Dílse (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} _dilse) wrote,@ 2006-01-13 16:24:00 |
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29.
Bill was running again. In his dreams he moved through sunlight and silence; now the streets all blurred together, forming an endless labyrinth of smoke and shadow and a haze of rising panic. He kept running, moving in what felt like slow motion, his progress slowed by both the crowds rushing past and the weight of Dom's body sagging against him. They pushed through the waves of people filling the length of Church Street—men and boys rushing to join both sides of the fight, policemen scrambling too late to their stations, women and girls trying to find their men. Someone knocked against Dom's shoulder and they both nearly went down—Bill grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back to his feet. Dom let out a strangled yelp; Bill's palm came up red. He balled it into a fist and struggled forward a few more steps.
"Gotta get out of here," said Dom.
"That's what we're doing, Dom, but I need you to help me, alright? Try to walk for me now."
"No...you." Dom's face had gone sallow. One arm was clutched against his abdomen. "You."
"Don't be daft," said Bill. "Come on, get your arm round me. Let's go."
Dom shook his head. "Hang you if they catch you." He stopped altogether, slipped from beneath Bill's arm to lean against the wall. "Too slow. Leave me here."
Bill's voice compressed into stern authority. "I didn't come all the way down here just to leave your worthless arse in the street. Now save your breath for walking and get your arm round me again." Dom tried to protest as Bill grasped him, but the words were stifled by a groan. Bill held him tighter and steered them back out into the flow. "Come on now—that's a lad. Just hold on to me. I'm going to look after you."
Dom's noises stopped as they stumbled down the smoke-filled streets. He made an effort to walk on his own and for a while they moved more quickly—but his breathing grew more labored with each passing minute and his shirt was wet and sticky beneath Bill's hand. Bill's own breath came harder and harder; his shoulders and back began to burn as Dom's feet grew heavier and the cobblestone stretched into eternity before them. He scanned the horizon for a single familiar face—someone, anyone who might help him get Dom away from this place before either of them were recognized. But they were moving away from the chaos and the crowd had grown sparse, and each passing shape was just the hurried blur of a stranger bent on his own pursuits. There was no one now to stop them, and there was no one now to help them.
Dom's head lolled against Bill's neck; his knees buckled and he would have fallen before Bill caught him with both arms. Bill lowered him to the pavement in front of the nearest steps, out of the street. He shook Dom once, called his name, but only a thin crescent of white showed beneath black lashes. Bill's his fingers left frantic red smears on Dom's neck—a pulse beat faintly there. He drew a deep breath and put a shoulder into Dom's gut, tried to haul him over his shoulder like a sack of grain—his ribs, bruised by Karl's fists, shrieked in pain and he sat down hard on the pavement. Dom slumped across his lap; Bill looked in desperation down both ends of the alley. I'll never get him out of here, he thought. Too late, too late, Bill, too late again.
He was gathering the strength to try again when a familiar sound drew his eyes up. The grinding grew to a roar in the alley beside them—a black lorry spun round the corner and screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. The smoke blew away from silver letters smudged with dust and soot: Bloom's Fine Grocery and Baked Goods. The door flew open before the truck had stopped moving; a white face ringed by black curls appeared at the wheel.
"Come on!" Orlando cried. "Hurry!"
"He's shot," said Bill.
Orlando's eyes widened when he saw the shape lying in Bill's lap; he gasped something in a language Bill had never heard. His face blanched at the crimson-soaked shirt, the red on Bill's hands—then his dark eyes flashed and his mouth pressed into a line. "Get him in the back," he said. "And hold on."
"How did you—"
"Astin found me. He sent me to fetch you—they couldn't find you, after." Orlando glanced at the streets around them. "The fighting's mostly done but Collins' men are everywhere. Come on, Bill, let's go!"
Bill' s ribs screamed as he hoisted Dom into the back of the lorry. He had barely climbed in beside him before Orlando floored the accelerator and the tires squealed as the lorry sped away. Bill pulled the tarp closed from the inside; the sound and light dropped to a muted gloom.
The cargo space had been unloaded; only a sailcloth lined the steel floor of the lorry's bed. There was nothing on which to prop Dom's sprawling body, nothing to cushion him from the bouncing of the axles beneath them. Bill's teeth rattled as they sped over uneven Dublin stone; it was just as well Dom wasn't conscious, he thought, and reached to tuck a fold of cloth beneath the boy's head. His other hand lay flat on Dom's belly, feeling the cooling stickiness there. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see, but the minutes were passing and he forced his eyes to follow his hand. He pulled Dom's shirttail from the waist of his trousers and flicked the bottom buttons open, drawing the fabric apart, and the first thought in his mind was oh, God.
There was blood everywhere—slippery on Bill's fingers, reeking of copper in the close air—but it was dark blood, old blood, oozing in a slow trickle from the hole in Dom's right side. It was low, nearly to the hipbone, an angry aberration against the surrounding skin. The hand on his stomach made Dom moan but Bill's mind had shifted into focus—every lesson, every training scenario he'd ever been taught now wound into life like a victrola and replayed over and over until it drowned out everything else. He got a hand beneath Dom's body and rolled him upward—he scowled in the dusty light, bending his head until he could see a tattered gash on the boy's back. Exit wound. Bill's breath left him in a long exhalation. A clean line through the muscle of the abdomen, and not the disintegrating gut shot he had feared. Oh God, he thought again.
