Eddies

Chapter 4: The centre.

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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The rest of that morning was one that Chris would rather forget.  The charnel house reek of death hung over the clearing, permeating the air and seeping into Chris's lungs, causing him to gag at the stench.  It even seemed to cling to his clothes, and he swore as soon as he had a chance he was dumping the lot of them, to escape the lingering smell.  Still exhausted, Skyy slept on, and Chris left him there to recover.  Lucky for him, the offal smell was beyond his senses.

Left with the unenviable task of clearing the carnage from their camp site, Chris found his gaze returning repeatedly to the two corpses lying immobile underneath his safety blanket.  Guilt plagued him, regardless of the fact he knew his actions the day before were totally justified.  If he hadn't done what was necessary, it would have been his and Skyy's bodies lying there rotting, rather than the bogan brothers.  Still, it didn't make him feel any better about it, and he could envision many sleepless nights awaited him into the future, as he came to terms with his involvement in the deaths.

He'd first tried dragging them into the bush, but the thought of leaving them there so close was untenable.  Carrying them back to the cottage was also out of the question, as his shoulder still twinged enough to have him reluctant in doing anything strenuous with it him.  Finally, desperate to do something... anything... to resolve the issue, he returned the long trek to the cabin, searching through the refuse for the truck keys, and drove it down the track as near as possible to their campsite.  Getting the two into the flat bed was a torment on his exhausted body, but somehow he managed to dump them in the back, before returning to the cabin and getting them inside, where they lay in a heap on the filthy floor of the living area.

Retreating to the porch to clear the rancid smell from his nose, he leaned on the veranda railing, head in hands as despair overwhelmed him.  He didn't cry; hell, he refused to cry; but long moments passed before he felt up to doing what needed doing.  

Back inside, he ransacked the place for anything useful, replenishing his gear with additional food and a few bandages he found in the bathroom cupboard.  Most of the other medications there were unknown to him, so he let them lie.  No point pushing their luck further trying out unknown drugs, regardless on their condition.

He did add two extra water bottles he found in a kitchen cupboard, as well as a fresh bottle of bourbon that had been left lying on the dining table.  No sense in wasting good alcohol, he thought dryly, his despondency broken by the obvious poor humour of the situation.  The beatnik brothers wouldn't need it, and if there was one thing that sounded spectacularly worthwhile in his current frame of mind, was getting good and plastered.  Nothing like a downer when you're depressed, his mind said wryly.

Bringing himself to open the wallet lying on the kitchen bench went against everything he valued.  He was no thief, especially to rob the dead.  But seeing no alternative, he picked up the folded leather, opening it hesitatingly to rifle through the pockets, removing a small wad of strange looking bills that he shoved quickly into his jeans pocket.  Face flushed, he dropped the wallet back onto the bench as guilt overwhelmed him.

A small wood axe, and some sleeping gear followed his bag into the truck, and he sat himself behind the wheel, steeling himself for the inevitable.  All he wanted was to drive away, but regardless of the justification behind his actions, he knew leaving any evidence of their presence in the area was unwise.  Hell, even the ransacking of the place was probably stupid, although they desperately needed the supplies.  

He was unsurprised when he discovered their arsenal.  It seemed the two had collected enough weapons to outfit an army, and brought home how lucky the two of them had been the rednecks had decided to come after them so relatively unarmed.

With sudden inspiration, he grabbed a shotgun, long experience of growing up in the country allowing his sure loading of the weapon.  Taking it to the main room, he propped up the shorter of the two in an armchair and, from a few paces back drew a bead on the gaping hole in his body.  As he pulled the trigger, the roar of the shot echoed through the room, momentarily deafening him, before he regarded the fresh opening through the corpse, in which light could be seen through the chair beyond. 

Turning to the other corpse, he hesitated, reluctant to even contemplate his next move.  With the second body seated on a kitchen chair, he pressed the barrel under the corpses chin, leaning back as he pulled the trigger.

Eyes closed as the smoke cleared, he stepped back and surveyed his desperate handiwork, gagging as he viewed the carnage left of the human's skull, brains and gore plastered across the wall behind him.

