Chapter Twelve (a)
Chapter Twelve (a)
Black rage bubbled beneath his skin like hot tar. Jensen was fucking over this.
He couldn’t say who or what he was most angry with. Whoever the hell it was who decided that, sure, there’s Jensen Ackles, he’s a worthless piece of crap, he can take another slice of cosmic-level shit for breakfast.
And okay, he got it. That look of revulsion on Jared’s face, as he realised what Jensen had done. Hell, he felt it, too. It was almost a liberating moment, he supposed, when the last illusion about your own character was torn away and you saw yourself for what you really were. If ever he’d been on the side of the angels - if he’d ever been anything more than a miserable, unwanted sonofabitch - he sure as hell wasn’t now.
And the funniest part, the truly “Hey, take a look at what the useless prick is up to now” moment, was when he’d fallen completely in love with Brother Jared Padalecki. He knew what Jared had given him, last night. He might not understand the way someone could get so screwed up about their sexuality that they let a committee set the boundaries on it, but he understood that Jared was there, and trying so hard to be what they wanted him to be because somehow that seemed right to him. The thought of someone making that kind of sacrifice for his own sorry self was dazzling. So when Jared had followed him outside, had opened his arms and spoken to him in the way only bodies could, had given him the age-old comfort of life in the face of sorrow too big to be voiced - he’d felt it, then, that moment when he let his heart go.
For what? No way could a Tata bus ever be called silent. Jensen ground the gears as she chugged her way at 15 miles per hour up the hills and towards the higher peaks near the river, all the windows open to let the diesel fumes drift out and the dust drift in. The engine noise was like a bunch of bricks in a blender, and if anyone wanted a conversation they would have had to yell.
And yet, Jensen had never been in a more silent place.
Every now and then he’d lean out the little side window and spit blood. The pistol had knocked a tooth loose in the back of his mouth, and the damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. Hurt like a bastard.
Good.
Good.
They crossed the first range, all scrub and elephant grass, lion country not fit for much else. The thought of walking the kids through there made Jensen wince. She was no beauty, with her faded tat and paintwork, but the ancient Tata was a life saver. His rifle with its old Mark 7 ammo was as likely to piss off a large animal as kill it - but Jared and the children didn’t need to know that.
No maybe about it - he should have taken the automatic. Or maybe that vicious little flamethrower. One more ‘shoulda’ for the file.
He slammed the bus into first as she almost stalled at the bottom of a long gully, pushed his foot hard to the accelerator, and the old girl groaned her way up the other side.
So thirsty, but he couldn’t bring himself to look around, grab his canteen from the seat beside Jared. He didn’t need to look at him, or those damn kids, didn’t need to see the condemnation in glorious living Technicolor. He could work on his own supply quite nicely, thank you very much, without the visual aids.
He checked the odometer, found it had stuck on the same number over an hour ago, and decided he could do his own reckoning. The peak on his right was Chandaweke, which meant the Gamba River was over the next range of hills. Maybe a quarter hour? Less? It hurt a little, the flare of hope, as he allowed himself to think that the final horror, of seeing this bunch behind him slaughtered, might be spared him. But he flattened his foot, trying to coax a few extra revs out of the ancient engine.
It was as he was negotiating a pothole big enough to lose a hippo in that he heard Juma give a cry.
He looked up and around, rightly guessing that the problem wasn’t in the bus. And there, coming from Chandaweke, a small trail of dust that told of the passage of another vehicle.
Well, shit.
He narrowed his eyes, calculating. The other vehicle wasn’t racing, just seemed to be travelling along at the kind of speed that was safe on these tracks. So whoever it was - and smart money said Tommy’s boys - probably hadn’t seen their own dust trail.
Two choices. Pull over in the scrub, run silent. Bunker down and hope they drive right on by.
Problem: scrub was mighty thin around here. Chance of a bit of shine from the Tata’s mirrored surface catching a piece of sun, flashing a big ‘We’re heeeere’ sign to the rebels? Huge.
Okay, so door number two. Go for it. Break for the river. Hope like hell that Jim’s guy was there, was in the mood to get them across, hadn’t abandoned the place himself or gotten himself killed.
Screw it. The thought of just waiting here for whatever the Almighty or Fate or Mother Africa had in mind for them sucked. There were two river beds between the other vehicle and this track, so they had a bit of time. The bad guys would probably see them, sure, but chances were they couldn’t do much about it anyway.
“Come on, you sonofabitch,” Jensen muttered, not sure if he was talking to himself. “Let’s win this one.”
