There is a storm in the distance // secret lover

[Nike Kennedy]

Take what you need while there's time
The city will be earth in a short while
If I'm not mistaken it's been in flames
You and I will escape to the seaside

There is a storm in the distance
The wind breathing warning of its imminence
There is a lighthouse five hundred yards down
You and I will be safe there

Lighthouse by The Hush Sound

[Snoddy King]

Startled by the gunfire, Snoddy lost his focus and turned to see if any of his friends had been hit. To his horror, he picked out the blacksmith he'd just met dropping to the ground two or three hundred yards away.

"No! Fuck!" he shouted. "Dutchy! Dutchy!" Dammit, where was the little dykejumper? His friend had fallen like a sack of lead and he was nowhere to be seen!

"There goes another of your buddies," the guard snarled, suddenly reminding Snoddy that he, too, was in the middle of fighting for his life. Wheeling around, he turned just in time to see the guard's riflebutt slicing through the air at his face. There was no time to dodge the blow, but he shifted, deflecting it slightly. Instead, the riflebutt slammed into his forehead, making him see stars. The guard was quick, and two more blows quickly followed. Too stunned to avoid them, Snoddy felt them land solidly, the first smashing into his face, the second whacking him in the temple and knocking him to the ground. Dizzy and half-blinded by the bursts of stars before his eyes, he lost his grip on his sling and fell prostrate before his attacker.

"Styx!" he shouted desperately as the guard moved in to take another crack at him. "I need some help here!" Lifting his arms to shield his head, he braced himself for the next blow--but it never came. A yowl of pain from the guard and the sizzle of scorching flesh told him Styx had come to his rescue and was currently putting the hurt on the armed man.

Snoddy had spent his life avoiding confrontation at all costs, but he had never outright fled from a fight before. As he scrambled backward, he fervently told himself he wasn't running, he was only taking a temporary retreat to get his bearings. Judging from the sounds, his friend was more than able to take care of himself at the moment.

Through the wetness of his stinging eyes, he saw a copse of trees nearby, and sought safety among them, scurrying like a frightened mouse into the brush and flopping in the tall grass. His head was throbbing now, and he felt like the ground was about to spin out from under him. The bright green and yellow dots spotting his vision had dulled down to faint shadows now, but his eyes still burned. Swiping a hand over his face resulted in a bloody hand and a feeling not unlike having his face peeled away from his skull, and he realized that that riflebutt had done some damage. The first blow had split his scalp, a steady trickle of blood coursing down his face, getting into his eyes; the second, judging by the torrent of blood he had to keep spitting out of his mouth, had likely broken his nose.

But the sounds of battle were still all around, and his friends were still out there, getting hurt, maybe getting killed... Rising up on his knees, he pawed the blood from his eyes and shook his head, spraying more blood as he tried desperately to shake off the punch-drunkenness. Pulling the sleeve of his shirt down over his hand, he pressed the material against the split on his forehead. Ooh, yeah, he was gonna have a goose egg there in short order; he could already feel it swelling up as he touched it.

His head still ached, but his adrenaline was pumping so hard now he could barely feel it. Confident that he'd gotten a hold on the spinning ground and his not-quite-double vision, he pushed himself to his feet, ready to join the fight again, when something caught his eye: from behind the next tree extended a pale, limp arm.

"Oh--!" he cried, bounding through the grass like a dingo to investigate. It was a girl, the rest of her as pale and limp as her arm, her hair matted and shirt blossomed with drying blood. Her face was bloodless and drawn, her eyes sunken into their sockets, her cheeks hollow, but he still recognized her.

"Oh, my god, Styx!" he bellowed, frantically searching the battlefield for him. "Styx!!" The boy was nowhere to be found, having moved on from the guard that assaulted Snoddy and now positioned out of sight. "Fuck!" He looked to the girl laying on the ground before him, panic written across his face. With Styx unavailable, it fell to him to take care of her, and he set upon her, shaking her and gently patting her face. "C'mon, Nike! C'mon, girl, wake up! You gotta get up! C'mon, open those eyes for me, okay? Just a little, just a little bit!" She didn't respond, and Snoddy pressed his hand against her chest, trying to feel for her heartbeat. "No, no, no, no!" he moaned, feeling nothing. "Come on, Nike! I know you're still with me, I know it!" Hurriedly pulling open her shirt, he went down another layer, pushing his hand against her chest forcibly, willing a heartbeat to appear. None came. "Fuck! No, god dammit!" he barked, and jerked up her camisole, exposing her bare chest. "Styx still needs you, god dammit!" he shouted at her. "Now come on!"

He pounded his hand against her chest, slapping his palm over heart with damn near enough force to crack a rib. "Come on!" he shouted, slapping her across the face and pounding her chest. "Come on! Come on! Come--oh, thank god!" His ferocity was finally rewarded with the tiniest little flutter, deep within her chest. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" he chanted under his breath as he quickly pulled her camisole down and draped her shirt closed again. Scanning the field one more time for any sign of Styx--there was none--he quickly bundled the girl into his arms and bolted from the trees, racing back down the hill and in the direction they came. Focusing on nothing but the girl in his arms--was she getting warmer?! He thought maybe she was getting warmer now!--he was able to ignore the throb of his skull, the every-other-second gush of blood dripping into his mouth.

He wasn't running away. No, he wasn't. His offensive had suddenly switched to defensive, and now he was rushing a rescue mission of a slightly different sort. Very different from running away.