Phoenix Inferno 1.2

The door slides shut, and I lean against the wall, icy waves of cold air seeping into my skin. Eric stands across from me, facing the wall, his feet spread apart. Turning, he looks at me, white face unreadable.

I raise one eyebrow in return. “Yes, Handsome?” I ask my tone maliciously sweet.

Anger flares in his eyes. “Don’t call me that.” The fire burns through the shock, tearing away his curtain and showing what lies behind.

Oh, no, I think, curling my fingers around my gun, a sweet lover dressed in lead. You, stupid girl.

“Settle down, Eric,” I caution him, lifting my gun a little. I don’t dare point it at him for fear of setting him off. “I’d prefer to keep this clean and simple.” He holds my gaze for a second, and turns back to gaze at the wall like he had been doing before.

Okay, I think, removing my finger from inside the trigger guard where it had been waiting. That was strange. His body language had made it plain he was gearing for a fight, but he had suddenly turned away. Maybe he isn’t as desperate as he seems?

Puzzled, I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I can’t understand him, and I doubt anyone else could either. It’s at times like this I wish they had sent a man instead. They might have an easier time controlling him.

If Eric turns and tries to fight, I have no choice but to empty my clip into him. A man might be able to overpower him, without detracting from his usefulness.

A quick intake of breath echoes across the narrow space. I look up at Eric, raising the gun, automatically. What in the world? A faint shudder across his shoulders, a shiver running up his neck, that is all. Strange movements. Not threatening but unusual.

A second spasm, larger this time, scurries over him, leaving his shoulders hunched. Every breath now sounds drawn and filled with pain. My gun hand starts to drop, and I let it. I’m not so sure I’m going to need it with the way he’s acting now.

A strangled gasp tears through him, and he doubles over, his face out of my sight. For a moment he hangs there, fighting for a single breath. Then he collapses, falling to the ground, his head striking the concrete floor.

“Eric!” I spring forward, two quick steps bringing me level to him. I halt just above, start to sink to my knees… and his eyes flash open.

He rolls, hitting my legs and tearing them out from underneath me. I spin, thrown sideways over his back by his attack, my gun flies across the room. My body falls, hitting the ground. For a moment, I can see nothing, just a raging wall of white. Slowly, it starts to swim back into focus.

Something touches me. To dizzy to pull away, I feel him pull my hands up to touch his, holding them tight in his warm ones. Jerking away, I try to break his grip. His hold loosens, caught off guard, but he regains his control.

My head clears, anger and fear driving away the fog. “Let me go, you…” the curse is lost in my gasp of pain as he gives my hand a savage twist. Forcing my hand upwards, he presses the index finger onto his cuffs, moving it around until he hears the click.

The pressure on my arms eases slightly, and I automatically strike out, feet hammering against his legs. He releases me. I push away, scrambling up on my knees, and shaking the last bit of dizziness away as I do.

“You, idiot. You don’t have anywhere to go,” I bite out, pushing myself to my feet.

He stands also, the cuffs falling to the floor as he does. I throw a quick glance at them as they do. The light from the bulb in the corner glints off the scanner fastened to the left cuff. I always knew those were a bad idea.

The elevator stops, grinding to halt. I throw a quick look at the security box in the corner. They won’t start the elevator back up again until they know that it is safe.

“Give it up, Eric,” I say, my voice remote, but my mind active. “You can’t get away. If you kill me you won’t get past the others that will come. You have no choice. Just like the rest of us.”

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes examining mine for the truth of what I have said. I hold his gaze, letting him see what he can. It doesn’t take a genius to analyze the layers of deceit and hatred. I can hide them, and do, but with him I let my defenses fold. And so does he.

I see right down inside him, reading the layers of anger. Desperation battles hate. The want to give up, and the hunger for battle. He isn’t surrendering his freedom without a fight. Oh, boy, I think, gritting my teeth.

He doesn’t even blink, just keeps staring at me. He is assessing me, just as I am him. Probably trying to figure out if I am a threat or not.

“You are dead,” he says, a look of almost pity flashing across his face. “I have never seen such a pit of rottenness.”

“Better get used to it,” I say, accepting the truth as it comes my way. I don’t care if he strikes. Like he said, I’m dead anyways. “That’s all you are going to find here. Now, please start behaving. We have to make training soon.”

I turn around, scanning the floor for my gun.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” comes his quiet reply from behind.

I start to spin, and something hits my lower back. I stagger forward, caught off guard. He grabs my hair, yanking me back. I scream, the nerves in my head crying at every vicious jerk.

