Ring. Ring. Ring.
Sniffle.
“Please answer.”
Ring. Ri— Click
“Mom! Dad! I need you—”
“This is Snap and Mane! We are currently on an expedition to discover a lost civilization and can’t reach the phone. Leave us a message after the tone!”
Beep.
“O-oh! Um, it’s Scootaloo. S-something bad happened to Aunt Holiday a-and, I’m sorry, I know you’re busy and I keep calling, b-but I need you here because they’re gonna—”
Click.
“...I’ll call again.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Sniffle.
Everytime Scootaloo thought this Trauma couldn’t get creepier, it did. The stacks spewed constant smog that hid the edges of their traversal, obscuring what might be lurking in the depths of the stacks. Growls and snarls emanated from the shadows between like large animals pacing along the outside of their reach. They were being hunted, Scootaloo could tell that much, but by what was still very unclear.
She tried to outwardly appear collected, but internally she was freaking out. The constant assault by Deviants was wearing down on her. It was inevitable that another would appear, but it being the last or the first of another deluge of them was unknowable. She just knew for certain that at the end of this, there would be a god limb and some monster protecting it. Plus there was the whole gaining-closure aspect that she would have to go through, and that somehow terrified her even more than the monsters since she had no idea what that would even look like.
It didn’t help that she could see the exhaustion that tugged away at all of them. That burden of wounds and tiredness that steadily slowed their pace and frayed already-rattled nerves. Grit and stubbornness kept most of them on their feet, but eventually that would give out too. However, if they could survive just a bit longer, push just a bit more, they’d make it.
Scootaloo knew that was already a lot to ask for at this stage.
“This reminds me of my last day at the convent.”
Scootaloo looked askance at Andersen. “With the Cult of the Sun, right?”
He nodded. Others in the background twisted their faces into varying levels of disgust. Certainly not a beloved group in the modern world.
“I had just forsaken my beliefs and felt very lost,” Andersen continued.
“Why did you even do that?” Scootaloo replied, not really in the mood to discuss someone else’s problems, but needing the noise to soothe her nerves. “Finally saw what a fraud they all were?”
“They aren’t frauds,” Andersen replied.
“They worship a god—”
“Who exists. My final meeting with the One Who Carries the Sun was what caused me to eventually spurn their teachings.”
“You met them? Isn’t the whole point that a god is—” Scootaloo waved a hand about.
“Our worship is very much direct and, besides that, we’re literally hunting down the pieces of a dead god.” Andersen shook his head. “No, it was because I lost Triton.”
“Who is…?”
“My ex-husband.”
There was a long pause.
“You were married?!” Shelley exclaimed. “Wait, no, you’re—”
“A sexuality I have zero interest in disclosing, thank you,” Andersen interrupted. “And the ‘ex’ was unwilling on both our parts. ‘Widower’ is a more appropriate word.”
“So, he died?” Scootaloo asked.
“Due to a mandate of the Cult. It was what started my crisis of faith. It reminds me of our current situation.”
“...How?” Hinton asked.
“The day I left the covenant, I had taken to wandering the Burn Out with the hopes that I would eventually die through some means. I was unwilling to do it myself.” Andersen smiled. It felt warm despite the words he said. “That was until I was offered an opportunity.”
“The Rail?” Scootaloo offered.
He nodded. “I’m surrounded by those that have a grief similar to, if not more than, my own. It’s comforting to see us all push forward in spite of it, to resolve our problems regardless of the pain they cause us. It gives me hope that, regardless of what we go through, we’ll make it out.”
Though odd, Scootaloo found Andersen’s speech somewhat inspiring. It did mean a lot to be surrounded by those who’d fallen to the bottom of the barrel and desperately climbed along with you. To push through the grief and self-loathing to find some ray of hope at the end of it all.
She felt lighter, a subtle warmth spreading through her body at the thought.
“Wow, Andersen. That was—” Scootaloo started.
“Additionally.” Andersen clenched his hand into a fist. “I also spent most of my time bare-handed fighting monsters much like now.”
“Wait, what?” Scootaloo exclaimed.