"I don't know what charm it is you live under, Dominic Monaghan, but I swear I've never seen its like," he said. He leaned back against the wall and wiped his forehead with one shirt sleeve. A quiet sound brought his eyes up at once.
Dom's head was turned toward him. He looked at Bill with dull curiosity, as if he were noticing him for the first time.
"You're going to be alright, lad. It isn't as bad as it looks."
Dom didn't seem to hear him. He blinked twice, in and out of focus; and then his eyes shot open and he tried to rise up from the oilcloth. "Billy, you can't—"
Bill put a hand on his chest. "It's alright, Dom. I wasn't seen. Lie still now." Dom grimaced; his body was lined in pain, going slack again as he drew in a breath. He looked at the tarp above their heads, and Bill nodded. "Orlando's taking us to the docks. We're going to get you out of here."
Dom smiled. "Landy."
There was no blood on his lips, and Bill found he could smile back. "Aye. Who knew the little press would turn out to be so useful?" Dom choked out something like a laugh. Bill brushed a string of hair from Dom's forehead, tucked it beneath his cap. His eyes were already drifting; Bill's throat tightened. "Stay awake for me now, Dom."
Bill reached down and peeled back Dom's shirt, wincing at the tiny tearing sound. Dom jerked and made a noise that likely started as a swear word but Bill would not let himself be distracted. He surveyed the mess, glanced around, and then reached for the buttons of his shirt, stripping it off from the thermal he wore beneath. He cleaned both wounds as best he could amid the jostling; then he wadded up the shirt and wedged it beneath Dom's side, cushioning it a little against the bumps. And that was it, that was all he could do, except sit there and wait for the bleeding to stop. Bill closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Please, he thought, a vague and desperate pleading. Please, please.
It was then that he realized Dom had stopped moaning.
"Dom?"
Dom's eyes were closed; his face was a waxy, ashen gray. The only sign of vivacity in his body was a small, constant whispering from his parted lips. Bill called his name; there was no response. Bill braced himself on his palms and leaned in close, bending until the barely discernible breaths became words.
"...of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen. Confiteor Deo omnipotenti..."
An icy coldness hit Bill's belly like a fist—a wave of fury followed it. He felt sick, impotent rage and blinding grief, wild light behind his eyes and he balled his hands into the collar of Dom's shirt and shook him once, hissing into his face.
"Wake up Dom, don't do that, don't you bloody do that, you're not going to die, I'm not going to let you, you're not going to die do you fucking hear me Dominic? Open your eyes!"
Mea culpa, Dom was whispering, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa...
Bill slapped him across the face as hard as he could.
Dom gasped and jerked; his eyes snapped open, wide and frightened before he saw Bill leaning over him. Bill held onto those eyes, scowling, and finally allowed his voice to break.
"Don't you give up on me," he said. "Don't you leave me alone."
He looked up as the lorry began to slow. The brake whined and they rolled to a stuttering stop; the engine shut off and everything went abruptly quiet. The wind fluttered in the flaps of canvas; beyond it Bill could hear the distant cry of sea gulls. The driver's door slammed; a moment later the tarp rolled up and Orlando appeared at the opening. Rushing up at his side were two familiar faces.
"Mother of God," breathed David, crossing himself.
"He's alright," said Bill. "The bleeding's almost stopped. It was a clean shot."
David stared, horrified; Sean pushed past him and reached for Dom's leg. "Bear a hand, Wenham, let's get him inside."
Bill forced his fingers to uncurl from Dom's shirt; he sat back and let the three men pull Dom out of his grasp. He crawled out behind them and hit the ground with both feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and followed them off the road and down a gravel path.
The sunset was burning itself out in the smudges of approaching cloud; the shadows grew longer in the fading light. They had parked in a small clearing beyond a line of trees, sloping down an increasingly steep embankment—at the end of the grass the river spread out before them, dark and undisturbed this far from the city. The water lapped against a single mooring and the hull of the barge waiting there. A narrow dock led from the bank to the open hatch; a light was burning within. Bill looked up, toward the horizon—the widening mouth of the Sea sparkled beneath the rising moon, open and empty. He swallowed and turned back to the ramp of Sean's boat. The wooden dock creaked as they walked across the planks.
Sean and David carried Dom inside; Orlando hung back by the gangway. His face was anxious as he peered inside the door. "Will he—will he be alright?"
"You saved his life." Bill followed Orlando's gaze into the cabin. "He'll be safe now."
Orlando's eyes were filled with sadness; he looked as if he would say something else, but instead he only nodded. "I need to get the lorry back before it's seen. I just...I wanted to tell him..."
"He knows." Bill put his hand on the boy's shoulder, gave him the closest thing he could to a smile.
"Thank you, Orlando. Thank you for saving him."
