✓ | 3. soldier, soldier, spy [STEVE HARRINGTON]

twenty.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
MAD MAX

[ THE BATTLE OF STARCOURT ]

❖ ❖ ❖

           "Maybe you should stay in the car. You don't look so great."

          Thomas knew Steve was right, mainly because he didn't feel so good, either. He was dying for some painkillers, and a long, long sleep in his own bed, and ever since the hospital he'd been moving forward, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice but to. It was carry on, or succumb to the Mindflayer -- to death. He had to keep going.

             "I'm fine," muttered Thomas, as he hopped over the car door of the Todfather and slammed straight into thick mud and wet grass. No wonder the stupid car had gotten stuck half-way up the incline. "Ugh. My boots. My poor boots."

          "You're such a diva," said Steve, attempting a half hearted smile as Dustin and Robin dashed past them, further upwards. "Come on."

          He watched Steve start after Dustin with a small smile, before trading up the hill to keep pace with the group. Mud was gathering, clumping, in the soles, and each footstep dragged until he was sweating profusely, and hairs flung to the skin on the back of his neck.

"You know, if you worked out with me, you wouldn't be so tired," Steve said, and he looked up to find the boy holding out a hand, smiling gently. The teasing tone was a clear attempt at lightening to mood, and it failed.

"Not gonna happen," he said, and clapped a hand into his to let Steve drag him the rest of the way up.

"Scoops Troop, do you copy?" a metallic voice from further up bellowed. "Scoops Troop, do you copy?"

It took Thomas only a few moments to recognise it as Mike, speaking through the radio, and a moment later the radio setup came into view, and Thomas almost couldn't believe his eyes.

Somehow, Dustin, being the genius he was, had rigged up a mess of wires and antenna, all wound around a metal tower about three feet tall, and all feeding into a stereo system. The sight sent a spark of hope rippling through the group, and the air almost grew three times lighter.

          Thomas, through his heavy breathing, laughed and slapped a hand down on Dustin's head, who had knelt in the mud beside the radio, and ruffled the cap endearingly, as if to say Good job.

He watched with the other three over Dustin's shoulders as he adjusted the radio channel using a dial, twisting it in the opposite direction and ignoring the momentary hiss of static that it ignited. A moment later, he held the speaker (a small mic connected to the radio by a phone wire) to his mouth. "Bald Eagle, do you copy?"