Hello everyone!
I hope you are all doing well! I feel I need to put a caveat in front of this chapter, as this one was mostly written whilst I was under the influence of the many medications the doctors had me on. As such, I apologise if this one is somewhat inferior to the previous chapters.
As always, please read and review!
Anyways...
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Rebel Occupied London - Bermondsey - August, 2019
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"TAKE COVER! TAKE COVER!"
Before Terry could even turn, bullets flew towards him. Without even thinking, he reached out, grabbing another soldier by his jacket, flinging him to the ground. The wall beside him
exploded into a hail of rubble and debris. In mere moments, he scanned his surroundings, spotting a pub less than twenty yards from him.
Perfect, he thought.
"Alright Jackson, lets move!" He screamed.
Even over the torrent of gunfire, he heard him scream. He turned to the man he had just saved, seeing the pool of blood pouring out of his abdomen.
"Goddammit!" He growled.
He glanced between the pub and Jackson. He knew carrying the wounded man would lessen his own chance of surviving the assault. Bullets thrashed about him, shredding anything they touched.
To hell with chances, he decided.
Ignoring the screaming, the bullets and all the world around him going to hell, Terry hoisted the man onto his back, running as fast as he could for safety.
It took just one swift kick to bash in the door. He veered for the nearest table, swiping away as much of the glass and debris as he could.
"Easy now, kiddo," Terry murmured, lowering Jackson onto the table. "Thought you deserved some time out after being all smart an' gettin' shot."
Jackson, wincing in pain, glanced around at his surroundings. Even through the pain, Terry could see a smile on his face.
"If getting shot gets me a free drink, then I'm all for it." He mustered.
"Yeah, right," Terry shot back as he tore away the clothing around the wound. "The drink's for me. Rookies like you gettin' all dead-like's killin' my liver."
"As if, sir," Jackson replied, now truly grinning through the pain. "Glad to have given you a decent excuse at least, sir."
Terry didn't reply; he couldn't muster a reply even if he could. The more he looked at the wound, the more it disturbed him. Jackson's smile faded, eyes fixed on Terry.
"Sir?" He asked. Moments later, his gaze fell. "It's bad. Isn't it."
He didn't know how to reply. Truth was that he knew he had already said too much by not saying anything at all. With a haste he knew was too late, he moved into action.
"Nah, ain't bad kiddo," He said, brusquely tearing off his sleeve jacket to stanch the wound. "Just a scratch."
Jackson licked his lips nervously, his hands quivering with pain.
"You're a lousy liar, sir," He croaked. "...but thanks."
Terry's head yanked up, eyes wide open. He saw the drooping eyelids, the shallow, rapid breathing. He knew a dying man when he saw one.
"Don't you die on me, kiddo!" He nearly shouted. "That's an order!"
Jackson winced, but nodded.
"I'll try, sir." He whispered.
"Didn't say try," Terry snapped. "Said don't. Die on me an' i'll damn well kill ya."
He couldn't help but smirk as Jackson chuckled.
"Not sure you got the whole 'dying' thing worked out, sir." He remarked.
Terry's smirk faded as he looked at Jackson, seeing the blood trail from his mouth.
It cut him to the core how young he was, dying so far from home amongst ruins...
Ain't right for a kid to die, he thought grimly, definitely not like this.
He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly the walls behind him shattered apart with a hail of bullets. He slammed himself against the wall, rifle unslung and stuck out of the doorway, firing wildly.
Shreds of the walls around him flew about as every gun seemed to turn on him. He ducked out of view, waiting for a good moment to move.
Radio...
Suddenly remembering, he yanked the radio off of his jacket.
"Hotel quebec, hotel quebec, this is Daniels. Pinned down with heavy fire inside romeo oscar lima, sector zero, fower, niner niner. Have men down, medic needed. request assistance!" He yelled. "Repeat, hotel quebec, hotel quebec, this is Daniels..."
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The King's Head pub - Bermondsey - July, 2034 - 1 year before launch
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Terry shuffled uncomfortably, eyes fixed on the table, hoping the images would seep out of his mind. He took a sip from his pint, glancing up at the bar. All the repairs could be clearly, visibly seen; concrete where bricks once had been, metal where wood once was. Yet no matter where he looked, his gaze kept returning to the spot where a table once stood,
Where Jackson died, he finished. He could still see his stiffened body, the aimless stare, the blood...
