TITLE: ONE LAST APOCALYPSE – CHAPTER 3
Author: PhenDog ( phendog@hotmail.com )
A/Ns: Okay…a mostly Wes chapter, but in order to keep it
chronological…a lot more is happening w/him right now than everyone
else! What can I say?
(Be glad…otherwise you'd be reading a lot more about Buffy's
irritation over airline peanuts…'cause pretty much the whole gang is
currently in transit. Trust me…the next chapter will do what it can
to bring in the others again…)
Btw? Raise your hands if you remember the `We Sing' tapes? I to
this day could probably tell you half the songs on `We Sing Silly
Songs'…everybody hates me, no body likes me, guess I'll go eat
worms!
VERY GREAT THANKS TO ALL MY BETAS! Please feel free to
scroll down past this gigantic gush fest.
To ElizaBuffy, who's always my number one gal… I LOVE YOU…EVEN
MORE THAN KIM, SILLY!!! (sorry, all…based on an IM comment) You
are the truly eagle-eyed one who could make absolutely any fic bleed
red…including this one. I'm sorry I squicked you w/the leg! I
promise to kill a certain other character in a far bloodier and more
traumatic way… *evil grin* I'll warn you on that one…in the
meantime, can I make it up to you by meeting again tomorrow at
Willa's LJ for more phone!porn fun?
To everyone else in alphabetical order (sorry, EB always gets first,
I promised her, but to be fair to the rest) Beadtific (since I never
see you post as Susi anymore *sigh*) thanks for your kind words!
And I swear you get sick pleasure out of seeing all my errors…just
as I get a sick pleasure out of knowing I got a song stuck in your
head! Jen wanted to read this fic ahead of time so much that she's
now been added as a permanent beta…which since she saw all the other
parts ahead of time just makes sense, I suppose! Thanks for hoping
on board like that! Makes me feel flattered to no end. Kim, I
LOVE YOU!!! (She gets such emphatic praise because she nommed
this fic over at the futureverse awards…and it won runner up!)
Thanks for doing this when you had so many other projects…sorry
about the dog…and Angel, and um, all the other mean things. *grin*
See you next week at the con! (You have no IDEA how excited I am.)
Also, to Noelia for writing the best editorial commentary I've read
in a long time…I was laughing so hard my office mate was giving me
weird looks…which was bad, because she doesn't *cough*
knowaboutmyfanfictionaddiction */cough*
And to all of you: Unwaylaid is a word because I say so, damnit!
*grin*
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy, AtS or anything else except my beloved computer named "Slate." (Obviously I don't own them, or I'd own a lot more than Slate and you'd have to pay to read this.) The Buffyverse belongs to Joss, ME (yes I know, old joke), and a whole bunch of alphabetical TV networks, `specially now that it's gone into syndication. Please don't sue, I know I don't have permission. Bad me. All my money went to bootleg X-files and Buffy episodes and Slate doesn't want to leave me!
I now return you to the apocalypse already in progress:
1592 S. Westchester Ave. – Private Residence of Cyvus Vail
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
6:19:13 AM local time/13:19:13 UST
Kate heard the shout and the thud, and before she could even think
about it, she found herself running, Eric following close behind.
"Oh God!" she exclaimed, when she saw the body of the third member of their group lying on the ground. Immediately, she knelt down to get closer before she managed to glance over and see what hadn't been visible from the entrance of the bathroom. She barely noticed the man who held the weapon aloft, as the shiny, metallic glint of the sword captured her attention and held it. Moments passed as time stood still, save for the blood rushing through her head and making her ears sing with every heartbeat. When she finally could move, Kate's response was to scream and scuttle backward out the door once more.
The man moved then, lowering his sword and stumbling forward, across the body on the floor to follow her. "No!" he called out hoarsely. Trying again, he managed, "Wait!"
"Kate! What the…" another man called out, suddenly appearing before he, too, noticed the apparent attacker. Instantly, he raised a gun, holding it shakily with both hands, as he looked about wide- eyed. "Stop! Or I'll shoot."
Wesley had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the man pointing the gun at him. It just seemed so trivial after everything else that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours or less. Unfortunately, he could tell that the man was jumpy and not used to the weapon, increasing the likelihood he'd fire by mistake.
"He killed him, Mark. He killed Eric," the woman spoke up helpfully from her position, back against the wall. Her voice was calmer now as she struggled for control, but Wes could still detect the fine note of terror in it. Unfortunately, it just made `Mark' grip the gun tighter to the point that his knuckles were white.