Throwing myself back, I hurl every pound of my being against him. He thinks he can handle a Chimera agent? Let him try. There are three separate heads to deal with. Take out one, and you will still have to handle the others.

Caught off guard, he stumbles, his grip loosens. I strike out with my elbows, driving them into his stomach. Swearing, he throws me across the narrow space.

I hit the wall, and fall to the ground. My head hits the ground again. Searing pain shoots through my arm, and up my shoulder.

Through tear blurred eyes, I spot the comforting black shape of the gun. My hand shoots out towards it, desperately, my other arm lifeless at my side. His hand chops across my throat, and I collapse, coughs racking my body as I fight for a breath.

I try to cry out a warning, but it comes out as a weak croak. There isn’t enough air left in me to form even one word. I can only watch, as he reaches out, picks up the gun, and wraps his hand round the stock.

A thin red light pulses, glowing over the shape of his hand. “What in the-…” he mutters, holding it at arm’s reach and staring at it, warily.

The light blinks, and disappears. There is complete silence. A reminder that we are sealed in the heart of the earth with no way to escape. I draw a ragged breath, filling my deprived lungs with air.

A single noise fills the elevator, a small whisper that at first is hard to pinpoint, but soon starts to grow in volume. A shrill beeping. The stock of the gun, which is hardwired to recognize my fingerprints only and to reject all others, starts to glow green.

He looks at me, distrust the essence of his gaze. “What is it?”

I push myself into a sitting position, setting my back against the wall of the elevator. Cradling my arm, I laugh, a bitter sound of despair. “The destruct.”

He pales, and throws it at the other side of the elevator, retreating until he’s standing next to me. Doesn’t matter. Not in this small space. It will still take us out.

“Can you disarm it?” He asks, throwing a quick glance my way.

“No. There isn’t a way to disarm it. Well done.” I lean my head back, resting it on the concrete behind. “I always wanted to die this way.” I close my eyes.

Something touches my arm, going round my back and tightening. “What in the-…” I jerk back, opening my eyes. Eric’s face is only inches away, his arm curved behind me.

“Hey,” he protests, slinging one arm over his shoulder, and carefully avoiding touching the next. “Calm down, I’m trying to help.” He climbs to his feet, lifting me.

I squirm, trying to break his hold. “Stop it! Put me down!” What does he think he’s doing?

He ignores me, taking one step off to the side. Crouching, he gently places me back on the ground, in the limited shelter of the corner.

“Stay there”, he orders, pushing me back to emphasize his words. I sit up anyways, watching him carefully. Why is he doing this? I can understand trying to survive, but not trying to save me. He has no motive.

He moves towards the gun, stripping off his coat. Going down on one knee, he lifts the weapon, wrapping the blue jacket round it.

“Smart,” I say, calling his attention back to myself. He raises an eyebrow in question, standing up, and pushing away the gun as far into the corner as it will go. I nod towards the swaddled form at his feet. “I never thought of that.”

He doesn’t respond. Three quick steps bring him back to my side. Dropping next to me, he turns me so that I am sitting with my face to the corner. Wrapping his arms tight around my shoulder, he pushes my head down against his skin.

Everything is silent, the only movement the rhythm of his heart, seeming to beat all around me. I breathe in his scent; rest my aching head against the warm brown of his arms.

The gun blew, sending hundreds of little shards of metal, slowed only slightly by his coat, into the only exposed target in range. Eric’s unprotected back. A thunderclap struck me in the back of the head, the noise punishing my already tortured skull.

Through the buzzing in my ears, I can remotely hear screaming, and feel Eric’s nails digging into my skin. Then they both stop, the buzzing fading into the distance until I am aware of a new sensation.

Something warm trickles down my arm. Raising my head, I peer down, lifting one hand and poking at it. Hot red liquid trickles over them, staining them the same color. It takes me a minute to figure out that it isn’t my own. The blood is running down Eric’s neck and then onto me.

“Eric?” he doesn’t move, nothing to indicate he heard me. I twist my head round, trying to get a good look at his face. He’s still, face motionless. Out like a light. Brilliant.

“Okay, Phoenix,” I murmur, squirming out from underneath his now limp form. “Are you hurt?” I push myself to my feet, running a mental check of my body.

My head aches, but not overly so. Should be fine. I try to lift my left arm, and manage to do so. I make a fist. Not broken then, just a really bad sprain. Legs are acceptable, the slight unsteadiness probably stems from the overall pain. Overall, I am in better shape than should be possible.

Spinning on my heel, I look down at the ground at his crumpled form.

His shirt shredded the original color impossible to see under the red layer of blood. Sticking out of what skin remains is tiny pieces of metal, scattered from his shoulders down to his lower back.

