Hawk's Eye - Chapter Five; part 2/2 Scrapped

4/4/2014
This chapter has been scrapped, and the only reason I have left it up is to compare it to the re-written version.


A/N: I intended to spend some more time on this chapter because of exams and stuff, but it was just so difficult to quit without completing this chapter. There might be a lot of grammar mistakes, and the pace isn't quite right nearing the end either. But I just had to put this up. It's been preying on my mind for ages. Also, "Hjem" is pronounced as "Huh-yem."
So ... eh, enjoy?

~~~~

Hawk felt as if he had died. His head was throbbing, and all he could see was the darkness. He wondered where he was, and what had happened. It was difficult to remember. He managed to let out a groan, but he didn’t know how he did it. Vague, distorted images streaked through his brain. He remembered … a crash. Wreckage. Fire searing through his body. There was burning. Metal and blood. Sunglasses. He could feel something hard poking at him. He was lying on something crinkly. How very, very odd.

If Hawk had been in the condition to, he was sure he would have laughed at himself. It was an unexplainable urge, really, and he wondered for the millionth time that day if he was going mad.

Madness is painful, Hawk thought. He wondered if clouds felt like this: numb and lifeless, just hanging in the atmosphere and being pushed around by the wind.

Death is like a cloud, Hawk thought, and then winced inwardly. Death is also poetic.

All was quiet as Hawk lay surrounded by blackness. Then the voices came. Hawk ignored them at first. It was just another sign of insanity, he thought. But the voices were growing gradually louder, and Hawk couldn't help but listen.

‘Is it a Caustic?’ the first voice was saying. It was on the verge of being nasal, but it was obviously a boy, Hawk thought.

‘No, it isn’t.’ said the second voice. This too was a male voice, but the owner sounded much older. ‘It’s not one of our men either.’

‘The Tární?’ the first voice – the boy – sounded excited. ‘Do you think Aeta locked him in here?’

‘It is the last place anyone would think of looking,’ the second voice conceded.

‘There’s also the fact that it’s a passage only the Hjem knows about,’ said the first voice sarcastically.

‘Shut up and help me out here.'
Hawk could feel someone lifting him up and fear shot through him. For the first time since he had been knocked out, he realized that he was very much alive. He didn’t know who these people were, but they had mentioned Aeta. Hawk couldn’t just let them cart him away. He needed to do something and fast.

Wait, brain, I’m unconscious, Hawk thought. Make any sense to you? Might be the first thing that’s actually made sense all day!

'Ugh, this guy’s heavy,’ the boy said. He let go of Hawk so he was leaning against the wall, slumped on the ground. Then Hawk felt someone dragging him up again.

The pain shot through Hawk’s leg, and his veins felt like they could burst. His palms were searing, and the fire roared so his lungs were heating up. He coughed and spluttered, and breathed in deeply. He felt as if he was suffocating. His insides were folding up…

Hawk heard someone gasp. His senses were becoming clearer, the throbbing in his head growing more painful with every passing second. The blackness gave way to a blinding white light, and Hawk regained the feeling in his legs. He was still feeling woozy, but as he blinked, he was glad to see the haziness succumb to clearer, sharper images.

He was staring up at two boys. They were obviously the ones who’d been trying to carry him. He blinked confusedly. Two sets of eyes blinked back.

‘Whoa,’ said the shorter, skinny boy with the white hair. ‘Man, that was just so – so – wicked.’

The taller boy coughed, obviously trying not to laugh at the look of awe on the younger boy’s face. He held out a hand and pulled Hawk to his feet.

‘I’m Pascal,’ he said, ‘and I’m from the Hjem. You need to come with us.’

Hawk felt as if he should say something, but the only thing his brain could come up with was ‘Ungh.’ He looked around, still slightly dazed. His head was hurting something terrible. He noticed that they were standing in a narrow, tube-like tunnel. There were rectangular lights running the length of the ceiling, but the flagged floor made the tunnel look dark. He cleared his throat and tried to speak again. ‘I’m Hawk,’ he said.

‘Good to meet you,’ Pascal said briskly, holding out a hand. Hawk shook it. He couldn’t help thinking of how similar Pascal’s demeanour was to that of a boss meeting his client at a job interview. He simply exuded serenity.

