Attempting to Fly Who: Verity, Rowan, Terry, Paige, Zane Where: An abandoned parking lot with plenty of barbed wire fencing When: Late morning, coming up towards noon
Verity was very jumpy. He was sure Rowan was as wary as he was being out here, but he didn't think his companion was jumping out of his skin every time the hot, heavy air moved a plastic bag too loudly. He wasn't sure because he kept looking every direction but at Rowan, hoping to not have to see the younger man's quite deserved scorn. He tried to calm down a bit, but the walking stick he'd found (a good sight easier to swing around than the poker) kept springing up almost on its own. He wished he'd been able to sleep a little more. He might be feeling a bit less, well, insane. Resting the cane on his shoulder, he took a deep breath and another look around, still avoiding looking at Rowan. Maybe if he pretended hard enough to not be a dork, it would become true.
He spotted what he'd been looking for then. Verity had spent a lot of time since he'd witnessed Rowan's attempts last night trying to decide what the best place would be. They needed space, they needed something big enough to jump off of and small enough that Rowan's probably weakened legs wouldn't break in the likely event of impact. And they needed someplace as secure as they could find. Rowan would be busy. He'd seen his friend's concentration before. And that meant Verity would have to try and make sure that he didn't injure himself. Which really didn't leave anyone to watch for monsters, and Liah had to be home to watch the kids. This whole adventure was ill-considered and irresponsible, and Verity felt terrible for going at all.
That said, he wanted to see Rowan fly. And now he saw an opportunity. "There!" First thing he'd said in a while. He pointed with his trusty stick. The parking lot was only about a quarter full, the cars mostly concentrated in one corner. The fence was high and topped by barbed wire. And the gate had a fairly complex latch on it. "I think that's the best we'll find. We can try there." He pushed his rather sweaty hair back as he pointed, looking over at Rowan with a bit of a grin. He couldn't help being excited.
Rowan didn't feel terrible at all for going on this whole adventure. He felt like it was something he just plain needed to do-- he needed to learn how to use these damn wings. The "escape plan" he had in his head required the two kids to pile on the bike with Verity, Liah to simply phase through and potential danger, and him to fly. So, he needed to know how to fly. That's all there was to it.
And if there was a little part of him that badly wanted to fly... and to be able to look out for himself, by flying... to make it less likely that nightmares of death and destruction would come to pass... it was negligible. More important was the need to know how, so Verity could save the kids and he and Liah could save themselves. The fact that it was muggy and overcast, and threatening to storm, only made it more important that they get it done soon, before the storm hit. Rowan had dealt with wet feathers already, with showers, and he hated it. Plus, it would make flying pretty much impossible.
There had been a few more monster screams today than yesterday, but so far Rowan and Verity hadn't run across any. That didn't mean they weren't being careful, of course, though....
Rowan spotted the parking lot about the same time Verity did, and he broke into a grin. "Perfect. C'mon. I can shoot off the lock, or we can just climb the fence, whatever." He picked up the pace to a jog, despite the oppressive heat, wings already opening at the prospect and angling so as not to cause any drag, but instead to give him that peculiar feeling of lift even though it wasn't enough to get him off the ground. He wanted in there, where it would hopefully be a little safer, and where he had room to run and get some momentum going.
"I can just get the lock." Verity looked at it intently. Simple mechanism, really. Too complicated for something without human intelligence, but not a problem for him at all. He glared at the mechanism as he dug into his bag for something with a bit of wire on it. He'd learned to pick locks when he was a kid, just something fun to do during a sleepy summer. Looking at the big padlock as he dug, he was struck by the same odd sensation he'd had with the toaster, a perfect image in his mind of the inner workings of the lock. The innards weren't remotely surprising, all stuff he could have figured out, but the three-dimensional image was like a computer projection in his head. And as he blinked, surprised enough by that, he saw the catch click into place and felt suddenly even more tired.
"Um... I guess it was open already?" Verity suddenly looked rather pale, though the weather was disagreeing so fiercely with him that it wasn't much of a difference. "Must have just... been stuck, I guess." He blinked a bit and pulled the chain off. "We're in, either way." He opened the gate for Rowan, ready to close it up again behind them. Since Rowan didn't seem to be even noticing what was around them (he no doubt was, but Verity couldn't see, which he envied), he figured he should try and be careful for both of them.
Frowning at Verity, because that expression wasn't really one of "luck", it was one of "fear", or at least confusion, Rowan said. "Okay. I don't think we need to lock it behind us, just sticking it closed oughta to it, right?" A monster wouldn't be able to get a lock and chain off, if it was just hooked through, he figured. A monster probably wouldn't bother, it would just mindlessly attack the fence, or something....
Rowan shook his head and moved inside. It didn't smell too bad, unlike some parts of town. Apparently there'd been scavengers in here already to clean things up a bit. Well, that was something, anyway. He looked for the biggest stretch of lot with no cars in it, and made a beeline right for it. "So what were you gonna to?" he asked as he walked, wings twitching and flicking behind him, maybe even in anticipation. "Pick the lock?"