I take a step towards him, and my foot slips. I look down, eyes falling on the layer of little pieces of meat oozing blood that lay under my feet.

My hand goes to my mouth, my stomach threatening to heave its contents back out the way they came. No, I tell myself, pulling my hand and edging up towards him until his mutilated back is in reach. I force my breakfast down, sternly. Not now. Keep it together.

Forcing myself back to a state that resembles calm, I run through what little I know about first aid. Stop the bleeding, that’s always the first. I sink to my knees, hands hovering helplessly over his back. How do I do that?

I cast my gaze around, looking for something that could help me. Only the bare walls meet my gaze. There isn’t anything here, and Eric’s life is draining out in front me. Then it hits me.

I spring towards him, pushing him over onto his side, and ripping the remains of his shirt away. His heart beats under my fingers, and his chest moves steadily. Pulling him over onto his stomach, I spread what is left of the mangled meat laid bare before me. The blood immediately soaks it. It’s not enough.

Shaking my head, I strip off my tight, zip up jacket. I place it over his shirt, arranging it carefully over his tattered shirt. It still isn’t enough, but I can’t do anything else.

I grit my teeth, getting a firm grip on my squeamishness. I don’t want to do what needs to be done, but I don’t have a choice. Not if he is going to survive.

Spreading myself over him, I slip my hands underneath and fasten them together over his chest. Tightening my grip on him till the muscle in my shoulders burn, I use my body to stop the flow of Eric’s blood.

Closing my eyes, I let my head drop onto the cloth covering his injured back. I don’t know how long it will take them to come for us… and Eric doesn’t have much time, even with what I am doing.

“You are stupid, Phoenix,” I murmur to cover the pain beginning to blossom in my tortured frame. Eric’s rough handling is beginning to tell. “You think you will get any thanks for what you are doing? He’d kill you just as quickly as he would the rest. Probably will the minute he wakes up.”

My face is cold, the feeling cutting through the dull syrup composed of discomfort, and the lack of energy to care. Opening my eyes, I raise my head, looking down where it had been.

The black fabric is darker, with a reddish tint. My makeshift bandage isn’t doing much good. His life is slowly oozing out, staining my skin on its way. Taking a deep breath, I lower my head back down.

The taste of defeat is already bitter on my tongue, he doesn’t have much longer. I am doing everything I can, but he’s losing blood fast. It looks like I might finally fail something I set my mind on.

I don’t know how much time has passed, when the quiet hum fills the room. Eric moans underneath me in response to my jerk at the elevators sudden movement upwards. They’re coming.

“Okay, Eric,” I say, talking to him like one would to the computer. Just saying what they are thinking, despite knowing that the computer doesn’t hear a word. “Almost over. They’re here, and they will be able to stop the bleeding.”

I’m not sure if I imagine it or not, but I think the rhythm shifts in his breathing pattern. Maybe he’s starting to come too.

The elevator clangs to a halt, and the door starts to slide open. I spring to my feet, aroused by the sound of voices coming through the half open door. Stepping quickly over Eric, I slip out the half open door.

“Halt!” comes the expected command. I stop, raising my hands in the air, inclining my head towards the man in command. A half smile surfaces, but the gun in his hand does not waver. “Identify.”

Behind him, a woman in a white jumpsuit reaches up and touches her earpiece, pushing her brown hair out of the way. Her other hand is fastened round the handle of the table.

“Phoenix Inferno, agent fifty-one.” His hand drops, pointing the gun at the ground instead of my head. That cleared, I gesture back towards the now open door behind me. “Will you hurry? He’s losing bloo-…”

A vicious curse cuts me off, the agent’s attention snapping away from me.

I spin, hearing the heavy groan that cuts through the air. My mouth silently forms the same curse, but does not release it.

Eric is slowly, painfully, getting to his feet. Every inch of him is bloodied, with more still pouring out from his tattered flesh. He takes a step towards us, sways, but keeps his balance. The anger in his eyes says that he isn’t done. He’s barely begun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the agent’s hand go up, aiming the gun at Eric. And I know, there will be no warning shot, no disabling with a shot to the arm or lower leg. It will straight through the heart. There is no mercy in Chimera.

Before I even know what I’m doing, my feet move, carrying me straight into the line of fire. His finger is too far gone to stop, and the gun fires.

It catches me in the shoulder, tearing the flesh. Something hot pours down my arm, and I look down, the world suddenly reddened and fuzzy. I can’t feel anything, not my arm, not the feeling of the blood pouring through my fingers. My legs give way, and I fall, slamming against Eric.

