Work Text:
“There’s no cover!”
“Quick, behind the table!” Lock and Jawn make a break for the table and chairs, ducking behind them together. They cannot see over the chairs due to the sniggering woman perched in one with a cup of tea and some knitting.
“Where are they?”
“Lurking… waiting to strike.” Lock jumps up, scanning the garden, then drops back down to his knees. He’s lucky Martha ensured everyone had knee pads on before she let them all out to play. “I saw them by the ship.”
“We can flush them out if we’re quick.” Jawn checks his gun for bullets for the third time, pleased that in his hurry none slipped from the chamber. They run as a duo, firing at a figure that dashes past the ship. Each bullet misses, so they turn to the remaining enemy hiding inside the hull.
“Attaaack!” Lock battle cries.
There’s a yell of terror from the ship, and a gangly boy hops off the other side and sprints wildly with no clear direction. Lock takes the back side where Mycie departed from, whereas Mr Jawn Bond runs for Greggy, who squeaks upon the sight of a charging hedgehog and forgets to shoot. He just barely dodges a bullet and takes for the far end of the garden. If only he could hide in the kitchen; alas, Martha has forbidden inside play unless someone needs the toilet and he knows his older self would agree with the rule.
Right now, however, he has few places to take cover and he is still being ambushed. Finally he remembers his gun, rabbit legs splayed every which way as he jumps to avoid the foam bullets aiming at his feet. He twists his upper torso and fires, just scraping Jawn’s arm. He yells, but it is only a graze, and it only briefly slows him down.
“We can talk about this!” Greggy implores.
“Shoot first, ask questions later!” Lock shrieks towards Jawn. The little lad nods, and tries to shoot again, but he’s ran out of bullets.
The dawning of haunted realisation could be visible to satellites, especially Greggy, who has only shot a single bullet. Jawn swiftly turns on his heel and sprints as fast as his little legs can carry him; far, far away. He runs so fast he has no time to slow down for any obstacles, and ends up colliding with Mycie, who was too busy watching behind him for Lock. They fall backwards onto their bums, yelping in unison.
“Oof.” Lock comments when he finds them.
“Ouch.” Mycie pouts. “That hurt.”
“Sorry Mycie. Didn’t mean it.” Jawn winces.
“It’s okay. I’m fine really.” Mycie sniffs.
“That’s gunna bru-uise!” Greggy sings, pulling Jawn up. Lock copies, and when Mycie is on his feet he rubs at his face subtly then turns heel and makes a hasty exit.
Lock watches, thinking he might find a place to cry, but Mycie simply takes position in view of them in case he is fired at once more. Jawn huffs, bringing the attention back to himself. “I ran out of bullets.”
“Break Mycie! Jawn needs more bullets!” Greggy yells over the ship. The lad nods, his auburn hair all mussed with a front curl from the whip of wind, and probably, like the rest of them, sweat.
The three of them clamber on their hands and knees collecting the ten bullets; and once Jawn is reloaded, they take off in pairs again, finding solace anywhere they can. “Pretend I’m James Bond!” Jawn informs the group from his post, like they’ve forgotten his insistence of the role in the half an hour they’ve been playing.
“Down with MI6!” Mycie yells, then claps a hand over his mouth. There are no members of his secret service to hear such a thing anyway, as Greggy sniggers at his self-imposed shock. From behind the wall leading to the back gate Myc and Greggy take positions, Myc at the top, Greggy squatted down so they can fire from both heights, ensuring no matter whether the boys (spies, more like) duck or run they can get them.
“What are they doing?” Greggy asks, squinting across the garden. Not for the first time, Myc wishes he’d just get some glasses. He too can see the random movements, bangs and crashes coming from afar. Mrs Hudson gets up to investigate, but she returns chuckling, so whatever they’re doing isn’t naughty.
“They’re scheming.” Mycie spits between his teeth, fingers gripping the handle of his gun tighter. How dare they have machinations and not him!
“We need more cover. Grab the wagon.” Mycie does as he is told, whilst Greggy makes a brave advancement towards the teepee. He drags it back to them, flipping it so the door is on their side. He helps Mycie tip the wagon on its side for a larger cover with wheels to deflect bullets.
Meanwhile, Lock and Mr Bond have used the ship to their advantage. Bond is always about adapting to predicaments, and today is no different. The flag has been removed and pinned up beside the ship using a washing line pole, and the treasure chest recently added to the hull from their pirate game is dragged off onto the grass, the lid flipped up to give more cover. Locky has unscrewed the spray nozzle from the hose pipe, and when he holds it over the edge of the flag, it is indistinguishable from the nerf guns. A perfect decoy, they realise.
The war begins.
Bullets begin to fly across the garden, some whistling as they go. The extra bullet packs purchased for these types of games are greatly appreciated, Mrs Hudson doling them out before they begin, allowing each pair to reload between strategies and rounds to prevent constant pauses to collect their bullets. Mycie takes his time, crawling between the limited space of the teepee and the wagon; unlike Greggy, he fires sporadically, noticing the decoy gun within moments, and after some observation, he realises that there is a strategy to the way their enemies shoot. This information is extremely vital to his own method, which he employs when he is certain he will hit his target. However, Locky is a bit trigger happy, as is Greggy, and they are left with only three bullets each. They must be more careful.
Confident with his routine of ducking behind cover and jumping up to fire in alternating moves with Locky, allowing for a continuous barraging attack, Mr Jawn Bond grows a little too zealous with his technique, and when glancing down past the treasure chest to remark his enjoyment to Lock, there is a crack, and the breath is briefly snatched from him.
“Ow! Oh no…” Mr Bond looks down at his chest where a bullet pelted him with a fair bit of force. As if to remind him of his predicament, another one gets him in the pec, and he drops to the floor with gasping breaths, disguising Mycie’s shout of victory. Locky cries out in horror, scurrying from his post to crawl up to Jawn Bond.
“Hang in there, I’ll call reinforcements!” Locky fiddles for his walkie talkie, but Jawn grasps the front of his shirt, pulling him down.
Lock’s head tilts to lean his ear closer, ragged puffs of breath panting into his hair. “The money is in-“
“In?” Lock prompts, shaking him by the collar of his jacket.
“In, in the…” Jawn’s voice starts to wane.
“Yes? Where?” Desperation fills Lock’s eyes.
“I…n…” Jawn croaks, his head falling back onto the grass as his tongue lolls across his chin.
“Noooo! Cruel world! You have cursed us so!” Lock wails into the air. He pounds the floor next to his fallen brother who is staring with glassy, unseeing eyes towards the sky.
Fury seeps through his bones, curling over his cracking heart, and he whirls around, swiping his gun from the floor. He shoots behind him over the treasure chest and hears a yell of anguish, a curl of satisfaction raising his lip.
“Locky? Pretend I come back to life.” Jawn whispers around the tongue stuck out of his mouth.
Snickering, Lock pulls him up. “Okay.”
Nearby, behind a tree, is another fallen soldier. He is clinging to his partner, weak grasp slipping with each moment. “I love you. Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t,” his partner sniffs, “never.”
Mycie lets out a noise of agony and then drops, his full weight in Greggy’s arms. Greggy lays him down in the shade of the teepee so he can lean over to kiss his face. Perhaps he is too vigorous, for Mycie begins to giggle at the ticklish pecks.
“Alright boys. Break time! I’ve made snacks!” Mrs Hudson calls from the table.
Mycie couldn’t move faster if he tried.