gen_storyteller

Another chapter of my post-NFA fic.

Many thanks again to

bogwitch, for detailed and really helpful beta work, and to

spikes_heart for constant encouragement, interest and asking just the right questions!

Title: Darkness Visible

Pairing/Character: Spike and Anne

Rating: G

Summary: Post NFA, LA is a mess, and Spike's not much better.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including NFA

Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, especially Spike, but they are Joss’s. He really did say we could play though.

Story so far: Things in LA have remained dark after the battle, and demons of all sorts are partying. Spike has met old and new friends and acquaintances and is trying to make some sort of a difference.

Feedback? I yearn for it.

Chapter One is here
Chapter Two is here
Chapter Three is here.

Darkness Visible

Chapter 4

Spike eased his spine against the doorframe, still alert. He twisted a cigarette from knuckle to finger, backward and forward, but there was no glow. The Zippo weighed his pocket down uselessly, the fuel long ago spent, but the feel of a fag in his mitt was worth something even so. He inhaled deeply, tasting the air for hostile scents; for the moment at least there was nothing close by.

The sky roiled, a mixture of dark on dark, swirls of black ink superimposed on deepest grey. Somewhere beyond that it was just possible the sun was trying to reach through. Not a lot of sign of it yet, though.

He rubbed once more at his scalp. He didn’t look so pretty now – it was a wonder the lass had recognised him at all. Dragonfire injuries lasted longer, like cleansing bubbles. Part of him felt he ought to feel grateful he’d survived. Mostly he didn’t. Twice now in his unlife he’d embraced a fiery and heroic end – and bloody well got through it after all, not against all odds but in the face of all logic. Just what did a bloke have to do to die a hero?

He shifted his weight as a faint sound behind alerted him. Before he’d registered the slight movement in his peripheral vision, he was moving. He punched the door frame and launched himself backward into the yard, landing poised for the attack. And stopped. A slight, bottle-blonde little thing, couldn’t be more than a dozen years old, stared at him open-mouthed. He recognised one of the teenies from inside and shook his features back into smoothness.

“Wouldn’t do that if I was you, pet. Not if you want to stay in one piece.”

The girl paled and took a sharp step back into the shelter of the doorway.

“’s alright, luv. Not gonna hurt you now. Just sayin, is all.”

“Sorry senor,” she offered, “didn’t mean to spook you.”

He repressed a growl. Spook him? Had it really come to this, some itty bitty brat apologising for scaring the Slayer of Slayers, the Big Bad himself? He sighed. Kinda seems it had. He swallowed, “OK, kid. No harm done. You looking for me?”

“Yes. Anne, she’s woken up again. She wants to know if we should be moving out”

“Yeah. It’s time to mosey on out of the corral.” He paused for a beat, looking at her blank face. He forced his voice to project calm. “Yes, it’s time we moved. Tell her I said so – I’ll be in there soon.”

The child scuttered away and Spike carefully reinserted the fag in its battered box. No knowing when he’d get another pack. He stretched, feeling the hip grating again, but much less painful now. It was always possible things could be getting better.

Anne coughed. Stupid brat must have told her he was jumpy.

He turned his head. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Consuela says you think we should move.”

“If you’re rested, luv. No point hanging around. It’s a long walk.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not stupid. I know how to hide things.” She waved him to follow her and strode across the tarmac to a shed at the rear of the gas station. A brief tussle with a padlock and she wrenched the door open to reveal a rusty yellow bus.

“Local school district wanted to junk it. The tow guys owed me a favour, dropped it off here on the way to the wreckers’ yard I kept it out of sight and didn’t tell the kids – it even has half a tank in it.”

“Is that right? How come? There’s people round here’d kill for half that much juice right now.”

“Look out the window, idiot. That gas station. It’s been closed a few years, but there was diesel in the tanks. Not much, but enough. The kids bust up the pumps a coupla weeks back, after we’d taken what we could. No point attracting more attention than we need.”

