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Scene Eight: Satan Is My Motor
Topic Started: Nov 5 2009, 02:26 PM (945 Views)
bebeluv1
Nemesis
Mark and Bridgette--Bedroom buddies

Mark held his baby and paced, worried. What was Bathin doing with Willow? As if reading his thoughts, Kerri began to fuss. Fat tears welled up in her big blue eyes. “Shhh, baby, it’s ok,” Mark soothed. He rocked her back and forth in his arms, which was one of the magic tricks that worked to calm her. Kerri quieted and closed her eyes peacefully. A small smile, quite like Willow’s, played at the corners of her mouth briefly before vanishing. Kerri’s mouth worked an imaginary nipple as she slipped into dreamland.

Mark laid Kerri in her makeshift crib and gently covered her. He softly kissed her head, then began pacing again. He stopped at the large window and stared out, probably for the four hundreth time since Sam had come for Willow. Bathin was keeping her much longer than usual. Punishing her for killing his toy, more than likely. Fuck. Mark raked his hand over his head, frustrated and scared. He knew that Bathin found Willow to be an irresistible plaything, but maybe they had overestimated his desire to keep her around.

Bathin. He had to call him that, because while he imitated a lot of Tom’s mannerisms, he wasn’t Tom. Tom was in there somewhere, and showed himself when he could, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. Mark couldn’t imagine what Tom must be feeling, trapped inside his own body while it was being used to perform such heinous activities. He wondered if Tom would eventually die, if Bathin stayed inside for too long. He wondered if there was any hope of expelling Bathin from Tom’s body, so that he could have his friend back. And so Bathin could be destroyed.

There was one advantage that Mark had that no one else seemed to have, apart from possibly Sam; Bathin couldn’t read his mind. Whatever Mark knew of the resistance, Bathin could not pry from him. Which is why Mark told Willow as little as possible about anything he knew. No. That wasn’t true. He told her nothing. It protected he woman he had grown to love from sure torture. It didn’t, however, protect poor Bridgette. She was in deep, and Mark worried for her safety.

Mark wondered if Bridgette knew that Bathin read her mind, then shook his head. Of course she must know, Bathin loved to gloat about that. Bathin loved to gloat about a lot of things. Mark supposed it was in a demon’s nature to flaunt their power over human beings—Bathin did it whenever possible. Mark’s fists curled up as helpless rage coursed through him. He wanted Bathin gone, but not at the cost of killing his friend. Tom didn’t deserve that. As much of an asshole as Tom had been before the breakup of the band, he didn’t deserve what was happening to him now.

Mark leaped from his seat when the heavy wooden door opened. “Willow!”

Bridgette poked her head in. “Sorry, Mark, just me,” she smiled regretfully.

“Hey Bridgette,” Mark said. “What are you doing here?”

Bridgette entered the bedroom nervously, picking at her skirt. “Tom sent me here to wait for him.”

“Don’t call him that!” Mark snapped. He saw Bridgette recoil, and his face softened. “I’m sorry, Bridgette, but that THING isn’t Tom. I….”

Bridgette cut him off. “I know, Mark, he was your friend. But he’s not a friend anymore, he’s a murderous bastard.” She was a little testy, herself.

“I just wish you knew him before all this happened, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Mark said, sitting back down and absently stroking his beard.

“What kind of person gets possessed by a demon, that’s all I’m saying,” she retorted.

Mark sighed. “Actually, some of the most religious, pious people on earth are the targets of demonic possession. Demons find some sort of sick satisfaction in torturing God’s most reverent followers.” Bridgette gave Mark a look. “Hey, I’m not saying that Tom was pious or super-religious, but he was definitely open-minded about ‘otherworldy’ stuff, which probably made him vulnerable to this prick Bathin getting a foothold.”

Bridgette mellowed. “I’m sorry, Mark, I’m just…..I’m scared. And I’m taking it out on you. I mean, I was placing one of our secret messages and had just turned the corner and there he was, just….like he was waiting for me. Like he knew what I was doing.” She shuddered at the memory of the confrontation. “And then he sent me here to wait for him, to do God knows what to me.”

Mark was stunned. Did Bathin know about the secret messages and where they were kept? Fuck, if he did, then they were in deep shit. All of them. “Did he say something to make you think he knew?”

Bridgette thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, but when I thought about killing him, he read my mind.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He’ll kill me just for thinking that, won’t he?”

Mark took her in his arms and stroked her hair, pressing her face into his chest. “I won’t let him hurt you, B. “

Bridgette laughed bitterly against Mark’s shirt, which was now soaked in tears and snot. “You have a secret weapon I don’t know about?” she scoffed.

“Yeah, I do as a matter of fact,” Mark soothed, still stroking her hair. He kissed the top of her head. “Tom loves me, and he knows I love him. I’m the only one who can draw Tom out from under Bathin’s control. “

“If that’s true, then why haven’t you talked him in to letting us all go?” she said, skeptical.

Mark smiled. “I didn’t say it was foolproof, and granted, it doesn’t always work, but…..I’ve kept him from hurting Willow as badly as I know he wanted to sometimes.”

Bridgette pulled back from Mark, to look at his face. He smiled at her kindly. He was such a good man, and protective. “Do you think you could keep him from hurting me?”

Hurting you, no. Killing you, maybe, Mark thought. But he didn’t say those words out loud. Instead, he kissed Bridgette’s cheek and patted her hand reassuringly. “Yeah, B. I’ve got your back.”




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Alex - Another Sleepless Night

Alex sat in Cat’s broadcast area, flipping through the music library and sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. “Greetings fellow insomniacs. I’m wide awake and bored as fuck so I thought I’d give broadcasting a try. Live from K106.8 Jahmon Radio, this is Alex Castle AKA The Joker. I’m gonna be filling the void with tunes and chatter. Not exactly like we can do phone-in but I’ve got my CB tuned to Channel 14. Anyone up and wanting to share their opinion is more than welcome to.

“So, first off the tunes. Now, I love me some irony, so our first song’s gonna show that. If you can’t raise me right away it’s cause I’m scannin’ the channel so just sit tight boys and girls and I’ll be back with you in a few.” With that, he hit play.



As the song played, Alex scanned the CB waves looking for other survivors, anyone who might be in range of the convoy and looking to help. The song ended and he spoke again. “Other channels are deserted, so remember folks, just keep it tuned to 14 and I’ll find ya. And, as a major plus, Zeke AKA the new FCC is asleep like any other normal person, so you can say what ya want when ya want.” He picked up the CB. “This is Joker is there anyone out there? C’mon folks I’m talking at ya.

“Well, that’s fruitless right now.” Alex reached into his rucksack and extracted a thumb drive. “Now as a special treat for my fellow insoms I’m gonna play a song I found on YouTube ages back. AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long. I know what you dudes are thinking. You Shook Me All Night Long what’s so fucking special ‘bout that? Well, just listen:”



“Yup, that was AC/DC featuring Steven fuckin’ Tyler. Helluva a video from what I remember. Now, like I said earlier, Zeke’s asleep so I can play what I want, when I want. We’re once again dipping into my flash drive for some Eric Idle.”



“I love that song, guys, never gets old.” He heard squelch briefly flicker on the radio. “Well I’ll be Goddamned. I’ve got me a caller! This is the Joker talking. Who are you my fine friend?”

“Apollo talking Joker. Here with my good buddy Helo,” came a deep, baritone voice.

“Hey Joker,” piped up another male, presumably Helo.

“What’s on your mind, friend-o?”

“Well, you were looking for call-ins, right? The three of us are on the open road, headed for Davenport.”

“You yanking me?”

“Nah man. Why?” Apollo replied.

“We’re headed there too. ‘bout ten klicks west of Iowa City, how’ bout you?”

“Iowa City ‘burbs man. There’s three of us, think we should meet up?” Helo, this time.

“Hell yeah man, more the merrier. Safety in numbers, all that shit. We’re on Interstate 92 right now.”

“Cool man, we’re gonna pack up and head out that way.”

“You sure? I mean, we can meet you in the morning if ya want.”

“It’s cool. Fellow insoms, remember? We’ll be there in a little bit man.”

“Sounds good, porch light and the coffee pot on, I’m in the big ass bus parked on the curb. Parked behind the tank, ya can’t miss it.”

“We’re just gonna wakeup Starbuck and get going.”

“Wait…’Starbuck’, ‘Helo’ and ‘Apollo?’ Those are your handless?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well that being the case good buddy, I am no longer The Joker. You just call me Longshot.”

The two men laughed, “Longshot it is then. See you in a few bro.”

“10-4 guys.”

Alex reclined in the seat and broadcast again, “Well, as you fine, fine cats just heard, we’ve got three more people joining the party. Anyone who’s just tuning in, this is K106.8, and I’m Alex Castle, formerly known as the Joker. I’m now going by Longshot and you can raise me on Channel 14. While I wait for my new friends to show, I’m gonna play some more tunes kiddies.” He stood up and started brewing another pot of coffee.



“That was Rush for ya boys and girls and now we’re gonna move on to some hard rock.”



“God do I love that song.”

A knock on the bus door.

“Well, looks like me new friends are here. Hold tight for a few and enjoy a song that I find truly fitting in this neck of the woods.”



Alex climbed out of the seat and walked to the bus doors. Two men and a woman stood there. The oldest of the trio was a hulking African American in his late fifties, the second man was a kid of about nineteen and the woman was a brunette in her early teens. “C’mon in guys.”

The black man stepped in first, “I’m Will Taylor, you know me as Apollo. I’m a Methodist minister from St. Louis”

“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow insom. I’m Alex Castle, AKA Longshot, at your service. I’m a contractor and published novelist who hails from the Great White North.

