For Chloe.
By Chris.
Gabriel had always thought that the desert was supposed to be warm. Maybe, he admitted, he'd just been uninformed. Or maybe it was the times, who knew? These days, even the sky seemed so alien, so frighteningly electric. He shivers and jams his hands deep into his pockets.
The shelter is ramshackle. They all are-- an entire row of messily built cabins at the edge of the world, all slapped together with rough wood and rusty nails, hastily constructed far from the thousand eyes of the cities. They wouldn't last long, of course, but then again, they wouldn't need to.
He hears a cough, softly muted. Kait is sleeping, a too-small lump under a pile of blankets and whatever else they could manage that was soft and warm. An unzippered down jacket, a Hawaiian-print muu-muu that Lewis had stolen off a clothesline. For fun, he'd said, slipping it over his head and chasing Kait around like an obese, flower-splattered clown. The memory tugs at his lips. He almost smiles before he remembers.
Lewis, who would never smile again. They'd buried him two states back, in a run-down town with a tiny graveyard and an ancient chaplain who looked near to death himself. Lewis was mourned by those who barely knew him, but, Gabe supposes, it was better than not being mourned at all.
So many of them had lost loved ones along the way. Most came in couples or small groups-- each drawn by the hope of living beyond next week, by the need to fight the good fight. When you were being systematically rooted out, you really had no choice but to stick together or die grimly. And sometimes sticking together didn't stop that. Sometimes, they found you anyway.
Gabe estimates their numbers at about seventy or so. Some witches, some werewolves, a few humans, so fragile and grim. They run a Spartan camp, always someone watching out, and no one goes anywhere alone, not after the last time. Everyone has a hand at cooking, at boiling the water, at tending the fire. The witches warded the borders of the camp, shielding it from below and above. A few of the vampires and werewolves were showing the rest how to fight, preparing for the battles to come. It was often unearthly quiet, desolately so. The metaphorical calm before the storm. Still, the days grow colder, food grows scarcer. No one has slept more than a few hours at a time for several weeks. To say that everyone is on edge would be a bit of an understatement.
News comes intermittently from Circle Daybreak. Each transmission is shorter, more to the point: More council members assassinated. Las Vegas on fire. Harman shop lost. Thierry Descoudres captured, feared dead. Can send no more supplies. Wild Powers gathered, will arrive soon.
Prophesies and blue fire, huh? Gabriel wonders what it would be like to tap the energy of one of those guys. It'd probably be like Disneyland, a regular Main Street Electrical Parade. It has been days since Gabriel has taken any energy. There is so little of it to give-- what's left is being stored for the battle to come. The hunger claws at him, gnawing at his nerves, making it hard to focus. He feels himself weakening as the days wear on.
And of course, there is the last transmission-- the black type ominously stark on the page:
He peers out the door to see Adam Conant poking idly at the fire. Adam had come with one of the larger groups, leading a group of witches from up North. Their numbers have dwindled in the past month-- first, the waify, mousy one, and then one of the twins. Deborah went next, when they were attacked in a warehouse in San Diego. She'd been protecting the beautiful one with hair like a golden flag, the one they said had witch fire. Her stand gave the rest of them just enough time to escape.
Gabriel had liked Deb, at least from the few times they'd talked. She was tough, smart. He had respect for her. She'd died a good death.
They hadn't been able to go back for her body.
With every loss, Gabriel has seen the pain of loss draining the flush from Adam's cheeks. He is now nearly colorless, blank. Gabriel has often wondered at the strangeness of the boy, so solitary, so quiet. They'd never really gotten the chance to talk, and now it seemed too late.
When they'd found Cassie, lifeless and facedown in the empty field, Adam shut down entirely. Her long hair dragged in the browning grass, her palms were red and slashed. Adam did not cry when they committed her body to the dirt. He did not make any sound at all.
Adam breathes, he sleeps, and sometimes, he eats. That's it, nothing more. Gabriel grimaces. He knows this makes Adam a target. You let your guard down, you give into despair, and they'll get to you. There is no question about this-- it is a certainty, a sickening and terrible promise.
Gabriel squints at him-- this wire thin speck of dark against the vast, flat expanse of land. Adam seems so small, so hunched and empty. A strangely desaturated sun rises timidly behind him.
Gabriel peers anxiously over his shoulder at Kait, who is sleeping fitfully beneath the multi-colored pile, before he slips out the door. He wishes he could read her thoughts, to see what it was that she was fighting in her dream. Phantoms of the past, or precognitions of the future? He hasn't been able to see. Not since. not since the link was severed. He leaves it at that. He doesn't like to dwell.
