Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 66 ( Chapter 66 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
66
I see storms on the horizon
“Here, Brad.” I handed him a couple of headache pills and a bottle of Coke.
He looked at the drink in his hand, an odd expression on his face.
I frowned and blurted out the first thing that came into my mind: “Nani?”
Brad laughed, breaking the spell. He shook his head and said, “Never mind.” He unscrewed the cap and washed down the medicine with the tepid cola.
Far watched him, disgusted. “You know that stuff will kill you, right? It's flavored battery acid.”
“They use it to clean blood off the highway after an accident,” Nagi observed, his expression deadpan.
Brad closed his eyes and drank some more. Then he checked his watch and sighed. “Only two hours. Damn.”
“You need more sleep,” I told him. “I can drive for a while.”
“Let me see the map.”
Far located the roadmap under our groceries and offered it to Brad. Our leader studied it a few moments, then said, “Schuldig, get us lost. Drive around for a few hours. Try to find us a campsite that isn't mud.” He handed the map back to Farfarello then sat back with a groan.
This was one of the bad headaches. It was one thing for the visions to come to Brad, but when he had to go looking for them they wreaked havoc on his body. I knew I'd stay worried until he slept it off. “Far, why don't you trade places with Brad? Let him have the seat for a while.” The van was of the utility variety, with only two seats and a vast wasteland in the back. There were straps, but they made a poor substitute for seatbelts; for a sleeper it was like being in the space shuttle but without the benefit of no gravity.
Far clambered into the back and helped Brad into the seat. Nagi watched without a sound.
Once Brad was secure and the seat tilted back to a good sleeping angle, I started up the van and set about getting lost in the French countryside. Or, rather, getting more lost than we already were: in my opinion, any place without clearly designated bathrooms and petro stops counted as being lost.
Behind me, I could hear Farfarello trying to engage Nagi in a game, and I smiled. Nagi hated games, and Far wouldn't take no for an answer. But at least he wasn't trying to attack the kid today.
“How can you play `I Spy' without a window, Farfarello?” Nagi growled, resorting to logic. “We both know every smelly thing in this van already, what challenge would it be?”
“We could use the back windows,” Far replied.
“What, stand up? In a moving vehicle? With Schuldig driving?”
There was a pause, then Far said, “You're right. That's a bad idea.”
“Hey!” I retorted. “Either of you want a turn driving this rustbucket? Keep it down back there.” If things kept on this way for long, I'd turn into a soccer mom.
Beside me, Brad slept, oblivious to our bickering. I reached a hand over and felt his forehead. No fever, that was a good sign. If it hit hard enough to raise his temperature, I'd have to wake him up and force sports drink into him until he damn near gagged on it. Either that, or he'd wind up dehydrated, as if his body were burning fuel at an alarming rate.
Not for the first time I reflected on all I'd ever heard of seers and prophets, outside of Esset. They had it hard, but it didn't usually wreck them out this bad. Then again, most of them ended up blind or mad, or both. That part held true even at Rosenkreuz: Brad was the only male precognitive who still had two brain cells to rub together at age 27. 28, actually; his birthday had either just passed or was just around the corner. I wasn't sure of the date, but I knew it was late November.
Well, if his training had been anything like mine, they would have taken his natural gift and forced it into their mold, breaking the good parts and substituting dogma. No wonder it hurt him.
After a few hours of listening to Far and Nagi debate some obscure puzzle - it was either physics or philosophy, damned if I could tell the difference - I decided we'd wandered around enough. I found a likely spot to park, a wooded area near farmlands, with no real roads and no other vehicles in sight. I risked a scan and verified that there weren't any other people close by. “Okay, guys,” I said, killing the engine and turning in my seat, “frankly I don't give two shits whether it's the same damn statue or not. We're here, so let's get this van aired out.”
As the other two opened the back doors and set up our meager camping gear, I gently shook Brad awake. “Brad? We're camping for a while. Can you wake up for some food?”
