Chapter Three: Elusion
The Centaur bounced and jerked as it clambered over the rough terrain. A particularly stubborn boulder caused the tank to buck violently, and the Snub pistol slipped from Anya's loose hold.
"Goddammit!" Baird performed a ridiculous dance in an effort to avoid the clattering weapon. "Hey! Maybe try to keep a friggin' hold on that thing, will you?"
A roar of laughter erupted from the gunner turret above them. "Aw, poor baby Baird's scared of a little bouncin' gun!" Cole's disembodied voice yelled.
Baird whacked the hatch to the turret. "Guns fucking kill people, Cole!"
Anya hurriedly leaned out of her passenger seat to retrieve her fallen gun. "I'm sorry. The safety's on, though."
"Oh, sure. That's what you say, then you holster it and bang. You kill your goddamn feet."
Anya cradled the Snub in her lap and immediately proceeded to stare at her boots. Inwardly, the lieutenant was actually a little intimidated by all this; this was the first time she had held a loaded gun in months, and while she refused to show it outright, she was more than a little nervous at the thought of being back out in the field. She had joined the army under the strong—if sometimes harsh—guidance of her mother, and after the Major's death, it was all Anya could do to maintain her position as a communications officer. She wanted to serve her nation and fight for mankind's survival just as much as the next soldier, but she had gotten used to doing it from behind a wall of screens in the far-removed offices of the CIC.
Sighing, the woman slumped back against the metal. She had been a little wary of trading in her familiar grey uniform for her fitted field armour, and while she was grateful for the mobility it allowed, she had yet to get used to its weight.
"So, I hear you're into sidearms," Baird teased as he planted himself in one of the passenger seats opposite Anya, stretching his arms back behind his head.
"Uh, not really?" Anya replied, her gaze moving from her boots to the pistol in her hands. She ran her gloved fingers over the shiny black metal-carbon composite of the gun's body. Ensuring the safety was on—more for Baird's sake than her own—she touched the delicate trigger. She couldn't help but admire the way the polished barrel gleamed in the orange glow of the Centaur's low-lights.
No, Anya couldn't say she was 'into' guns. Of course, she had dealt with them, and knew how to use them. She had to; she was a Gear. Just because she served from behind a desk in a communications room all day didn't mean she didn't know how to kill people. The opportunity just hadn't arisen in days of late.
A dull clank echoed in the Centaur, and Dom ducked out of the square door that led to the driver's hatch. The corporal jerked his head back towards the driver's hatch.
"Marcus wants you. Said he needs your 'expertise on the area'."
Anya had completely forgotten about her feigned purpose on this mission, and she strained to keep the surprise from creeping onto her face. The vehicle bumped wildly; Anya struggled out of her seat, which Dom took without hesitating.
"Hey," Cole called after the lieutenant as she stepped down into the hatch. "Tell him to take it easy with the crazy-ass stunt driving!"
Anya smiled and closed the heavy door behind her. She knew just what kind of effect "crazy-ass stunt driving" had on Cole's fragile stomach.
"Sit down."
The gravelly command made Anya spin around. The voice's owner sat in the wide driver's chair, his face glacial and his eyes like steel. Anya obeyed and plunked herself down in the uncomfortable co-driver seat. Marcus was staring unblinking at the endless expanse of rocky terrain beyond the smudged windshield. His hands were glued to the steering wheel, moving rhythmically to guide the tank past particularly large obstacles.
"You want my 'expertise'?" Anya prompted.
The man's gaze never strayed from the debris-laden path. "I want you to sit down."
Anya shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. Surely, he didn't want her here simply for companionship. He was up to something.
Deciding to wait for the sergeant to make the next move, the woman looked out at the barren landscape. It was just grey, for miles and miles. The blank skyline boasted nothing more remarkable than a few cracked boulders and dead trees.
Marcus broke the relative silence.
"How're you holding up under that armour?"
Anya looked down at her scratched breastplate. "I think I'm getting used to it. It's...a change of pace from my old uniform skirt." There was a faint smile on her lips, but she knew her discomfort was obvious. The COG had three classes of armour, ranked from first-grade to third; heaviest to lightest. Like all ranking Gears, Marcus wore first-grade armour, whereas Anya had been issued a modified third-grade set. Most of the armour was devoted to protecting her torso, with only minor plating on her boots and forearms. The carbon-composite casing was thick enough to stop most long-range shots, and even minor frag shrapnel, but anything more powerful than a Hammerburst rifle would rip right through.
