"Blood Moon"~ part five

[mlaw]

 ink to part 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/582662.html
link to part 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/589643.html
link to part 3: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/593353.html
link to part 4: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/596121.html

The night sky was filled with dark foreboding clouds but still the full moon was clearly visible. Slowly the eclipse began, little by little as it was sliced away by the shadow of the earth and became a haunting shade of red.

Napoleon Solo and his partner stood on the rooftop of headquarters in New York, watching the event and once it was over, it didn't take long before the next disaster showed itself as Illya had feared.

White Rider disappeared from the streets as quickly and an inexplicably as it had appeared. In it's place a new and even deadlier drug arrived to wreak havoc; not surprisingly it was dubbed 'Red Rider' but sometimes it was referred to as 'Happy Face'.

Red was more addictive than it's predecessor and the high achieved from it was so intense, so exquisite that it made more people seek it out inspite of the dangers that had been proven by its forerunner, White Rider.

This new drug completely addled a person's brains as they sought to stay in a constant state of euphoria.

Those who kept taking it stopped eating, drinking and sleeping and literally wasted away, perfectly happy as they slowly died with smiles on their faces. The drug made the users feel so good that they simply didn't care about the dangers of using it. Was it possible that people were taking it in fear of the end of the world...something they didn't want to think about?

Happy Face, however, did not help those addicted to White Rider...and now cut off from it entirely, those people began to riot. Buildings were set ablaze and half the city was burning out of control.

There simply weren't enough engines and firefighters to handle anything of this magnitude.

It was as Kuryakin had suspected, this was all somehow connected to the horseman prophecy and perhaps the eschatological theories concerning the final events in the history of humankind and the second coming of the Messiah. That was almost impossible for him to fathom...The more he read and researched, the more he realized so many faiths had the same scenario. Hinduism believed in great cycles of the destruction and creation of the universe. The Hebrew scriptures depicted catastrophes that would beset the people of Israel. In Christianity, the end times began with the life of Jesus, thought to be the Messiah who would return to establish the kingdom of God. Millennialism focused on Christ's second coming and the reign of the righteous on earth and the damnation of the wicked. In Islam, the Mahdi, or restorer of the faith, would come to begin the last judgment, in which the good would enter heaven and the evil would fall into hell.

No matter which way one looked at it... the end of the world was a common belief. It was Armageddon, but not a battle to be fought on some mythological plain; it was being fought now on the streets of the world.

Illya became concerned about his friend Claire, and without telling anyone; he went to the Bowery Mission to coax her into leaving. *

However, she refused to abandon those who were alone and friendless and they in turn remained to protect her from the onslaught of addicts, thieves and murderers who might assault the fortified building. At the moment the mission seemed to be somewhat immune, perhaps because most knew those within it had nothing worth stealing.

"Claire, please come with me. I can keep you safe," Kuryakin pleaded with the older woman."

She still knew nothing about what he did and where he worked.

"I can't leave these people," she stood her ground against his wishes.

"Then I will ask someone to stay with you. He will at least be armed and can better protect you. I have too much to worry about and the thought of you being in danger weighs heavily on my mind."

Though Claire was of sturdy stock, she was not a young woman and she was as stubborn as they came, perhaps even more so than her young Russian friend.

"No! You need every man you have to fight this insanity," she said, assuming he was some sort of policeman." We'll be fine here. My locals are staying to protect me and the mission...hey they're street people and pretty tough to have survived all these years you know."

"Yes I do," he pulled her towards him, gathering his friend into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "But please if you need help, do not hesitate to send for me? Promise?"

"I promise, now you need to get out of here before it gets dark. Go...shoo! Beat this thing...I know you can do it! And get a haircut," she joked.

"Yes I will. You are not the first person to tell me that and thank you Claire. I wish I was as confident in myself as you are."

She saw him to the heavy oak doors that were the main entrance to the place and bolted them behind him. They'd protected the Bowery Mission since the 1800's and she was confident they'd continue to do so.

Illya looked cautiously about as he walked towards the armored U.N.C.L.E. van parked at the curb, waiting for his return.

Suddenly he realized the driver side door was wide open and the Section III agent accompanying him was no where to be seen...it was young Agent Williams.

Kuryakin drew his Walther in one swift single motion as he turned three-hundred-sixty degrees, searching for the missing man.

There laying on the sidewalk hidden by some trash cans lay Williams' lifeless body. His wallet and weapon gone…

A blood curdling shriek came from behind the Russian as he knelt next to the body, and in a split second someone was on top of his back trying to wrestle him to the ground and seize his weapon.

After tussling, Illya wrenched himself free of his attacker's death grip, throwing her away from him.

"Give me your money!" A wild-eyed girl screamed at him, holding a sharp wooden handled shiv and waving it in his direction.

Her hair was long and matted, her clothes filthy as was her face. Through the layers of dirt and Illya recognized her instantly; it was Louise Miller, the girl he'd sent away from the drug den not six months earlier.

"Stop! Stop it!" He bellowed at her. "Do you not recognize me? Louise!"

The girl took a step back, staring at him with dilated pupils.

"Rasputin. Yes I know you. You were nice to me...I should have listened. I didn't go where you told me. I need White Rider, can you get me some? You have it right?"

"No Louise I do not, please put down the knife and come with me. I can help you. I helped you once before, did I not?"

