streets and abandoned vehicles, leaving not a trace of pavement in sight. The world was dark and cold, and the smell of smoke and intense moisture strong. The pain in his foot was noticeable, but easy to ignore.
He felt the need to help Junior, but he wasn’t sure of the man’s reaction–he was just too intensely focused on fighting off the mob with his own hands that any outside help would draw his negative attention. Virgil limped back around the corner of the wall, hearing Junior shout and rage, the women screaming their own words of attack, ringing throughout the empty area.
Virgil shot Maureen a helpless look, lost at what to do.
Before he could even rationalize a thought, he heard the disbelieving sounds of a man approaching, talking to himself in a deranged way. Because it was familiar he looked up sharply, seeing Hotstreak hurrying over after seeing them crouched against the wall. The expression on his face was incredibly disturbing, and Virgil felt the ice-cold feeling of dread and fear hit his empty gut. It was a rendering sensation of helplessness that made Virgil ache for the reassuring presence of his father. Needing that feeling of comfort.
Hotstreak hurried over, looking so helpless and upset that Virgil shied away from him, stopped by the wall. He didn’t want to hear what the redhead had to say, because his expression was just too disturbed for Virgil to accept.
“I lost him,” Hotstreak rambled, paler than Virgil last saw him, lacking all his confidence and posture that Virgil had grown familiar with. His hands were shaking violently as he held them up, as if cradling something. “I lost him, man. It was an accident–! I didn’t know what was happening–then I just–!”
Maureen let out an ear-piercing shriek that made both males jump, looking at her with startled expressions. The girl was staring at Hotstreak with familiarity, her face registering shock and fear as she curled against the wall. “You! I remember you!”
Before Virgil could process that accusation, Hotstreak stopped his panic-stricken rambling to stare at her, stumped by her words and her presence. Maureen shied around him, taking trembling steps to safety and scanning the area beyond him for someone else. She pointed at him with accusing action, face displaying her fear. “You and him–! Bad! Both of you, bad men! Bad men–go away! GO AWAY!”
“Who the hell are you?!” Hotstreak stammered, unable to place her.
Virgil glanced at him. “Where’s Rich?”
Hotstreak looked at him, once again alarmed and panicked. His hands were shaking as he gestured fiercely, beginning a long ramble of fluster once more. Virgil caught a few words here and there, but Maureen was contributing to the confusing situation with her own rambles of accusation and panic. Finally, Virgil let out a scream that overwhelmed both their voices, echoing throughout the area with noticeable frustration. They stilled, looking at him with twin expressions of startled surprise.
“Look–! All this stuff that is happening–! One at a damn time!” Virgil shouted. He returned his attention to Hotstreak. “Where is Richie?!”
Hotstreak swallowed hard, noticeably struggling to compose himself. After a nervous dart of his eyes at Maureen, he said, “I–I don’t know. I think I might’ve…I think I might’ve killed him, man. I–it was an accident!”
Virgil gaped at him, hoping that what Hotstreak was saying was not what he had heard. He didn’t know what to say, his brain failing to come up with something to voice his reaction. Hotstreak took this with added alarm, waving more intensely as he spit, “We were ambushed! By these things–! I–I lost sight of him, I was fighting them off, and they were coming in on me, never stopping–! I just lost control, man, burning everything–! I didn’t know I was burning shit down until–! And it was too late, and I was burnt out, and I just couldn’t–! He might have been in that fire, and I couldn’t hear or see him–”
“H-he must’ve gotten out, he couldn’t’ve–there’s no way he would just sit there and get–! No, he must’ve gotten out, you just didn’t see him–he got out, it’s all right, Junior knows where he is–!”
“I–I don’t know, I don’t–! I just wasn’t thinking, I was just so focused on those things, and I couldn’t–!” Hotstreak buried his shaking hands into his hair, pulling on it with extreme distress. Virgil was once more assaulted with despair as this large man continued to break down, visibly agitated by what had happened. But he couldn’t think that his friend was gone–couldn’t rightly process that he’d never see Richie again. His mind was just too taken in by all the confusion and chaos that was happening around them.
Just above their unsettling words were Junior’s fierce screams, the assault of the mob growing louder in volume. Both of them turned around, Hotstreak taking in the scene with a sort of lost expression. He started forward then stopped short, looking at his hands. He shot Virgil a confused look. Virgil joined him, staring at the mobbing. It was obvious that Junior was losing– the zombie mob was just too great, the man too consumed with his rage that he was blind to this. It seemed that he wasn’t using his powers–using his bare hands and teeth to devastate what he could reach. The mob seemed to be growing, with more zombie women emerging from the shadows to join the others in their bloodthirsty lust.
“We gotta help him!” Virgil stammered, taking a tentative step forward. Pain shot up his limb instantly, rendering him into a hissing mess as he grabbed his leg below his knee with fingers that just couldn’t seem to curl hard enough to take the pain away.
Hotstreak then noticed his injury, stepping back to observe his bandaged foot with more confusion. “What happened to you–?”
“We got to help him, before they take him down!” Virgil growled between gritted teeth, shooting another alarmed look at the scene. “He ain’t seein’ that he’s losing!”
“They’re just zombies–!”
“You don’t get it! You don’t know what I know! He ain’t seein’ things right! Just go in, and I’m going to try to–! Argh!” Virgil then shouted with panic, realizing that his powers weren’t completely there; he hadn’t enough rest.
Hotstreak registered this, giving a sound of distress. “What do we do, man?! What do we do? I’m all out–!”
“Maureen!” Virgil turned to her, seeing that she was now giving them looks of distrust. Ignoring that, he gestured at the mob. “You’re the only one with powers, now! You need to get him out of there!”
Maureen shot Hotstreak another distrustful expression, pointing at him accusingly. “He’s a bad man! His friend is a bad man!”
“I don’t even know who the hell you are!” Hotstreak bellowed at her. She gave an ear-piercing scream of alarm, throwing her hands up defensively. “Whatever it was Harley did to you, I wasn’t a part of it!”
“That don’t matter right now!” Virgil screamed above Maureen’s shrieks. He whirled to see that he couldn’t see Junior anymore–things were happening too fast. Abandoning the other two, Virgil hobbled over to the mob, picking up a steel pipe. He began swinging the pipe viciously at the closest zombies–but it was as if they weren’t affected by his actions. The pipe bounced off their bodies with a vicious clang, the shock of impact racing up his arms. Virgil grunted with each swing as Hotstreak joined him, snatching whatever was closest to jerk the women back.
Still, even with their efforts to try to make their way to Junior, the mob seemed to grow stronger, larger in size. It seemed as if the shadows were pouring with zombie women, all of whom were more intent into getting to the man in the middle of them all to register that they were being attacked from behind.
There was a sudden shift in the air–a sudden change that grew heavy and violent. While Virgil and Hotstreak struggled to make their way through the throng of zombie women, the air seemed to grow heavy and dark. The zombies grew more frantic, more violent. They were suddenly stronger, suddenly invincible–the pair’s efforts were nothing as the zombies surged forward in a mighty action that grew desperate.
Virgil tripped, but he was carried forward as more zombies poured into the fray from the shadows, joining the others. It was as if all of them were trying to get to the very center, ignoring all other instances between them and Junior. Desperation and fear surged through Virgil at that moment, his very being tingling with awareness in that something was not going to go right. That everything was wrong.
He couldn’t get back onto his feet as he was trampled, pushed deeper into the fray as more and more zombies pulled into the mob. He lost sight and sound of Hotstreak–he couldn’t even move to curl into a ball as weight shifted him back and forth, and their very stench and population robbed him of his breath. He couldn’t move–couldn’t hear. He could see nothing but dirty slush and torn limbs. Everything was a mixture of sounds, and colors blurred into darkness–he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Helpless, he began to scream.
* - * - * - * - *
The man in black studied his handwritten notes as Harley washed his hands in the sink next to him. The small room amplified the sounds of Harley’s actions as he washed his hands with the bottle of water and container of soap, looking tiredly content. The man in black made a couple of scribbles in the margin of his notepad before looking up with satisfaction. He looked at his watch–a useless action, for time didn’t matter in this world.