Staggering from the house, he managed to make the porch before retching violently, the contents of his stomach splattering the timbers as he leaned against the veranda railing, stomach heaving.  It took a while, but once his mind cleared, he returned inside, avoiding staring into the dead face as he propped the gun besides him, fingers wrapped around the stock.

While his deception would probably not fool a forensics unit back home, he had a feeling things weren't as technologically advanced here, so with any luck, his attempt to draw attention away from himself and Skyy may well succeed. 

At the least, given the bastards were intent on killing them anyway, perhaps it was simply Karma they'd be blamed, given it was their fault the entire situation came about, anyway.

With a sigh, Chris heading to a small tool shed he had searched earlier.  Avoiding the more gruesome tools inside, clearly used to assist their "skinning" operations, he dragged out the metal jerry can full of fuel, returning to the cabin to splash it around the room liberally, coating the corpses after propping them in their chairs.  For good measure, he returned to the kitchen, opening all the gas valves on the filthy stove, and stared at the wavering fumes pouring from the appliance.  As he left the building, pausing at the entrance to throw a lit taper into the pools of gasoline which ignited with a woof, spreading flame through the cabin interior, he tried to avoid thinking of what he'd done, and the result it achieved.  

Closing the vehicle door behind him, he winced as the gas in the distant kitchen ignited, sending a concussion wave through the building interior and causing the window glass to explode in shrapnel outwards.  Starting the vehicle, he glanced into the rear view mirror as the truck rolled the truck down the driveway, seeing flames now pouring from empty front windows gaping open like the eyes of a skull.  He hoped the flames wouldn't spread to the forest, although it seemed unlikely given the distance it stood from the trees.  Soon enough his view was blocked by the trees, with just a dark plume of smoke hinting at the location of the fire.

While he hadn't planned on taking the truck, he knew his immediate options were limited, especially given the nature of Skyy's injuries.  He needed medical attention, as the bandages Chris had used to wrap him up continued to show fresh seepage from the wounds beneath.  While Skyy had mentioned he had people "somewhere", the lack of specifics made chasing them down effectively impossible, and they didn't have time to go hunting for them.  Their only choice was to use the truck to seek help, and pray to whatever Gods held council in this world no one recognised it in passing.

When he finally arrived at the point he needed to detour to the camp area, rather than park it on the trail, he punched into the dense bush, forcing a track well clear of the main road, to keep the vehicle concealed from view.  By the time he staggered back into the camp with his load of gear, the sun was beginning to set, casting deep shadows across the forest.  To his surprise, his shoulder seemed much better.  While it still hurt to hell, his careful exploration of its movement revealed the mobility was returning.  With any luck, a few good days rest might have him at almost full capacity again, although given the action of the past few days, he didn't hold his breath that R&R was likely to be forthcoming.

Checking on the lucario caused his worry to return.  While general physiology of the pokemon was beyond his knowledge, the bandages were wet with fresh leakage, the colour of which worried him.  No longer red, the fabric had brownish, opaque stains, and exuded a sweet, sickly smell that boded badly for infection.  He also felt hot to the touch, although how unusually so was anyone's guess.  Shaking the furred shoulder gently produced only a sluggish reaction, and his concerns grew that the creature was in increasing trouble.

He cautiously raised Skyy's head, watching the eyelid flutter open, as he held a cup to his muzzle, watching him drink greedily, before falling back with a groan.

"How you doing, mate?" he asked, worried expression crossing his face.

"Been better", admitted Skyy, licking his lips with a long tongue, and eyeing the cup further.  "Got any more of that?" he asked, and again gulped the contents when Chris silently handed him a fresh cup.

Thirst quenched at least for the moment, Skyy sniffed, raising a battered eyelid at his friend.  "Where's the meat?" he said jokingly, but falling silent as he saw the expression of disquiet cross Chris's face.  Reaching out, Skyy gripped his shoulder, as the human returned his gaze.  "Umm, sorry.  Not funny, I know."

Chris sighed, sitting back as Skyy's arm dropped to his side.

"I took them back to their cabin, and set fire to the place" he admitted, as Skyy's eyes widened in surprise, then frowned thoughtfully.  

"For the best, really" he replied, trying to stretch, only to cringe in discomfort as the wounds stretched.  "Couldn't exactly leave them there like that".