"You ready to work out that trigger finger of yours?"
Anya looked down at her pistol. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice."
"Good, 'cause you're gonna be using it soon."
Something in the way he had spoken made Anya raise her brow.
"Oh?"
Predictably, the sergeant's stoic face gave no clue to what was going on in his head. "If we're gonna leave Delta and make off into Ilima, we're gonna have to get creative."
So that's what this is about. A couple hours into the rescue mission, and he was already making plans for their great escape. Anya leaned forward in her seat and rested her chin in her palm.
"What've you got, Sarge?"
Marcus tugged the steering wheel slowly to the right. "We need a distraction: something to preoccupy the team while we make a break for it."
"Right." Anya nodded. "So, I'm guessing that this 'distraction' is going to be a battle?"
"You can think of a more distracting distraction?"
It made sense. "What about the squad? We can't just...run away."
"Dom's in on it. He's gonna keep it on the down-low until we can break off. After that, he'll handle everything else."
It was only then that Anya understood how difficult this must be for Marcus. He had been the leader of Delta for a long time now, and had become the sturdy pillar that supported both the team and its many members. Soldiers came and went through Delta like the seasons—even regulars like Cole and Baird were occasionally reassigned to other squads—but Marcus had always remained at the heart of the squad. Now, he was going to abandon his team, his men, and his post, all for her sake. The sincerest appreciation for the sergeant suddenly burned in Anya's chest.
"And the mission?" the woman prompted. "Will Delta be able to complete it with two soldiers MIA?"
Marcus shrugged. "The guys are perfectly capable of pickin' up a few stranded Gears on their own. And frankly, your being MIA isn't really going to affect the outcome of anything."
"Hey," Anya shot back playfully, her mind put at ease by the man's confidence. "I'm far more influential than you credit me for."
"Nah, you're just a coordinate dispenser." Marcus' partial attempt at teasing was a welcome relief. "Speaking of which..."
"Oh, you're actually going to use me for what I came here for?"
The sergeant gave a you-bet-your-ass grunt. "Any idea where the main supply road is?"
"Uh, it runs along the east side of the city, through the industrial districts. Or, at least, it did," Anya replied, puzzled. "Why are you asking about the main supply road?"
"Supply roads are wide enough to accommodate a Centaur, and they're usually built away from the heavy-traffic roads, so they're more likely to have survived the sinking."
. Once again, Anya marveled at the man's infallible logic. Then, the image of the map of Ilima flashed in the lieutenant's mind, and she realized that the supply road would take Delta straight to the place where the estranged troops were staked out. Anya stared at Marcus: even though he was leaving his men on their own, he was still doing everything he could to help them rescue those soldiers.
"You're a good leader, Marcus," she said suddenly. The sergeant turned to look at her; his surprise at her spontaneous sincerity shadowed his scarred face, and Anya felt a bit silly for saying anything at all. They sat, staring at each other, until there was a thump at the hatch door.
"Yo! Mister Marcus Driver Sergeant Man!" Cole's strained voice boomed through ten inches of metal. "Things ain't goin' so smooth for the Cole Train back here! You even lookin' at the road, man?"
"What fuckin' road, Cole?" Marcus barked back, but pulled himself back to full attention at the wheel.
Minutes ticked by, and the two sat in silence as the Centaur negotiated the tumultuous path to Ilima. Anya sat back in the stiff chair and scanned the empty landscape for any sign of the sunken city.
Her home.
A phantom-like plume of black smoke crested the horizon, and Anya jerked upright. As the Centaur raced closer, the plume became a column.
"Marcus. Look."
More smoke rose into the low clouds.
"Yeah, I see it."
The vast majority of Ilima had fallen far below the surface of Sera, but even after all these days, the surviving outskirts of the city were still burning. The main Ilimian power plant had blown during the initial sinking, and the massive explosion seemed to have set a multitude of smaller fires around the city.