They both looked up when the door to the room opened, one of the soldiers coming in with a shaken expression. “It’s going all according to plan,” he stammered. The man in black was cheered by his distress as he set his notepad aside. “It’s–it’s a mad house out there. Both Hawkins and Stone can’t do a thing. There’s no sight of Alva. I thought those zombies were supposed to keep Alva alive…it looked as if they were trying to kill him–”
“No confirmation on the body?” the man in black asked with concern.
“When I left–when I left, there was absolutely no sight of Alva. It didn’t even seem as if he even used his powers. There was no chance–! I’d have to send word for an intervention if those things don’t back off–!”
“Excellent!” the man in black said cheerfully.
“The others didn’t even use their powers–I think they couldn’t,” the man reported, shakily scratching his forehead. “Stone was wiped out–must’ve been the cause of the fire on West Twenty-Seventh. Took down a good few blocks.”
“The Dark Men did their part well. Ah, must hand it to Stone to work impulsively…just as both of you said.” The man in black consulted his notes as Harley looked away, drying his hands with slow actions. “Between the time of the Dark Men’s attack and now, Stone hasn’t had the time to rest and refuel his powers. It’ll be easy work to…pick them up without hassle. What about Maureen? How is our mentally unwell beauty?”
“Johnson reported that she recognized Stone. Something about…bad men? She seemed to recognize him and associate him with something that–that we’re not aware of.”
The man in black glanced at Harley, who stared off with intense thought at the ceiling. “You know something about our Maureen? I can only guess that you’ve spread your naughty influence to a time where she remembers it.”
“I don’t remember playing with that one,” Harley muttered. “And Fr–Stone never bothered with girls. Whenever he played, it was random. And he never gave anybody a chance to even live to–”
“We’ll assume that she’s familiar with the pair of you. In any case, I doubt she’d cooperate nicely with them while Stone’s with them. Which means we can eliminate any doubt that she’ll help them–Maureen’s not exactly understanding and cooperative when it comes to a threat. Thank the good Lord for mental disorders and comprehension with human relations…she’ll view Stone as a threat, and associate the others as friends of his, therefore, threats to her. I’ll have to think of something in order to get to her safely…”
Harley looked troubled for a moment, and then looked at him curiously. “What happens if these four are completely eliminated?”
“If the Thirteen are missing key players in their plan, there’s nothing more anything can be done. They are the most important part of salvation. The Hanging Man is responsible for his ability to connect to others in order to draw them out of the woodworks–the Star is responsible for driving the Hero and accomplishing confidence in others. The Magician is responsible for the Inventor–who is supposed to encourage confidence and persistence in the Coward, who has a part in influencing the Queen, etcetera, etcetera–when one action is missing and a player is eliminated, there is nothing the other positions can do. The others will be picked off easily once they are found.”
Harley absorbed this information, feeling a dark feeling of heaviness in his chest. There was something he was missing–something he wasn’t fully grasping. The more the man in black spoke of salvation’s demise in key players, the more his chest seemed to grow heavy with something he was lacking. He looked at his hands–there were bloodstains underneath his fingernails. His left ring finger knuckle was dirtied with blood he’d somehow missed.
The man in black stared at him, and then looked back at the waiting soldier in the doorway. “Go back and…continue your surveillance of the situation. What about the backup plan in case Hawkins somehow manages to come through?”
“It’s all in place,” the soldier reassured him. “They were in place before…before Alva encountered the mob.”
“Excellent.” Visibly cheered and relieved, the man in black looked at his notepad before picking it up. “We still need information on Hawkins. Or do you need more rest?”
At the man in black’s sneer, Harley bristled. He did feel tired–a little disturbed with his involvement with the man in black’s plans. He thought of Hotstreak and tried to imagine what his ex was thinking while caught up in what seemed like a chaotic and dangerous situation. He still had feelings for the man–his reluctance in continuing with his ‘assistance’ with the senior Alva’s fraction was sensed by the man in black, who was silently convinced in that Harley wasn’t giving him all the information he knew on the firestarter. Unfortunately it meant more hassle for the teen they were holding, for it meant more ‘play’ for Harley.
“No,” he answered quietly. “I’m fine.”
“Well…hop to it. Imagine it, Harley–imagine your ex having your way with that gangly mess, desiring him while feeling disgusted for your own experimentations. Such hypocritical actions from the man you once loved–don’t you feel insulted that you were tossed aside so carelessly by someone you’d once trusted and valued for these years? For someone such as him?”
Harley felt his shoulders and back stiffen at the words. The man in black knew well how to push his buttons, and his response was immediate. While he didn’t want to think of Hotstreak and the teen, he couldn’t help but feel that hurt in that Hotstreak would turn his back on him while denouncing his actions. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath–then curled his fingers inward, trying to imagine the new ways he could torture the teen, delighting in the fact that with the man in black, death wasn’t going to be a setback.
* - * - * - * - *
Water came from all angles–slamming into the murderous mob with a crashing sound. Angry shrieks from the zombies were drowned by the massive wave, and Virgil and Hotstreak were caught up in the strength of its power. Amid broken and torn limbs, the two were carried down the street, Maria rising from the snow to send another wave into the quickly recovering zombies. This time, Virgil managed to roll out of its path, Hotstreak using a vehicle for his crutch as he rose from the street. Both were freezing as the watery being used her manipulation to pick the zombies up from the street and send them smashing into the buildings around them. As they hit the walls, ice formed against their bodies, pinning them with seemingly invincible strength.
Virgil scanned the group for Junior, spying the former counselor with his hands wrapped around one zombie’s neck, struggling to rip the undead’s jaw from her moving mouth. Hotstreak spied him at the same time and stumbled over with an expression of disbelief. Even as he pulled Junior from the pavement, the man obviously in need of medical treatment, Junior struggled to continue his need to destroy with dragging the undead woman with him.
Virgil hurried over as best as he could, shivering violently from the cold, dragging his injured foot. He grabbed the zombie woman’s head, yanking her back from Junior’s clutches as the man colored the air with his foul words. Hotstreak pulled him into a half-Nelson, struggling to subdue the former counselor as Virgil shouted for his attention. Maria disappeared back into the snow as Maureen watched, enraptured by the being’s appearance.
Virgil ensnared his fingers into Junior’s hair, yanking the man’s head to and from in order to catch his attention. When a proper response wasn’t given, he slapped the man’s face as hard as he could, the smack of sound resounding throughout the street. Both man and teen grimaced and howled with pain, Hotstreak emitting a strangled laugh at the reaction.
Junior struggled to shove himself away from the redhead, who held onto him tightly as Virgil cradled his hand against his chest with a pained expression. “Jesus Christ, leggo of me! They’re all over! They’re all over the place and I need to–you need to burn them all!” Junior shouted in a crazed manner, his voice incredibly hoarse and his face reddened with his madness. “Burn them all, wretched whores of Satan, dirty filthy bitches–!”
“SHUT UP!” Virgil shrieked, jerking into an upright position as Hotstreak’s face crossed with disbelieving manner. “My god, Junior–! You’re fucking crazy, man! You need to calm the fuck down!”
The whites of Junior’s eyes were now a blackened red, blood vessels damaged by scratches and the like, giving him a wild appearance. There were deep gorges in his face, his nose bloodied and swollen, his skin color barely visible with all the blood on him. The zombies’ congealed blood on him was immensely rank–Hotstreak began gagging upon the strong stench, Virgil catching wind of it. Junior was immediately let go, his eyes darting wildly around them.
Virgil grabbed him by the front of his torn shirt, and sent as much voltage as he could into him–the shock was enough to draw the man’s attention, but it was terribly distressing in that he was so low on internal fuel that he couldn’t power anything other than that. After the effort, he felt drained–he still needed that rest. Still, the effect was needed as Junior focused on him, visibly struggling to calm himself.
