Alone
Left. Right. Left. Right. The pattern was repeated over and over again. Left. Right. Left. Right. The beat of their hearts matching their steps. Left. Right. Left. Right. The burn in their legs taking their breath away. Left. Right. Left. Right. The sound of water came to their ears, as their weary spirits were lifted.
A mountain stream flowed across the land, it's clear water singing a peaceful tune. Its presence brought the group to a halt.
"Let's rest here for a little, it's time we take a break if we want to make it home in 3 days," said Marcus, weary and out of breath. Him and his team of 10 had gone on a trading mission to the floukru's (boat people) village. What was supposed to be a one week trip turned into two, and getting home to Abby was a priority to Marcus. He hadn't been away from her for this long since he had left to make peace with the grounders, and he thought that was long.
The clear mountain stream flowed out of the rocks and down the steep slope of the Appalachians. The red cedar trees danced in the biting winter wind, as the mighty redwoods stood their ground, and watched over the timbers.
The sun was absent, resting behind the clouds.
Marcus lowered his canteen into the crisp, clean water. His mouth watering at the sight of a fresh drink he so desperately needed. Him and his outfit hadn't found a spot for water in hours, they were all weary. Sweat ran down their bodies and dirt stuck to every surface of their skin. Marcus knew every muscle in his body was sore, and they were screaming for rest. It was good they ran into water when they did, he didn't know if him and his team would have made it much longer. The cold has cause almost all the rivers and streams to freeze over, making liquid water scarce.
Marcus looked for a spot to sit and rest a few moments. Perhaps a few minutes could evolve into a few more. The body of a fallen oak lay across the land, slowly rotting away in the cold winter days. He stood from the creek and slowly made his way to the fallen giant, his legs stiff from the chill. Others saw him do this, and joined him with ease. Marcus sat looking into the timbers, seeking Clarke. He had hoped they would run into her on their little journey. It was a long-shot, he knew. But, loosing hope was something he couldn't afford. Abby was only herself around him anymore, and when she was in doctor mode. Otherwise, all she could think of was Clarke, her excessive thoughts worried Marcus. To her, she was still her baby girl.
Clarke, however, wasn't the only person Marcus had imagined to emerge from the forest. The Floukru warned him of the Azgeda, the ice nation.
He was told they were ruthless, and vile. Killing for sport when looking for a game to play. They even killed some of their own, when innocence was involved.
These warnings criss-crossed in his mind. Back and fourth and back and fourth, over and over again. They drove him mad. He wasn't about to have the blood of 15 soldiers on his hands. He was going to trek carefully.
"Let's move on, we don't want to linger to long," he said, standing from his section of log. Everyone let out a quiet groan, even Marcus wanted to whimper at his own remark. But still, they were 3 days from camp, with a long walk ahead of them.
"McCoy, Watch the left. Manser, watch the right," the timbers were dangerous, and proper watchmen were always a careful precaution. Especially when Clarke and the Azgeda still lingered in his thoughts.
Again, the beat began. Left. Right. Left. Right. The crowd didn't even want to think of the pattern, they were weary of walking. Left. Right. Left. Right. It burned their ears. Left. Right. Left. Right. As hours went on, it was gently washed from their hearing. The sound became just another part of nature. Left. Right. Left. Right.
As minutes went by, all there was to do was stare into the trees. Marcus made quiet conversation with his fellow soldiers, as did others. They talked about what to do with their traded goods, improvements that could be made to camp, and every once in a while, a few comments about the beauty of their new world would be uttered. Many nights, Marcus secretly snuck from camp, to look at the Earth in the peaceful night. He's only ever admitted this to Abby, who was joyed to hear he actually appreciated their new life. He smiled at the thought of Abby, even though he probably looked crazy, he didn't care, it passed the time.
The light of day began to dim faster than Marcus suspected, and camp would need to be set soon. Everyone was relieved when Kane stopped and said to pitch their tents. They stopped in a quiet grotto, a large wall of rock protected them from the wind. Fires were lit and meat was carefully warmed. By the time everyone's bellies were full and bodies settled, the party was the happiest they'd been in a long time. And to make things better, Marcus had allowed moonshine to be brought. He figured the cold wasn't going to be blocked by just their clothes, maybe a little alcohol could fix things.