Marcus pressed a heavy boot into the brake, and the Centaur grinded to a halt. They were less than a mile away from Ilima's closest standing building. He put a finger to his ear-mounted tac-com.
"Alright, Delta, we're here, so listen up. There've been reports of everything from grub outposts to Corpser holes in this place, so stay sharp, and remember what we're here to do."
The sergeant placed his hands back on the thick steering wheel, but kept his foot off the gas. The vehicle's engine growled impatiently; Anya sensed the sudden shift in the air of the tiny hatch.
"Anya?"
"...Yes?"
"This had better be good."
Anya realized with a start that he was talking about her personal mission—the one on which he was blindly following her. The woman furrowed her brow, painfully aware of the faith that this man—her friend—had in her.
"Marcus, trust me when I say that it is the single most important thing I will ever do."
She held his gaze for a long moment, and then he snorted and turned back to the wheel.
"Well shit. With confidence like that, I guess I don't have much of a choice."
He pushed the gas pedal down to the floor, and the Centaur lurched eagerly towards the broken city.
The sergeant glanced at the digital clock embedded in the dashboard. They had been cruising through the city for eighteen minutes, and there was still no sign of the Locust. Toppled skyscrapers and warehouses surrounded the team, submersing them in a blackened world of torn steel and crumbling concrete. Ashes floated like shreds of ghosts through the thick smoky air. The broken scape of Ilima's slums had allowed the squad to pass freely through its cratered streets without incident, with nothing more than the incessant crackle of the fires to disturb the eerie calm.
"Ah," Baird's sarcastic voice buzzed in Marcus' tac-com. "The concrete, the steel, the urban disease."
As far as Delta was concerned, the lack of hostile activity was just fine, but Marcus was on edge. After reading Hoffman's report on the area, he had been expecting a wave of Locust attacks the moment they got within range, and this strange silence made him wonder if they weren't sauntering directly into a trap.
The paranoid wheels of a fighter's mind never stopped spinning.
Marcus allowed himself a glance to his right, where Anya sat. She was perched on the edge of her seat, one thumb running anxiously along the barrel of her sidearm. Every time they were together, the silence between them was coarse; rubbed raw by the words that hadn't been said, yet so desperately needed to. He had thrown in his chips with her; now that they were so far out of Belphe, there was no turning back. And yet somehow, Marcus still had no idea what Anya was up to.
Being in the dark was not something the sergeant enjoyed.
"Alright, Stroud," he began. "I think it's high time you filled me in on what the hell you're planning on doing out there."
Anya flinched. Marcus was staring out at a cluster of street-side warehouses, but he didn't need to look at the woman to know that he'd caught her off-guard.
"I..."
She stopped, swallowed, and opened her mouth.
Here we go.
"I need to find my goddaughter."
Marcus twisted in his seat to stare at Anya; an instant later, an explosion of brick and re-bar rocked the Centaur.
A spider web of cracks struck out across the windshield. Marcus stomped on the brakes, and the armoured vehicle came skidding to a halt.
There was a breathless moment, then the hatch door flew open and Dom stumbled down between the two seats.
"What the hell was that?"
It took Marcus a moment to recover from the two rapid shocks he'd just received.
"I...shit. Hold on."
He turned back around and glared at the cracked windshield in a vain effort to see the cause of the explosion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Anya was shaking slightly.
"Marcus? Did you see anything?" Dom asked a more direct question.
The sergeant shook his head, then cursed. Between the cracks and the dust from the explosion, he was effectively blind. He pressed his tac-com. "Cole, can you see anything from the turret?"
"Negative, Sarge," came Cole's crackling reply. "Just a bunch o' dust!"
A growl resonated deep in Marcus' chest, and he stood from the driver's seat.
"Get back." Once Dom and Anya had scrambled behind the seats, Marcus braced his boot against the windshield, drew it back, and smashed it through the glass, sending shattered shards out into the street outside.
Reclaiming his seat, the sergeant sat at his now uninhibited view of the road. The dust had settled, and luckily for Delta, no other signs of attack had followed the explosion. On the other end of the street, less than a block away from the Centaur, the charred walls of an obliterated warehouse were collapsing into the road.
