Your Last Battlefield by patricia51
(The Sentinels were cancelled but the war came anyway. Thirty years after DOFP a single mutant warrior and a single human soldier face each other in the ruins of a devastated Earth. Inspired by the 1961 Twilight Zone episode "Two")
She picked her way carefully across the rubble left by the collapse of the sprawling complex. She wore well worn boots and a tattered uniform that might have once been blue and black with a symbolic "X" still visible on the chest. A needle carbine slung over one shoulder held her single remaining magazine of the steel darts it shot and was more than half-empty. The pack that rode her back was very light and the equipment belt around her waist was nearly bare.
A still standing arch that once held glass doors beckoned to her and she stopped in its shelter as the wind moaned around her and through the ruined landscape. Vines and plants had already begun their work of reclaiming man's works for Mother Nature, softening the harsh angles of the fallen walls. She raked dirty blonde hair away from her face and surveyed the area. Plucking a canteen from her belt she started to lift it then stooped and shook it. Realizing how little water was left in it she reluctantly but firmly put it back.
A gust of wind made her shiver and she pulled the worn coat she had found three towns back. No four. It was ripped in several places but it was better than nothing at all.
A sign caught her eye. "Executive Dining Room". She didn't need any executives but where there was a dining room there was usually a kitchen. Maybe something was there that hadn't spoiled yet. Or spoiled too badly; she was very hungry. The last town she had passed though had been nothing but wreckage not even worth searching through. She had actually found supplies in the one before that, a stash of old MRE's in an abandoned house.
Strange how that all seemed to happen. That town had been neglected and forsaken but there had been no sign it had been the site of a battle. There were no bodies, no bones, no vehicles hit by heavy weapons or mutant powers. It was just empty as though the whole population had packed up and left. Why? Where did everyone go? She knew she'd never know the answer.
This place had been a hit hard. Someone had defended it and someone had attacked. Concrete and steel had been twisted, gouged and half-melted in places. A skeletal arm stuck up from under a toppled wall as though reaching for daylight and air. Although she had seen much, much worse before the sight still made her shiver.
Shaking her head she followed the sign to a reasonably intact area of the complex. She squeezed through an opening nearly blocked by an askew steel door held up by a single rusting hinge and found herself in what could have only been a storage room. And there were cans and containers still on the shelves!
The first one she opened had spoiled. Well that was to be expected. Everything here was probably long past its expiration date. But that didn't always mean it was bad. This was however and she put it aside. Resuming her search she found some that if not exactly tasty didn't seem like it would poison her. A continued search found bottled water.
Her eye caught a shape in the corner. A stove. A propane gas stove in fact. A quick check proved the gas bottle still was half full and wonder of wonders the igniter worked. She scrambled back to the food storage. She had found a package of sealed freeze-dried beef she had planned to carry as trail rations but the chance was too good to pass up. She found a pot, cleaned it as best she could and put it on the fire. The beef package, some veggies and water went in the pot and she all but salivated at the thought of the first hot meal she had eaten in, well, she had no idea anymore.
She sat on her hands. She paced. She tried using the mental relaxation techniques her uncle had taught her. She tried to ignore the scent.
To keep away from the stove she explored the rest of the room. Finding a couple of lockers she opened one door to discover it held clothing. It must have been where kitchen workers changed and for some reason they had never come back to claim their regular clothes. She refused to think the skeleton she had passed could be the user of this locker. This one held a man's clothing but included there was a sport coat and slacks with practically no holes at all. The second locker made her gasp. This one had been a woman's and there was a thick white sweater, a plaid wool skirt and a pair of leggings all of which looked warmer than what she was wearing now. She took out the hanger and admired the sweater. Her mom had one just like it once.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the scent drifting to her nose from the stove. She couldn't stand it anymore and she ate. Throwing caution to the winds she ate all she could hold. That wasn't a lot since she was aware her stomach had shrunk. There would be plenty left over. Two, maybe three more meals.
The stove had also warmed the storage room. She knew she should keep watch but the warmth and her unfamiliar full belly overcame her caution. Besides, she had not seen a person, any person, in weeks. So many weeks in fact that she wasn't even sure anymore if those few sightings had been anything more than desperate hopes brought to imaginary life.
Dogs there had been. But they were dangerous, gathering in packs in the absence of man and hunting for food, which included her as well. A feral cat had followed her for a few days and she had tried her hardest to get it to come along with her, feeding it when she didn't have enough food for herself. But she had awakened one morning and it was gone and no amount of calling and searching had found a trace. It was ridiculous but she had cried, cried over a stupid cat leaving her long after she had thought she had no more tears to shed. So she was alone.
Her head nodded. She managed to turn shut the gas valve, pulled her coat around her and stretched out. Hard concrete didn't keep her from sleep, her head pillowed on her arm. But her senses stayed alert even in her fatigue and the scrape of a boot and the creak of the door brought her to wakefulness. But she was muddled by her body still clamoring for sleep and she reached for her carbine a fraction too late.
"Don't do it mutant!"
She turned and froze at the sight of the pulse rifle leveled at her. Blue eyes burned with determination under a faded green beret. The camouflage uniform the young man wore was as dirty and ragged as her own clothing but clearly showed he was a member of the Humanity Alliance Army.
"Very, very slowly. If I catch any hint you are going to try to use any inhuman power on me I won't hesitate to instantly waste you."