Verity hooked the chain closed, agreeing. With the lock on the inside and properly wrapped around, they'd be fine. He tugged at it a bit just to be sure, though. He had to run a bit to catch up to Rowan. His legs were a lot shorter, proportionately. His eyes were on Rowan's wings, walking a pace behind to enjoy his vantage point. Verity was clueless enough not to see anything remotely objectionable in that decision. "Yeah, wouldn't have been a problem." He was trying hard to ignore that weird moment of wooziness and clarity. He didn't know what to make of it, and he couldn't handle it on top of everything else. "It's not actually that hard. Locks are really just machines, and pretty simple ones. I can make just about anything mechanical do what I want it to do. And it definitely would get us less attention than shooting. Plus I don't want to climb up there. We could probably cut away the barbed wire, but having it there makes us safer."
"That's awesome. You seriously gotta teach me." How many places could he break into, if he knew how to pick locks? ... not that there was a lot of point to it, these days, since he had no idea if his fences were even still alive, and there probably wasn't much money could buy anymore, anyway.... He winced at the realization, shoulders hunched a bit. Maybe it'd still be a good skill to have-- or at least, one he wanted, and to hell with useful.
For now, though, flying. "Later, though. For now... you had any great ideas for this, or should I just do what I was thinkin' might work?" Running. Lots of running. His wings were gonna hurt like hell when this was all over, he was sure, but it'd be worth it.
"Oh, yeah, it'll really help looking for food. Getting into houses and stores. I bet a lot of things never got opened in the morning, and a lot of people locked up before the realized just how bad things were." Verity hadn't considered that. Though he hadn't actually picked that lock, so he didn't really feel like he'd showed off much. He'd make a better demonstration later, and Jasper could help out. There were locks all over the house. Then he realized Rowan wasn't really paying attention to him anymore. "Um, I did think that a car might be a good height for you to jump off of if you want to try that, but that's about the only idea I've got. I figure I'll kind of spot you mostly, make sure that you're not going to bang into anything, since you've got to focus so hard on trying to get off the ground."
"Maybe that'll be the second thing I try," Rowan said, frowning thoughtfully as he looked around, stopping at the edge of the fence, at a strip of carless asphalt along the length of the lot. Maybe this would be enough space to actually get him the lift he needed. "I was doing okay with the running yesterday-- long's I had a straight line. And the backyard weren't big enough...." If the running didn't work, he'd try the jumping. And probably the falling, but whatever.
Rowan squared his shoulders, then crouched, as if planning on sprinting, wings spread. "Okay, stay outa that line," he warned, gesturing ahead of him with a hand. "Let's see if I can't get me airborn."
Verity nodded and backed up, eyes rather wide. He was more than usually ready to be impressed, knowing that'd be a good distraction from whatever had happened with the lock. Verity kicked an abandoned soda can out of the way as he backed up. He didn't think it would be a problem, but remembering Rowan's very intense expression when he was trying before, Verity figured any complications should be minimized if possible. There was nothing else he could do but watch, ready to run up if Rowan took another spill. He was still pretty convinced that Rowan's wings, at least, were very delicate, and could be easily injured. And Verity would like to keep any face-planting to a minimum out of principle, even if it weren't for the wings. "Ok, go!"
The command to go got a jaunty sort of grin out of Rowan, and then he did just that: he took off running, wings spread and held out stiffly from his back. There was definitely that lift feeling, and about halfway across the lot it was getting a bit harder to keep his feet on the ground, which was going to kill his momentum before it got actually useful-- but there was no way he has the right direction to actually get off the ground.
He tried beating once, and it almost felt like it'd work, except then in his shock of having his feet off the ground, he lost it entirely and went tumbling down again with a yelp, wings and arms both flailing.
Verity followed closely with his eyes, reading Rowan's movements the best he could as he would a machine. He didn't know much about flight beyond having shot off some model rockets with great amusement when he was younger, but he had a fairly instinctive command of physics, and he was quite interested enough just by following the ascent, such as it was. But there was also just watching Rowan. He was a visual person either way. Watching Rowan's wings and feathers in the wind, the line of his body, the wind in his hair... That was worth watching, too. Verity caught himself looking a little dazed. That was a bad idea.
Then Rowan made his awkward landing and he quite snapped out of it and dashed over. Verity had short legs, but a short sprint was alright for him, and he was there just a moment after Rowan hit the ground. "Everything intact?" He held out a hand again. It hadn't been pushed away last time.
Groaning, Rowan untangled himself, wincing a little here and there, where he'd scraped or bruised things. He took Verity's hand and hauled himself to his feet, this time being more careful about how much effort he used. Maybe he was lighter. Weren't birds lighter? Something like they had hollow bones, or something?
That would sure explain why all of him hurt so bad, so deep down, that first day.
Once back on his feet, he gave his wings a little beat, shaking dust off of them and cramps out of them. "Think everything's intact, yeah. Just a little banged up. I almost had it, though, did you see it?" He wished he knew a little more about flight and birds and even airplanes, but he just didn't, so he was going on guess and what felt right, and he didn't know if that was going to be good enough.
"Yeah, you were off the ground for a second." Verity tilted his head, back to his practical self. That moment of flightiness was past, and he hoped it would stay that way. "That's maybe part of the problem. More than a runway, you'd need a dropoff. A combination of a running start and a jumping off point. You almost got it, and then you couldn't keep up your momentum." He almost reached out to touch Rowan's wing. It was natural for him to want to be physically in contact with troubles he was working out, to have a visual and a tactile connection to his focus. Luckily he stopped himself in time. "A ramp might do it, or a long sidewalk that ends in stairs... But that's our old problem with you landing roughly. Which you definitely could do without having happen again."
