Distress

After what seems like an impossibly long time, for such a small item anyway, the shock of the barb finally comes to an end. It’s a relief to the man, the killer, the last living member of the Namora’s crew, who staggers around for a time until his vision, in his only remaining eye, returns to something approaching normal.

It is at that point that he raises his hand, realising he has no depth perception, and grabs a hold of the barb protruding from the remains of his eye. He grips it tightly and then without hesitation yanks it as hard as he can.

At first the barb moves a little before catching for a split second and then is ripped clear, revealing the severity of the wound in detail while blood spurts angrily. The man screams a blood curdling roar that is a mixture of pain and anger.

He lowers his hand, unfurls his fingers and then stares down at the barb, bathed in blood, as it sits in the palm of his hand. His top lip curls before his hand closes, his fingers enveloping and crushing the barb, which stabs painfully into his hand in the moments prior to him launching it across the room.

He doesn’t see where the barb goes, but he hears it as he breaks into a jog that sees him quickly leave the bridge of the Prowler headed for the umbilical. He assumes that is where the women will have headed. It’s not like they could go elsewhere on his vessel, it’s tiny.

Tasha and Francesca meanwhile, have, only moments ago, returned to having their feet firmly on the Namora. It isn’t the progress that Tasha would like to have made, but Francesca is struggling. She can’t run at all. She can barely walk as she again trips over her own feet, her vision struggling to focus in any meaningful way.

Francesca knows she is slowing them down and that she’s a detriment. But there is nothing she can do about it. She’s dying. She can’t say if the navigator knows that, but she does. How could she not? After all, the junior security officer can feel the blood being pumped out of the wound in her body. She still can’t place where it is exactly. And after this long it isn’t likely that she ever will seeing how weak and numb she feels.

Tasha having managed somehow, she doesn’t know how herself, to stop Francesca from going face first into the decking beneath their feet then hears the woman in her arms mutter, “I can’t go on.”

Her voice is quiet, her breathing shallow, her face is drenched with sweat and her skin is near white in colour. Tasha can see whatever wound Francesca has suffered is bad. She’d be a fool not to be able to see it, which is why Tasha wonders why the junior security officer did it in the first place. She didn’t have to. It was inevitable at that point that one of them was going to bear the brunt of the attack when that disfigured man appeared at Tasha’s side. So why sacrifice yourself? Is the question that goes through Tasha’s head as she says aloud, “Come on Francesca. Don’t give up. We have to keep moving.”

Tasha’s own voice is filled with panic. Her breathing heavy as she struggles to keep hold of the almost dead weight that is now Francesca in her enivro-suit.

“My wound.” Francesca says indicating limply to her left side. It’s about all she can tell in regards to the placement of her injury.

Tasha looks around, frantically, and then seeing no better option stumbles, with Francesca in her arms, over to the bulkhead of the Namora’s corridor. She props Francesca’s back up against the metal plating and then takes a look. Within a couple seconds she finds the source of the wound, under the massive wet patch of stained blood.

“Shit.” Tasha exclaims realising now that from the volume of blood Francesca has lost there is no way she is going to survive.

“I’m not leaving you.” The navigator says defiantly.

“You…have to. H-he…won’t…be far behind. I’ll…o-only…get you…k-k-killed.” Francesca manages to say with great difficulty as her eyes roll all over the place beneath her now closed eyelids.

“No, we’ll be fine. Don’t give up. Stay awake. Keep fighting.” Tasha demands of the other woman, refusing to let her die at the hands of the monster chasing them, whoever he is.

“T-take…t-this.” Francesca manages as she thrusts, weakly, the shock pistol in her hand toward Tasha, who is about to refuse when out of nowhere a glint of light shines off a sliver of metal that, faster than Tasha can react, is jabbed through Francesca’s suit and into her neck.

Tasha screams, “NOOOOOOO!” but Francesca makes no noise as the blood pours from the wound, and floods down her neck.

Tasha backs away from Francesca, sure that she is dead; sorry that she couldn’t save the woman.

Meanwhile, the scarred man simply tosses Francesca’s body, unceremoniously, aside.

Tasha doesn’t hear the dull thud of Francesca’s body hitting the decking; she is too ashamed of her failure to protect Francesca.

Her mind screams that she needs to run. If she doesn’t she’ll die. The navigator-come-hacker doesn’t want to. What she wants to do is check on Francesca even though she knows it is already too late. Her subconscious refuses to accept her belligerence as it again screams; you’ll die if you don’t RUN!

Her reasons unknown to the auburn haired woman she complies. First by turning on her heeling and then by pumping her legs as fast as they, and the enviro-suit she is, will take her.

She’s heading for the bridge. It’s the only place she can think to go. The only place she can go with her attacker blocking her off like he was. She just hopes he won’t manage to catch up to her. If he does then she’s done for. She rejects giving up however. If she does then Francesca will have died in vain.

The man begins to follow. He’ll catch the auburn haired woman without much effort. She is slow in that suit of hers. It’s why he smiles. Until, that is, he is hit in the back by something. He hasn’t a clue what, but he feels the impact. However, before he can turn a massive surge of electricity floods through his body. He screams and feels his body lose control. It is at that moment he knows what has done this to him. He can do nothing about it yet as so, completely incapacitated, stumbles sideways.

Tasha, having heard the scream, stops and turns back the direction she’s come from. It takes her eyes a second to adjust, but once they do they settle on Francesca, who is somehow still alive. The auburn haired woman doesn’t know how, but feels a rush of joy to see that she is. It’s why she begins to hurry back toward the fatally injured and dying security officer, screaming, “Francesca, hold on. I’m coming back for you.”

Tasha gets maybe a third of the way before the killer, having crawled on hands and knees, collapses upon Francesca. He delivers stab after stab after stab as he mutters under his breath to himself.

Tasha comes to a skidding halt, her face twisted in horror at the barbarity of what is being done. Then she begins to back away. Her body having taken over in an effort to save itself, and all while the scarred man is still involved with over-killing the now dead brown haired woman who risked her life, twice, to save Tasha.

The navigator manages to get back to roughly where she had been before she risks glancing over her shoulder only to see that the killer is now in hot pursuit. Tasha’s eyes go wide at the revelation and then demands her legs work harder. They attempt to oblige, as they pump ferociously allowing her to cover the last few metres and then stumble over the threshold and onto the bridge of the Namora.

Somehow Tasha manages to stay on her feet and narrowly avoid going face first into the central console. But her stumbles have wasted time and the killer is now within a metre of the open pressure door.

Without hesitation, Tasha finds and then slams her hand down on the activation key.

A second later and just as the killer arrives at the doorway with his right arm outstretched, the pressure door slams closed. It crushes and severs his right hand from his body. The scarred man roaring in agony as the lock activates.

Tasha collapses to the floor. Her heart is thundering in her ears as she hyperventilates and struggles to suck air down into her lungs no matter how much she tries. It’s the reason she soon drops to her knees, feeling the pain of the deck beneath them. But it isn’t enough. Nor is the fact that she knows that she is safe and that the killer is on the other side of the pressure door, which is the only way in or out of this room. If it was she’d be able to bring her breathing under control and rejoice at her victory instead of feeling her head start to spin.

The navigator tries to fight it, to regain control but it’s too late. Her vision is heavily blurred now, to the point that Tasha can barely make out any shape in the space around her. Then she feels herself pitch violently. It’s as if she is top heavy. She tries but cannot save herself from the sudden pitching that sees her fall, head first, to the deck. Not that she is aware as her whole world turns black.