05-27-2013, 02:29 PM
"Fuck." Sera's curse is low but voluble, all force. Pan has parked the truck and cut the engine. He's smoking his cigarette and she's leaning forward, frowning out the windshield at the bulk of Aurora Presbyterian in the foreground. There's a big blue H sign mounted on the glass-and-steel exterior, glowing brilliant against the darkness, and another, equally bright, directing patients and ambulances to the ER bay. How is it that through all the possible futures she didn't see this right in front of her? The place is a fucking hospital. There is a moment there where she freezes, and then Jim's agreement registers, and Pan says it all sounds better than the roof. Some of that whipcord tension eases out of her spine.
Sera closes her eyes for a moment and tells herself, silently and repeatedly, like a mantra or a prayer, We don't have to go in there. We don't have to go in there. You'll be fine. You'll be fucking fine. Mouth moving with the words faintly, the way one might mouth the words to a familiar song on the radio, but no voice given to them. She seems, even, to believe it too, because then she's straightening, breathing out a shaky breath that grows more and more steady as her lungs empty.
Telling herself, "Okay," and them, too, Sera casts them both a stark glance, " - let's go. We need to find the spot where they're going to land." - and waits while Jim and Pan climb out of the truck. She'll follow.
In the meantime, Sera finally finds the second of the prepaid cell phones she bought at that convenience store in the middle of the exurbs the week prior. Reads off the number, not once but several times, repeating it so that it is embedded in their heads.
Sera clambers after Jim out the passenger's door and onto the sidewalk. Pulls her hands up over her hair, tugging the bulk of it back and twisting it upon itself, then reaches back with an arch of her spine to shake out the hood of her a hoodie - one of her many layers tonight - from where it's been trapped beneath the bulk of her leather jacket, then pulls it up over her head. She is sparking, bright with nervous energy, gaze drawn back, repeatedly, to the bulk of the hospital in the foreground. Keeps looking, up and up and up, at the glow of the navigation array that guides helicopters to the rooftop landing, heart firmly in her throat for more than one reason.
Sera closes her eyes for a moment and tells herself, silently and repeatedly, like a mantra or a prayer, We don't have to go in there. We don't have to go in there. You'll be fine. You'll be fucking fine. Mouth moving with the words faintly, the way one might mouth the words to a familiar song on the radio, but no voice given to them. She seems, even, to believe it too, because then she's straightening, breathing out a shaky breath that grows more and more steady as her lungs empty.
Telling herself, "Okay," and them, too, Sera casts them both a stark glance, " - let's go. We need to find the spot where they're going to land." - and waits while Jim and Pan climb out of the truck. She'll follow.
In the meantime, Sera finally finds the second of the prepaid cell phones she bought at that convenience store in the middle of the exurbs the week prior. Reads off the number, not once but several times, repeating it so that it is embedded in their heads.
Sera clambers after Jim out the passenger's door and onto the sidewalk. Pulls her hands up over her hair, tugging the bulk of it back and twisting it upon itself, then reaches back with an arch of her spine to shake out the hood of her a hoodie - one of her many layers tonight - from where it's been trapped beneath the bulk of her leather jacket, then pulls it up over her head. She is sparking, bright with nervous energy, gaze drawn back, repeatedly, to the bulk of the hospital in the foreground. Keeps looking, up and up and up, at the glow of the navigation array that guides helicopters to the rooftop landing, heart firmly in her throat for more than one reason.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula