Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Fifty-Six. It's Never Over

FIFTY-SIX
— it's never over

tw: physical violence

      "I DON'T UNDERSTAND, you've seen this before?"

     It's over. She's planning her funeral. The Russians, officially, are involved with the Upside Down, and the Demo-dogs, and Will's disappearance, and Bob's death, and the main-source of her lingering-anxiety and permanent stomach-aches. They're never getting out of there, and they're going to stick her in the Upside Down, and her father is going to be stuck in an eternal loop of searching and wondering. She never gets to experience the simple things, again— sunlight on her freckled-cheeks, a hairbrush tangled in the depths of her hair, her tube-socks sliding against the wooden-floorboards of the cabin. Her brother and her father are at her funeral, in black-suits— Jim hasn't worn his since Sara's, and Danny had to buy a new one. Two-men (well, one is a teenaged-boy) crying, and her casket is empty, because she had a heart-attack after seeing the gate being opened by a group of Russian scientists.

They're explaining the situation to Robin and Erica. Dustin takes the lead, and his lisp becomes more evident when he's panicked. This is end-of-the-human-race, bad, he claims, and he's not wrong. . . at all. Her sweaty-palm moves to fly against her forehead, which is now collecting beads of sweat, as-well. She's pulling at her red-tank top, which sits on her heaving chest, and she moves to turn away from the group— lips departed, quick breaths leaving her drythroat. Her eyes dart back-and-forth, and suddenly, she realizes something is missing. . . the Russian guard Steve knocked-out no longer lays on the floor.

"Guys," her voice cracks, just a bit. They're still talking, and she grasps onto Erica's forearm to get someone's attention, "hey! Where's your Russian, Harrington?"

Silence. They turn to face the empty space on the floor, and the air grows thicker. Her clouded-ears pop when an alarm blares, and her shoulders hop upwards in surprise— Steve is running past her, now, their shoulders brushing abruptly. A red-beam of light, presumably from the alarm, is shining onto them from outside the comms-room, and there's a sudden wave of commotion and panic. She blinks, and Steve is grabbing her hand, and they're rushing through the nearest set of double-doors.

      Her knees ache with each time she slams her feet against the floor, "where are we going?— we're stuck!" she shouts between her teeth, body bumping with Robin's. They breeze past another set of doors, and she feels a wave of heavy, blazing heat on her rosy-cheek— they're facing the gate, again, and along with it, a-hundred confused men.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Dustin cries, moving down the stairs in an immediate rush.

Steve is shouting at her to move, and Robin is panting, and Erica is buzzing with a stream of burning questions. They push against the Russians, and down the stairs, and past another set of doors, before coming to an eventual, forced halt— she grabs the back of Dustin's orange-colored shirt, and nearly tumbles forward with a choked-gasp. . . the blue-beam of electricity is blinding. They stand at the edge, near the gate, her back pressed firm to Robin's front. The beam tears into her sight, and makes her eyes water, and her face burn hot. The tangled-hair on her head blows back, almost like a warm-summer-breeze, and her stomach lurches to her throat.