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Flying With Damaged Feathers

by hornethead

Chapter 27: Chapter 27: Jackson's Low Crawl

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Chapter 27: Jackson’s Low Crawl

There was no pain when Jackson awoke this time. Instead, he felt as if he were wrapped in a large, warm blanket that matched his body temperature and took all feeling away. The fact that he saw nothing more than the dark cloth of the hood pulled down over his eyes and secured around his neck only completed the illusion.

His thoughts were hazy at best. It was like there was a foggy pressure wrapped around his mind. Snatches of things started to come back to him, shadows nipping at him from dark corners. Suddenly, there was a flash of fire in the back of his throat. Not anything composed of real flame, but of liquid, and then only a mere memory.

He remembered drinking something. Something that burned on the way down. An alcohol. Yes, it started coming back, thick wool peeling away from his mind to let the cool air in. He had been having a drink in his kitchen—his destroyed kitchen—as well as a conversation.

The conversation had had a sharp twang to it, the kind you only heard in the south. His mind fit the twang to a face and then Jackson remembered everything at once, a surge of memory that seemed to smack right into his forehead.

Then he got angry. Oh, if only he could reach out and strangle the shithead…

But no. now wasn’t the time to act, as much as he wanted to. Some of the feeling was coming back in his arms, the tingling sensation slowly giving way to the coarse roughness of rope around his wrists, binding them tightly to something. Strangling was temporarily out of the question.

Jackson could feel panic start to bloom in his chest, but wrestled it down and calmed his breathing. Long as it had been, he tried to remember his training. He needed to take stock of the situation and think things through.

He went quiet and listened, slowing his breathing. Where ever he was, it was silent, muffled. A small room maybe. Jackson wasn’t one hundred percent, but he was sure he was alone. Through the thin cloth of the hood a dim light shown down from above, just enough for a single solitary bulb.

As far as Jackson could tell he was still in his own wheelchair, only now he was captive to it. He tested the ropes wrapped five rows deep on his wrists, wringing his arms back and forth in an attempt to loosen them up. Ten minutes later he hadn’t done more than chafe his wrists.

Jackson cursed himself and his own complacency. The hood over his head only made it worse, increasing his agitation with each passing moment. Claustrophobia lurked at the edge of his mind like some curious predator, but his training kept it at the perimeter.

After some more futile flailing, the faint sound of voices caused him to go still. He could hear them coming from somewhere to his rear, but they were far off and muffled. That meant the door to his little cell was right behind him.

Jackson couldn’t help but laugh at himself and the absurdly clichéd situation before shutting himself up as the voices drew closer. As they came up to the door he was sure was behind him, Jackson forced himself to relax and let his head droop down as if he were still out. If he couldn’t get loose, he could at least get a little information from the loud mouths outside. From the little he could get through the muffling of the door, they were discussing mostly small talk; boring things like weather and possible recreational plans later. Soon though, they made it quite apparent what their prime interest was.

“So… what’s this guy’s deal again?” said a young male voice, just outside the door.

“Dunno,” said a female voice, “boss just said to be careful around him.”

The door unlocked with a loud clack, a heavy deadbolt, and the voices became much clearer.

“I don’t see why,” said the male. “Guy’s out. Look at him, he’s a vegetable!”

The door closed with a heavy thud, “He was pretty explicit about it…”

Jackson paid close attention.

The male sounded young. Older than a teenager, but not quite grown. The other sounded a bit older and her voice had a slight English accent to it. Something clattered loudly onto a table in front of him, startling him a bit and causing his head to twitch ever so slightly.

“Hey, did he just move?” asked the female.

“Probably just dreaming,” the other dismissed.

“Better hope so, for our sake.”

“Yeah?” said the cocky young male, “Why?”

The inside of Jackson’s eyelids brightened as the hood was ripped from his head. He tried not to react. He felt a foreleg wrap around his head and pull it up. Jackson cracked his eyes open a millimeter and caught a glimpse of the table and one of his captors.

A female pony with a deep blue coat and a lighter blue mane to match was standing across the table from him. In front of her on a tray was a small knife and a hypodermic needle. That meant the male was likely the one holding his head up.

“It’s just that I heard some things about him, y’know?”

As the female spoke, Jackson heard the scrape of metal coming of the desk. He resisted the urge to tense up, anticipating something unpleasant.

“Probably just one of the guys trying to spook you. He’s in a wheelchair, how dangerous could he be?”

Even as the male spoke, Jackson felt the knife slide across his wrist, but rather than cut into his flesh, it merely sliced through the ropes binding his right arm to his chair.

Jackson cracked his lids again and watched the female pick up the syringe with a magical field, “Even so,” she said, “we’d better make sure he stays under. Hold his head to the side so I can get at his neck.”

“Alright,” replied the male, placing the knife on the table.

Jackson didn’t need to hear anymore. There was no way he was going to sit there and let them pump him with more mystery drug. His sudden action surprised the two ponies in the room with him so much that they nearly froze.

Jackson reached up with his free hand and grabbed a handful of mane. He heard a yelp as he leaned forward and yanked down, throwing the kid over his shoulder and hard onto the table with a large crash. He swiped the knife from the table and used it to cut off the ropes on his left wrist. The female shouted something and rushed at him, but Jackson snatched the syringe from her magical aura and jammed it in her shoulder, depressing the plunger.

