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“Did you guys hear any names or see anything else?” He looks away from me for a few moments, his eyes squinting in an effort to concentrate. Then, he shakes his head.
“I think I heard Tornado say something about Heckles, but I could be wrong. Like I said, the radio was full of static,” Knuckles sniffles. My spine snaps straight.
“Why didn’t any of you mention Heckles before?” He sniffles again before, confusion written on his features. The once small hole in my gut is now doubling in size.
“We did? We talked about it during one of the meetings about finding her chip.” Trying to wrack my brain, I continue to come up empty.
“Was I there?”
“Yeah?” He questions, fully sitting up. “Are you okay?”
“I swear no one brought him up before besides Leather…” A throat clears, jerking us both from the awkward conversation. Twelve stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, tense still swirling around all of us even as he takes tentative steps in the room.
“Can we help you?” I finally ask, my voice sounding much more gruff than intended. I don’t know why he looks so fucking nervous.
“Tornado is awake and is asking for you,” he rushes out before turning around and heading quickly toward the door. Without turning back, he says, “he also dropped a big ass surprise that I think you’re not going to like.”
“What do you mean?” Knuckles and I question at the same time, yelling at Twelve’s retreating figure. So many questions, so little answers.
Standing quickly, I dust myself off and reach down the Knuckles. He seems hesitant.
“Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” Exhaling heavily, I shake my head.
“I’m not mad at you for how you feel. I do think it would be smart for you and I to actually have a talk about everything we’re feeling. It would be wise to just clear the air. I also think we should speak with Tornado. If you’re feeling a certain type of way, then it’s important for us to be able to hash it out.”
I leave out anything else with Tornado. There’s enough shit I need to speak with him privately about, and I would rather not have others hearing it until the details are squared away.
Hopefully that chance comes sooner rather than later.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tornado
My head is spinning, vomit threatening to come back up my throat, and it feels like there’s sand paper on my eyes. Trying to open them is like trying to unstick skin from super glue. It burns.
“Shit, I think he’s coming around.” I don’t recognize the voice, though it’s soft. I know it’s not Leather, but I can’t stop the thrumming of my heart in hopes that she managed to escape. I try and fail to open my eyes several times.
The voices are fuzzy, like they are mixed with white static and something else…though I can’t put my finger on it. “Prez woul…”
Actually, I can’t fucking move anything at all.
Opening my mouth is also impossible. Someone grabs my hand and talks to me, obviously trying to get me to wake up. I want to scream at them that I’m fucking awake but trapped inside my own body. I think I’m wiggling my hand, when in reality, it’s just the image of me doing it that builds the sensation in my body.
It’s strange, really. Being so close to telling them what happened, yet so far away from being able to actually come to.
“You…while…no wait…” glimpses of conversations catch my attention, but I’m more focused on trying to get my damn eyes to cooperate with me.
Finally, my lips unstick themselves and my jaw drops open. The sounds of the room go silent. Taking a deep breath, my fingers slowly go from static feeling to moving. Someone grabs my hand, encouraging me by forcing my fingers to wiggle around. It’s an odd feeling having someone manipulate how you move.
After a few moments of silence, all hell breaks loose. People are talking over one another, my body is being prodded with things that I can’t tell if they are dull or sharp.
“Enough,” I croak, trying to shoo them with my hand. It ends up failing and plops back on the bed. Either they ignore me or didn’t even hear me because they keep going. Groaning, I fling my arm at whoever is next to me. They let out an oomph sound as I connect with them.
“Stop.” The tone comes out more firm, but again, I may as well have sandpaper stuck in my throat. More movement before the light behind my eyelids dims and something pokes my lips. It’s pushed between my lips, and I graciously take several pulls. Water. Refreshing the harsh condition of my throat, the coolness soothes the burn.
“Heckles needs to go, he fucking took our girl.” I try to say it with conviction, but it comes out more like a cough. “The switch didn’t fucking work!”
“Someone get Prez,” a guy says frantically.
