The Raid
Sylvia Dare
Kyle Bedlington
'
I heard something.' Even if the golden-complec
ted boy had been conscious, it would have been difficult to hear the words uttered at the scarcely-audible volume at which they were delivered. The girl next to him sat-up and huffed a brief, frustrated breath when she received no initial response.
Outside, the gibbous moon's light filtered-through a canopy of trees, helping to subtly illuminate an abandoned factory storage warehouse off of Route 66 in Virginia. The isolated building was in a wooded area north of the boundaries of Shenandoah National Park, a forsaken man-made monolith with few windows left intact, the frames of which, metal and jagged with broken pieces of dirty, smudged glass shards, were long and narrow and ran from the first story up to the second story of the building. Inside, there was no actual second floor, just a cast metal catwalk around the perimeter of the upper story, accessible by a couple open-work metal staircases, although there was what appeared to be a foreman's office, barely more than a small, glass-encased box, nestled in the northeast corner of the catwalk. It was springtime, early May, and the seemingly forgotten two-story building of spartan, cinder block architecture appeared to be the perfect place of respite for the weary traveler, a gathering place for indigent youth, both mutant and human, as they sought their place in the world.
With a sleepy grumble, the young man responded by tugging the tattered blanket covering his lanky body up around his slender shoulders, and he started to roll over, intending to face away from his girlfriend, who, until a moment ago, had been lying peacefully with her backside nestled into the curve of his stomach, chest and legs. There was nothing but a worn sheet of egg crate foam between their bodies and the hard, cool floor of the old warehouse, and his sudden, jerky movement slid the makeshift mattress around on the smoothness of the polished surface, even with the weight of the two of them bearing down upon it.
'Git UP.' It wasn't so much the hiss of words that woke him as it was the violent shake he received from the girl that roused him. A firm, strategic grip with dagger-like fingers, the tips of which were encased in a tough, jagged shell, took hold of him, and the sharp points dug into his tender, freckled flesh right through his thin tee-shirt and the blanket, while the single, brisk shake practically jarred the entire top half of his body.
'Goddamn, Syl, I'm UP,' was the boy's reply, his voice raspy with sleep, and he jerked slightly upward; no sooner had he spoken these words had the boy started to settle back down onto the cushy layer of foam, as if he hadn't actually meant what he'd said.
'Shh!' commanded the girl with hushed harshness, ducking low as her strange, ghostly visage was briefly lit by a stream of dusty moonlight cast through one of the glassless windows. Her hand transformed smoothly back to normal as she moved it from his shoulder to his mouth, to drive the point home that he should keep his thin-lipped yap shut. 'I think I heard a dog. I definitely heard voices.' With that, she sat up slowly, to peer through the dark interior of the building and toward the closest window. While the corrugated metal roof on the warehouse kept tenants, for the most party, dry, the greater percentage of the group slept in the center of the vacant floor, away from the windows, since it had been raining on and off for the past several days, and there were some damp spots and residual puddles on the floor.
The boy winced, his eyes squeezing shut in delayed response to the sharp sensation of his girlfriend's grasp, but be finally opened his eyes when she clamped her hand over his mouth, and after she revealed the cause for her concern he pushed against her as he propped himself up on his elbows. Her hand fell away and she focused on some point in the dark distance. The beam of a flashlight from the outside flickered over the textured interior wall. Then another, from a different direction. 'Sheee-it,' was all Kyle could ineloquently muster beneath his breath. They'd both know it was risky stopping here, staying in a place like this. Kyle didn't like windows, and it wasn't quite far enough off of the beaten path for Sylvia. But it was so convenient, and the two of them had been hoofing it since Whitmer, West Virginia-- it was just one night, after all, maybe two, in a relatively dry, warm place, instead of another evening on the damp floor of the forest with a makeshift lean-to overhead.
They had been promised that at least two individuals would be on lookout continually through the night; every few nights, those individuals staying at the encampment for more than a week circulated through a mandatory turn in the schedule rotation. It wasn't a perfect system, but it had kept the group of runaways safe thus far, and, while neither of the two teens had any reason to doubt the trustworthiness of those in charge of the camp, as they were old friends of Sylvia's, they were either lied to, or the watchmen had been compromised. Or maybe they were overreacting. Maybe those outside were simply other travelers, passing-by in the night or looking for a place to stay. Kyle and Sylvia well knew that there was merit to the sleep by day, travel by night system.
As if that last consideration had simultaneously crossed their minds, the young man and woman held their collective breath and each others' hands, hoping for the best, but, as experience had taught them, expecting the worst.