He makes his way to the pitiful campfire, lowering himself down on a log. He stretches his legs out to warm them.
"You know you're not supposed to be here alone," he says, simply.
"I know what you are." Adam's voice is barely a whisper. "I know what you do."
"Oh?" Gabriel raises an eyebrow. He keeps his voice even. "So I'm not supposed to be here, is that right?"
Adam shakes his head. "I never said that." He looks at his hands. Gabriel notices he is clutching something. A rock, it looks like. It is a pale, milky blue. He sure didn't pick it up out here in the desert.
"What's it supposed to mean, then?"
Unexpectedly, Adam looks up. The wash of light glints off his red hair, the hue contrasting his pale features, his now colorless eyes.
"Only that I'm not afraid of you. Seems everybody else is."
Gabriel nods. It was true enough. "So what makes you different?"
Adam squints into the sun. "You can't hurt me. It's all gone now." His tone is not wistful, not sad. It is simply fact.
"I suppose that's true." Gabriel knows the unending cold of loss more intimately than he wishes to. He has already lost one love. If he lost Kait, he would be. well, somewhere between catatonic and madman. Selfish as it is, he hopes that he will be cut down before he can see her claimed. He pushes the thought away. Again.
"I'm the one who shouldn't be here," Adam says, quietly. "I'm used up." He coughs harshly, the sharp sound piercing the dead calm. "I don't want to fight," he admits.
"It seems kind of unavoidable, though, with the world ending and all." It's obvious that Gabriel is not one for pep talks.
"Is it?" Adam asks.
Gabriel looks up, unsure of the question. Adam stares at him pointedly.
"You know I can't," he says through clenched teeth. "Don't even ask."
"You look half-starved." Adam's jaw is square, tight. "You're no good like that."
Gabriel shoots him a dangerous look, but he feels his skin begin to tingle.
"I used to lead," Adam says. "I know when to lay it out." He pauses, he chooses his words carefully. "If they see me give up, they will, too. My coven, I mean, or what's left of it. It seems kind of simple to me."
"You're talking about suicide, Adam." Gabriel's voice sounds strained. The name feels so unfamiliar on his lips. He realizes that he's never said it aloud before.
"No, I'm talking about the food chain." Adam's tone is short, his eyes flash.
Gabriel studies the other man, and his eyes linger on the thin, grim line of his mouth.
The air is still between them. Minutes pass before Adam speaks again. There is certainty in his voice.
"I don't want to die like an animal, torn apart. Not like her." For a moment, it looks as though his eyes are wet, but he turns his head away.
"I can help you," he says quietly. "Let me."
The camp will begin to stir soon. Gabriel knows he must be quick. He nods.
Adam turns, he tugs his collar down, exposing the back of his neck to the frost.
Gabriel puts his hands on the other man's shoulders, he feels the muscles tighten. Adam makes no sound.
He hesitates. "Is there-"
"No." Adam cuts him short. "Please. You're not doing anything wrong." The absolution is small, but Gabriel is grateful for it.
In the days to come, Gabriel will replay this in his mind over and over. He will analyze it, scruitinize it, he will paint it in vivid and somber tones.
First, he reaches for Adam's hand. Their fingers entwine, like lovers' fingers. He hears Adam's breathing, as soft as a lover's breath. He feels the breath hitch when his lips touch his neck- softly, softly at first, and slightly to the side, like a kiss. So tender. There is a relieved sigh. Then comes the piercing sting.
The energy is thick and sustaining. It rushes into him -- so fast blue green overtaking he feels so much can't stop - he tastes the joy of release, the sadness of loss. The salt of sweat, the tang of fear.
After a moment, Adam begins to slump over. His eyes close. His fingers go limp, and his hand falls from Gabe's hand. The blue rock tumbles to the ground.
Then there is air between their bodies. Adam has made no sound.
Gabriel pulls back, and for a moment, he cradles the body in his arms. He kisses his cheek before he lays him upon the cold ground.
Kait is awake when he re-enters the cabin. Her smoke-ringed eyes are bright with worry.
"You okay, Gabe?" she asks. "You look terrible."
"I'm fine." He lies, then lies next to her. He pulls the blankets over himself, though he's now warmer than he has been in weeks. "Everything is okay."
He closes his eyes and drifts into a dreamless sleep.
Tomorrow, he will dream of Adam's thin lips.
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