Marcus leaned back and clamped his hands to the steering wheel. He was still reeling from the little bombshell Anya had dropped prior to the explosion, but this demanded his attention; he could have sworn he had seen something inside that warehouse just before it blew. He motioned for Anya to seat herself, then turned back to the open doorway. Baird now stood behind Dom, and Cole was staring down from the turret: Delta awaited their leader's orders.
The sergeant exhaled slowly. "Okay guys, we were lucky, but we still don't know what's out there. Dom, you and Baird check over the Centaur's vitals, make sure everything survived that blast. Cole, keep an eye on that warehouse while I drive; I don't want anything sneaking up on us. And Anya," Marcus glanced at the lieutenant. "Relax."
Anya gave him an unsteady nod, then straightened her posture and held the pistol ready. Marcus turned back to the front and put his foot to the gas.
"Stay sharp, Delta. We're going in."
"...Why does Anya get shotgun?"
"Baird, don't make me come back there."
The tank crawled warily towards the blown warehouse, crushing smoking debris beneath its massive tires. As the warehouse came closer and closer, Marcus strained to glimpse its blackened interior, but the roof had caved too far in.
"I'm so sorry," Anya blurted suddenly. Marcus glanced at her; her eyes were barely closed, and her hands were clutching the edge of her seat. "I should have told you earlier. It's just that I knew they wouldn't send a whole team just to rescue one girl and..."
"Anya...not now."
"I mean, first Ilima sank, and now, after Jacinto, everything's so crazy—"
"Anya." Marcus shot his lieutenant a look from the corner of his eye. "Not. Now."
His gruff words seemed to pull Anya out of her trance-like ramble, and she inhaled deeply.
"Right." She nodded. "Right. Sorry."
"Baird here." The tac-com crackled in Marcus' ear. "Check complete: the hull took a beating, but everything seems to be working just fine."
At last, they coasted past the warehouse, and nothing happened. Still, something in the man's gut told him that this was not over.
"Thanks, Baird," Marcus replied. "Let's just put as much distance between us and—"
He trailed off as a deep rumbling caused the metal of the Centaur's hull to vibrate. Marcus and Anya exchanged looks as the rumbling grew into a low roar. Shards of glass were bouncing around on the dashboard.
"Maaaarcus," Dom sang worriedly into the tac-com, but the sergeant's boot was already weighing heavy on the gas. The roar was getting louder; Anya clenched the dash as the Centaur jumped away from the now-trembling warehouse ruins.
"Hold on, Delta!" Marcus yelled, but he was drowned out as the roar became a piercing screech.
"Corpser!"
Marcus slammed his foot down on the pedal, but it wasn't fast enough, and the ground began to quake violently. He could only watch as a single, spider-like leg the size of a tree crashed into the front of the Centaur. It was joined by another leg, and then another; the Centaur shook violently as the Corpser raked its metal hull, rendering the soldiers within completely useless.
Then, as though in a dream, the Corpser slowly dragged the Centaur around. The grating screech of metal on concrete rattled in their eardrums, and Marcus and Anya were suddenly face to face with the enormous, diabolical monster. Its countless eyes rolled and shone like fiery gems, and its eight legs struck savagely at the vehicle. For an instant, the soldiers were stunned into paralysis; the behemoth's chittering maw gaped open and released a mind-shattering scream.
"Shit!" Marcus forced himself into action and tried desperately to speed away from the Corpser's grasp. "It's got a hold on us!"
The street rocked as Cole unleashed a rocket at the monster. The shell exploded in the Corpser's face, taking out several gleaming eyes, but doing jack all to slow the creature. Anya cried out; the Corpser began to push on the Centaur, flipping it end over end, and the vehicle rolled slowly back, like a wounded beast falling back into quicksand.
"Hold on!" The sergeant vaulted from his seat in an effort to grab Anya just as the vehicle flipped heavily backwards.
There was a deafening crash, and Marcus plummeted into blackness. He tasted rusted pennies.
—
The sergeant opened his eyes to the blurry interior of the ruined tank. The Corpser's shriek rang dully in his head, but his survival instincts screamed at him to get up. The sergeant struggled to his hands and knees, ignoring the hot stab of pain in his shoulder, and began to search the dusty Centaur.