“If we can get that rustbucket going it’ll be a miracle. Got the key?”

“No. I wouldn’t have thought of that, now, would I?” She smiled and thrust it at him. “Go ahead. Think you can drive it?”

Memories of a battered Winnebago careering down a dirt track. He forced them out of his conscious mind and fiddled with the lock. There was usually a knack to this sort of thing. “Ah. Got it. Yeah, I can drive it. If it starts. Should take the kids I saw in there too – any luggage?”

“We travel light. Just the food and whatever bedding they can carry.”

Spike jerked harshly at the handle. It came away in his hand. “Bugger!”

“It’s always doing that.” She looked thoughtful. “We need a way of getting you onto the top. The dealer fitted an exit there for this model – the rear one was faulty. One reason the district junked it.” Anne looked around, for a moment helpless. “We used to have a ladder somewhere.”

“No need to fuss yourself, pet. Vampire here, remember.” He took three steps back then vaulted to the roof. She gasped at the balletic grace of his leap and he smirked. Some things you just had or you didn’t have.

“Once you’re inside you can kick the door open. Just don’t break it, right? I want to be able to seal this thing off while we’re moving.”

“Too right. Keep the nasties in their place, yeah?” Slipping his fingertips under the seal, he wrenched the skylight up. He flicked it back and slipped easily through the gap, landing, catlike, inside the bus.Bloody hip grated again, but the girl didn’t see that. He swung his way down the gangway to the door. One hefty kick and it was open. “And for my next trick…”

There was little sign she was impressed. She turned, suddenly businesslike and focussed. “Get the bus out – I’ll get the kids.”

Astonishingly the machine started first time. Spike gunned the motor, just for the hell of it, then reversed out of the shed. God but it was good to feel an engine roar for him again - even this clapped-out piece of junk.

He was just starting to wonder if he should turn the engine off again to conserve fuel, when the pathetic little procession started. Skinny, gawky kids clutched bags and comforters, blankets and pillows, and even one battered teddy bear. They stood patiently at the foot of the steps, waiting for the word to climb in.

Spike nodded to them. “Come in, kiddies. Make yourselves at home.”

The boy in the lead looked anxiously at Anne, who nodded approval. He scurried on board, followed by the others, Anne in the rear. She closed the door, carefully and pulled herself up to stand by Spike’s seat. “Buckle up if you can, guys. I don’t think we have a slow driver here!”

Some of the boys brightened; there were even a couple of cheerful hoots. Not all the spirit had been driven out. It was sad that the prospect of a fast ride in a school bus could be so exciting. Still, Spike could put on a show for their money. He leered round at them. “You heard what the lady said. Daddy’s putting the hammer down!”

Swinging round, he started the bus moving with a jerk and floored the pedal. The vehicle picked up speed agonisingly slowly and he looked round, smirking at Anne. “Like living dangerously, pet? This here Porsche of yours might make 0-60 in – oh –three weeks.”

Anne gripped the handrail tightly and gritted her teeth. “You have a better motor? Feel free to use it.”

“Just joshing you. This does get the job done. Which way?”

“You’re not putting the headlights on? Is that safe?”

“Two kinds of safe, luv. Safe from hitting all the heavy traffic on the road and safe from attracting attention from passing demons and vamps. But just look at where all that heavy traffic isn’t. What’s your choice?”

“If you put it that way…” Anne tailed off.

“I do. Now, you were going to tell me which way to go? There’s an intersection coming up; now might be a good time.”

“Left,” Anne ground out.

Spike grinned. Annoying young blondes never really got old. He whistled between his teeth as he coaxed the machine to go a little faster.

***

Ten minutes out a roadblock offered a challenge. A crazy, baroque set of towers and pinnacles reared up into the sky. They were encrusted with shells, broken glass, and contorted metalwork. By the look of it someone had dragged one across the road, snapping it off at the base. Not easy for humans to do – even a vamp would find it tough going to rip one of those things down.

