Author's Note (10/24/10)

It's been a while since I've been on this long stretch of a train, and I'm here to bring on the pain by trying to wrap up this story! Ah, you poor, poor readers.

Nothing much to say, other than I hope that the people who enjoyed this story back in the day are still around to critique what I've added now. And for those who're courageous enough to read it from the start, well...

Present

The armoured vehicle came to a dead stop; one so sudden that all of its occupants were jarred and startled by the arrest in momentum. Jonesy, who had – at the last minute – found some peace in sleep, accidentally bit down on his tongue, and the searing pain flared across his mouth as he was rudely awoken. His face contorted into a grimace and he mumbled indecipherable curses. Velko and Dom had nearly slid out of their seats, and had used their booted feet to prop themselves up awkwardly. Only Marcus and Baird had been saved from similar fates, each of them reasonably alert to have reached out for something to cling on to.

"What the hell, man?" cried out Baird, after the agitation had lessened.

"You may now remove your seatbelts and are free to move about the cabin," cracked Grove from the driver's compartment. But his voice wavered; the fluctuation disclosing his surprise as well.

Jonesy glanced about to ensure that the others were more or less alright, and then moved towards Grove's side. He placed an arm on the burly man and peered out the windshield along with him. The APCs headlights illuminated fallen and damaged debris by the wayside; rusted barrels and a marred road sign that read: Construction Zone, Speed Limit: 45, Violators will be prosecuted. But the vehicle's light-beams did not stretch farther, and only a dark blanket of black seemed to lie ahead of the road.

"Go around them," said Jonesy, pointing at the barrels and the road sign.

"I tried to – I can't," replied Grove. "I think I drove over something. There might be a road block."

Jonesy sighed and turned back to the others. They looked to him as if to ask what the matter was. "Some damned punks must've set up a road block," he explained. "Gonna get out and have myself a look-see."

"I'll come with," said Velko.

Outside, the pair made their way to the front of the vehicle. The sturdy metal bumper had been dented inwards, and the vehicle's front left tire lay turned to one side in an awkward position; lying atop a rock of some sort.

"Cement blocks," noted Velko, "look – they got them stretched all the way across the road. We're gonna have to back up and clear it ourselves."

Jonesy looked about him nervously. The dark silhouette of a pine forest lay within a short distance to their right, while a steep mountain slope sat on their left. Although they had agreed to stick to the roads in order to reach West Montevado, a shortcut in event of an emergency was a likely possibility. But nature had trimmed their options this night; ensuring that any driving through trees or over precipitous inclines would be nigh impossible.

Jonesy gazed back and forth from the mountainside to the cement barrier. "Terrific spot for an ambush, don't you think? I mean, it'll probably only take one shell to wipe out all six of us," he muttered, almost inaudibly.

But Velko didn't appear to have heard him. Instead he walked with deliberate strides towards the road sign and peered at it with great interest. He beckoned for his companion to join him. "Check this out," he urged.

The blond man squinted at the mud and rust below the printed construction warning, and widened his eyes. The writing was coarse and uneven, but even in the meager headlights of the APC, he could distinguish words. "Locust checkpoint up ahead..." he read out aloud, "...seven miles down the road, blind spot by lake. Turn around and save... I can't make out the rest."

The younger man glanced at him and pursed his lips. "Guess we know what that means."

"Ah hell." groaned Jonesy. "How far ahead is this damned hospital?"

"Maybe six – seven clicks from here. I could be wrong."

Jonesy's shoulders slouched as he thumped his comrade on the back and began to move back inside the APC. "You're not wrong," he mumbled, "you might screw up the small stuff, but you're never off with measurements. Don't have to tell you how I hate it that you're right either."

In the end, the group of six had left it to a vote. Drive it or leg it. The final decision would have been unanimous if Grove had taken to walking. But the others had decided otherwise. Covertness surpassed any urgency, and even if the scrawled warnings weren't legit, safe towered over sorry – perpetuating the adage. So they turned off the APC headlights and drove slowly towards the forest's fringe. The wide, yet narrowly spaced, trunks of the redwoods therein would make any driving between the trees futile, so they parked the vehicle behind the dense growth of a copse of young saplings, and hoped that their ride was now rendered invisible.

The next referendum was only slightly more difficult than the first. With Owens' permission for the use of the APC came his terms of agreement. Under no condition was the vehicle to be left unattended. Surprisingly enough, Baird had volunteered to babysit the armoured hulk of a transport, but then – and even more surprisingly – Marcus vetoed the suggestion, and proposed that Dom was better suited to the task. Grove, Jonesy and Velko displayed no favouritism either way, and while Dom didn't utter a word of protest, he was unable to contain the incredulity that usurped his expression.

Perhaps then it was more for the sake of their brotherly relationship than for superiority that Dom had consented without fuss. Relieved that this last-minute decision hadn't raised hostilities, the five were ready to move out.

Before everyone departed, Dom – who was in charge of activating their geobot, JACK – returned inside the APC to retrieve it. He emerged from the rear, perplexed.

"Hey Marcus," he called, "where's JACK?"

It was Baird who answered instead. "You mean it isn't in the APC?"

The others hung back, mildly curious yet impatient to start moving.

"Uh...no."

"Then where the hell is it?" asked Baird.

"Cole must've forgotten to load it in," came Marcus' voice. "He did a weapons check right before we left. Must've been too preoccupied with that."

"It just doesn't – " began the usually-persistent Baird.