"Maybe it's a timing thing, too," Rowan guessed. "I mean, picking up with the wings beating at the right time-- and not messing myself the fuck up by not paying attention to one thing while I'm paying attention to something else." He tugged on a lock of hair, frustrated, then reached back to tie it all up in a knot so it would be out of the way. "Guess I'll try again." He headed for the nearer end of the lot, opposite where he'd started, and flexed his wings again. "Maybe all I need is practice, until I know how to do all the little things, and then it'll all come together... or something." He hoped. That was how it'd been for picking pockets, anyhow.
"Well, you don't have the mental blueprints that a bird or a bat would have. Basically you have an adult brain that's got to pack in what would have been a lifetime of information and experience and instinct that would all be hard wired into you if you'd been at this." Verity followed along a few steps behind, being sure to keep out of the way of Rowan's wings and long strides. "Trying to glide to an extent might be a good practice thing. Just aim for lift, maybe? Or, well, ignore me. I mean, you're going to know a lot more about what's going on than I ever could." As inconvenient as he was sure the massive appendages were, Verity would love to have them, but as it was he was happy to just be able to watch. He stepped back, staying clear.
"Dude, I don't know a thing about these things, except what feels right," Rowan countered with a laugh, and gave them a good, strong flap in Verity's direction, blowing his hair back and disordering his clothes. He could make a pretty good wind, when he wanted to.
Then he angled them "properly"-- as if he knew what was proper, as if there was a "proper" for something like wings on a human-- and took off running again. This time, as soon as he started feeling that lift-- about a quarter of the way across the lot-- he started beating them. The lift increased immediately, and he actually felt himself lifting off the ground. It made his stomach sink straight to his toes, and he kept pumping his legs, even though there wasn't anything under them after another couple beats. He was flying!
Sort of!
And the strain was incredible, his wings and back actually straining to keep up the beating, lifting the weight of him off the ground-- plus, he wasn't actually going anywhere. He had no idea how to move in mid-air, and while momentum propelled him forward a foot or two, he wound up losing strength in his wings and shoulders before he got the knack of direction, and he went down again. This him he didn't go tumbling, he just dropped like a stone the three or so feet he'd managed to gain in height, hit the ground with his feet, and crumpled.
Verity was distressed to see him fall. It looked painful. But he almost didn't care. He'd been grinning since that gust of wind, though his hair was sticking up in funny directions now. It liked to do that anyway. He'd seen the look of pain and intense concentration, trying his best to keep up with Rowan, assuming he might need to pick the guy up again. But the pain seemed to be worth it, and Verity was actually smiling for the first time since that horrible morning. Maybe he hadn't contributed much, but he felt accomplished anyhow. At least he'd been moral support? He held out both hands to Rowan with a grin that quite transformed his naturally sulky and usually stoic face. "You did it." He'd seen the strain, and remembered a zoo exhibit he'd seen as a kid about the chest and back muscles birds needed to have as compared to what humans did have, and as pleased as he was by Rowan's accomplishment, Verity had a feeling the guy would feel a bit spent, even after that short flight.
Rowan was panting. He waved off Verity's hands for now, instead choosing to sit for a moment and catch his breath, his wings hanging limply open behind him, pinions resting on the asphalt. "Yeah-- and I don't know-- how the fuck-- to use it," he complained. "Got in the air-- dunno how to move! What good-- is hovering-- a few feet off the ground?" Getting off the ground he managed on guess alone. Moving, he didn't have a clue, and it was frustrating him.
Maybe they needed to find a library, and he could get a goddamn book on flight... maybe that would help. There had to be such a thing, didn't there?
Verity stood up a bit, giving him some space. "You were up. That's a huge step on its own, isn't it? We'll find a way for you to get where you're going. I think you want to kind of use a... a rowing motion? I don't know that much about birds, but there was a diagram on the front of a book I had when I was a kid, and that's what it looked like." Excellent book, that, about all the naturally occurring instances of technology that it had taken humans eons to achieve. Exactly the kind of thing you'd give to a child like Verity and no one else. "And you're going to need to build a lot of muscle to be able to keep off the ground anyway. I bet I'd have hit the ground like a rock if I'd tried. I mean, in some alternate world where I have feathers and you... Do nothing..."
"You don't still-- have that book, do you?" Rowan asked, for once glad for Verity's tendency to ramble. It gave him more time to get his breath back. Though it was steadying rather faster than he'd expected it to. "Hell, I'd-- get us a car or somethin'-- drive back to your house to get it-- if you did... I was thinkin' library, or somethin'. Cuz fuck-- if I don't need instructions."
He finally started picking himself up, flipping his wings shut over his back so they didn't drag, which pulled uncomfortably on them. "Gonna try again. And keep tryin' until I'm too tired to try more." If anything, he'd be strengthening his muscles.
"It might still be at the house." Verity was caught up in the idea enough that he didn't cut off that line of thought in time. "Not that it was mine anymore. I gave it to Jasper, and if it hasn't fallen apart he'd have given it to... to..." He went paler than he had over the lock. "Um, I don't think going back there is a good idea." There were all sorts of things he'd love to have from home. His tools, his books, perhaps a way to contact his father, if there were any hope he was still alive. But then they might find September. Alive or dead, he didn't think he could see that again. He swallowed again, a little harder, trying to force away a lump in his throat. Jasper wasn't here to be strong for, and while he didn't want Rowan thinking poorly of him either, the drive wasn't nearly as strong. "Sure, try again..."
