Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

51. Somewhere Between

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"Fuck," I moaned. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. . ."

I felt sick, like I'd throw up what little I had in my stomach. My entire body was dripping with sweat, though I couldn't tell if it was from the pain or simply the Wrathian desert heat — or both. I tried to breathe through the pain, relaxing the muscles in my abdomen.

Breathe through it, (Y/N), I repeated in my head. Calm down. It'll hurt less if you relax.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I fought them back and gently smacked Moonshine's rear with the head of my tail, urging her to pick up the pace. She whinnied and sped up to a canter, and I gritted my teeth hard, knowing that I'd have to stop again soon enough.

It was maybe fifteen minutes later that I tugged at Moonshine's reins until she came to a stop. The stabbing, burning pain in my gut worsened with every jostling movement, and I just couldn't take any more. I bent over in the saddle, shakily holding onto the pommel for some kind of support. My head became foggy, and I felt like I was going to pass out.

Breathe, (Y/N). Just breathe, goddammit. . .

But my little breathing exercises would only do so much for my pain — they wouldn't take away what was polluting my body. The holy bullet had coated my organs in some kind of residual blessing, and it burned my insides like boiling acid. Turned out Charlie was wrong: A demon simply was not meant to contain any sort of righteousness within them.

I stopped to set up camp for the night shortly after dusk, tying Moonshine's reins to a stake I drove in the ground with my boot. We were close to the Burning Peaks, and their glowing light painted the landscape a rusty orange. I tried to make a small fire with some dried grass and tumbleweeds, but after several failed attempts, I groaned in frustration and gave up; the flaming orbs of lava in the distance thankfully provided enough light and warmth that a campfire wasn't really necessary.

I slowly sat down on the ground and leaned back onto the afghan Miss Daisy had packed with my supplies, careful not to exacerbate the gnawing in my gut. I lay flat on my back, wide awake, staring up at the empty black sky. My eyes soon became swimmy with tears, and I brought a balled fist to my face, angrily wondering how long it was going to hurt like this.

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"Fuck!" I shouted through clenched teeth, and I yanked at Moonshine's reins to urge her to stop. My hand flew to my wound, clumsily unbuttoning my flannel. I opened the flannel to reveal my white camisole underneath, then lifted it and peeled back the bandages to take a look at my wound.

"Shit," I hissed. Had it actually gotten worse? No, it couldn't have. It was just my imagination. It just felt like it had, probably because I was exerting myself — a bit too much for my condition. The doctors would've thrown a fit if they knew what I was doing only a month after being shot with a holy bullet.

But I needed to find Striker. He was out there somewhere, alone. Most likely believing he'd killed me. The guilt was probably tearing him up inside. That thought in itself filled me with a crippling worry, and I knew I had to find him before he could do anything stupid — or if he already had.

You're doing something incredibly stupid yourself, (Y/N), my brain lectured.

I shook my head, trying to banish any hesitation that may have been sprouting in my mind. I have to find him. I have to. He's. . .

I lifted a hand to my neck, my fingers touching both my Asmodean crystal as well as the rattlesnake pendant Striker had given me. I held the copper rattle in my palm, a strange mix of nausea and butterflies racking my stomach, and my mind went silent for a moment. My heart twisted inside me, and tears began to pool in my eyes.

He's what, (Y/N)?

My throat closed, the tears rolling down my face. My chest jerked and spasmed with each painful sob.

He's. . .

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I nearly cried in relief when dusk fell on the Wrathian sky once again. It was a perfect excuse to stop and set up camp, and I promptly dismounted Moonshine and collapsed on the ground with my afghan. The light from the Burning Peaks was much brighter now that we were closer, but the orange glow shining into my eyes wasn't what would keep me awake.

I sobbed through heaving gasps as I lay writhing in agony next to my tiny campfire. I had taken a few pain pills earlier, but they hadn't had any effect. The lingering toxicity of the holy bullet seared my stomach and slowly crept its way through my torso. Nothing helped. Nothing took the pain away.

Silently, weakly, I called out for Striker.

But I also called out for Stolas. And Charlie. And my mother, who, as far as I knew, was still very much alive back on Earth.

Nobody's coming, I told myself. There's no one coming.

I already knew I was alone, but to put it into words made my heart ache. I wept, quietly begging for help that wouldn't come, until I finally passed out from the pain.

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I awoke early the next morning covered in a thick layer of sweat. Reluctantly, I packed up my things and mounted Moonshine, urging her forward until she took off in a light trot. We had been travelling for about thirty minutes when I suddenly leaned over her side and vomited onto the ground. I threw up very little, mostly just a sickening amount of bile, as there hadn't been much on my stomach to begin with. Ever since I set out to look for Striker, I had eaten very little. Like at the hospital, having too much on my stomach made me terribly ill, and so I still had a surplus of rations loaded in Moonshine's saddlebags.

The heaving worsened the pain in my gut for several torturous minutes, and I doubled over in the saddle and panted heavily. My body was drenched in sweat, soaking through my clothes, but I couldn't stop shivering. My teeth chattered as I slumped forward, tilting the brim of Striker's hat to block the harsh sunlight from my eyes. My head throbbed. My stomach burned. I couldn't take much more of this. I'd sooner die out here — or whatever the hell it was that sinners did.

Moonshine let out a small grunt when we approached a set of broken train tracks, and I gently tugged at the reins until she followed them into a tunnel carved into one of the mountains. I shakily reached into the saddlebag to my left and pulled out a kerosene lantern, lighting it to illuminate our path. There was a drastic drop in temperature as we continued through the old tunnel, and my shivers quickly became more violent. I was so cold and nauseated and exhausted that I could hardly focus on the task at hand — until we reached a small slope that led to an open cavern.