Once he realized where he was, he gaped silently, a stunned expression on his face. Injuries became noticeable then–he winced, reaching up to gingerly touch his face as Virgil stared at him in wordless shock. Hotstreak stood nearby, trying to brush off what had congealed on him, visibly disgusted by the entire situation. Maureen peered at them from the shadows, the zombie women trying to pull themselves from their frozen states to continue their attack.
“What happened?” Junior asked, confusion flitting over his face. “Jesus Christ, my entire body feels like it’s been–”
“You went NUTS!” Virgil exclaimed, hands thrown in the air for emphasis. “You went fucking NUTS, Junior! Do you even remember what you went nuts about?!”
Junior stared at him blankly, looking around himself. He then performed a double take upon seeing Hotstreak standing nearby, looking at him with uncertainty. Junior reached for him, visibly reacting when pain shot through him upon that movement. “Where’s Foley?” he demanded, completely overlooking Virgil’s question.
Instantly, Hotstreak began to sweat, once more taking over that distressed state that he had with Virgil earlier. And once more, Virgil felt cold horror descend over him as he once more recalled what it was that had distressed him earlier. Now that Junior was apparently safe, focusing on that was absolutely terrifying–he watched Hotstreak closely as the redhead sputtered with a horrified stammer.
Hotstreak suddenly went stiff as his mouth clamped shut. The wordless cries of zombies began filling the air as they continued to protest their restraints from their various positions throughout the street. Junior whirled to look at them, noticeably starting as if it were the very first time he seen them. Before he could say a word, Virgil grabbed Hotstreak’s arm, yanking it with determined manner.
“You tell us where Richie went!” he snapped. “Tell us everything, in minute detail, what happened!”
Junior refocused on Hotstreak, reaching up to touch his eye. He winced once more, thunderstruck by his state. “Where is Foley? You were s’pposed to be watchin’ out for each other–Goddamn, it hurts!”
Hotstreak shook his head slightly, stepping back. He struggled to keep himself together. Junior looked at him with confusion, looking at Virgil to see that the teen was staring at the redhead in accusing manner. Junior felt that horrible feeling of foreboding in his chest as he realized that he was missing something–he whirled to face Hotstreak, grabbing his arm in the same manner Virgil had earlier and giving it a good shake.
“Where is Foley, Goddamn it?!” Junior snapped, stepping into Hotstreak’s sight as the redhead moved to turn away from them. Then, as he had with Virgil earlier, the redhead began to stammer that same line of rambling, making it hard for Junior to catch what it was he was saying. Once he realized he was hearing the same lines again, Virgil reacted fiercely, shaking his dreads then reaching out to grab onto Junior’s arm.
“He’s lying!” Virgil shouted. “Lying! Richie got out–he must be workin’ for somebody, because why would–!”
“Are you sure he was still there in the building?” Junior repeated over Virgil’s words, staring at Hotstreak intensely. He caught sight of Maureen venturing close, growing brave with the fact that he was operating in a fashion she had grown familiar with. “Maybe he weren’t–maybe those things snatched off with him, huh? Ain’t like they was tryin’ to kill him, probably.”
“I don’t know!” Hotstreak sputtered, shaking his head. “I don’t know! I just lost sight of him when they started attacking! It was like this–just a whole fucking mob of them, all of them coming out from the walls, jumpin’ us both and then–then I got to fighting and suddenly the whole fuckin’ building’s coming down–! I don’t know! I just couldn’t find him!”
Junior looked at Virgil with a determined air. “We’re just going ta assume that Foley ain’t dead. Ain’t no confirmation, and Foley’s slick like that. You just ain’t gonna give up on him, based on what some damn hairstylist’s goin’ on about, are ya? I mean, look at him! Shakin’ like a girl, and cryin’ like one, too!”
Hotstreak sputtered, indignant that he was being insulted while under incredible distress over Richie’s fate. He looked from one to the other, hot anger coursing through him as Virgil cast him a doubtful glance.
Junior returned a look at Hotstreak. “It’s been three years since this shit started out, Pomeranian. These kids been though tough shit even before then–I ain’t accepting that one of them was caught in some fire, even if it looked bad. While it was a bad situation, an’ I admittedly panicked myself, I just don’t think that Foley died like that. It just don’t feel right.”
Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments, and then looked lost. He looked at Virgil helplessly, shoving his fists into his pockets because they were still shaking. Junior seemed so confident that Hotstreak began to doubt himself in his certainty that Richie was lost. But he looked back at Junior skeptically. “But you don’t know the situation!”
Virgil suddenly stiffened, brow wrinkling. “These zombies–they just mobbed ya, Junior? They just jumped on ya when you stepped out from the hospital?”
“…What zombies?” Junior asked, mystified as he looked around himself. Both Hotstreak and Virgil gaped at him, then at each other. It was truly disbelieving that Junior would have no idea what had happened just minutes earlier. “What happened?”
Virgil heaved a giant sigh, grabbing his sleeve just to keep his attention. “These zombies–Hotstreak, did those things attack the both of you in the same manner?”
Hotstreak blinked, thinking about the Dark Men pulling out from the walls. He thought of how quick it had been, having them swamp the pair of them in seconds. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It was really fast–they just swept on us like…like nothing!”
Virgil looked at Junior, tugging on his arm when the man looked at the zombies that were still hanging from their frozen restraints. When the man gave him an irritated look, trying to yank his hand back, Virgil said quickly, “Maybe it was something of a distraction! Maybe they weren’t tryin’ to kill you–maybe they was just tryin’ to distract us!”
“From what?” Hotstreak snapped. “What would they want him for, anyway? Nothin’ valuable–I don’t think he even had his stupid toy–no, cuz we got into a fight and–”
“Over what?” Virgil asked, growing more and more confident that things were going to be okay. He grew cocky the more he began to feel better, facing Hotstreak with his hands on his hips. “Who was gonna be pitcher and who was going to be catcher?”
Hotstreak repeated the phrase stupidly, blinking. Then his eyes widened, reaching out to grab Virgil by his throat, choking him as Virgil struggled. “You stupid little shit–!”
“Both of ya’ll, knock that shit off!” Junior howled as he stepped between them, arms out. He winced and rubbed at one shoulder as pain shot through his body. “We’ve got more important things to think ‘bout, rather than fightin’. Think, dipshit–what was they doin’ when you last saw him?”
Hotstreak finally managed to look away from Virgil, scowling at Junior for a few moments before thinking. He recalled seeing the Dark Men pulling at Richie, dragging him by one sleeve on the floor. He recalled the first Dark Man swinging at him with its fists, but nothing made in killing manner. Even as he recalled this, he felt a sensation of comfort within him. “They…they were pulling him away.”
Junior looked at Virgil, wincing as he discovered more injuries on his body. After he finished gawking at a welling bruise on his side, he looked up with a determined expression. “Let’s assume they just took ‘im, somewhere. Somewhere away from the fire–if’n they wanted Foley dead, they would’ve done it right then and there. Ain’t no way the Pomeranian would forget that.”
“…What’s with the Pomeranian bullshit?” Hotstreak questioned indignantly as Virgil nodded vigorously.
“Who would go through with all that?” he asked aloud. “Who would go through the trouble of pulling Rich away from us? An’ why? I bet it was those fuckin’ survivors, man! Rich was always messin’ with them! He was always stealing from them, an’ then making fun of them! I’ve seen him do it, too, he weren’t no damn angel.”
Junior nodded, as if a decision had been made and he’d approved of it. He whirled then, listening to the wordless shrieks of zombies. It made the hairs on the back of his neck–as scratched as it was–rise straight up. Familiarity touched him, as if something was trying to make him remember what it was he was doing–but a glance at Virgil’s worried face was all he needed to operate.
“MARIA!” he bellowed, voice echoing throughout the area. “MARIA!”
