Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (49 page)

“
All
the worlds need you, Bobby. It's time to take your place. You'll need
them,” she murmurs as she points toward the goggles in his
hand.

Bobby
hadn't noticed he was carrying them before, but when he checks his
palm, they emit a bright light. He glares at them with reverie for a
moment before he slides them over his ears. The foam his brother
attached to the arm makes them fit perfectly, just as he said they
would.

With
his striped polo shirt on and the goggles glowing, he steps into the
waves that pass his ankles. The moisture rubs the jeans against the
hair and skin on his shins. The rain plummets around him in thick
droplets and causes mini explosions as it bombards the sea.

“
Your
life before was a dream. This is where
you
begin.”

She
slips backwards into the waves, while still motioning for him to
follow. Bobby strides through the water to reach her without giving
it another thought.

“
Bobby!”

Bobby
turns to the voice to see a figure at the foot of the sea. For a
second, he sees his brother waving, coated in the sun's rays with
only his swimming trunks on. The sand castle at Benji's feet has the
shell sitting atop it.

“
Go
on your journey in safety.”

And
then he is no more.

Bobby
spares a glance at the wooden cross sticking out the sand with the
material slicked to its side now. He cannot help wondering whether
that is the only fate that awaits him, but he smiles.

“
I'll
never forget you.”

As
he ventures deeper, the warmth envelopes him. His jeans tighten
around his skin and the water seeps into his underwear. Soon, the
water slips under his shirt, lifting it up like an umbrella until the
number on his chest slides into the darkened depths below. The
goggles brighten the water as his head submerges, but the soul that
was absent within the darkness for so long remains as a fierce,
glowing light. And he realises he finally understands his brother's
words.

When
you're lost in the darkness, they will help you find your way.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

The
pair crunch glass underfoot as they move with as stealthily as
possible through the narrow corridor. Any second now, one of those
monsters could twitch its head this way and spot them, compromising
the element of surprise.

The
storm outside swirls in deep reds and browns, but above that, sit
darker clouds that do not appear to be moving. Scars of lightening
scream across the backdrop like the physical spread of a virus.

The
bricks from the nearby buildings tear away in tiny, black particles
and curl into the sky. Perhaps they are imagining it because they
have both taken knocks to the head, but the horror looks real enough.
The sight causes memories to surface from that night which Gunner
would rather just forget. A static breeze prickles his skin, forcing
the dark hair to rise vertically from his muscular arms.

After
Shield City fell to the hands of those
bastards
, he saved
Blackout, even though it cost him his and Alanna's freedom.

However
bad it got inside that place, it is nothing compared to waking up now
and not knowing where his cowgirl is. He doesn't know it yet, but
what happens here will follow him along every path he takes until he
sees those he loves again. Right now though, all he knows is those
red cloaks are responsible. There's no denying this is down to them.

The
place he finds himself in now resembles a hospital. There is medical
equipment darted around, clipboards at the foot of the bed and x-rays
attached to the white board at the far side of the room. The drip
taped down against his hand tugs at his flesh each time he dares to
move. Yet, the similarities to a hospital end there.

The
windows are wide and stretch along the wall, revealing the darkened
hallway outside. Red liquid stains the glass and the four walls he is
inside. Smears and dried droplets of blood from the ceiling cover the
tiles.

The
stench attacking his sinuses is foul. It smells like the humid
thickness of faeces and death. Crowding the air are dark splodges
that waver before his eyes, but he can concentrate long enough to see
them.

Flies?

The
ceiling light flickers off outside the room, then pulsates with
colour before returning to full health. Despite this, the hue is a
dim yellow that only reminds him of disease and urine.

Batting
the flies away from his head, he uses the weak frame supporting his
body to pull himself up in stages while harsh gasps and groans escape
his dry mouth. His body is shot to pieces, so all he can think is
someone has pumped him with anaesthetic.

“
That'd
explain the drip.”

When
he brings his tingling feet to the floor, a chill wraps around his
digits and his weight is unsteady as he pushes down. As soon as he
attempts to stand, he knows he will plummet and smack his cheek
against the soiled ground.

His
vision doubles as he stares at his hand resting against his knee, but
even when he strains to see with clarity, he can't. With a clammy
fingertip and thumb to the semi-transparent tape, he struggles to tug
the edges away from his skin which pulls on the dark hair there. As
the tape rises, the needle starts exiting his skin, and he winces
against the dull ache.

