Revelations [Shiloh]

[siren]

”What do you mean, my mother isn’t alive?” The blonde asked. It was an idiotic question. She knew perfectly well what he meant. The Ringmaster was telling her that her mother was no longer alive. It was a question Siren had tentatively put to him over the years.

Who is my mother? Which one is she?

There were plenty of women in their travelling carnival who were old enough to be Siren’s mother. She was brought up to believe one of them was. She’d never pushed the Ringmaster too far when he didn’t answer her questions, however. All along she’d assumed the Fortune Teller was her mother. But it was only that morning that she’d questioned the Teller directly, and she’d flat out denied having bared any children. She’d admitted to Siren, with tears, that she was barren, that though she’d tried so hard to have a child she never could. The admission had brought tears to Siren’s own cheeks—she’d wanted so badly that the Teller should be her mother. And now she was only frustrated because again, she was in the dark.

So she’d gone to the Ringmaster. She’d told him that she was now twenty-two years old and an adult by anyone’s standards. She didn’t need his protection anymore. She needed to know who her mother was.

With great reluctance he’d sat her down opposite him, holding her hands within his own.

”I’m so sorry, Briony.” It was only when he was being serious or angry that he called her by her real name. ”But your mother…she lost too much blood. She died almost as soon as you were born. She lives on in your spirit.” The last he added slowly, and with emphasis. Siren was a firecracker. He feared how she’d react to this information.

It turned out that he had reason to fear her reaction.

”Why didn’t you tell me before?” She demanded, fiercely yanking her hands from his warm grasp. It was devastating news to Siren. She knew that her father had been the senior lion tamer. He’d left her behind, and she’d never been told why. She’d hated him all these years, and had never harboured the wish to find him. He’d abandoned her, so why should she care a thing about him? But now she understood. She understood that she was only a reminder of the woman he loved, the woman who’d died giving birth to her. Why shouldn’t he want to run, and to leave behind the remnants of his broken heart?

Still, it smarted a little.

The Ringmaster didn’t answer the question right away. He simply stared at Siren, a look of pure anguish etched into his features. He knew this day would come. And now that it had arrived he wished he could turn back time.

”You have several mothers here, Siren. And several fathers, and dozens of brothers and sisters. We are your family, don’t you see?” He couldn’t rightly explain why he’d kept the secret of her birth. He supposed he didn’t want her to ever feel like she’d been abandoned. He liked that she believed her mother was amongst the troupe and because of that, she felt like she was home. No child should ever feel like they’re alone in the world. But he now understood that it was a mistake. Telling her now, after twenty two years, was worse than telling her when she was a child. He feared what she might do.

And so he should have.

Siren stormed from the caravan which doubled as the Ringmaster’s office. The day was nearing its end; she could hear the sounds of the hammers against the iron nails which held the big tent up. Tom had just returned in his truck with a few of the other boys, the back tires sending dust in clouds up behind it. They’d gone into the city to buy their ‘beverages’ for the night. Siren knew the routine. They’d build a big fire on the outer rim of the camp; they’d set up their sleeping bags and they’d drink the night away in riotous revelry.

It was the image of that fire, roaring and cracking and sending its sparks dancing into the air which spurred Siren on to her final destination.

Ever since she’d purchased those ‘rings of fire’ when she was fifteen, the flames had become her true friends. When she stared into their depths she felt at ease; the warmth they provided comforted her beyond what any human soul could.

She went to her own caravan and fell to her hands and knees on the floor, crawling half under the bed to retrieve the box which had been shoved right down the back corner. It was a gold tin which had once contained bags of tea. It was now rusted and dinted, but it was her childhood friend. Inside the tin lay the instruments of destruction.

As she stumbled out of the door of her caravan she ran headlong into Tom, who held out his hands to keep her steady. By the concerned look in his gray eyes Siren understood that the Ringmaster had spoken to him, had told him to keep an eye on her. Siren flashed the brightest smile she could muster, gently pushing Tom away.

”I’m okay.” She told him, her voice just as bright. His eyes narrowed as he raised is brow inquisitively. ”I promise.” She assured him. She tucked the tin under her arm, keeping it as inconspicuous as she possibly could.

