Disclaimer: The characters with the exceptions of probable OC's are not my own, in fact, they will never be, so don't arrest me please (dry expression)...
A/N: When you pair extreme tiredness to the night when you see the movie, you have this: probably the first story in the category. Genre-wise, two selections really can't cover it in its entirety. It's a bizarre mixture of a western/action/adventure/friendship/suspense/supernatural, plus a little bit of horror...and let's not forget a substantial dose of romance now! Ya can't properly have a sequel to such an awesome film without it!
But, my dear friends, I know what you are thinking. Yes, you are thinking "No! An OC story? You murderer!" I can assure you, my acquaintances of FanFiction, that I have tried my utmost hardest to make this story into something not focused exclusively on the relationship of the cannon character and the OC. Clearly, said original character is female, and I have worked hard to assure myself and others that no Mary Sue shall be found here! It may seem like it in the first few chapters, but during those I am simply developing the plot before we take the literary plunge together into a vastly different place than what you undoubtedly first assumed. I take any sort of advice into deep consideration, and very much love getting reviews! I hope you enjoy this endeavor of mine!
Chapter 1 - Unwanted Confrontations
Jake Lonergan traveled unaccompanied. It was only natural - he truly did live up to the rarely detected first part of his last name. The pronunciation got them every time.
The solitude of the desert was calming, the utter silence, fulfilling. The light breezes of early evening washed across his face like a welcomed emotion, taking away the heat that the midday sun had brought to him, if only for a little while. By force of habit at this thought, he raised two fingers to the brim of his hat, and tipped it back down to its customary position, for it often became askew, jostled around by the sometimes harsh movements of the horse beneath him. He rode on to places unknown with no intentions; no purpose, his services no longer needed for the town that had only before the problems began harbored scorn for him. He was a free man.
His horse was a good one, handpicked from a herd of strong-bred males, shaped and molded over the years for life in the desert. When mulling lightly over various names he could privately refer to the animal by, he had settled on "Paytah", a title of the Native American Sioux tribe origin meaning 'fire'. It fit the stallion well, the pace of the creature as that of a wildfire. The horse was essential to life on the move, for the desert was harsh, and memories of a trek across it a long while ago with a woman in his arms reminded him just how much wear it had on a man. Water was scarce; rivers few and far between, more so than occasional towns, no more recurrent than a needle in a haystack. Sometimes he would ride into one, hoping to get some good quality food, only to find that it was abandoned, long gone corpses of its previous inhabitants marring the streets. Needless to say, he was able to continue on his way without feeling like he should stay the night...
When settlements were naught in sight, he shot jackrabbits. Large Antelope Jackrabbits that were fast on their feet and hard to catch unawares. But by some means, he got by on them. He always carried enough bullets with him to last two weeks, the longest he had ever been away from a permanent town. When he arrived in one, he would always get more, selling the hides from the rabbits he had killed for money. It was a constant cycle, repetitive, but necessary. He had learned to deal with it. It was his life after all.
One particular night, the fifth night since his last contact with other human beings to be precise, he dismounted his steed and tied it to a sturdy tree near a seemingly secure rock formation. After removing what little he needed, he sat down beneath it, removing his hat and placing it beside him, simultaneously opening the pouch of food that he had taken from its place upon the horse's saddle. Staring into it blankly, he found that there was only enough rations left for, at best, one or two more days if he let himself go slightly hungry. He sighed and took a piece of the bread in hand from within, pulling the draw strings on the bag closed and sitting it next to his hat. As he ate this small bit of sustenance he watched the sun set, distractedly wondering how long it would be until he found another comfortable place to spend the night. The life of a roving man left no room for comfort when it came to sleep, and after days of sleeping on the hard ground, a practice that the toughest of the tough had done for centuries, he always anticipated a genuine bed to rest in. Just for one night, of course. Staying in a town any longer than that could become problematic, as he had discovered that fateful night in Absolution.
Finishing his sad excuse for a dinner, he crossed his arms behind his head and lay them on the rolled up blanket he used for a pillow. The stars were only just beginning to appear. They made the discomfort of the ground worth it, as they had for so many other in his position. Out there above there was a world unknown, a world where alien life forms thrived and preyed on each other, and where the good citizens of earth were a race to be plundered for undesirable utilization. To the beings beyond visual range, humans were weaklings. That is, until the inhabitants of Absolution and a menagerie of others fought against them. But one thing was for certain, if there were more demonic creatures out there past the stars, they surely didn't know the same things as the particular ones who already had come to earth knew. It was just a thought that was ever present in his mind.
Sighing deeply again, he closed his eyes after a myriad of time observing the stars, and slowly drifted off into a light sleep.
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"Jake..." A haunting voice called. "Jake..."
His eyes shot open. His breathing quickened. He had no idea as to where he was. There was a bright light above, and for a terrifying moment he thought it to be the light that plagued his past, but it wasn't, it was simply the sun's effect on tired eyes. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, no longer in the desert, but in an endless field of soft, green grass. He looked around, quite internally bothered. His rough hands ran through the long grass, remembering what it felt like after so long in the sand and sharp bushes. He blinked, unsure of what reality was anymore.
"Jake..." The voice resounded again, distant yet so close. "Help me, Jake..."
He was to his feet in an instant. "Who's there?" He demanded, on edge. "Are you hurt?"
"Help..."
He heard it again and tried to find where it came from, but it was all over, infinite, eerie, most of all, female. Somewhere, there was a woman in trouble, that or she was just a figment of his own mind. "Where are you?" He said a but louder, spinning around.
"Here..." It was directly behind him.
When he turned to meet the voice's owner, he was greeted with a sight that caused his knees to feel week. A sight that made him nauseous.
Ella Swenson stood there, the wrist band she had taken from his grasped in her hands, facing him. Her stare was lifeless, otherworldly, her eyes unblinking. He took a faltering step towards her, but stopped dead when he saw the grass around her begin to move like it was alive. From it came the demons, the aliens who had taken the loved ones from the townspeople, distorted and hunched. Their backs were littered with the arrows and spears of the Chiricahua people, their faces mangled from the bullets that had been repeatedly shot at them. They rose up higher on their strong hind legs, not noticing him standing there, eyes only trained on the woman they surrounded.
"Ella..." He murmured, and she smiled sadly, just before she was engulfed in the sea of bodies that overtook her with lethal intent. He watched, unable to move out of his own horror, weapons nonexistent and face contorted with a blend of rage and grief. The monsters were ripping her apart before his very eyes. Her blood stained the grass, her cries were unheard through the chorus of growls and roars from her attackers. He shook his head slowly out of pure disbelief. There was no possible way she could have met an end of that magnitude. The ship was destroyed, and she had been the one to do it.
Just as he thought these things, a burst of frighteningly white light awoke him from the dream.
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The desert was naturally cold in the middle of the night, but when he returned from the appalling place that had been his nightmare and saw the group of faces hovering above him, the current temperature was the last thing on his mind. He felt the boot collide with the side of his ribcage and scowled. There were guns trained on him, many guns. Through the darkness he counted six men, each equally repulsive even in the minimal light.
"Well..." drawled one of them, "looks like we found an outsider, boys."
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A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please do review if you will, and I shall write another chapter ASAP for you. Good day to you all :D