TSL ch 6 Gun It While I'm Holding On
Poison had been laying in a heap on the ground for hours. As soon as there was no hope left, when the car was out of sight, he was done. At first he had just fallen to his knees, face screwed up in anticipation of the waterfall of tears he knew had to come. After all, he had just lost his brother to a bunch of controlling goons. But, his eyes stayed dry. The feeling of guilt and loss built up inside him, and he almost wished he would cry, if only to get it over with. He slumped over into a crumpled mess, like a dead body on the sand. His body shook, and he wheezed, shutting his eyes as tight as he could. He let out an angry scream and covered his head with his arms. He didn’t care what anyone thought right now, he would throw his goddamned tantrum in peace. He cursed himself, wondering why the tears didn’t come rushing like a flood. Was he that coldhearted? He screamed again, angry at himself and the world.
Jet kept his distance, with an expressionless face. He knew Poison’s dilemma. Party Poison had reached the breaking point. In other words, he had hit rock bottom. With all the turmoil going on in his life, his whole world crashing down around him, he had finally been worn out. He was so full of grief he just couldn’t go on. Poison was exhausted from all the pain. He just didn’t have anything left. And Jet was worried for him. Here was a temporarily broken man, with nothing to live for and no willpower or energy left. He was afraid to even speak to his leader right now. Poison was volatile, and best left alone.
The sun was low in the sky when Ghoul finally persuaded Poison to stand up and mope back towards the Trans-Am. The precision slowly made the walk of shame and got into their vehicle. Poison didn’t say a word, his head hung low.
“Poison?” Jet ventured. No response. Ghoul helped his broken leader into the car and got in with him.
“Drive, Jet. We’re done here.” Ghoul commanded. And so the sad party of The Fab Four minus one embarked on their next journey. No one bothered to speak as they drove. They would reach the Doc’s in a matter of twenty minutes. And he wouldn’t be happy when they arrived.
“Mmmmph.” Grunted Poison as he shifted in the seat, still looking expressionless and empty. Ghoul fished around in his pocket and pulled out a torn scrap of paper. It had been a list of Kobra’s, from before the band even, that Kobra had kept all these years. It had been under the floorboards, covered in dirt. It was a small list, compiled by Mikes a long time ago in a messy scrawl of children’s handwriting.
Shit Me And Gee Are Gonna Do: by Mikey Way
Get REAL famous
Buy a red mustang and spray paint it blue just cuz
Find people who don’t call us ‘fags’
Be in history books for doing good stuff
Survive a near death expeeriance
Buy a giraff, or some other zoo animal
Learn how to play a Bon Jovi song
Have famalies
Dye happy
Despite himself, Ghoul cracked a small smile at the letter. It was wonderfully innocent, ever-so-hopeful. He had meant to give this to Kobra, but maybe he would never get the chance. He chuckled at all the little misspellings, wondering how old Mikey had been when he wrote this. Probably in primary school still. It was a little troubling that he had been cursing at so young an age, but with Mikey, what did you expect? Always wise beyond his years, that one.
“What’s that?” Poison asked monotonously. Ghoul handed the paper to him, wincing. How would Poison react?
“Found it a while back. Ain’t it something?” Poison scanned the scrap several times over. Each time his face darkened, by some unknown emotion. Perhaps distaste or sadness? But when Gerard balled the paper up and threw it angrily to the floor of the vehicle, Ghoul decided it was most likey fury.
No shit... he thought to himself.
“The fuck, Poison?” Jet said, pouting. He had wanted to read the thing to. Whatever it was.
“Shut up and drive.” Poison commanded loudly. “Don’t know why you kept such useless crap anyway, Ghoul.” He crossed his arms. Ghoul scoffed in indignance and picked the discarded list up, smoothing it out gently. Poison was livid. “LEAVE IT ALONE!” Smack. Ghoul’s face stung. Poison had popped him right underneath the eye, on his cheekbone.
“That might be all you have left of him and that’s how you treat it?” Ghoul asked incredulously. “This isn’t easy for us either, Poison, but doing this sure isn’t helping!” He raised a tentative hand to his face, wincing. He still clutched the note firmly in his hand. Jet had chosen to stay out of this little issue. Something told him a voice of reason wouldn’t help much now.
“You don’t get to tell me what of my brother’s is kept once he’s gone. That’s my decision, not yours. So stay the fuck in your place.” Poison shot back venomously. Ghoul held the paper to his chest, shaking his head. Poison was being completely crazy.
“GONE? He isn’t dead yet, Poison! We might have a chance to get him back, but not when you have an outlook like that. It’s a keepsake from the past, okay? Not a weapon of mass destruction. God.” Ghoul ended the argument at that and tucked the note into his vest pocket. The Marker was coming into sight.
The Marker was a large pile of jagged rocks in the middle of the desert, off of a rarely used road in Zone 7. As they approached, Ghoul clambered into the back and popped the trunk. He readied the broom and rope. The importance of The Marker was simple. Once you reached it, you veered into the sand, having someone hang a broom over the back bumper, burying your tracks. This way, it was easier for the sandstorms or desert winds to erode the trail you left. This was how the Doc kept his camp secret.