”Now where’s my bottle of rum?” She teased, eyes glinting mischievously. As far as Tom could tell, she was acting like the same old Siren. It confused him, but he’d never think badly of her.

”You know me too well, Bree.” he teased, nudging her playfully before leading her back toward the truck. From the back tray he retrieved a bottle of rum and threw it in Siren’s direction; she caught it expertly.

”You’re a champ, Tom.” She cooed. She waited for him to be distracted by his entourage before slipping stealthily into the shadows of the forest which bordered their camp site. As soon as she knew she was alone, that she wasn’t being watched, she opened the rum bottle, the lid of which snapped in her grasp. She took a swig of the burning liquid and waited for it to soothe her, to warm those parts of her which had gone cold. It didn’t work. She needed real fire.

She hadn’t gone far enough into the forest. She was too disoriented to worry about her own safety, let alone the safety of the camp; of the big tent. The thing that began as a small, harmless fire was fuelled by rum and dry leaves. Siren didn’t know it hadn’t rained here in weeks. She didn’t know how prone this forest was to fire.

Within minutes the flames were taller than the trees, and the licking orange mass ran headlong for the camp site.

Siren was horrified. Never had she done something so terrible. Never had she been faced with such a predicament. For a few minutes she could only stand there and watch as it happened; the flames were a wall between herself and the only home she’d ever known, the only people whom she considered family.

It didn’t matter that her mother was no longer amongst them. They were still her family.

It was the latter through which finally spurred her lithe legs into action. She sped through the trees, stumbling and tripping several times, coughing and spluttering as the smoke entered her lungs and threatened to suffocate her. But she didn’t stop running, no. She had to find a way around the flames. She had to get everyone out, get them away from the fire which could kill them.

She didn’t dare allow herself to think that she might be too late.

[shiloh]

What is it that spurs a man to pull over upon the side of a road and linger; to watch over the remains of some gruesome wreck? Is it that animalistic being within oneself that longs for the scent of blood and offal? Every man, and woman, has ties to something barbaric; a warrior's ethos. It's deep within them, and although they may not acknowledge such, it'll forever be there apart of them.

It's the tears that streak down your cheeks, and it's the anger that engorges the veins upon the arch of your throat. It's the thump of your heart beneath the flesh of your chest as adrenaline pumps into your body and digs deep; pulling tight upon your insides and rushing the breath out of your lungs. It's that sudden high of feeling invincible and knowing you're alive while too many things happen all at once; while others suffer you're paralyzed from the waist down.


You can do nothing but watch.


Shiloh had once been a hero. He had been a man that had done something unexpected, but it had never been something brought up in conversation; not even something uttered to his wife at one point. It's then that his fingers twitch toward his pocket where said wedding band's hidden. Mackenzie's features flood the forefront of his mind, and all he could offer is a grunt and scowl. His mind falls back to the night he had first played a hero though, and he's forcing Mackenzie from his mind.

He had been twenty-three. He had been young when driving up to that building where a fire had taken place -- faulty electrics -- it had been enough to leave flames licking out of windows and up the brick walls, and there were sirens blaring down the main thoroughfare a few blocks down, but he could already hear the cries of others. He couldn't help it, and unlike most, he wasn't paralyzed from the waist down and watching; he wasn't on the phone calling for help. Instead he had rushed in. He had earned his fifteen seconds of fame and acknowledgement. It's sad to admit that he did more within those handful of minutes than he had ever done pushing papers for S.I.S..

Perhaps...Perhaps that's why he had stopped here on the road?

He had caught sight of the initial wildfire taking to the skies and licking up the wooded hillside; igniting everything within its path, but if he hadn't already known of the carnival that had ridden into town, he would have been none the wiser. He would have watched and simply said: "a work of nature," but he couldn't. That's not to say he suspected foul play, but he knew there would be those within trouble.

It's the screech of tires within the distance, and then there's the woosh of hot air and sparks within the air; heat leaving the dark sky within an orange glow as hillside winks like the stars well above his own head. Truth be told, the sight alone is awfully reminiscent to the end of the cigarette between his lips; ash and glowing embers. He's pulling it from his mouth and dashing it toward the roadside before stamping it out with the toe of his shoe. It's then he winds toward the driver's side of his car and tugs open the door; he slips inside quickly.