The female started to wobble on her legs. She mumbled something before collapsing onto the floor. Jackson was still a little woozy, but he forced his thoughts through the thinning fog in his mind.

He gripped the wheels on his chair and spun himself around. Thankfully, his two captors had been a couple of amateurs and had left the door cracked open. He pushed his way out into a narrow hallway. It was dank and made of concrete. There were no windows and it had the cold feeling all basements had.

Jackson made a mad dash for the nearest corner, looking for a way out. As he came around, he did.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me…”

A steep flight of concrete steps rose up into the darkness. They were just wide enough for a single man to fit through up the cramped passage.

Something shifted back in the room, making a noise. Jackson backed up to the corner and looked over his shoulder. The stallion stumbled out from behind the door, the knife gleaming in his mouth. The stallion shook his head clear, looked up and spotted Jackson, eyes going wide with fury.

Jackson didn’t think twice and wheeled quickly to the stairs even as he heard the clack of hooves rush down the hall. The stallion rounded the corner and slammed into the back of Jackson’s chair, knocking him off and sending him down to the ground. The stallion kicked the chair out of the way and lunged at him. Jackson wasn’t going to make it easy though and rolled as far out of the way as he could in the narrow hallway just as a hoof smashed down where his head had been.

The stallion was quick though and bucked. The kick caught Jackson in the shoulder, but before the stallion could recoil, Jackson wrapped a hand around and ankle and pulled him in, punching him in the gut. The stallion grunted and tried to pull back and recover, but Jackson shoved him face first into the opposite wall.

The stallion started to get up, but Jackson wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He crawled over on his elbows, climbed up on the stallion’s shoulders and began pummeling the back and sides of his head with his fists. The muscular pony struggled to get up under Jackson’s weight, but the incessant lashing of the man’s fists made him dizzy, finally forcing him back to the cold concrete. He went limp and Jackson paused for a breath, then gave him one more lick for good measure.

Puffing his breath and feeling a little out of shape, Jackson rolled over and started making for his chair. His chest fell when he saw one of the wheels had been bent horribly out of shape from the stallion’s kick earlier.

“Aw shit, this is gonna suck…” he grumbled to himself while turning to the stairs.

The rough concrete steps scraped and grated against his chest and elbows as Jackson slowly dragged himself up by his arms. For once he was thankful he couldn’t feel his legs, the damage he must have been doing to his knees was unimaginable.

The stair was long and cramped. Every time Jackson looked up into the darkness and what he hoped was the faint outline of a door, it seemed to be the same exact distance as when he had started at the bottom. Even so, he would shake his head and continue the climb. No other way out but up.

It was when he was sure he was making progress to the top, nearing the door’s landing that something finally changed. He’d pulled himself up yet another few precious feet when the door at the top of the stair flung itself open with a loud crack of wood on stone. Blinding light flooded the stair, causing Jackson to shield his eyes until they adjusted and he could make out a lone figure silhouetted in the frame of the doorway.

“Damn Jackie, can’t leave you alone without you putting one of my boys in a coma…” called a highly familiar twang. “What’d you do this time?”

“Why don’t you come down and see, you son of a bitch?” Jackson challenged.

Blackjack descended a few steps into the stairway, his features becoming more visible after stepping out of the high contrast of the light. He seemed worn, as if he had spent the last year working non-stop, day and night. That haggard look one gets after spending a few nights with only a few hours’ sleep was prevalent around his eyes and his mane seemed greasy and lank.

“Now, I understand the hostility. I haven’t exactly been straightforward…”

“You think?”

Blackjack held up a placating hoof and briefly looked away, “but it’s been in your best interests.”

Jackson fought to contain an outburst. Blackjack had done all of this in his best interests? He could hardly believe that being taunted by some masochist female, shot at, then actually shot, drugged and kidnapped by someone he thought was a friend could possibly have been in his best interests. Eventually, the anger won out.

My interests!? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t remember being dosed and tossed into some amateur dungeon ever being in my interests!”

Blackjack shrugged, “I’d come down and explain it to you, but you look like you want rip my head off…”

“You think?”

“Well shit, if I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t’ve said it.”

“So why don’t you come down and find out for sure?”

Blackjack took a few tentative steps down the stairs, but remained a safe distance away. “Love too, but I value my health. Why don’t we take this back into the room so we can talk with a little more civility?”

Jackson had to physically stop his teeth from grinding against each other, “You call this civility?”

Blackjack looked taken aback, “Now I know this ain’t the best of circumstances, but it’s what I got to work with. Now my boys down there are gonna wake up soon and it would be best if you were back in your cell with me. I know that doesn’t sound very appealing, but neither does fighting your way outta here. How about you just work with me a little?”

Jackson considered his options, glaring up at the deep red stallion at the top of the stairs. He thought it over with a grimace. Jackson didn’t like it, but Blackjack had the advantage. The ponies Jackson had knocked out were already starting to stir. It was just a matter of time before he’d have to fight again and the prospect made him uneasy.

“Fine,” Jackson finally said. “But one wrong move and I’ll—“

“I know, I know,” Blackjack interrupted with a grin, “you’ll kill me.”

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