Before he could say anything more, movement from the corner of his eye made him whirl. Seeing the black shadow dart straight toward him made all of them react. Flashes of an inhuman appearance had all three of them reacting in defensive action. Junior flung himself to the street, just barely avoiding the spear’s jab–the Seventh attacked viciously as the other two recovered, realizing that the creature they were facing was something they hadn’t faced before.
“Oh my Jesus!” Virgil shrieked once he caught sight of the demon’s visage, the alarming complexities of its appearance. It moved so fluidly, so neatly that he felt overwhelmed.
Hotstreak gaped at the strange demon, catching sight of the shadows moving around them as the other Bad Men began to appear. The Seventh shifted suddenly, and he returned his attention to the creature, realizing that the Seventh was going for him. With a startled gasp, he whirled away from his position, clumsily crawling to his feet as the Seventh darted in the direction he was headed for. Sheer luck had him avoiding the spear’s jab once more, Junior calling out words that he couldn’t quite catch as he moved in panic.
The Seventh’s horrifying appearance was enough for Hotstreak to lose his concentration, forgetting that his powers were burnt out. His hands lifted, his entire being wanting to let loose with a fireball–but he felt stumped when he realized that nothing was happening, his hands releasing nothing as the Seventh snapped its leatherless wings with a sharp crack of sound.
Virgil quickly assessed the situation–he bent, wadding up a snowball while Junior armed himself with an aluminum bat one of the zombies had carried. While Hotstreak had the Seventh’s full attention, Virgil hurled the snowball at the demon. The wad of dirty snow flew past the Seventh’s face by inches, the demon whirling and then heading straight for him. Virgil couldn’t even move as he gaped at the demon in horror, watching the spear lift. As the Seventh let loose with a frightening shriek that curdled Virgil’s blood, it leapt at him. Virgil could see extreme detail of the spearhead, all thoughts coming to a complete standstill–
The spearhead connected with the bat as Junior swung, knocking the demon back with the unexpected force. The demon recovered quickly, swinging and jabbing at the man as he valiantly fought to keep Virgil safe. Once he realized that he was battling a losing fight, Junior absorbed the bat, struggling to shift his skin into the material of the weapon. The Seventh’s weapon bounced off his aluminum skin with a metallic twang, the force sending Junior back several steps.
The demon screeched in fury, whirling with movement to slash in Virgil’s direction. Before the spear could connect with the teen, Junior caught the weapon within both hands, using all his weight and force to jerk the creature into facing him. He began absorbing that metal, straining with the effort as he completely absorbed what was left of the aluminum, using that effort to energize himself as the demon pivoted for a better position in regaining his weapon.
Once the Seventh realized what Junior was doing, it abandoned the weapon, choosing instead to pull out two thin knives from its back sheaths. Virgil hurriedly pulled himself back from the creature, realizing that Hotstreak was running away. This greatly horrified him, watching the redhead disappear into the night as the Seventh began attacking Junior with violent swipes of its knives. Virgil looked back to see that Junior had taken on the metal appearance of its spear, safely deflecting the swipes of knife from his person as the Seventh attacked him. Virgil looked back to see that Hotstreak had, indeed, abandoned them–and while his mind screamed “Coward!”, he had to agree with the man’s actions.
Without their powers, he felt wholly powerless and useless–unable to do a thing, forced to hide behind someone’s back when he hadn’t had to do that.
Virgil hated having to rely on someone else, and instantly wanted to apologize to Richie for his cocky behavior. He looked back to see Junior catching a knife, holding onto it with both hands as the Seventh screeched in violent manner. Virgil hobbled away from the scene, aiming for someplace safe to hide when he realized another black shape was heading directly for him.
He shouted in alarm once he realized that it was another demon–this one a Kabuki-mask wearing creature that welded twin scythes. He dove for cover under a truck, one of the scythes embedding into the hood, the demon hissing in failed action. Virgil rolled underneath the truck, grateful for the lift in the structure as the demon swiped at him with unnatural flexibility with the other scythe. With another alarmed cry, he moved onto his stomach to watch the creature pull away from the truck, metal screeching loudly as it pulled its weapon from the ruined hood. Beyond the creature’s legs, he could see Junior still battling the other creature, looking around himself with alarm once he realized he was the only one still out in the street.
Virgil saw movement beyond them, and realized that shadows were working on releasing the captured zombies from the walls–the other demons were using their weapons to hack at the ice that held them in place. With a horrified gasp, he looked over at Junior, who saw this with alarm. Virgil wondered what else could possibly go wrong as he hoped that the man wouldn’t resume his crazed state upon seeing the zombie women.
He had to avoid the swipes of the scythes that the Kabuki-mask wearing demon used to slash at him, crouched low in order to reach him. But while it was flexible and quick, it was still too big to crouch low enough to reach Virgil underneath the truck. With fast maneuvering, Virgil avoided the swipes but he knew he couldn’t stay in this position long. He howled for Junior to help him, panic coating his tone.
He hadn’t meant to sound so helpless and afraid, but he couldn’t help it–the situation had once again turned for the worse.
* - * - * - * - *
Maureen watched the horror unfold before her–she had seen Hotstreak run away, saw the other demons releasing the frozen zombies from the walls. There was a certain dread in the air that had her chest tight and her mind whirling. She could see the desperation and panic in both Junior’s and Virgil’s faces, and Virgil’s cracking voice was filled with fear that she couldn’t picture on the teen. She was terrified, unsure of why she was here with the others when she could be safe somewhere else; she was terrified of Hotstreak, remembering that he had clung closely to a man that had tried to lure her into his trap; she was terrified of the demons and the zombies that had caused a man severe mental distress.
She wasn’t sure what to do. She cowered next to a car, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible. She could hear the feminine shriek of the zombies as they were released, and could hear the sharp cracks of the demons’ weapons as they hacked away at the ice. She understood that the situation was a grave one–but she couldn’t understand why it was there were monsters trying so hard to kill the two males.
The demons and zombies were nothing like Ghouls–and the demons had a purpose. But why the three males? What did the watery being have to do with them?
Maureen trembled as she hugged herself. She continued to watch the Seventh attack Junior viciously, the man stumbling as he struggled to keep up with the demon. Virgil was still using the truck he’d rolled under as cover against the Sixth–and the whispers in the back of her mind were starting again, an argument that assured her that things were starting to grow messy as the zombies began to lurch toward the battle occurring in the street.
She whimpered, covering her ears as she tried to shut out the whispers in her mind. She didn’t know where they were coming from and why they were bothering her now–but she couldn’t focus on them. They were distracting background noise that pulled at her for her full attention, attention of which she couldn’t give.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own but worship. ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I RECOMMEND if you’re into that sort of music, and both of which I do not OWN in any way.
A/N: Eh, I apologize for this chapter. I just couldn’t seem to put more...effort...? into it, or something. It feels stunted and forced. Le Grr...I hate when that happens...
Gray Pheonix: Yup! Just more confusion for the, er, masses. I hope to explain more soon, but–with the way things are going, they’ll just get even more confusing in the end and NOTHING will be explained–EVER. Heh. Glad you are still around to continue reading this wreck of a fic...
Chapter Fourteen:
Walk On Vanity Ruins
There was a short wall that surrounded the hospital–beyond this wall was a parking area that led directly to the hospital’s parking garage. Around them were various administration structures that led out onto the main street–the maze of the area was confusing within the darkness. Virgil wasn’t sure where they were exactly, having been too focused on the pain in his foot to have noticed his surroundings. It was a place that was beyond his familiarity, even in the ‘normal’ days of lost.
They took cover behind this short wall, choosing a position in that they could peer around an opening to take in the chaos that was happening just beyond it. The stench of these zombies was a faint discomfort. Virgil and Maureen peered out into the chaotic scene, both their eyes widening at the sight. Feminine shrieks of rage grew ear-piercing the closer they ventured, and the appearances of the zombies were frightening. In the middle of it all, Junior was unleashing his hatred into the growing mob of women–he was trying to slay them all, but it was apparent that he was blind with his rage, lashing out at any that came close. The women were bent on their murderous intents–using all that they could to hurt him. Their fingers were curled, slashing at his skin, their teeth bared. Some were using various weapons to attack, but with their uncoordinated actions they ended up hitting each other.
