Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (13 page)

“
I
just need to get out of here. Yeah, get out of this shit hole and
I'll sort myself out.”

“
Okay,”
Coban replies, knowing full well those words mean squat. Not even the
threat of the apocalypse sweeping every country can prevent his
downward spiral. The world might be going to hell, but Gunner is
already inside his own self-made version.

“
I
know you don't believe me, but this time will be different.”

Yeah,
that's original, mate. Real original.

“
And
listen, what you said last night—”

“
What's
that? Are you referring to what I received a smack in the face for?”

Forrest
retrieves the t-shirt from the floor and tries to find the correct
way it goes. Once right, he slips it past his head, leaving his raven
hair sticking up towards the ceiling.

“
Yeah
that. You were right, if she were with you, then she'd still be here.
My cowgirl, too.”

Coban
gets to his feet as Forrest stumbles past the foot of the bed. He
checks the room for whatever belongings he threw around the place—a
distraction to maintain his words from sinking in.

“
I
didn't mean that, man. I was seriously pissed the hell off. In fact,
you know me, I'd have cheated on her if she'd have picked me. Then,
she'd have run to you. You know I just want what I can't have.”
Coban attempts to sound as sincere as possible, despite the pang
within his chest.

He
loved Elise and still does. No one expected Coban Hayes to fall in
love within his lifetime, least of all himself. But he knew he loved
her the moment she walked into the dance hall.

He
spotted her in the crowd with her dark waves tumbling down her
slender frame. Those piercing green eyes slipped into his soul as
soon as they glanced his way. As she approached the table, she swayed
her hips inside a tight fitting emerald number. The sequins dropped
into a V-shape that hugged her perk breasts with perfection. When she
tipped him a wink, her lips curved into a glossy smile.

And
she dropped straight into the lap of the man closest—the man
now hungover with delusional notions of quitting drink for good.
Also, for the twentieth time since her premature passing.

Coban
cannot imagine how it felt to break her neck once she turned, but it
haunts him in his sleep as though he did it himself. Vomit curdles
the contents of his stomach each time the thought crosses his mind.
If it were him, he would be where his mate is now, wondering where he
dropped his dignity.

Thinking
about Elise, he realises the woman he took on a date last night—and
left sitting in the restaurant to pay for the drinks they ordered
without so much as a follow-up phone call—was nothing like her.

Not
even close.

In
Forrest's large palm, he tilts the locket around his neck so he can
see the two photographs inside. The despair on his face tells Coban
he doesn't even intend on trying to stick to his promise.

The
first picture is of his wife. They married within seven months of
meeting, then spent fifteen years together. The second is of his
cow-girl, Alanna who had her mother's eyes.

“
They
shouldn't have killed her!”

He
can hear Forrest's screams from last night echoing inside his skull.

“
They
took her away from me! I can't let them get away with that! Don't you
fucking understand?”

Coban
reverts his gaze and pulls his jacket free from the chair.

Outside,
the rain forms puddles on the road and the wind bends the trees as
though they are nothing but paper.

Forrest
drops the locket inside his t-shirt. When he glances back at the
other through the mirror, he runs his fingers through his hair.

“
I'm
sorry, Blackout,” he says, tapping his palm to his chest. “I
will try for them.” Turning, the sincerity shines upon the
cracked and worn surface of the face staring back.

“
Good,
I'm glad to hear it.”

He
learned from both parents it's no use getting optimistic based on the
promises of addicts. And he is
damn
sure
he will play this with the least amount possible. The only honest
thing he can do is support Forrest in his efforts and try to make
that support sound as genuine as possible.

Since
they were kids, everyone has called him Blackout for his love of the
darkness. Although, the nickname is more apt because his parents
struggled to pay the electric bills, leaving them with nothing but
darkness. They threw their money away in the pubs, meaning he would
have to scrounge off neighbours for money to light the house.

He
spent most his childhood around Forrest's house, wishing his parents
were his own. Forrest refused to call him by any other name until it
became part of who he is.

Besides
Forrest, Blackout has no real friends. Sure, he made friends with
Forrest without even trying. For Coban, keeping friends has always
been far too much hard work. There's too much pretence and effort to
get nothing in return, so he keeps himself to himself. It's safer all
around that way. Besides, he has enough to contend with knowing
Forrest.

Forrest
Gunner is also known as “Magic Man” because he never has
to try too hard to achieve anything. He is naturally gifted at
anything he turns his hand to, besides quitting alcohol. More than
anything though, people refer to him by that name because of his
skills with weapons.

With
one sleeve in his jacket, he watches Forrest pluck his khaki military
jacket off the chest of drawers. His face distorts as he looks past
Coban and through the window.