Spike slowed the bus, all his senses alert as he swerved in search of a way through. There was one tiny opening – doubtless a trap. The alternative was to reverse, seek a different route. Some would do that.

The beam of the headlights illuminated the coloured patterns and corroded metal bars. Someone had done a real job on these things. Nice option for a fight. The tyres complained as he stamped on the brakes.

He pulled himself upright in a single fluid move and punched out towards the door lever. Anne jerked out her own hand and gripped his wrist. “We have twenty children on this bus. What the hell are you doing?”

He paused and looked back. Most of the brats were cowering in their seats, clutching each other and a motley assortment of bedding. He sighed. Bugger the soul. He couldn’t abandon them like that.

They couldn’t move on easily, though. He scanned the darkness for some sign of movement.

Nothing. By the suspicious gap in the roadblock some scraps of fabric fluttered.

He turned back to the girl. “Look, love. I see your point. But if we try driving through there we could all be victims. What say I go along and check it out? If I don’t come back, you have the bus – you can turn it round and go a different way. If I come back, the straight route’s cleared. Win all round.”

She looked less than convinced. “You’re not opening that door, Mister. Too easy for things to come in.”

“Fine. Tell you what. I go out the way I came in. If I’m not back in ten, you go. No hard feelings?”

He gave her no time to frame an answer, but reached up to the skylight and wrenched himself through it. In seconds he was on the ground, smirking at her through the panes in the door.

He turned to take in the view. No point risking an ambush He loped to the end of the prostrate tower and gripped a wild curlicue, hauling himself upwards. He moved with panther grace and stealth, but shells clattered off the frame and cascaded downwards. No element of surprise then.

By the time he reached the top he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. No challenge, no evil roar or violent attack. Just a lot of silence. As he clambered across he looked down through the filigree of metal and concrete. Down below, mounds of blackened rags flapped blindly in the despairing light.

He swung himself down to their level and pushed at them with a toe. Layers of fabric shifted just a little to reveal horns twisting away from a face which was hardly visible through a thick white beard. A Krankarl demon by the look of him. In a bad way too. Its misty eyes stared at him in fearful hope, but the ichor puddled around told its own tale.

Spike reached down and gripped the head in both hands. “Sorry, mate,” he muttered as he twisted sharply. With the faintest of sighs the creature died.

Spike moved on. Surely that couldn’t be the only ambusher? Beyond the end of the horizontal tower lay a heap of meagre corpses. Difficult to tell if famine or monsters had got them, but they weren’t going to be a threat to anyone again.

He strolled back to the bus. He didn’t bother explaining, just lifted himself back in the driver’s seat as soon as Anne opened the doors. Ramming the pedal down, he negotiated the vehicle carefully past the chaotic heaps of death.

It took half an hour to follow these dark, empty roads up to the hills. They passed low-rent houses, business districts and high-end mansions, all blackened, charred, battered. Occasional lurid watchfires lit figures running or staggering, while in places groups gathered round the remnants of homes, watching the flames fade and gutter as the last beams fell in, crashing and cracking into extinction. Where possible, Spike steered well away from these places, but there was no need. At most a few dull, sullen faces lifted at the sound of the motor, then fell at once.

Gradually they were getting higher, out of the bowl of the city. The neighbourhoods were looking as if they had once been more salubrious. Now that just meant a better class of corpse by the roadsides. Faces twisted in rage and agony, clawlike hands extended, begging or threatening – it was impossible to tell. By the time they drew up in the forecourt of a Colonial Spanish style building, he was just glad not to see more. It was a bitter irony – the Scourge of Europe, who had left a trail of far more impressive deaths behind him, was sickened by the mountains of mortality.

He braked and parked, as close to the door as he could manage. It took no pressure at all to persuade the kids to stay on board. He and Anne moved softly onto the ground, across to where a huge, carved, oak door waited for them.