He kept his foot down even as they crossed a series of ruts that had the bus bouncing like a jumping castle, heard the children give a series of small cries.
“What’s going on?”
Jared was right behind him, leaning down to talk into his ear, and Jensen hunched forward, keeping his own body clear.
“See that dust over there? Line of red, over by the foot of the mountain? That’s either a really small herd of zebra out for a gallop or a truck.”
Jared lowered his voice, but he needn’t have bothered - no-one else could hear over the racket of the engine.
“You think it’s rebels?”
Jensen gave a small shrug. “It’s too straight and too long. Zebra wouldn’t keep running like that.”
“Might be civilians?”
A snort. “You keep thinking that, Sparky.”
“Should we…”
“We’re running for the river, Jared, so you better just sit back down and strap in.”
He felt Jared move away, and for a moment he closed his eyes, because he’d never expected fair but he hadn’t looked for this much heartache, either.
The bus bounced along and it felt like they were in slow motion. Their own dust obscured their view of the other, now, but it didn’t really matter. Once they started to climb, they’d be in clear view for miles around.
A sharp corner almost sent them toppling over, but he swung the bus back at the last minute and bullied it onto the rising track.
“Come on, you lump of shit.” Jensen sat forward, willing speed. “Fucking turtle power, or what? Move, move, move!”
He risked a quick glance to the right. He could see it clearly, now; open truck, bodies jammed in the back, and even as he watched he thought he could see it pick up speed.
Could Jared be right? Could it be a truck full of settlers, fleeing?
But Jensen’s gut told him a different truth. This country had been raided for months. This was rebel turf, and they would have sent any settlers fleeing weeks before.
The bus lurched over the rise. Jensen had to wrench the steering wheel hard right to avoid plummeting straight over the edge, the bus tilting and jerking under his hands. Ahead, the track wound tightly down through more dense trees and scrub to where the river shone, a dull pewter under the heavy sky. The sight made something in his chest jump.
“There’s the river!”
Jared was back, peering past him.
“You better sit down,” Jensen said shortly. “Rocky ride down there.”
And then, the unthinkable. A hand came to his shoulder, squeezed tightly, and let go.
Jensen’s whole body stilled.
He concentrated hard, sweat dripping into his eyes, blood in his mouth. Don’t you dare fucking forgive me. Don’t you dare.
Chapter Twelve (b)
Black rage bubbled beneath his skin like hot tar. Jensen was fucking over this.
He couldn’t say who or what he was most angry with. Whoever the hell it was who decided that, sure, there’s Jensen Ackles, he’s a worthless piece of crap, he can take another slice of cosmic-level shit for breakfast.
And okay, he got it. That look of revulsion on Jared’s face, as he realised what Jensen had done. Hell, he felt it, too. It was almost a liberating moment, he supposed, when the last illusion about your own character was torn away and you saw yourself for what you really were. If ever he’d been on the side of the angels - if he’d ever been anything more than a miserable, unwanted sonofabitch - he sure as hell wasn’t now.
And the funniest part, the truly “Hey, take a look at what the useless prick is up to now” moment, was when he’d fallen completely in love with Brother Jared Padalecki. He knew what Jared had given him, last night. He might not understand the way someone could get so screwed up about their sexuality that they let a committee set the boundaries on it, but he understood that Jared was there, and trying so hard to be what they wanted him to be because somehow that seemed right to him. The thought of someone making that kind of sacrifice for his own sorry self was dazzling. So when Jared had followed him outside, had opened his arms and spoken to him in the way only bodies could, had given him the age-old comfort of life in the face of sorrow too big to be voiced - he’d felt it, then, that moment when he let his heart go.
For what? No way could a Tata bus ever be called silent. Jensen ground the gears as she chugged her way at 15 miles per hour up the hills and towards the higher peaks near the river, all the windows open to let the diesel fumes drift out and the dust drift in. The engine noise was like a bunch of bricks in a blender, and if anyone wanted a conversation they would have had to yell.
And yet, Jensen had never been in a more silent place.
Every now and then he’d lean out the little side window and spit blood. The pistol had knocked a tooth loose in the back of his mouth, and the damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. Hurt like a bastard.
Good.
Good.
They crossed the first range, all scrub and elephant grass, lion country not fit for much else. The thought of walking the kids through there made Jensen wince. She was no beauty, with her faded tat and paintwork, but the ancient Tata was a life saver. His rifle with its old Mark 7 ammo was as likely to piss off a large animal as kill it - but Jared and the children didn’t need to know that.
No maybe about it - he should have taken the automatic. Or maybe that vicious little flamethrower. One more ‘shoulda’ for the file.