At least Wesley was now relatively certain that this small group didn't seem to be in the employ of Vail and they were relatively unlikely to be a threat…or at least wouldn't be if he could get Mark to put down the gun.
He forced his voice to work again. "He's alive, just…just unconscious." To prove his point, he started to move toward the body.
"Stop! Don't move!" Mark commanded anxiously. It unnerved him that even though the other man was armed only with a sword, he seemed far more at ease than he, himself, was with a gun.
Opening his other hand to show that it was empty, Wesley slowly crouched and laid down the sword, then kicked it across the tile floor. He realized that it would put the others more at ease if he disposed of the weapon; they certainly didn't need to know about all the other various armaments he'd managed to hide on his person.
The woman shakily got to her knees and crawled forward, keeping her eyes firmly on Wesley. When she reached Eric, she felt his pulse and then put a hand to his chest. Slowly, she nodded. "He's breathing."
That bit of information seemed to relax them slightly, and Wes could see some of the tension leech out of Mark. "You…what did you do?"
Wesley spread his hands out in front of him, hoping it would appear disarming. "I ap…" his voice caught slightly, still thick. "I apologize. I didn't realize he was human," he said simply, before his brain had the opportunity to point out his phrasing had been unfortunate.
"Human? You thought he was one of the demons then," the woman responded matter-of-factly, accepting his statement as if it explained everything.
The response caught him off-guard. If they knew about the darker creatures of the world, there was a possibility that they were associates of Vail after all, even if their behavior thus far had suggested otherwise. "Demons?"
"Yeah, like the ones outside." She looked at him quizzically, tilting her head slightly. "They're everywhere, and they…" Wesley realized she was about to say more when a shadow of pain crossed her features, but she banished it and shifted her train of conversation. "They were avoiding this place, so…"
Eric groaned slightly, causing Kate to turn her attention back to him. Taking the opportunity, Wes stepped forward and leaned down to help, but he'd neglected to note Mark's position, and his sudden movement surprised the other man.
Wesley heard the sound of the gunshot and surged to his feet, stepping none to gingerly over Eric as he leaned forward enough to strike the man's wrist and force Mark to drop the gun. It fired again when it hit the floor, but fortunately this time the shot went into the wall. "You stupid prat! What the bloody fuck are you thinking? If you can't control a gun, you sure as hell shouldn't have one."
Mark was in shock as he felt the strong hand clamp on his shoulder, and heard the voice shouting at him. "Man, I hit you," he whispered.
"Oh God! Mark!" the higher pitch of the woman's voice called out, though Wes heard it as if it were distant—far away.
Wesley's grip on the man's flannel shirt loosened slightly, and Wes followed the other's gaze down to the front of his already tattered and blood-caked turtleneck. For a moment, he couldn't understand what he was looking for; then, he began to feel it—not pain, just like something was crushing at his chest, a finger that perhaps poked too hard. He took his fingers away from the other man's person entirely and let them feel the new gout of red liquid warmth leaking down his chest. Wesley saw the blood on his fingertips, and this time, couldn't help the sudden mirth that bubbled up from within.
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Watcher's Council Temporary Base
Near Portola, California
6:21:02 AM local time/13:21:02 UST
The air shimmered suddenly, but the man standing at the treeline
against the side of a peeling sign announcing `Lake Davis Youth
Camp,' barely reacted, simply narrowing his eyes and squinting at
the spot. He didn't have to wait long until a slender grey-haired
woman appeared, wearing an elegant lavender sundress accessorized
with elbow-length gloves and a large, wide-brimmed hat that rose
high on the left side, all of which were entirely out of character
with the setting. Moments later, a large valise and smaller handbag
appeared as well.
The woman in question looked around with vague, but well-veiled, distaste. She'd squeezed the fleshy tip of the finger and let the blood required for the transportation spell well up where she'd pricked the skin with the needle. Then, pressing it to the spot on the dot representing her destination, she had wished she had a larger map than what her atlas provided so she could pinpoint the location more accurately. Instead, she'd had to hope that the Council had set up a proper beacon, as promised, that would be able to draw her magic to it all the way from Northern Asia. Now, as she examined the sight that met her, she was having her doubts.
The man noticed the slight hesitation and took that as his cue, pushing off the sign and walking up to her. "Hi! Don Haylan. Nice to meet ya. And you are?"