"No.  Not really"

Staring back at the human again, he avoided further questions, relying on his new friend to have handled the details.

"So, what's the plan from here?"

"Getting you well, firstly.  Then, I dunno.  I'm pretty much plucking it from my arse as I go"

Nodding, Skyy closed his eyes again, drifting into a slow doze.  "Well, tomorrow is another day, my friend", he whispered, "Let's hope a better one for both of us".

He didn't see Chris nodding in reply, as sleep overtook him.

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 It was still dark when he woke again, internal senses informing him several hours had yet to pass before the dawn broke.  Surprisingly, he felt much improved over the previous day, with the fog having lifted noticeably, more alert and clearer than he'd been since he was captured.  The wounds still felt like shit, though, and the heat coming from their area warned him infection may have set in.  Concerned, he ran his hand down his chest, seeking the bandages, only to have his fingers brush the warm arm of his human companion draped across his side.  Surprised, he leaned backwards, finding his shoulders pressed against Chris's naked chest.  As the pokemon froze, Chris mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzling the furry shoulder pressed against him, before dropping into deeper slumber with a sigh.

Blinking in thought, Skyy shrugged to himself, closed his eyes and dropped back into sleep.

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When he finally came awake the next morning, finding mottled sunlight streaming through the canopy of trees above to strike his feet through the open tent flap, he woke alone.  While much of his muscular aches and pains were improving, the deeper wounds were throbbing, sending stabs of discomfort through his thin frame as he cautiously sat up.  Squinting in the bright morning light, the pokemon crawled from the tent, to see Chris busy packing up their gear, with the clearing showing evidence it had been swept clear of their habitation.  When the human finally noticed his companion, he gave him a bright smile, crossing over and reaching down to help him to his feet.

"How's the shoulder?" Skyy asked him, and Chris slowly rotated the joint, showing off its improved motility.

"Much better" was the reply, "A good night's sleep does wonders".

Skyy snorted slyly, but ignored the questioning look thrown at him by the human.  Stretching carefully, he stepped towards the tree line, slipping into the scrub to relieve himself, before returning back to Chris, who'd dragged down the tent fabric from the branch, rolling it into a tight ball and stuffing it in his pack.

Chris looked up at him, as his shadow fell over from where he squatted forcing the last of his goods into the bag.  "So, what do we do?  We need to get you checked out, as those cuts need attention.  Is there a town around here?"

Skyy thought about it for a moment, inwardly shuddering at the idea of entering a human town, even with Chris for company.

"There's a small place about ten miles from here" he said, claw tapping his chin as he thought.  "But they don't have a pokemon centre.  Nearest one of those would be at Star City, around fifty miles away.  Other than that, it's all wilderness between here and the ocean.  I think we should go there."

Chris wondered what he meant.  "Pokemon centre?  Is that like a vet, or something?"

Skyy wrinkled his muzzle in confusion.  "What's a vet?"

Chris continued without thinking, "You know, where you take your anima..." before pausing, realising his next words would sound pretty demeaning.  "Umm, where we treat our pokemon-like creatures back home" he finished, lamely.

Skyy nodded.  "They have a big stadium there, so the pokemon centre is big.  I reckon they could help us".

Chris could only accept his new friend's advice, not knowing an alternative.  Swinging the heavy pack over his good shoulder, he gestured for Skyy to move ahead of him as the pair made their way back to the truck.

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The rough bouncing journey along what this place jokingly called a road, in a truck whose suspension was likely suspect when it was purchased new, soon had both their bones rattling, and Chris had to keep a firm grip on the wheel to stay on the trail.  Power steering must not be their thing here, he thought dryly, nor air conditioning.  Dripping sweat from the exhaustive efforts of driving the POS, by the time they hit the sealed road, the pair were feeling the jolts in their injuries.

At the turn off, most of the traffic was heading east towards the bigger centre, although the odd vehicle headed towards the nearer town in the other direction.  While bitumen of sorts, the road was still pretty rough by Chris's usual standards, and the wind noise from the open windows made talking difficult.

Eventually, winding the window closed, he turned to Skyy and finally asked the question that had been plaguing him.  "How did you do that, the other day?  With the blue fire and all?"

Skyy gave him a loaded glance, before putting his arm on the window ledge, chin resting on his hand as he stared, moodily, out the opening.