"Anya!" He'd had her just a few seconds ago, where was she?
"Marcus?"
A deep voice; male. Not Anya. Twisted debris clattered just to Marcus' right, and a battered Dom emerged from the wreckage.
"Marcus, we gotta get outta here!"
"We...need to get Anya...and the others..."
Dom shook his head, then braced himself as the Centaur shook in turn. "Baird and Cole made it out with me. I came back for you two!"
"Then get your ass over here and help me look for her!"
Together, they raked the debris for any sign of the lieutenant. Marcus realized now that the Centaur had been turned upside-down; standing on the vehicle's roof disoriented the already foggy-minded soldier.
Then, the sergeant spotted a limp hand under the fallen weapons rack and scrambled over to it.
"Dom, over here!"
There was a painful moan as he hoisted the rack off the lieutenant. Anya looked groggily up at him, blood trickling down the side of her face.
"Alright, alright, I got you."
Dom helped Marcus pulled Anya to her feet, and the sergeant wrapped her arm over his neck. The Centaur rocked and creaked as the Corpser resumed its attack; Marcus knew there wasn't much time.
"Marcus!" Baird's tinny voice erupted in the sergeant's ear. "Marcus, are you there?"
Marcus shouted into his tac-com as he half-walked, half-dragged his lieutenant to the vehicle's exit.
"We're here, Baird!"
"Get your ass moving! That Corpser is ripping the tank to shreds!"
The tank crashed again; the metal of the hull was twisting all around them, crushing in on itself like a beer can. Grunting with the effort, Marcus pulled both him and Anya through the smashed windshield and out onto the cracked pavement; Dom was quick to leap out behind them. The three charged across the street and, with one last burst of energy, threw themselves behind some cement roadblocks. Moments later, the Corpser completely destroyed what was left of the armoured vehicle, and dragged it back off the street.
Marcus, Anya, and Dom knelt in the cover of the roadblocks, waiting while the monster began to tear at the nearby buildings. Soon, the sound of shuffling boots and heavy breathing reached the trio, and Marcus turned to watch as Baird and Cole slid safely into cover.
"You alright?" Baird shouted over the Corpser's screech.
Marcus rolled his aching shoulder. "Yeah. What about you guys?"
"Cole's leg is bleeding pretty bad," Baird interjected while pelting the Corpser with Lancer fire. "But he said he's fine."
"Nothing stops the Cole Train, baby! Whoo!" Cole emphasized his personal slogan by unloading a couple rounds into the smoky air.
Dom then aimed a concerned glance at Anya, who—while fully conscious—was curled up numbly at Marcus' side. A trickle of blood marred her temple.
"She'll be okay." Marcus said, seeing his friend's gaze. Of course she would: there was no way he was going to let her flake out on him now. Marcus pulled his Lancer out from its place on his back, preparing to attack the frenzied Corpser, but was stopped when he felt Dom's hand on his shoulder.
"Marcus." The younger soldier reached behind him and procured several armour-mountable supply packs. Marcus immediately recognized them as the supplies that he and Anya needed for their trip. Everything wasn't all there, but it was enough to last a few days.
"How the hell did you—?"
The Corpser screamed, a swing of its long leg narrowly missing Baird's head.
"Oh yeah?" the blonde soldier spat. "Well, fuck you too, you giant piece of Locust shit! This is for eating my tank!"
"Whoo, hell yeah, baby! Baird's getting his game on!"
Dom furrowed his brow at Marcus. "Just get out of here." The corporal tossed the packs to his friend, a grim smile painted on his features. Marcus gave a grateful nod, then began to don the packs; he belted two smaller packs to his thighs, and one to his ammo belt. Turning to Anya, he shook her into awareness—none too gently—and began to attach the remaining pack around her waist.
"Come on, Stroud. Let's go."
The lieutenant wiped the blood from her eyes and brought herself up to her knees. She didn't say anything, but Marcus knew she was reviving quickly.
"Frag out!"
Baird sent a grenade soaring through the smoky air, and the resulting blast sent bits of concrete flying across the street.
"Alright, Lieutenant, this is it." Marcus kept his voice low so the others wouldn't hear—not that it was necessary, with the cacophony of the battle all around them. "This is our distraction. We gotta go now."