Virgil gaped, limping to stand in sight as Maureen nervously chewed on the sleeve of her jacket.
“Oh, good Lord,” he murmured as Junior wrapped his hands around the neck of the closest zombie, either ignoring the savage attacks of the other women or just fueled with his rage in that their actions were unnoticed. The former counselor was snarling fiercely with his revulsion, his shouts drowned by the screams of the zombies that mobbed him. Every visible inch of his skin was either covered in congealed blood or his own. His clothes were slashed and shredded by the attacks, his vest hanging only by the left armhole, his flannel shirt torn in various areas. One of his eyes was a disturbing red, scratches lined down both eyelid and cheek. His teeth were colored by his own blood, his lip swollen and split. One of his ears was bleeding heavily, his light colored hair dark with gore.
Virgil wasn’t sure how to approach him, or even if the man would even acknowledge him. It was as if Junior were trapped in his own world of murderous rage, too caught up in single-handedly eliminating all that was in his path to see the world around him. Virgil was frightened, really–he didn’t know what to do.
Maureen covered her face with her hands, as if trying to block out the sight of the zombies mobbing Junior. She whimpered and whined, Virgil catching a few words, registering that she was talking to someone else. But he was too focused on the sight of Junior and the mob to really process what Maureen was saying.
With a lost expression, Virgil looked around them to see that snow covered the streets and abandoned vehicles, leaving not a trace of pavement in sight. The world was dark and cold, and the smell of smoke and intense moisture strong. The pain in his foot was noticeable, but easy to ignore.
He felt the need to help Junior, but he wasn’t sure of the man’s reaction–he was just too intensely focused on fighting off the mob with his own hands that any outside help would draw his negative attention. Virgil limped back around the corner of the wall, hearing Junior shout and rage, the women screaming their own words of attack, ringing throughout the empty area.
Virgil shot Maureen a helpless look, lost at what to do.
Before he could even rationalize a thought, he heard the disbelieving sounds of a man approaching, talking to himself in a deranged way. Because it was familiar he looked up sharply, seeing Hotstreak hurrying over after seeing them crouched against the wall. The expression on his face was incredibly disturbing, and Virgil felt the ice-cold feeling of dread and fear hit his empty gut. It was a rendering sensation of helplessness that made Virgil ache for the reassuring presence of his father. Needing that feeling of comfort.
Hotstreak hurried over, looking so helpless and upset that Virgil shied away from him, stopped by the wall. He didn’t want to hear what the redhead had to say, because his expression was just too disturbed for Virgil to accept.
“I lost him,” Hotstreak rambled, paler than Virgil last saw him, lacking all his confidence and posture that Virgil had grown familiar with. His hands were shaking violently as he held them up, as if cradling something. “I lost him, man. It was an accident–! I didn’t know what was happening–then I just–!”
Maureen let out an ear-piercing shriek that made both males jump, looking at her with startled expressions. The girl was staring at Hotstreak with familiarity, her face registering shock and fear as she curled against the wall. “You! I remember you!”
Before Virgil could process that accusation, Hotstreak stopped his panic-stricken rambling to stare at her, stumped by her words and her presence. Maureen shied around him, taking trembling steps to safety and scanning the area beyond him for someone else. She pointed at him with accusing action, face displaying her fear. “You and him–! Bad! Both of you, bad men! Bad men–go away! GO AWAY!”
“Who the hell are you?!” Hotstreak stammered, unable to place her.
Virgil glanced at him. “Where’s Rich?”
Hotstreak looked at him, once again alarmed and panicked. His hands were shaking as he gestured fiercely, beginning a long ramble of fluster once more. Virgil caught a few words here and there, but Maureen was contributing to the confusing situation with her own rambles of accusation and panic. Finally, Virgil let out a scream that overwhelmed both their voices, echoing throughout the area with noticeable frustration. They stilled, looking at him with twin expressions of startled surprise.
“Look–! All this stuff that is happening–! One at a damn time!” Virgil shouted. He returned his attention to Hotstreak. “Where is Richie?!”
Hotstreak swallowed hard, noticeably struggling to compose himself. After a nervous dart of his eyes at Maureen, he said, “I–I don’t know. I think I might’ve…I think I might’ve killed him, man. I–it was an accident!”
Virgil gaped at him, hoping that what Hotstreak was saying was not what he had heard. He didn’t know what to say, his brain failing to come up with something to voice his reaction. Hotstreak took this with added alarm, waving more intensely as he spit, “We were ambushed! By these things–! I–I lost sight of him, I was fighting them off, and they were coming in on me, never stopping–! I just lost control, man, burning everything–! I didn’t know I was burning shit down until–! And it was too late, and I was burnt out, and I just couldn’t–! He might have been in that fire, and I couldn’t hear or see him–”
“H-he must’ve gotten out, he couldn’t’ve–there’s no way he would just sit there and get–! No, he must’ve gotten out, you just didn’t see him–he got out, it’s all right, Junior knows where he is–!”
“I–I don’t know, I don’t–! I just wasn’t thinking, I was just so focused on those things, and I couldn’t–!” Hotstreak buried his shaking hands into his hair, pulling on it with extreme distress. Virgil was once more assaulted with despair as this large man continued to break down, visibly agitated by what had happened. But he couldn’t think that his friend was gone–couldn’t rightly process that he’d never see Richie again. His mind was just too taken in by all the confusion and chaos that was happening around them.
Just above their unsettling words were Junior’s fierce screams, the assault of the mob growing louder in volume. Both of them turned around, Hotstreak taking in the scene with a sort of lost expression. He started forward then stopped short, looking at his hands. He shot Virgil a confused look. Virgil joined him, staring at the mobbing. It was obvious that Junior was losing– the zombie mob was just too great, the man too consumed with his rage that he was blind to this. It seemed that he wasn’t using his powers–using his bare hands and teeth to devastate what he could reach. The mob seemed to be growing, with more zombie women emerging from the shadows to join the others in their bloodthirsty lust.
“We gotta help him!” Virgil stammered, taking a tentative step forward. Pain shot up his limb instantly, rendering him into a hissing mess as he grabbed his leg below his knee with fingers that just couldn’t seem to curl hard enough to take the pain away.
Hotstreak then noticed his injury, stepping back to observe his bandaged foot with more confusion. “What happened to you–?”
“We got to help him, before they take him down!” Virgil growled between gritted teeth, shooting another alarmed look at the scene. “He ain’t seein’ that he’s losing!”
“They’re just zombies–!”
“You don’t get it! You don’t know what I know! He ain’t seein’ things right! Just go in, and I’m going to try to–! Argh!” Virgil then shouted with panic, realizing that his powers weren’t completely there; he hadn’t enough rest.
Hotstreak registered this, giving a sound of distress. “What do we do, man?! What do we do? I’m all out–!”
“Maureen!” Virgil turned to her, seeing that she was now giving them looks of distrust. Ignoring that, he gestured at the mob. “You’re the only one with powers, now! You need to get him out of there!”
Maureen shot Hotstreak another distrustful expression, pointing at him accusingly. “He’s a bad man! His friend is a bad man!”
“I don’t even know who the hell you are!” Hotstreak bellowed at her. She gave an ear-piercing scream of alarm, throwing her hands up defensively. “Whatever it was Harley did to you, I wasn’t a part of it!”
“That don’t matter right now!” Virgil screamed above Maureen’s shrieks. He whirled to see that he couldn’t see Junior anymore–things were happening too fast. Abandoning the other two, Virgil hobbled over to the mob, picking up a steel pipe. He began swinging the pipe viciously at the closest zombies–but it was as if they weren’t affected by his actions. The pipe bounced off their bodies with a vicious clang, the shock of impact racing up his arms. Virgil grunted with each swing as Hotstreak joined him, snatching whatever was closest to jerk the women back.