What is it that drives a man to do anything that would risk his life? No one would ever know the answer. Perhaps it's the fact that Shiloh had foreseen himself doing this from childhood; his dreams of being a real James Bond, but he had never managed to be promoted to that station of being allowed to travel internationally; to investigate neighboring countries in covert operations and passing along information to others...others that are like him; paper pushers.

He hadn't been meant for sitting behind a desk, and Shiloh knew that. He knew he was meant for much more than what life let him on to be; he knew there had to be more, but that had been an unfortunate ending when he had been called into the head honcho's office room.


"I'm sorry, Shiloh."


It was almost enough to make Shiloh slap that cheeky grin off that fat man's face then and there. How the Hell do you apologize with a smile upon your mouth? You fully well know, at that moment, that he isn't sorry. It's the same as saying "no offense, but," but what? It's offensive, and you know it. It had been unfortunate, but Shiloh had packed up his things and had been sure to tell his old boss to shove his stapler where the sun didn't shine, but that's a different story, and that's something else he never told Mackenzie. It's not that it didn't matter. It didn't even matter when his went a ring-a-ling-a-ring.


He tosses it into the glove compartment.


Perhaps it would have been smarter to call the local fire department, but he's sure someone already had. When it came to these sort of tragedies...well, there was always someone with a phone, and within this day-in-age, it's almost impossible not to have one; for Christ's sake too, it's a carnival! But there were a number of things Shiloh wasn't clearly thinking about at that instant though.

He wasn't thinking about his well being, or even the steps that must be taken. He didn't call Mackenzie to let her know he'd be late, but then again he never did. Tonight could very well be his last night alive, but he had no little to no care for his well being as his car rumbled down the gravelled road toward inferno; his car jerks and shudders before he's pressing weight upon the brakes as something suddenly darts out in front of him.

He should've worn his belt [that's something else he forgot], but it hadn't exactly been something on his mind. So, when he had stepped suddenly upon those breaks and came to a sudden, shuddering halt, Shiloh jerked forward and his body bumps uncomfortably tight against the steering wheel and he groans with pain that blooms throughout his chest. His eyes flutter open as hands grip tight upon the steering wheel; he could feel the heat of the spreading fire even from within his car before he's popping open the door and stepping out; his eyes roam about to find whatever it had been that had darted in front of him, and then there she was...

What makes a man, or a woman for that matter, do the most unlikely of things? They'd risk their life for anyone, or even anything, no matter how horrid the situation may truly be. In days of old there would have been songs sung of people like this; people who do this. But this was the modern age, and the truth was, was that this would be lost, and Shiloh couldn't allow this woman, who seemed mad with purpose, to fall victim to the blaze that seemed to be festering and eating the very Earth from beneath their feet.

He chases her.
He reaches her.
He grabs her.
He shakes her.

There's not much else to do but to attempt and drag her from the flames whilst roaring over the din; the sound of roaps and the pavilions being tumbled by flames; of the tears whistling and being torn asunder by the flames wrecking havoc across the hillside.


"Get back! You'll kill yourself!"



Ha, but wasn't that what he was going to do himself?


...and with that, Shiloh takes ahold of the young woman's shoulders and holds her at arm's length whilst keeping himself between her and the wall of fire that's taking away something from her that he'd never know.

[siren]

She was so close. She could see the top of the big tent in the distance—they’d only just finished erecting it that day. There was a lingering hope that they’d set everything up a suitable distance from the edge of the forest—the fire mightn’t reach the camp. It might only reach the last tree at the edge of the forest and then wither and die.

It was an ungrounded hope. Siren knew too much about the nature of fire to believe it could be so forgiving. Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t stop. It would find some bush to jump to, it would snake through the dry grass, it would attach itself to anything which it could happily consume.

Siren’s eyes were steadfast upon that tent in the distance. It was the landmark which she headed toward. Every now and again she lost sight of it; her eyes were watering and she could hardly keep them open. The heat singed at her lashes and burnt the tips of her golden halo of hair, but she didn’t care. She kept running.

