Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 4 ( Chapter 4 )

4

From Hell's heart, I stab at thee...

The cabin had become a prison. Aside from one other midnight foray to a convenience store, I had not set foot outside. This was day five after the tower, and Nagi was still unconscious. We had managed to get him to swallow the sports drink, though it took both of us to do so and it was damned difficult to pour just enough into his mouth so he wouldn't choke or drool it back out. His body temperature felt too cold, had felt too cold ever since the damn beach.

Farf had begun to come around, enough to be aware of his seizures, and the restraints. No coherent thoughts yet, only anger, a pulsing, crimson rage, flowing through his veins, pouring from his mind, his fury washed over me, burned me, violated me, left nothing behind but --

"Schu. Snap out of it." Crawford's voice cut through the fog.

I looked up. Crawford was dressed in faded denim and a dark green linen shirt. Once again he wore his familiar no-nonsense expression, and it made me feel strangely safe to see it.

"We're leaving tonight. Just after sunset. Get yourself ready."

I sighed, rubbing at my temples. Keeping Farf out of my head was becoming a real challenge. "How, Brad? Are we stealing a car, or what? I don't know how far I could carry the kid without attracting attention."

"Let me worry about that. You need to eat something, and keep your strength up. How's your head?"

I knew he wasn't referring to my lacerated scalp. "It's okay. Been better. My shields are shit. If you're more than about ten feet away, radio Farf starts coming in loud and clear. Well, as clear as he can, anyway."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Then I'll try to stay at nine."

"Why, Brad! You made a funny!"

He glowered at me over his eyeglasses. "Schuldig, don't call me Brad."

"Whyever not? It's not like anyone's awake to hear it."

Crawford sighed. "It's useless to try with you, isn't it. You are stubborn and pig-headed as always, Schuldig. Now more than ever we need to keep some discipline in the team, and I need your help to do that. What do you suppose Farf and Nagi will think when they do wake up and see us acting too casual?"

"Um, I don't know, what are you getting at, Brad -- sorry, Mr. Crawford?" I replied, irritated no small amount. We had finally consummated a long-standing desire, on my side of it anyway, and he was being impossible again. It was as if that desperate moment had never happened.

Crawford squatted down in front of me and stared into my eyes. "They will have no idea how much danger we are all in, Schu. If we act casual, they will have no idea, and right now, we are in more danger than we have ever faced before as a team."

My blood chilled. "What do you mean? What's going on? I mean, I know it's bad, they won't let us go for this. We made Esset look stupid, not to mention killing off the Elders. But, Brad, what exactly is happening?"

"They will want one of two things, Schuldig. One is to kill us as traitors. The other is to take us back by force. Which do you suppose would be worse, especially for Nagi? They always knew the child was powerful, but could never map the extent of it. What do you think they would do to him at Rosenkreuz?"

I shuddered. "Death would be better."

"Keep that in mind when you address me, then. It's for the team, Schu. It's not about you or me."

"Brad," I whispered, raising my hand to his face, "do we have to act like nothing happened between us? Because, you know, I can't do that, I can't just pretend there's nothing there!"

He clasped my hand in his and twined our fingers together. "No, we won't pretend. I don't play games like that. But try to keep it a little professional for their benefit, all right?"

Before I could answer he leaned in and kissed me softly on the mouth. "All right?" he repeated.

I nodded.

"Now, eat something and get in a travel mindset. This is going to be intense for a while."

The day dragged on, a sunny disaster with curious people wandering along the beach, gaping at the spot where the tower had stood. I paced the confines of the cabin, careful not to get too close to Farf or too far away from Crawford. I wanted a cigarette, I desperately wanted a cigarette, but until Nagi woke I didn't want to subject him to it. Once awake, he could bitch or move away from the smoke or something. So I paced.

It was nearly sundown when Crawford began unfastening Farf's straitjacket. I moved to help him. It wouldn't do to be hauling a man around trussed up like something from a Marquis deSade fashion show, so we got him into jeans and a t-shirt. Crawford spoke to him in low, even tones to try to wake him up.

One baleful yellow eye opened and fixed on Crawford. Behind Brad, I held a pistol ready. I was prepared to kill the Irish madman to save Crawford's life; I hoped I wouldn't have to.

"Where am I?" Farf asked, voice low and raspy.

"We survived the fight, Farfarello," Crawford told him, voice calm. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"Give me the gun, Schuldig, and get him something to drink." I handed the pistol to Crawford, who trained it on Farf with a steady hand. "I regret that all this is necessary, but you have been injured, and that injury has made you a little less predictable than usual."

"Can I have my drink first?" Farf asked, the old wicked humor back in his voice.