Still, even with their efforts to try to make their way to Junior, the mob seemed to grow stronger, larger in size. It seemed as if the shadows were pouring with zombie women, all of whom were more intent into getting to the man in the middle of them all to register that they were being attacked from behind.
There was a sudden shift in the air–a sudden change that grew heavy and violent. While Virgil and Hotstreak struggled to make their way through the throng of zombie women, the air seemed to grow heavy and dark. The zombies grew more frantic, more violent. They were suddenly stronger, suddenly invincible–the pair’s efforts were nothing as the zombies surged forward in a mighty action that grew desperate.
Virgil tripped, but he was carried forward as more zombies poured into the fray from the shadows, joining the others. It was as if all of them were trying to get to the very center, ignoring all other instances between them and Junior. Desperation and fear surged through Virgil at that moment, his very being tingling with awareness in that something was not going to go right. That everything was wrong.
He couldn’t get back onto his feet as he was trampled, pushed deeper into the fray as more and more zombies pulled into the mob. He lost sight and sound of Hotstreak–he couldn’t even move to curl into a ball as weight shifted him back and forth, and their very stench and population robbed him of his breath. He couldn’t move–couldn’t hear. He could see nothing but dirty slush and torn limbs. Everything was a mixture of sounds, and colors blurred into darkness–he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Helpless, he began to scream.
* - * - * - * - *
The man in black studied his handwritten notes as Harley washed his hands in the sink next to him. The small room amplified the sounds of Harley’s actions as he washed his hands with the bottle of water and container of soap, looking tiredly content. The man in black made a couple of scribbles in the margin of his notepad before looking up with satisfaction. He looked at his watch–a useless action, for time didn’t matter in this world.
They both looked up when the door to the room opened, one of the soldiers coming in with a shaken expression. “It’s going all according to plan,” he stammered. The man in black was cheered by his distress as he set his notepad aside. “It’s–it’s a mad house out there. Both Hawkins and Stone can’t do a thing. There’s no sight of Alva. I thought those zombies were supposed to keep Alva alive…it looked as if they were trying to kill him–”
“No confirmation on the body?” the man in black asked with concern.
“When I left–when I left, there was absolutely no sight of Alva. It didn’t even seem as if he even used his powers. There was no chance–! I’d have to send word for an intervention if those things don’t back off–!”
“Excellent!” the man in black said cheerfully.
“The others didn’t even use their powers–I think they couldn’t,” the man reported, shakily scratching his forehead. “Stone was wiped out–must’ve been the cause of the fire on West Twenty-Seventh. Took down a good few blocks.”
“The Dark Men did their part well. Ah, must hand it to Stone to work impulsively…just as both of you said.” The man in black consulted his notes as Harley looked away, drying his hands with slow actions. “Between the time of the Dark Men’s attack and now, Stone hasn’t had the time to rest and refuel his powers. It’ll be easy work to…pick them up without hassle. What about Maureen? How is our mentally unwell beauty?”
“Johnson reported that she recognized Stone. Something about…bad men? She seemed to recognize him and associate him with something that–that we’re not aware of.”
The man in black glanced at Harley, who stared off with intense thought at the ceiling. “You know something about our Maureen? I can only guess that you’ve spread your naughty influence to a time where she remembers it.”
“I don’t remember playing with that one,” Harley muttered. “And Fr–Stone never bothered with girls. Whenever he played, it was random. And he never gave anybody a chance to even live to–”
“We’ll assume that she’s familiar with the pair of you. In any case, I doubt she’d cooperate nicely with them while Stone’s with them. Which means we can eliminate any doubt that she’ll help them–Maureen’s not exactly understanding and cooperative when it comes to a threat. Thank the good Lord for mental disorders and comprehension with human relations…she’ll view Stone as a threat, and associate the others as friends of his, therefore, threats to her. I’ll have to think of something in order to get to her safely…”
Harley looked troubled for a moment, and then looked at him curiously. “What happens if these four are completely eliminated?”
“If the Thirteen are missing key players in their plan, there’s nothing more anything can be done. They are the most important part of salvation. The Hanging Man is responsible for his ability to connect to others in order to draw them out of the woodworks–the Star is responsible for driving the Hero and accomplishing confidence in others. The Magician is responsible for the Inventor–who is supposed to encourage confidence and persistence in the Coward, who has a part in influencing the Queen, etcetera, etcetera–when one action is missing and a player is eliminated, there is nothing the other positions can do. The others will be picked off easily once they are found.”
Harley absorbed this information, feeling a dark feeling of heaviness in his chest. There was something he was missing–something he wasn’t fully grasping. The more the man in black spoke of salvation’s demise in key players, the more his chest seemed to grow heavy with something he was lacking. He looked at his hands–there were bloodstains underneath his fingernails. His left ring finger knuckle was dirtied with blood he’d somehow missed.
The man in black stared at him, and then looked back at the waiting soldier in the doorway. “Go back and…continue your surveillance of the situation. What about the backup plan in case Hawkins somehow manages to come through?”
“It’s all in place,” the soldier reassured him. “They were in place before…before Alva encountered the mob.”
“Excellent.” Visibly cheered and relieved, the man in black looked at his notepad before picking it up. “We still need information on Hawkins. Or do you need more rest?”
At the man in black’s sneer, Harley bristled. He did feel tired–a little disturbed with his involvement with the man in black’s plans. He thought of Hotstreak and tried to imagine what his ex was thinking while caught up in what seemed like a chaotic and dangerous situation. He still had feelings for the man–his reluctance in continuing with his ‘assistance’ with the senior Alva’s fraction was sensed by the man in black, who was silently convinced in that Harley wasn’t giving him all the information he knew on the firestarter. Unfortunately it meant more hassle for the teen they were holding, for it meant more ‘play’ for Harley.
“No,” he answered quietly. “I’m fine.”
“Well…hop to it. Imagine it, Harley–imagine your ex having your way with that gangly mess, desiring him while feeling disgusted for your own experimentations. Such hypocritical actions from the man you once loved–don’t you feel insulted that you were tossed aside so carelessly by someone you’d once trusted and valued for these years? For someone such as him?”
Harley felt his shoulders and back stiffen at the words. The man in black knew well how to push his buttons, and his response was immediate. While he didn’t want to think of Hotstreak and the teen, he couldn’t help but feel that hurt in that Hotstreak would turn his back on him while denouncing his actions. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath–then curled his fingers inward, trying to imagine the new ways he could torture the teen, delighting in the fact that with the man in black, death wasn’t going to be a setback.
* - * - * - * - *
Water came from all angles–slamming into the murderous mob with a crashing sound. Angry shrieks from the zombies were drowned by the massive wave, and Virgil and Hotstreak were caught up in the strength of its power. Amid broken and torn limbs, the two were carried down the street, Maria rising from the snow to send another wave into the quickly recovering zombies. This time, Virgil managed to roll out of its path, Hotstreak using a vehicle for his crutch as he rose from the street. Both were freezing as the watery being used her manipulation to pick the zombies up from the street and send them smashing into the buildings around them. As they hit the walls, ice formed against their bodies, pinning them with seemingly invincible strength.
Virgil scanned the group for Junior, spying the former counselor with his hands wrapped around one zombie’s neck, struggling to rip the undead’s jaw from her moving mouth. Hotstreak spied him at the same time and stumbled over with an expression of disbelief. Even as he pulled Junior from the pavement, the man obviously in need of medical treatment, Junior struggled to continue his need to destroy with dragging the undead woman with him.
Virgil hurried over as best as he could, shivering violently from the cold, dragging his injured foot. He grabbed the zombie woman’s head, yanking her back from Junior’s clutches as the man colored the air with his foul words. Hotstreak pulled him into a half-Nelson, struggling to subdue the former counselor as Virgil shouted for his attention. Maria disappeared back into the snow as Maureen watched, enraptured by the being’s appearance.
