Repatriation pt4
"He's waking up!"
The voice stammered somewhere at the uinverse's edge. Roy's mind locked onto the sound, used it as a rope to drag himself back to consciousness. Other noises filtered through, peeled back the black fog that had swallowed him. A child coughed somewhere nearby. An engine thrummed in his ears, solidified to vibrations passing through his battered frame.
"Chanda, he's awake."
"Take the wheel."
Bodies shuffled. Footsteps echoed in a small space. Roy breathed, tasted a hint of diesel fumes, sweat and sickness. He smacked dry lips, shifted his weight onto an elbow. A sting of pain ripped through his left arm. The agony of opening his eyes made the sensation pale to nothing. He grit his teeth, felt tears wet his cheeks as his vision adjusted to the sudden change in light. His guts lurched. He suppressed the urge to vomit.
"Where am I?"
Roy swept his gaze around the van's tight confines. Bags and boxes filled the cramped space. Mostly empty, the packaging once held food and water. A child's crib sat above a wheel arch, secured in place by a series of straps tied to the metal frame of a workman's racking.
"Hey, welcome back."
The Indian woman's face filled his vision. A smile touched her full lips. Fatigue showed in her skin tone and the dark circles around her hazel eyes. She held a bottle of water, cap already removed. She handed it to him.
"Slow sips," she said, rocking back on her heels.
"You took one hell of a beating."
Roy shifed his weight, braced an elbow against a wooden crate. The pain in his arm flared up again, made him suck air through his teeth. He looked at his hand, remembered dangling from Bart's monstrous tusk. He winced as he saw the pattern of white medical tape criscrossing his palm.
"It wasn't too deep," the woman said, reaching out to help him up.
"Sewing it up seemed a bit much and, to be honest, I didn't want to test my seamstress skills."
"The strips are fine," Roy laughed, sipping water before slipping the bottle between his thighs and extending a hand.
"Roy Tucker."
The woman took his hand in a firm grip, shook hard and short.
"Chanda King," she said.
"That's Dave in the front. Grace is in the cot."
A worried smile echoed the furrows in her brow.
"You said you had medicine?"
Her chin tilted. Fear and guilt flashed across her face. Roy reached out, patted her forearm. Grabbing the bottle, he braced against the floor and started to rise.
"Where are we?"
Placing a hand on the driver's headrest, he swung a leg over the van's gearstick and handbrake. Settling on the bench seat, he scooted to the door. Scanning the wooded valley, eyes alert for breaks in the treeline and signs of danger, he took a short pull on the bottle.
"How long was I out?"
The blond guy, Dave, took his eyes off the road for a second. His skin was pale, waxy. A tick worked at the corner of his right eye.
"About twenty minutes. When Chanda put a pair of bullets in that monster's back, a whole pack of them came out of nowhere."
Dave swallowed, turned his attention back to the road. Sweat darkened the hair at his temple before dribbling down his clean-shaved jawline.
"We escaped, but we don't know where your bunker is. We burned a lot of fuel to keep..."
"Take a left," Roy cut Dave off, jabbing a finger at the windshield.
"There's no road."
Dave's voice came out in a panicked whine. His pale blue eyes were wide. A vein pulsed in his throat.
"There," Roy spat.
"See the dirt track by the splintered pine? Drive up there."
"But I don't..."
"Jesus H. Christ, Dave!"
Chanda's voice rattled from the back. Boxes and bags skittered across the floor in time with the fall of her feet.
"I gave your balls back along with the house keys. Sew them back on and drive."
Roy turned to look out the side window, mouth hidden behind his wounded hand. Chanda squeezed into the seat beside him. He held his breath, fighting to keep his chuckle to himself. A treacherous snort broke through his defences. Cool eyes burned into the back of his head.
"But..."
Chanda grumbled something Roy didn't understand, leant over and grabbed the steering wheel. Roy kept his eyes firmly off her arse and on the road as she swapped into the driver's seat. Dave landed beside him. Wheels screached. The van rocked left in a sharp turn. Roy grimaced as the blond crashed into him, pinning him against the door. The van rocked and shuddered, its wheels hitting clumps of hard dirt and large rocks. Dave's hands shot out. White knuckled fingers planted on the dash. The blond man began to hum.
"You alright there, fella?"
Dave turned to face him. Red rimmed eyes gazed with a doe-like expression. His thin lips pressed into a tight line. His skin glistened with a waxy sheen.
"Trave sick," he said, gulping for air.
"Right, of course."
Roy shook his head. Bunching up closer to the door, he pressed his forehead against the window. Cold glass felt good against his skin, cleared the last cobwebs of the beating he'd taken. The van ascended, its engine struggling to cope with the steep incline. He watched the looming trunks, scanned the pristine white carpet of snow for any tracks. A rattling tap from the front end snagged his attention. The noise grated on his engineer's nerves. Swivelling at the waist, he turned to face Dave.
"You own this beast long?"
The blond guy stared, mouth open and eyes wide. He lifted his hands off the dash, bunched them in his lap and crossed his thumbs. The gesture and expression made Roy wanted to spit. Pressing Dave back into his seat with the palm of his had, Roy leant forward.
"Chanda?"
She flashed him a grin that was less convincing than the rose tattoo on Bart's chest. Fire burned in her eyes for a second before she looked back onto the trail.
"We borrowed it off Dave's girlfriend," she said, voice cool and level enough to sound innocuous to anyone who'd never pissed off a woman.
"It had a mattress in the back and a tip jar on the tow-hitch. Dave seemed to like it, so I borrowed it as a gift to him after I turned her face into chopped meat."
"She turn?"
"Nope."
Roy whistled through his teeth. He took his hand off Dave's chest, raked fingers through his beard as he made a mental note to avoid antagonising the woman. He ignored the man beside him wriggling deeper into his seat.
"It needs oil," he said, scanning the environment once again.
"Oh that's what this light means," Chanda said, the ice in her voice melting momentarily.
"I thought it was a teapot. I'd kill for a cuppa."
"Take a right at that pine growling through the boulder," Roy said.
"I remembered to pick up tea bags and milk while I was looting meds.
-TBC-