“Yeah, Schu, I'm awake,” he mumbled. A huge yawn punctuated this statement. “At least the headache's gone.”
I was relieved. The times he woke with the headache still intact were especially brutal, and usually left him puking.
Brad took stock of our supplies, nodding in satisfaction. We were almost out of everything, and he thought this was good? I couldn't help but wonder, but I knew better than to ask.
Dutiful soldiers, we refrained from asking Crawford about his recent visions. He would tell us, or not, only when he chose; questions wouldn't speed him up. Instead, we improvised a meal out of our dwindling groceries and waited.
Dusk thickened through the trees, bringing with it the first breath of winter chill. We'd been lucky so far, but tonight would be cold. Without discussing it, we all agreed to sleep in the van, though the smell of it was becoming atrocious. Brad seemed no nearer to talking, so I guided the team back into our makeshift hovel and pulled out the blankets. They were small and thin, but they would provide a little extra warmth.
I was stopped by a hand upon my arm. Brad took one of the blankets from me and hung it across the back of the van, making a curtain between us and the front seats. “Farfarello,” he called softly, “would you mind sleeping in the driver's seat? If there's any trouble, get us out of here. But I don't foresee anything tonight.”
Far let himself back out of the van and went around to the driver's side door. I heard him get in and tip the seat back a little.
Brad took a second blanket and curtained off the back part of the van. “Schuldig, give Nagi your jacket.”
I frowned; both Brad's and my blankets were now otherwise employed. Then I thought about Nagi sleeping next to the cargo doors, and shrugged out of the leather blazer. “Here, chibi,” I said, handing it under the curtain. “You have your own blanket, right?”
“Yes, Schuldig. Do I have to wear this? It smells like an ashtray.”
“Wear it, Nagi,” Brad said, his eyes smiling. “That's an order.”
I nearly laughed aloud.
Brad sat down and pulled me to him. The warmth of his body amazed me, there in the chilly van. This was no Sight fever. He looked into my eyes, his soul naked. Something he had seen hurt him, or frightened him, and he was reaching out to me for balance. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to us: he was still reeling from it.
He cupped my face, his hands gentle. Slowly he leaned in and kissed me, mouth open and soft, and very nearly trembling. Instinctively I opened my mind and senses to him, and gasped against his lips at what I found.
The desperation pulled me under, dragged me back, until I felt the frantic surge that had always accompanied sex at Rosenkreuz. Two people hungry for contact, needing each other more than water, coming together while the clock ticked away and the threat of discovery increased with every heartbeat. In the silence they would meet, and touch, and try to cram an entire lifetime into ten slender minutes.
Reflected in Brad's eyes I saw those grey halls, the empty classrooms, the stolen moments. He had never engaged with me there, but now we were both replaying some ancient drama from our youth. We had both come of age in that cold and sterile place, and though he hid his better, we both were scarred by it.
His hands unfastened my pants, and mine fumbled to follow suit. In moments we had freed each other from our clothing, or as much of it as we absolutely needed to: shirts untucked, pants undone and tugged down off the hips. He kissed me deeply as his hand began to stroke.
I gripped him and tugged; he was already fully hard and nearly ready to come. This was strange for him, to fall into the past and let it color his present. We were recreating something that neither of us wanted to keep, yet neither was able to discard. I wondered how far he would go with it.
Then he rolled me onto my back and tugged my pants further down. Out of habit I raised my hips a little, but Brad paused and lowered his head, catching me in his mouth. He sucked firmly, his tongue dancing around the tip as if daring me to make a sound.
The past fell away, and I knew I was in a panel van in the middle of France with Nagi on one side of a makeshift curtain and Far behind another. I would remain silent, but not for Rosenkreuz.