‘I’m Rufus, the mole rat,’ the other boy chirped. He then broke out into a fit of hysterical laughter. Hawk stared at him in surprise, but couldn't help but let an amused smile break out on his face. Pascal shook his head wearily.

‘We need to get going.’ he said. ‘Staying here any longer is a risk.’

‘But what about Aeta?’ Rufus had stopped laughing now. ‘We can’t leave unless we have the orders to do so.’

‘And get him killed?’ Pascal motioned towards Hawk. ‘We've found the Tární, we can leave.’

Hawk felt annoyed. He wasn't that helpless. He doubted he was in any more danger than the other two boys were. He also needed to find Aeta. That was what this had all been about, anyway. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Rufus beat him to it.

‘Have you asked him about it, huh, Cal? He could be injured for all we know. What he did with the fire thingy was cool but what about the internal damage? His head was bleeding very badly.’

Hawk was now officially confused. Raising a questioning eyebrow at Rufus, he enquired, ‘Fire thingy?’

‘Look at your hands,’ Pascal said laconically.

Hawk dropped his gaze to his palms, and nearly choked in surprise at what he saw. Where there had been large splits in the skin, there were now none. The cuts had sealed themselves, and there was a layer of dried blood covering them. Hawk slumped down on the ground and inspected his leg. He remembered how it had hurt so badly, how there had been blood everywhere. The leg of his trousers had been ripped apart and dyed red, but the skin underneath was fine. The long, deep gash had healed, and was starting to scab.

His head was still throbbing, though. It made it hard for him to think straight when he felt like a mallet was being thrust against his skull. He held his head in his hands and tried not to groan. Rufus knelt down next to him and said, ‘Let me take a look.’

He placed his hand on Hawk’s skull and closed his eyes. Hawk’s brain suddenly felt numb, and a strange kind of coldness seeped into his head through his eyeballs. Cluttered images all froze in place, and the colours spun and danced like hyperactive fireworks before his eyes. He blinked once, twice, three times. Rufus’ hand remained firm on Hawk’s head; his eyes snapped shut out of concentration. His mouth was twisted into a frown. Hawk heard him mutter something that sounded vaguely like, ‘Difficult,’ but he couldn't really tell. His brain felt like putty, and he wondered vaguely if it was a mistake letting Rufus do … whatever it was that he was doing.

Rufus chuckled, almost like he was reading Hawk’s mind, and then he let go. Hawk’s vision cleared and the colours all returned to their rightful places. The world had stopped spinning, and he felt more alert and awake than he had ever since that bus ride. The pain had abated. He looked at Rufus curiously and said, ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ the boy replied cheerily. ‘You might have lost a couple of brain cells in the process, but the damage was fixed. If you’d waited any longer, a clot might have developed and you’d have gone in a coma. Lucky I was here, huh?’ He looked at Pascal rather pointedly, and Hawk wondered what he was trying to say. He shrugged it off though as Pascal scowled.

‘So Ivanov knows what he’s doing,’ Pascal said. To Hawk he added, ‘Rufus is a Neurapulsar – Pulsar for short. He has brain-healing powers and the like.’

‘I’m not a mind-shifter like Ivanov though,’ said Rufus, ‘Or a psionic. There are types.’

Hawk blinked. ‘Types?’

‘It’s kind of a long story. Ivanov will explain. We need to get you to the Hjem first, though.’

‘Hang on,’ said Hawk. ‘I came here to meet a guy called Aeta. My uncle sent me a letter and all… do you know him?’

‘Actually,’ said Pascal, ‘we were looking for him when we stumbled upon you. And now, we need to quit yapping about this like it’s some tea-party. Rufus–’

‘Get Hawk to the Hjem, got it,’ the boy responded. ‘You’ll go look for Aeta, then?’

But Pascal had already turned away, and was pressing down on one of the panels in the wall. It slid open without a sound, and Pascal walked out. Hawk raced after him before he could close the opening. It was darker outside, and he could hear the muffled sound of sirens – police sirens, he thought.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I need to find Aeta.’

‘No,’ Pascal said tonelessly, ‘You’re going with Rufus.’