"It was an aura attack.  It's what we do.  What we are, really.  It's the life force that drives us, projected away in a concentrated beam.  That was Aura Sphere, the more powerful of the forms it can take.  Our aura lets us sense living beings and life force around us.  Like another sense, similar to smell and sight, but...  different."

Chris looked at the pokemon, wondering "So why didn't you use that to escape those dirtbags?"

Skyy shook his head, gazing at the passing scenery as the wind from their passage blew his ears back against his head.

"It was why they were keeping me controlled.  It takes intense concentration, a lot of practice, and the will to use it like that.  It's...."

He paused, before turning back to Chris.  "It's wrong, using it like that.  As a weapon, I mean.  You're using your own life force, and that of those around you, to kill or injure someone.  Its life dealing out death.  It goes against everything we believe in."

As Skyy turned back to the window, Chris pondered this.  No different to many true practitioners of martial arts at home, he thought.  The will and control is to broaden the mind, not attack others.  In this case, it's just... more spectacular.

He reached out an arm, gripping the pokemon on the shoulder firmly as Skyy turned to him in surprise, before a small smile played across his muzzle at the understanding he saw in the human's face.

Returning to the road, Chris resumed his conversation, trying to distract Skyy from his moody thoughts.

"So, what do they play at this stadium?"

"Play?" Skyy said, confused.  "It's a pokemon stadium"

Chris looked blank, so Skyy explained further.  "Pokemon stadium!  You know, where they battle pokemon"

Swerving to avoid a large pothole in the road ahead, Chris glanced at Skyy to see if he was serious.  If course, the fact he was sharing the cab with a six foot tall blue and black bipedal fox with dreads was surreal enough, but it seemed almost every new fact he learnt about this place brought new, and sometimes unpleasant, surprises with it.

"Do I even want to know what they battle with?" said Chris, and Skyy glanced at him in surprise.  "Each other, of course.  Humans seem to have this fetish for watching us beat the snot out of each other.  More to the point, they enjoy training us to do this.  Me, I reckon it sucks, but it's not as if they have a choice"

Looking confused, Chris asked "What?  Are they slaves, or something?"

"To the ball, yeah."

Chris rolled his eyes, trying to make sense of it all.

"What ball, dare I ask?"

"The pokeball.  Self contained pokemon entrapment device."

Frowning, Chris tried making sense of this all.  "So, let me get this straight.  They take these big balls out into the woods, find a pokemon, trap it inside, and teach them fight each other before a crowd, then let them loose to beat the crap out of each other?  What are they?  Christians and lions?"

Skyy looked confused, missing the vague reference to roman gladiatorial games, given the lack of a "Rome" in this world.  "No, the balls are small.  They're like mini dimensional pockets, 'bout the size of a tennis ball, which in humans keep pokemon in a sort of limbo until needed.  Fit snug in your hand"

Chris drove silently for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of the concept.  Finally, lips pressed grimly together, he replied "That's seriously fucked up, you know".

Skyy could only nod in agreement as they continued on their journey.

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They decided not to take the truck anywhere near the pokemon centre, for obvious reasons, instead dumping it in a tight alley between two decrepit buildings several blocks away.  The vicinity looked seedy enough for Chris to leave the keys in the ignition, with doors unlocked, knowing the odds the vehicle would still be there if they returned were slim.  With one problem solved, they headed towards the pokemon centre loaded up with Chris's gear, although he refused to let Skyy carry anything, as he was struggling to keep on his feet as it is.  Their walk was painfully slow, giving the pokemon plenty of opportunity to rest on the way, and Chris even more opportunity to stare in fascination at the varied pokemon going about their lives around them.

While their arrival at the pokemon centre was uneventful, once the pair entered the building and approached the reception counter, things became interesting.

To Chris, the room was controlled chaos.  Lots and lots of bizarre shapes, colours and forms, big and small, scurried everywhere, followed by humans dressed in the sort of hand me down thrift shop reject clothing most circus clowns would refuse, to the point the place looked like a rainbow had exploded in it.  The noise was indescribable, a cacophony of sounds painful to the ears.  It was, in truth, the most unbelievable sight he'd ever seen.

