The Revenge of Seven: HIDDEN POV's

2

Nine's POV

Even after all that's happened, I can't help but think about my stomach. I'm starving. I feel better knowing I'm not the only one. As selfish as that sounds, I need to eat.
It's been 52 hours since Eight's death. I still think that an extra day spent in that old shack couldn't have hurt but Six said that two nights was already pushing it because the Mogs could be tracking us. And I know that's one hundred percent true, but I'm so tired. My muscles are extremely sore. Although Marina healed me, she couldn't heal my achy bones. Or my broken heart. I really wish she could.

As Marina, Six, and me stumble blindly through the dark and humid jungle, I smack another mosquito. I fight the urge to itch the bites they've given me. My clothes are completely soaked through with sweat and my wet hair hangs in my face. The ground is so muddy, its basically a swamp. This hot jungle really isn't helping my mood either.
I think of anything that my dull mind is capable of thinking of. Sandor. Johnny Boy. Ella. Malcolm. My Chest. My precious pipe staff, that's now broken. Five broke it. That traitorous piece of chimera shit. No. He isn't even qualified enough to have anything to do with the mighty chimeras. He's a traitorous piece of human shit.

We continue walking in silence, me leading the way from the front while Marina and Six follow closely behind. Marina won't talk to me. She ignores me. I feel invisible. Although Six is treating me as she normally does, that doesn't make me feel any better.
I use my awesome enhanced hearing legacy to listen as Six begins talking to Marina.
"You all right?" She asks her, trying to be quiet but I get the feeling she knows I can hear her.
"What do you think, Six?" is Marina's immediate response. That alone causes a pang of guilt. Sadness. Regret. Death. It all floods my mind.
"We'll get them." Six reassures Marina. I wish I could do that. But I could never comfort any one. It's so NOT me. I have a reputation to protect and I don't plan on getting all lovey and soft anytime soon. Especially not after showing Six that I actually have emotions. I'm hoping she'll just forget about our hug. Emotions lead to dumb decisions. They can even lead to death. And I, for one, have had enough of deaths' sting.
"We'll kill them all. He won't have died in vain." Six whispers to Marina.
"He shouldn't have died at all." Marina say firmly.
I'm not sure if that's an insult to me or what. But suddenly, my feelings are gone. I grit my teeth. Six is right. Eight will NOT have died in vain.
"We shouldn't have left him out there. Now they have him, doing Lord knows what to his body." Marina says, sounding as if she might cry.
"We didn't have a choice." Six counters. Once again, she's right. We didn't have a choice. If we hadn't left, the Mogs would've killed us.
I feel a lump in my throat and have the urge to say something. I feel jittery and anxious for someone to talk to me. At the very least I need to be acknowledged. "You know, I used to always want Sandor to take me camping. I hated living in that cushy-ass penthouse. But man, after this? I sort of miss it." I don't get a reply from either of them.
I feel unbearably alone.
Alone with my thoughts.
****
I've been using my super speed to get far ahead of Marina and Six so by the time they catch up to me, I'd already be cooking some snake or rabbit over a decent fire I made. Marina won't eat any of it. Six isn't squeamish at all though. I don't think Marina likes the fact that I was the one who caught the tasty creatures. I'm beginning to wonder if she hates me.
After hours of heat, mosquitoes, and not-so-luxorious meals, I notice the road getting a bit more packed down and well traveled. I can see light up ahead and the annoying sounds of insects dies down a bit. But country music takes its place. Ugh. Please, no. Stab me in the back, Lord. Just NOT COUNTRY MUSIC. My ability to hear for miles isn't really something to be thankful for at the moment. I shove my fingers into my ears but I can still make out each and every lyric. Although I'm relieved to have finally found human civilization, I can't help but groan at the type of place we've stumbled upon.
I wouldn't call this place a town. I doubt it'd show up on a detailed map of the area. The place looks like a campground that people live in permanently. There's lots of pickups trucks in the gravel parking lot to our right, telling me that this place must be loaded with dudes. Yay. Let's hope one of them picks a fight with me. I just freakin need something to punch! Anything! Give me a cow bone and I'll probably swing at it.
There are tons of old huts spread out all over the place. Blinking colored lights line the huts giving it a holiday feel. In the center of this pathetic "town" is the source of the music. The only reliable place to go if there were to be a thunderstorm. A saloon called Trapper's, it's name lit up in green. It would probably look kinda creepy if not for the jumpy country music. From inside, I can hear men shouting and pool balls cracking.
"All right," I say as I clap my hands. "My kind of place."
My skin tingles. I'm hoping for some action. Maybe some punches. Of course, I'm not gonna stride in there, looking for trouble. Instead, I'll let trouble find me.
It always does.