Peace

Peace

I let the body slide from my shoulder and it hit the ground with a thud. “Here,” I muttered, breathing hard. I felt no exertion, but fear held a firm grip of my throat. “Take his vest and weapon. If we get separated, or –

“He’s still alive.”

I stared at the man in front of me, pressing my lips together. The air smelled of singed hair and plastic – a smell I determined was coming from me. After a moment I turned, sniffed and shrugged – a gesture that betrayed my disappointment. “I don’t do that.” I had never killed a man in my life.

He ignored me. The man I knew as Donnell got up from where he had knelt by the unconscious guard.  “This is wrong,” he muttered. His right hand was shaking; a bandage wrapped what was left of his left forearm. My stomach dropped at the sight, reminding me of what I was doing.

This man was a killer. Why was I risking everything by saving him?

Donnell kicked the unconscious man roughly, turning him over on his stomach. “When he wakes up and triggers and alarm –"

“We’ll be gone,” I cut him off. “Assuming we move now.”

Donnell looked up at me and I returned his stare. His narrow eyes seemed wider, and for a second I thought he might say something; the man simply swore and began to wrestle the Diamnite vest from the unconscious guard.

Then he stopped and stood still for several seconds, considering... “I’ve made my peace, Jack," he said at last.

My jaw clenched at the name. I picked up the guard’s weapon - my turn to ignore him.  “Six rounds,” I said, kicking one into the chamber. Donnell began to secure the vest across his chest, frowning.  “Don’t bother shooting unless –“

“Less than three feet, I know,” Donnell muttered. “Most of them still wear my armor.” He took the gun from me and slowly checked the sight, seemingly unconcerned about why he would need such a weapon. His eye caught mine again, and then he looked down. “I should stay here.” Sighing again, he lowered the gun.

“No,” I said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him quickly towards the door. I’d drag him if I had to. 

I crouched by the doorframe and peered around the corner. As suspected, the way had remained clear behind me. We moved quickly through the hall, rechecking the unconscious bodies I had left in my wake and making sure I didn’t miss any supplies. The polished, metallic bulkhead betrayed us if anyone bothered to look - our reflections distorting far ahead of us on the walls as we hurried along.

“How much time?” Donnell asked as he stood above me, gun pointed at the latest unconscious body we had come across.  The guard was propped against the bulkhead, his helmeted head lolling to one side. The man’s hand was still over a wound in his side, one I had accidentally inflicted upon him before knocking him out. Blood seeped slowly between his gloved fingers, but the wound didn’t seem serious.

“I dunno,” I muttered, “an hour? They hit their heads pretty hard on the way down too, so maybe longer. Don’t worry about it. It’s what you programmed me to do –“

I was interrupted – shoved hard in the shoulder. As I stumbled I was aware of Donnell’s sudden elevated heart-rate. When I looked up at him, I felt a cold chill run up my neck.

Adrenaline injections…

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he hissed. He made to shove me again, but I caught his arm, sheepishly urging him to be quiet. “Don’t you fucking say that!” This time he screamed; I cringed, stumbling as he shoved me away from him. “You’re a god-damned nightmare,” he shouted, stepping towards me like he wanted to strike me, but stopping.  I was suddenly uncertain I was doing the right thing – a mindset only Donnell could inflict upon me. “A nightmare,” his voice broke. “But you’re still human.” He stumbled back against the bulkhead and sank too the floor. “That’s why you came back, isn’t it? Why you’re risking your life?” His breath came out in hard, ragged rasps.

It was seconds before I spoke. “When did you last eat?” Days, it seemed. I only just noticed now how gaunt his face was.  The food tray in his cell had been full when I had arrived. I felt a familiar burn in the back of my throat, one that threatened to cut off my attempts to breathe normally.

When Donnell didn’t answer, I released my sob, disguising it as a snarl.  We weren’t going to make it out of here.  I had come for a dead man. My dread was confirmed by shouts coming from the further down the cellblock.

“Why did you come?” Donnell asked me again, leaning his head back against the bulkhead. I stood quickly from where I had stumbled and made to help Donnell to his feet. By this point, I had lost count of the number of times Donnell had asked me that very question, “Why did you come?” I didn’t have an answer for him, except that he left a deep, dark void in the place where he used to be, after the trial. Ever since Jack was, Donnell was too. And when I am gone, it is Donnell who always brings me back. Not Jack, but still me. Only he could and would do that… and he knew all this, but how could I explain its importance to me?

Donnell was vital. I grabbed his right forearm and his left bicep and pulled him to his feet.

“This is wrong,” he murmured as the voices behind us grew louder. “I made my peace. Why would you come? If they catch you –

“There’s no more than six of them,” I said, cocking my head as if listening, still ignoring his question. “Let’s go-

“No.”

I gaped, still holding onto Donnel’s arms. I quickly looked over my shoulder as three guards rounded a corner, weapons drawn and aimed. “Donnell,” I said, turning back to face him. “Baas, please!” He used to pretend he hated being called that, but now he didn’t even notice.

“I’ve made my peace,” he nearly smiled at me then, but then his eye caught the guards behind me. Standing nearly head to head, Donnell leaned to the side slightly to catch a glimpse of the guards.

I felt the impact almost immediately. Donnell’s head snapped back and then slung limply down on my shoulder. I began to lose my grip on his arms as his dead weight slid to the ground.

I can’t remember if I screamed when I was pulled off his body. I can’t remember if I fought. Everything I had been designed to do had fled from me, as the life of my programmer fled from the wound on his head. For hours, days, years… only one thing screamed within my head like a soul being tortured within the confines of a tin can.

Baastian Donnell was dead.