"You saved him, Bill," Orlando said. He laid a hand on Bill's arm. "Goodbye, my friend." And then he turned and hurried back down the dock, to where the lorry waited at the top of the embankment. The tires made crunching sounds in the gravel as the truck drove away with its headlamps unlit.
Inside the barge's cabin it was warm and dry. The living quarters were sparse but comfortable, as homelike as could be managed under the circumstances—it was, after all, Sean's home. The walls were lined with wood paneling; a small cook stove burned quietly in the corner. The sheets had been stripped from the bunk; Dom lay there, propped on a folded blanket. He was white as the mattress beneath him, quiet again, but his lips were still and his fingers twitched as he breathed. David hovered over him, tearing a pillowcase into long, thin strips for bandages. The vibration of the engines shook the floor beneath Bill's feet; a moment later Sean appeared in the hatch to the steering room. Bill took him by the elbow and led him over to the door.
"Nothing touches that wound unless it's been boiled. Change the dressings every day but don't touch him with your hands unless you've no choice. You've got whisky on board?" Sean nodded. "Wash him with it before you bind him. He'll not be pleased, but hold him down if you have to. Nothing else, you hear? Only boiled cloth and spirits until—until you get there."
"I can get him to Germany in two days," said Sean. "Viggo makes the crossing to America every other month. As soon as he's mended you can go."
Quietly, Bill said, "I'm staying here, Sean."
"But—but you can't, Glasgow! They'll hang you if they know what you've done!"
"They don't know. And they won't know. No one saw me. I have to go back, Sean. I have to make sure."
Sean said nothing. Bill only paused for a moment, then said, "Tea. Make strong black tea, with plenty of sugar, and give him as much as he'll drink. But just the tea—nothing else, you hear? Not till you can get fresh water. And I don't care how much he begs, no alcohol. Whisky for the outside, but not the inside."
"Well that's a bit unfair," came a voice from the bed.
Bill turned to see Dom watching them from his pillow, his face crinkled with a grin. A small breath slipped from Bill's throat.
"I thought I told you to lie still?"
David stepped aside as he approached; he was clutching the bandages in his arms. The two men looked at each other over the flickering lamp. David opened his mouth, but his voice never came. Bill nodded; after a moment, David smiled and nodded back. He stepped past them both and disappeared into the galley hall.
Bill heard the hatch creak behind him; Sean had gone back into the steering room to finish preparations. Bill sat down on the edge of the bed and eased back the towel David had pressed to Dom's belly. Dom flinched, but the towel was only smudged with red. Bill mustered a smile.
"Clever, aren't you—this time next week you'll be drinking wine on the North Sea surrounded by a flock of frauleins."
"Reckoned I was due for a holiday," Dom said. "Never was one to do things halfway, aye?"
Bill tucked the towel back into place. His hand lingered on the curve of Dom's ribcage; Dom looked down at where it rested on his skin. His grin wavered.
"Come with me."
"You know I can't."
Something in Dom's face shifted; his chin trembled once, and his grin cracked, shattered, and fell away like frost on window. His breath hitched in his chest; his eyes were bright and naked, and he looked very much like the lost and frightened little boy he had always hidden so well.
"I'm scared, Billy."
Bill's nails were biting into his palms. He looked down at his hands, filthy with powder burns and caked with Dom's blood. There were pink crescents in the skin when he uncurled his fingers. They fit perfectly over Dom's, cold beneath his touch.
"You were strong for your brother," he said. "Now be strong for me."
Two tears spilled from Dom's eyes, silver in the dirt on his cheeks. "But you came back."
"I came back to get you out. You're getting out, love. You get a new start, a new life, away from all of this. This is your chance, and I can't—" His chest constricted with a sharp pain; Dom's face swam in his eyes. "If I could have—I never—" His voice broke and he said hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Dom, I'm so, so sorry—"
Their kiss cut off his words, though he didn't remember bending forward. Bill's eyes closed, committing to memory the sound of Dom's breath, the taste of his mouth, recording forever the feel of this wordless goodbye. Their foreheads rested together, breathing each other's air for one moment longer.
"You broke your loyalty for me," said Dom.
"I found my loyalty because of you," said Bill. "I will never forget that."
His lips brushed across Dom's, a whisper both made but neither heard; and then Bill stood up and walked out of the cabin, leaving the light to dim behind him.
Outside it was dark and damp, quiet except for the hum of the engines. The mist was growing; thick drizzle swirling in the light of the moon, stinging Bill's face, clinging to his wet eyelashes. He felt the cabin light go dark behind him but did not hear the door close.
On the path ahead of him, half in a puddle of water, something lay glittering in a pool of light. Bill stooped to pick it up, wiped off the mud with his thumb. It was a rosary, green and white beads, the ivory cross stained with smears of blood. The knot in its center was cracked, rough beneath his thumb, chipped from its fall from the pocket of Dom's trousers. Bill held the strands in his fingers, watching raindrops pearl on the glassy surface. He put the rosary in his pocket and walked up the hill to the road, into the darkness as the rain grew harder and colder.
"Goodbye," he said.
