Poison

Time held still, Sol's fateful confession still hanging in the room. Motion had stopped, hanging over them like a sword. A sword that nicked their throats. Not enough to kill, but enough to bleed. Memories hung in the back of her mind, still untouched. They were so close, on the tip of her tongue. Memories that she once held dear. And another, much more sinister memory.

Mom? Dad?

She shook her head, clearing it of her former thoughts. She must stay focused if they're going to get out of this alive and uninjured. She dropped into a battling pose, knowing fully well she'd have to fight dirty to survive this. That they would have to have no scruples in a situation such as this. This silence consumed them. The sound of shuffling feet suddenly filled the room. Raven's hand was tucked in her jacket, where Sol knew a gun was hidden. Fraser stood straight, only his head bowed. His eyes were closed, as if he was waiting for something.

“Now,” Fraser whispered.

Three gas cans erupted through the tall windows of the tavern, falling onto the ground. They spewed white smoke, blinding everyone. Sol let out a cry as all hell broke loose, and she almost was trampled by the feet of men trying to find her. The rebels scrambled around, holding onto their heads as they got a whiff of the strong gas. Sol held her breath, afraid of the effects of the gas. Freeing herself from the grasp of one panicking man, Sol gasped as someone caught her by the back of the shirt.

Twisting, she swung her leg up, nearly smashing the flat of her foot into Fraser's face. Luckily, he caught it, spinning her around and pushing her forward. Keeping his hand on the small of her back, she noticed he had wrapped a scarf around his mouth and nose.

“Goddamnit, Sol!” he hissed. “Cover your mouth, or this will give you a nasty migraine. Come on, let's go!”

He started to drag her out, shoving and pushing bodies out of his way as they choked. Sol struggled in his grip, using her shirt to cover her mouth and nose. Her eyes watered against the gas, but they strained, searching the cloudy room.

“We have to find Raven!” she shouted over the chaos.

Fraser scowled in disgust. “Then find her fast!”

“Raven?” she shouted. “Raven!”

A gun shot echoed through the tavern, through the high ceiling. Suddenly, a teary-eyed Raven erupted from the smoke, her eyes streaming and her hands gripping her head. Sol grasped her, pulling her next to her. Raven squinted at her, then up at Fraser.

“Next time, fucking warn me!” she shouted at him.

He ignored her words and shoved them both forward. “Go.”


Stars winked in the night sky, pouring in through the windows and onto Fin's face. His eyes were closed, by he couldn't will himself to sleep. The throbbing in his leg, where stitches now held together muscle tissue, and his strung-tight nerves forced his sleep-deprived mind to stay alert to the surroundings. There wasn't even a slight breeze in the air, the cold of the night pouring across his skin. It drew a shiver from him, his skin prickling. The old, creaky cot he was situated on was probably crawling with fleas, and the healers were half-blind. However, until his leg healed he couldn't leave this place.

Tired of the throbbing of his leg, he carefully threw his legs off the bed. Setting his bare feet on the ground, he stood up wobbling a bit. Careful not to disturb the resting patrons around him, Fin moved his gangly body towards the window. Cussing under his breath, he struggled with the wood, trying to shut it to keep the God-awful cold of the night away. He cursed the rusty pieces of metal that held the shutters up, and the moonlight poured down over his hair. His orange eyes narrowed in concentration as he pulled the wood free. Looking around with a cringe, he made sure that he hadn't awakened any of the poor folks that were resting. Luckily, many of them were tuckered out because of their illnesses, so only a few rolled over in their small cots.

A shadow shifted across the moonlight. Fin's eyes darted up, his lips pressing together in a grim line. He shut the shutters slowly, latching it with a piece of string and wood. The window secured, he moved with slow deliberation towards the door, favoring his leg. It radiated with pain, and his harsh breathing filled the silent room. Still, no one rose—probably used to the sounds of the pain in their sleep. He came to the front door, pulling at the brass knob, swinging it open. He limped out the door, conscientious of the poisons he left in the bags hidden under his bed. He prayed no child found them.

He scrubbed at his eyes as he stepped into the moonlight. The dust of the day had settled long before, and not too long from now, the red sun would rise and kick that stinging dust back into the air. For now, though, the calm of the moon and the night settling like a cool blanket on his shoulders.

Three people stood before him, down on the ground. Two men, dressed in all black, one woman, similarly dressed. However, while the two men's faces were covered with black masks, hiding all but their eyes, the woman's face was revealed to the moon and stars. Fin narrowed his eyes, believing for a brief moment that maybe, just maybe that it was Sol, one of the girls that had brought him to this healing place. Yet, that resemblance faded at the cold ice that stung like daggers in the woman's eyes, faded when the lines across her face came to light. She was still beautiful, but her beauty was tinted with a hatred so laced throughout her that she breathed it.

“The Little Death,” she said, her voice condescending. “Such a petty name for a petty boy of sixteen, don't you agree boys?” Her eyes an exotic mix of green and blue, dominated by blue. “You've killed your last rebel, boy.”

Fin stared at her long red hair, as it slipped over her shoulder. He wondered if it was age or the moon that put those silver strands in her hair. He wondered what pain she had endured to carve such lines in her face. One could read the life of someone in the lines laced across their face. Laugh lines did not imprint on her face. It made Fin ache with something similar to pity. He was sick of fighting these people, sick of killing these people. If he fought them, they'd just return again and again, and if he just left, the people he left in this healing house would be slaughtered.

“Do you know a girl named Sol?” Fin asked.

The woman's eyes narrowed. “No.”

Fin sighed, feeling the dagger in his pocket. “What a pity.”


The three of them tumbled through the back door of the bar, stumbling into the alleyway coughing. Raven rubbed her eyes, waving at the cloud that followed them out. They weren't the only ones who had thought of the back door, but the rebels that had found refuge outside were far too busy gripping their heads. Raven fell to the ground, being the one who had inhaled the most of the gas while in there. The moon broke down over them, and Sol leaned against the brick wall. The chaos spewed from the behind the door, those who had been unlucky enough to be drunk while being gassed. Their hangovers would be atrocious in the morning.

“Saved your ass, Fraser.”

“Kida, not now,” Fraser said with a sigh, pulling up Sol.

Kida's eyes widened, and she stumbled forward. “Oh, my God—,”

“Not now, Kida,” Fraser repeated.

Sol didn't glance up as he hauled her past. Her eyes were teary, and she was still having difficulties breathing. Kida turned and saw Raven collapsed against the wall. Quickly, Kida flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and edged herself under Raven, putting her arm around her shoulders.

“Let's get out of here,” she said to the girl. Then to herself, “What did you get us into, Fraser?”


Jakob hung around where both he and Kida had thrown in the smoke bombs. He'd offically disowned the rebels by his actions, and now would be condemned if he was caught. However, no rebels had noticed his treachery so far, so he was safe. For now. Kida had disappeared the moment the gas had hit, disappearing the way they came to wait outside for the people they had rescued. He hadn't been able to see them, but Kida seemed to know what she was doing.

He followed her slowly, chewing over what she had told him—or more importantly, what she hadn't told him. She had spoken of a man named Fraser, and he had little doubt in his mind that it was anyone different then the Fraser he knew.

Fraser.

Hatred burned in his gut, this fiery hole inside of him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to see with his eyes the reason of his hatred. A soft, heart-shaped face with large brown eyes. Dark hair that shifted over ivory skin. Pale freckles over a small, button nose.

“Angelina,” he said softly, curling his hands into fists. “Why did you die?”