“Going off road now!” Jet called. Ghoul tied up the broom with the rope to the bumper just as the tires hit the sand. He methodically swung the rope back and forth, fuzzing the distinct tire tracks. From here the route was fairly straightforward. With their tracks masked, it was hard to follow them. So, it wasn’t long before Jet could see the small camp glinting in the distance. He sped up with a jerk, ignoring the cry of dismay from a surprised Ghoul. The sooner they reached the safehouse (safevillage, rather) the sooner they could try to formulate a plan to save Kobra that might actually work.
Twenty minutes later their feet crunched against the hard-packed sand of the camp. A few younger newbie rebels were milling around, shooting at targets or setting ants on fire with magnifying glasses, or something else. One of them looked up from his task and cursed in surprise, promising to go get the Doc. He fulfilled his promise.
“Boys! Long time no see, eh?” Dr. Death rolled up in his manual chair, sweeping his arm out in welcome. “Stayed shiny?”
“We try.” Replied Ghoul, glancing nervously at the others.
“Of course you did. Well I ho-.....where’s Kobra?” the Doc’s face darkened. Ghoul bit his lip. “Where is the Kid?” Poison gulped, afraid of Dr. D’s wrath more than any Exterminator.
“That’s what we need to talk to you about. Now.” Jet said, motioning frantically with his hands. Dr. D moaned, tilting his head back.
“The pigs won’t quit, will they? Nevermind, motorbabies, Dr. Death-Defying’s the man with the plan, if you will. Grace and Pony are out running their asses around shooting crap, so just skip the greetings. We’re going to talk about this. Now. Follow.” Doc turned around and started towards the main building, an old abandoned diner. The Killjoys minus one filed into a booth, with Dr. Death at the head of the table.
“They took Kobra.” Jet took on the task of a quick explanation. “It was that, or kill him. We couldn’t let him die. They walked away and we had to let them. They had this torture device....uh, taser? And they took him to Battery....right out from under us.” Jet looked down, communicating quite obviously that the Killjoys minus one were ashamed.
“Now answer me a question, boy.” He said to the unusually quiet Poison. Poison glanced up from the extremely interesting floor. “Would I lie to you? Ever?” Poison shook his head confidently. The Doc had his utmost respect. “Would I die for you?”
“Yeah....” Poison replied softly. Dr. Death nodded and prepared for his speak. He cleared his throat and began talking like his pumped-up, tough, exciting radio persona.
“Listen up! If you go in there, Killjoys, you go with your arms raised high. You have to man up and recognize that you might not leave that damned place alive. Go like a bullet through a flock of doves, ruin that aura of protection that we know is all a lie. Throttle the ignition, this attack is going to have to be the best of your killjoy lives. I’m signing off this time, i leave the true plan up to you all. I have faith in you, I trained you well.” Doc finished, holding up his hands in a way that seemed to say that he washed his hands of the matter.
“What the fuck?” shrieked Poison, slamming his fist onto the table. “One of our key members is in a grave situation with no way out and you choose now to experiment, see if we can fly on our own! We need the guidance, this is the most important mission yet!” he raged, a look that could kill lingering in his hazel eyes. Dr. Death sighed, shaking his head.
“I can’t do this for you, Poison. You’re too capable. You need to save your brother. This is the mission where only you can figure out the right way to go. It isn’t an experiment because I know you all need this. But Kobra needs it more.” He sat back down with some difficulty.
“What?” Ghoul said, confused. Doc laughed.
“A guy in a wheelchair can only dictate this so far. Hell, as much as I’d like it to be an emotional metaphor, the fact still remains that this is a very difficult mission. It’s all going to have to be perfectly timed, flexible if something goes wrong, and fast enough to make a clean getaway. This isn’t the kind of thing where you surrender and cut your losses. You either come back with Kobra or you don’t come back. I can’t and won’t make a plan that involves your death sentences. Only you can choose that.”
Jet was the first to agree. Maybe he was moved by the speech, or maybe not. But he just wanted to help Kobra.
“Thank you, Doc, for everything.” He said, nearly bowing in respect.
“So we’re on our own?” Poison said, slowly accepting everything.
“If you need me, I’m here to help you, exclusively. Of course, when you’re in the middle of a gunfight I won’t be there. But I trust you all to-“
“Doctor Death Defying!” screamed a young male Killjoy, who had barged into the room. He had an orange mohawk that had not seen proper styling in a long time. It just hung in a shaggy trail on his head. His wild eyes betrayed the dire situation where the Doc was needed. “We got a medical emergency!”
“Woah.” Ghoul said quietly. The men shuffled out to see a swarm of rebels in the center of the abandoned restaurant. Dr. D parted the sea of bodies to reveal an unconscious young girl covered in blood. Her body was somewhat mangled, with several major wounds. She was coughing up blood.
“Saints protect her now.” The Doc mumbled.
XxX
A/N: AAAAAAAAND there it is. There are way too many references in here, but alot of them are older. There's one near the end I REALLY want someone to get. So, Spot The Lyrics! Alot of them were in The Doc's speech. I figured it fit, considering Look Alive, Sunshine and Traffic Report from the album. Please tell what you liked, what you didn't, any thoughts at all. Farewell then, MWAH! (that was cheesy x) )