He slammed the bus into first as she almost stalled at the bottom of a long gully, pushed his foot hard to the accelerator, and the old girl groaned her way up the other side.
So thirsty, but he couldn’t bring himself to look around, grab his canteen from the seat beside Jared. He didn’t need to look at him, or those damn kids, didn’t need to see the condemnation in glorious living Technicolor. He could work on his own supply quite nicely, thank you very much, without the visual aids.
He checked the odometer, found it had stuck on the same number over an hour ago, and decided he could do his own reckoning. The peak on his right was Chandaweke, which meant the Gamba River was over the next range of hills. Maybe a quarter hour? Less? It hurt a little, the flare of hope, as he allowed himself to think that the final horror, of seeing this bunch behind him slaughtered, might be spared him. But he flattened his foot, trying to coax a few extra revs out of the ancient engine.
It was as he was negotiating a pothole big enough to lose a hippo in that he heard Juma give a cry.
He looked up and around, rightly guessing that the problem wasn’t in the bus. And there, coming from Chandaweke, a small trail of dust that told of the passage of another vehicle.
Well, shit.
He narrowed his eyes, calculating. The other vehicle wasn’t racing, just seemed to be travelling along at the kind of speed that was safe on these tracks. So whoever it was - and smart money said Tommy’s boys - probably hadn’t seen their own dust trail.
Two choices. Pull over in the scrub, run silent. Bunker down and hope they drive right on by.
Problem: scrub was mighty thin around here. Chance of a bit of shine from the Tata’s mirrored surface catching a piece of sun, flashing a big ‘We’re heeeere’ sign to the rebels? Huge.
Okay, so door number two. Go for it. Break for the river. Hope like hell that Jim’s guy was there, was in the mood to get them across, hadn’t abandoned the place himself or gotten himself killed.
Screw it. The thought of just waiting here for whatever the Almighty or Fate or Mother Africa had in mind for them sucked. There were two river beds between the other vehicle and this track, so they had a bit of time. The bad guys would probably see them, sure, but chances were they couldn’t do much about it anyway.
“Come on, you sonofabitch,” Jensen muttered, not sure if he was talking to himself. “Let’s win this one.”
He kept his foot down even as they crossed a series of ruts that had the bus bouncing like a jumping castle, heard the children give a series of small cries.
“What’s going on?”
Jared was right behind him, leaning down to talk into his ear, and Jensen hunched forward, keeping his own body clear.
“See that dust over there? Line of red, over by the foot of the mountain? That’s either a really small herd of zebra out for a gallop or a truck.”
Jared lowered his voice, but he needn’t have bothered - no-one else could hear over the racket of the engine.
“You think it’s rebels?”
Jensen gave a small shrug. “It’s too straight and too long. Zebra wouldn’t keep running like that.”
“Might be civilians?”
A snort. “You keep thinking that, Sparky.”
“Should we…”
“We’re running for the river, Jared, so you better just sit back down and strap in.”
He felt Jared move away, and for a moment he closed his eyes, because he’d never expected fair but he hadn’t looked for this much heartache, either.
The bus bounced along and it felt like they were in slow motion. Their own dust obscured their view of the other, now, but it didn’t really matter. Once they started to climb, they’d be in clear view for miles around.
A sharp corner almost sent them toppling over, but he swung the bus back at the last minute and bullied it onto the rising track.
“Come on, you lump of shit.” Jensen sat forward, willing speed. “Fucking turtle power, or what? Move, move, move!”
He risked a quick glance to the right. He could see it clearly, now; open truck, bodies jammed in the back, and even as he watched he thought he could see it pick up speed.
Could Jared be right? Could it be a truck full of settlers, fleeing?
But Jensen’s gut told him a different truth. This country had been raided for months. This was rebel turf, and they would have sent any settlers fleeing weeks before.
The bus lurched over the rise. Jensen had to wrench the steering wheel hard right to avoid plummeting straight over the edge, the bus tilting and jerking under his hands. Ahead, the track wound tightly down through more dense trees and scrub to where the river shone, a dull pewter under the heavy sky. The sight made something in his chest jump.
“There’s the river!”
Jared was back, peering past him.
“You better sit down,” Jensen said shortly. “Rocky ride down there.”
And then, the unthinkable. A hand came to his shoulder, squeezed tightly, and let go.
Jensen’s whole body stilled.
He concentrated hard, sweat dripping into his eyes, blood in his mouth. Don’t you dare fucking forgive me. Don’t you dare.
Chapter Twelve (b)