“I read your book,” Helo said.

“And who might your two friends be?”

“My kids,” Will replied. “I adopted them when they were little. Well, Keith here was eight and his kid sister Danielle there was two months old. That was back in ’96.” Will sat down in one of Cat’s spare chairs and it groaned under his weight but held. Danielle shook her head and stifled a yawn.

“Pleasure, guys,” Alex said. “If you want, Danielle, there’s a couple spare beds behind that curtain there. Make yourself at home kiddo.”

Will edged her, “go ahead Dani.”

She smiled at Alex, “thanks, Mr. Castle.”

“Call me Alex, Danielle.”

She nodded, “Alex then. And I’m Dani.”

“Noted,” Alex said, escorting her, then refilling his coffee cup. “You guys want some?”

“Sure man,” Keith said. “I figured you were kidding about the coffee.”

“Nope. I’m a man of my word. Gonna prove it to my girl Dom when I track her down too. She got kidnapped ‘bout two weeks after the impact. I’ve been looking for her and couldn’t find her for the longest time. I settled down up in Ankeny hoping to get enough support to mount up and track ‘em down, unfortunately, the Bigman wouldn’t let us go. So I sat stewing for months on end until we finally decided to mount up. We’ve got a lead on ‘em and there in Davenport. Fighting this dude named Bathin, really mean motherfucker from the sounds of it.

Will nodded, “we’ve heard the same. Your girl Dom with that Rita lady?”

Alex nodded, fingering his scar, “yeah, why?”

“My wife, Naomi, is with them, rescued her from Bathin. I made radio contact with Rita about three weeks ago. Like you I’ve been looking for her for months, she got taken by Rita months ago down in Centerfield. We was head for Ankeny from St. Louis to meet up with this fella called Zeke. You know him?”

“Damn straight I know Zeke. He’s just back there actually, out like a light, the lucky bastard. I was about to wake him and tell him I made contact when you folks knocked. You two up for a little Q&A session? Give the insoms out there a little story time?”

Will and Keith looked at each other, then nodded. Alex turned the mics back on. “Well, looks I’m gonna be broadcasting a little longer. My new friends Apollo and Helo have consented to an interview. So, with out further ado, please welcome the good Reverend Will Taylor, AKA Apollo and Keith Taylor alias Helo.”

The two introduced themselves and Will started with a little history about himself and the circumstances under which he adopted Keith and Danielle. From there, he moved on to the present and what happened while he was on the road from St. Louis to Ankeny. At one point, Dani came back, muttering she couldn’t sleep and started playing idly with the CB Radio. She scanned on channel and the group heard a panicked voice. Alex took note that they were on Channel 13.

“Is there anybody out there? Please, if someone hears this, answer!”

Dani piped up, “this is Starbuck, who am I talking to?”

“Crashdown, sweetie. There anyone else with you? Handles only.”

“Yeah, Apollo, Helo and Longshot.”

“Okay you four, listen closely I don’t know how much time I’ve got. I’m in Muscatine, Iowa. Bathin’s followers are here. We need help!”

“Shit!” Alex said. “You guys keep ‘em on the horn, I’m gonna get Zeke.”

Will nodded and Alex moved into the bus. Cat was up and headed for the washroom. “Alex, you okay bro?”

Alex gave him a quick rundown and Cat quickly went to the washroom and headed up front, while Alex went further back, rousing Zeke and Rueben. “Alex? What’s going on?”

“Zeke, I’ve been awake and broadcasting for hours. Got three more survivors up front.”

“You couldn’t wait till morning to tell us?”

“That ain’t the problem, dude. We were chatting and one of ‘em was playing with the CB. She picked up a distress call from Muscatine. Bathin’s goons are there.”

Both men were out of bed and dressing now. Alex led them to Cat’s broadcast station as he fully explained what was happening. Cat, Will, Keith and Dani were clustered around the CB.

“What’s the sit rep?”

“Sounds bad bro,” Cat said, his expression grimmer than Alex had ever seen.

“Crashdown, you still there? It’s Longshot.”

“I’m here man, I don’t know for how long.” They heard wood splintering. “Oh fuck! They’re here! I’m turning of the radio, pray they didn’t scan you. And pray for us. Crashdown, signing off.”

The radio went dead the seven of them exchanged somber looks.

Zeke was the first to break the silence, “I’ll go wake up Darren and John. Let them know, we’ll head there sunrise. Look for anyone how may’ve survived.”

They nodded as Zeke left the bus, leaving Alex to make the introductions.

The Next Day

The mood in the convoy was grim, word had spread fast and they made there way to Muscatine. They hung back briefly, allowing two of the privates to scout the town, to ensure Bathin’s followers were gone. They came back looking ill.

“At ease, men.” John said, “what’s the status?”

“Bathin’s followers are gone, but the town…it’s FUBAR, sir,” Private Clinton said, while Private Simmons vomited a few feet away. “They massacred them. The whole Goddamn town’s a slaughterhouse.”

John nodded, “we feared that was gonna be the case. There at least whole bodies?”

“Yes sir. Why?”

“We’re going in,” Zeke said. “We’ve got to look for any clues as to what Bathin’s planning and to give those folks a decent burial. You mind doing the service, Rev?”

Will nodded, “no problem. After that, onward to Davenport, right?”

Zeke nodded, “yes. Rita’s formed a resistance with Domenica.”

Alex smiled, “that’s my girl, always fighting.”

Zeke nodded, “that she is. Once we’re there, we are going to start our plan to take Bathin out. But first things first: Muscatine.”

The group headed for Muscatine and, when they arrived, found out the Privates were right: Muscatine was indeed a slaughter house. Several severed limbs lined the streets, heads impaled on to fence posts, torso disemboweled. John went to work assigning cleaning details, while Zeke, Alex, Ruben and Cat went about searching the houses for survivors. Cat and Alex found one house with a splintered doorframe in the basement. A corpse lay in the back, clutching a CB Radio mic, Alex noted that it was on Channel 11, but he knew. This was Crashdown, he leaned over and closed the man’s eyes, “sorry we didn’t make it in time, buddy. We tried.” Cat and Alex stood in silence for a few minutes, “Godspeed buddy.”

Alex took his legs and Cat took the arms and they carried the corpse out of the house, placing it in the center of town with the others. By nightfall, all the corpses had been gathered and Will stood before them, arms outstretched in a blessing. As he concluded, Alex, John and Darren lit the pile of corpses and the group stood, enduring the smell of burning flesh to say their final goodbyes to the poor souls who had the courage to resist.

Late Night

Alex once again sat in Cat’s broadcast chair, Will at his side. The two men where chatting idly.

“What’s on your mind Will?”

“Thinking about Muscatine, obviously. I can’t believe they did that…who could be so inhuman?”

“Demonic cultists, for one. Politicians, for another.”

Will chuckled, “I thought you were on the Ankeny Council.”

“Yeah, but deep down, I’m an Anarchist.”

Will smiled, “ah. Well, off the record, I suspected as much. We can smell our own.”

Alex grinned, “so…you ready for this shit man? I mean, the last Stand of humanity and all?”

“Of course, God and Satan are moving their pawns into place. Now it’s just a matter of who is more determined.”

Alex nodded, “personally, I’d say I am. Those fuckers are gonna pay for what they did in Muscatine.”

Will nodded, “Amen, brother. Amen.”
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Misbehaver
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Shrimp Po'Boy
Spoon, Misty - Miracles

Spoon walked silently through the park, his head low, his mind racing. This night had been fruitful, and that horrible map on the napkin had led him to new assets. After his speech, the men by the fire came to a concensus that there were worse ideas than fullscale war on Bathin. They agreed to wait until Spoon returned with more detailed plans, then things would get interesting.

He had to get back and tell Deomenica about it. It'd ease her mind a little to know that they weren't so alone in this place. They had friends here too. More than this, he needed to find a way to slow his thoughts. Since arriving in Davenport he felt like he was getting constant shock-treatment. His heart was always pounding, his feet always ready to break into a run. He couldn't unwind. He needed a hot shower, a warm bed. He needed to relax. He needed an embrace, and a sweet, sweet release....He needed to stop thinking about Domenica. He had enough on his mind without her face intruding on it.

The air grew cold almost in an instant, and Spoon tightened the grip on his jacket around him. He had left the weapons with Frank after the mobster showed him where the case was buried. He had enough guns to arm each of the men from tonight. Spoon left them there, but not before taking a carton of smokes for himself, another item from Frank's chest of wonders. It wasn't until he saw them that he realized he hadn't had a drag since he arrived in the city. That was not like him. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about his health. But at the very least, they'd help him settle down.

There was a faint sound to the right of the path just on the near side of the park entrance. Spoon thought nothing of it at first, as it could've just been a loose sign waving in the wind. But no, it was more distinct. If he hadn't been certain that he hadn't heard music since arriving in Davenport, he'd have sworn someone was playing the spoons. The sound grew louder as Spon walked, and he eventually slowed his gait, and then stopped in the middle of the path just before the exit. He looked off into the trees and listened. The noise continued, growing louder and louder, and then--





"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Spoon muttered under his breath. The familiar tune both easing and frightening at the same time. Who the hell was playing this? He darted into the treeline ready to hug a friend, or kill an enemy, not sure which. "Is this a god damn joke? Huh?!" Following the sound, he came around a thick-based tree, and found a small radio lying next to it. As soon as he saw it, the music seemed to lessen in volume, so it wasn't quite so deafening. He knelt by it, and lifted up to stand on the ground. It was an old CB radio, and the two-way was still intact. He had to wonder where the person playing the music was. Maybe it was Cat on the road from Ankeny. He couldn't be sure unless he could speak to them.