"Goddammit." He hissed quietly.
"What?" Sam, sitting beside him, replied.
He shifted, unwilling to relive the scenario all over again by telling her,
"I meant, er...well, I ain't been here in..." He began, trailing off. "...In a long time."
He felt Sam shuffle beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was scanning the place too, eyes dewing up as she did so.
"This used to be my local," she murmured quietly. "Before the Troubles. The landlord was a bastard, little blob of a man-" She stopped herself, pursing her lips as a guilty expression flashed across her eyes.
"Never found out what happened to him," She continued, slowly leaning into him. "This place took a beating though."
"Yeah, I know," He remarked gruffly. "I was here was it got pasted. Back when this was known as the romeo oscar lima."
Sam looked up at him, her eyes quizzical.
"ROL?" She repeated.
He nodded slightly, taking a heady swig from his pint.
"Yeah, shorthand for 'rebel occupied London'," He replied quietly. "Whatever the hell that meant-"
"It meant that the people who held London were the losers in the war."
Both Sam and himself looked up, surprised to see Frank standing there, giving them a smile that did not meet his eyes. He knew the look Frank wore well enough as he stared at them with glassy, cold eyes.
He was here too. He saw too much, too.
"The military decided," Frank continued, gaze so fixed on him and Sam he didn't even look down when he sat. "That, because they were the ones with the bigger guns, that they were on the right side of the war."
He smiled slightly as he realised how offended he was by Frank's statement, even though he agreed with him.
"We." He stated.
Frank's eyes bored into him.
"Excuse me?" He said.
"We decided that, 'cos we were the ones with bigger guns, that we were on the right side of the war," he replied. "Can't ignore our part in the crapsack that was the Troubles, boss."
He let out as quiet a sigh of relief as he could as Frank's intense gaze broke away from him, but as soon as he did, he caught a whiff of the man opposite him. Judging from Sam's expression, she noticed it too.
"Goddamit," He muttered in Sam's direction. "The guy's drunk."
He shot a significant glance at Sam, hoping she would understand the meaning behind it;
You should ask some other time.
He knew she had understood his glance as soon as he saw her expression grow more stubborn. Knowing she wouldn't listen, he merely shrugged, sat back, and looked forward to the oncoming argument.
"Your funeral, Sammy." He said, casually linking his hands behind his head.
Frank perked up, quizzical eyes flickering between himself and Sam.
"Say what?" He murmured.
Terry took another swig, hoping it would mask his wincing. Neither of them answered Frank, whose expression turned quickly from confusion into something harder..
"I'm not going to like what's coming, am I." Frank said flatly. All of them knew it wasn't a question.
Sam sat up, clasping her hands before her on the table, her posture as composed as it could be, given her brother's stare.
"It's about the expedition-" She said.
"What about it," Frank cut in quickly. He scanned the room quickly, leaning in as he did so. "What. About. It."
Terry saw her stiffen, as if rising up to Frank's own short temperedness.
"Fine, I'll be blunt," She stated matter-of-factly. "You've selected me to go, and you know damn well why. I am the only person on earth with even a bachelors degree in biology that wants to work with you on this, and you should count yourself lucky I'm a little bit more than just an undergraduate. Whether you like it or not, you cannot replace me...so here's the deal: Terry comes with me."
Frank laughed bitterly, catching both himself and Sam off guard. Almost as soon as it started, his laughter died away. Terry recognised the look dawning in his brother-in-law's eyes, quickly downing what was left of his drink; the last thing he wanted was beer to fly at the same time as the punches.
"So let me get this straight," Frank murmured, his tone menacingly quiet. "You are jeopardising the viability of this mission for a two bit, half brained chimp,"
Frank's eyes bored into him. Insulting him though he may have been, Terry remained perfectly still, determined not to take the bait.
"Whose only useful skill is destroying things-" Frank growled on.
"Who is also my husband," Sam butted in fiercely. "And you should be grateful that he's being the bigger man at the moment and not leaving you as a bloodied mess on the floor."
Frank laughed bitterly again,
"I guess I should be!" He said loudly. "The oaf has finally learnt restraint...tell me, Terry, was that before, or after, you got your far share of bloodspilling? How many civilians did you kill?"
Terry froze, struggling to hold himself in check. In the corner of his eye, he saw almost every pair of eyes now focussing on them.
