Soldier, Poet, King

Chapter 11: Animals

Frenchie's legs kick wildly as he struggles to get out from under the man holding a rifle to his neck. You can hear his choked gasps for air, his lungs wheezing with every half breath. The chaos around you fades in the distance until it is only you and the man killing Frenchie in your focus. White knuckling the pistol you had found abandoned on the deck, you step quietly as you can - as if the wailing screams and gunshots around you weren't enough cover for your footsteps - and try to get as close to the two men as you can.

"Damn, you're a fighter, huh pretty boy?" The man snarls, shaking the rifle a bit to press it further into Frenchie's throat. He has no air left in his lungs to gurgle back a response.

You are close enough now to be able to see the beads of sweat dripping down the man's neck. His thin mousy hair is plastered to his scalp, lips chapped and cracking as he hyperventilates through gritted teeth. Your hand trembles as you raise the gun up, pointing it at his shoulder. I don't have to kill him, I just need to get him off Frenchie.

"Why won't you die already, motherfucker?"

The gunshot is louder than you expect it to be. Your wrist lurches from the recoil. The man falls to his side, a guttural scream tearing itself from his throat, though you can't hear it above the ringing in your ears.

"Are you okay?" Your voice sounds muffled in your own ears as you rush to kneel beside Frenchie.

"Y-Yeah," He manages to spit out between coughs. His face is red and one of the blood vessels in his right eye has blown, but he seems to be recovering quickly given the circumstances. You help him back up to his feet, not wanting to get trodden on by the melee around you, "I don't think h-he is, though."

Your attention turns to the man you shot, now twitching and crying softly in a pool of his own blood. His face is getting paler by the second. He looks up at you with glassy eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. All violence has left his body, seeping away with his blood and plasma.

"I-I didn't mean to attack your friend, honest. I'll leave you guys be a-and tell my Captain that y-you're the good guys too and we can stop this fighting, o-okay?"

"You don't have to watch this." Izzy has made it over to you two, his hands resting on each of your shoulders.

"Wh-Why can't I move my legs? I don't know what to do, I'm so fucking scared," The man whimpers between brief spurts of hyperventilating, "My older brother i-is somewhere onboard, please. He'll know what to do, he always does, i-if you could please find him. His n-name is Will... We're not the bad guys, y-you don't have to fight us. Th-There's still time to stop all this, we can be friends, r-right? I-I'm Colin. My name is C-Colin, what's y-your name?"

"Find Fang. Both of you. Edward is... indisposed right now. Fang will keep you safe until I can find you two again," Izzy mutters under his breath. He has yet to tear his gaze away from Colin. His hand falls from your shoulder and grabs the cooling gun from your numb grasp, "Take care of each other. I don't want anyone else dyin' on this godforsaken ship."

"But-"

"You fuckin' listen to me when I give you orders, now go... Dont make me ask again."

"No, no, no, don't leave me alone here! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, p-please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Will! Will, I need you, help! Will!!"

Frenchie's hand finds yours and drags you away. Colin's cries for help quiet the further you get. Your vision tunnels in on itself, threatening to fade completely to darkness. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from passing out, ignoring how cold your fingertips feel or the clawing grip of nausea creeping up your throat.