12. Jack: Going Down

"Wake up."

She grumbled sleepily and tried to ignore him.

"Damn it, Jack, wake up! We're in trouble." Rough hands clasped her upper arms and lifted her up. Her warm blanket was torn away, letting in the cold.

"Wha...?" She stared up at Riddick in confusion. Had something gone wrong with the treatment?

"Get up, kid, we have to get out of here." Riddick pulled her to her feet. She staggered slightly, hand going to her head.

Huh? Her hair was short. Maybe two, three inches at the longest, a slightly fluffy mass around her head. What had happened to her head?

She looked around her. Shit, she knew where she was. She knew _when_ she was... It was six months after the crash; it was that last night, the night that--

For a second it almost seemed that she knew what was about to happen. But it fled her mind before she could focus on it. Riddick was gone from her room. Suddenly he was back, carrying a small duffel bag.

"Fuck, kid! Get some shoes on or something, we have to GO!" He grabbed her and started forcing her street clothes on her over her pajamas. She got it together enough to take over. He nodded and grabbed her bag, shoving her things into it as fast as he could. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the apartment.

She could hear strange voices in the stairwell below them. Hard voices. Military cadence to their speech. Riddick dragged her up the stairs. She had to take the steps two at a time to keep up with him.

They headed to the roof. Luckily all of the buildings were tightly-packed in this part of town and even she could jump across. They crossed four before they headed back down to the street. Riddick looked furious.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled her through the thinning night-time crowds.

"Spaceport. We're shipping out."

"Just like that?"

"Yes! Just fucking like that, now shut up, I need to pay attention!"

She shut her mouth and concentrated on keeping up with him. At least he hadn't bailed on her. That was her secret fear, that one day she'd wake up and he'd simply be gone. Every morning for the last six months had felt like a present, because he was always there. And now--

_Now I'm slowing him down, I know I am, but he's still not leaving me. God, I love him..._

She'd still never told him that she'd bought her ticket on the Hunter-Gratzner specifically because he was on it. He'd been her outlaw hero long before then. When she'd heard that he was being transported to the Tangier System on the HG, she'd hocked practically everything she had and lifted ten wallets to make the fare. Anything, for a chance to say that she'd actually seen him, actually traveled in the same ship as him. Even if he _was_ being sent back to Slam.

The idea that he would actually take her under his dark wing had been something beyond her wildest fantasies of the time. The idea that he would actually run the risk of being caught, just to keep her with him... it was beyond comprehension to her. But he was doing it.

They ran on and on until a fiery stitch formed in her chest and she stumbled. Next thing she knew he'd scooped her up and had her in a fireman's carry. His pace was unbroken. He seemed to barely be breathing hard. Finally they reached the subways and boarded one headed for the spaceport. At this time of night it was almost deserted. They crouched down, hiding themselves from the windows as the train roared toward the spaceport.

"You okay?" He reached over and put his hand on the side of her face, making her meet his eyes.

"Yeah. What's happening?"

"I sprung a trap. Fucking stupid... Special Forces got wind of me on the Network. They might have people waiting for me at the port. You remember the drill if we get separated?"

She nodded. "There's a ticket to New Mecca under the name Jack B. Badd."

Riddick hated that nickname of hers, she knew. He'd shamed her out of using it by singing a mocking rendition of "Johnny B. Goode" constantly for a month, replacing the title name with "Jackie B. Badd" and changing other lyrics to lampoon her and her various personal habits. He had a wonderful voice, but he only sang when he was making fun of something. Usually her. Now he rolled his eyes.

"If we get separated, go stay with Imam. I promise I'll come for you." He squeezed her hand as if to seal the promise.

"Okay. But I'm staying with you."

"Jack, these people play _really_ rough. There could be shooting. I don't want you anywhere _near_ me if that starts. You hear even one gunshot, you run in the other direction, as far from me as you can get."

_Never,_ she thought to herself, but she nodded to keep him happy.

Finally the train slid into the spaceport station.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

"There's a ship leaving in five minutes at Berth 643. We can make it if nothing gets in our way. We're booked, but they're not gonna wait for us," he replied. He'd shouldered both their bags, and had her hand in his. "Ready?"

She nodded again, not really meaning it any more this time than she had the last. She was scared out of her mind.

They took off running, weaving through the late-night crowds, a strange and compelling sight that couldn't fail to attract attention.

Behind them, shouts and loud footsteps erupted. They'd been spotted. Riddick dragged her along with him; she forced herself to keep up. Her breath was already ragged and painful.

They almost reached Berth 643 before the first shot rang out. Suddenly Riddick let go of her arm. He shoved her pack into her hands. "Go!"

He raced toward the ship's airlock without her.

_NO!_ her soul screamed. Ignoring his instructions, she charged after him. She wasn't going anywhere without him.

Another shot rang out. Ahead of her, Riddick had begun to zig- zag as he ran. If she ran straight, she could catch up--

A giant, brutal hand suddenly shoved her from behind and she felt her feet leave the floor. The rough carpet rushed up at her face. Pain exploded through her as she hit.

Dizzy, she forced herself to rise. She was suddenly so weak... she could feel something hot and wet on her thighs. She reached down, feeling something warm and slippery in her hands.

A glance down brought her back down to her knees as she realized she was holding her own intestines. She'd been shot in the back by a high-velocity bullet. Blood and gore was splashed on the floor in front of her. Hers.

Ahead of her, Riddick had reached the airlock, which was starting to close. He dove through, hitting the ground and rolling. As he rose to a crouch, their eyes met.

She would always remember the look on his face. It would sustain her throughout the nightmarish months in the hospital, the gray, empty years in the shelter. It would give her the strength she needed to resist Jarvis' many attempts to manipulate her emotions. She would treasure it always... always...

He looked as if _he_ had been shot, as if _his_ life was the one that had just been blown to pieces. Agony. Anguish. Soul- crushing grief. Emotions she'd only seen on his face once before, when he'd stumbled out of the darkness without Carolyn Fry.

The last thing she knew before the darkness claimed her was that Richard B. Riddick loved her.