He realised then he should have forced Sam to stay quiet as soon as they knew Frank was drunk.
Hindsight is a bitch, he thought.
"That's rich, comin' from you, Frank," He murmured. "You don't wanna do this buddy. If I were you, I'd walk away. Now. You really don't wanna go down this road."
"And why not, Terry?" He spat. "Afraid you might find yourself remembering your stint as a bloodstained soldier boy fondly?"
"'Least I didn't commit a massacre." Terry blurted out. Even as he was saying it, he regretted it.
"Crap." Sam muttered under her breath.
Frank rose to his feet slowly, eyes murderously locked onto Terry's. To his surprise, he founding himself standing up to match, towering over Frank.
"I beg your pardon." Frank growled.
"You heard me." Terry replied lamely, genuinely hoping he didn't.
"At least I didn't kill for pleasure," Frank retorted. "Tell me, was it the chance to sightsee, the thrill of war, or just the chance to kill that brought you here during the troubles? Why did you sign up to come here, Terry."
Terry glared at the man before him, now so incensed he no longer cared what he said.
"I did what I had to do, we all did. And I'm goddamn sure I killed less in the eight months of that goddamned war than you did in a day."
He moved around the table, measuring up against Frank. He no longer cared about what Sam, the pub goers, or anyone else on earth cared; he just wanted to smash Frank's face in.
"And I ain't the one who gave the order that killed sixty seven people. Only one of us is nicknamed the Butcher of Westminster, an' it ain't me," He hissed. "So back off, Frank, go home, and talk'ta us when yer goddamn sober."
It felt like an eternity of silent staring followed, but Frank eventually looked away, turning around as if to leave. Terry heaved a sigh of relief, turning slightly to smirk at Sam, when suddenly a fist landed squarely in his jaw. He staggered backwards, slamming into a table. Adrenaline surging through him, he bounced back onto his feet, fists clenched, ready for a fight. Instead, he found himself watching in confusion as Sam yanked Frank towards her.
What came next confounded him; he knew his wife was hotheaded, but he never - ever - expected her to punch her own brother. Yet punch him she did, hitting him so hard that he slumped to the floor, taking with him virtually every glass on their table. Everyone - himself included - simply stared at her in surprise. She shrugged nonchalantly,
"Believe me," She stated. "This way's better than letting these two fight it out."
Terry did a double take, gaze flickering between the now-unconscious Frank, and his wife.
"H-ha, w-wha?" He stammered.
"I'm a Howard," She replied, smirking mischievously. "Family fights were part and parcel of our life. We weren't trained to spar for nothing."
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Frank came to in a haze of pain. Head throbbing, stomach churning, throat parched, and his jaw feeling like it had been shattered, all he could do was groan and beg sleep to reclaim him.
"Morning," A voice - possibly Sam's - said softly. "How are we feeling?"
He opened one eye slightly, staring blankly at a set of blurs he reckoned was Sam. He groaned once more, sinking deeper beneath the bedcovers.
"Like, a bus-" He began.
"-has hit you," Sam finished. "Why do you always say that when you're hurt? Do you seriously only have the two states of Fine and Incredible Pain?"
He shuffled himself up into a seated position, only then realising where he was; on his sofa, in his house. Sam, seated on a coffee table in front of him, gingerly handed him a glass of water, which he gratefully accepted.
"Incredible pain isn't too far from the mark," He murmured, taking a sip from the glass. "What time is it?"
"It's four in the morning," She replied. "By the time we got back from your almost-fight, Claire and Ben were already asleep, so we figured we wouldn't wake them."
"We?" Frank repeated, whilst thinking almost-fight? Suddenly, like a whirlwind in his head, all the memories of the evening flooded back, including his punching Terry, and Sam punching him.
"Oh," Was all he could muster. "I think I might have been a prat this evening."
"I got a few better words than that."
Frank turned slowly to look at Terry, slumped wearily on another sofa. Even in the dim light he could see a nasty bruise developing on the man's chin. Frank winced, remembering his own jaw's pains.
"Terry, I'm sorry," He grumbled. "I didn't mean to hit you."
Terry grunted,
"So you meant to say all that stuff, then? Gee, thanks. I feel all warm 'n fuzzy inside."
Confused, he looked to his sister, pleading for answers with his eyes.
"You brought up his...ah...war-record," She replied. "And he brought up yours, and the rest goes without saying."