Once more, silence fell, save for the quiet symphony of shallow breathing from those asleep around them, but it was disturbed by the gentle rattle of one of the two rolling metal garage doors by the loading dock of the old warehouse. It could have been the wind, which had been blowing sporadically throughout the night. Both Sylvia and Kyle's eyes slid in the direction of the noise. It happened again, louder, more forcefully. It sounded like someone was carefully jiggling it, trying to get it open without anyone noticing. A couple of the bodies in repose stirred the second, slightly louder time the metallic noise rattled in the expanse of the room, and those roused exchanged groggy looks with those closest to them. A susurrant ripple of concern suddenly arose, setting the atmosphere of the room just on the edge of panic, but not quite. Kyle and Sylvia had been prepared to flee from the moment they went to sleep, as they frequently did; they were more or less fully dressed, including their shoes. All they had to do was grab their back packs and get out. It was that easy, in theory.
Aside from the rolling garage doors and, of course, the broken-down windows, there were conventional doors on three of the four walls of the building, keeping whatever was outside on the outside and vice versa. However, it didn't take much to break the dilapidated barriers that those portals were off of their corroded hinges-- a couple of hydraulic battering rams saw to their demise. Unfortunately for the occupants of the warehouse, there were already people strategically positioned on the other side of all of the doors, the garage doors, and the broken windows could easily cut to ribbons the average individual who attempted to slip out of them as a means of escape, but once full-blown panic ensued, that didn't keep some of the kids from trying.
There was a strange, almost preternatural, silence both inside and outside of the building before the doors were rent from their hinges and fell inward, landing noisily to the floor. The hush that had befallen the people inside erupted in a cacaphony of yelling, discordant and echoing in the open space of the warehouse. At the same time, a more orderly set of commands were barked from those on the outside. The intruders appeared to be militaristic in dress; maybe local SWAT, maybe government, maybe a private organization, or maybe a combination of all three.
Sylvia and Kyle hadn't waited until the doors had been breached to try and make their retreat, and after a quick shift to protect her body from the broken glass and jagged edges of metal pane, the grey and now hard-skinned runaway slid with little difficulty to the outside. Using a less-finessed approach, Kyle bulldozed his slim frame through after his girlfriend had removed the remainder of the glass. Their clothes snagged a little on the way out, but without much apparent or immediate consequence. Besides, damage could be assessed when they were safe.
The next several minutes were a blur of shouting, gunshots, tear gas and barking dogs with their hackles raised and teeth bared. There were probably about fifty bodies occupying the warehouse encampment, and those who weren't fortunate enough to disappear into the darkness of the woods-- which were really only a handful of kids-- were rounded-up and shoved into the windowless backs of shiny black vans. The unknown assailants were, to a great extent, prepared for the combination of mutants and humans, and were overall quite organized, as if this raid had been being planned for some time, although, as usual the biggest wild card was exactly what combination of mutant abilities they'd be facing in the thick of it.
In the bedlam, Kyle and Sylvia became separated, which wasn't necessarily an immediate reason for concern, for they'd dealt with beating harrowing escapes a couple of times before. The young couple had always decided upon a set of geographic coordinates where they could rendezvous ahead of time. They'd used this method a few times for practice, and it had worked beautifully when they'd actually gotten isolated from one another. They'd set a limit of twelve hours to arrive, in case of extenuating circumstances, if they had to, for instance, lie low for a bit.
The following day, Kyle sat on a rock, his rear end just a couple of inches off of the ground, his long legs bent and slightly spread, knobby knees pointing skyward, his mustard-colored kneecaps visible through the ragged holes in his jeans. His body's position was awkward and its language defeated. The map was crunched and creased from the heat and perspiration of his hands and his gaze was blank, unfocused and set upon a point a couple of feet in front of him. The young man's usually yellow eyes were almost orange, as they were bloodshot, and were rimmed with deeply sallow circles. His backpack was upon his back, adding to the figurative weight already bearing down upon his shoulders, and his arms were streaked and scratched with dried blood from his nighttime escape.
Sylvia was usually the first of the two to arrive. It was going on fourteen hours now, and there was still no sign of her. Kyle checked his compass, the position of the sun in the cloud-streaked sky, and he checked the map for what must have been the thirtieth time that hour, just to make sure that he was where he was supposed to be. Periodically checking the map and the time with less and less frequency, he stayed much longer than what was he knew was safe, even if he had a pretty good vantage point from his secluded, uphill perch. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, the boy finally stood, gave one last, sweeping look of the area, then started to pick his way carefully and quietly through the brush of the woods. The sun was starting to set, and despite both his mental and physical exhaustion, Kyle had a long way to go, even if he had no idea as to what his destination might be.
X-Men RP
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