Brad took me quickly, sinking in to the hilt with a soft gasp. He looked younger, a little lost, desperate in the Rosenkreuz way and determined to find a moment of joy in spite of it. He leaned into me, and I managed to get my hobbled legs around his ass and pull him in deeper. Brad bit his lower lip; I could feel how close he was, his urgency seeped through my shields and coaxed my own erection to ticklish hardness.
Though I kept a tight rein on my telepathy, my lesser gift of empathy lashed out, making Brad gasp aloud. He thrust harder, his rhythm becoming a little ragged as he dealt not only with his own sensations, but a whisper of mine as well. With no warning Brad came, his mouth open in a silent shout. His pleasure overwhelmed me, and I came too, biting the back of my wrist to keep from crying out.
He lingered there, the last pulses of ecstasy flitting through us both with little breathless gasps. Then he leaned down and kissed me tenderly, and lingered there as well.
My gift hadn't hurt him this time. And it hadn't hurt me. Part of my mind thought that the time spent in another's bed had given me a little more control, that just maybe I was safe now. Another part of my mind just kept quiet.
We slept in each other's arms, our shirts draped over us for warmth. That was one big difference between now and Rosenkreuz: there, you never actually slept with your playmate. Unless it was a teacher, of course, and then you usually wouldn't want to.
The next morning dawned clear and chill. There was a fine layer of frost on the ground and the windshield, and our breath hung foggy in the air.
Nagi borrowed my lighter to start a cook fire. If he knew what we'd been doing the night before, he made no sign.
Over a cup of coffee and a candy bar, I asked Brad if he felt better.
Brad smiled at me, his face somehow even more handsome than usual. “Yes, I do.”
Farfarello looked up from his breakfast. “So, are you going to tell us what you Saw?”
“Yes,” Brad replied. “I am.”
I blinked. “Brad?”
“It's all right,” he told me, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “I think I've finally figured out a way to do this. Besides, we're up against some pretty ugly odds if I don't. Our hunters will be counting on my silence. I won't give it to them.”
There was a long pause, during which time each of us braced himself visibly for what was about to be revealed. I had the feeling that Brad would speak in riddles and half-truths, like oracles of old, and we would have to put it together for ourselves. This could be very dangerous if we guessed wrongly.
“I'm not leaving this to chance, Schuldig,” Brad murmured, no doubt picking up on my concerns. “This is the one thing they're not expecting me to do.”
“They who?” Far asked. “Is it Esset? Or did it die at the tower?”
“No, it didn't die,” Brad told him, “but it's not the same as it was. It can never be the same again. There are levels within that organization, and several of those have been stripped away and discarded, I think as a direct result of the death of the Elders. The Elders kept certain people in power, and now those people have been decimated and new rulers have emerged.”
I suppressed a shudder. “Anyone we know?”
Brad fixed me with a stare. “What do you think?” Before I could say anything else, he raised a hand for my silence. “We're up against someone who knows me almost as well as you do, Schuldig. In some ways maybe even better. That's why the mice: he knew it would work. And he'll be banking on my silence.” His voice fell soft as he added, “He always did.”
Nagi and Far exchanged a worried look, then both turned their expectant gazes upon me.
I hated thinking about Rosenkreuz. The power games, the brutality, the rampant insanity just below the surface - it made me nauseous, but I knew I had to figure this out. Like every other layer within Esset, Rosenkreuz had had its own governing body, a few select men and women who oversaw the facility's operation. But those bureaucrats didn't live there. If they could manage it, they never even set foot in that place. No, Rosenkreuz was an asylum where the patients were in charge, a laboratory where the mad scientist was as damned as his creations. Far had compared it to “The Island of Dr. Moreau” if the animals had been sadistic twists.
So who was Moreau?
While Schwarz had been stationed there, three men had ruled the facility with brutal efficiency. Of those three, two were dead, executed by Schwarz for their crimes.
I looked into Brad's eyes.
He nodded.
“So what do we do?” I asked him.
Rather than answer me directly, Brad addressed the team. “Gentlemen, I need to know if you're in this for the long haul. I'm giving you the chance to leave, if you want to take it. Pretty soon you won't have that option.”