Almost by instinct, he retreated back under the duvet, feeling nothing but shame.
"Getting drunk really isn't what it's cracked up to be." He muttered.
"Speaking of which, why were you drunk anyway?" Sam asked. "I've never known you to get drunk for no reason, so what is it?"
Frank remained silent for a while, trying to find a way to express himself. He settled on not explaining it directly.
"What's the date?" He asked.
"July 29th." Terry replied.
"I mean the date yesterday," Frank retorted, glancing at both of them. "The date on which I actually drank."
Realisation dawned on both Sam and Terry.
"Ah damn, Frank, I'm sorry," Terry said. "I didn't realise...wouldn'ta brought it up if I'd remembered..."
Frank shot him a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Fifteen years to the day," He said quietly. "And I'm the one who has to live with giving that order."
He could tell Sam wanted to console him, to tell him the lie that it wasn't his fault, that he was just following orders. He searched his addled brain for something that would stop the conversation. Slowly, he remembered Sam requesting something of him...
Terry to join the expedition, he remembered.
Even as Sam moved in to place her arm around him, he looked to Terry,
"I accept." He stated.
They paused, unsure what to make of his statement.
"You will join us on the expedition," He said, looking squarely at Terry. "But some ground rules; as far as you are concerned I am Captain Frank Howard. I am the commanding officer of this expedition, and you are to obey any orders I give you. Your job is to protect the expedition... the flip side being, if you do anything that will endanger any member of the expedition, I will leave you behind. Do I make myself clear?"
As he had hoped, all thoughts of consoling him had been forgotten. He sat there, waiting patiently, wondering whether the decision would come back to haunt him.
Eventually, Terry smiled,
"You got it, boss," He replied. "Or should I say, Sir."
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17,993BC
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Frank and Diego peered through the darkness at Terry, waiting silently for him to speak. Diego could sense the growing impatience in the man beside him as he waited.
"Well?" Frank said.
Terry shuffled on the spot, yet remained silent. Even in the dark, Diego knew the look of a bearer of bad news.
"We crashed, not far from here, boss," Terry began. "Wasn't pretty. Sam got hurt pretty badly-"
"Is she ok?" Frank interjected forcefully.
Terry shrugged.
"Truth be told, we ain't sure; doc's takin' care of her, but he ain't got the supplies to properly treat her."
"Why not?" Frank growled.
Diego stepped forward, intentionally placing himself between the two humans. Staring at Frank, he let out a sigh,
"Because he was ambushed," He stated. "By sabres."
Frank cocked his head, eyes boring into his.
"And how would you know?" He quizzed.
Diego paused, unsure how to phrase it without implicating himself.
"Because," He murmured. "Because I was there. I saw it."
Almost instantly, he could feel Terry's eyes fixed on him as well.
"You were with the pack?" The human quizzed.
He let out a sigh, suddenly realising what both humans were thinking.
"No," He snapped. "I was out on a hunt, and ran into...whatever the hell happened."
"Enough!" Frank said bluntly, gesturing at both of them. "We haven't got time for this; Terry, the truth. What happened?"
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Abort, abort abort...
The words echoed in Terry's mind, yet he didn't know why; his mind was so addled, they held no meaning for him. Groggily coming to his senses, all he knew and understood was that much of him ached. The world seemed painfully bright as he opened his eyes, revealing to him the oddity of a horizon that looked distinctly vertical. Glancing around, he figured out he was in a truck.
"Huh," He mumbled. "Looks like we crashed."
We?
He racked his brain, trying to recall what had happened, where he was, and why he used the word 'we'. All he could figure out what that his head hurt far too much for such things. Wiping away some blood from his face, he sat back, waiting for the emergency services he reckoned would come.
Funny, he thought as he closed his eyes. View out front don't look much like a freeway...
"Terry!" He heard someone shout. "Terry! TERRY!"
Gingerly opening his eyes, he found himself staring into wide eyes set in the midst of the blood-smeared face of a man. He smiled slightly,
"Hey, officer," He murmured. "Somethin' seems to have happened. Don't got much of a clue what, though."
He looked beyond the man to see a woman, slumped against her seatbelt. She seemed to be hanging motionlessly, gravity trying its hardest to pull her down on him. He looked at the face, instantly familiar, yet he couldn't remember wh-
Sam, he realised. The woman, limply help up by her seatbelt was Sam.
