Body Count

If anything can go wrong, it will.

As Shane's legs pumped and her lungs inflated and deflated rapidly, her whole body trembling with the massive effort she was putting into the simple task of running towards the distantly visible warehouses, she listed all of the things that had gone wrong in the past five months of her life.

Her pounding footsteps carried her past a closed movie theater. In her mind, echoing screams bounced off of wide walls and a high ceiling. Blood coated her hand, dripping off of the knife firmly in her grasp.

A billboard depicting a group of laughing teenagers playing baseball flashed by in her peripheral vision. They bore the faces of her closest friends, all sentenced to miserable lives because of her inexcusable actions that night.

Frantic shouts reached her ears, and she registered the voices of her clowns; her bodyguards. Three more lives ruined on her account. She grimaced and kept pushing herself towards her goal.

She barreled past an office building with barred windows on the bottom floor. Her back suddenly ached, as did her stomach and her limbs. The sound of a soft, oily voice slithered through her gray memories and assaulted her ears. She growled with determination and ran harder.

With one quick jump that an Olympic athlete would be proud of, she hurdled over a squat row of wild shrubs. Months of living among the trees sent a shiver down her spine, and her throat dried.

On the horizon, the warehouses were growing ever larger. She could make out boarded up windows now, and the dull cream color of the outer walls. She was bombarded, mentally, by emotions so varying she staggered and had to splay her hands briefly on the cool concrete to stay upright.

A siren wailed far away. Too far. Not anything to do with her, not this time. Tears welled up in her eyes as the sight of her friends and allies fighting against a horde of angry cops superimposed themselves on her irises.

A wild fury rose within her at that moment, as she flew along the last stretch of civilized property before the docks. It took the form of a wrathful monster roaring inside of her, demanding vengeance and justice for those whose lives she had interfered in and destroyed. As its' ruby eyes glowed red, she snarled and threw herself over the gap that expanded between the warehouses and the city. It was the no mans' land of her life - where she dare not go, where the cops must crouch warily.

And then she was home.

Rough dirt crunched and gave way beneath her feet, making the grip of her shoes slip, but she plowed on. A warehouse loomed over her; tall, dark, menacing. The dark green door taunted her with promises of warmth and renewal. She hated it as she burst through it.

The scene that met her eager eyes was unceremonious. The main hall she'd entered so fiercely was, she realized, the one of the main warehouse. Where she'd spent a large portion of her time. It was blank, empty, a gaping gray void that she thought would hold the answers. That thought, that hope, that beast in her chest held on to the dwindling ray of light with the might of an army.

Without any preamble, without pausing to firmly realize what she'd already comprehended, she searched. Her gaze combed every last detail of everything her hands touched, ignoring the fact that the building was now just a building to her and nothing more. Sheets were thrown aside, boxes were turned over, and shouts of rage erupted from her dry and cracked lips as every possible clue that she'd imagined eluded her.

Just as she was extending a hand to open the shower room door, Stone, Cliff, and Will traipsed in. They all looked cautious, concerned. She looked at them once, and shouldered her way through the door.

Nothing presented itself to her in there, either. She looked meticulously, but everything was just as it should be - normal.

As she stomped out of that room, she was somewhat comforted by the fact that the other three were peering under pipes and shoving aside crates she'd found too heavy to move. She continued her foraging with renewed vigor.

One hour passed.

And then two.

Three.

After a while, they moved on to the second warehouse, where the routine was repeated.

Four hours.

"Shane," Will said, averting his gaze as his voice, broken and rough from disuse, interrupted her fruitless scouring. "Shane, I don't think we're going to find anything."

The rage that had fueled her earlier, driving her to search and to remain determined that they would find some evidence, now simply blew a spout of billowing smoke - which she expressed by clenching her fists, making the ridge on the back of her hand stand out vividly, and grind her teeth together. But the ferocity was gone, and she was numb without it. She felt herself nod and say, "I know."