“I am Schwarz,” Nagi replied instantly, his head high. “I won't leave you, Crawford.”
Brad's eyes seemed to darken for a moment, then he smiled and nodded. “I know you won't, Nagi.”
“Same here,” Far stated. “I won't run.”
“Thank you, Farfarello. Your valor has never been in question.”
All of a sudden the situation reminded me of liegemen swearing fealty to their king. I swallowed, trying to separate my thoughts from Far's before I did something dramatic like kiss Brad's hand. My hesitation brought a scowl from Nagi; I waved it off. “I'm your second, Brad. You know that. You'd have a hard time making me leave.”
A shadow crossed his expression, leaving a ghost of something behind. Then he took a deep breath and nodded, reaching for my hand. His grip was warm as he clasped my hand in both of his and said, “You're right. I would.”
“Now that we're a team again, what do we do next?” Nagi asked, his tone impatient. “Do we keep running? Or do we turn and fight them?”
“First,” Brad stated, “we have to get their attention. As you've all noticed, there seems to be little interest coming from other sectors of Esset besides Rosenkreuz. Our alma mater was not the only place for team training, as we all know quite well. Prague actually has a higher rate of placement in the field.”
“That's because everyone at Rosenkreuz dies,” Far murmured, not quite joking.
“Omega teams are a Rosenkreuz specialty,” Brad reminded us, “but Prague has its own elite unit. In fact, every facility has its equivalent of the Omega training. For some reason, Esset has turned a blind eye to our existence - no offense, Farfarello.”
“None taken.”
“I have Seen that for the next few months, the only ones actively hunting us will be from Rosenkreuz. This, along with other visions and information I've gathered, suggests that so far all the hunters have been from that same facility. It's one man's war, while the machine that is Esset continues grinding on toward its own goals.” Brad looked into my eyes and said, “Those goals are unacceptable.”
I drew in a sharp breath, Brad's meaning finally coming clear. “We could escape,” I whispered. “We could hide from Rosenkreuz, or fend off their attempts, indefinitely, couldn't we, Brad? That's why you asked if we would stay with you: you know it's not necessary.”
“But it is necessary,” Brad stated. “Not to our survival, but to the survival of the human race as we now know it.”
“You're a crusader, now, are you?” Far asked, his expression sharp to match the mocking words. “And why would you want to go and do that? What were you always telling us about humans being sheep, Crawford?”
“While in Esset territory, of course I talked the talk,” Brad replied. “And yes, most people are like sheep: too willing to be kept in exchange for safety and food. But that doesn't make them any less human, or deserving of basic dignity. Esset intends to strip humanity of its spirit, of its will, and create a new breed that is, for all intents and purposes, sheep.”
“I've heard they can clone sheep,” Far murmured, watching Brad closely.
Brad shook his head. “Those aren't the ones they want.”
“Could they?” Nagi asked, his tone thick with disgust. “I mean, there's no question that they would, but can they?”
“You know they collect DNA samples from all the students at Rosenkreuz,” Brad reminded us. “How long do you think they've been trying?”
“So what are we supposed to do about it?” I blurted, fear and anger warring for dominance. “How can four men stop something like this from happening, if that's Esset's ultimate goal? They want a docile populous and a predictable army - they already have the first! How the fuck can we stop them?”
“We can,” Brad told us, “because it won't be just the four of us doing it. We're the catalyst, the force that will set things in motion.”
Farfarello unleashed his uncanny prescience once again: “We're the bait.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“So you're setting us on this quest for the good of humanity?” Far asked, his eye gleaming.
“Will you take that as a good enough reason?”
Far stared at him, unblinking. “No.”
Brad smiled, not quite smirking. “How about revenge?”
Nagi's eyes widened, then grew thoughtful.
Far nodded sagely. “One man's war, indeed.”
The possibilities swept over me. “Brad,” I whispered, “tell me more. Make me understand.”