Like a flood, everything returned to him, and he finally had his answer; the mission had gone wrong. He looked back into the face of the man he knew now was Nigel.
"Terry!" Nigel screamed.
"Jesus Christ, doc!" He exclaimed. "What the hell happened here?"
"I don't know!" He replied frantically. "One moment everything was fine, then the mission director was telling us to abort. But we can't dwell on it now; I need your help to get her down."
He looked up at Sam, feeling panic and fear well up in him. She was utterly unmoving.
Terry couldn't even tell whether she was breathing.
"What's wrong with her, doc?" He asked.
Nigel pointed to her leg. He felt ill when he saw how unnaturally bent it was.
"Her leg is broken," Nigel replied quickly. "As to why she's unconscious, I don't know yet. We need to get her down so I can put her leg in a splint."
He nodded absently, eyes still glued on Sam's closed ones.
Come on Sammy, he thought at her, wake up.
"Sir!" Charlie called out from the rear of the truck. "We've got company!"
"In a minute!" Terry replied.
"I really think you need to s-
"WHAT PART OF NOT GODDAM NOW DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, SOLDIER?" He roared, scrambling to his feet so he could help Nigel.
Charlie remained silent for a while,
"...yes. Sir."
Feet placed on the window beneath, he now stood in a crouch, taking Sam's weight in his arms. He held her as Nigel cut away the restraints, clutching her into his arms as soon as he could.
"Don't die on me, Sammy," He whispered into her ear. "Don't you dare die on me!"
As carefully as he could, he manoeuvred himself out of the toppled truck, ensuring Sam wasn't bumped, scraped or cut as they made their way out. He could feel mangled metal gouging at his skin with every motion, but he no longer cared; the woman he loved lay in his arms, possibly dying.
Possibly dead, he thought. He couldn't stop his eyes from welling up.
Finally free from the remains of the truck, he quickly lay her on the snow beside Charlie. He rose to his feet, ignoring the chill and all his injuries, watching Nigel get to work.
"Charlie," He murmured. "What is it you wanted to-"
As soon as he turned, he cut himself off. He now faced dozens of animals, all looking at them intently, and all of them with excessively sharp looking teeth. He grimaced, realising that this was what Charlie had wanted him to see.
To his relief, he could still feel the dull weight of his pistol, strapped to his thigh. In an instant, he yanked it out of its holster, aiming it squarely at the nearest animal.
"BACK AWAY!" He yelled, hoping the gestures alone would drive them off.
It didn't; all they did was exchange glances amongst each other.
Fine then, he thought. He lowered the pistol slightly, firing several rounds into the ground near the animals. Almost instantly, they backed away, but they didn't leave.
"GO ON!" He yelled. "GERROUTTA HERE!"
The animal at the front stepped forward, looking him firmly in the eye.
"Why?" The animal retorted. "We were here first."
Only with all of his willpower did he resist the urge to step back.
"What the hell?" He grumbled, glancing at Charlie, whose rifle was raised. "Am I goin' crazy, or did that thing just talk."
Charlie's gawking expression was all he needed to see; the animal did talk.
"Us talking is not the oddity here, human," The animal spat. "It's you who shouldn't be talking. Now, enough of this! I was taught not to play with your food."
He blinked, confused at what the animal had , in the corners of his eyes, he could see the animals spread out, clearly aiming to outflank them.
It hit him like a punch to the stomach; they were the food.
This is a trap.
Without a moment's thought, he aimed at the two nearest animals, firing several shots into their skulls. They fell to the floor, limbs spasming in the final throes of death. He turned, aiming squarely at the animal who spoke to him.
"Any'o you who wanna keep yer goddamned lives better stay BACK!" He shouted.
The animals approaching them had frozen, but they had definitely not run away. In the brief moment's reprieve, he snatched a glance of Sam and Nigel behind him; to his relief, the doctor had placed the treatment of his wife over watching the events unfolding around him. He snapped back to the animal he presumed was their leader, trying to decide whether he should just shoot him, or wait. The beast before him seemed to mull something over, eyeing them with a gaze that looked much less hungry.
"Where do you come from?" The animal asked.
"Ain't yer business, an' I don't feel much like sharin'," Terry snapped back. "Last I checked, I told y'all to leave."
"You don't give the orders around here, human." The beast spat.