He switched the channel to the open frequency, and took the mic in his hand. "Stray? Is that you? Anyone, come in if you can hear me." Suddenly the music stopped. There was only static on the line. "Anybody. Come in."

The silence continued for a good thirty seconds. Spoon threw the mic to the ground, and said "fuck!" He had been hoping for anybody, any sort of contact with someone outside of the God forsaken city he found himself in. He stood up, and kicked the radio over, allowing something inside to break with a sick mechanical crunch. The static grew louder, and Spoon covered his ears from the harsh sound.

Then, it stopped. There was silence. Not only on the radio, but everywhere. For a few short moments, there was not a sound on Earth, and then Spoon drew breath.

"Hello?" the small voice said. "Someone?"

Spoon stared down at the machine below him. He wasn't used to tough love actually fixing machines in real life. Usually it was just a way to vent when something was broken beyond repair. He knelt down again, and took the mic in his hand.

"Hello?" the voice repeated. "Someone out there?"

Spoon licked his lips, and sighed. He cleared his throat and tried to speak as clearly as possible. "I'm here."

"I can barely hear you," the voice said faintly. It was definitely a man. "Follow me to channel 7."

Spoon turned the knob on the machine, and heard a series of hisses and white noise before the right channel came in with a click. "Hello?| he said.

"Finally," the man said. "I've been trying to reach someone down there all night."

"Down there?" Spoon said. "Where are you?"

"I'm not quite sure anymore. Everything is starting to look the same lately. I'm just happy to hear a friendly voice again."

Spoon smiled inside. The man's voice was warm, and it made him happy to hear another human being, no matter where they were out there who sounded happy. "I know what you mean. World's getting to be a pretty lonely place."

"You're telling me," the man replied. "Who am I talking to?"

"This is uh..." Spoon hesitated. "Spoonman."

"Spoonman. Really? Well, nice to meet you Spoonman. Everything alright where you are?"

Spoon scoffed to himself, not into the mic. The more he heard the man speak the more and more familiar his flat tone became. It semeed like part of a memort far tool ong gone to grab a firm hold of. Pushing the button he said "Not in the least, man. What's your name, by the way?"

"You call me, Jay, man. And what's so horrible down there?"

"Everything, Jay. Life is going from bad, to shit, to worse pretty damn quickly here. I can't seem to get my head around it. I mean, I just...I feel like I'm being sucked into a black hole."

"Son, you aren't kidding. Hate to break it to you. But that's the way of the world. Things are gonna get pretty hard. If you don't feel forsaken at some point in your life, something is seriously wrong. You just gotta roll with it."

"Well, thank you. Thanks foir showing me how to live," Spoon said jokingly. "Any other pearls of wisdom?"

There was silence for a few seconds as if Jay was really thinking hard about a response. "Dont give in to it, man. Don't give in. Don't give up. Just keep going. You fall, you stand up and run. You bleed, you get your heart pumping so hard you think you'll drain. Just keep going. You don't, then they win."

Spoon nodded in agreement, ignoring the fact that the other man couldn't see him. "Who's they?"

"The evil. Bathin."

The mention of the name brough Spoon's blood to a standstill, and he felt colder then he ever had in that second.

"If eveyone just lets their will leave them, then he has nothing standing in the way of entering every single one of them. If you don't fight, his plague becomes unstoppable."

"What can you tell me about Bathin?" There was no response. "Jay? Jay, what can you tell me about him? Do you know how to stop him?"

"Spoon, I can't tell you how to stop him. If I knew, I'd have done it myself. But I can tell you that you're going to have to keep on the path if you and your friends are going to have any chance in hell at pulling this off."

For the first time in a while, Spoon was genuinely frightened. Who the hell was this guy? "Jay? Are you in Davenport? Jay? Can you help us?"

"I am helping you, Spoon." With those words, the line went dead.

Spoon spent the next several minutes trying to get Jay back on the line. There was nothing. No voice, no music, no static. Nothing. FInally, he gave up, and let himself fall against the tree, emotionally exausted.

Spoon perked himself back up when he heard another familiar voice on the breeze. A woman this time.

"Spoon? I can see you," Misty said in a hushed tone through the park's gate. "What are you doing? Come here."

Spoon nodded, and took a moment to compose himself. He looked back down to the radio, only something was different. If it were possible, it seemed to have changed in the last five seconds. There was a large hole in the front of it now, and through it he could see exposed wires, several of which were severed. His kick had disconnected the power source. He stood there a moment, staring at the broken machine, before finally shaking his head and walking over to the gate. "Misty, what the hell are you doing out here?"

"I had to find you," she said. "I've got an idea but I need your help, tonight."

"Have you told Domenica about this?"

"What? No. I haven't. Look, just come with me, and I'll explain.

"You're the boss." Spoon walked side by side with the woman back toward the compound. He looked back only once to the park, thinking of the men by the fire, of Frankie Stanson, and of the radio. He smiled at the thought of Jay's voice, and waved it off when Misty appeared ready to question his grinning. Silently he thought to himself, I always knew God would sound just like Chris Cornell.



Edited by Misbehaver, Nov 9 2009, 01:23 AM.
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Nemesis
Bathin, Willow, Sam--Bathin's Flying Circus

Tom snaked his hand around Willow’s wrist and pulled her into his lap. He pressed his face into the side of her neck, his hot breath making her hair damp there. The kiss she placed into his palm did something to him. He was quiet and blank, as though an inner struggle was going on that she couldn’t see. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Tom moved his mouth away from her neck and looked at her with his warm brown eyes. She saw Tom’s eyes. It was really Tom. And then, before she could say anything, Tom disappeared. It was so fast that Willow wasn’t sure if she had seen what she had thought she saw at all.

“So….” Bathin said, pursing his lips playfully. “You killed my little toy.” He traced her cheek with his right index finger. “What do you think would be a proper punishment for that?”

Willow closed her eyes. So he WAS interested in more than just prying into her mind today. Her head felt like it was splitting open; she sat there limply, unresponsive. She was so tired.

“Aw, where’s my little sparkplug?” Bathin said, mimicking Mark’s voice perfectly.

Willow shuddered with revulsion. She hated it when he used Mark’s voice. Especially when he was raping her. She knew that he did it as an insult to her, and as a mockery of her and Mark’s love for one another. It was times like this that she hated him most.

Bathin laughed, a deep guttral sound that split the air open around them. “Poor Willow, so abused and used, isn’t she?” he cooed, licking her face again at the spot where blood still stained her. “

“Don’t touch me!” she barked, revolted and angry at the same time.

Bathin grinned. “That’s my girl!” He tilted her face towards him, so that she had to look in his eyes. “We like them spirited, oh yes, we do. The spirited ones are so much more fun. This one can be somewhat of a bore at times, but when he FIGHTS,” he leered, “he is just so much fucking fun I can hardly STAND IT!” Bathin hooted with manical glee and stood up, dumping Willow off his lap while still holding onto her wrist.

He dragged her along as he descended the steps, causing her body to thump and twist on the marble stairs like a ragdoll. Suddenly, he stopped and turned to her. “Oh, incidentally,” Bathin said, as though it were an afterthought, “your dear beloved husband Adam is burning in hell as we speak. He’s having such a hard time adjusting. The climate is quite different than California.”

“You shut up! You’re lying!” Willow seethed. How dare he mention Adam’s name!

Bathin just laughed. He liked them angry. They were so much more fun to play with that way. Which is why he sometimes used both Adam’s and Mark’s voice when he fucked her. It made the whole experience so much more pleasurable.

Bathin’s face transformed now, and looked so much like Adam. “It hurts, baby, please help me, it hurts SO BAD!” he wailed in Adam’s voice.

Willow started sobbing, it was too much. If this was her punishment, it was exceptionally cruel. Somehow, Willow didn’t think this was the extent of her suffering today.

Adam’s voice continued to emit from Bathin’s lips. “Help me, Willow! If you love me, please help me!”

Willow just bowed her head, letting the tears come. But she wasn’t going to give this bastard the satisfaction of reacting vocally to his little game. In the end, it always made things worse.

“Oh, poo,” Bathin said, feigning disappointment. “You’re no fun.” He lifted her into the air by her wrist, drawing her straight up before he flung her to the ground, four steps down. “Look at that air time!” he exclaimed gleefully. “That was impressive, Willow. Should we try it again?”

She barely had time to look up and Bathin was there, breathing in her face, his breath hot as a furnace blast. He struck her quickly, sharply, once then twice on the face, his palm leaving a red mark on her face. His eyes were yellow now, looking alien and frightening in Tom’s face. He growled at her, his breath smelling like sulphur and something dead. Before she could respond, Bathin snatched her by the ankle and dragged her along the marble floor, knowing that she could not find purchase with her fingers.

“The frustrating thing about you, Willow, is that you just….”he said, flinging her across the floor so that she hit the opposite wall. He strode over to her catlike, impossibly fast, and bent over to gloat in her face. “don’t….” he flung her the opposite direction. “PLAY ALONG!”

“We’re eating Adam’s soul in Hell, Precious,” he sneered, drawing her up into a standing position. “Isn’t that lovely?”

Bathin pretended to read his watch. “My, my, how times flies. I’ll bet Bridgette is getting rather cross with me, making her wait this long for me. Tsk, tsk.” He held the woozy Willow up by one arm and roared through the door. “Sam!!”

Sam entered the room and winced as he saw the battered Willow hanging like a bag of laundry under Tom’s arm. “Yes?”