Already weak from loss of blood, he falls, back first. I hear his scream. First when he falls on his raw back, driving whatever chunks of metal still farther in, and then when I land on him.

Everything is fading, Eric’s moans, and the voices of the people standing over us. My eyes flutter shut, and I force them open. One of the girls lifts me, pushing me out of the way. Balling something white around her fist, she presses it into my shoulder.

My eyes close again, and this time I don’t have the energy to open them. The hands and voices of the people around me fade away, as I dive down into dark well.

The water closes over my head, blocking out even the limited light from the stars. I am left in the darkness, the pitch black of despair.

Then they come, surrounding me. All of them, every one of my past victims hovers before my eyes.

There’s the couple from New York, the senator from Michigan, three teens unlucky to make Python’s scope during a shooting at the high school. The boyfriend and girlfriend that stumbled across the Chimera base in Colorado in their quest for solitude. And many more crowd in behind them.

School shootings, suicides that weren’t suicides, bombings, and snipers. Poison, bloody hands, lifeless forms strewn about like paper after a storm. And the list goes on.

Some of the names I can’t remember, time has blurred their memory. But their faces are still fresh in my mind, and now they come back to haunt me.

They all bear signs of their violent ends. A bullet hole through the skull, uneven dents in the backs of their head, and broken necks. Signs of Python’s good work. And my own.

They stare at me with reproachful eyes, and speak with one voice, advancing as they do. “Why?” the word echoes through the depths, shivering in the wind that stirs the top of the water, whispering against the black walls. “Why?”

“Why?” A soft lisping voice echoes the word from behind, rippling through the water around me. Something pushes, forcing me to turn. I try to fight, but can’t. If I am unable to face reality when I’m awake, then I must face it in dreams.

Blue eyes are filled with anger, blood trickles from the hole that lies just below her neck. Her arms are still strong, though. And they hold their treasure tightly, not wanting to release it, even in death.

“Why?” Her mouth forms the words, the voice rough, unlike the honeyed splendor that held such power in life. Anger and hate have change that, ridding her of the one advantage, that had made her such a danger. “Why have you killed my little Zinnia?”

Her words force my attention downwards, forcing me to fix my eyes upon the soft form in her hands. I find my voice, choking on the words, but forcing them out. “I wasn’t the one that held the gun. I didn’t pull the trigger.”

Zinnia raises her head, revealing the crater in her forehead. Blood flows freely, her fragile form is coated in it. Her injury pours blood, that is washed away by the water, only to be replaced by more. Touching her shattered face, she dips her tiny hand into her wound.

The blood ripples at her touch, bubbling up and flowing onto her skin until it is coated in a thick layer of red. A careless motion sends the tiny droplets clinging to her hand, flying in my direction.

I flinch as they hit home, striking me on the side of my face. Touching my cheek, I rest my index on the rapidly cooling spot less than an inch from my eye. Carefully, wiping it away, I watch her slender form nestled in the comforting grip of her Mother.

Zinnia’s green eyes glow. “But, you sent them in.” Her tiny lips curve in a vicious smile, curling up at the edges to show her teeth. “You see?” She points at my hand, at the little bit of red staining it. “My blood is on your hands.”

I glance down at the blood, and freeze. The tiny drop is spreading out in little waves, rising up and crashing down upon me. It spreads outwards, covering my skin in a moist crust that the water does not wash away. It doesn’t stop until I am imprisoned in a cocoon of blood.

Zinnia’s laugh fills the well, vibrating in the black surround us, and her hands begin to transform. Stretching her little feet out in front of her, she watches as they grow claws. Her bloodstained dress shrinks, becoming formfitting and changing from cloth to golden fur.

Her nose flattens, and her mouth swells, filling with needlepoint teeth. She sniffs the water, her whiskers twitching. One tiny paw reaches out and rests on her Mother’s shirt, attaching itself to the fabric.

Crouched in the woman’s arms is a lynx, wild and unreachable. As I would with a snake, I freeze, holding her gaze. She returns it, unblinking, green eyes glowing unchanged.

Calmly, the Mother draws her hand across Zinnia’s furry head, scratching her behind the ears. Zinnia doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch. They both remain fixed on me, her hate mirrored in her Mother’s eyes.

With a snarl, she flings herself at me. Her hard body strikes me, her long claws catching me on my shoulder, and sinking into my skin. I try to fight, sending blows her way, but they all pass her by. None of them connect.

Hissing in triumph, she swipes her paw across my face, tearing out my eyes. I feel blinding pain, warmth flowing freely down my skin, and then nothing.