He let out a chuckle that was anything but amused.
"An' I guess you do?" He said. "Reckon you could give them orders with yer brains splattered? Cos I'm strugglin' in findin' a reason why we're still talkin' and I ain't shootin'."
The animal took a step forward, glanced at the dead around him, seemingly thought better of it, and remained still.
"Because you know how this will end," The animal stated. "Your... stick... is impressive, but you can't take down every single sabre here before we get to you," The sabre stood tall, eyeing him smugly. "Kill me, and everybody here dies."
Damn.
Taking a quick scan of the sabres ahead of him, he knew he was right. Feeling cornered, he exuded nothing but concerted calm.
"Then we got ourselves a problem," He muttered. "Cos we ain't leavin', we ain't gonna just lay down our guns and become a four course meal...and shootin' you don't seem like such a brilliant plan anymore."
"Indeed," The sabre replied. "But I have a proposal for you, human. My name is Soto, I am this pack's alpha. If you will join us, we can give you food, water, shelter and warmth," He saw Soto glance behind him and chuckle to himself. He knew he had just looked at Sam.
"And it would appear that you need those things, especially for the female."
Damn.
He weighed his options. They were outmanned to the point where their weapons were useless. A quick glance at the truck reaffirmed his opinion that they had no shelter or warmth. A further glance at Sam rammed it home that he needed both those things if she - in her weakened state - would even survive, letalone recover.
"I need time," He grumbled, lowering his pistol sightly. "To discuss this with my people. Can I get your word on you not killin' us if I stop pointing this thing at you?"
Soto nodded,
"You have my word," He said. "But make it quick; we can't stand here all day."
He spun round and crouched beside Sam, gesturing for Charlie to join them. Both men simply stared at him like a man gone mad.
"Whaddya think?" He whispered.
"You can't be serious, sir," Charlie stated. "These things just tried to kill us. What's to say they won't the moment we have lowered our guard?"
Terry opened his mouth, but Soto's voice rang out.
"You have none but my word,"
Soto hadn't moved an inch. He let out a long sigh,
Damn. Sabres got good hearing.
"And, if my word is not enough, then we will be back to the scenario where everyone dies," Soto continued. "Your choice."
He shot a glance at both Nigel and Charlie, hoping his meaning would get across; they can hear, so be more careful in what you say.
"All I am saying, sir," Charlie murmured, his tone distinctly more guarded. "Is that we haven't had the best first impressions of them."
"Duly noted," He replied gruffly. "Feel free to suggest a way of getting outta this other than his idea, then. Preferably somethin' that don't wind up with all of us dead."
"Joining them means working for them, sir," Charlie stated. "We say yes, we may find ourselves doing their dirty work."
"Don't much care if it keeps us alive," Terry retorted. "Got any better suggestions?"
Charlie pursed his lips, remaining silent.
"Thought not," He grumbled. "Doc, yer thoughts?"
Nigel shuffled slightly, evidently as uncomfortable about the idea as Charlie was. But as soon as Nigel's eyes fell onto Sam, Terry saw his expression change.
"If they're telling the truth," Nigel began. "And they do have food, shelter and warmth, then it would be best for Sam."
Terry paused.
"How is she, doc?" He asked.
The doctor shrugged, instilling Terry with none of the encouragement he hoped to receive.
"Most likely a concussion, but without any of the medical supplies in the truck, I can't be sure-"
"Then why not get off your ass and go get 'em." Terry interjected forcefully.
He knew the answer to his question as soon as Nigel's eyes met his.
"Terry," He began. "I did. They're crushed. Unusable."
Damn.
"Alright, listen up," He muttered. "Frank ordered me to keep the expedition safe, so we go with 'em. If that's what it takes to keep all of us," He placed Sam's hand in his. "An' I mean all of us alive...then that's what we're gonna do. Any objections?"
"...yes..."
Everyone's eyes tracked downwards, surprised to find Sam's eyes slightly open. He gripped her hand tightly,
"Sammy! Thank God-"
"...don't...trust...him..." She barely whispered. "...mani...pulating...you..."
He let out a sigh,
"Manipulatin' or not, we don't do this, we don't live much longer. Got no choice, Sammy."
"...always...have...choice..." She whispered.
"Yeah," He replied. "An' here we have a choice between life and death. Gonna choose life, for all of us."