Rowan glanced at Verity at the change in tone and intention, then winced. Yeah, he probably should've thought of that. It was obvious that Verity and Jasper didn't live alone, themselves, and so there were either dead people or monsters back at the house. Or both. Rowan didn't want to go back to his house, either.
So he let that topic lie with a simple, "Right, then," and focused on getting himself back in order as he walked back to the other fence again, reaching around a little to rub at his shoulder muscles, and a little at the wing muscles, to loosen them up for another go. They didn't seem to like the idea, but he wasn't giving them another choice. He made sure he was breathing easily again-- oddly enough, he was-- then took a couple deep, steadying breaths, and took off running again, wings spread and beating almost immediately.
Verity was very glad to watch him go. Nothing could excise his image of his poor baby brother becoming that twisted little beast, but at least he could pay attention to something else. As Rowan tried to get his momentum up again, Verity tried to come up with some kind of plan. The only thing that occurred to him was that if they passed a pharmacy they ought to look for muscle rub or a hot pad or something for Rowan's back, and that while they were doing that they should really grab some first aid stuff and bottled water if they were getting that chance. Then he was distracted by the stretch of Rowan's wings, watching both for the wonderfully interesting physical effort and the general prettiness. He tilted his head to the side a little and smiled a bit sadly.
All Rowan was focused on was getting himself off the ground. He kept running, he kept flapping, and he was slowly rising into the air. Rowing. He had to remember "rowing". However the hell that worked, he'd never even been on a boat! In the end, it looked a bit more like he was clawing at the air, his hands balled into fists and every muscle straining, even those that ought to have nothing at all to do with flying. And he still wasn't really moving forward more than a hand's breadth at a time.
Then the sky opened up and it started to pour, and he went down again, this time landing on his face with a startled cry of, "Shit!"
Verity hadn't been working so hard to keep up now, stopping to be stunned a bit by the strain or the almost impossible movement. He couldn't help but think of bumblebees, which physicists had always said couldn't fly, but did anyway. He didn't think Rowan would appreciate the comparison, and only hoped he could avoid mentioning it. Verity had a bad habit of giving people nicknames that he only meant to use in his own thoughts and letting them spill out of his mouth. In high school he'd never learned the librarian's name, calling her "Madame Rosmerta" after a character in an old book, until he'd finally said it to her face.
Then it was pouring and Rowan had landed very roughly, and he was running over to help again. "Rowan? Shit, you okay?" Verity really didn't swear much. It took real worry. That landing had looked especially bad.
He'd managed to scrape up his face and palms, and his nose was throbbing, but otherwise he felt just fine. Nothing broken, anyway. Well, except maybe the nose, but it might just be bruised. Rowan pushed himself up again, spitting out gravel and feeling at a bleeding lip with a wince. "I'm soaking wet and I hit the pavement with my face. How do you think I am?" He didn't mean to snap, but damn, his face hurt.
Maybe it was time to go home. There was no way he could fly in this.
Verity tried to ignore that. He'd deserved it, after all. He held out an arm in offer, planning already to get the scrapes cleaned up. He continued to be very paranoid about health in general. There were no more antibiotics and tetanus boosters. They were back in the dark ages for the time being, and a deep cut could lead to infection and death. At least the overpowering stench of rot wasn't so bad here. There must not have been anyone in the cars when morning hit. Maybe all the businesses near the lot opened really early. Or they'd already been eaten, but Verity wasn't thinking about that. His attention was on Rowan, not the fact that if everything had been eaten inside this lot where the gate was completely closed up, then whatever had been doing the eating was still there.
So he almost missed the movement under the nearest truck, almost missed the stretched-out, faintly flesh-colored thing with a little nubbin of a head, an elongate body, and limbs splayed out on all fours like a reptile's. The flattened body let it stay hidden. Something rather like a jaw, but too pointy and too big, opened underneath the tiny head, filled with mismatched teeth. All Verity could do was squeak as it skittered toward them, far too quickly for those horrid, spindly limbs.
Yelping, Rowan aimed a heavy boot at it, kicking it back. Whatever it was, whatever it had been, it's belly was taut like it'd eaten its fill, but it was small. Only about three feet long-- maybe it had been a rat, before. His kick sent it skidding back, giving him enough time to get on his feet, thwap Verity behind him with a wing, and get his gun out of his pocket, though he didn't remember the instant between thinking of it and suddenly finding it in his hand.
Then when he tried to fire, the damn safety was on, and it just clicked uselessly at him. "Fuck!" he yelled, flipping back the safety just in time to shoot the thing as it launched itself at him. Point-blank range, the impact exploded its chest. Rowan stood there panting, trembling, and covered in monster-blood in the rain, staring at the mess at his feet.