“Take her out of my sight, but not to my room. I have a guest waiting for me.” He tapped his chin in thought. “Know what? I’d like you to take her to your quarters, Sam. And I’d like for you to have fucked her before she wakes back up.”

“Huh?” Sam said, stunned. He couldn’t have heard what he thought he heard.

Tom grinned evilly and pointed a long finger at Sam. “Believe me, buddy, you deserve it. She’s great. And don’t try to shirk that order, either, cuz I’ll know if you did the deed or not.” He tapped his temple. “I know things.” Tom burst into joyous laughter and placed a barely concious Willow into Sam’s arms, patting him on the back. “Have fun, buddy. Go hog wild. She does EVERYTHING.” Tom winked, a wink that made Sam sick to the stomach.

“C’mon, Willow,” Sam whispered. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I want details!” Tom yelled gleefully from behind Sam. He could still hear Tom laughing as the heavy door shut behind him.
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They were words, brave words, hollow words, but they made Bridgette feel better anyways. Curled up in Mark's arms, she felt a bit safer.

She still felt a tremor of fear for what Bathin was going to do to her, however. She still didn't know for sure if he knew about her secret hiding place.

Bridgette was thankful it wasn't her only hiding place, just the one she used the most. She had to keep those hidden at all costs, even if it cost her her life. If she gave up all of those locations, then the rebellion would surely fail.

Bridgette laughed suddenly, a harsh laugh with no mirth. Mark pulled back a little, looking worriedly at her, "Are you ok?"

"I'm Princess Leia!" Bridgette laughed, "I'm fucking Leia, keeping the Death Star plans from Darth Vader!" Bridgette wiped the tears from her eyes, "I just realized that!"

Mark grinned uncertainley, "And who does that make me? R2-D2?"

Bridgette chuckled, "No, if anything, your Han Solo, or maybe Luke Skywalker."

"Funny, I always wanted to be Chewie," Mark laughed, flashing his bright smile, "I always thought I'd look good covered in hair!"

They both laughed, falling into each others arms. Their laughter wasn't hysterical, but it still felt good to laugh after all this time.

The door slammed open, cutting their laughter shut. Bathin stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, and a strange smile on his face.

"Hello, Bridgette," Bathin said, adopting a British accent, "How are you doing?"

Bridgette gulped, and pushed away from Mark, wiping her eyes. Mark stood up, his hands clenched, face seething.

"Mark, my friend, how are you doing?" Bathin said, still smiling that odd smile.

"I've been better." Mark said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Why, whatever is the matter?" Bathin said, "You look positively furious. Is something wrong?"

"You know damn well whats wrong!" Mark shouted, and Bridgette noticed, with alarm, that the tendons in his arms were standing out.

Bathin laughed, and Bridgette felt a chill run up her spine, "I need to talk to that lovely young creature behind you. Leave."

Mark did not move, his fists clenched, "I know what you're going to do, and I'm not going to let you."

"Let me?" Bathin chuckled, "You're not going to let me? My friend, you don't get to tell me what..."

"I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING FRIEND!" Mark shouted, his face red, "You kidnapped my friend, you and Tom are two completely different people!"

Bathin was silent for a second, then, "you have spirit. I like that." Then he moved.

One second, he was standing in the doorway, the next, he had Mark by the throat, pinned against the wall, "It's always fun to break someone with spirit."

Mark choked, his face turning purple. He clawed at Bathins hands, trying to break his grip, but Bathin was too strong.

"Now, I need to speak to that whore next to you." Bathin said, his voice deadly cold, "Leave. Now."

"Fuck...you..." Mark choked out, but Bridgette put her hand on his arm.

"Mark, please, just go!" Bridgette said. Bathin was furious, and if Mark continued, Bathin would kill him, and possibly her as well. If Mark left no, at worst, only Bridgette would die.

"Yes, listen to the whore," Bathin hissed, "I'm sparing your life, for now. Cross me again, and you shall rue the day." He released Mark, who sank to the floor, coughing. He staggered to his feet, his face red, and a circle of bruises was forming around his neck.

He glared at Bathin, but said nothing. Bridgette took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. He nodded, but Bridgette could see the worry in his eyes. He left, however, closing the door behind him.

Leaving Bridgette alone with a demon.

Bridgette struggled to keep her mind blank, knowing she had no natural immunity to it, but also knowing Bathin had trouble reading thoughts that weren't foremost in the mind.

"Your resisting," Bathin hissed, "Are you sure thats wise?"

He was pissed. The possibility that she might not leave the room alive thundered through her skull.

Bathin grinned, "Afraid, are we?" He advanced toward her, slowly, menacingly, "What is there for you to be afraid of? You'd almost think you were locked in her with a psycho who wanted to kill you." And he threw back his head, and laughed.

Bridgette cringed, the sound of his laughter pounding into her like a hammer. Keep her mind clear, keep it clear...

"Are you trying to hide your little hole in the wall?" Bathin said, making Bridgette wince. So he knew about that, "Of course I know. And frankly, I don't care."

Bridgette blinked, and suddenly found Bathin right in her face. "Do you really think your friends stand any chance against me? Send out a hundred messages, for all I care." Bathin frowned, "Of course, I can't very well let your defiance of me go unpunished, can I?"

She felt the blow before she saw it. She picked herself up off the floor, blood trickling from her lip, and a deep pain in her cheek. She felt a tugging in her hair, and she was dragged to her feet, and she felt a powerful blow to her stomach.

She doulbed over, wheezing, and vomit and bile poured from her mouth onto the floor. She coughed, still clutching her stomach, until a foot flew up and kicked her in the face.

Blood flew from her nose, and she cut her lip on her teeth, but she was still conscious. She flaied about, her vision blurry, trying to hold off the attack she knew was coming. She could hear his footsteps, coming toward her, and her terror was extreme.

Her flailing hand grabbed hold of something sharp, a pair of scissors, or a letter opener. She held it in front of her, blinking to clear her vision, and the footsteps stopped.

"Do you really think that would work?" Bathin asked, his voice soft, amused, "Stab me, and all this ends?" He chuckled. "Go ahead, do it," He said, and Bridgette felt a push, and realized Bathin had walked up to her, pressing himself into the scissors, "Do it. I dare you."

She would never have an opportunity like this again, she realized, if she killed him now, this whole war would be over!

"Would it really?" Bathin asked, "Do you truly beleive that?"

Fuck! She had to keep her mind clear, keep control. She remembered a kids song from her childhood, and began singing it in her head.

This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends!

Bathin laughed, "A simple trick, my dear. Do it."

Her finges tightened around the scissors, her arms tensed. All she had to do was push. Some people started singing it not knowing what it was......

"You can end it all," Bathin whispered, his voice seeming to come from everywhere, "One push, and you can kill me, and Tom, too."

Who was Tom to her? And they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends.......

With a sobbing cry, she dropped the scissors, hearing them hit the carpet with a muted thud.

She heard Bathin chuckle, "You humans are so weak." there was a hissing sound, and Bridgette saw no more.

A wet thing was dabbing her face, and she cried out in revulsion, flailing, fearing some vileness from Bathin.

"Easy, honey, easy! It's ok!" A familiar voice said, catching her arms, holding her, "He's gone, baby, he's gone!"

Brifgette blinked, her heart pounding, her vision clearing, "Lilly? What are you doing here? where are we?"

"We're still in his room," Lilly said, and there was no need to say who she meant, "He really did a number on you, honey."

Bridgette saw Lilly was holding a damp cloth in her hand, which she had been using to clean Bridgette's face off, "He asked you to take care of me?"

"In a manner of speaking," Lilly said, "Mark was worried sick about you, but I made him wait outside, in case...well, you know."

Bridgette winced, "How is Willow?"

"I don't know," Lilly said, "Sam's with her now, I havn't seen her in a while."

"Hope shes ok," Bridgette said, leaning back. Her face and stomach felt sore.

"By the way, this came for you a few minutes ago," Lilly annouced, pulling a sheet of paper from between her cleavage, and handing it to Bridgette.

Bridgette unfolded the paper, reading it, "Its from Misty." She frowned, concentrating. It was hard to think with her face in so much pain. "Oh, my god."

"What is it?" Lilly asked, "What's it say?"

"I need Mark, bring him in here, please!" Bridgette said, and Lilly all but flew to comply.

The note was fairly long, and it detailed a plan that Misty said had been contrived by Rita. Bridgette agreed that it was a good plan, but there was still so much risk involved. She would have to be careful, she might even have to disappear, but it could work.

Mark came in, hurrying to her side, Lilly right behind him, "What is it, whats wrong?"

"Lilly, keep an eye on the door, please." Bridgette said. When Lilly complied, Bridgette looked at Mark, holding out the message, "I just got this from Misty. The rebellion is ready to attack, and she's told me when and were."

As Bridgette relayed the info to mark, she was fully aware that someone was going to pay a heavy price for this plan, but Bridgette knew this would be their best shot. She felt horrible about ofering someone up like this, but it couldn't be helped. God forgive her.

This is the song that doesn't end.......
"Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man whose gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"


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Zeke et all - Pow Wow


“This is just… Zeke?” John asked, looking at his brother who was standing at the corner of their meeting place, his eyes looking out over what remained of Muscatine. “Zeke? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Zeke replied turning around after a moment. “I was… I’m fine. What’re we talking about?” He came towards the map on the table. Alex’s new friends had given them considerable information on the layout of the land ahead of them and they were plotting out their new path. His eyes pet Ruben’s who gave him a concerned look and Zeke touched his arm gently reassuring him. “Our approach?”