Anya's clear green eyes burned with sudden determination, as though remembering her ultimate purpose on this mission. Marcus nodded, satisfied, and turned to his squad mates.
"This isn't working, guys. The lieutenant and I...we're going to try to get a better angle on this bastard."
Baird gave a grunt of reply, and Marcus and Anya crawled to the edge of the cover.
"Where are we going to go?" Anya yelled in Marcus' ear. The sergeant was glad to hear his comrade speaking again, but he didn't have much in the way of an escape. Seeming to recognize his hesitation, the woman frantically searched the chaotic scene around her, then pointed to a tunnelled stairway that dove below the city's surface.
"See that? That'll take us to the city subway. It runs all though Ilima."
Marcus saw the subway entrance; it was about a hundred feet from their position. It looked dark. "You're forgetting about the giant-ass sinkhole. What are the chances the subways are still connecting up anymore?"
Anya narrowed her eyes. "Only one way to find out." Maybe she was driven by fear, adrenaline, or some blood-pumping combination of the two, but she tumbled out of cover and made a mad dash for the tunnel. Marcus tossed a final look of thanks over his shoulder at Dom—which the man returned—and ran after the lieutenant, keeping his head down and praying that his men kept the Corpser preoccupied.
There was an ear-piercing shriek; Marcus felt the ground shake.
"Go, Anya, go!" he yelled after the blur of a woman in front of him.
Out of the corner of his eye, the sergeant saw a flying Corpser leg, and he dove to the side just in time to avoid being side-swiped. The tunnel was so close now. A mad second later, he and Anya just barely catapulted down into the subway as three massive legs pounded into the cement behind them.
The two tumbled down the stairs to land on the grimy white tile floor, gasping for breath. The crashing booms of the battle above were distant now, and Marcus rose, pressing a finger to his ear.
"Alright, that's it. Delta Two, this is getting too hot. You gotta fall back."
"What?" Baird's voice was barely audible over the clamour of gunfire and Corpser roars.
"I said, fall back!" Marcus barked. "Radio in when you're in a safe zone."
"What the fuck? I thought you—"
"Roger that, Marcus," Dom clipped in, playing along. "Dom out."
Marcus wasn't happy with the outcome, but he didn't have much of a choice. Slowly, the sounds of battle faded away, and even the Corpser's shrieks subsided as the dumb beast lost its prey. They had successfully separated themselves, and were now on their own.
Successfully abandoned his men, more like it.
The sergeant pushed the thought away. He was the one who demanded to come, wasn't he? In an effort to pull himself back into a state of motivation, he looked to the reason he was on this crazy ride. "Anya, you okay?"
The woman was sitting haphazardly on the floor, pressing a hand to the thin gash on her forehead. She gave a tired nod. Marcus squatted by her and inspected the wound.
"Come on, let's take five."
Marcus pulled Anya from the floor, and the pair trudged over to a nearby ticket booth. Anya hoisted herself heavily onto the counter, and moments later, their tac-coms buzzed to life.
"Marcus, you read?" It was Dom. "We fell back, and now we're in some kind of park."
"Your 'better angle' was really helpful, by the way. Very effective." Baird's typical remark singed the line.
"So, Marcus." Dom again. "...what are your orders?"
Marcus hesitated, staring at Anya. No matter what he said, he knew that Dom would go along without question. In the background, the sergeant could hear Baird flipping shit over the obliterated Centaur. Anya looked up at Marcus. He saw the appreciation in her face.
"Your orders haven't changed." the sergeant said grimly. "You follow that supply road, and you rescue Echo."
Static filled the line, then Baird's confused voice came through.
"What the hell are you talking about, man? We're waiting for you; get your ass over here!"
"No, Baird, you're not. You're going to follow the road and find those Gears." Marcus growled. "Dom will lead your squad."
Their squad. Not his.
"But—"
"You have your orders, soldier! Now move." Marcus' voice echoed through the empty subway tunnels.
"Fenix out."
With that, the sergeant went radio silent and blew a long breath through his nose. It was all up to Dom now; he'd have to trust Dom to fill Baird and Cole in, then lead them to Echo. Marcus was confident in Dom's abilities, but he still couldn't help but feel like he was running out on them.