"Priestess Kalei Noress," she said slowly in a slightly accented voice, looking vaguely appalled at the outstretched hand with its slightly dirty nails emerging from the flannel shirt. At last, breeding won out, and she offered her hand limply to the man who towered above her. Her eyes opened wide when, instead of kissing it, he shook it roughly.
"Great!" Don released her hand and then looked over at the priestess' luggage. "Want some help with that?"
"We are at the Council establishment then?" she asked incredulously.
"Far as I know; bought it from the Y.M.C.A. or something like that. You lucked out though. There aren't many here just yet, and since the Council hasn't got one of their own in our midst at the moment, it's probably first come, first serve. Those of us who got here first get to have spots in the cabin. Guess everyone else is going to hafta settle for tents."
"And the barrier?"
He shrugged. "Massive. They're working on it, but you might as well get comfy in the meantime."
Don picked up her bags and indicated she should follow him down toward the buildings. Kalei took another dubious look, and then, squaring her shoulders, she began to walk forward.
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1592 S. Westchester Ave. – Private Residence of Cyvus Vail
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
6:24:58 AM local time/13:24:58 UST
The laughter cut off sharply, a harsh bark that rang out almost as
loud as the gunshot. Wesley felt himself slipping away as that
awesome primal force came to the forefront once more, blocking him
off and leaving him floating, a mere observer of his own body.
His hand hovered over his chest and began to grow warm. The bullet within thinned from its compact impact slug as it twisted itself back through the hole it had made in his flesh when it entered. Disbelief melted into raging pain until the bit of metal emerged with a small pop and leapt into his palm. Still, it was as if he was seeing it through a curtain—removed. It felt as though the bullet was searing his fist, but his fingers clenched tight, and his eyes settled on his stunned assailant. A power was building in him, directed at that target, and he felt the desire to see blood and death wash over his mind.
Wesley fought desperately for control, and, in return, received only a feeling of curiosity wondering why it was that he objected to destroying that which had sought to destroy him. {{Illyria, no!}} he shouted so strongly in his mind, the words could not be contained and escaped his lips as a whisper. Then, the pain in his chest slammed through him, and the world went black.
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Graham-Palin Public High School Gymnasium
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
6:28:14 AM local time/13:28:14 UST
Alec Ulman pressed his forehead into the wall as he tried to snuff
up the snot that kept threatening to escape, making his head feel
tighter. The boy could hear the sounds of the others around him,
moving about. Some were talking quietly in pairs, trying to make
sense of the world or console traumas that were hauntingly fresh.
Others were silent, lost in their own thoughts or sobbing quietly to
themselves.
The adults crying—that scared him. At eight years old, he'd thought he was getting too old to cry, but men and women, his parents, people old enough to be his grandparents… Adults weren't supposed to cry. They were supposed to know what to do and be able to keep the monsters at bay. But now the monsters were here, and he realized the adults were terrified too.
Hugging himself tighter, his mind returned to his father's face. It had been lined with blood and grit, bits of glass still in the skin, as he grimaced and panted. There had been pain and terror, and no wonder!
After his parents had seen what was coming out the window, they'd gathered him into the car, his father wearing only pajama bottoms and his mother hugging a robe tight around her thin nightgown. There hadn't been time to grab anything, and he hadn't complained. The car came to life, blaring the `We Sing' tape that had been left in the cassette player. `Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay,' the voices of happy children sang eerily in a world surrounded by screams, the glow of distant fire, and immediate violence.
That was in the background though. What he remembered was the sound of the tires kicking up gravel in the driveway as he stared wide- eyed at the massive wave of teeth and wings and flesh. There had been other cars, lots of them, all headed the same way, bumping into each other, driving on sidewalks. `My, oh, my, what a wonderful day! Plenty of sunshine-' the tape cut off as Jack Ulman's fist found the volume control and twisted it hard enough for the snap of plastic to be audible. Alec wasn't sure which was worse…the insanely out of place music or the lack of it. Then he'd seen Sarah, their five-year-old golden retriever, weaving her way through the traffic, obviously broken free of her leash in the back yard. He opened the door and called to her as they crawled along, but she'd seen the approaching wave and fear won out, forcing the dog to scamper away rather than back to her family and the danger that was threatening to overtake them. His father had yelled at him to close the door.