The sky suddenly turned dark; the smoke had formerly been gray, and though it had blocked out the sky she’d still been able to make out the lingering sunset and the stars behind her. But the smoke suddenly turned a vicious black and her nose was assaulted with an acrid stench—mouth wide with shock, Siren opened her eyes wider to catch of that tent.

But she could no longer see it. The flames had reached it—it had found man-made objects and she could smell the plastic burning. She was so close. A scream of heart-rending desperation escaped her dry throat and she was fuelled by an extra surge of adrenaline. She had to get to the camp. She had to find the ringmaster, the fortune teller, Tom…Tom! He and the other guys would have been out in the forest, in a different clearing, enjoying a fire of their own. A new anxiety gripped at the chambers of Siren’s heart and her direction changed infinitesimally—she had to reach Tom!

But suddenly her feet weren’t taking her forward anymore. It was like being in a dream when you’re trying to run toward or away from something but it feels like your feet are wading through glue. It took her a few moments to realise that someone was gripping her, shaking her.

She swung around to face her attacker, only to be assaulted by his words.

No, she wasn’t intending on killing herself. But nor was she intending to let anyone else die either.

She struggled against the grip of the stranger, whom she could hardly see in the darkness and through her watering eyes. At first it was in vain.

“Get off me!” She screeched, her voice breaking and cracking due to smoke inhalation. She clawed at the hands which held her before bucking out from beneath them, she tripped backward in the effort, sprawling on the leaf-strewn ground. She was finally free, however, and the adrenaline which pumped through her system kept her unaware of any wounds she may have sustained. She scrambled away from the stranger and continued to bolt in the direction she’d formerly decided upon. It was best to get back to the camp first, go through it to the other side, where she knew Tom and the others had been planning their own fire.

When she reached the edge of the camp she came to a complete standstill.

The fire was spreading around her, leaping from tree to tree like it was playing a game of leap-frog. She could hear people screaming, but she could also see people running around with buckets, trying to put the fire out however they could.

Siren caught sight of the Fortune Teller; she sprinted toward the woman, who, as soon as she recognised Siren, bundled the girl up in a sweaty hug. “Oh child, I’m so happy you’re safe!” She exclaimed, and Siren all but sobbed against her mentor’s shoulder.

She came to her senses, however, and pushed herself out of the Teller’s grasp. “Have you seen Tom?” She asked, frantically. The Teller shook her head, but glanced in the direction of the forest on the other side of the camp. It hadn’t caught fire yet, but it would.

“Briony, no!” The Teller yelled at her, but it was too late. Briony broke from her grasp completely and headed toward the part of the forest where she believed Tom and the others to still remain.[/size]

[shiloh]

She was mad! Yet, Shiloh couldn't simply let her walk into the valley of death alone; he couldn't stand there and watch her off knowing what may or may not happen. Still, she manages to slip free of his grasp and sprawl there, and before Shiloh could so much as utter a word, she was off again! Truth be told, Shiloh was out of shape for this sort of thing. He certainly wasn't getting any younger, and Shiloh was at an age where running after a young, lithe woman was...well, not such a good idea! He's grunting as he gives chase, and he could feel the heat of the fire upon his face and smoke attempting to smother his nostrils and mouth; fill his lungs.


It's not the same as savoring a smoke, that's for sure!



"Come back!"


It's feeble to cry out for her; to call her toward him. He was no siren of sorts, nor would his voice be the most pleasant to hear barking at your heels like dogs from Hell itself. Still, this young woman seemed to be able to thread through a stampede of folk running from the fire whilst others attempted to put out the flames as a loud whistling noised filled the air, and soon after, the sound of support beams were giving way to the fire; a loud shrieking whirlwind filled the air as embers scattered and flames leapt with life. It nigh catches anyone too close and sends others sprawling. It was enough to deter him and send him on a wide berth before finding some old woman; a woman that the younger had stopped at previously. Yet, the younger seemed gone!


Damn, bless his foul luck.


