| [Jun. 3rd, 2009|09:17 pm] |
Even though he'd known what he was asking, Ginta hadn't expected... He hadn't expected such ruthless, brutal efficiency from Kakashi. He'd expected a moment's discussion. A chance to confer. A chance to reach out and tell Tsuyako he was sorry.
His shaking was worse, despite the sweater and the sunshine. The clone body held no warmth, and shock was finally starting to catch up to him. He struggled to pull himself together, to still chattering teeth and trembling ribs, but effort just made it worse. Every step the clone took sent pain clawing through Ginta's leg, tearing thought to shreds.
Kakashi racing next to him, carrying that absurd quilt--green scattered with plum blossoms and branches--Tsuyako would have approved. She'd been a warm, lively presence on their way to this gods-forsaken city, laughing about kimono fabrics and the perils of dating, and her plans for her sister's upcoming wedding.
She'd been a sharp kunoichi, but not sharp enough, at the last. Few were.
And now she was a heavy corpse Kakashi staggered under, just as his clone struggled to carry Ginta.
The fire still raged in the warehouse district. It had spread, Ginta guessed, by the volume of smoke rising into the morning sky.
Kakashi's shoulders were blistered. Like Ginta's own. Blistered and burned by chemicals, falling cinders and radiant heat. He shouldn't carry Tsuyako over his shoulder like that, it would make it worse. He shouldn't carry her at all.
"Canal," Ginta whispered, barely loud enough for the clone to hear, but it hesitated mid-stride, looking down at him.
"Canal... under... Tunnels." He wasn't sure where they were, entirely, but the canal had to be nearby. It circled the slums and industrial sectors of Komatsuyama like an ineffective moat. There were tunnels where it dove underground, concrete slick with moss and the scent of rotting plants. There was usually an oily scum on the water, residue from the factories.
They could hide there, dispose of Tsuyako's body in the sludge-lined banks. Plan their own escape.
The clone took a harder step, jolting a gasp from Ginta. He clenched his hands into tight fists and willed himself to be silent. |
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