“Yeah,” Alex said scratching his chin. “Looks like our original intel was right, we can only go in from the east. Will said that the surrounding area is like Ankeny’s. It’s pretty well protected, but with only one way in, it’ll be a tough sell.

Zeke nodded. “That it will be.”

“So Mr. Military Stradgist,” Ruben said with a smile “what would you suggest?”

The corner of Zeke’s mouth turned up slightly. “What we need is the element of surprise, that goes without saying.” He said. “I’m hoping once we get within 10-15 miles from Davenport we’ll be able to pick up Spoon on the radio. With luck he’ll have a plan worked up with Dominica as far as the best way in.”

“There’s one other way,” Will said taking a pen and marking a section of the map. “The river is shallow here, very shallow. We should be able to just drive across. It’d save you several hours.”

“Maybe,” Alex said “we can send a few vehicles over there decked out to look like business. I hate to say it, but like decoys. Make him think we’re coming in from that direction. You think it’ll work?” He asked looking at John and then Zeke.

“We need all the help we can get,” John said. “The doubside is that it’s an obvious play, and we’re going to need as much firepower as we can get on our real attack.”

“This is all moot right now,” Zeke said turning his back to the map and again looking out over the horizon in the direction of Davenport. “We need the information Spoon is collecting in order to,” he sighed “in order to mount an effective… attack.” The words tore from his mouth sharply as though they hurt his very soul to speak. “He’ll have the key to getting inside undiscovered.”

“How do you know that?” Will asked. “It’s important to have a plan, just in case.”

“There is a back up plan,” Ruben said, his voice heavy.

“Yeah,” Alex replied. “If we fail, the jets firebomb the entire city.”

Will laughed, “You can’t be... you’re not… Jesus.”

“Bathin can’t be allowed to live,” Ruben said. “It’s our last resort.” His eyes met Alex’s. “The decision was unanimous.”

“It’s the only way,” Alex said feeling sick to his stomach as he spoke. “Will’s right though Zeke, we need a plan.”

“The plan is to get into the city from the east with the help of the resistance and Spoon.” Zeke said “they have the key that will let us inside.”

“And what about a distraction? Something to draw Bathin’s attention away from what we’re doing?” Alex asked. “He’s got to know that we’re coming.”

“Oh he knows,” Zeke replied. “He can feel me getting closer, just like I can feel he’s getting closer.” He turned and looked at Ruben and then John and Alex. “Don’t worry, when the moment arrises his eyes will be directed to the west.”

“How do you know?” Alex said. “How can you possibly know? Any of this? I mean Jesus Zeke,”

“He just knows,” Ruben replied.

“Well dammit that’s not good enough!” Alex snapped. “We’re out here risking our lives,”

“We’re not here because of Zeke,” John snapped at him. “We’re here to rescue,”

“I know why we’re here!” Alex yelled “and we should have been here 10 fucking months ago! But now, now Bathin’s had time to root in, dig in his heals so he’ll be all that much fucking harder to move! God will provide? Is that your snappy comeback Zeke? God will show us the way? He’ll guide our hand? That God will magically lead us to victory and provide a diversion while we commit suicide only before firebombing the entire fucking city obliterating every single god damn reason we’re going there in the first place?” Months of frustration poured out of him in a tidal wave.

“No,” Zeke said looking at him, meeting his eyes. “I am.” He walked up to Alex, his footsteps firm and he stood there, looking him in the eyes. “You just do your job. You do yours, and I’ll do mine.”

“And what’s your job?” Alex snapped. “Praying? That’s going to get us inside the city?”

“No,” Zeke replied. “I’ve never prayed a day in my life, and I’m not going to start now. You do your job, all of you need to do your job,” he said looking at each of them “and I’ll do mine. This meeting is over.” Without another word Zeke turned and walked away from the table and towards the Jeep where he had left his book knowing exactly what he had to do.
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Sam staggered down the hallway, holding Willow in his arms like a new husband would carry his bride across the threshold. She didn;t look good...Not at all. But he could feel her breathing, so that was as good a sign as any. He was halfway back to his quarters when the hysteria overtook him and he had to set Willow down and lean against the wall with his head resting on his arm. Dear God, stop the merry-go-round, I want off, and I want off now.

You fucking idiot.

Sam, for the 4th time that day (Usually, he had this feeling roughly 7-10 times per day) again cursed himself for being blinded by rage so much that he had gotten himself and the others into this situation. He defended himself by thinking that he had no clue whatsover that Tom was not Tom until it was relaly too late to stop anything, but it was small consolation for the blood that was on his hands, and continued to be on his hands.

Of course, Adam's death hadn't done much to help things. Sam had always been a man to shoot first and ask questions later, and Tom had played off of that perfectly. His presence, as much as Tom's, had really warmed the others to him, so he'd been an unwitting accomplice to the atrocities. He certainly hadn't meant too, but the road to Hell was paved with good intentions, and Sam, for at least awhile, had been working on a freeway.

Domenica, bless her heart, had gotten him back in touch with who he shouldn't have lost touch with to begin with. She'd really guided him back on the right path when the rage had still been present, and made him realize that like it or not, it was all part of a plan. It didn't make it hurt less, but it allowed him to trust God more, and right now, he needed all the help he could possibly get. He'd been walking a fine line for a long time. So far, Tom had not put anything together, at least not that Sam could see. But he crept around, careful as could be, like a dirt poor James Bond.

Only a little while now, just a little while, and it would all be over. Please god, let us all survive this.

Sam picked up Willow again, and, brushing out all other thoughts, got her back to his prison. A well-cared for, and homey prison, but a prison nonetheless. He laid Willow down on his bed. He spent the next half hour wiping off blood and using ointments. He was halfway done when Willow stirred. He kept her immobile as he finished up, then sat across from her in a small chair that was opposite the bed.

Willow said, "Thanks." Sam nodded. There was a silence. Sam finally broke the silence, saying, "Wow, we're fucked." Willow nodded, saying, "That's an understatement." Sam said, "No...You..." Sam let it out in a rush, saying, "Tom wants us to fuck or he's going to hurt me, and or you." Willow was silent. She finally nodded, saying, "I knew it was going to happen eventually, I was wondering just when."

Sam said, "What do you mean?" Willow said, "The ultimate will-breaker. He rapes me...Tom does, talking like Adam, talking like Mark...I knew it was only a matter of time before he brought you into it. The final attempt to shatter me completely. I've thought about it, and I've been ready."

Sam stood up. He said, "Maybe you're ready for it, but I'm not. I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of, but I refuse to let this be one of them. I....I won;t do it. I can't do it. Whatever he's..." Willow said, "STOP." Sam looked at her.

Willow said, "Your act of chivalry is touching, but you can throw that shit right out the door. You, me, we're needed. If we're going to stop that motherfucker, we're all needed. We stopped being able to try for Chivalry a long time ago. All that's left now is survival. Whatever he does to us, isn't a candle to what we're going to do to him."

Sam turned his back to her, leaning against the wall. He stayed there for a long time. Finally, he walked to the dresser, where this morning's bottle was resting. He poured a great deal into a glass and practically chugged it. Sam turned back to Willow and said, "So what do we do now?"

Willow started removing her shirt.
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Misty walked back into the compound with Spoon, vaguely curious as to what he was grinning about. Misty herself hadn't felt like grinning in what felt like years. Maybe the seasoned soldier could find humor in any situation.

The guards saluted Spoon as they walked by, and Misty grunted, "Congrats on the promotion, by the way."

"Thank you." Spoon said, grinning, "Too bad it happen on the end of the world, I was looking forward to putting that on my resume."

In spite of herself, Misty chuckled. Now it was easier to see why he grinned all the time. The man had a sense of humor, unlike most military guys she'd ever known.

"so," Spoon said conversationally, "what was it you needed?"

"A priest." Misty said.

"An old priest or a young priest? Or maybe both?" Spoon grinned, "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression, but I'm not looking to get married to you..." (OOC: had to steal the joke, Misbehaver :P)

"Not that, you gink," Misty sighed, rolling her eyes, "I think a priest might be useful."

"Why? You looking for Divine Intervention?" Spoon asked, "I don't see how he could help,unless he's got a shitload of sacrimental wine..."

"Didn't you ever see The Excorsist?" Misty said, "Jesus Christ, you need to get out more."

Spoon chuckled, "Yea, I've seen that, and I think I know were you're going with it, but do you think it'd work?"

Misty shrugged, "Couldn't hurt, right? Nothing says we need to kill Bathin, maybe all we need to do is get him out of Tom's body."

"I dunno, even in the movies, thats a risky move," Spoon said, rubbing his chin, "And this is real life. We can't even be sure it'll work. The demon'll probably spit acid in his face or something."

"Spoon," Misty said, suddenly stern, "There's a Duke of Hell roaming the world, possessing the body of a famous rockstar, and he has our friends held hostage. I think we can do without your skepticism, and you can find us a priest, ok?"

"Allright, allright," Spoon said, holding his hands up, "You want a priest, I'll find you Father Guido Sarducci, just take it easy, will ya?"

"Sorry," Misty said, "I just got a lot on my mind."

"Don't we all," Spoon said, "I know your worried about your friend Bridgette."

"It's been ten months," Misty said, "Before, we hadn't been more then a day apart without seeing each other, now..."

"I understand," Spoon said softly, "Look, I'll do what I can, but I can't guarantee I'll find a priest."

"I appreciate it, Spoon," Misty said, smiling, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Spoon grinned, "But hey, if you change you rmind, we'll have a priest to marry us, if you like!"

Misty laughed, "Get going, you freak." She punched him on the shoulder as he walked away.