When the first of the monsters reached a car nearby, it started pounding on the window, cracking the glass to reach the terrified young woman inside. Alec's father yelled for them to hold on as he turned the car onto the lawn and drove through the fence, desperate to escape the jam. There were a lot of things in the way, but the station wagon dutifully continued to plow them down until it ran up on a concrete barrier and the wheels spun. They'd gotten out and run along well-manicured yards in front of identical clone houses, surrounded by general terror. Alec had stumbled as his parents drug him along between them. Then, before they'd even realized it, one of the creatures had come up behind them, small and vicious. It leapt on his father, taking down the perceived leader of their little group, but his mother had fought fiercely. Alec had never seen that expression on her face before, tear streaked and defiant as she hit the dark grey hide with the rake she'd found leaning against the side of the nearest house. It hit dully, thudding as the creature turned and snarled. Mary had hit it again, protecting her family and forcing the demon to reel back before landing a final blow that sent it scampering.
Jack Ulman had told his family to leave him and keep going before more of the creatures caught up. Red, angry gashes, inches long, covered his naked back, and his leg was mangled, white bone and flesh, the foot nearly gone, preventing him from even standing.
Mary refused and grabbed Alec, her grip strong and bruising beneath his armpits, as she lifted him high and ran in front of an SUV that sped close, forcing it to run them down or stop. The driver, a bald man in dirty flannel, had sworn at them in words Alec knew would get him in serious trouble had he used them himself. Nevertheless, red- faced and growling, the man had still grudgingly helped them into the backseat before taking off. Alec remembered the smell of the cigarette smoke, but not much else as they drove, and he pressed his eyes tightly closed to avoid looking at the pain on his father's face or the horrifying sight of the mangled flesh as his mother ripped up her robe and tried to staunch the frighteningly red blood in the glaring yellow of the interior lights of the vehicle.
Looking up, Mary had spotted the high school with its spray-painted message across the front in neon-yellow, harsh against the brick. `SAFE INSIDE.' Unfortunately, a large, ugly black demon was already outside, pounding on the main doors to the building. When it saw the SUV pulling into the parking lot, it grinned and turned to them, rushing forward.
Before Alec even knew what was happening, the bald man slammed down on the gas pedal hard, and the vehicle became a deadly weapon, plowing into the demon, pinning it against the brick, and cutting it in two. The impact jarred through them and the glass imploded inward where the torso of the demon flopped over and through the windshield, spraying the occupants of the SUV.
They'd managed to find their way inside, the wooden doors cracking open to let them in, and hands helped to carry his father. It was that face he saw now, haunting him, as he remembered how Jack Ulman had looked, crying, hurt and afraid, being taken away to the temporary infirmary, his mother following. A strange woman had held him back, taken him to the gym, and given him a blanket.
And now, here he was, alone in his torn and dirty pajamas, hugging himself against the wall. He was waiting to find out what would happen next, whether the demons would find their way in before it was all over, and when this particular nightmare—more vivid than all those that had come before—would finally end.
A soft hand touched his shoulder and he looked up startled. "Mom?" he squeaked before launching himself into her arms, trembling.
She smelled like blood and sweat, but also something very familiar and comforting. "Shh…it's alright, Alec."
"We forgot Sarah. We left her. What if she got eaten?"
"She's a smart dog, honey. I'm sure she ran away and found a place to hide, just like we did." Both of them sensed and hated the lie, but neither challenged it.
Then Alec broached the subject that scared him even more. "Dad?" he whispered, pulling away and looking up when he could. "Is he going to be okay?"
Mary Ulman's eyes filled with tears and she tried to look away. "I hope so. I hope we all will be."
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1592 S. Westchester Ave. – Private Residence of Cyvus Vail
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
6:33:58 AM local time/13:33:58 UST
Kate continued glaring at Mark, who paced back and forth helplessly,
in and out of the room, shrugging and ducking when he caught her
look. Eric just sat in the corner looking straight ahead and
rocking slowly; Kate knew what had happened was beginning to hit him—
hard. She forced herself to look away, and let herself focus instead
on the irritating rhythm of footsteps as they rang out on the
endless marble that seemed to serve as the flooring of choice for
most of the fantastic house they found themselves in now.
"Damn it, you're making me want to crawl out of my skin, Mark. If you're so eager to walk around, could you at least do something useful? See if one of the bathrooms has a medicine cabinet or dig up some food maybe?" The offending presence muttered something about it being a bad idea to split up, but left anyway.
