Dark Wave

Chapter 11

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A message from Cammi? O:

Woaww! Okok, firstly, thanks you for reading this far! Well, that is if you haven't just suddenly started reading on this chapter, and if so, Get back to the Start! c''x But yeah, thank you, it REALLY means a lot. This is like my dream that you're staring blankly at right now,  YOU can help me achieve this, and by reading it, and voting, you're getting me noticed, and more people read, and vote, and it carries on. You're helping me achieve my dreams... And I love you for that.. c:

But I hate having so many parts and only a few many pages.. I need to control this better but I don't know how! D': This is like part 14 or something and there's only like 20 pages... I always end the chapters too soon or something? Or do I not explain enough..? Or do I need to describe more? Help me, poos! Please Q~Q 

Thanks.. :c

~~ Cammi ♥

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The wind seductively licked up my back, lingering at the top of my spine, and my whole body went into convulsions of shivering and chattering. I sounded like one of those things you see on the Batman games, on the floor? I forget what they're called, but they're like teeth and you wind them up and they make a chattery noise. Through small openings in the canopy - we still walk through the forest at this point - I could catch glimpses of the moon, stood tall and prominent in the sky, opressive to the corrupt world below.

"I haven't slept in a proper bed in ages, and I guess tonight isn't going to be any different." Mack says.

I nod, and the girl makes a sort of 'mmph' sound, and then silence resumes.

So awkward, so stretched.

"At least it's not raining."

At least we're not dead.

We keep walking, but we need to find somewhere to sleep, somewhere safe and incognito. 

Backed up against a group of felled, burnt trees like a frightened rabbit lay a huge slab of stone, and damp - what seems like floorboards - stacked up in some sort of D.I.Y roof. Some stinking, rotting dead carcass there too - a deer, poor thing, with an arrow for an eye and gaping holes in the skin where muscle and flesh had been hacked past (seemingly with some form of blunt weapon) for the meat. The meat that lay on the table, surrounded by an orgy of fat flies, feasting on this dead body.

Ew.

We stand in front of it, in a line, no one dares to speak, but we all hold our nose.

Finally:

"Do you think we should move on?" 

"Yeah."

...

"So we moving?"

...

"Lib..?"

"I don't know. Where else could we go?"

"So we're staying?" 

Looks like it.

"Yeah."

The girl walked in first, and she sat at the far end of the little hideaway thing (I don't know what to call it) and she sat cross legged  in the far corner.

I finally had the time to study her appearance properly.

She wore what seems like a jumpsuit, and it was, what, leather? It was this deep blue, like really dark blue, with a small red bow tie, and a white collar. Strangely girly, and it matched her. It had this tu-tu-ish frill around her hips too, and wedge boots that all joined up. And she wore gloves. How strange. 

But not just like normal gloves, like biker gloves or anything, like proper white gloves (a bit like Mickey Mouse's). 

First impressions crumbled and this strange sense washed over me, that she was not all so innocent. She was not a normal kid of this particular era.

I sat next to her and Mack on the other side.

'My name is Nikko Hatsune." She said, out of the silence.

"I'm Lib.. uh, Olive Patrick." I say back.

"Mack." He raises his hand in a wave.

She stared at us both for some time, not a creepy stare but more of a concerned one.

"I am sorry for bumping into you like that, and making a completely unneccessary fuss over what was happening." She gazes out of the shack-thing now, staring up into the trees and the bitter moonlight that carresses the ground. 

"I was sent to come and find you." She speaks again, cooly.

"What..? By who?" I ask, confused.

She keeps her eyes straight outside, her face straight, calm, collected, matured. "I was raised under the influence of an organisation on an island just outside of Japan. When the infection broke out my father awoke me from my slumber with a suitcase of money and a gun. He held a note, a piece of burnt, rushedly scribbled on paper. It had your surname on it. And then I watched as his skull was ripped from his skin and discarded, and every ounce of blood from his shriveled and decrepit throat poured like a faucet, staining the white tiled floors and creating splatters up and down the walls. He died in front of me. And then I ran. " The bloodied and tattered note was presented to me, like how a cat presents a dead mouse to its owner.

Words formed in my mind and this beautifully grotesque image burned like a wildfire behind my eyes; the words slithered like molten rock to my throat, and pried open my voicebox with a white-hot crowbar. The words and sounds were born in my throat in a spinning, corrupt world, and died at my lips. Whatever sounds I could make came out in slurs. I made no sense.

But neither did this.

She turned to face me and her eyes melted into me, into my very soul. Encapsulated by this, I tried to turn away but the images were still there. I begged her to keep explaining.

"When I first found your mother, she was in a very bad state. Her dress was torn, ripped, her hair was matted with blood and dirt. It was not her blood. I watched her kill the first, and the last, and I was amazed with her innocence. Your mother is not a murderer. The people she killed were monsters. I spoke to her, and she told me to find you, and take you to her."

I stood quickly, "Well?! Wh-where is she??" She pulled me down. 

"Not tonight." She said calmly. 

"Libby..?" Mack said my name and it fell upon me.

I started to cry.

The news-bearer stood quietly, and walked from the shack and into the night.

Mack came onto me and held me as I wept, and as I wept the moon fell back under the clouds, the black void that was the night held me too. 

And I wept on its horrid shoulder. With pointed tongue, it licked the salted tears from my weary face.