She was tempted to make some flippant remark about "very, VERY slowly not just very slowly?" but found she just didn't have the inclination or the energy. Instead she simply nodded.
Now he hesitated. Apparently he had expected an all out attack from her because he seemed uncertain how to deal with her calm acceptance, not realizing it was simply because she was so incredibly tired and alone she no longer cared. Besides, she didn't shoot laser beams from her eyes of explosive bolts or fire or ice from her hands anyway. She told him that.
"And I'm supposed to believe you?" he scoffed.
She looked him in the eyes and shifted to match his appearance. It was hard. What had once been simplicity itself took almost more effort than she had to give. Gratefully she returned to her own form.
"I know who you are! You're the shape shifter Mystique! My father told me all about you."
Her eyes darted to the nametape on his uniform. "Figures," she thought. "It would HAVE to be Stryker. Stryker Junior," she added.
"I'm not Mystique. My name is Raven McCoy. My mother was Raven Darkholme, whom some people called Mystique, my father was Hank McCoy also known as Beast. And speaking of my mother if you are William Stryker's son did he mention that my mom kicked his ass at least twice?"
Unbelievably for just a moment his steel hard expression softened and the grin that fleeted across his face told her that if his father hadn't confessed to that than someone else had told him. Then he was all business again.
"He told me a lot. Most of what he predicted has come to pass."
She shrugged. "Most of what people on both sides predicted has come to pass. None of it good."
"Not OUR fault," he snapped.
"So it was all ours? Bolivar Trask's experimentations were what? Voluntary or something?"
For several minutes an argument started to build, fueled by old beliefs, old arguments and old angers held by both of them. Remarkably it began to sputter out in short order, each recognizing they were repeating things that seemed to no longer have any relevance to the world around them
"To hell with it," Stryker muttered. "It doesn't matter anymore I suppose."
Raven nodded. "Have some supper Major Stryker," she offered. Amazingly her eyes twinkled. "It's not poisoned." Pointedly turning her back on her carbine she stepped to the stove.
He hesitated and then joined her. "Since I have no unit to be a Major in anymore you might as well call me Bill. At least for supper." And astoundingly it appeared that his eyes might have twinkled as well for an instant.
They ate without conversation. Wary of each other or not, the food and the warmth and their weariness lulled them both. When Raven woke again the pair of them had gravitated to each other in their sleep. They were spooned together with her head resting on his arm and the other one around her waist. Realizing their position they pulled apart in embarrassment. Silently they shared heating the last of the previous night's supper and shared it. But they kept looking at each other out of the corners of the eyes.
"That was good," he said when they finished. "Thanks."
Even with all that had taken place Raven was still her mother's daughter and irrepressible at times.
"Are you sure you won't get in trouble with your high command? I mean saying thanks to a mutant and all."
"It hardly matters," he said, surprising her. "Things have changed."
"What's changed, Major Stryker?" she asked him. "Bill."
"I've been thinking," he replied.
"Of what?"
"Something that might really sounds stupid," he admitted.
Once again it was on the tip of her tongue to make some smart-assed comment that she had never heard anything from a human that wasn't stupid but she refrained again. First it wasn't true and second it wouldn't help matters along when they were finally actually talking to each other.
"Go on," she settled for.
"Did you ever watch 'Star Trek'?"
A smile broke across the young woman's face. "Which one? Classic? New Generation? DS-9? Voyager? Enterprise? My dad was a techno-geek among many other things. He adored all of them and we used to watch them together."
"The original series. There was an episode when the Enterprise encountered two aliens. One was black on one side of his body and white on the other."
"And the other one was the same except the sides were reversed," added Raven.
"Exactly. One claimed to be a police official and said the other was a criminal terrorist. The second claimed to be a political refugee and said the first one was the agent of an oppressive fascist government or words to that effect."
Raven nodded and took over the narration. "Captain Kirk carried them back to their own planet which they discovered had been completely destroyed by war between the two sides."
"Even then all the pair could think about was fighting each other. There was nothing left to fight for except the hatred that they held for each other." He stopped and looked even more thoughtful and extremely weary' as weary as Raven herself felt. "I don't want to be one of those two Raven."
She shivered. "Neither do I. What are you suggesting?"
Bill stood and tossed his beret to one side. "On behalf of the Humanity Alliance I offer a cease-fire and truce. Peace?"
She stood as well. "As a representative of the United Mutants I accept. Peace."
Turning he walked to the wall lockers. He picked up the men's clothing there and went outside. When he returned he was in those civilian clothes.
The moment Bill, a name that seemed more and more comfortable to her, started out the door she knew exactly what he was doing. By the time he came back in she had changed into the women's clothing. They both ignored their former uniforms after he had tossed his beside hers.
They had not discussed it at all but a shared look told them both they were in agreement. They weren't staying here.
"Somewhere there's got to be a better place than this, than any of what we have seen in a long time. Somewhere where people have learned to get along."
They gathered up all the provisions they could find.
"We better take those," he pointed to their rifles. "We may find people who are like those characters and just can't give up the hate."
"Plus we may need to hunt or protect ourselves from feral animals."
She slung her rifle over her right shoulder. He slung his over his left. They hefted their backs into place. He held out his right hand and she took it in her left.
"Shall we?"
(The End)
"The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way."
(John Milton, "Paradise Lost" Book XII.)
(The Star trek Episode referred to is from Classic Star Trek Season 3. Titled "Let That be Your Last Battlefield" it was first shown in January 1969.)