Everything I owned fit into the backpack.
Wheatley had his own, and he carried his things, which included a shard of glass he had picked up in the middle of the woods, declaring it 'neat', an old, battered water bottle, the camping stove, a few bottles of kerosene, and a few acorns.
Into my bag went my clothes, anything that wouldn't spoil, and my old Long Fall boots.
I don't know why I kept them.
Every time I packed this backpack, I meant to leave them. Meant to walk away, never looking back, with my back turned to them, ready to leave them to slowly fall to dust.
Every time I shoved them into the pack, even though they were oddly shaped, took up too much space, and made an annoying springing noise whenever I ran.
They were the only things I had left from when times were much simpler. When the press of a button fixed everything.
I remembered they rotted away in the corner of my room for a while, taunting me, looking still as glossy and white as the day I got them.
One day, I took them out. Just to try them on, I promised myself. And I wondered how I could've stood having them on for so long, they pinched my toes into an uncomfortable arched position, and the way I walked was confusing and odd, like I was too tall. I limped around in them, wondering why I even tried them on.
Before I even knew it, I was standing at the top of the cliff, the boots pinching my feet, staring down at the ground, at least a hundred feet below. It was a fall I would have scoffed at, Back There.
I wanted to know if I could still do it.
If the magic in the boots still worked out here.
I wanted to know if I had dreamed everything.
I don't think my mind could have dreamed up a worse Hell.
I smiled, stretched out my arms, feeling the wind nip at my skin. My hair was undone, and it floated around my face, the sharp ends stinging my cheeks.
I extended my fingers, on my tiptoes, balancing a moment, and all my doubts and insecurities bubbled to the surface, popping in my face and emitting the rank odor of fear.
I was better than that.
I was going to fly, high above the ground, and the boots would catch me. They could withstand the force from a fall up to three miles. This wasn't even one.
I could do it.
So, I shook my head, tossing fear back into my mind, tensed my legs, and jumped.
And in that moment, I froze, completely weightless. Free.
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The town hall was crammed. Everyone bustled around, packing their supplies. Children hooked on their ammo belts. Mothers with babies strapped to their backs toted machetes.
Everyone was primed for battle.
I didn't have a knife, or an ammo belt. All I had was an old shotgun and barely any shells. Wheatley was completely unarmed. And I still didn't know why we were preparing for evacuation. Evening had fallen like a lilac blanket, with a few little moth-holes from which starlight shone through. The sky showed no signs of trouble. But when I looked at the hills in the dying light, a cluster of black shapes huddled on the horizon, twitching like a mass being, hovering ominously, worse than dark clouds.
Ann pushed through the crowd, past a disgruntled man who was reloading his gun, leading her six-year-old daughter by the hand. She smiled at me. One of her hands moved in a few quick motions, motioning out in sign language.
I waved to her in a quick, circular fashion.
Hello. I turned to little Harriet, waving at her, too. Her little hand moved quickly and surely, spelling out a pattern, smiling at me all the while.
Hello, Chell. I grinned and she grinned back. Harriet was deaf. Since birth.
All the toxins in our bloodstream from the battle with the Combine had hidden out in our fatty cells, and we weren't affected, but the next generation, ones like little Harriet, had been born with defects. Harriet was one of the better ones. Another little boy was born without half of his left arm. Another without an eye. Perfectly healthy little children, but the birth defect rate had been upped.
Honestly, I think your hearing wasn't the worst sense to lose.
Without hearing, as long as you could see their mouth, you could read their lips and know what they were saying. Hearing was a limited sense. If you were deaf, you were freed from the limits that your range of hearing put on you.
Still, to live a whole life not knowing what her mother's voice sounded like?
Was I any better?
The closest thing I had to a mother was a murderous AI.
She turned to her mother, back to me, tugging one of her hands on the belt at her hips. Her brow furrowed in confusion, little hands moving fervently to let the words out.
Where's hers? She pointed at me. Her mother's hands twitched at her sides, but she didn't look at me. I didn't think she knew what to say.
After a few second, my hands, almost of their own accord, motioned out:
I don't have one. I've got a gun, though. I showed her my shotgun. She looked at the battered exterior skeptically. Her face set itself in consternation. She turned back to her mother, fingers signaling.
Give Chell one. Ann's tired, harassed face lit up with amusement. Out loud, she mused,
"I might have one in the back. Watch Harriet for me." She slipped between two men and was gone.
Harriet nodded. Her fingers finally still, she sat down on the dusty wooden floor and began to sweep the dirt into a little pile with her hand.
Wheatley sat down next to her without a word. She looked up, surprised. Her fingers flickered, stuttering slightly, and she peered at me questioningly.
"Uh, what is she saying?" He asked, staring at her fingers like if he looked long enough they would suddenly turn into something he could understand.
Be nice to him, I signed to her. She smirked.
"Wh-what was that? Are you talking about me?" His eyes darted around, between both of us. We giggled like little girls, and at the same time, made the same motion:
Maybe.
"Hey! What did you say? I have a right to know!" He tried to sound serious and imposing, but he couldn't control his laugh. Harriet laughed too, her serious face spreading into a gap-toothed grin. She shook her head wildly, her black braids flopping around her head. To the end of each a tattered bobble clung determinedly.