"Where...did...she go?" He questions of the older woman as he comes to a skittering halt; his chest hitching and breath heaving. His eyes were wide as there was another whistling noise; the pavilion was catching the flames quickly and spreading widely. Another gust fills the air as embers and heat swirl round. Shiloh pushes the woman away; shoving away from any task of spraying the pavilion with useless buckets of water. "Fire...fighters...they'll be on their way, now...where's the girl?!" He questions of her over the din of the pavilion taking up the flames and the forest groaning with pain. It would be long until he had been pointed in the direction though with a simple: "T...That way!" And with that, Shiloh was off again like some mad man.

God only knew why he was risking his neck for anyone, but there was Shiloh, and he wanted no more but to bring an end to this; he wanted to do one thing that he couldn't whilst pushing papers. He wanted to touch someone's life as he had before, and that adrenaline pumping throughout him was enough to leave him shivering faintly and pushing forth through the dense smoke in search for her, but all around there lingered an inferno as the nearby forest caught the worst of it; flaming up and igniting anything within their path...It's then he found her.

He wasn't sure how he had managed to catch up. Perhaps she was like some hare with a heart throbbing beneath her chest so quickly that it left her running in circles? That could be the answer, or simply the fact that Shiloh had somehow managed to cut her off, but soon he was colliding with her and his arms wrapping tight as both were heading toward the soft earth and muck beneath them. He held her down there and then; keeping her sprawled and pinned as he attempted to be the voice of reason with flames at his back and tree limbs falling to the ground nearby in a rush and burst of heat.

"Come with me, damn it! There's nothing here for you! You'll only get yourself killed," he tells her firmly and pants heavily, his words hitching here and there simply for the fact that he's out of breath. "Can't you hear the sirens?" He questions of her next; the bright lights were hard to see, but the sound of the sirens crying out: "wee-woo-wee-woo," were something evident of what would happen next; men clad within thick yellow flak jackets attempting to fight a beast made out of fire. It's then his hands clasp tight upon her arm and he begins to lift himself off of her. He tugs her onto her feet.

"I'm not going to let you die out here," he states firmly as genuine concern crosses his face and a frown soon after. "I saw many people leaving the tent when you went dashing in. Maybe whoever you're looking for is waiting in the lot, alright? Please...Just come with me, alright?" He tries to speak to her as one would to a skittish mare; his voice soft, warm and husky. He still holds her tight as ever though, as his hands played as iron shackles; he leads her backwards through the forest and carefully, mind you, lest he as well go up in flames or even her.


"Just follow me, please."



His voice nigh sounded desperate; he was worn, and the smoke was assaulting his lungs with fervor.

[siren]

There, in the distance. She swore she could see the glimmer of light between the trees—it was the unmistakable glint of firelight. But then it was gone, and she couldn’t see it anymore. She had to pause, her hands resting upon her knees as she doubled over. The coughs came from her in bursts—as soon as she started it was like she couldn’t stop. Her throat was so dry and it screamed for water.

Her knees had buckled and she fell forward, fingers digging into the cool earth, particles of dirt wedging beneath her fingernails. She fought to get the coughing under control, and as soon as she had done so she took gasping breaths—they caught in her throat and she was unaware of exactly how much noise she was making. The tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her soot-covered face, leaving clear tracks in the blackened dust.

Swiftly, she brushed the tears away with the back of her hand and forced herself onto her feet. She had seen firelight. She could even imagine the voice of Tom and those of his friends, calling to her from the distance.

If she had time to be rational she’d have realised it was impossible. It didn’t matter that they were all the way out here. The fire behind her was like a beacon in the night. The whole city would be able to see it. Tom and his friends would have seen it, and they wouldn’t be laughing about it.

But she didn’t have the time to be rational. She didn’t want to be rational. The adrenaline no longer rushed through her veins and Siren was running on pure willpower—she had to find Tom. So she took off again, like a bat out of hell.

She’d only gone two steps when she was tackled from the side; the blow sent the air out of her lungs and she gasped to get it back again. She could only see the man’s silhouette; it was outlined by the glow of the fire behind him, which seemed to slowly be catching up.

“Get off me!” She screeched, struggling to regain control of her own body, her legs kicking and her arms thrashing, though it all seemed to do no good. The man was too strong, or too heavy, and Siren was weak. He was probably right. She’d probably pass out soon from dehydration or from inhaling too much smoke. But she wasn’t thinking rationally.