"Certainly. It is my intention that you accompany us on a journey, Farfarello. Do you feel up to it?"

"You're not going to shoot me?"

"Only if I have to."

I handed Farf a bottle of sports drink, neither orange nor green but a sort of electric yellow color. He pulled the cap off and drank greedily. When done, he sighed and set the mostly empty bottle on the floor. He gingerly touched the back of his hand to the underside of his jaw. The hand came back damp with bloody seepage. "I'm leaking. What happened to me?"

"We were fighting Weiß," Crawford told him. "Do you remember that?"

"I remember...an old man, afraid of death. And black birds."

"You were stabbed up under the chin."

Farf touched his fingers to his right cheek, traced the newest scar. "I do remember. I broke his head, and carried him to Hell."

Oh, this wasn't good. I glanced at Crawford. The gun never wavered.

"Did I die?"

"No, you did not." Crawford kept his voice calm, though concern had begun rising within his thoughts.

"Should I have?" Farfarello kept on, persistent as only he could be.

"I doubt it," Crawford told him, "as, obviously, you have not. Can you stand?" So as not to be sitting at a disadvantage, he stood before the Irishman and kept the pistol ready.

Slowly, carefully, Farf rose to his feet. He swayed a little. "Dizzy, but it'll do."

"Schuldig?"

"Yes?"

"Finish packing. Farfarello will help carry the bags. You will carry Nagi."

"Nagi?" Farf asked, concern in his voice. "What's wrong with the boy?"

"He knocked himself out saving our lives," I answered, earning myself a brief glare from Crawford.

"I see." Farf took a few unsteady steps, then seemed to regain his balance again and followed Brad to the makeshift luggage.

I finished stuffing the bags again, making sure to distribute the weight a little better this time. Brad pocketed a syringe and his smaller pistol, and indicated that I should take my own handgun and plenty of ammunition.

"So, Brad? Are we just walking out of here?" I asked, trying not to sound as worried as I felt.

"Actually, yes. We are. In about fifteen minutes, you'll understand. I just need you to keep people from seeing us for that amount of time. Don't worry, there won't be many around."

How he managed not to sound smug I'll never know. "We're ready, then." I loaded Farf with the gym bags, Brad took my satchel, and I scooped up Nagi. It felt like he'd already lost some weight. If he didn't wake up soon, he'd die of starvation or dehydration or something. Damn Crawford! We could have gone with Kritiker, given ourselves up or some such, they think they're heroes, they'd have to show us mercy and --

"Schuldig. You're projecting." Crawford fixed me with an icy glare. "Get control of it. I need you. Besides," he added almost gently, "Kritiker has better things to do than get involved with the likes of us. They're not ready for a war yet, and that's what we'd bring to them. They'll help us when they can without endangering their entire organization. Trust me on that."

"Yes, sir."

Crawford led the way from the shack up to the narrow dirt street. We walked for maybe ten minutes or so.

"There. See that blue sedan?" Crawford said, pointing.

I nodded.

"There will be three teenagers in that car, indulging in some chemical recreation. Convince them to go skinny dipping, Schuldig."

I raised an eyebrow. "Skinny dipping?"

"I'll explain more as you need it, now do it! Your window of opportunity is closing."

I lay Nagi down on the grass and sprinted to the car. Sure enough, as I approached I could smell the tell-tale heavy and sweet smoke of hashish. Good stuff, too. It wasn't very hard to muddle their minds and give them the suggestion. They started stripping and stumbling away from the car, aiming for the ocean.

Brad had lifted Nagi and now carried him to the car. The American's face was etched in pain. No matter how slight the boy was, Brad's ribs were in bad shape for that kind of work. I helped him lay Nagi on the back seat; there was plenty of room left for a passenger. Brad got in beside the boy, breathing hard. He wadded up the teens' discarded clothing and used it to pillow Nagi's head.

I popped the trunk and helped Farf stow our gear inside. I didn't stop to think about anything we might need in the car; I just wanted to be done and gone as soon as possible. Then Farf got into the passenger seat, leaving me to drive.

As I backed the car up and headed for the road, Brad tapped me on the shoulder. "One more thing, Schuldig. Stop here."

I did, and he pointed to the frolicking delinquents. "Convince them they drove the car into the sea by accident. They're not sure where, and they're damn happy to be alive."

I didn't ask, simply reached for their addled minds and did the deed. The kids went from festive to panicked in a heartbeat. I couldn't help but laugh as one started scooping handfuls of water in a futile search for what was certainly his parents' car.

In answer to my unasked question, Crawford said, "That should keep this car from being reported stolen, and give us a little more time to get out of Japan."