Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Deadline

No, I needed it. I drop my arms and trust my instinct. I'm running. I don't know how I have the sense of out, but I trust myself. I follow the path of sound in the forest, weave between the stifling thickness in the air. The forest becomes grey and then blue, and distantly I can see the dancing yellow and orange light of the flames.

Alright. Three killers, three friends, and hopefully a few hours. I glance around the visible forest. It feels so bright right now, compared to the rest of the forest. I can see etchings in the bark, the fine lining of leaves, signs of disruption in the underbrush. But I don't need the fine details. I need the clearings, the trampled trails. I slow to a trot carefully scanning my surroundings. There is path, crashed between the thinner twist of a thicket that seems to fence off part of the forest. I follow, picking back up into a run. I keep to the blue-light.

I spot Mason first and realize my mistake. His eyes are wide and marble-like, unfocussed. He is too fresh to draw the flies, blood still seeping slow from his body because his heart is no longer pushing it out. His jaw is unhinged and crooked. I won't look at his torso. The thick pool oozing beneath him has seeped between the leaves. It isn't a glossy scarlet surface I can see my face in and measure my own grief and guilt. I can only hold Mason's dead gaze. I stoop and reach towards him. Warmth is still leaking off of him and I feel like I should still be hearing his scream. My hand jerks away after a moment of hovering, maybe more than a moment, long enough for the heat to start to dissipate.

I close my eyes. There is no other way I can look away. I turn my body slowly as I stand, arms out to righten my balance. And I start walking. There is a wall growing in my mind. It's a hazy glass, thick and cold. Whatever is on the otherwise cannot knock back. Address it later. Worry later.

I start running with my eyes closed. I won't be able to go otherwise. I dig my nails into my palms, release and retighten my grip, until the heat I feel against my skin is only my own, and it is only my own sweaty skin I can think of the texture of. I open my eyes when I start to see Mason on the back of my eyelids. I build the glass wall higher. Distorted images shift and contort on the other side. I have to find Camilla and Sadie. I have to find them now, I have to.

The walkie-talkie. Mason's walkie-talkie. I spin around. Yeah, yeah I can do this. I walk back. Its slow and jumpy. Shudders run up and down my spine. The forest is too loud now. Things falling in the leaves, trees groaning when the wind gusts, snapping and crackling of woody brush. I spot Mason again. He looks like a mannequin from afar, when he is little more than a human shaped shadow on the ground.

I thought seeing a dead friend would make me cry, throw up, start to shake uncontrollably and break down into a ball of shattered thoughts, become nothing. But I draw close, and I don't see Mason in that body anymore. The marble eyes the twisted jaw. The body is barely warm when I stoop over it and begin searching the pockets and folds in Mason's clothes. I shuffle through the leaves and the thickening blood. The metallic smell that overwhelmed me before barely registers. I can't let it.

My hands are wet, cheeks are wet. I'm sure one of them is watching. I'm so sure that I strain the muscles in my face into neutrality. Camilla and Sadie. Camilla and Sadie. Camilla and Sadie. Anyone else I can get out. Everyone else I can get out. I'm sorry Mason, I'm sorry. Where is the fucking walkie-talkie?

A chirp. Static. Camilla's voice. Tired and spaces around heavy breathing, but Camilla's voice. "Mason? ....Mason, check in. ... I got another ten out but....but I found three bodies." A long pause. "No sign of (Y/n)... Check in." Another long pause. "Sadie, check in."

Chirp, static, screaming. I jolt up, snap out of my freeze at the sound. The walkie-talkie is behind me. Above the ground. The man with the white mask is standing there holding the walkie-talkie. He is bloodier than before and seems to have traded in his pipes for one of the lankier of the three's hatchet.