" – Forget it." directed Marcus, his voice cutting short any further conversation on the matter. "We've got a ways to go. Damned if we're gonna have to turn back just to get JACK. Let's get going. Anyone got a problem with that?"

Nobody said a word.

Only half an hour of their journey had elapsed before the complaints began.

"If this war is ever over, and someone decides to buy me a treadmill – I'll shoot them." spouted Baird, as he rearranged the weapons strapped to his back. "I'm gonna have to get myself a Vespa after this is all over. Gonna ride it everywhere. Even to the bathroom."

"Now there's an image," quipped Jonesy, as they trekked along the curving path.

Grove, who had been trudging alongside Jonesy, leaned over in mid-walk and whispered quickly into his ear. "Don't encourage the little bastard."

Jonesy eyed Grove; his gaze a mix of skepticism and puzzlement. And then, almost as if an invisible choreographer had beckoned for the continuation of a scene, Baird spoke up in response – on cue. "Do you think a Gear can get arthritis?" He rubbed his wrists for effect; "You wouldn't think it possible, huh? Well, let me tell you something: he can. I feel like I've jumped from being twenty-eight to sixty-eight. Without anything in between."

"Care to make another jump?" murmured Jonesy under his breath, as he looked about him warily.

The terrain had taken a rockier turn, but only slightly. Like many a man-made machination, the path that had been carved into the mountainside could not escape the fate of Neglect. Moderately-sized boulders and multitudes of stones and pebbles had slid onto the road – most likely from landslides. There were also sporadic appearances of road signs that had keeled over in the wind, felled trees – rotting tree-stumps as remindful remnants, and – very rarely – stripped, overturned vehicles. All in all, however, such obstacles really weren't proper obstacles, one only had to sidestep or navigate themselves around the impediments to get by.

And while these disjointed barriers only bordered on encumbrances, they also served a greater yet more satisfying purpose: that of distraction.

Baird's chatter could be construed as distraction enough, but the small company yearned for a diversion from the diversion. The blond Gear was cleverly quiet with his running commentaries, in order to not to attract too much attention from any Locust in the vicinity, so there was little use for the just shut up routine. However, despite Baird's low volume, the minute-to-minute narratives on his ongoing opines grated on his companions' nerves. Those who knew him better circumvented their own rebuttals and responses, and allowed for him to prattle on, seeing as how interjections only wrought further tirades. But the others – save for Grove – teetered between choices; to remain silent or give in to quick spurts of anger?

Velko's comment lent credibility to the latter.

"We haven't got far to go," he muttered, "so let's not make this trip any worse than it has to be."

The bait was inadvertent, yet enough for Baird to latch onto.

"Oh, I'm sorry," griped Baird, sugar-coating the sarcastic remark with feigned civility. Marcus winced; the expression barely perceptible, as Baird went on. "Am I ruining your evening stroll? But please, don't mind me. Let's talk about something else for a change. Let's talk about you. Maybe that way we can forget about Locust outposts and impending death."

A tart counter-attack brewed in Velko's mind, but he'd learned his lesson and chose to stay mum on the matter. A few moments of silence passed, until Baird recognized that the verbal criticisms and contradictions weren't forthcoming. He then resumed his solitary opinions as if nothing had happened.

As they walked, Marcus moved over by Velko's side. "Maybe I shoulda warned you." he said.

"About Baird?" Velko snorted. "Yeah. You should've. But it isn't like you're a shrink. You're not obligated to warn us. And this isn't like group therapy."

"He's not always like this," remarked the Sergeant, with emphasis on always – as if truly meant to say: he's not always like this. Three percent of the time he's actually quiet. "Baird's laying it on thick – even for him. Gets too chatty when he's nervous."

Velko offered a slight, accepting smile. But he couldn't help but wonder why the usually-reticent sergeant had initiated conversation. The overture seemed innocent enough in its nature, so Velko decided to welcome it. "What do you do to shut him up?" he asked.

"Beats me. The only person who gets closest to clamming him shut would be Cole. But wait, I'm not being fair," Marcus paused, "the Locust seem to have the best knack for it. Guess those bastards are useful for something after all."

The younger man chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think the Locust would see it the same way." The fleeting, lighthearted moment was snuffed out, and was suddenly replaced by gravity and contrition. "Hey Marcus, last night – my storming out of there, I was out of line."

Marcus raised his eyebrows a fraction. Apologizing was a monumental task in itself. But if that seemed tedious, then accepting apologies – verbalizing the gesture – seemed more gargantuan still. But forgiveness? Well, forgiveness he could do.

He shook his head, dismissing last night's row with the brief gesticulation. "Forget it."

"I couldn't – and I can't – tell you who it was, who told me about that place. But it's funny, you know. My withholding his identity. Compromising sources seems like something you worry about in another time. Now? Now it just seems silly."

"Old habits die hard. Probably would've done the same."

Their discourse tapered off into silence until Velko resurrected it. "What exactly do you hope to find here? At this place we're going to?"

"Pieces to puzzles," answered Marcus simply.

"But it's just a hospital...and even if there is something there, it's bound to be tied up in hard drives. And you don't need me to tell you that those computers are shot. You don't even have JACK – this might prove to be pretty academic."

"Not really, no."

"Why not?"

"We have you." was his slow response. "Or did you forget to recharge your batteries? You can tap your way into computers, can't you?"

"I – uh – yeah, I guess I can," Velko seemed mildly stunned; this sudden display of faith and the high esteem in which Velko's abilities were held in came far out of left field. "But I wouldn't bet the farm."

"In this game, kid, betting the farm's second nature. You'd better get used to it."