In consequence of her mad thrashing, she hardly heard a thing the man said. “Tom! Tom’s out there…I have to find him, have to warn him!” She continued to screech. “Just…GET…OFF!”

But it was all useless. Her weakened muscles protested and she fell limp. She was consumed by the knowledge that she’d started this fire, and that if Tom had died it was her own fault. Her body bucked mildly as she started to sob. For a second it was almost as if she’d given up, as if she’d do as this kind man asked her. But Siren wasn’t the kind of girl to give up easily.

Her head shook from side to side in denial and she finally stopped everything—her eyes widened as she stared up at the shadow which was the stranger’s face; “Please…please, you’ve got to let me go. I have to find Tom…have to…” she said, her voice a husky whisper. But she pleaded with him, the tears glinting in the corners of her eyes—they were the brightest things on her filthy face, shining like sapphires in the night, and they were desperate.

[shiloh]

There were a few things Shiloh needed to do - a few mental notes he was listing there and then. First: He needed to stop smoking. Two: He needed to stop with the fast food. Three: Well, exercise. Why? Simply because he was already out of breath; winded, even. Maybe it could be blamed on the smoke smothering his nostrils and lingering at the back of his throat. It's that which is completely unlike the tar and nicotine he was used to. Still, he was attempting to will himself forward; to hold onto her for dear life because if he died now then...well, that would put a hamper on his current life, and no one wanted that.

"If I do then you'll die!" He barks at her; throwing everything he had behind his words. His tone of voice laced with frustration and anger. Couldn't she see that he was helping her? Couldn't she see that with every passing minute that she struggled she could die? Couldn't she see that he'd die in vain if she were to pass there and then? They needed to leave.

He had sounded desperate once but that had been thrown to the wind as caution had been prior to chasing after her. So, now he was wrestling with her whilst attempting to ring common sense within her mind as best as he could. Truth be told though that seemed to be a chore within itself.

"Sweetheart, I'm sure the fire alone is warning enough," he breathes out heavily against her ear; voice grating against her sense as she continues to screech out her reasoning. Tom. Tom was her reasoning. No doubt some lover. Some friend and utmost confidante. No doubt someone she trusted. It's a shame that she wasn't going to be let go.

It was a strange moment then. Shiloh could have been asked later on by authorities what he felt then. It had been a strange sort of euphoria; a semblance of bliss amongst the ruins and chaos that the fire was starting all around them. He could smell the woods around them being inhaled by the inferno and his lungs sang and tightened when the smoke smothered him. It must be the feeling of dying; of being choked. Maybe...He wasn't so very sure any more when she was pleading with him then...

If he had been a weaker man her tears and sapphire eyes would have won him over. Except Shiloh was rather stubborn and he wasn't wishing to die tonight, nor did he want her death upon his conscious. So, Shiloh spoke simply and gave her no other choice as he pinned her to the forest floor; soot and dirt clear upon his features.

"You're coming with me, alright? Otherwise we'll be found tomorrow morning charred up and tangled within a heap. I'm sure your Tom will be waiting for you with the fire engines," he pauses then as a wail fills the air; a tree bursting with flames and tipping away from them. Shiloh covers her with the entirety of his body then as a wave of heat engulfs them briefly; sparks misting within the air.

He thought he had died then but he hadn't. Praise God, or so some would say. He had been spared and his body had shielded this pretty young woman from the worst part of the exchange. His face tips away and his mouth falls open so he may breathe heavily. His eyes seek out of her own; except they're pale and green to her own bright blue, and they're near ready to plead with her.

"We. Need. To. Move. Now," he says each word strongly through near clenching teeth. It was then - trustingly - that Shiloh begins to lift himself off of her and his hand grips for her own; pulling her to her feet whilst simultaneously tugging her against him; shielding her with one free arm as the treetops above them were engulfed; all around them the fire burned and the sounds of the engines far off were like a siren call.


Come hither, sailor.



What had he gotten himself into...?