Before
Coban can spin on his heels, he is flying across the bed in the place
his mate occupied a second earlier. His yell disappears within the
loud smashing as the windows blow inward.

Coban's
hip smacks into the drawers before he lands against the floor in a
curled shape. The building breaks into harsh trembles, vibrating the
ground beneath him. He shields his head from the display contents as
the slide off the drawer and over him.

The
mirror cracks as the chair hurls into it, sending glass falling over
his combats and skin-tight jumper. The piercing sound echoes around
their heads, causing chaotic ringing over the harsh pound of his
heartbeat.

With
his arm still lodged part way inside the jacket, Blackout lifts
slowly once the room settles. He knocks the glass shards to the
ground, still feeling the ground shaking beneath his fingertips.

The
sharp breeze sucks the curtains out where the glass once shielded the
elements. The material flaps against the brick erratically and the
wind whistles in angry tones.

As
Blackout stares at the harsh clouds, his face twists in confusion.

What
the hell just happened?

He
glances backwards to the entrance and toilet doors. There, his
groaning mate clutches at his forehead where it's split open with
blood trailing into his eyebrow.

As
he rushes to his feet, glass crunches underfoot as he avoids the
bigger pieces. Tossing his jacket on the debris covered bed, he moves
to lend a hand which Forrest accepts gratefully. He pulls him to his
feet and asks if he's okay, but he has to lip read over the sound of
screaming from the hallway.

Before
loud explosions sound outside the hotel, Forrest looks at his attire
and surprises him. “You wore that on your date? No wonder they
always end badly,” he shouts over the commotion.

Giving
himself the once over, Blackout smirks and decides he'll let it go
for now. His effort at dating isn't top priority right now, but not
being one to forget, he jots it down in his memory bank.

He
moves over to the windows to see the gaping hole in the tower block
to the right. The structure sits exposed and the walls and furniture
topple to the ground. Dark smoke billows out from the windows and
into the wind's path, but there's no sign of flames.

“
What
the fuck's happened?” At his side, Forrest is glaring at the
mess as he wipes away the moisture on his face.

“
Do
you t
hink
it could be an attack?”

Swallowing
hard, Gunner looks down to the street below. “Come on, let's go
check it out.”

“
Don't
you think we should call it in?”

“
They
made it clear where we stand. We're on our own,” he replies
with a scowl.

“
Has
anyone bothered telling you that?” Blackout motions to the drop
belt he still wears, but Gunner ignores him.

Forrest
fiddles with the door he left unlocked earlier, then pushes it open a
slither. Once satisfied, he flings it wide to see a tubby man dressed
in a white shirt and a colourful striped tie. The guy is jogging down
the corridor before he is flung from his feet and slammed into the
painting on the wall opposite.

Forrest
braces himself against the door frame, and releases a groan as
Blackout comes crashing into his side. His mate grabs him from
tumbling into the corridor as the building rocks sideways.

“
What
the hell is going on? Come on, we've got to move,” Forrest
shouts through gritted teeth.

As
he pulls himself through the gap, gripping the other to keep him
stable, Blackout cannot help missing the security of his firearm.

The
man with his gut hanging over his belt buckle pulls himself to his
feet with wide eyes glaring about him. The grey wisps around the side
of his head raise like static over his bald and shiny cranium.
Picking up the contents of the spilled briefcase, he shovels the
papers inside in a hurry, then rushes away.

“
Excuse
me,” Forrest calls out. “Hey! You got any idea what's
going on here?”

“
Oi,”
Blackout shouts after him when the man doesn't turn. “Fuck
sake,” he mutters under his breath.

“
People
get scared, be understanding.” Gunner's tone is
commanding—something Blackout won't admit aloud he has missed.
It's the voice of a leader—a leader whom he has followed into
combat on countless occasions.

While
pulling himself into the slanted corridor, a tremble comes from
somewhere above their heads. The motion makes the lights flicker and
sends plaster falling onto Gunner's shoulder.

Brushing
it off, he glances up to the ceiling before back into the face of his
childhood friend. Despite the light still beating, Blackout's eyes
seem sunken into his skull.

As
he stands at the door frame, Blackout tries to ignore the cloud of
doom slipping in around them, distorting the only world either of
them have ever known.

“
What
the—?” Blackout clings to the door frame and the words
fall back into his mouth as the building shakes.

Gunner
slams sideways into the left wall. Furniture goes screeching across
the walls and sprawling mid-air to the opposite side of the room. As
they do, the cheap, frosted lamp shades that decorate the walls
flutter out of life.