She stared at him, feeling conflicted between the need for the drug, the need for help, and to feel safe again.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, taking a step back from him. She looked as though she were preparing to drop the knife.

A shot rang out, hitting Louise in the head, sending her body flying backwards, landing sprawled out and dead on the sidewalk strewn with human detritus.

Kuryakin didn't wait to figure out where the gunfire had come from behind him, and he ducked, making a run for the van. He dove into the driver's seat, just being missed as another bullet hit the windshield; the safety glass worked but the damage spread into a spider web of cracks.

Illya started the car, and flooring the gas pedal; the tires screeched as he tore down the empty street, zigzagging around the burned and abandoned vehicles that dotted the road.

.

Napoleon Solo was keeping watch on the roof of headquarters with John Uriel standing beside him. The F.B.I agent had taken up permanent residence there at the Command, acting as a liaison between the two organizations, though at the moment there was little information to be shared.

The deciphering of the little black book was still in the process, coming along ever so slowly, and as pages were missing some of the notations didn't make sense. Still, Research and Development weren't giving up hope.

.

A dark van was approaching headquarters at breakneck speed. Without hesitation, Uriel raised his AR-18 assault rife, taking aim where the driver sat, assuming the vehicle was going to try to ram the boarded up tailor shop entrance.

"No! Don't shoot," Solo barked.

Uriel obeyed, lifting his finger from the trigger at the last second; seeing what Solo was seeing... a long-haired blond through the cracked windshield of the van.

"Hold your fire, it's Kuryakin," Napoleon radioed. " Be ready to give him cover fire if he needs it."

The Americans watched as the vehicle screeched to a halt, jumping the curb as it did so. Illya ran straight for the steps leading down to the door of Del Floria's as shots rang out, hitting the brick wall above his head and sending bits of stone ricocheting around him.

"There," Uriel pointed calmly, aiming his rifle and firing into the window across the street where he'd seen a weapon's flash. He let loose a few well placed shots that seemed almost impossible to have made.

The gunfire was stopped...

Opening the door to Del Floria's, the brass bell rang it's welcome to the Russian; that sound was the only thing that remained unchanged.

Illya stared down the barrels of several U.N.C.L.E carbines as he stepped inside the dimly lit tailor shop. The steam press was silent and the room cold, but Tommy Lopaka, the head of Security, called out the all clear, allowing Kuryakin to pass.

"How is it out there brudda," the big Hawaiian asked.

"Bad, very bad," he answered without looking back. Heading straight to the dressing room and turning the hook; Illya waited impatiently for the door to the agent entrance as it slowly opened.

After receiving his ID badge, Illya headed straight to the Commissary, feeling the need for a strong cup of tea and as he took his mug to a table in the back corner of the room, he pulled a hip flask from his pocket and poured a healthy libation of vodka into it. It had been a birthday gift from Napoleon...when? His memory failed him at the moment, and that bothered the Russian

At the moment, he just didn't care. Just this one drink he told himself as he daren't have too much and risk dulling his senses...though he dearly wanted to be drunk out of his mind at the moment.

Losing young agent Williams had hit him hard and well as the final fate of Louise Miller. She had gone to the shelter as he'd asked her to but then Claire told him the girl disappeared back onto the streets and hadn't been seen again.

He sipped his spiked tea slowly, trying to enjoy it. There wasn't much tea left at this point and the food supplies at headquarters were being rationed carefully. Though many of the personnel having raided their own food stores in their apartments brought it all in and donated it, having basically moved into headquarters themselves for safety.

.

Food deliveries from outside the city were brought in under armed guard, not only for UNCLE but for markets around still able to remain open.

They were fairly well protected with private security services, but it was the little shops and bodegas that were at risk, though many of the owners bought shotguns and pistols to protect themselves.

Sanitation was a thing of the past as everyone still around working for that department in the city was helping to fight fires and save lives. The heavy garbage trucks were being used to help secretly transport supplies into the city.

Most people ventured out in small groups during the morning hours to get what necessities they could find as the addicts seemed to disappear during the daylight hours...perhaps an effect of the drugs. For the most part prices were reasonable, though there were unscrupulous thieves out there who didn't hesitate to engage in price gouging.

Gasoline was at a premium. Electric was being rationed as well, and was only on for a few hours a day.

Headquarters was operating on it's own generators, but power usage was kept to a minimum, supporting essential services. Half the building remained in the dark. The Masque Club and accounting offices above it at the other end of the block had been shut down completely now and the secure U.N.C.L.E. garage operated in half-light.

Security was of the utmost importance, but one would never have thought it wasn't against T.H.R.U.S.H.

The place was simply understaffed now. Too many agents had been lost in the beginning and Waverly stopped sending his people out onto the streets unless it was absolutely necessary. It was a question of hunkering down to wait and see what happened next.

Nothing could be done at this juncture, though it stuck in the Old Man's craw to have to take such a laissez-faire attitude; there was no choice. He simply refused to risk the lives of his people unless viable intel became available, and as of late that was in very short supply.

.

Napoleon called another agent to replace him on the roof; going in search of his partner, and wondering what had happened.

He was a little annoyed the Russian had left the building without telling him, and he was going to give Illya a piece of his mind for doing it…

It was too dangerous out there and why the man had ventured out was beyond him. Waverly wasn't sending anyone on assignment, so he knew Illya had to have done this on his own.

.

* ref. The Bowery Mission Series