Winter Collapse

Chapter 5

The castle walls were lined with icy, deep gray stone. A relic of the past. It was amazing how it held up through all the storms and tragedies. Rumor has it that the castle was so safe that they could hide in the castle's basement and be completely fine before and after the storm. It must've been true, because they never dared to raid our warehouse. Sergei had always mentioned that people would be lined up at the top of the castle's walls. Maybe he was lying, because nobody was lined up anywhere in sight. The castle gates used to always be open according to others, maybe as a sign of courage or bravery. This time, they were closed. Captain looked to the left and noticed a small ledge he could get up on to sneak into the castle. The castle's walls were only 8-9 feet tall, having only a large, vertical stone jutting upward, blocking the castle from having a 4th tower watching the land. There was another stone next to it. With enough strength, he could jump up and grab the edge and pull himself up the surface of the stone.

He gripped onto the rough edges of the stone with his right hand and lifted his leg up. He reached out further and hooked his left hand on. He thrusted himself up, pain surging through his left shoulder. His eyes came leveled to the floor of the castle's walls, and with that, he gave one last push and dragged his body onto the cold floor. His left arm limp on the stone.

As Captain stood upright from his climbing session, a blunt object could be heard banging against something. Minutes at a time, Captain would hear it as he walked across the castle walls, looking for a way down that wouldn't require him to risk a leg. Nobody was inside the castle, yet the basement sounded to be full of life. Bodies were strewn across the castle, beat up against the wall. Limbs thrown around like a toddler with their toys. No wonder why they had the gate closed. Captain found a small ladder that helped him down to the ground. The basement was just up ahead. Light streaming out of the corners of the stairs leading downward. The periodic banging noises got louder, and then he could hear voices.

"Either an answer or a shovel to the head! Where's the power cell, Swan!" Captain's jaw dropped to the snowy floor, as if his whole world turned upside down and inside out. Every law reversed and every action undone. He crawled down to the ground and got closer to the stairs, not to be in sight but to be in earshot. He never heard of this 'power cell', but he has heard of Swan. His name sounding like music to his worn-out ears.

"You want to know? I used it for one of your dead computers. Yeah that's right, that scrap of metal was good enough to get that thing booted, and to send a distress signal. It'll be coming for them, but not for you." Captain crawled forward so he could see the people. He put his hand on his mouth. It was Blaise. He hadn't seen him for months. No wonder why they never raided them. He knew their power. He and his people in black uniforms, armed with guns and fire axes surrounded a person in a blood-soaked black coat with a black bandana that was pulled down to let the air in. He was laid on the floor, in a hurt position. Blood was all over his hands, dripping off the tips of his fingers. His black hair was mingled with the crimsoned liquid from his head. He looked almost nothing like when Captain sent him out to scavenge. Captain always remembered Swan disliking Blaise for picking on him. Apparently having 'no fighting courage' was a good enough reason. They both disliked each other, and it was apparent here. Captain took a crawl forward. One of the men turned around like a heat censored turret and pointed the barrel of his rifle right at Captain's skull.

"Stop right there!" He shouted as everyone else moved forward with haste. Weapons in hand and guns raised.

"We've got an eavesdropper." Said another one of them. Blaise turned around. Even though Captan's hat covered his eye's solo glare, it was still as menacing, or even more with one.

"This is no eavesdropper." Blaise said, walking towards him. He was a strong man, with a torn red coat, chains and bandages adorned on his body and a similarly red Russian blast helmet that hid his face from view. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him off his crawling position. He let Captain stand up for himself on the stairs as he let go of his grip. Blaise outstretched a hand, motioning for a handshake. Captain had no clues as to what he was playing at. Thus, returned the gesture and placed the safety of his hand in the depths of Blaise's palm.

"Good to see you." Blaise said. As soon as Captain got slightly comfortable to the greeting, Blaise threw his arm down the stairs and let go of Captain's hand. He rolled down the stairs, step by step and landed flat on his hat, with his gun landed flat on his back with a hard landing. He grunted as he rolled on his side, attempting to get the gun off him. His black, short hair plain in view. Swan made an effort to turn his head to Captain. Most of his teeth were missing, and an image of himself in Swan's position intruded his mind. He shuddered at the thought and crawled toward him.

"Nice of you to send that distress signal, Swan. I always wondered why you were so late to coming back."

"Anytime." He replied with a toothless smile. Blaise was right behind him, beaming down on the two. Everyone else in the room lowered their weapons. Sure that there was nobody else. Blaise took a loud step towards Captain's limp body and ripped the machine gun off his back. The strap ripped apart, dead on the floor.

"I'll be confiscating that." He said and laid it against the wall next to his blood-stained shovel. The whole basement was a depressing space. A small stone cube, aside from the crimson dying the floor's surfaces. A lonely gaslight hung from the ceiling. Depressing places like this called for a 'cancer pole'.

Captain propped himself up against the wall while Blaise inspected the machine gun. He reached into his vest pocket and dug down deep inside for the rejected cigar. There it was, smooth in his hand. Cold and needing warmth. In his other hand, he pulled out the lighter.

"Hey Blaise." He hollered. Blaise immediately turned toward him. His helmet did a terrible job at hiding the smirk on his face.

"May I take a smoke?" He asked in a serious tone. Blaise turned back to his investigation on the gun, turning it around to look at all its sides in the light.

"Sure, don't burn yourself." He said with a chuckle. Captain held the small, sufficient ember to the tip of the cigar; and kept it there. Soon enough, it was burning like an instrument of immolation. Swan and Captain exchanged readied glances. When everybody was watching Blaise and the craft of the machine gun, Captain stood up and held the cigar like a single-handed double-edged sword. He slowly crept toward the back of Blaise, crouched and arms out. The fire still burning bright.

"Want cancer?" Said Captain. He swiftly reached out for Blaise, barely able to wrap both arms around his chest and stuffed the burning ember down his shirt and held it there with his mechanical hand. Blaise shrieked in pain as the guards immediately raised their weapons. His shirt was burning like a torch as Swan watched it all unfold. Captain dived for his machine gun as it started to drizzle with bullets and ripped the chord out to near breaking. The barrels made a jump from dormant to spinning at full speed. With no hesitation, he smashed the plastic of the trigger, letting out a blizzard of deathly metal, tearing flesh and picking at the stone walls. Blaise, burning like a candle, charged toward Captain. Trigger held, he slowly turned to him and sent him flying to the wall. Leaving bullet holes everywhere. Bodies were piled up where people armed with weapons were standing. Blaise was now a fiery bonfire. And Swan was motionless on the floor. Captain immediately jumped toward Swan, dropping the heavy machinery and sliding down to the dusty stone floor. He slipped his hand under his limp head and attempted to remain hopeful.

"SWAN! SWAN!" He kept shouting. Only with no reply. He realized that even if he were still alive, blood loss would claim him first. A gaping hole in his neck took his life by the head and sliced it off. He did this. This was his punishment. He gingerly held the body in his arms like a baby child and left everything behind to rust. As he walked up the steps, he noticed a double locker, untouched against the castle wall. He walked over and laid the body down on the cold ground. 5 respirators were hung inside. All in working, perfect condition. He took 2 by the straps and secured one around his mouth. He crouched down to fasten the respirator onto Swan's head as if he were alive. Now with Swan back safely in his hands, he passed through the gaping mouth of the castle gates, as if it were an escape inside a mouth to swallow them both whole. And then came the icy tips of the storm's fingers.