She felt better after talking to him, better then she had in a long time. She oughtta do it more often.

Well, Spoon was doing his best to find a priest, which Misty thought would be worth more then 1000 soldiers, and with any luck, Bridgette was enacting the plan Rita had proposed.

Misty sighed. It was almost out of her hands now. All she could do was wait. Maybe she'd go with Spoon to find a priest......
"Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man whose gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"


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Willow/Sam/Bridgette/Mark - Aweeee... crap


To say that the next hour of her life was awkward would have probably been the understatement of the century. There’d been a part of her that had been waiting for this to come, mixed with another part, a naively hopeful part that it wouldn’t ever happen. She knew that she’d been hoping in vain, but hope was still hope, and now that was gone. It was one thing to ponder what your father in laws cum face looked like, a whole other thing to actually see it.

There would be no way to lie to Tom, to tell him that Sam had enjoyed himself. He knew both of them well enough. No matter what Sam did, Tom, no… Bathin… knew that he was still a man of morals. There were still things that wouldn’t sit well with him and screwing the woman who had married his son, given birth to his grandchildren… that wasn’t going to be something that Sam would want to do. Willow knew that no matter what he did, he’d never own Sam, not like he owned her.

She knew Sam. She knew what kind of a man he was. Though she didn’t know him well, she knew that no matter what he was a good man. A bad man would have just abandoned Adam, a bad man would have beaten him, neglected him... well he had neglected him but not totally. Adam had always loved his father, and that had always been what had saved him in her eyes and that day when he’d picked up her children after the asteroid, the way that he’d smiled at them, swallowed his pride and just about cried…

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a pillow in his lap awkwardly. “Did I,”

“I’m fine Sam,” she said gently, sliding out of bed. Her entire body ached miserably after what Tom, no Bathin, had done to her.

“You don’t look it,” he replied, staring at the wall. “You look like,”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” She said, picking up her dress and sliding it back on, wincing as she did so. She sat back down on the edge of the bed. “I need a shower.” She said softly to herself.

“You can,”

“No, thank you.” She replied, running her hands through her matted hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he shoved his face between my legs to make sure that we did it, even though he’d just have to mind fuck me.” She replied. “He loves to do that, humiliate me… not that I don’t deserve it.”

“Willow, you don’t deserve this.” Sam said. “God,”

“I don’t believe in God,” she said looking at him. “I never did, not your God anyway. I know people look at him, I know that they look at him and pray for his death. I know that they want to kill him… cut out his heart and…”she shook her head “but I don’t. Not Tom’s at any rate. This isn’t Tom’s fault, it’s Bathin doing all this and I… I was so desperate to get rid of Rita that, that I didn’t listen. Dominica tried to tell me but I let my hate blind me, like you did when you came here with him. This? This is all penance, Sam. The Gods are taking their penance from us for fucking up, and I’ll pay it. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Bathin here, away from Callie, away from Lex, to keep Kerri safe, Mark safe, you safe…”

“Dominica,”

“No, don’t.” She said looking at him and standing up. “Don’t tell me anything about her. It’s just, it’s better that way. He can’t get in Mark’s head, I know that. Mark told me that he can’t, but he can get in mine as easily as opening the cover to a book. I can’t hide anything from him, and he knows it… and he,” she shook her head and sighed. “I should get back. Kerri’s going to need to eat soon.” She laughed softly. “At least, at least you don’t sound like him in bed.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You don’t, smell like him, taste like” her voice broke and she shook her head sharply. “I just want this to end Sam.” Willow walked around to the other side of the bed and gave him a brief hug. “You take care of yourself.” She said with a soft smile, a smile that said that she didn’t blame him for anything that had happened and she left his room.

She walked barefoot down the long hallway passing many doors leading to other people’s rooms. She wasn’t familiar with this area of the building but she knew how to get back. He was probably guiding her, drawing her to him. She always knew where he was. It was almost like an invisible compass in the pit of her stomach that pointed the way to Hell.

“So the old railway?” Mark’s voice filled her ears as she pushed open the heavy door to the expansive chamber that served as Tom’s bedroom and office where they had their little den.

“Yeah,” Bridgette replied softly. “No one watches that old bridge, it’s too unstable so if we can get some people there to reinforce it, it should be a good entrance point. We’ve already start,” she broke off as the door squeaked. “Willow.” She said, her voice clearly surprised to see her, a horrified look on her face. “I,”

“Oh Gods no,” Willow groaned. “Tell me, oh fuck. You have to change it.” She said her eyes looking in back of herself down the hallway checking for Tom before shutting the door. “You’re talking about Dominica right? This rebellion thing that Bathin’s been so furious about? Oh fuck, why did you… here?” She ran her hands through her hair.

“We were just,” Mark said looking pale.

“Go,” Willow said. “Just, go… and go fast, before he gets here.” She said, turning and going to the crib picking up Kerri and settling down on the pillows, her hands shaking as she brought the baby to her breast to eat. “I always hoped you were… just go, don’t come back. Find a new way,”

“There’s no other way!” Bridgette said. “We’ve looked, it’s the only way they can get into the city!” Her eyes met with Mark’s who looked equally horrified that she’d walked in on their conversation. “I’ll,”

“You need to leave,” Willow said looking at her. “You need to leave and go underground and not come back. I’ll try to hide it from him, I promise but… I’ll try.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bridgette said. “I didn’t,”

“Just go, please.” Willow said and she shivered. “He’s coming, just go.” She watched Bridgette rush out of the room without a further word and she looked at Mark. “I should have knocked. I should have… have you been in on this?”

Mark shook his head. “No, she just came to me.” He replied. “She was scared Bathin was going off the deep end, wanted to give us hope. I told her that she couldn’t tell you because of the mind reading but she wanted to tell me…. You know, so I could, comfort you. She was afraid that you’re giving up.”

“Give up?” Willow said with a laugh. “When I have so much to live for?” Her arm swept around the room. “Mark, if I didn’t jump out the window coming back here, I’m not going to… though I probably should now. I’m going to ruin everything.”

“Sing,” Mark replied. “Just sing the same thing over and over in your head. That’s what Bridgette said she did to keep him out.”

“Yeah, well there’s something about me that you don’t know.” Willow said with a half smile.

“What’s that?”

“I’m tone deaf.” The two of them looked at each other for a minute before they started to laugh.

Mark settled down on the pile of plush pillows behind her, one leg on either side of her hips and he pulled her back against him. He could feel her wincing with discomfort, see several new bruises forming through the thin material of her worn dress. His arms wrapped around her waist and he kissed the back of her head. “I love you.” He whispered softly, one hand touching their daughter’s head gently as she fed.

“I love you too,” Willow replied, closing her eyes relaxing, just for a moment and feeling like a human being. A disgusting, revolting human being, but a human being none the less.
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Spoon, Misty - The Price of Forgiveness


"So, where exactly are we going to start?" Misty asked, quickening her step to keep up with Spoon's determined stride.

He may not have known exactly where he was going, but he was going to get there fast. His conversation with the magical radio still fresh in his mind. He hadn't told Misty about Jay yet. As far as he could tell, it was probably better to keep conversations with God to himself unless they were extremely pertinent. Pep talks didn't fulfill that quality to him. "Not quite sure, Misty. I think I'm the last guy you should've come to about finding a man of the cloth."

"Well, you're the lawman," she replied. "Just....detect."

Spoon chuckled at the statement. "We haven't really gotten a chance to get to know each other, have we, Misty?"

"I guess not." She shrugged, throwing a look over her shoulder. Spoon's paranoia was starting to rub off on her already.

"Well, I was a lawman for approximately 9 months back in Ankeny. Before that, quite a different line of work."

"Oh?"

"Remember I told you guys I was good at getting in touch with the scum of society?" Spoon stopped dead in his tracks and stared straight ahead. Jackpot.

Misty stopped suddenly, nearly stomping right into Spoon's back. "Yeah, I guess so."

Spoon went to speak and held his tongue for a moment as he felt Misty's body press against his for a second. It was the first time he'd felt a woman's body since the asteroid. He suddenly realized how pathetic that was. "Well, it's 'cause I used to be one of them."

"That explains a lot."

Spoon nodded. "But, in this case I think it is about to do us some good. Or I'm just crazy."

"What? Got an idea?"

"Absolutely." Spoon pointed straight ahead and smirked. "I think we can find our quarry in there."

"The church? Misty said. "Bit obvious, don't you think."

"Yup," Spoon said walking ahead, power in each step.

"Spoon, come on. Bathin trashed that place in the first week he took over. If there was a priest in there, his head is probably hanging on the wall in Bathin's office." Misty noticed Spoon was getting pretty far ahead now. "Hey. Slow up, will you."

"That's why we're not going to the church, Misty."

"Where are we going?" Misty ran up and stopped next to Spoon across from the small chapel.

"In there," Spoon replied nodding toward the diminutive building to the right of the church. "Where else would you find a man of God after the Devil takes over?"

Misty smiled and nodded. For being a newcomer to the whole detective thing, Spoon had some pretty good ideas. "I suppose I'd hit the bars too," she said pushing the door open, Spoon following.

The pair walked into the darkly lit building. It was crowded. But what else could be expected. With Hell on Earth, it only makes sense for the weak to start drinking themselves to death. Spoon scanned the room looking for whoever looked like they were the churchgoing type. There were few to be seen.

"Well, I guess we just ask," Spoon said.

"I'll start over there," Misty said, and walked away toward the far side of the bar.