Disgust roiled in her gut, but it soon died. Her voice had broken saying those two simple words. She could not condemn herself this time, though - she couldn't and she wouldn't. Her emotions were in turmoil, all of them clashing against each other. One of them - grief - had been winning up until now with the aid of anger and an iron-clad stubbornness. Now it just welled up inside her and threatened to flood her pale cheeks with weeks of tears and anguish.

'Daemyn,' she thought, trying to swallow the lump in her throat and failing. 'I'm so sorry. I haven't done you justice.'

The other two, who had been hovering awkwardly in the background, approached her with wary expressions. She sighed, long and deep. She found it hard to accept that her fools' errand had gone so badly wrong.

By unspoken consent, the four of them decided to remain in that second warehouse to rest and recuperate. Stone and Cliff dropped like stones to the floor, groaning and coughing. Will sought out an old, dusty white sheet - Shane cringed at the sight of it as he dragged it out - and threw it on the ground for them to sleep on.

Sleep, with its' long, gentle fingers of weariness, pulled her into its' grip quickly and effectively. Dreams denied themselves to her, for which she was grateful when she awoke.

When Will finally did shake her out of slumber, it was to tell her that the sun was setting. She moaned as her stomach grumbled. It had been only two days since they'd left the club, but she ached with hunger and disappointment.

She blinked lazily, regretting her own body for letting Will wake her up. She saw Stone and Cliff, too, were awake and standing nearby.

Getting slowly to her feet with careful, deliberate movements, she closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," She raised her hands as they all clamored to object, and they fell silent. "I knew before we left this was a fools' errand, and I told you this as well. I'm sorry for putting you through this, all for nothing."

"Not for nothing," Cliff said sarcastically, and she opened her eyes a crack. "I think I'm in better shape than I have been in years." He sneezed into the crook of his elbow.

"Yeah, you're a real medical miracle," Stone scoffed. Cliff chuckled. "You passed on your health to me, by the way. Thanks."

Shane was grateful of their light and airy attitude - she needed to be distracted. She exhaled sharply, and shoved her hands into her pockets. "I think it's time we headed home, don't you?"

"Definitely," Stone said. "I love it there. I get food without having to pay for it."

"I miss watching television," Cliff said longingly, his voice nasally due to his plugged up nasal passages. "Saturday morning cartoons are my crack."

"I just miss my bed!" Will said dreamily.

Shane rolled her eyes. "Let's go, then."

The trip back through town seemed infinitesimally shorter than the trip to the docks. They skirted the edges of the large city, waiting patiently for the populace to go home for the night. Once they'd found an empty street, Will stopped.

"We need food." he said decisively, as his stomach rumbled loudly.

"And what do you propose we do about that?" Shane asked, yawning widely. The moon, directly overhead, cast her face in a pale light that she scowled at when she saw herself reflected in a dark shop window.

"I propose we find some. And that looks like a good a place as any."

They other three looked simultaneously at the building he nodded at. Stone almost jumped out of his shoes with glee. Cliff laughed happily. Shane stared.

"A bakery?" she said incredulously. "You expect us to live on baked goods?" She paused. "Stupid question. Never mind. How do we get in?"

Will strode forward and grasped the door knob. "Like this." He turned the silver handle and the door pushed open.

"How did you ... ?"

He shrugged. "I used to come here a lot. The old guy that owns the place never locks the doors."

They all crowded in and stared at the display cases. Cakes of every conceivable size and shape were set upon red and blue velvet cloth; tiny groups of frosted cupcakes decorated the edges of her vision, and the sultry scent of sugar set her saliva flowing.

Will and Stone were already behind the counter, relieving the shelves of their sweet burdens. Their pockets bulged with it, and their mouths overflowed with sprinkles and icing. Cliff and Shane surged forward, commencing in shoving everything in sight into their greedy mouths and open pockets.

Once they'd had their fill and their garments were full to the brim with stolen food, they trooped out and shut the door behind them.

A sugar rush shot through Shane's veins like wildfire, and it was with more speed and energy that they continued their journey home.