[siren]

She’s not really hearing anything he’s saying. Of course she’s too well aware of his hard body pressing her to the ground and not allowing her any purchase. Still, somewhere in the back of her mind her rationality was giving her a scolding. Of course he was right—Tom and the boys would have seen the fire coming, right? They’d have run, they’d have got out of harm’s way. It was all Siren could do to believe it, to hope to believe it.

But she still couldn’t get it out of her head that this was her fault, and the safety of those boys was her responsibility. It didn’t matter that they were probably safe. She’d not feel at ease until she knew for sure.

But he’s still insisting that she go with him. If he was so damned concerned for his own safety he could leave her behind. At least, that’s what she wants to tell him. Her tongue is tied, however. Again, her rationality was berating her—of course he wasn’t going to leave. He considered himself one of those fandangled knights in shining armour. He wasn’t going to leave because he’d followed her in order to save her.

Well, hell, she didn’t need saving! Or so she led herself to believe.

She’s already trying to scheme her way out of his grasp, even after the huge crack and crash as a whole tree came tumbling to the ground. The stranger’s covering her body with his own, then, and although her nose is all but blocked with the scent of burning bushland, she’s still able to catch a whiff of him—all manly sweat and cologne. If the situation had been any different, she may well have been aroused.

But not now. Not with the world crumbling down around her—both literally and metaphorically.

There’s a chorus of hurrahs in her head as he rolls off of her, pulling her to her feet. She’d remained pliable, had stopped her struggling to at least give the impression that she was weak. Never mind that she was weak and she was only deluding herself when she thought otherwise.

It was only when they were standing that she made a final attempt at releasing herself from the stranger’s grasp. She’s not realised that her breathing had become shallow and sharp and that her lungs were hardly getting any oxygen at all. The heat all around them was causing their skin to sweat, and Siren was slippery beneath the man’s grasp. She slipped free, finally, but her glee at succeeding was short lived.

The final burst of energy was enough to send her body spiraling to a grinding halt. She took a few steps back, but swayed—she started coughing as she tried to breathe, and it only made it harder to gain breath. And then the darkness started to creep in, and the ground spun beneath her.

“No…” The word fell from her lips in a pathetic whisper, a last stubborn attempt at resistance, before she finally lost consciousness.

[shiloh]

He felt victorious over the fact that she was pliable at that moment but then things were taken a sudden change that made Shiloh lose himself and control over his tongue altogether.


"For fuck's sake!"


He couldn't keep this up no matter how badly he wanted to leave. Maybe he should turn and let her die. Maybe he shouldn't have even come to try and live out his dream of savior; the same way he had done such long ago. Some people simply weren't cut out for this sort of thing. He should have left this to the professionals; the authorities. Except now her sudden freedom was coming to a swift end by the hand of God himself, or so Shiloh thought.

It was like watching all life begin to slip out of her; dripping to the ground as she had begun to lose herself and had lost consciouscness. Luckily for her Shiloh was one step behind and before she could fall to the earth and strike her head on some stone, Shiloh was catching her within his grasp and hoisting her over his shoulder. He knew what to do but would he succeed?

Shiloh had a lot of time to think then without having to wrestle and argue with the young woman not laying across his shoulder. He had more than enough time to think of his life and Mackenzie altogether. Maybe that's what happens in the face of death? Some people say you'll see your entire life pass before your eyes but he had never expected something like this as he groped through the dark and bursts of light from the fire spreading above and below; manuevering past trees alight and logs squealing as the heat soars within and splits them; releasing a wave of heat that chases at Shiloh's heels.

Shiloh wasn't sure how he had managed out of the woods that night. He had no answer but for the sudden burst of adrenaline and need to live that kept him pushing forward; soldiering on through the mud, muck and flaming debris. His lungs were assaulted by the end of that trail as he had managed through a wall of fire and near collapsed soon after only to be catch by the hands of others; passerby and firemen both.

He could hardly believe that he had made it out the woods then as the sirens fill the air coupled with strobing lights that probe through the thick smoke and din. There are faces all around; flashing lights and camera men shuffling close to record the tragedy whilst microphones are thrust in every which direction. He could hear voices; a number of them. He could hear his lungs near ready to collapse with inhalation of the forest's death.


Oh, sweet God, don't let me fail now!