Drums were made from canteens, and sparks were built to bonfires. By the time the moon was high and blazing in the black sky, the soldiers were all intoxicated. Tripping over blades of grass and laughing at things as small as butterflies. They danced by the fires to the beat of the music, they looked like grounders themselves. Even Marcus was a little tipsy, not as bad as others, but he was drunk enough to stop worrying about the Azgeda, and Abby. His plan to save alcohol for warmth for 3 days backfired, but at least they were warm for the night.
As the evening progressed, the soldiers gradually slowed their drinking and quieted down. Sleep overcame the men, and they quickly retired for the night. Marcus assigned five men on watch before he hid away in his makeshift home, carefully hanging a lamp from the ceiling.
"Augh, dammit," Marcus growled at himself as he dug through his pack, worried he left his book at the village.
It was a habit of his to sketch before sleeping. He managed to trade in a shirt for a pencil and sketch book, he never took it off him since, it was like a tattoo, permanent. Marcus filled it with drawings of Grass, and trees. Fish, and deer. Even flowers and sunsets. Anything he could sketch, anything that was new or beautiful to him was copied in his book. His favorite sketches were the ones of Abby. He could look at them for hours. They were, of course, not better than the real thing. Once he finally found the book, his heart was lifted from his chest. He flipped to his marked page and began to draw again. He missed Abby as he carefully drew each strand of her hair. She was beautiful.
A sudden cry snapped Marcus out of his hypnotic state, as he could see liquid blow across his tent, leaving a striped shadow.
"Attack! Were under atta-" a yell was cut short and replaced with a murderous scream. Marcus jumped from his bed, his book falling to the ground. Grabbing his gun, he ducked by his door, peering out. Others were not so smart, and ran from their tents, being shot down on the spot.
"Shit," he whispered to himself.
Marcus looked to the ground, thinking of a plan. Nothing sparked his mind. He knew the grounders weren't dumb, and most likely surrounded them from above the rock wall and trees. More screams filled his ears. He counted the death toll. Five men on watch dead, three men, running from their tents, dead. That left 3 men breathing, including himself, and eight men whose blood was slowly being soaked into the ground.
"FIRE!" Someone screamed from across camp. Lonely bullets bit through the air, all of them missing their ghostly targets. Marcus couldn't see the face of the man who fired, but; he could see him being dragged from his tent by an Azgeda, his head sliced clean off. Marcus aimed his gun at the grounder. Pulling the trigger, he fell to the ground, still.
Marcus immediately regretted his decision. His position being spotted. Breathing jaggedly, he closed his eyes, and counted to three. He knew he was the only one left. Only one still breathing. There was no hope for him now. With a jolt, he stormed out his door. Turning sharply, he bee lined to the trees. His life flashed before his eyes, he knew he was a dead man walking, but; he wasn't going down without a fight. Reaching the trees, a shadow caught his eye. He flipped his gun in front of his chest, using it as a shield as a sword came crashing down. Marcus pushed his gun out, hitting the grounder in the head, causing him to fall back. At his moment of weakness, Kane shot a bullet through his brain, finishing him. He immediately began to run for his life again, once the job was finished.
He thought of Abby as he ran. Her golden hair and sweet smile, warm hands and soft skin. He knew he would never see her again. Never get to say good morning, when they awaken in bed together. Never get to say I love you, when they snuggle by the fire. Never get to say goodbye.
He ran until he couldn't any longer, his legs dropping from under him. On his knees, he looked to the sky, and closed his eyes. He could hear footsteps behind him, he could sense his time was slowly shrinking. Marcus Kane wasn't much of a religious man, unlike his mother. But; even so, he couldn't help but close his eyes and pray, pray that no one would come to the same fate as him and his troop did. Pray that Clarke would come home. Pray that Abby would be ok.
The steps were so close, they were directly behind him now. He squeezed his eyes tighter, preparing for certain doom. It was unlike Marcus to just sit and do nothing, to just sit and die and not try harder. To fight. But what could he do? He was done for. Instead of a sword to the neck, however, a hand gripped his hair. Yanking him back with such force, he couldn't help but scream in pain. The grounder held him by the hair, his neck in a position where If moved, could easily be snapped.
"What is your name," spoke the man, his deep voice adding to his intimidating look.
Marcus stared him in the eyes, saying nothing. It wasn't long before a fist came crashing against his face, drawing blood from his mouth and nose.
"I ask again. What is your name."
"M-Marcus," he stuttered, small droplets of blood shooting from his mouth.
Marcus had barely enough time to process before a sharp pain was felt in his head. He fell to the ground, his vision dimming. He gave in, laying limply on the cold, winter ground.