All for the Love of Chaos

Chapter 4

By her guess it had to be somewhere around eleven or so. The light in the dark cockpit was a bluish-green, emanating from the monitors and buttons around her. As she shoved a stray lock of hair from her face, she saw that the gauze wrapped around her knuckles had to be replaced. She slowly realized that she had a blanket on and realized that at some point Charlie had covered her up.

Charlie gazed out the windshield, glancing away only occasionally to check the G.P.S. monitor to his far right, making sure they were still on course. He spotted Kay stirring and grinned.

"Hey," He said quietly. She smiled back, her hair in disarray and her cheek red from where she had slept on it. Even then, he thought, she still looked pretty.

"'Lo, Charlie." She sighed, straightening up in the seat and yawning. "Where are we now?"

"Take a look for yourself." Said Charlie absentmindedly. She did.

"Wow..." She breathed, looking at the spectacular show the heavens above were displaying. She could see the silver spires of Mt. Nibel in the distance. But, she frowned upon the discovery of storm clouds that were coming from the northeast. She knew that the storm would intercept them, either in the ground or in the air; they would not be making it to Rocket Town by dawn.

"It's going to storm tonight." Charlie grumbled, shaking his head, almost as if he had read her thoughts. "We're going to be grounded for sure."

Kay sighed, shaking her head. That would delay them still more. She had hoped to get to Rocket Town in time to see the launching of the space shuttle, but if the storm struck Nibelheim, who knew how long they'd be stranded? It could be as short as a day or if it turned into a full-fledged blizzard--which this one certainly had the makings of--they could be there more then a week.

Kay decided to turn her attention to her hand, which had not been enough for Reno's standards to waste magic on. She didn't mind, really. There were more scars then she could count on her hands, from both fights and the daily trials of working with machinery.

None the less, her hands needed attention. She flashed Charlie her fist so that he could see how the gauze had turned a deep rust color. "We got any more of this?"

"Yeah, check the bathrooms."

She nodded and got to her feet (she had gone to sleep with her boots on), which automatically began to shift her weight with the movement of the plane. Steadily, she walked towards the back, leaving Charlie and closing the cabin behind her.

It was like any other cargo plane; it consisted of the cockpit, the storage bays and a bathroom in the back. The only difference from her normal routine was that this cargo was alive. The remaining five men were asleep on the floor, wrapped up in sleeping rolls; only tufts of hair were visible in the dim light.

Reno was propped up between two crates, snoring rudely. What she thought odd was that the Turk had not reprimanded her in the slightest after pummeling the Soldier he was supposed to be escorting. He had merely smirked, shook his head, and proceeded to lead his troops into the cargo bay. As he passed her, she could have sworn he said: 'You would make a good Turk.' She frowned. No, she had been fantasizing again. It probably hadn't been intended for her, she wasn't even sure that had been what he said.

The seventh was missing, his roll flat. She wondered where her passenger could have possibly gone to but she soon found--or rather heard her answer; a horrible retching sound muffled by the thin plywood walls. She sighed, hoping he made the toilet so she'd have to clean it up later.

Not bothering to knock, she opened the door. Inside was the man with the distinguishable salt and pepper hair, his skin paled to the color that she thought resembled mashed worms. His strong hands clutched desperately at the rim of the stainless steal bowl. She turned her head to the side as he vomited again, the sound making her feel sick as well. When he turned her way, he had something slippery and wet dripping from his lips.

When someone's sick, no mater who they are, you tend to be a little sympathetic to them. Besides, he had insulted her, she repaid him, and it was over as far as she was concerned. She didn't hold grudges. Ever. Her father had taught her long ago that what ever happened in the past, stayed in the past. It had taken him a long time to realize that, he said, and he had wasted too much time visualizing fallen dreams that he couldn't see the road before him. Furthermore, he couldn't tell how miserable he was making everyone else for dragging them down with him.

"Here man," She said quietly, handing him a towel.

He eyed her for a moment, expecting her to pull something like before, but saw only sympathy in her piercingly clear eyes.

"...Thanks," He mumbled groggily, taking it form her outstretched hand.

"I take it you don't travel too well," She stated as he mopped up his chin. He was starting to look a little better, the color slowly coming back to his cheeks, but sat down on the floor with his legs tucked under him, facing the bowl just in case. He shook his weary head.

"No, I don't..." He turned and looked quizzically at her back as she rummaged through a medicine cabinet. "Sorry."

"Whatever," She quipped, not turning around.

"No, I really mean it, I shouldn't have said that to you back in Kalm," He really did feel sorry. He was usually rather…open about his affections, there had simply been something about that woman that made his nerves tingle and his palms sweat. He liked her, she was hot. However, he was still slightly bitter towards her--as could be expected for someone who had nearly broken his jaw. "...A simple 'pervert' would have done it, you know, I would have taken the hint."

She shrugged indifferently at his comment. Finding the role of thick gauze, she unrolled the dirty bandage strip on her hand. Unmercifully, the newly formed scabs had healed around the material, and promptly ripped open once more. She winced in pain, looking down at her raw hand; it stung in protest at the sudden influence of air. She turned on the faucet of the slop-sink and thrust it under the cold water, not bothering to keep a gross obscenity to spill forth.

He watched her with mild concern. "Need any help?"

"No." She growled though gritted teeth. He sincerely doubted her word. Getting to his feet, though rather shakily, he came behind her and looked over her shoulder.

"Looks painful," He stated the obvious truth.

"No shit," Kay spat sarcastically, though he knew it wasn't directly aimed at him.

"Here..."