Virgil ensnared his fingers into Junior’s hair, yanking the man’s head to and from in order to catch his attention. When a proper response wasn’t given, he slapped the man’s face as hard as he could, the smack of sound resounding throughout the street. Both man and teen grimaced and howled with pain, Hotstreak emitting a strangled laugh at the reaction.
Junior struggled to shove himself away from the redhead, who held onto him tightly as Virgil cradled his hand against his chest with a pained expression. “Jesus Christ, leggo of me! They’re all over! They’re all over the place and I need to–you need to burn them all!” Junior shouted in a crazed manner, his voice incredibly hoarse and his face reddened with his madness. “Burn them all, wretched whores of Satan, dirty filthy bitches–!”
“SHUT UP!” Virgil shrieked, jerking into an upright position as Hotstreak’s face crossed with disbelieving manner. “My god, Junior–! You’re fucking crazy, man! You need to calm the fuck down!”
The whites of Junior’s eyes were now a blackened red, blood vessels damaged by scratches and the like, giving him a wild appearance. There were deep gorges in his face, his nose bloodied and swollen, his skin color barely visible with all the blood on him. The zombies’ congealed blood on him was immensely rank–Hotstreak began gagging upon the strong stench, Virgil catching wind of it. Junior was immediately let go, his eyes darting wildly around them.
Virgil grabbed him by the front of his torn shirt, and sent as much voltage as he could into him–the shock was enough to draw the man’s attention, but it was terribly distressing in that he was so low on internal fuel that he couldn’t power anything other than that. After the effort, he felt drained–he still needed that rest. Still, the effect was needed as Junior focused on him, visibly struggling to calm himself.
Once he realized where he was, he gaped silently, a stunned expression on his face. Injuries became noticeable then–he winced, reaching up to gingerly touch his face as Virgil stared at him in wordless shock. Hotstreak stood nearby, trying to brush off what had congealed on him, visibly disgusted by the entire situation. Maureen peered at them from the shadows, the zombie women trying to pull themselves from their frozen states to continue their attack.
“What happened?” Junior asked, confusion flitting over his face. “Jesus Christ, my entire body feels like it’s been–”
“You went NUTS!” Virgil exclaimed, hands thrown in the air for emphasis. “You went fucking NUTS, Junior! Do you even remember what you went nuts about?!”
Junior stared at him blankly, looking around himself. He then performed a double take upon seeing Hotstreak standing nearby, looking at him with uncertainty. Junior reached for him, visibly reacting when pain shot through him upon that movement. “Where’s Foley?” he demanded, completely overlooking Virgil’s question.
Instantly, Hotstreak began to sweat, once more taking over that distressed state that he had with Virgil earlier. And once more, Virgil felt cold horror descend over him as he once more recalled what it was that had distressed him earlier. Now that Junior was apparently safe, focusing on that was absolutely terrifying–he watched Hotstreak closely as the redhead sputtered with a horrified stammer.
Hotstreak suddenly went stiff as his mouth clamped shut. The wordless cries of zombies began filling the air as they continued to protest their restraints from their various positions throughout the street. Junior whirled to look at them, noticeably starting as if it were the very first time he seen them. Before he could say a word, Virgil grabbed Hotstreak’s arm, yanking it with determined manner.
“You tell us where Richie went!” he snapped. “Tell us everything, in minute detail, what happened!”
Junior refocused on Hotstreak, reaching up to touch his eye. He winced once more, thunderstruck by his state. “Where is Foley? You were s’pposed to be watchin’ out for each other–Goddamn, it hurts!”
Hotstreak shook his head slightly, stepping back. He struggled to keep himself together. Junior looked at him with confusion, looking at Virgil to see that the teen was staring at the redhead in accusing manner. Junior felt that horrible feeling of foreboding in his chest as he realized that he was missing something–he whirled to face Hotstreak, grabbing his arm in the same manner Virgil had earlier and giving it a good shake.
“Where is Foley, Goddamn it?!” Junior snapped, stepping into Hotstreak’s sight as the redhead moved to turn away from them. Then, as he had with Virgil earlier, the redhead began to stammer that same line of rambling, making it hard for Junior to catch what it was he was saying. Once he realized he was hearing the same lines again, Virgil reacted fiercely, shaking his dreads then reaching out to grab onto Junior’s arm.
“He’s lying!” Virgil shouted. “Lying! Richie got out–he must be workin’ for somebody, because why would–!”
“Are you sure he was still there in the building?” Junior repeated over Virgil’s words, staring at Hotstreak intensely. He caught sight of Maureen venturing close, growing brave with the fact that he was operating in a fashion she had grown familiar with. “Maybe he weren’t–maybe those things snatched off with him, huh? Ain’t like they was tryin’ to kill him, probably.”
“I don’t know!” Hotstreak sputtered, shaking his head. “I don’t know! I just lost sight of him when they started attacking! It was like this–just a whole fucking mob of them, all of them coming out from the walls, jumpin’ us both and then–then I got to fighting and suddenly the whole fuckin’ building’s coming down–! I don’t know! I just couldn’t find him!”
Junior looked at Virgil with a determined air. “We’re just going ta assume that Foley ain’t dead. Ain’t no confirmation, and Foley’s slick like that. You just ain’t gonna give up on him, based on what some damn hairstylist’s goin’ on about, are ya? I mean, look at him! Shakin’ like a girl, and cryin’ like one, too!”
Hotstreak sputtered, indignant that he was being insulted while under incredible distress over Richie’s fate. He looked from one to the other, hot anger coursing through him as Virgil cast him a doubtful glance.
Junior returned a look at Hotstreak. “It’s been three years since this shit started out, Pomeranian. These kids been though tough shit even before then–I ain’t accepting that one of them was caught in some fire, even if it looked bad. While it was a bad situation, an’ I admittedly panicked myself, I just don’t think that Foley died like that. It just don’t feel right.”
Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments, and then looked lost. He looked at Virgil helplessly, shoving his fists into his pockets because they were still shaking. Junior seemed so confident that Hotstreak began to doubt himself in his certainty that Richie was lost. But he looked back at Junior skeptically. “But you don’t know the situation!”
Virgil suddenly stiffened, brow wrinkling. “These zombies–they just mobbed ya, Junior? They just jumped on ya when you stepped out from the hospital?”
“…What zombies?” Junior asked, mystified as he looked around himself. Both Hotstreak and Virgil gaped at him, then at each other. It was truly disbelieving that Junior would have no idea what had happened just minutes earlier. “What happened?”
Virgil heaved a giant sigh, grabbing his sleeve just to keep his attention. “These zombies–Hotstreak, did those things attack the both of you in the same manner?”
Hotstreak blinked, thinking about the Dark Men pulling out from the walls. He thought of how quick it had been, having them swamp the pair of them in seconds. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It was really fast–they just swept on us like…like nothing!”
Virgil looked at Junior, tugging on his arm when the man looked at the zombies that were still hanging from their frozen restraints. When the man gave him an irritated look, trying to yank his hand back, Virgil said quickly, “Maybe it was something of a distraction! Maybe they weren’t tryin’ to kill you–maybe they was just tryin’ to distract us!”
“From what?” Hotstreak snapped. “What would they want him for, anyway? Nothin’ valuable–I don’t think he even had his stupid toy–no, cuz we got into a fight and–”
“Over what?” Virgil asked, growing more and more confident that things were going to be okay. He grew cocky the more he began to feel better, facing Hotstreak with his hands on his hips. “Who was gonna be pitcher and who was going to be catcher?”
Hotstreak repeated the phrase stupidly, blinking. Then his eyes widened, reaching out to grab Virgil by his throat, choking him as Virgil struggled. “You stupid little shit–!”
“Both of ya’ll, knock that shit off!” Junior howled as he stepped between them, arms out. He winced and rubbed at one shoulder as pain shot through his body. “We’ve got more important things to think ‘bout, rather than fightin’. Think, dipshit–what was they doin’ when you last saw him?”
