Sanctuary

Zefie jumped round, rifle up as the doors were burst open. Seeing the cannon shoved through the opening her survival instincts took over and she threw herself to the floor, taking cover beneath a desk and pulling V and Bruce with her. Shrapnel ricocheted around the room, and Zefie felt her stomach lurch in horror as the nervous seeming boy who had been the Dragoon had his head sliced off, blood spurting everywhere.

“We need to get out of here!” the red-headed man’s voice made her look round, tearing her eyes away from the decapitated body. She saw he was pointing at a ventilation shaft. “There!”

Keeping her head down, Zefie crawled across the room as the redhead smashed the grille that blocked the opening. Jack Cyrus was already there, ushering everyone across. Zefie felt stinging cuts sliced along her arms, back and face, and as she reached the other side of the room she dived into the ventilation shaft after Jack.

The clanging metal of the shaft relaxed her for a brief moment, reminding her of the Junkyard, but she could still hear the staccato rattle of the gunfire. She pulled herself along the shaft by her elbows and knees and hoped V and Bruce and the others had also gotten out okay. There were voices echoing around her, but they were tinny and distorted and she couldn’t tell who was speaking.

She almost fell out of the other end of the shaft into a storage room. Someone helped her to her feet and she brushed herself off, slinging the rifle onto her back.

“Okay. Head count. Who's here? Gimme your names, choice of profession, your cat's uncle's name...and any other details you think might be important.”

She looked up at Jack as he spoke, and wondered how to answer. The others were clearly far more important that a scruffy gang kid like herself. Still, he’d asked.

“Zefie Gainsborough,” she shrugged, “Junkyard streeter.”

 

V was grateful to get out of the ventilation shaft. It had been a long crawl to get to...wherever they were.

She heard Jack's request for information and Zefie's answer plus the scramble and shuffle of the others as they tucked in to the confined space. She snapped on the little light and ran it over the metal shelving and white laminate cabinets that surrounded them. There were bins on the shelves and lightless bulbs on the ceiling.

A storage room.

"Varenna Shepherd." She told the others in her turn, "You can call me V. I am...or I guess I was...a resident at the McClendon Clinic near the Wall. My father was Lieutenant James Shepherd," she felt as stab of loss as she said the name. Instead she smiled in the dimness, "he taught me to shoot."

She didn't mention her mother's death. She wouldn't think about it.

 

Shepherd was a good man. He didn't deserve it.

Vishka was becoming aggravated. Over a year of solitude -- peace and quiet -- and now, suddenly, half a dozen webs of emotion were being spun in his head, simultaneously. He was scared and angry at seeing Artemis die, he missed his childhood friend Cooper, and his father, and his mother, and the sick man he'd promised to find medicine for, and he regretted not doing his duty to protect his commanding officer, and...

Vishka growled like a beast, forcing the thoughts out.
"All of you must settle your minds! Think later!"

 

"All of you must settle your minds! Think later!"

Jack glared over at the alien.

"Look, Creepy. You're here on good behavior, and because your chaperon is keeping you in line. That, plus the fact that you interest me, constitute the only reasons you're alive right now. Play nice, and you'll do fine." He was about to turn back to the group, stopped partway, and looked back at the alien.

"Besides. The human brain doesn't come with an 'off' switch." He looked back to the others.

"Continue."

 

It'll be fine Vishka. Just give them some time to get used to you.

Dre patted Vishka's shoulder a little before stepping forward. His surroundings were not familiar to him since he had never escaped from inside the command center before. He had no clue where the vent had led them but it had to be somewhere close to the Wall. Dre ran a hand through his long red hair and look levelly at Jack. Circumstance seemed to have made the man their leader. "Drengi Itir. Junyard Streeter. My parents died before I remember. If any of you know Roy O, thats the unlucky guy who had the honor of raising me."

Roy O. The last thing Dre had told him was that he would be right back. A sudden change of events had dictated otherwise though. A pang of heartache shot through him as he realized that Roy O was probably already dead from the sickness, if not from Them.

 

Jessica dropped to the ground as the metal doors opened and shrapnel exploded into the air. The head of the Dragoon-lover rolled to the ground, twitching. She stared for a moment before obeying the Lieutenants order to crawl through the ventilation duct.

Once in the room beyond, she accepted Artemis’s rifle from Joshua. It appeared to be the same as her old one and would most likely hold the same type of ammo. She slung it across her shoulder and stood with her hands in her pockets, waiting for instruction.

The two women from the door introduced themselves before the alien interrupted. Instinct commanded her to shoot it. She managed to refrain, twisting the infected piercing in her ear to distract herself.

The voice brought her out of her thoughts. Not taking her eyes of the Dragoon, she spoke, “Jessica Bennet, sharpshooter.”

 

Joshua winced. Sharpshooter. Right now, he wished he could add a similar title to his name. "Joshua Pastor, son of Franklin Pastor." He hesitated, then added, "Former news reporter for the Sanctuary Times." Another pause. "I'm a terrible shot."

 

"Former news reporter for the Sanctuary Times." Joshua didn't much like admitting it apparently. "I'm a terrible shot."

V reached out and gave Josh's elbow a little squeeze.

"Hey, you never know when we'll need a good communicator. I'm glad to see you again."

It was obscurely comforting to have Joshua and Zefie here in the same room. Their presence helped to invoke better times when they were all younger and more innocent of the danger.

 

Joshua felt someone squeeze his elbow, which felt strangely reassuring. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw V looking at him.

"Hey, you never know when we'll need a good communicator. I'm glad to see you again." Joshua's heart jumped. So far, he hadn't even been sure she had recognised his face, or even his name.

"I'm glad to see you again, too." He realised he was babbling. He was about to say something intelligent and charming, when he realised what situation they were in. Suddenly, he felt agitated.

“We should get out of here. By now, we’ll probably have a dozen squads looking for us.”

 

Memories came flooding back and V remembered that Josh had always been one of the more cautious kids. They really had to prod, plead, cajole, and finally threaten before he went to the Junkyard with them. Nobody wanted him to stay behind to tattle so he had to be in it with them.

"Don't worry, Josh," she said, unconsciously reverting to what she called him years ago, "We're going. First we need to know where and how we're going. That's where all of our combined experience of Sanctuary can help. Jack's good at figuring things out...we'll get out of here soon."

 

"Okay. Head count. Who's here? Gimme your names, choice of profession, your cat's uncle's name...and any other details you think might be important."

He watched the ladies introduce themselves and tried to get familiar with the faces. He moves fast in getting to know people. One woman, Jessica she said her name was, grabbed his attention when she announced her other name. Sharpshooter.

Oh yeah, that's the good stuff.

"I'm sure you are," he said to Jessica.

After Joshua's intro, he turned his attention to the head honcho and kept in character.

"Head count, huh? My name's Darmetrius Lindemann, call me Lin. I'm a They evader. And my cat's uncle, I think his name was Frank. He looked like a Frank."

 

Each of them introduced themselves. And Derek was rather surprised to see such a wide variety of people and backgrounds. But then, when the last of humanity is squashed into one big walled city, what was to be expected? Especially disheartening to Jack was the nonexistence of any higher-ranked military personnel. Was he ready to lead these people? He hoped so.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you. For those of you who didn't hear, I'm Jack Cyrus. I'm military, I'm a lieutenant, but first of all I'm a hacker. They pay me to play with computers. I've been in combat situations before; I have some experience, but I'm human." He withdrew the disc from his inside jacket pocket and held it up for them to see.

"From what the General told us, this thing is our last hope. He told me to get it to the hangar, and I plan to. But I'm not gonna do the 'fearless leader' crap. I'm open to suggestions, I want your input. One thing that has to happen, though, is we have to work together. Can we agree on that?"

 

Joshua wasn't sure whether he should nod decisively or scream like a little girl. This hacker was going to lead them. He remembered his father. He would have slapped them all in line, if he hadn't driven all of They out of the city singlehandedly already. Joshua gave a small smile.

"Very frankly, I don't think we have a choice, now do we? I'm terrified, I think we all are, except for that freak," he nodded towards Vishka, "who is probably just glad some of his palls are coming to get him."

 

Dre holstered his pistols at his side, doing his best to bring up the image of the schematics in his mind. If his guesses were right, then they would have to go across all of Sanctuary from where they were. No small feat with all of Them patrolling around and killing off what was left of humanity. Gunfire could be heard erupting occasionally from beyond the dry storage area. He remembered image of the Threshers coming down the hall, denting the giant steel doors. Dre gave an involuntary shudder.

"I say we salvage what supplies we can from this place first. We are going to have to cross through the Rows and there are still plenty of Them out there hunting us down. I think they'd probably like to get their hands on that disc too, so they will probably have an eye out for us."

 

The basics were generally agreed on, and some suggestions were made. But as they spoke, the adrenaline was starting to slow itself down, making way for some very real pain emanating from the hole through his shoulder. He replaced the disc back in his pocket.

"I say we salvage what supplies we can from this place first. We are going to have to cross through the Rows and there are still plenty of Them out there hunting us down. I think they'd probably like to get their hands on that disc too, so they will probably have an eye out for us."

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea." Jack said, trying not to show the pain. Right now, they had to move. He couldn't let the wound slow the group down.

