Our Demise 🌈

2 - Dead or Alive

Rory didn't know whether he was dead or alive. His body felt heavy, as if he was chained to the ground and covered with a thick layer of sand. Was he buried? Had he reached the bottom of the ocean? 

It didn't matter, he didn't feel disappointed. He felt... free, like his mind was detaching itself from his body. 

He was floating. Through soft clouds and bright rainbows. The sea breeze toyed with his hair, whispering promises of endless freedom and memorable adventures. Seagulls circled around him; peaceful at first, until they started to shriek. Flapping their wings they tried to fly faster, screaming like they were in pain. 

Or was it fear? 

He looked over his shoulder, although he wasn't sure he actually had a shoulder. He might as well be some ghost. A dark shadow came closer, lightning crackling in it, accompanied by meowing sounds. Frowning, he stared at the approaching darkness. 

It were cats. Hundreds of winged, black cats, hooking their claws in the giant birds. 

"Rory!"

They all called his name, looking at him with pleading eyes. One by one the seagulls were shred, painting the clouds in a deep red. There were pools of blood everywhere, showing the reflection of panicking faces. Mouse. Lee. North. Mack. Erik. 

Dead, they were all dying. 

"Rory!!" 

A heavy wind picked him up and threw him into the sea. There was water everywhere, the wild waves tossing him back and forth. 

Something sharp pierced his shoulders, shaking him and –

Panting, Rory sat up straight. His clothes were sticking to his heated body, he could smell his own sweat. His lungs felt paralyzed, as if they still believed that he was surrounded by water. Clenching his hands to fists until his nails cut into his palms, he managed to get a grip on himself. 

After taking a few, deep breaths his heartbeat slowed down and his vision returned. The first thing he recognized, was the redhead who was leaning over him, his hand still on Rory's shoulder. 

"There ye are, finally back to earth! C'mon, there's a ship!" Lee grabbed his arm, helping him to swing his legs over the edge of the small bed.

"We're gonna fight?" Rory's voice was barely a whisper. 

"Dunno mate. Let's prepare for the worst, aye?"

Rory grabbed his belt and fastened it around him. His friend turned around and left the cabin to warn the others. Impatient as he was, Rory jumped out of the bed. His legs however could barely carry his weight and cursing, he gripped the side of the bed. 

"For fuck's sake," he grunted, attaching the two sheaths of his daggers to his belt. "C'mon Rory. You're actin' like a fuckin' weenie."

He almost fell when he bent over to pick up his boots, leaning against the bed as he stepped into them. His head was spinning, his whole body aching while he had the feeling he was locked up in a fucking oven. 

He was sick, was having a fever. 

But there was no time to be sick, they needed him. They all felt weak. And he wasn't weak. If anything, it was a miracle he was still alive. At least, that was what Lee said. He was the smallest of them all, the poison should have gotten him first but he still lived while others had died. 

It had taken them days to recover from the first poisoning. The whole crew had been plagued by hallucinations, lethargy and a terrible tiredness. After almost a week they had regained a bit of their former strength – and then tragedy struck again, as they found out that a part of the food in the hold had been poisoned as well.