Chapter Text
The forest is dark in front of her; Flevance burns at her back. Whether or not to continue isn’t a decision, really. One way she might die. Another, she certainly will.
Lami pushes forward. Her feet are bare; her pajamas are too thin for the night’s cold. The ragged blanket she took with her from the hospital barely stops the wind from cutting through. Her hands are white in the sliver of moonlight from how hard she grips it. At least it means her fever is down. That’s good, isn’t it? Her parents always worried about her fever.
She doesn’t want to think of her parents.
Walking is hard. Lami is shivering so much she can barely move. Her lungs heave the frigid air, but Lami has to try. She has to get as far away from Flevance as she can. If she stops, somebody might find her, and if they find her, they’ll kill her like they’ve killed everyone else. She focuses on survival instead of how much it all hurts, putting one foot in front of the other even when she can no longer feel them. She stumbles and trips more than once, twisting her ankle, skinning her knee, and catching her wrist on thick tree branches that scratch her arms and face. She wants to scream in frustration. It comes out as a sob that she forces herself to swallow. She can’t cry now, or she knows she’ll never stop.
Time passes. The moon moves across the sky. Lami can’t see a thing in the harsh shadows cast by the dense trees. Her knees and hands sting, her ankle smarts. Her bones ached before she even left the hospital, the Amber Lead burrowing into them like insects. It’s only gotten worse in the hours since. Lami isn’t sure how much further she can go.
She keeps moving, though, even if she’d rather curl up on the ground and die, join her family in heaven or wherever they are now. Maybe just nothingness. But Law sacrificed everything to give her this chance. He shouldn’t have; he would have done better escaping himself, but she can’t let it be in vain.
Eventually she comes across a river. The water is inky. It’s impossible to judge the depth or distance, but it sounds fast. Trying to cross it now would be a death sentence. Can she go around? Maybe. But the ground near the river is slick and muddy. She’s just as likely to fall in as follow it. Besides, she is so tired. Her sickness hangs over her, her body begging her for rest. If she could see, she thinks her vision would have spots. Her head certainly feels like it, pounding and dizzy.
A break then, a short one—just until the sun comes up. She retreats up the bank to where the foliage is darker, away from the river. The mud sticks to her feet and ankles. Pine needles dig into her soles. It should probably hurt, but all she feels is pressure instead of pain. She finds a tree with branches high enough to crawl beneath. They aren’t thick enough to shelter her from the elements, but it’s better than nothing. At the very least it makes her feel better. Besides, she likes the rustle of pine needles above her. She tucks her legs against her chest and wraps herself in the blanket. It isn’t the most comfortable position, but being off her feet is such a relief that Lami wants to cry.
She wishes Law was here. Law and her parents. With them, this might even have felt like a fun adventure. Instead, Lami is all alone. She’s never been alone like this before. Where is she even supposed to go? Lami has no idea where she is, and she’s sick enough that everybody she meets will know. She’s just a little girl. Who would believe her that Amber Lead Disease isn’t contagious?
Don’t cry, she tells herself. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
When she wakes, the sun is a blade that pierces her eyes. She groans weakly. Everything hurts worse than it ever has before. Electric shocks run up and down her legs. Her hands and feet feel swollen. It’s like she fell down a hill and didn’t stop until she crashed into a building.
“Oh thank the seas,” a deep voice says. “It’s alright, you’re safe now.”
Lami doesn’t know this voice. She tries to open her eyes, but she can’t quite manage it. Her head pounds.
Something thick is wrapped around her. It’s smooth against her frozen skin. She feels herself being picked up, cradled against a bare chest. It’s warm. She tucks her face close and lets out a quiet whimper. Where are her mom and dad? Where’s Law? Why does everything hurt so badly?
“It’s alright, little one,” the man repeats. His hand strokes her hair. She feels him moving, but she remains pressed close.
She drifts. Light changes; so do sounds. There are harsh voices, shouting. Lami cringed away from it. The arms around her tighten. She can feel the person holding her speak, his chest rumbling. Then there are hands prying her away, pushing her down onto a bed. The man grips hers tghtly. His voice is low and soothing. He brushes through her hair until she settles.
Something very warm is draped over her. She recognizes the feeling of an IV in her arm, and Lami realizes that she’s awake. Her eyes flutter and crack open. The room is sterile white like the walls of Flevance’s hospital that must now be charred black. Sunlight streams in through a large window. There are no trees outside, just grey walls and the ocean beyond. She must be very high up.
She isn’t alone in the hospital room—and it is a hospital room; she can see that clearly now. A large man snores softly in the seat beside her bed. His uniform is the crisp white of a Marine, and Lami cringes away, memories of boots pounding on stone and gunfire still ringing in her ears. Something about the motion must have made noise, though, because the man blinks his eyes open and straightens. He glances down at her and his entire demeanour immediately softens. It’s odd to see the gentle smile on a man so large.
“Hello there,” he says. “My name is Sengoku. How are you feeling?”
Lami swallows dryly. There is a lump in her throat that feels like tears. Her eyes burn. She breathes and feels a rush of air. There’s a cannula in her nose providing her extra oxygen. She didn’t even feel it before now.
“Where am I?” she asks. Her voice sounds very small.
“A Marine base in Lvneel,” Sengoku says. “We were waiting for you to stabilize a little more before travelling further.”
“But- why?” Lami asks. She knows what she looks like, the white patches covering her skin. The Marines killed her family for this exact reason. “I’m sick. I’m sick and- and aren’t you going to kill me?” Her eyes overflow, tears streaming down her cheeks as she trembles with short, little breaths.
Sengoku’s expression shifts. He looks sad when he reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, firm and warm.
“I wouldn’t be much of a Marine if I couldn’t save one child, would I?” he says.
“But the Amber Lead-” Lami says with a sob. She hates herself for it. Shouldn’t she be glad for this opportunity to prove that it isn’t contagious? That her people died for nothing? Instead she’s crying like a useless child with loud, hitching sobs.
Sengoku moves his hand from her shoulder to her hair, stroking the wispy strands carefully.
“We’re going to handle that,” he says. “There is a man who can help, a doctor who works with the government. It will take time, but I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. I just wish we were able to help everyone.”
You could have, Lami wants to scream. You could have saved us, but you didn’t. You killed us instead. But she can’t. She’s exhausted, and everything hurts. Her head is still woozy and filled with cotton, and crying is only making it worse as a pressure builds up inside.
Sengoku sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Lami into his arms. She cries into his shirt, her tears darkening the uniform. It should be repulsive to take comfort in a man who may well have killed her friends, but Lami is small and sick and weak. She wants comfort so desperately, somebody to tell her that it’s going to be okay when nothing feels like it will ever be okay again.
He rubs her back. Lami twists her aching hands in his shirt and lets her grief drown the fury.