Ann came back, toting a leather belt over her shoulder, tucking a few stray wisps of hair from her black bob behind her ear. She smiled and handed the belt to me.
"Here you are, dear." I nodded, taking it from her. It was all leather, with an ammunition clip and holster built into it. It was almost a harness, with two leather straps that went under my backpack, with a sheath for a machete located between my shoulderblades.
Thanks.
"Don't thank me, thank Harriet." I leaned down and said:
Thanks, Harriet. The little girl grinned and waved another circular motion as her mother lifted her up and led her away.
Goodbye.
I settled the cool leather around my hips, fastening the buckles up tight and pulling it to fit. The ammo pouch was crammed full of shotgun shells.
My fingers danced of their own accord.
Thanks, Harriet.
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The entire hall fell silent. The small, harried-looking man at the podium rang a tiny, glassy bell, and all sound died, except for the impatient rustle of people's feet and the sound of Ms. Morris' baby crying. She shushed it, but it continued to sob and wail. The sound grated down my spine, sharp and ugly.
The man's hands slammed down on the podium, and his fingers dug into the wood. His head swiveled clumsily, and his mouth hung slack, a thin string of drool dribbling down his chin. But his voice was clear and loud, just like it always was, and the aging mayor of the town delivered his last speech.
"Friends and family of this town-" His voice gave out a moment, and he hacked and coughed and I could see the capillaries in one of his eyes burst, filling it with red.
"I have so much to say, and so little time to say it. In only a minute my words won't be mine anymore, so listen." His voice was pleading and I tensed, wondering what the hell he meant. My skin crawled with a million ill tidings, and I began to inch towards the exit, but tiny little scratching noises of a million tiny little claws began to work at the timers on the outside of the barn, I could hear them, they were everywhere, in the walls, in the ceiling, and I tried to scream, to warn someone, but Wheatley was transfixed on the man in the podium and nobody else would look at me except little Harriet.
She ran to my side, pudgy fingers clutching for mine. I slid two shots into my gun, snapping the barrel closed.
I expected it, but his next words hurt just the same.
"It's a trap." His voice gave up, and he threw his hands up, in a shrug, and he simply accepted it with a forlorn twist of his lips, but that wasn't him. Tears stained with blood spilled down his cheeks, and one of his arms clutched at his heart.
His face remained stony.
"Go. They wanted you all in here, and I did it, I rung the bell myself and I'm so sorry, my hands did it and it wasn't me, I swear. But I put in another ring. Get out of here. Go. Go." And he coughed again, scritch-scratching at the back of his head, and his hand came away bloody. Nobody moved.
The metallic click of a whole room full of guns being primed struck us all at once. His face twisted into something that wasn't, couldn't be human, his skin bubbling and moving in patterns that weren't created by his muscles.
"What are all you idiots doing? Run!" His voice screamed out in the silent room, echoing off the rafters and hitting my ears all at once, echoing and echoing and I had to leave now, get out now.
A hundred guns fired at once.
They all hit their target dead on.
The man's head exploded, popping into nothingness, one second there, the next second only a bloody spatter on the wall behind him.
And then the things that were working at the wall broke through.
A million bug-like things crashed through, antennae waving, eyes focused on the meal they were just about to receive.
Following were the humanoids, tall men, all men, with guns and ugly helmets, eye slits aglow.
Guns fired bolts of ugly yellow fire, slashing right through a whole line of people.
Dead, just like that. I was queasy. Blood splattered onto my boots.
I fired.
Everyone fired. In unison, again. A line of them fell, but there were more and more.
Where were they all coming from?
Everyone talked about the Combine invasion, how humans had beaten them down, veterans crowed about how humans would never give in to aliens.
They depleted most of our ranks, and then sent for the last of their troops. They struck while the iron was hot and it was going to burn us all alive.
I had something to protect. I wouldn't die lying down.
Harriet clung to my pant leg, screaming, a high, unholy wail, out of pitch, ugly in its pain. Just a few feet over, Ann lay in a pool of her own and others blood, face frozen in fear.
Some people might say she died with maternal fire in her eyes, trying to protect her only daughter.
Those people didn't know anything. Judging by the bloody handprints on Harriet's shoulders, Ann had died shoving her daughter in front, tossing her to the monsters.
I fired another bullet into her skull.
We didn't need any more betrayals today.
And the mayors' words came back to me, echoing.
How in the Hell were we going to fight these? There were too many. They drowned out everything except Harriet clinging to me; even Wheatley was torn away from me in the crowd. I scanned the heads for a familiar shock of blond, but he wasn't there.
He wasn't lying with Ann, either.
He had the right idea. For once, the coward would win this battle.
I yanked the nearest person's shoulder, pointing them to the last exit, on the other side of the hall. They nodded. I pointed to my throat, cupped my hands around my mouth and pointed to the frenzy around me.
The man opened his mouth wide, fired a shot at the ceiling, and screamed:
"Fall back, you idiots! There's too many!" People began to rush for the exits, bursting out to the other door into the dark, screaming and sobbing and trailing blood from various wounds.
The town retreated, too fast to lick its wounds, still reeling from the loss of so many mothers and daughters and brothers.
The town was one being.
We were too in shock to even see the world around us. We reeled with the grief of losing so many so fast.
They had bested us. The invasion had begun.