She remained silent, eyes closing once more. He looked at her for a few moments, wishing she had gone along with him.
Saying yes still looked like the obvious choice but - now that his wife had spoken - it seemed like less of the right choice.
Cut it out, he snapped at himself. He gently lifted her up into his arms, before rising to his feet.
"Ready whenever you are, Soto," He muttered.
"Lets move out!" Soto roared.
Like a sullen child, he trailed behind the pack, cradling Sam in his arms, flanked by Charlie and Terry as they struggled up the ridge in the wake of the pack.
"Help! HELP!"
He spun round, heart leaping into his throat as he heard Ben's panicked voice carry on the wind. Scanning his surroundings, his gaze fell upon another truck, whose very existence he didn't even notice.
"HELP! MUM'S HURT! SOMEBODY HELP!" Ben screamed.
"Is there a problem?" Soto's voice called out, dragging Terry's attention away from the truck.
"Two of our people are in that truck," He said hurriedly. "We gotta go help the-"
"No!" Soto snapped. "No more humans. And before you even think about arguing, your hands are full; you'll be dead in seconds."
Terry simply stared, wishing he could pump the smug sabre's face full of bullets. His gaze flickered between the truck and Soto, knowing full well then that neither option saved the expedition's people - as he had hoped.
"HELP! ANYONE! MUM'S BLEEDING! HELP ME! HELP!" Ben screamed.
Terry let out a long, bitter sigh, before continuing up the hill.
"Come on, fellas." He muttered.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" Charlie exclaimed. "We can't just leave them here to die!"
"We don't leave them here, we die," He replied flatly. "This decision saves most of the expedition."
Charlie bristled, eyes wide with rage.
"God damn you, Terry," He growled. "God damn you to hell."
"Move it, corporal," Terry murmured. "That's an order."
He stared at Charlie, hoping he could see through his anger, and see his own.
After what felt like an eternity, Charlie started trudging up the ridge once more.
"Aye aye, sir." He hissed.
He looked on, watching Charlie force his way to the front of the pack, followed closely by Soto. Still hearing Ben's frantic yelling in the background, he began walking.
"...wrong..." Sam whispered.
"Sammy," He whispered. "Stay with me, baby. We're gonna have food, water and warmth soon enough."
"...sure..." She murmured. "Will...stick...around...Faust..."
"Who?" He quizzed.
"A man who sold his soul to the devil."
He looked up to find Nigel walking plaintively beside him.
"Faust though his deal would give him the best shot at life," Nigel continued. "Only it brought him misery and damnation."
Looking down on his again-unconscious wife, he felt his heart crush inside him.
Damn.
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A menacing silence hung over the area as soon as Terry stopped talking. Frank clenched his hand tightly around the handle of his pistol, levelling a hateful glare at Terry.
"You left Claire and Ben to die?"
His voice trembled with rage, desirous of nothing but shooting the man who had left his wife and child to suffer alone. Terry shuffled his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.
"I had no choice boss," He said. "I had to-"
"Don't. You. Dare," Frank hissed. "You had every choice, but you left them to die."
Terry held out his hands pleadingly, as if only then realising what Frank was feeling.
"I did it to save Sam, Charlie and Nigel," He replied quickly. "If I didn't leave 'em, we all would have been dead!"
"Sure," Diego said sarcastically. "So you were just being a good citizen, right?"
"I had. No. CHOICE!" Terry snapped back frantically. "It was either leaving them to die or having all of us eaten!"
Everyone remained silent, eyeing each other up.
"You're right," Frank, breaking the silence, replied coldly. "You're right! Here I am, just getting all caught up on how you left my wife and child to die, rather than focussing on how you saved yourself. You're a real hero, Terry. Here, have your reward."
He yanked his gun out of its holster, training it on Terry's chest. Almost instantly, Diego jumped between them, wide eyed.
"FRANK! This isn't going to he-"
"Back away Diego," He growled. "Because I'm shooting him regardless of whether you are between us or not."
Diego's stare prickled on his skin, but he ignored it; his eyes were locked onto the man he hated.
The man who left them to die.
"Any last words, Terry?" He spat.
"Executin' me ain't gonna help, boss," Terry replied, hands held out in pleading. "Soto's got Sam, an' the only reason he's keepin' her alive is to make me follow orders. You kill me, you kill her. And Charlie. And Nigel. If yer killin' me "
He willed himself to pull the trigger, rationalising away anything that Terry said as the desperate pleas of a guilty man, eager to save his life at any costs.