 

V had been watching Jack. After all, he had been talking. She was used to guaging pain in expressions and by the look of things his wound was catching up with him. She waited for the interchange to be done, the plans, such as they were, to be made, and as everyone began rifling through the storage room for anything helpful she approached Jack.

"Okay, enough." V told him, "The human body isn't meant to walk around for extended periods of time with extra holes in it." She wheeled up an office chair that had been crammed into a corner and indicated it with a flourish, "I can see you're our leader but medic trumps leader. Sit down."

 

Jack couldn't help but smile broadly as he took a seat on the chair. Little feisty, that one. But, who was he to argue with the resident medical expert?

"Alright, alright." He said, still smiling. "Who am I to argue with the resident medical expert?" As carefully as he could, he shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

"I suppose this probably means you want me to take my shirt off, too." He caught her eyes with a playful glance.

 

She gave a little snort and smirked at him.

"The other option is to stitch your shirt to your body," she reached into her bag and called to the others, "I need a volunteer, here, to hold the light!" She was obscurely happy to have something to do that made sense as she returned her attention to Jack, "So what will it be, semi-permanent fashion or a bit of bare skin?" She grinned at him as she found her suture material. "I could promise to keep my eyes shut but that might defeat the purpose."

 

Jack chuckled as he began to carefully peel off his shirt. Again, he was a little put out by his thinness. He was in shape, but the muscle that he had tended to want to hide. For the life of him, he couldn't put on weight.

"Well, I don't mind if there's some cosmetic damage; but I'm guessing I'm gonna want whichever option will hold longer."

"And I'd much rather you had your eyes open. In this situation, I suppose its reasonable you're asking me to take my clothes off shortly after we just met." He gave her a wink.

 

Zefie glanced over at the redheaded guy, Drengi, as he announced himself as a Junkyard Streeter. She didn’t recognised his face, so he wasn’t in any of the gangs, but the name Roy O was familiar to her; she didn’t know the man personally, but Spikey and Drey had spoken of him.

She was a little put out when Jack took Dre’s advice about their next move, however. Had Cyrus forgotten than he was that thing’s ally? Zefie was still hyper-aware of hulking shape of the Dragoon towering over them, and her hand itched towards her rifle.

When V called for a volunteer to hold the light while she stitched up Jack, Zefie gladly moved forwards to help her friend. Anything to keep her distracted right now was a good thing.

 

V couldn't help smiling at her good-natured patient. He wasn't the first guy she'd met that dealt with pain by flirting but he was pretty good at it.

"Thanks, Zefie," she said as her friend came to hold the light, "right...there, that's it."

She briefly noticed his musculature and the pleasing texture of his skin but her attention was drawn into the wound. She inspected it carefully, sighing with relief when she found an exit wound.

"Went clear through," she told him, "nasty and your range of motion will be limited until it heals but I think it'll be ok."

Cleaning and stitching the wound properly would take time but V didn't mind. Of all of the things that had happened today she at least understood this.

 

Little sparks and flickers of attraction danced between Jack and Varenna, and it gave Vishka an awkward feeling. Like two halves of him were simultaneously being pushed together and pulled apart. It was distracting.

It wasn't until the beeper went off that Vishka noticed how hard it was getting to breathe. His air tank was nearly empty. He had about two hours before he'd suffocate. He had two options: either find a synthetic refill canister -- which was unlikely, considering the humans only made them to keep prisoners alive -- or harvest more air from the corpses of They, which was inefficient.

"My air grows thin," he announced. "Let us not squander time."

 

"Went clear through," she told him, "nasty and your range of motion will be limited until it heals but I think it'll be ok."

"'Count your blessings' I guess." He said. A small flicker of excitement rose in him at her touch; gentle and delicate. He had a good imagination, and at this point it was beginning to the Wrong Thing under the circumstances.

The suppression of his emotion was helped along by the pain the wound as she began to clean and fix it.

 

V smiled at the count your blessings comment, smearing a numbing ointment on the skin now that the wound was clean as she could get it. The bleeding had slowed to almost nothing. Her resources were limited and the ointment wouldn't dull the pain very much but it would help.

She began to stitch and the dragoon spoke up unexpectedly, causing her to flinch.

"My air grows thin," he announced. "Let us not squander time."

"What is he talking about?" She asked, her attention on the job at hand.

 

Jack winced slightly through the pain.

"They can't breathe oxygen. Burns Their lungs. They came packaged with special atmosphere tanks from the hole They crawled out of." He tried to regulate his breathing and focus.

"I'd say this one's running on empty. Or close to it. I'd still like to know why he isn't trying to kill us."