Verity almost lost his footing. As fragile as he suspected them of being, those wings were still strong. Well, they were bigger than a Trumpeter Swan's, and if he remembered those felt like being hit by a baseball bat. This wasn't quite so bad, but he still would have preferred that it hadn't happened. He had also dropped his stick a while back, trying to pick Rowan up from his first bad landing. He was pretty much helpless. He was only even wearing tennis shoes, and he'd never kicked anything more lively than a soccer ball. Hoping Rowan didn't think he was a coward, he dodged away to grab for the stick, landing on one knee as he tried to twist on the wet pavement. By the time he'd grabbed the walking stick, he heard the gun go off, and turned around to stare at the bloody pulp. "...Oh." He didn't know why he cared. He'd seen far worse messes, but he was a little queasy all over again anyway.
Rowan did him one better, he dropped the gun, dashed aside to one of the cars, and threw up noisily behind it. Thankfully, the pounding rain was already washing the blood off of him, but he just couldn't hold his breakfast-- what was left of it, at this point; there wasn't really a lot to throw up-- down at the sight, the feel of something disgustingly dead and all over him. If Verity said anything about it, he had already decided he was going to hit him.
He wouldn't have dreamed of it. Verity stared at the mess for a long moment, swallowing repeatedly, and stood slowly, clinging to his hardwood stick with both hands. He didn't know if there might be a nest of those things. There was space for at least one under each car. He didn't know if there were kinds of monster yet, but he'd rather not meet another like that. He whipped his head around frantically, looking for more, ready to swing the stick pretty wildly if he spotted anything. "Rowan... Let's go..." He had to yell over the rain, which was hitting all the cars noisily, making an even more awful mess of their assailant's remains, but his voice still sounded very thin.
"Hell yes," Rowan answered, a bit weakly, and he pushed himself back up into a standing position. His wings were shaking again, and his face still throbbed, though at least now it was getting clean. Or as clean as Detroit rainwater could get. "Let's get out of here."
Though right about then a howling thing hit the chain link fence, hard, and clawed at it desperately. The sound of gunfire had drawn it, a much bigger monster-- this one might even have been human before the warping-- even though now it looked more like a giant spider. A giant spider with curving claws at the end of each of the eight-- or perhaps more, or even less, Rowan really couldn't count them all-- long legs.
Rowan went staggering back from the fence-- which was only about ten feet away from him-- wet wings trying to flap but not really managing to do more than spray water in all directions. Where was his gun-- he'd dropped his damn gun!
Verity jumped a foot in the air at the first howl, still clutching his stick uselessly, trying to see a clever plan in here somewhere. The gate was really the only way out for them. They wouldn't get down the other side of the fence before that reached them. And he suspected that, while filthy and rusted barbed wire would do awful things to him and to Rowan, it wouldn't bother this new horror all that much. Those long legs could probably avoid it pretty well. He bent and scooped up the gun Rowan had dropped, very glad it hadn't gone off when it hit the ground. It would probably have shot one of them, given their luck. Unless that meant it was no longer loaded. Which would also be just their luck. Either way, he wasn't going to try to fire it. He'd probably shoot himself in the foot. Passing it to Rowan was the first time he'd ever held a gun that didn't shoot paint pellets. Despite the need, it still made him nervous (on top of the raw, primitive terror of being faced by that thing) as he shoved it into Rowan's hands.
There it was, Verity found it, thank god. Rowan snatched it up and leveled it at the beast. Which then dodged when he shot at it. Rowan started backing up, gun still aimed, while the monster kept mindlessly raking at the chain link. It didn't seem interested in going over just yet, but it probably would get there before too long. At least the gate was behind them, right? He got off another shot, still walking backwards, and this time at least scored it, even though all it did was make a sound like it was gargling shreds of metal and redouble its efforts to get at them.
"Maybe we shoulda brought the bike," he told Verity, voice shaking a little.
"Not that much use if we can't get out of the parking lot." Verity's voice continued thin and higher pitched than usual. Verity actually had a rather high voice naturally and tried to speak below it to sound a little less dorky, but immediate fear beat out that habit. He almost grabbed Rowan's arm to pull him back even faster, but was afraid the gun might go off again. Verity hadn't thought to count bullets. "Um, we better stand back to back. There might be more of those crawling things..." He didn't know if that worked in real life. He wasn't always clear what made sense versus what was a movie trope. He thought about smashing the stick against the ground in the hopes it would break off pointy, but he was almost completely sure that wouldn't really work.
Terry heaved a sigh as he, Paige and Zane carried out the last of the bodies that had been inside the hotel, the stiff and rotting corpse thrown down onto the pavement unceremoniously. The doors to the front of the hotel were propped open for the moment, to make it easier to carry the bodies out, though they would have to close them back up soon. It was around noon now, and the three of them having been hard at work for nearly an hour and a half, thought it felt like so much longer.
The rain poured down around them, drenching them to the bone mercilessly. There couldn't have been a worse time for it to be raining like this, and as Terry glanced back to the hotel he sighed, feeling the weight of the rain logged in his clothes. "We should probably lock up," he told the other two, and rather than waiting for an answer, he turned to head back regardless. Being outside like this for much longer could result in getting sick, which was something none of them needed to add to the rest of their stresses.
Though as Terry made the move toward the door he hesitated, the sound of something sharp, cracking and loud catching his attention. "Did you hear that?" he asked, turning back to listen. It didn't take long before he heard the same noise repeated again, his expression sharpening. Terry had lived in Detroit long enough to recognize the sound of gunfire, even through a harsh rain storm. He checked to be sure he had the handgun tucked into his belt, confirmed it with a brief pat and headed in the direction the noise had come from -- or where he supposed it had come from, anyway. "Gonna check it out," he called back over his shoulder, leaving it open-ended in case either Zane or Paige wanted to follow after him.
