FIRE [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 13: Blood Brothers

 Aimee was pulled upstairs like a lifeless puppet, Abba's fingers grasping tightly to her wrist. She managed to correct her footing, and ascend without tripping on every step, because by then her mind and body had gradually recovered from her clobbering, and she had been walking, climbing, long enough for her daze to dissipate. She tugged at her arm, hoping to free herself from Abba, but did not succeed. So, she threw her other fist into Abba's stomach, forcing her to let go.

Aimee ran up the stairs, ran as fast as her worked legs would allow – her calves were flaming and it frustrated her; how much more training should she have done to be ready for this mission? She was reminded of one of the Arena simulations, one from months ago, where she and Stefan had to run through a forest painted with flames as an air force equipped with fire launchers pursued them. From then on, the forest was replaced by mountains in a world of snow, a sharp contrast against the marsh and beach that had remained. Climbing that mountain, however, was much worse than climbing a couple of steps – it was an ice-cold hell. With that in mind, Aimee was suddenly grateful for those stairs. She had gone up three flights now, and in that time, Abba had removed her stilettoes to make catching up to her easier. Eventually, she did. The very second her hand held onto her wrist, Aimee spun and punched her in the jaw, instigating another fight on the stairs. Abba retaliated by riding her head into Aimee's, and then countless punches and jabs of the knee were exchanged between them, until Aimee solidly threw Abba into a wall and bought herself some more time to run away. Aimee could not defeat her like this, there was no way; running was her only option. Her guns were empty, too. Still, even those were useless against Abba.

"She must have some sort of weakness," she verbalised her thoughts. "Even Wolverine lost his memory when he was shot in the head, why can't it be like that?"

Stefan had shot Benjamin in the head a hundred times – it did nothing. Aimee sighed, and then her sighs became pants of exhaustion. She could not keep this up much longer.

Aimee heard footsteps and only then did she slow her pace. They were not Abba's. She took out her guns and aimed ahead, resting while she could and waiting quietly for her enemy. The sound of footsteps merged with that of her heartbeat and her breaths, which were being forced through her nostrils as her mouth stayed closed. She did not know what she was doing; her guns were void, but she felt better standing with them, less helpless, than she would without anything at all.

The footsteps grew louder and the disproportional shadows on the walls became people. Guns were pointed in all directions; it was second nature to have such adept aim, but there were no bullets.

Finn respired, "Too close! We have got to stop meeting like this."

His playful demeanour was an indescribable relief. Finn always seemed to be messing around, even at the most serious of times, but he was not oblivious, he just didn't take a liking to morose, stern atmospheres. It was like he wanted people to be happy, and so he always tried to be.

Finn was tailed by three other bodies: his sister, Dom and Gavin. Everyone put away their guns. Aimee stared at Gavin and Dominick – she could not help but stare – tears pooling in her eyes and bubbling on her eyelashes. As they trailed down her cheek, she tore away her eyes and hid her face, sorely muttering: "I shouldn't have left you."

"You alright there, Aimee?" Finn asked, genuinely concerned.

Gavin had heard her, and he appeared to be the only one who had. He could not look at her either after that. He felt awful being there, selfish, like he was passing unto Aimee a guilt that was no one's to bear. She had done what was needed, they all had. That was all.

"Nothing," she dried her tears, acted intrepid. "Come on, Abba's right behind us," she said, leading them away from the stairs and into the vacant room on their left.

"Where's Stefan?" Gavin hastily queried.

"He's preoccupied," Abba joined them, proving their efforts of some kind of escape to be useless, and all the guns were out again. "Or dead."

Gavin growled, "Where, that was my question."

Aimee's fists were clenched, tightened to the point where they trembled.

"Ignore her," said Valerie. Aimee's fists unclenched slowly. "Head for the basement, you should find him on your way there."

Obediently, Finn dashed down the steps, before Valerie had even finished her sentence. Abba gave him a glare that could scare the dead as he passed her. That was when Gavin unhinged himself from Dominick and Valerie, careful not to fall over on his tenuous feet, and his friends protested.

"I'm going with him," he countered. "Stefan's heavier than he looks."

He said his last words with a slight half-smile, but he was suffocated by the reality that Stefan could have been dead, or near it. Valerie willed to argue with him, or go with him at the very least, but then what would happen to Aimee and Dominick? The stubborn, sweet fool needed medical attention, yet he was just going to run off. It was ridiculous, but somehow, it was admirable, too.

"Men," Valerie sighed.

Abba watched him leave, too, "Well, it's just the four of us then?"

At that, Valerie held her gun in one hand and shot her in the head. Well, she'd certainly gotten over her fear of killing people – regardless, she still hated it. But this was Abba; at least she was guaranteed to wake up again.

"There are medics in the choppers outside. I have to get Dominick to them."

"What? No," he fought, "I won't just sit back and do nothing!"

"Look at yourself."

He broke eye contact with her and scrutinised his torn attire, the parts stained red, where blood had seeped through the fabric. His left hand was pressed to his side, to a wound. Valerie came nearer to him, cupped his face in her hands and gazed at him with sorrow. He knew she was right. Nevertheless, he couldn't cower away.

"I won't let you get killed."

Tears blurred her vision, but she could still make out his face; his eyes, his nose, his lips. She kissed him, before pulling in even closer, until the space between them was non-existent. His mouth was warm, welcoming, loving. She did not know what she had expected, what kissing him would be like, but it was beyond anything she had ever felt before. To him, she tasted like strawberries, and her lips were from heaven. It was extraordinary.

As much as he did not want to pull himself out of that kiss, he had to.

"I don't plan on dying today. But I can't just abandon Stefan either."

Before he walked away, Valerie squeezed tightly to his hand. "Come back, will you," she made him promise.

He nodded, and smiled at her affection, and then he left. Aimee saw the loss in Valerie's eyes. She wanted to console and reassure her, something more than merely rest her hand on her shoulder, but the unshakeable sense of peril loomed overhead. They had to focus on Abba, the motionless body at their feet.

Aimee and Valerie believed, sensed, that Stefan was alive and found solace in knowing he would not be alone anymore; he had Gavin, Dom and Finn. The four of them were inseparable, like they shared the same blood.