Andersen lunged forward, swinging his fist up. It connected squarely with the bottom jaw of a monster that had just leaped out from between the smokestacks at Scootaloo.
“It’s about time they made their move.” Andersen continued to smile as oil splattered his face. “I’m glad that I finally have the opportunity to deal with the situation.”
The situation in question was best described as a mechanical wolf. Its fur was sharp sheet metal, its teeth drills, with two pools of leaking black oil serving as its eyes. More of that same liquid leaked from the wound Andersen had inflicted it with as it crumpled to the ground, hopefully dead.
Scootaloo drew her knives and took a step forward. Andersen blocked her advance with a hand.
“Stay behind me,” Andersen said.
Growls that had been in the background came to the forefront as more of the same wolves stalked out of the depths. They appeared in droves, teeth grit and furious black eyes leveled at them.
“O-oh dear,” Shelley said nervously.
“Hinton, Salinger! Use your aberrations!” Golding commanded.
There were two bursts of coloured light. Then they were swallowed by the pack.
It was an ocean, waves of metal and teeth. Scootaloo was adrift with only Andersen at her side. They fought together, knife and fist. The sea snapped back, biting and snarling and snapping at them. They undulated and dove onto them, sheet metal scraping against skin and drawing blood.
This was the worst match up for Andersen.
After what felt like only minutes, Andersen was a mass of scars. Cuts and gouges grazed his flesh, his hands having suffered the most and become two burning spheres of red that smashed through the sea despite how much it must hurt him.
Still, they fought to stay afloat, fighting back the natural course of the tide. Andersen had a wild, deranged look on his face. Something akin to hopeful desperation.
Scootaloo wondered if he was thinking about Triton at that moment. That he refused to lose someone else to a monster, unwilling to live through the devastation that would once more wrack his mind. It was the only reason Scootaloo could come up with as he fought as monstrously as those that assailed them.
She felt her concentration slip. Too late to refocus. One of the wolves had lunged for her throat.
Then she was on the ground. Andersen was overtop of her, shielding her with his body. The wolves piled onto him, the ocean drowning him in waves of steel. Flecks of red dripped onto her. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she looked up into his face. Almost serene, despite the horror of being buried by the depths.
Butterflies swarmed the pack.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The Deviants dropped. The ocean parted. Holes in the heads of corpses where the butterflies had touched. Hinton came into view, dressed in grey, her hair taken up by white butterflies. A long pistol engraved with flowers was held up in one hand.
“We need to move!” Hinton shouted.
“Got it!” Scootaloo called back, then quieter, “okay, Andersen. Get off. You’re heavy.”
No response.
“Not funny, Andersen.” She shook him. “We gotta—”
He collapsed on top of her, unmoving. She saw his back. It was— she couldn’t resolve— it was so red —too much. His chest— he wasn’t— No more.
Perault pulled Andersen off of her, rolling the body to the side. She noticed that one of Perault’s arms were— Her vision swam, blurring with tears.
“...We gotta keep movin’,” Perault said softly.
She didn’t even know how she had heard him, just that he was offering her his undamaged hand and that she needed to go. She took it. Perault dragged her to her feet.
The rest of the team appeared then, much worse for wear. Salinger had changed to reflect his Aberration. He was dressed in this ridiculous feather jacket of too many colours and adorned with far too much jewelry. At any other time, she would have laughed.
“Golding, what do we do?!” Shelley shrieked.
“We need a plan!” Salinger shouted over the snarling wolves.
“Soon please!” Bradbury called out.
“I-I don’t—!” Golding said.
“Run!” Hinton shouted.
“Hinton?!”
“We’re gonna get overwhelmed. I’ll hold them off so you can get away,” Hinton declared.
“We’re already overwhelmed!” Shelley cried.
“We can’t leave—!” Scootaloo started.
“I’m not giving you the option!” Hinton interrupted. “Move!”
Hinton swept her hand at the wolves. Swarms of butterflies enveloped them as they all lunged as one toward Hinton. Scootaloo never saw the aftermath, as Perault had roughly pulled her with the group as they charged deeper into the Trauma.
Bang. Bang. Ba—
She could only hear the wolves.
Only six were left.