He positioned himself beside her then, gently, took her hand in his own. Kay was lost for words, her other arm hanging limply at her side. She stared at him with confusion and surprise, yet he was too busy examining her bleeding wounds, his brows marked with genuine concern. Finally, after what seemed to her like a long silence, his eyes flickered upwards to meet her gaze again.

"It's going to get infected if you don't clean it properly, you did a pretty poor job dressing it."

"That was Charlie. He doesn't have much first aide experience."

"Oh," He commented, frowning. "You got any antibacterial soap?"

She handed it to him warily. She always prided herself for having a high tolerance for pain but the instant the Soldier touched a damp cloth to her skin with the soap rubbed in it she hissed and flinched. It hurt like hell, more then it should have. After swabbing the cut he wrapped her hand up with expert care.

"Uh, thanks."

"No prob," He smirked again, then added with his voice dripping with sultry overtones "But I will require payment..."

Kay's face darkened considerably, eyes seeming to burn holes right into his flesh. The Soldier held up his hands defensively, as if expecting her to catch him with another hook to the jaw.

"Hey, hey! One dinner! That's all I ask! What kind of creep do you take me for?" He said quickly.

Kay rolled her eyes and smiled. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"If you want to call it a date, it’s a date."

Dinner. Okay, she could manage that. He was pretty good looking, why not? "Alright. But nowhere fancy or anything, I'd feel out of place there."

"I can imagine." He leaned back against the metal hull of the plane, arms crossed, regaining as much composure as you could for someone who had just paid homage to the porcelain goddess.

"What's your name, anyway?" She inquired curiously.

"Damitri."

Da-mee-tree…that‘s one you don‘t hear too often. "Interesting. You from the north?"

"Yeah, you could say that. And what's your name?"

"Me? Kayla, but everyone just calls me Kay."

He smiled. "I like that name. It's pretty, suits you."

She was about to comment but stopped midway. She felt something, something that made her skin crawl and made her fingers instinctively twitch, ready to let her nightstick drop into her hand. An undeniable feeling of swelling terror. She had visibly blanched, eyes widening in panic, face pale and feverish. She had never felt so afraid in her life. It was an all-consuming, nerve-racking fear that could drive someone to the brink of insanity and push them right over the edge into the swirling darkness. Something was wrong. Just plain wrong. Wrong with what? Was there something wrong with the plane? Wrong with the runway? Wrong with the passengers? What? What? What the hell was going on?!

"Kay? What's wrong?"

"I don't know..." She whispered, lower lip trembling.

He opened his mouth to speak when the entire plane shuttered. For a tense second, no one spoke. Then there was a screech of metal as something scraped along the hull, sending the two flying to the floor, tangled up together, she landing on top of him. A deafening roar filled the plane from somewhere up front. Kay struggled to rise while Damitri lie there very still, eyes closed. She turned her attention to him immediately. She felt the back of his head where it had hit the floor before he landed on his back. When she withdrew her hand there was a slight bloody streak. She could do nothing for him at the moment. Reno would have to revive him later.

Charlie's voice crackled weakly though the intercom above her. "Kay! Get up here! NOW!" He yelled, as panicked as she had been. But that fear had been shoved aside for the moment, there was no time for it. Instinct took over and she half ran, half crawled out the door.

She left the bathroom to find the cargo bay in utter chaos. Boxes with their contents were strewn about with panicked Soldiers trying to escape from their beds. The confused shouts and loud crashing as something scrapped and tore at the hull masked an insistent, chugging whine of the struggling engines.

Someone grabbed her ankle from his place on the floor to get her attention. She looked down to see Reno, a large bruise beginning to form on his scarred cheekbone.

"What the hell is going on?" he shouted, his panic shattering his cool exterior. He was panicking, the Soldiers were panicking, Charlie was panicking; and she was the dampness among the burning coals. She was calm in these sorts of "situations," something that pilots from Rocket Town were prized for. She had been trained in a place where people that used flight simulators--or, Nintendo Pilots as we call them--were branded as pussies. You pass the tests or die in the flaming ruin of your plane, simple as that. If you can't save your own life you sure as hell can't be trusted to save anyone else. A little ice debris and a stalled engine wasn't shit.

Not even pausing, "Damitri's passed out in the back. Get the rest of the men strapped in," she told the Turk. He looked at her oddly, but nodded to her back and went the opposite way.

Charlie was having a hell of a time keeping the plane in line, battling to stay air born.

"The fuel lines are cut, Kay!" He shouted tersely as she sat down hard into her seat. "I informed everyone on the ground but I don't know if we can make it to the runway!"

She could see the lights of Nibelheim rapidly approaching. They had gone from twenty-five thousand feet to less then ten thousand in a little more then a minute, and they were still dropping. Charlie tore at the controls to keep the nose from dipping in their suicidal plunge from the heavens.

"Will we make the runway?" She questioned, tensed, hastily buckling her seat belt, ignoring the pain in her hand when she bent it. She had to shout to be heard over engines that were screaming in protest.

"I don't know, but it's gonna be rough!"

Soon after she squeezed her eyes shut as the asphalt rushed up to meet them. The glass of the windshield splintered but didn't break. Sparks flew as the belly of the plane scraped the runway with an earsplitting shriek as the aluminum platting was reduced to ribbons. Finally, mercifully, the movement halted. The airport personnel lingered back, waiting to see if old Bucket would explode.

With the last of the fuel expended, the engines died with a whir. Cries of joy mingled with ravenous strings of swearwords could be heard from inside.

And then it snowed.

Go on to Chapter 5