Meanwhile, the world announced its presence slowly to Wesley, creeping in as dim light behind his eyelids, but he refused to acknowledge it immediately. There was pressure on his chest, pushing him down, but although it was confining, it didn't necessarily mean danger. A cool, wet cloth swabbed his forehead in a gesture that was obviously meant to be soothing, but that was actually just making him feel damp. Then, the pain hit his head, slamming into it as if it had been waiting for him and just now noticed his wakefulness.
Kate looked down, startled, as the man lying beside where she was seated on the bed began to groan and thrash. "Easy," she told him as she set down the washrag to allow her hand to push back the hair on his forehead. She realized again that she had no idea who this man was and didn't even know for sure that he hadn't intended to hurt Eric. Still, he appeared to be human, and, considering the events of the last several hours…images flashed through her mind and suddenly the lump rose in her throat again, hard and painful, but she held the tears back. Crying could come later. It was bad enough that Eric was nearly catatonic. She couldn't afford to do the same.
Wesley's eyes flickered open as he groaned and tried to sit up. "Careful," Kate advised holding the bandage firm against his naked chest as she helped him. "Here, hold this. You'll want to keep it pressed tight. The bullet didn't go through and you seem to be breathing all right, so I hope it's not serious. This wasn't exactly covered in the basic first aid course."
"No. I, uh, rather imagine not."
"Were you wounded earlier? Your shirt was covered in old blood, but I didn't see any other injuries."
"No…I. No," Wesley lied, deciding it was far easier.
She nodded grimly. The blood on her own clothing wasn't exclusively hers, either. In fact, most of it wasn't, and she had no idea exactly how many others had contributed. "Just so you know, I don't feel threatened by you anymore. Should I?"
The question was straightforward, and he appreciated that. He allowed himself a slight smile. "No. I'll assume the same based on your actions just now. I'm assuming your group didn't mean to have me dead, or you'd have tried harder."
There was an awkward silence, while Kate struggled for something to fill it. "Mark can be a hothead sometimes, but he's just scared, and when he saw you with that sword…"
Wesley grunted and winced when the pain flared again briefly.
"Did you come here to escape them, too?"
"Pardon?"
Kate looked at him incredulously. "The demon hordes…the entire city is one big nightmare. Quite frankly, I keep thinking I'm dreaming, but when I look outside, there they are. They avoid this place, though."
Wesley remembered the sight he saw when he'd looked out. "Yes. It's…it's the wards."
"Wards?"
"Magic," he supplied, waving his free hand as if that explained everything, before he suddenly realized that she very likely had no idea what he was talking about. "This place. It was owned by a demon mage who was rather suspicious of his own kind."
Kate just stared for a moment before she barked out a bit of near hysterical laughter. "Oh my god. You're serious, aren't you? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, all things considered." She had brown eyes, he noticed—brown eyes with golden streaks in them that were really quite fetching. Unfortunately, the humor in her voice didn't reach those eyes, and he saw only fear, sorrow, and exhaustion written in them. "Who are you, exactly, anyway? Here I am, sharing a bed with you and tending your wounds, when all I know about you is that you're very likely English, believe in magic, and apparently seem to think you know how to use a sword."
"I am…an historian of sorts, I suppose. A researcher."
"Who fights demons with swords?"
"Yes. Precisely," Wesley let the corner of his mouth curve up slightly.
"And what should I call you then, my well-armed British researcher?"
"Wesley," he responded, before pausing. A shadow crossed his mind and he shivered. He had been Wesley, but was he still? Shoving it aside, he added, "And you are Kate." At her look, he explained. "I heard Mark refer to you by that name earlier."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're rather observant for some one with a gun pointed at him."
"Yes, well, that's a good trait to have. How, er, how did you manage to find your way in here?"
Kate sighed and looked away. "We were desperate. Running away, just a bunch of us from the apartment building where I live. Over on Rosen?"
Wesley shook his head, indicating he wasn't familiar with the street name.
"Anyway, there were eleven of us originally," she said her voice trailing off.
That explained what he saw around her eyes, then. Still, it astounded him that what seemed so fantastic could actually be true. Even for one whose life was filled with demons and the very strange, the idea that the whole city could have come under attack… how badly had Angel's plan gone awry?
"I'm very sorry. It is…painful to survive."
Kate's eyes widened slightly, surprised. He wasn't apologizing for those who died, but rather those who lived. It made her consider that he might have had experience. "Yes, it is. You've lost someone?" she asked before she even realized the words were out of her mouth.
