Penguins of Anarchy IV: Endgame

Fourteen

Two days passed in Amphylon's camp. Riker's condition stabilized. Felly and Glyphton regained much of their strength. Dreemo, however, had to be persuaded to eat and spent long hours staring into empty space.

Now he sat on a rock at the edge of camp, staring at the tree-line, replaying the images of seeing Marcosis' blood and guts spill onto the rocks, shooting Vek, watching Omniscion slaughter Sam, and looking on as a bullet dug into Bledsoe's head. Even now, as he sat in the Russian wilderness hundreds of miles away, his mind was still on Alcatraz Island, still reliving every horrific memory that came to fruition on that hellish prison island.

"You need some sleep," a voice suddenly spoke, an ominous echo following it. Dreemo slightly turned his head and saw Sam squatting next to him. "You look almost as bad as you did when Drake was captured."

"I'll say," Marcosis agreed as he walked over to a tree stump and sat down. "Look how black his eyelids are again."

"It's a natural result of severe trauma," Klondike said in a compassionless tone. "Just like sinking into stupid, illogical depression is," he added as he glared at Dreemo critically. "He's as good as dead already."

"Ease up on him, Klondike," Vileer warned as she crouched on a low tree branch. "He's been through more than any of us."

"Yeah, because he outlived all of us," Klondike sneered. He got in Dreemo's face. "I didn't tell you to get off that island alive so you could remain there mentally until someone finally killed you."

"He's right," Sam agreed. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, or to the others. They need you now more than they ever have before."

Dreemo scowled. "Why can't they just find someone else?" He choked back tears. "Haven't I been out through enough already?"

"Nah," Marcosis replied. "Not until this is all over."

"And it's not over," Vileer added. "No matter how hopeless it may feel."

"And since we can't do anything about it anymore, it's up to you," Klondike said sternly. "You and everyone who's left."

"We started with eleven," Dreemo argued shakily. "Only seven of us are left—only four of the original group."

"What makes you think the others back home didn't survive?" Sam asked.

Dreemo gritted his teeth. "Because they were blown to pieces with the entire continent! With the entire world!"

Marcosis snickered wryly. "We've gotten through worse."

"Shut up," Klondike growled. He stood over Dreemo. "This punk doesn't care if they're alive or not. He's not gonna do anything either way."

"Not if you keep abusing him like that," Vileer remarked with hostility.

"Well excuse me for trying to give him a little push! Am I the only one who sees what a baby he's being?"

"You don't understand what a big burden he carries!" Sam shot back. "Two of his closest friends have died under his command, and he killed a kid on impulse!"

"Doesn't matter," Klondike replied carelessly. "Trauma changes who you are, but who you were is still buried under there somewhere. The soldier who plunged into intense firefights without hesitation, who killed Zeenash, who wasn't afraid to take matters into his own flippers when his whole country was against him—that soldier's still in there." He poked Dreemo's chest, brushing against the dog tags hanging there.

"That we know," Sam agreed. "That penguin who only went to war to put an end to it, who risked everything he loved to defend his country—"