This was, by every definition in the COG dictionary, dereliction of duty; God knew he was still suffering the consequences of his first run-in with that charge.
Anya was rummaging through her pack, all the while trying to keep the blood out of her eyes. Marcus sighed and reached into his own packs. He pulled a wad of gauze and a bandage from one, then tossed it to the lieutenant.
"Alright," he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Anya dabbed her cut with the gauze and glanced up at him. "You want to explain to me exactly what you mean by goddaughter?"
One of the sickly white lights above them flickered spastically.
"Look, it's a really long story..."
"We've got time."
Anya sighed, pulling the gauze from her temple and taking the bandage in hand.
"Do you remember where I went during my days off, back before Jacinto?"
Marcus nodded. In the years before he was sent to prison, Anya had been known for packing up and leaving for Ilima every time she got more than a twenty-four hour leave.
"You used to come here, to Ilima. Thought you had a house or something."
"Yes. It was kind of like a summer home for me. I shared it with a friend of mine, along with her daughter."
The shadow of understanding crossed Marcus' stony face.
"They were probably evacuated before the sinking." the sergeant offered, guessing at Anya's train of thought.
At this, Anya's face contorted into a pained grimace—Marcus knew it wasn't from the wound on her forehead.
"You don't understand. My friend, she died three years ago."
As much as he tried, Marcus couldn't stop his brows from jerking skyward. Three years ago; he was serving his second year of time three years ago. Shit. He hated being reminded that the world had not waited for him during his sentence; that life had carried on as usual for everyone else.
"And the kid?" Marcus prompted, becoming aware of the sudden potential for tragedy. Your goddaughter.
"I couldn't live in Ilima full-time with her, so I did my best to try to get her to into Jacinto with me, but then things got so hectic. I did the least I could and hired a care worker to stay with her when I couldn't."
The tone in Anya's voice told Marcus that that was all the time.
"And then Ilima sank," the sergeant reasoned; he thought he could see Anya's motive clearly now.
The lieutenant smoothed the bandage to her temple. "And then Ilima sank," she repeated. "I haven't heard from either her or the worker since...No one can find any record of them anywhere."
It all made sense now. Anya had been right: as cavalier as they pictured themselves, the COG wouldn't send a whole rescue effort for a single child, especially when most of Ilima had been safely evacuated. So Anya's only option was to go out and stage her own rescue mission. Alone, it would have been suicide, but Marcus couldn't condemn Anya for her courage. Given the same circumstances, Marcus would probably do the exact same thing.
You were in the same situation, and you did do the same thing. Marcus winced involuntarily. He hoped that this ended better than that had.
It was then that the sergeant saw there were tears in Anya's eyes.
"She's just a child, Marcus. I'm her only hope."
At this, the man raised his brow.
"Well, not anymore."
Of course, a dozen and more questions were racing around in Marcus' head. Children inevitably complicated things, especially when war and rampant death were so deeply intertwined. But in spite of his own curiosity, he knew that now was not the time. Anya was on the brink, and right now, she just needed a pillar to lean on.
A smile shone through the woman's tears.
"Now comes the hard part," Marcus said, distracting her again as she began to pack up. "How are we gonna find one girl in a big, half-sunk city?"
At this, a glimmer of actual hope flitted across Anya's face. She wiped the un-shed tears away. "You remember that Stranded outpost Hoffman mentioned? I looked into that report, and it looks like a convoy of Ilimian survivors made camp with some Stranded in the City Hospital."
"And you know the girl will be there?" Marcus knew he had to keep things realistic; shit got out of hand when he didn't.
But Anya had already asked herself the same question. "My house—her house—is close to the hospital. The care worker I left her with...she would have brought her there, I'm sure..."
The lieutenant trailed off, and Marcus nodded. That was a good enough answer for him. "What's her name?" he asked suddenly.
Anya glanced up, almost surprised. She gave a little laugh.
"Jacqueline. Jacqueline Spence."
Marcus just nodded.
"Alright," he said gruffly, extending a hand to Anya. "Time to get your boots bloody."
Anya took his hand and he pulled her from the counter. Dressed to kill and armed to the teeth, they walked together into the darkness of the subway tunnel.