Elise
always laughs. She says a man his size “shouldn't be afraid of
needles”. Although it is illogical, he has told no one of this
fear—the guys in the force would never left him live it down.
He can almost hear Blackout's sniggers inside his skull right now.

“
Where's
Elise?” His question hits him like a bolt of lightning as the
events come back. Those red cloaked bastards responsible for his
hometown's destruction turned her and took his cowgirl.

“
They
must have brought her here.”

Alanna's
screams pile upon his brain, overwhelming all other thoughts. The
instant need to find her safe comes with the fierce burning inside
him to avenge Elise's death.

Without
hesitation, he grabs the drip at the white surface and slides it from
his vein. His teeth grind as the needle frees and the tape the
opposite side rips away. As Gunner drops it to the floor in disgust,
he acknowledges the tiny spillage of blood at the hole.

After
allowing the vomit inducing waves to subside, he uses the frame to
steady himself while he pushes to his feet. His legs shake and he
almost has to catch himself on his wrists as he bends forward. Yet,
he wobbles and remains grounded with his back bent and wailing with a
harsh ache. He must have fell on it.

Stumbling,
he makes his way to the window and places his palms against the
glass. The stains cover it from the outside, which only fills him
with dread.

He
bows his head to collect himself, despite the urge to find his
daughter and hunt down the things that brought him here.

Dressed
in a stained yellow gown, the bruises he sustained in the fight cloud
his legs and disappear beneath the material, but that's irrelevant
for the time being.

He
searches for his gear, but there is no furniture to store, or hang
them. Unlike his fear of needles, he prepares to fight, or do
whatever it takes here, even if that entails wearing what's
essentially a long dress.

He
drags himself across the dried spillage of yellow liquids and darker
shades, then stops at the door. When he glances through the glass,
the light flickers like a body crashing on an operating table. He
squints against the action and the headache swelling at his temples.

Without
a weapon he feels naked, but trained in hand-to-hand combat, the fear
that should sink in doesn't. There is only one aim right now:
discover Alanna's location. Everything else is secondary.

He
pushes the handle down to create as little noise as possible, then
slides his bulky body free of the room. While sliding along the wall,
his feet patter in damp patches of fresh blood, but he keeps his eyes
forward. He slips his feet within the liquid without care as he
surveys everything within sight.

Around
the glass where he can see the bed, the floor is empty of whatever
bodies have left this mess.

Why
go to the trouble of disposing of the bodies only to leave body
fluids splashed about?

He
continues down the hallway and turns a bend onto another where bland
watercolour paintings hang on their sides. The wallpaper has tears in
places and red scribblings scrawled across the surface, but none is
in English.

The
discarded rubbish along the floor crackles as he places his feet down
to limit noise, but over that, he hears a faint sound that has his
body on alert. The dull squelching and thudding sound comes from
somewhere up ahead, distilling the quiet.

Straining
to hear as he keeps his feet in motion, he struggles to make out
exactly what he is hearing. It is a repetitive noise that has no
emotion whatsoever. The sound reminds him of the groggy, lifeless
movements of the reanimated forms he saw in Shield City.

Gunner
pokes his head around the corner where he spots a man further up at
the opposite wall. Trails of dark liquid smear the wall and floor
from the man who is smashing his face into the solid surface. As
Gunner watches with a grimace, the man's skull connects with an
audible squelch, then he drops to his knees and falls along the
ground without so much as a moan.

The
scene raises a sickness within him, but he has neither the time, nor
the need to contemplate it further as he comes closer to the body. He
sees the face is mostly gone as he flips the body over, then glances
away.

The
man wears a white jacket draped to his knees and, beside his feet,
Gunner finds cracked glasses. His hair is wiry around the back and
the bald patch around his cranium is wet, shiny and spotted with
crimson.

Gunner
passes the slumped body. As he comes to the end of the hallway, the
light flickers off and doesn't return for an encore. Finding his way
within the gloom will be difficult, but something he will do until he
finds her.

The
sudden high-pitched scream echoes up from inside the darkness,
jolting him and forcing the image of his little cowgirl to surface.
He doesn't see her face twisted in horror, but a gleaming grin that
spreads from cheek to cheek. Her eyes are like a frozen lake peering
out from beneath a thick fringe.

Gunner
has never seen her face not full of love and happiness, even as a
baby she never cried for anything. When she wanted a cuddle, she
would giggle and raise her arms in the air and wait. But she is
crying now—a terrifying, piercing cry straight to his heart.