Wesley winced slightly at the pain that seemed to have hung so heavily on him since the night a human woman had died in his arms to be replaced by a god. The thought barely had time to form in his mind before something reached out to him, calm and soothing. He called to it hopefully, but the presence faded back again before he had time to bring it to the surface and examine it.
Misunderstanding his expression, the woman became flustered and used her hand to comb through a lock of chocolate brown hair, tucking it behind her ear. "I'm sorry. You don't need to answer that. I shouldn't have…"
"No, it's alright," he assured her, "I was just…remembering. Yes, I've lost friends, people I loved. Though once you know the truth about our world and the evil in it, safety becomes…difficult." Kate nodded, accepting it, though his words made all manner of questions come to mind. Still, if they were trapped here long, there would be time for that.
"Eric's wife," she whispered and waved over to the man in the corner who seemed not to be hearing their conversation, "was seven months pregnant. Her baby shower was two days ago…god. She couldn't keep up, and neither could his son." She shivered, and lowered her voice even further as her eyes flicked back to Eric a second time. "We…we saw them being torn apart. Literally. Blood…and I can still hear her screams." She closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice was higher pitched and tiny. "My husband was downtown. He works the night shift. I don't…I don't know…"
Wesley didn't know what to say to the brightness that formed in those brown-gold eyes, so he remained silent. She seemed to shake herself. "I'm sorry. I just have no idea if he's alright."
Wesley leaned up to reach out a hand in comfort, but Kate noticed and with a light touch pushed him back on the pillow. "Here. Let me see how it's doing. Does it hurt?"
Mentally, he checked himself, and realized the pain had disappeared. "No, actually."
She furrowed her brow. "Well, let me check it."
Her hand hovered over where he held the bandage for a moment, his long fingers pressed against the white handtowel she'd swiped from the bathroom which had long since gone red, and a sudden thought occurred as she recalled warnings that had been drilled into her. Still, his blood was already on her hands, so if she was going to catch any diseases from his blood, she probably already had them. Regardless, at the moment, such long-term thoughts seemed trivial.
Wesley realized her intent when she moved away his hand with gentle fingers and was about to warn her that removing a bandage from a wound could destroy the clot and renew the bleeding, but didn't manage to do so in time.
Kate stared as she held the blood-soaked cloth away from the wound. The skin beneath was tinged red with smeared and drying blood, but it was unbroken. Using the cloth to try to wipe it cleaner, she succeeded mostly in smearing the blood more, but confirmed what her eyes told her. The wound was gone with not even a scar in evidence.
Wes sat up abruptly, seeing the same thing. Kate leapt away and off the bed as if his mere presence might burn her. "You…you're not human!" she faltered shrilly. Even Eric looked up.
It was then that Wesley realized his other hand was clutched tightly around something. He didn't have to look to know what it was, as he pressed the tiny bit of smooth metal deeper into his palm.
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Cleveland Hopkins International Airport – Concourse C
Cleveland, Ohio, USA 19/05/04
9:02:56 AM local time/14:02:56 UST
"Miss? Miss, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to please step
over here."
Faith looked in disbelief as she was pulled over. "What the hell for?"
The eyes of the female airport security guard narrowed. "Because it's procedure, and if you want to get on a plane anytime today, you'll do it."
Then she heard the sound of another guard calling for assistance at one of the scanners. When Faith glanced across the conveyor belts to the monitor, she saw the shapes of knifes and short swords clearly outlined…far more than a normal traveler would pack and realized one of the others must have gotten careless in shielding their luggage. "Shit."
"Miss?" A meaty hand landed on her arm, trying to yank her over to where they were taking the shoes from others and patting them down physically after scanning them with a wand.
Faith patiently ignored the annoyance a moment longer as she looked back at her companion who'd managed to make it to the other side of the metal detector unwaylaid.
"Frickin' airport security," she muttered before calling out. "God, Robin! I knew there was a reason I didn't want to wake up this morning. Why the hell couldn't you just have ignored the phone?"
Wood shook his head slightly, without humor. "I really am beginning to wish I had."
The guard just looked annoyed and pulled again, forcing Faith to use a little more strength to shake off the large woman's grip. "Back off," she growled, as she walked toward the roped off area. "Or you're going to have a worse day than I'm having."
Just then, there was a shout of "Don't you DARE touch my crossbow" from a hundred yards away, mere moments before a well-placed fist connected with an official solidly. As all hell broke loose, Robin Wood just sighed and flipped open his mobile phone. So much for low profile.