When nudged by Skyy, Chris looked across at the lucario, who motioned with a hand to close his gaping mouth.

"Everything is normal here, remember?" he hissed, and Chris obliged, running fingers across his lips imitating an imaginary zipper.

Apart from the nurse on duty being "emo Barbie"; bright pink hair standing upright in a uniform way too tight for her buxom form; the place looked like any other medical facility he'd been in.  Same sterile environ, typical obnoxious, overworked staff, Chris thought, as she thrust a registration form on a clipboard at him, insisting he complete the details.  However, things went downhill fast when she became angry at his continued refusal to hand over his trainer's card.

His ongoing insistence he didn't have one only seemed to irritate her further.

"Look!  If you don't give it to me, we can't see you!"

Finally getting a bit pissed off at the general attitude, Chris cracked a bag.

"Look sweetheart!" he hissed, leaning forward to stare down into her florid face, "What part of "I don't have a fucking training card" don't you comprehend?  I don't have a training card, I have never had a training card, and I have no intention of ever getting a fucking training card.  Understood?"

Anger finally showing, she spat back. "So, how do you expect us to heal your pokemon?"

Leaning back to roll his eyes heavenward, he shouted "He's not my fucking pokemon!  He's my friend!"

Looking suddenly bewildered, the nurse (whose name, most ironically to Chris, was "Joy", given he had never met a more pedantic, irritating chick before in his life) asked "Then where's his ball?"

Seeing her expression, suddenly Chris's sense of the incredulous got the better of him, and he laughed abruptly. "Between his legs with it's twin, I'd imagine, same as mine.  What's that got to do with anything?"

She shot him a glare, heated enough to strip pant from a wall.  "No pokeball means no regenerator, smart arse!  How are we supposed to heal him without a ball?"

As Chris was about to tell her exactly, in great detail, what they could go and do, which was likely to get the pair thrown out of the centre permanently, Skyy interrupted.  

"Miss, I'm sorry, but I don't have a ball."

Mimicking Chris's earlier open mouthed gape, Joy stared between the pair, coming to a sudden conclusion.  

"You have no ball?  Then you're... you're wild?"  At Skyy's nod, her expression turned to panic, looking at Chris abruptly.  "You brought a wild pokemon in here, unrestrained?  Are you mental?"

At Skyy's wry look, Chris said "Of the two of us, he's not the one who will need restraining shortly, hon.  This is clearly getting us nowhere.  Is there someone else here I can talk to?"

Nodding mutely, while keeping her eyes firmly fixated on the lucario, she pressed an intercom resting on the counter top, and spoke into the receiver.  "Mr Blyth?  Is Jasper still down there with you?  I need some help in the reception ASAP."

When the muffled "I'll send him up, Joy" came tinnily through the small speaker she blinked, before pointing a quavering finger towards a nearby corridor.  "Wait in Room 13, please.  Jasper will be with you shortly"

Exchanging confused, somewhat nervous glances at her sudden willingness to help, the pair left the reception to wait in the room as directed.  A look over his shoulder showed her back on the intercom, talking hurriedly to someone in a hushed voice.  Sudden foreboding made him hurry his steps, until their entry into the small examination room blocked their view of her.

Sitting back on the visitors chair as Skyy hopped onto the bed, Chris said "I think this might get awkward.  What do we do?"

Skyy thought for a moment, running several different scenario's through his mind.  

"Play it by ear, and run away fast when things go to shit sounds good," earning him a chuckle from the human.

Just as the door opened, and a tall, muscular built man entered, long blond hair escaping a red and white cap with a pokeball shape on the front.  If not for the hat, he looked like the typical surfie bum you see anywhere at the beach, well tanned arms escaping a too-tight t shirt, board in hand as he avoided real work following the waves.  Certainly to Chris, he seemed definitely out of place in this medical setting.

Breaking into a grin as he espied the pair, he closed the door behind him, regarding the two intently.  As Chris went to speak, he thrust out a hand, grabbing Chris's wrist and pumping his (luckily) good arm up and down firmly.

"I'm Jasper, leader of the Star City gym.  You guys look like you need a drink. Let's get your pokemon patched up, and grab some lunch, huh?  I'm starving!" he said brightly, as Chris and Skyy looked at each other in disbelief.