Brad's eyes took on a distant quality, and he winced against the returning headache as he forced open the Sight. “The storm is coming,” he murmured. “It is the most important fight in this age of the world, and it must be won. All together and each alone, we will stand, and we will not fail. You must be strong. It will hurt, but you must not lose faith. I've Seen that it will not kill you. Esset cannot kill you, and Esset cannot win. He will never stop. He has a date with a bullet, one he has broken twice already. It will come, it always comes. `Ware the snow. Death comes in white…” His voice trailed off as the vision loosed its hold on him.
“That was interesting,” Far said calmly. “Never seen him do that before. Have you?”
“I haven't,” Nagi chimed in, leaning away from our leader.
I got out the headache pills.
Brad came to in that blinky way he did when a vision was particularly powerful. He took the pills with a swallow of Coke. “Schuldig, you'll have to fill me in on what I said while I was out. That was a technique I haven't used since training. Now I remember why,” he added with a grimace. Then his eyes went quizzical, as though he had just remembered something interesting, or puzzling. “The storm,” Brad whispered. “It's already started.”
“Does that mean it's too late to back out of it?” Far asked.
Brad nodded. “I'm sorry, Farfarello. But that seems to be the case.”
“Then don't ask us again if we plan on staying. You shouldn't have asked the first time.”
Brad bowed his head. “Gomen nasai.” Then he consulted his watch. “Gentlemen, if you please, gather your belongings. We'll be acquiring a new vehicle soon.”
Rather than grumble about going on foot for a while, Nagi gave thanks that we were leaving the van with the zoo-house smell.
I reclaimed my jacket and my pack. Brad packed up the remains of our groceries while the other two cleared out anything else we might have left behind by accident. Within three minutes we were ready to go.
Brad checked his gun and settled it in his shoulder holster. The military uniform he'd worn on the airplane lay strewn in the bed of the van; he pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket.
We watched, mildly perplexed, as our leader took the little piece of fabric and walked around the van. Then he unscrewed the fuel cap and dipped the handkerchief in. Without looking he held his hand out behind him. “Schuldig, your lighter.”
I put it on his palm, watched as he calmly flicked it on and touched the flame to the dry end of the handkerchief.
Brad turned without hurry and strode toward us. “Let's do this.”
We followed his lead, not allowing ourselves to run because we trusted him, and Brad Crawford was not running.
When we reached the nearest path, the van exploded with a deep-throated roar. Nagi reflexively set up a telekinetic barrier against any falling fragments, though he winced as he did so.
Brad put a hand on his shoulder. “No need, but thank you.” Then he drew his gun.
A car had just turned toward us from the dirt road and paused as the driver took in the splendid fireball behind us.
Brad aimed his gun at the driver's head. “Out. Now.”
The motorist fled into the woods. Brad let him go. With the precision of a drill team we checked the car for hidden threats or other passengers and then helped ourselves. To me, Brad said, “You're driving.”
“You wanted to get their attention,” I observed as I guided the car back toward civilization. “Think it worked?”
Brad smirked and pushed his glasses up into position. “Of that I have no doubts.”
A/N:
I see storms on the horizon
“Citadel”, CXS Ethernaut. Find the lyrics on my website and in my livejournal: the entire thing is important here, and tells much about the story as a whole. This is an unusual chapter, with much power. I consider it a pivotal chapter, and you should too.
Far's puzzle is technically a question of material constitution, a philosophy exercise. If you have a statue and part of it breaks off, is it the same statue? What if you repair it with a new part? It's quite possible for two otherwise reasonable people to spend days debating this and never find a satisfying solution. I suspect that Far and Nagi already have their own consensus after four hours.
A Dictionary Moment (because sometimes precision really matters):
decimate - to destroy every tenth part; Esset is not as damaged as we would like it to be.
won't & would - come from the word “will”, which, strictly speaking, implies intent but not fact.