@TheSongOfTheStars — yeah... c':
Upoko Tuawhitu
xxxxxNgaire sat firmly in the uncomfortable hospital-chair, face buried in her arms. Blood crusted her fingers. She would have washed them, but her hands were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to.
xxxxxTrev had been shot. Straight through the heart. She’d failed.
xxxxxShe should have thought before she’d moved. Trev was
right there, he could have disarmed the assassin himself. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t used to nasty combat like she was. She should have remembered.
xxxxxNgaire sat motionless for hours, not able to bring herself to move; pain and bewilderment fought like bloody demons within her mind, and her very veins burned with the poison of anger and regret.
xxxxxHis face, crumbling beneath the weight of shock and realisation, would haunt her forever. So much for being a superhero.
xxxxxHurried footsteps at last filtered through her daze, and Ngaire raised her head in time to see one of the nurses who’d taken Trev away recoiling at the sight of her blood-stained features.
xxxxx“Is Trev okay?” she demanded, voice breaking in her throat, wringing her hands as she leapt to her feet. “Is he alive?” Ngaire shuddered convulsively as crumbs of dried blood came away in her palm. She couldn’t rip her eyes away from the the dull coating. That was Trev.
xxxxxThe nurse’s warm hands enveloped her own in a tight, reassuring squeeze.
xxxxx“He’s alive,” she affirmed. “Not in the best shape, but alive. The bullet entered his heart, but we managed to remove it and stitch everything back together. Your quick action saved his life; he’s got a long road of recovery ahead, but he’ll make it.”
xxxxxNgaire’s heart felt as though it would rip in half. A choking, laughing, sob bubbled up in her throat. Burying her face in her hands, she sank back into the seat.
xxxxxCrackly static filled the hall suddenly, quickly replaced by a tinny voice. Someone had flicked the radio on for the 7:00 a.m. news, and she couldn’t help but listen; distractions are welcome when you’re shattering inside.
xxxxx“An armed offender roams Auckland hills. At least one man has been shot and hospitalised with severe chest injuries. Authorities advise the public to stay indoors; any sightings fitting the description coming up next should be reported to the police immediately. Do not approach, as suspect is considered dangerous.”xxxxxNgaire swallowed, hard. The assassin was on the loose.
xxxxxRegaining her feet, she ran down the corridor and caught the nurse’s arm — then dropped it like a hot coal, remembering Trev’s blood.
xxxxx“Is he awake?” she asked, holding the other’s gaze.
xxxxx“Not at the moment I’m afraid, sorry. At the moment he’s under general anesthetic, but —”
xxxxx“I need a notepad.” Ngaire moved toward the reception-desk and the mug of pens there with unseeing eyes. Too many thoughts to process whirled through her mind, spurred by hunger and exhaustion and guilt.
xxxxxOrdinarily she would have been content to let a would-be assassin go — much to The Swanndri’s eternal dismay — since, ‘there’s a superhero chasing me,’ was usually enough to discourage even the most intrepid of employers. But not this time.
xxxxxThis one had shot Trev.
xxxxx“I need paper,” she insisted, and the nurse handed her a post-it note and a funny look; probably wondering if she needed medical attention too, Ngaire thought wryly, scribbling down a wobbly telephone-number.
xxxxx“Ring them,” she said finally, shoving the paper back in the nurse’s direction. “It’s his parents.”
xxxxx“Wait — wait what, aren’t you his sister?”
xxxxxBarely hearing the nurse’s protestations, Ngaire ran down three flights of stairs with unseeing eyes and unhearing ears, and burst out into the street. It was bitterly cold; a biting wind whistled between the buildings, and she shivered in the predawn. She’d forgotten how late — early — not-day — it was. Her thoughts kept trying to muddle together like several balls of wool, but she forced them to straighten and set off down the street.
xxxxxUnfortunately, however, she couldn’t walk all the way out of town and into the country, which posed a bit of a problem. Of all the things she supposedly fell short of, ‘don’t have a vehicle’ was regrettably true — although she did have her license.
xxxxxThe Titan noticed a group of parked motorcycles down a side-alley, then, and casually made her way over, heart thumping in her throat. Once hidden from the road, she quickly removed her gumboot — her trusty, never-failing gumboot — and balanced gracefully on one foot, boot poised to throw. She wriggled her toes in the wind.
xxxxxThen, with a feather-light breath, she drove it forward.
xxxxxThe boot sailed end over end, end over end, soaring through the air like a magnificent bird of black rubber until it connected with the nicest-looking bike’s lock. The chain splintered with a resounding
crack.
xxxxxHolding back a cheer, Ngaire hopped forward on one foot, slipped her boot back on, and straddled the bike, drawing her super-key from its hiding-place behind her ear. The motorbike came to life with a spluttery roar, and she wheeled out onto the road.