"You'll be okay," they say; they as in the firemen and passerby with their hands upon his shoulders. They push him forward and with every step his legs grow weaker and his body makes note of all the little hurts and aches. "You'll be fine!" Another says and Shiloh counters.

"She needs help. She needs help. Don't you hear me? She needs help!" She needs help. He needs help. His body was ready to give out then as he felt hands steering him toward another direction; through the thicket of reporters as lights flash and cameras are recording. He's steered toward the strobing lights and the thicket of ambulances.

It took him a long time to register that he was still alive and...okay, not well, but alive. He felt the lift hands coming off of him when he had been filtered toward the medics quick at the work; hydrating those who had been apart of the tragedy and treating those with serious burns. Shiloh was the former though; hydrated and suffering severely from the intoxicating of smoke. He spits to the ground when finally settling that young woman down upon the bed of the ambulance; a medic drawing close simultaneously as Shiloh drops his hands to his knees and curses under his breath: "fuck me."

Water was offered and he took it then but had been more intrigued with something else entirely; her. He finally got to have a good look at her and not mixed with the myriad of shadows that the fire had casted, but by the flourescent lights of the ambulance and other strobing lights all around. She's a pretty thing albeit coated with soot.

"She's fine," they say. "You're fine," another says. "Is she with you?" He had no answer. "It's best she stays with someone who knows her," another says. "She's simply lost conscious. She'll regain herself soon enough." "We should take her to the local hospital to check on her." "She isn't hurt." "She." "She." "She." "Shi." "Shiloh."

His head was hurting as he sat down upon the rear end of the ambulance as they overlooked the young woman; one hand upon his head and the other upon that bottle of water.


"Yeah, I'm with her."

[siren]

Her eyes flicked back and forth beneath her closed lids, and she was oblivious to anything happening to her physical body. Instead, images of fire and charred earth filled her head; the laughing smile of Tom, though it suddenly disappears and is replaced by a twisted grimace of anguish as his body is consumed by flames. So many horrid images, and yet to begin with it had all been fun and games.
There were flashes of pure euphoria—the flames danced, and Siren danced with them. They were the same as she was. They were fiery and unpredictable, and by god they were fun!
She pranced through the trees behind them, chasing them, only to have the roles switched.
And then the images changed, switched roles, and served only to torture Siren’s unconscious mind. Until finally her eyes flew open.

Before, her breathing had been even and smooth. Just prior to her waking, it got shorter, sharper, and she started to squirm. A whimper may very well have escaped her throat, but her voice had stopped working. It needed oil—needed water. And when her eyes opened her body was still and her breathing returned to a semi-regular pace.

Instead of the bright, fiery light of orange and red fire she was accosted with bright fluorescents. A delicate frown creased her soot-laden brow as that bright blue gaze of hers slid from left to right. The walls were close around her, and she felt as if she were in a van of some kind, something reminiscent to the caravan she slept in every night. But this was far too bright, and far less comfortable.

Her lungs burned, as did her throat, her nose, her eyes. She felt dry as a piece of paper, flimsy and as if she could blow away with the wind, or be torn into a million different pieces, like ash. She didn’t like it.

With a groan she pushed herself into a seated position, though she immediately felt like lying down again. Her head began to pound with an inescapable ache and she hunched over to cradle it in her hands. It took her a few moments to realise where she must be and how she must have got there.

The sudden realisation had her swinging her arms over the side of the little cot, as if she were about to run straight back into the inferno and finish what it was she’d started. But all her muscles ached nearly as much as her head did, and her breath rasped in her throat. She shook her head from side to side. She wasn’t going anywhere.

It was amazing that those tiny little tears were able to squeeze themselves free from her eyes. It was amazing that any liquid at all survived within that parched body of hers. But the tears came freely, streaming down those blackened cheeks as Siren realised that she’d done this, and there was nothing she could do to turn back time. She was awefully anxious to find out what had happened to the rest of the troupe, but she had no energy left. Nothing.

But if she’d realised the man was sitting there, at the end of the trailer, she’d not have given in. She was far too angry at him to have him see her so weak and vulnerable. No, for the moment she assumed she was alone.