Spoon watched Misty walk away, thinking about how beautiful she looked even from behind. He quickly shook the head from his thought. He had to stop thinking about women. He had bigger problems right now than a desperate case of blue balls.He looked in the other direction toward the booths. They were all filled with hard looking men. Spoon suddenly felt right at home. He strolled over, letting his grin fall from his face. It was serious time.

"Excuse me gentlemen," he said to the foursome in the first booth. "I was wondering if you could help me, I'm looking for a friend of mine. A man, possibly wearing a white collar, prays a lot? Seen anyone like that in here?"

The men stared blankly at him. Then Spoon noticed the four empty pitchers on their table, and the varying sized puddles of drool next to each man's glass. He nodded in lieu of a thanks and moved on.

He worked his way down the wall of booths, each attempt coming up with nothing. The men were either too drunk too comprehend or too scared to speak. He glanced across the bar at Misty, who raised her hands in a question. Spoon shook his head at her, and moved on to the tables. He was growing impatient.

"Excuse me," he said approaching two men by the back wall of the bar. "I'm looking for a priest."

The larger of the two men laughed, and shook his head. "Wrong place, shortstop. You might try the place next door. Less chance of getting your ass kicked in there."

Spoon was almost hoping for a reaction like this. He needed some kind of release. "I'm sorry. I must've phrased myself wrong. I'm looking for a priest."

"I must've phrase MYself wrong," the man snapped back. "Move on, before something bad happens." The man took his hand and swatted at Spoon's shoulder. "What's a shrimp like you need a priest for any--"

Spoon grabbed the man's hand and twisted the forefinger as hard as he could. The man grunted in pain, and nearly fell out of his chair. "Because I'm about to cripple a man, and I need to be forgiven quickly." He grabbed the man's glass from the table and smashed it on the top of his head. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Spoon wiped his shoulder, and turned to the other man at the table. "Mind speaking for your friend?"

The man spoke like he had a lump in his throat. "Over there," he said, pointing to the other end of the bar. "There's a little old guy. He used to be the minister next door. He's got a girl with him."

"Old guy with a girl," Spoon said. "Thank you." He stepped over the large man's body, and whistled for Misty to come meet him.

"Any luck?" she said, stepping up to him.

"I think so." Spoon pushed his way through the crowd toward the back of the bar. What he saw was not quite what he expected.

Sitting there, in a chair against the wall, was presumably the little old priest the patron had told Spoon about. Grinding in his lap, was presumably a stripper.

Spoon shrugged, and turned to Misty. "Looks the type to me."

The two shared a chuckle, and approached him.

"Excuse me?" Misty said. "Um, father?"

The man leaned over in his chair, looking around his dancer's moving body. "Yes? " he said, obviously annoyed.

"We need to speak with you, if you can spare a moment." Misty looked at the dancer with a very confused look on her place. It was one thing for a priest to indulge in some extra communion now and then. This was something else.

The priest sighed, and nodded, lifting a bottle to his lips and chugging the last drops of a beer. He lifted the woman off his lap. Putting the bottle down, he signed a cross and said "I absolve you of all your sins as they stand in the eyes of God. Go in peace."

The woman nodded. "Thank you, father." She quickly walked away.

Spoon was flabbergasted. He stared wide-eyed at the old man sitting before him. He noticed the collar on his neck, and only then, knew it was the right man. "You're buying lap dances with salvation?"

"What else is it good for anymore?" the man said.

"Good point."

"Father," Misty said, not wanting to get off track. "We need your help."

"Call me, Eric. No formalities in here." He glanced over at Spoon, then to Misty, and back. "Weddings?"

Spoon looked over to Misty questioningly. Misty shook her head.

"I guess not," he said. "What is it you want?"


OOC: I know it's short. But it's late. By the way, Father Eric:
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Edited by Misbehaver, Nov 10 2009, 04:42 PM.
mike was still in his chair being eatenchair
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Bridgette cursed herself for a fool. It wasn't supposed to be like that! Willow wasn't supposed to know!

Bridgette had been counting on Mark's natural resistence to Bathin's mind reading power, to help throw Bathin off track, and catch him by surprise.

But now Willow knew. Willow, who had no protection against Bathin, who would fight to keep the plan a secret, who would very likely get badly hurt, trying to keep it from Bathin.

Bridgette was having trouble breathing, her heart about to burst. She hadn't meant for any of that, and now Willow was going to pay the price.

And the worst part was that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. If Bridgette caved in to Bathin, there would be no one left to warn the rebellion that Bathin was aware of their plan, and hundreds would be slaughtered, and their only hope of defeating Bathin would go right down the crapper.

There was nothing Bridgette could do now except run away. As long as she was here, she was in great danger. When Bathin learned from Willow that Bridgette had leaked the plan- and he would find out- then Bathin would break Bridgettes mind to find out all he could about the rebellion.

Bridgette sighed, because she knew what that meant for her. She had to leave this place. If she didn't, Bathin would surely find her.

It wasn't a choice she was comfortable with. She felt as if she would be abandoning her friends, leaving them while she scurried to safety. If everyone survived what was ahead, she wasn't sure they would understand, and forgive her. She wasn sure she wouldn't blame them, either.

Lilly was going to distract the guards tonight, she would have to slip out at that point. She knew how to get to the rebel hideout, and had slipped past the guards on more then one occasion, so she was prepared.

She would pack her things, and go. She thought about telling Mark and Willow, to see if they would flee with her, but she knew neither of them would go for it. Mark would never leave Willow, and Willow would probably say something like she deserved to be here.

Bridgette couldn't even leave them a note, explaining were she had gone, lest Bathin read their minds and discover the truth, an action that would surely get Willow and Mark killed.

With any luck, they would think Bathin had had her killed. Bridgette found it morbidly funny that she hoped her friends thought she was dead.

She ran back to her room, to pack. She didn't have many personal belongings, a few spare dresses and a thin blanket. She folded the dresses and wrapped the blanket around them into a neat little bundle. She took a last look at the small cell like room that had been her home for almost a year. She sincerely hoped that once Bathin was defeated, and everyone had been evacuated, they bombed this place to hell and back.

Bridgette grabbed her bundle, and quickly left her room. She was halfway down the hall before a terrible thought struck her. What if Bathin decided to use Willow's baby against her? What if Bathin killed the baby?

Bridgette couldn't live with that. But what could she do? She could always take the baby, but to travel in secret with a mewling baby would be dangerous...

No. Bridgette wasn't going to worm her way out of this. It would be the absolute least she could do to make up for putting Willow in this predicament. Bridgette nodded, her mind made up. She would take the baby with her.

Willow sometimes kept Kerri in her private quarters, so as to not have a constant reminder of the baby's exsistence around Bathin. Luckily, the room was empty when she went in. Kerri was there, asleep in a swaddle of blankets in a small makeshift crib.

Bridgette carefully crossed the room, and scooped the baby up, gently, so as not to wake her. She was a beautiful child, Bridgette thought. But with parents like hers, it shouldn't be surprising. Good genes all around.

She clutched the sleeping baby close to her chest, and paused to grab a few bottles of formula from under the crib. Kerri was probably too young for it, but it was all she had. She added the formula to her bundle, and fashioned a strap, so she could hang her bundle on her back. Then she made a sling to carry the baby in.

She made sure no one saw her as she left, creeping quietly to the main entrance. She had timed herself perfectly. Lilly was walking down the hall, wearing a set of red lingerie, on her way to the guardhouse. Lilly stopped, and knocked on the door.

"Hey, stud," Lilly said, posing, "are you ready for me to rock your world?"

The guard reached out, and pulled her in, tearing off her bra as he did so. She heard Lily give a delighted squeal before the door was closed.

Bridgette waited, until she saw another figure creep out. That would be the mesenger, going to deliver what news and reports had been collected that night. Bridgette waited a few minutes, then started out herself.

At the door to the guard room, Bridgette could hear Lilly moaning loudly, and the guard grunting. Bridgette shook her head, grinning.

And then the baby let out a soft cry.

"What the fuck was that?" Bridgette could hear the guard ask, "Is somebody out there?"

Fuck! Quickly, Bridgette cradled Kerri in her arms, gently rocking it back and forth, trying to get her to go back to sleep.

"I'm sure I heard something," The guard's voice said, and Bridgette heard his footsteps getting closer...

"Oh, who gives a shit?" Lilly said, "Get over here and FUCK me!"

To Bridgette's releif, the guards footsteps stopped, and the moaning and groaning quickly resumed.

Bridgette sighed in releif, soflty, and scurried out the door, into the darkness beyond. It wouldn't take her long to reach the rebel camp, Bridgette just hoped the baby would be ok until then.
"Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man whose gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"


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Alex/Zeke - Burnout

“I know, I know, right now I’m talking to the black. But it does make me feel better knowing there’s even a slight possibility someone out there is listening. As per usual, I’ve got my trusty CB handy, tuned to 14.”



Alex sighed and turned the revolver over in his hands, he’d taken it from one of the houses back in Muscatine, and had frequently kept it close at hand, buried in the bottom of his duffel bag under the sawn-off shotgun and the modified Sam Browne holster he’d found all those months ago when he’d been on the road with Adam. He missed those times and missed Adam every day. He pulled the thin silver chain out from under his shirt and toyed with the platinum band he’d strung on to it. He’d promised Adam he’d give the ring to Willow and that was one promise he’d intended to keep. Unless… He stared at the revolver with great contemplation. The song came to and end and he thumbed the mic. “You know, I’ve been thinking these last few days, this world is fucked, you all realize, I realize it. Fuck man, there’s something big coming. What it is I don’t know, and frankly, I’m not even sure I want to know.”