Paige had given up trying not to look at each body as she carried and dragged them to their new resting place. It didn’t seem real anymore. She’d seen so many, it was as if they were simply dolls. Dolls which smelt incredibly rank if she didn’t breath through her mouth, that was. She was vaguely aware it was a scary and sad way to look at things. Yet it was perhaps the only way she could keep going given all she’d seen, all she‘d been forced to do, since this had all started.!
The dull thud as the latest doll hit the pavement was ignored, her face turned skyward and green eyes closed against the rain. Her body was starting to ache from the exertion and she couldn’t have been happier to hear Terry say they were done. She’d told herself she couldn’t quit before the boys did, not only to keep herself going but also because she simply wanted to be able to keep up with them.
"Thunder?" she suggested, the word sounding as if she didn’t quite believe it herself. Yet aside from on TV, she’d never heard gunfire at a distance. She’d always lived in the rich parts of cities and towns, after all. There was a brief glace to Zane before she ran after Terry, figuring she hadn’t let anyone go off on their own yet and she wasn’t about to start.
Dragging out bodies hadn't bothered Zane much. He had spent years of his medical education cutting into cadavers, slicing through tissue that had once been people. These were the same, they just smelled like rot instead of formaldehyde, and he had no trouble shutting out any thoughts of what they had once been. To him, their faces disappeared the moment their pulses ceased. He pulled his arm across his forehead as the three of them prepared to head inside, slicking the water that was dripping down his hair and face out of his eyes and smudging the flecks of three-day-old blood that clung to his skin.
Zane paused as a gunfire rang out, turning in the direction of the noise, the sound obvious to him after spending months shooting at target practice, not to mention his own monster slayings. He looked at Paige and then Terry and as the two moved to investigate, Zane took his own gun out from his waistband and hurried to follow. "Coming with you," Zane told Terry, catching up to them.
The three rushed through the water clogged, debris strewn streets toward the sound. Gun shots meant humans, and humans near monsters, most likely. As they rounded the corner Zane saw the large monster with its many legs on one side of the fence and two people on the other. Or a person and a very large bird? Zane pulled his gun up to shoot but couldn't get a good shot without putting the people in harm's way. He scanned the fence, looking for a way in and spotted the gate not too far down. He ran for it, hurrying inside, and opening fire on the beast as soon as he had a clear shot.
Rowan spun around in shock at the sound of someone yanking the chain and lock off the gate, gun leveled and ready to fire-- expecting another monster.
That didn't look like a monster. Monsters didn't have guns. And hey, if there were two people shooting, Rowan had a feeling there was a better chance of that beast actually getting hit, so he turned back and started shooting at the actual monster, too. Unfortunately, he only had three more bullets left in the gun, and the rest of the ammo was back at the house. Real helpful, that.
Between those three shots, and Zane's more plentiful ones, though, the monster was done for. It screeched a rather pain-filled sounding screech, and flopped backwards off the damaged chain link fence, its eight-- or ten, it was hard to tell in the pouring rain-- limbs flailing in what Rowan hoped to hell were death throes.
Verity, to what would no doubt soon be his shame but which he could only feel was sensible right now, had fallen into a crouch when bullets started flying. Whoever the very welcome newcomers were, unless they were hobbyists or cops or military, he imagined, didn't really know much how to shoot. And even people who did use guns properly could miss. Add to that the fact that he was armed with a stick, and he was really doing his best by dropping to his knees. He stared in a morbid fascination as the monster was torn apart by the shots. He was aware of a strange sort of savage satisfaction that scared him. He'd really rather stay nauseated and paralyzed, if enjoying this in any way was the alternative.
He jumped to his feet, glancing at Rowan to make sure he was alright and then turning to wave to their rescuers.
Terry rushed in next to Zane but paused when the other man began unloading his weapon into the beast coming after the two boys they'd found. He held one hand up to block the rain out of his eyes and waited, only moving again after the beast shrieked and collapsed onto the wet pavement. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping forward to glance between the two strangers. He looked back again, though, to be sure they weren't being joined by anything else. "We should probably get you two out of the rain... are there any more of you?" Terry gestured to them, trying to get it across that they should come back to the hotel.
Paige had come to a stop a little distance from Terry when Zane had charged in gun blazing. Despite it being a rather large target, he seemed a good shot. He did far better than her failed attempts at firing a hand gun the day before, anyway. Within moments, there was one less monster in existence and two more survivors to check into the hotel. Paige pushed her wet hair back from where it clung to her face and made her way over to join the group. Given she highly doubted the man with the wings had been born with them, it seemed quite a few people had changed in some way when all this had happened. She could only wonder if she had also changed somehow. But considering she still didn’t know she’d been the cause of things freezing -- she thought it had been Juan -- she doubted it.
While Terry took care of directing everyone, she simply continued to check the surrounding area for any sign of movement. The last thing she wanted was something to sneak up on them.
Zane continued to hold his gun up a moment after he had stopped firing, watching coldly as the monster screamed and twitched. Once it fell silent he lowered his hand and turned to see Terry talking to the newcomers. Zane walked over to join them, eying the wings coming out of the back of the boy. He raised a brow. "That brings a whole new meaning to powers," he said, circling around and stopping near the dark-haired girl. Could his chemical warfare, genetic mutation theory really cover sprouting wings?