Moments passed by, yet still the gun hadn't gone off. He wanted to disbelieve everything the man before him said, desperate to do so...
But you can't be sure he isn't lying, he thought.
"Diego," He said coolly. "How much do you know on this 'Soto'?"
"A lot," The sabre replied cautiously. "I used to be his Second. What do you want to know?"
"Whether he takes hostages," Frank said quickly. "Whether this fits in with what you know of him."
"If it means he can get an edge, then yeah," Diego replied. "It does."
"Damn," He growled. Moments passed, yet Frank still trained the pistol on Terry. Slowly, he lowered it to the floor, eyes still fixed on him.
"Since you're not dying tonight, answer me this; what orders?"
Terry blinked, hands still frozen in mid air.
"'Scuse me, boss?" He said in confusion.
"What orders has this Soto given you that he's taken Sam hostage for." He stated.
He slumped, gaze flickering warily between Diego, Frank and the pistol.
"You really ain't gonna like em, Frank." He said cautiously.
"This evening's already been full of things I don't like," he replied. "So try me."
Silence lulled. Through the stillness Frank could sense the wariness, the unwillingness, the fear practically radiating off of Terry.
"NOW. TERRY." He snapped.
"Alright! Alright! Geez," Terry replied. "Soto has ordered me to...to hunt you and that pack of animals-"
"Herd." Diego corrected sternly.
"-Hunt you and that herd down, and... capture the baby mammoth." Terry finished, visibly deflating before them.
Frank merely stared. It made no sense to him; why would a sabre care about a mammoth child? Why force a group after them. He cocked his head towards Diego, expecting to see something similar to his own reaction.
He didn't.
"What?" Diego growled, pacing towards Terry menacingly slowly. "Why?"
"I-I-I dunno!" Terry replied quickly. "He said it was something to do with ice fields, and some Half Peak, and revenge," Even in the dim light, the human could see the glint of Diego's claws, panicking him further. "That's all I know!"
Diego spun round, staring stonily at Frank.
"We have to go back," He stated. "We need to get out of this valley now."
"Couldn't agree more," Frank replied. "But first - Terry, how long do we have?"
"We leave at noon, boss," He said. "Frank, I'm sorry, I'm just try-"
"Oh, we're way past sorry," He spat fiercely. "And if I see you again, I'm not sure you'll get away with no bullets in you."
Terry moved to talk, but was distracted by a breaking twig. Frank felt a surge of panic rise up in him as he heard it; they weren't alone.
"You guys gotta go, now," Terry said quickly. For a moment they didn't budge, both human and sabre staring in the direction of the noise. "MOVE IT!"
Without another word, Frank and Diego slunk away, picking up their paces as they went down the hill towards their cave. Jumping over the stream, Frank paused before the forest's edge and stared back the way he came. He thought of Sam, Charlie and Nigel in the grips of sabres. He thought of Terry and all he had explained. He knew the man had reasons, and he knew he didn't care.
What he did care about, though, was that one of the strongest - and most doggedly determined - men he knew was now his enemy.
He's our hunter now, he thought acridly. And we're the hunted.
"Dammit," He muttered. "Dammit all."
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"Did you enjoy your little talk?"
Terry spun round in fear, instinctively aiming his pistol at the seemingly disembodied voice of Soto. Slowly, the sabre approached, coming within eyesight. Struggling to suppress his heavy breathing, Terry gave out a weak chuckle.
"What talk?" He feigned.
"Don't play games with me, Terry," Soto replied calmly. "I heard the whole exchange. I was planning on killing you the moment they approached, but when I found out who that was," He chuckled cruelly. "I let it play out. After all, what better way to sow fear than to know you are being hunted."
Terry merely stared.
"You...you wanted me to tell them?" He said incredulously.
Soto made a gesture, encompassing their surroundings.
"Do you see any sabres?" He remarked. "Given the...lively level of the conversation, no sabres hearing it is impossible. You were permitted to talk to them, because it served my purposes well enough. Congratulations is in order, human, you've done well tonight."
No more words were spoken; Soto disappeared back into the night. Terry stood there, alone in the dark, with nothing but his thoughts and fears to keep him company.
"Dammit," Terry murmured. "Dammit it all to hell."
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End of Chapter 10
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