Hotstreak finally managed to look away from Virgil, scowling at Junior for a few moments before thinking. He recalled seeing the Dark Men pulling at Richie, dragging him by one sleeve on the floor. He recalled the first Dark Man swinging at him with its fists, but nothing made in killing manner. Even as he recalled this, he felt a sensation of comfort within him. “They…they were pulling him away.”
Junior looked at Virgil, wincing as he discovered more injuries on his body. After he finished gawking at a welling bruise on his side, he looked up with a determined expression. “Let’s assume they just took ‘im, somewhere. Somewhere away from the fire–if’n they wanted Foley dead, they would’ve done it right then and there. Ain’t no way the Pomeranian would forget that.”
“…What’s with the Pomeranian bullshit?” Hotstreak questioned indignantly as Virgil nodded vigorously.
“Who would go through with all that?” he asked aloud. “Who would go through the trouble of pulling Rich away from us? An’ why? I bet it was those fuckin’ survivors, man! Rich was always messin’ with them! He was always stealing from them, an’ then making fun of them! I’ve seen him do it, too, he weren’t no damn angel.”
Junior nodded, as if a decision had been made and he’d approved of it. He whirled then, listening to the wordless shrieks of zombies. It made the hairs on the back of his neck–as scratched as it was–rise straight up. Familiarity touched him, as if something was trying to make him remember what it was he was doing–but a glance at Virgil’s worried face was all he needed to operate.
“MARIA!” he bellowed, voice echoing throughout the area. “MARIA!”
Before he could say anything more, movement from the corner of his eye made him whirl. Seeing the black shadow dart straight toward him made all of them react. Flashes of an inhuman appearance had all three of them reacting in defensive action. Junior flung himself to the street, just barely avoiding the spear’s jab–the Seventh attacked viciously as the other two recovered, realizing that the creature they were facing was something they hadn’t faced before.
“Oh my Jesus!” Virgil shrieked once he caught sight of the demon’s visage, the alarming complexities of its appearance. It moved so fluidly, so neatly that he felt overwhelmed.
Hotstreak gaped at the strange demon, catching sight of the shadows moving around them as the other Bad Men began to appear. The Seventh shifted suddenly, and he returned his attention to the creature, realizing that the Seventh was going for him. With a startled gasp, he whirled away from his position, clumsily crawling to his feet as the Seventh darted in the direction he was headed for. Sheer luck had him avoiding the spear’s jab once more, Junior calling out words that he couldn’t quite catch as he moved in panic.
The Seventh’s horrifying appearance was enough for Hotstreak to lose his concentration, forgetting that his powers were burnt out. His hands lifted, his entire being wanting to let loose with a fireball–but he felt stumped when he realized that nothing was happening, his hands releasing nothing as the Seventh snapped its leatherless wings with a sharp crack of sound.
Virgil quickly assessed the situation–he bent, wadding up a snowball while Junior armed himself with an aluminum bat one of the zombies had carried. While Hotstreak had the Seventh’s full attention, Virgil hurled the snowball at the demon. The wad of dirty snow flew past the Seventh’s face by inches, the demon whirling and then heading straight for him. Virgil couldn’t even move as he gaped at the demon in horror, watching the spear lift. As the Seventh let loose with a frightening shriek that curdled Virgil’s blood, it leapt at him. Virgil could see extreme detail of the spearhead, all thoughts coming to a complete standstill–
The spearhead connected with the bat as Junior swung, knocking the demon back with the unexpected force. The demon recovered quickly, swinging and jabbing at the man as he valiantly fought to keep Virgil safe. Once he realized that he was battling a losing fight, Junior absorbed the bat, struggling to shift his skin into the material of the weapon. The Seventh’s weapon bounced off his aluminum skin with a metallic twang, the force sending Junior back several steps.
The demon screeched in fury, whirling with movement to slash in Virgil’s direction. Before the spear could connect with the teen, Junior caught the weapon within both hands, using all his weight and force to jerk the creature into facing him. He began absorbing that metal, straining with the effort as he completely absorbed what was left of the aluminum, using that effort to energize himself as the demon pivoted for a better position in regaining his weapon.
Once the Seventh realized what Junior was doing, it abandoned the weapon, choosing instead to pull out two thin knives from its back sheaths. Virgil hurriedly pulled himself back from the creature, realizing that Hotstreak was running away. This greatly horrified him, watching the redhead disappear into the night as the Seventh began attacking Junior with violent swipes of its knives. Virgil looked back to see that Junior had taken on the metal appearance of its spear, safely deflecting the swipes of knife from his person as the Seventh attacked him. Virgil looked back to see that Hotstreak had, indeed, abandoned them–and while his mind screamed “Coward!”, he had to agree with the man’s actions.
Without their powers, he felt wholly powerless and useless–unable to do a thing, forced to hide behind someone’s back when he hadn’t had to do that.
Virgil hated having to rely on someone else, and instantly wanted to apologize to Richie for his cocky behavior. He looked back to see Junior catching a knife, holding onto it with both hands as the Seventh screeched in violent manner. Virgil hobbled away from the scene, aiming for someplace safe to hide when he realized another black shape was heading directly for him.
He shouted in alarm once he realized that it was another demon–this one a Kabuki-mask wearing creature that welded twin scythes. He dove for cover under a truck, one of the scythes embedding into the hood, the demon hissing in failed action. Virgil rolled underneath the truck, grateful for the lift in the structure as the demon swiped at him with unnatural flexibility with the other scythe. With another alarmed cry, he moved onto his stomach to watch the creature pull away from the truck, metal screeching loudly as it pulled its weapon from the ruined hood. Beyond the creature’s legs, he could see Junior still battling the other creature, looking around himself with alarm once he realized he was the only one still out in the street.
Virgil saw movement beyond them, and realized that shadows were working on releasing the captured zombies from the walls–the other demons were using their weapons to hack at the ice that held them in place. With a horrified gasp, he looked over at Junior, who saw this with alarm. Virgil wondered what else could possibly go wrong as he hoped that the man wouldn’t resume his crazed state upon seeing the zombie women.
He had to avoid the swipes of the scythes that the Kabuki-mask wearing demon used to slash at him, crouched low in order to reach him. But while it was flexible and quick, it was still too big to crouch low enough to reach Virgil underneath the truck. With fast maneuvering, Virgil avoided the swipes but he knew he couldn’t stay in this position long. He howled for Junior to help him, panic coating his tone.
He hadn’t meant to sound so helpless and afraid, but he couldn’t help it–the situation had once again turned for the worse.
* - * - * - * - *
Maureen watched the horror unfold before her–she had seen Hotstreak run away, saw the other demons releasing the frozen zombies from the walls. There was a certain dread in the air that had her chest tight and her mind whirling. She could see the desperation and panic in both Junior’s and Virgil’s faces, and Virgil’s cracking voice was filled with fear that she couldn’t picture on the teen. She was terrified, unsure of why she was here with the others when she could be safe somewhere else; she was terrified of Hotstreak, remembering that he had clung closely to a man that had tried to lure her into his trap; she was terrified of the demons and the zombies that had caused a man severe mental distress.
She wasn’t sure what to do. She cowered next to a car, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible. She could hear the feminine shriek of the zombies as they were released, and could hear the sharp cracks of the demons’ weapons as they hacked away at the ice. She understood that the situation was a grave one–but she couldn’t understand why it was there were monsters trying so hard to kill the two males.
The demons and zombies were nothing like Ghouls–and the demons had a purpose. But why the three males? What did the watery being have to do with them?
Maureen trembled as she hugged herself. She continued to watch the Seventh attack Junior viciously, the man stumbling as he struggled to keep up with the demon. Virgil was still using the truck he’d rolled under as cover against the Sixth–and the whispers in the back of her mind were starting again, an argument that assured her that things were starting to grow messy as the zombies began to lurch toward the battle occurring in the street.
She whimpered, covering her ears as she tried to shut out the whispers in her mind. She didn’t know where they were coming from and why they were bothering her now–but she couldn’t focus on them. They were distracting background noise that pulled at her for her full attention, attention of which she couldn’t give.