"Uh. Yeah," Rowan answered Zane, eying him, right back, and pocketing his now-spent gun. He wasn't sure he liked the way he was being looked at, to be perfectly honest, even after having been "rescued" by him. Maybe even especially after being "rescued" by him. Uncomfortable, and refusing to show weakness in front of these guys-- Verity was one thing, he counted as a friend now, but these guys didn't-- he sidled a little closer to Verity, half to present a united front and half to make sure he could, like, protect the other guy. As if he could really protect anybody from a guy with a gun, when he was out of bullets. But whatever.
"There's more of us," he answered the other guy, who didn't quite look as calculating and menacing. Maybe it was just the adrenaline talking, but the guy without the gun was making him feel more comfortable than the one with the gun. He hardly noticed Paige; she hadn't said anything yet, after all. "A couple of kids. My friend. We gotta--" He swallowed, thinking of the monsters and the rain and how scared Juniper probably was. "We gotta go back to 'em."
Verity got the distinct sense that Rowan meant to protect him, and while he couldn't see how or, precisely, why, he was rather gratified. The newcomers were surprising, but Verity wasn't very good at distrusting people. He had all sorts of abstract theories about looting or violence, but he didn't really think to apply it to the actual people in front of him. Though he did think Rowan was in an awkward position. Verity hoped he hadn't stared like that upon their first meeting. "Yeah, we've been gone longer than we meant to be already." It hadn't quite hit Verity yet what other survivors might mean. Things like safety or a plan. He was still a little stunned from the fight. His ears were used to a lot of racket from working with cars, but there wasn't much like a lot of gunshots going off nearby. Yeah, he'd lived in Detroit, but in a fairly nice neighborhood, and he was gloriously oblivious. "It took us a long time to find somewhere to practice. The kids are gonna be freaking." Liah probably wouldn't be, but only because she didn't like to show things like emotion or reactions.
In a way, the world was like walking through nightmare after nightmare, and for Terry it had become a place full of things he had no idea where to begin understanding. He had always had a fairly firm grasp of how things worked, how the world turned, how people got by... but looking at Rowan, he was starting to doubt himself. The wings coming right out of his back were concerning, though he tried not to be unnerved by it. He would ask later. Right now, he realized the danger they were in and the relative discomfort that was charging the air between the five of them. Turning to Zane, Terry glanced from his face to the gun and back again, blinking through the rain in his eyes to say, "You should head back -- with Paige, I mean. Take her back. I'll go with them back to the kids and their friend..." He didn't want Paige out here more than she needed to be. Terry wasn't stupid. He had recognized the way she'd dealt the dead bodies, the way she'd tried to pretend they didn't exist. It wasn't easy having to deal with life now, and he didn't want to make it worse if he could help it.
"I have a gun," he told the two new boys, "so we should be alright. Are the others nearby?" It didn't matter, but the question came out on impulse alone. They needed to start moving if they were to avoid drawing the attention of more of those things.
Her eyebrows twitched upward at the word 'kids'. She hadn’t seen any since all this had started and it was almost surprising they could survive, even with help. "How old are they?" she asked. If they were young enough that they had to be carried, it had the potential to slow the group down. Not that something like that bothered Paige in the least. Simply that they’d all have to be a lot more careful when it came to moving silently and checking streets.
When Terry turned to Zane, her green eyes flicked between the two men from the hotel. Paige knew she hadn’t been much help over the last ten minutes. The lack of gun and lack of much else needing attention almost demanded it. But she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d just been dismissed, like a student from a classroom. "Forget it. You need Zane," she told the group at large, eyes landing on Terry last. "Don’t you worry about me." Without waiting, she turned and took a few steps before breaking into a jog. A hot shower and some fresh clothes sounded like heaven, anyway.
"Kids" conjured up images of his sister, Ali. He hadn't seen her in almost ten years, the picture in his head of her eight year old self; blonde curls, smiling eyes, an infectious laugh, and a love of candy and caterpillars. He had cared about and protected her more fiercely than all the rest of the people he'd ever known in his life combined; she had treated him differently than everyone else, had brought something warm out in him.
Zane's eyes found Terry. "I'm not going back," he told the man, glancing briefly at Paige. There was nothing against her and he didn't want to see her get hurt, or worse, but this was more important to him and Paige was an adult. He wiped the rain from his eyes, the expression on his face clear that this wasn't up for discussion with him. In his mind, they needed a second gun and if anyone was hurt, he had the capability to help with that too, even if no one knew about it. "Which way?"
Rowan was not at all happy about taking half the damn town-- okay, exaggeration, but he was a teenage boy still running on adrenaline and suspicion; allow him his paranoid fantasies!-- back to the house. Especially not now that he knew both of those guys had guns. His sister, after all, looked kind of freaky, and Jasper was scared silent enough as it was. "I guess if I can't stop you," he said, rather ungracefully. It wasn't as if he was going to wait around here any longer. "C'mon, Ver...." He gave both men a wide berth, skirting around them, on his way to the gate out of the parking lot. They could follow, or not.