As the song played, Alex went to his duffel bag and extracted a bottle of vodka and several bullets. He returned the chair and loaded the gun, then took a long pull from the bottle. “Fuck. It’s fucking bullshit, isn’t it? This good vs. evil battle. This stuff with Bathin. God’s dead, he died the day that fucking rock hit this worthless piece of shit rock.” Another pull, “and now there’s only Bathin. That fucking evil bastard. He’s gotta pay for what’s happened. That much is a guarantee, but who is going to him make pay? I mean, we’re one tiny little band of rebels. That’s it. Everyone is scared shitless of this asshole.” Another pull.



“Goddamnit…god fucking dammit! Why are we fucking alive? There’s no fucking point to us! In the end all of us, we’re fucking dust in the wind. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust is that not the old saying? Fuck! The more I think about, the more I wonder if there’s even any point in fighting Bathin…he’s just gonna find a new vessel and this shit will start all over again. You know what? Fuck it. This is Longshot, signing off.”

Alex flicked a few switches and the broadcast station shutdown. He exited the bus and walked out into the night, he took one final pull from the bottle and hurled it into the darkness. He followed it’s progress, then lost sight of it. He heard the glass break a few yards away. Then he cocked the hammer on the pistol and placed the barrel in his mouth, pulling the trigger: nothing. A second pull, still nothing. Each of the next four pulls of the trigger were fruitless. “Goddamnit!” Alex yelled, he threw the revolver away, then unleashed a guttural scream at the heavens.

As all of this happened, Alex failed to notice Will watching him, concerned etched across his face. The bus door opened and Will retreated to his bunk, making a note to speak with Zeke in the morning: something was seriously wrong with Alex.


The Next Day

At Zeke’s insistence, he was sitting in the bus. At this point in time, he was sitting on the floor, cleaning his sawn-off shotgun. Zeke walked into the bunk area and passed Alex, then stepped back.

“Didn’t I tell you to get some rest?”

“I am, bossman. I ain’t driving or broadcasting.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Alex. I meant some actual rest, you know, sleeping.”

Alex placed the gun down and stood, nervously rubbing the scar on his right cheek. “I’ll sleep when I get her back, Zeke.”

Zeke shook his head, “no. Sleep now. If you wait till we get her back to sleep, you’re gonna be awake for a while. Last I checked you’ve already done nine days without sleep. This isn’t healthy Alex.”

“Hey! If we’d have gone ten months ago when I wanted to, in all likelihood I’d be sitting back in Ankeny with Domenica and just relaxing. But no, we didn’t go because your boy Rueben forbid us from taking action!”

“We didn’t know what we were up against, Alex.”

“Oh, there we go again with that fucking bullshit! ‘We didn’t know what we were up against.’ You’re like a fucking parrot Zeke! Grow a pair of balls for fuck’s sake,” his voice cracked briefly. Zeke stared at Alex, then shook his head. As he turned to leave, he heard a noise he’d never expected to hear from Alex: weeping. He turned to see Alex sitting on the edge his bed, face buried in his hands and shoulders heaving.

Zeke stepped back into the room, “Alex?”

No reply, Zeke walked over to him and sat on the bed as well, draping an arm around Alex’s broad shoulders. “Look, there’s another reason I told you to rest and came back here. Will saw you last night. He was listening to your broadcast last night, he told me what you said. Both of us are seriously concerned.”

“What,” Alex said, his voice filled with a sadness Zeke had never heard before. “You think I’m going insane, having a breakdown? You know what, you’re right. I’m starting to doubt my own sanity.”

Zeke looked at Alex.

“Ever since Adam died…I’ve been loosing my mind. I’ve been hearing voices. I keep seeing him lying on the ground, bleeding all over me. I’m too scared to sleep anymore. Every time I sleep, I see him dying in my arms. I see myself dying. And, worst of all…she’s dying too. I see her die and I’m always so fucking close to saving her but I can’t because, well, I’m a useless fuck up!”

“Look at me, Alex.”

Nothing.

“Alex. Look at me.” Still nothing. “LOOK AT ME!”

The anger in Zeke’s voice startled both men, and Alex looked finally, tears openly flowing, leaving wet streaks across his tired, worn face. The man looked easily ten years older than he really was, he was even starting to gray a the temples. These factors, combined with the scar, provided a stark parody of the man Zeke had seen in his dreams: the youthful, exuberant wiseass. Now, Alex was bitter, nihilistic and on the brink of insanity.

“What, Zeke?”

“Please, try and get some sleep. I know you’re scared, we all are.”

“Look, you don’t understand man. Sleep terrifies me right now. I’ve been relishing my insomnia lately. The no sleeping means I don’t have to see more death. And Muscatine? My God…if I were to sleep now, I know I’d see them all being massacred. All these deaths. Adam, Ames, Roza…everyone of them, I feel like it’s my fucking fault they’re dead.” He sobbed and looked at Zeke. “Was this really God’s will?”

Zeke contemplated this.

“Well, was it?”

Still no reply.

“Answer me Goddamnit! What fucked up God would allow any of this to happen? Tell me that, Zeke and I might start believing in him. Otherwise, your God? He can go fuck himself.”
Edited by WeBandOfBuggered, Nov 10 2009, 10:06 PM.
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Luna/Johnson- Pipe

They picked up Pipe at midnight. He was a small, gypsy like little boy, dark, and extremely malnourished. Something about him seemed unsettling, though. Maybe it was the fact he was a 6 year old boy. Maybe it was the fact a child like him survived this long, alone. Or maybe it was the gun he was holding. A six year old with a gun. That was probably the reason why. The gun.

Cat put him at the back of Lieutenant Johnson’s truck, with Luna. They didn’t bother to take away the gun. Maybe the boy hid it very well. But he seemed nervous, or something. Or maybe everyone looked like that. It’s something Luna thought about very often.

But after a few days, Luna saw a charm about him. He was quite talkative and always yammered on about things. He was in a gang, and survived because of them. However, since he was sapping their food, they forced him out of the city he was in. A few weeks later, he found the convoy. Or so he says, anyways. But little kids don't usually lie.

“Missus, why you quiet?” Pipe asked animatedly. Luna stared at him aimlessly, but gave him a wan smile, at which the little boy clapped his hands happily.

“Aww, hell, kid. She won’t talk.” Johnson called from up front, and the boy looked confused. Pipe scratched at his head, and climbed over to where Luna was sitting, curled up in a ball position.

“Hewwo! Know how’ta talk, missus?” Pipe asked, looking worriedly into Luna’s eyes. He stared at them for quite a while.

The whole night he tried talking to her, but Luna didn’t answer. Until 3:53 AM of the next night.

“Missus, don’t like me?” Pipe asked.

Once again, Luna saw the little boy’s charm shining through. He was so cute; it hurt Luna to ignore him. And he was trying so hard, as well.

“You’re cute.” Luna whispered faintly, and the boy cheered. Johnson gave Pipe a thumbs-up sign from the front. Johnson tried hard as well. But he’s an adult, and therefore a possible rapist. Luna wouldn’t talk to him. But Pipe, he was innocent.

“Wass your name?” He asked. “Like ya, missus. Purty!”

Luna blushed slightly and smiled warmly at the child. It was nice to know she still had her good looks with her.

“Uhm. Thanks.”

The boy giggled. “Name!” He demanded.

When Luna didn’t answer, Pipe playfully jumped on her.

“Missus shy! Don’t be shy!” Pipe laughed. “Pipe nice!”

“You can call me Luna.” She said quietly, hoping Johnson wouldn’t hear it, but he did.

“Nice goin’ kid! Hell, how did you make her talk?”

“Luna likes me!” Pipe cried, waving his arms excitedly, and hugged the girl.

“Nice name, by the way.” Johnson called.

Luna didn’t answer.

Pipe suddenly looked like he was remembering something. He looked like he was thinking hard about something.

“What’s wrong, Pipe?” Luna asked him.

“Boss sent me. Mission”

“Boss? Who’s the boss?”

“It’s a secret. Don’t tell!” Pipe whispered, and Luna nodded earnestly.

“Davenport. I’m from Davenport.” Pipe said. “Bathin.”

The wind rustled. It was a full moon. Just like the night she met Harry. It was a full moon then, too.

“I’m a spy. For Bathin. Tom. Help me!” Pipe whispered.

“Bathin who?” Luna asked again, her voice so low Pipe had to lean in to hear her.

“Bathin nice. Strong. He’s a war man! Fightin’ the people here!”

Bathin… the name had a creepy feeling to it. Maybe it’s because it’s not his real name. Tom seems more real. A war man, as Pipe says. Perhaps that’s where this convoy is going. To Davenport. To Bathin. But whose army is the “good guys”? Surely, if Bathin were evil, he wouldn’t have kept a little boy alive this long, would he? There’s no way. So that leaves one conclusion. Ruben, is evil. And all of his followers. Johnson. Zeke. Cat. Everyone.

Except Pipe. The little boy was too innocent.

“I spy. For Bathin.” Pipe said quietly. “Help me.”

“Sure” Luna muttered behind clenched teeth.

“Where we goin? What’s war plan?”

“I don’t know” Luna answered. “I guess I’ll ask Johnson in the morning.”

“Okay!”

Whoever this Bathin was, he seemed alright. But the convoy, maybe they weren’t completely evil. Or else they wouldn’t have killed Harry. Or rescued her from that stupid town. Or be trying to gather more survivors on that radio Alex has.

But if both sides are good, then why are they fighting each other?

Luna stared at Pipe, and looked behind her at Johnson. Hopefully, the man didn’t hear a word they said to each other. But there was no sign whether or not he heard. Luna could only hope.
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Skin by Spades aka Volture.