‘Yeah.’ Rufus’ voice came from inside the tunnel, ‘It’s our job to get you outta here.’

Hawk gritted his teeth. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said stubbornly, staring Pascal straight in the eye. He expected Pascal to argue, but the latter just gave him a do-you-really-know-what-you’re-doing look and shrugged.

‘Fine,’ he said, ‘make yourself useful.’

Hawk smiled as the other boy turned his back towards him and walked on through the dark corridor, fingering the gun on his belt as he did so. Rufus scrabbled out of the tunnel and handed Hawk a gun.

‘Aim at the head,’ he advised. He then walked back into the tunnel and said, ‘I’ll just stay here!’ He pressed down on another panel, and the wall slid shut. It was the exact same colour as the walls around it, paneled with oak like every other wall in Uncle Mason’s house. It was impossible to tell it was there.

Hawk felt his palm heating up as he tightened his hold on the gun, and he dropped the melted lump of metal onto the floor. He wasn’t going to kill anyone tonight. Or ever, he thought. He followed Pascal up the dark hallway, as the latter lighted their way with a flashlight. The sound of sirens got louder as they reached the front of the house, and Hawk peered out of one of the windows. The lights had gone out, but he could just observe two motor vehicles parked on the driveway. Even in the moonlight, it was obvious that they belonged to the local police department. Hawk breathed in deeply. There was an ambulance there, too. Looking away from the window, he realized that Pascal was nowhere in sight.

Wonderful. Reality comes back to haunt me again, he thought.

He half-walked half-ran down the narrow hall, summoning a crackling flame as he did so. He had only just reached the landing, and the stair-case that led down into the domed entrance hall that he gasped.

The ceiling had partially collapsed, so that a mountain of rubble was blocking the door that led outside. It was as if a bomb had exploded there, like a battlefield that had been torn to bits. Hawk could make out five masses on the ground, obviously corpses. What had happened here? His green-gold eyes scanned the length of the hall as he searched for anyone who might be alive. He saw Pascal in a corner, digging in the wreckage frantically and tugging at what looked like … a motorcycle.

Or rather, the man lying underneath the motorcycle.

Hawk took a huge leap and landed at the bottom of the steps. Running towards Pascal, he grabbed one of the man’s gloved hands and together, they pulled him out of the debris. It was a miracle that he was breathing, completely conscious. His long, black hair fell around his face, matted with blood and dirt and streaked white in places. He coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood as he fell to the floor. He was clutching at a pair of broken sunglasses.

Sunglasses.

This was the man Hawk had come looking for halfway across the country. He knew it. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off before he'd even started.

‘Run,’ the man gasped, ‘There’s – another one.'

‘Hold on,’ said Pascal loudly, ‘another what?’

The ground beneath them shook as the world around Hawk exploded, and the fire erupted as if it had been conjured up from sheer nothingness. The walls were burning up, the world was charred black.The sound rent through Hawk’s brain, and he could hear a thousand mosquitoes buzzing in his ears. There was no time to scream, the decibels were overwhelming him. He forgot who he was, or where he was. All he knew was that he couldn't die tonight.

He raised his arms around him, as if shielding himself from the fears that were dancing the can-can through his hazy surroundings. His eyes glowed golden as the darkness swept him through.

The fire roared around him. Someone – it was probably Pascal – grabbed him by the shoulders. A second pair of hands clutched his own. Hawk held on tight, focusing only on the painted ceiling as it closed in on them.

The sky is falling, Hawk thought. How apt.

The flames raged on. Hawk pushed off of the ground; it was as if gravity had no say in the matter. There was darkness as he pushed past the wreckage, past the falling rocks and the pellets of cement that the sky hurled at him. The walls were closing in – closing in. And then –

Hawk could see the moon, shining like a huge glass monocle in the endless depths of the sky. He felt the wind whooshing in his ears and the cold night air caressing his cheeks. He laughed, holding on to the other two and dragging them through the air. He had never felt so free.

A dozen people gasped as the trio streaked out of the wreckage, a burning flare against the starry night sky. But if you asked them about it, they would’ve told you they’d seen a shooting star.

Ignorant species, indeed.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE, PART TWO OF TWO.

For those of you who are wondering what happened to Rufus, that's chapter six. ;)