"Um, sorry, and then what? I know why we're going back, and we could probably provide for a couple more for a while. But as is? Where are you guys headed back to? If you've got more supplies or a more defensible position, it's worth moving. Strength in numbers and everything." Sometimes he thought he was the only one who thought things through at all. Verity hadn't thought that his way of coping-reducing the world to the sum of its parts and addressing every situation as a purely academic problem to be solved-wasn't really a normal one. "We've holed up in a house with enough food for a while, but there's nothing really special about it." He tugged at his t-shirt, quite soaked through, where it was bunched against his neck, pushed his hair back, and shifted a bit. He'd suddenly remembered his fears of looters. "Not that there's really anything else." Just in case they had any ideas. Since he'd seen a girl with their rescuers, he wasn't really worried for Liah or anything. Plus Liah was a tough bitch and he'd almost like to see someone try and take advantage of a sudden lack of law enforcement.
Terry frowned deeply at the sudden exit of Paige, one hand out as though he were about to stop her. He didn't know what to say for a moment, torn between allowing her to leave - unarmed - to head back to the hotel and following these boys to the children they had waiting for them. In the end, Terry chose to take faith in Paige's ability to take care of herself, even if he was feeling doubtful -- and maybe a little ill over it. "We're coming," he said to the boy with the wings, and began to follow the two of them. "And when we get there, you should all start packing your things. We do have a better location. There are about fifteen or so of us living in a hotel down a few blocks from here. We have a lot of food in storage and it's a fairly large building. It should be good enough to house all of us for a long time." He paused, glancing to Zane. "Sturdy, too. All of you are welcome to come back with us."
Zane followed along with the group, keeping alert for the signs and sounds of the creatures through the pouring rain. Occasionally he wiped the water out of his eyes, long ago having given up about caring that his clothes were soaked the whole way through.
"Is anyone injured?" he asked the two, exchanging the glance with Terry, though he was unsure if was meant to tell him something or just a visual check he was still there. "Physically, I mean," he added, considering for a moment the sort of mental trauma massive death and destruction, running from monsters, and hiding could inflict on a child. He was glad that his sister was now almost eighteen years old and not so vulnerable, though, she was probably dead, he thought, his chest suddenly feeling tight and heavy.
The last thing Rowan wanted was Verity lagging behind because he wanted to ask these guys questions. He beckoned him to hurry it the hell up with one sodden wing, then winced at how much effort that took, and folded them both again. He started picking up speed towards the house, now that they were out of the pseudo-safe parking lot. "Just that I think I busted my nose crash-landing when it started fucking raining," he muttered, probably too low for any of the others to hear over the rain, and he felt it gingerly and winced again. Then, louder and for more public consumption, he said, "Nobody's hurt. Now could we talk once we're inside, or somethin'? We've kinda got a ways to go here!" He just hoped he could get them back okay, without getting lost....
"Uh, yeah, okay." He had more questions, but Verity had been rattled by meeting those things. It was the first time he hadn't been able to run away from the monsters. And it seemed he was hearing more shrieking and growling than usual right now, even over the rain. They had a big group, but he couldn't figure out whether that meant they'd attract more monsters or scare them off. The walk over had been uneventful, but it would be very stupid to assume the return would be the same. He'd get home safely to Jasper and then he could ask about whether a hotel could possibly be defensible, with all the big windows and such, and what they'd done so far to withstand the inevitable loss of water and power. Might it be possible to make a hotel pool into a reservoir? Keeping himself occupied with such thoughts, as usual, kept him from having to see the bodies and debris they were walking past. He did glance nervously at Rowan, aware by now of how much strain flying put on him. On top of that fight, too. And there'd be no real time to rest coming up. He might have said something, but oblivious as he was, even Verity could tell Rowan wouldn't like being fussed over in front of their new friends.
Terry nodded as he followed the two boys, glad to at least have been able to find them before anything could happen to them. He didn't want to think about what could have happened if Zane hadn't unloaded his gun the second they'd shown up. "Questions can come later," he said, gesturing briefly. "That's fine." He was content for now to get off of the streets as fast as was humanly possible, and as they hurried he couldn't help but watch the wings on one of the boys. They were out of this world. Terry had never seen anything quite like it before. He couldn't help but want to get a better look, but kept his curiosity to himself. "I'm Terry, by the way... and this is Zane." He wanted to at least have gotten through introductions by the time they made it back to... wherever it was they were headed.
Zane shot a head nod at the two boys as he was introduced and then turned his attention back to the streets. The slightest hint of a tail seemed to disappear behind an abandoned car here, or the faintest growl from nearby buildings there. Zane wasn't sure if his mind had finally gotten to the point of paranoid or if the beasts really were out in full force right now and seemed to be following them, watching.
As cold and wet as the pouring rain was, he was thankful for it. Aside from bringing relief from the unending heat of the last several days--making it truly feel as though they were trying to survive their way through hell--the clatter of the rain hid the sound of the group moving along the streets. As a house came into sight, Zane picked up his pace, hoping this was the place they were headed for and wanting to get inside.
"Rowan," Rowan answered shortly. "And Verity." He pointed, this time not with a wing, since they ached and were uncomfortably heavy now and he'd managed to remember that. Though part of him knew he should have thanked them for saving their asses... he was just too disgruntled to do it right now. Maybe after he'd gotten his wings dry again and some lunch in him, or... something. "It'll take us a bit to get there...." He shot Verity a look, hoping he could help them get there without getting lost. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long-- and hopefully there wouldn't be any more monsters.