Author's Notes: I'm sure you all hate me for being soooo late with this. Well, I can't really account for my absence other then...I didn't feel like writing. I hate forcing myself to write an update. I like to be having fun with it. I think creativity is more potent when it's willing rather then forced. Forced creativity is like constipation...if you try too hard you're gonna make a mess and hurt yourself. Not good for anyone. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. More to come I promise.
Please review, it makes me happy. And I like being happy.
Chapter Ten.
"Retreat!" Ultra Magnus's voice rang clear through the deafening sounds of gunfire and dying howls of various Mechs. The Hub had been ripped open by a massive explosion. Debris was everywhere and still-active wiring flailed and sparked. Flickers of light and sharp sounds riddled the scene. "Retreat!"
Beside Magnus, Kup snarled. The old Mech was hunched down behind a pile of debris and returning fire when the order was given.
"Slaggit!" Kup fired three more shots before getting up and complying with his commander's orders. 'After all this time,' Kup thought bitterly. "After all we worked for, sacrificed for…it's all been for nothing!"
He looked back towards the other two Mechs who had also taken refuge behind the piles of wreckage and were still firing on the approaching enemy - one with red armor, the other with light blue. "C'mon, Blur! Blaster!"
"Justonemoreshot! Justonemoreshot!"
"No time, Blur," Blaster yelled over the roaring din of battle. The red Mech gripped the blue Mech's shoulder and pulled him up as he stood. "Retreat order's been given!"
"IhadaDecepticononinmyscope!" Blur snapped irately. "Icouldhavetakenhimout!"
"Live to kill another orn, Blur," Blaster replied as they began to run away from the battle, jumping over jagged pieces of metal and even the bodies of fallen Autobots.
"But—"
"No arguing, motor-mouth!" Kup barked at Blur from up ahead.
And, for once, Blur complied with an order to be silent. Had the situation been appropriate, Blaster would have pointed out this momentous occasion. However, running for one's life was not a good time in which to be spouting jokes.
Somehow, they managed. The Decepticon forces had not only found the main Autobot resistance Hub, but had also taken out several of their branching forts, making the possibility for reinforcements non-existent. The Decepticons came fully prepared, armed to the back rotors with weapons that had not seen the light of battle for vorns due their to extreme energy expenditures. This gave them an insurmountable advantage. It had been a clear, concise plan resulting in a killing blow for the Autobots.
There was a complete collapse of command among the Autobots early on in the battle. Mechs began to panic when they realized their weapons were having no effect on the Decepticon's shields, and they began to make mistakes as they tried to fend off the invading enemy forces. This only weakened their already wavering hold on the base. And now the retreat order had been given.
Ultra Magnus was abandoning base.
Blaster mentally and audibly, cursed. How had the Decepticons found them? Had an Autobot scout been followed by a 'Con spy? Had there been an infiltrator? Or was this a result of someone's reckless mistake? Thousands of questions, many of them that would probably never be answered, ran through his processor. His mind heated with rage and all he wanted to do was hit something. Hard.
Despite his anger, he knew the ultimate cause was not of any importance, at least at the moment. What mattered was getting everyone who was still functioning, out of harm's way and coming up a plan to retaliate. If they could retaliate.
Though at that moment its existence was completely forgotten, deep within his processor existed a vital piece of information; the location of a small blue planet.
A planet called Earth.
The Rec room was vacant save for two figures occupying a lone table towards the far corner. Bumblebee sat in his seat while Spike sat atop the table, glancing vaguely at the cans of food laid out before him. Bumblebee picked up one of the cans and offered it to the little boy.
Spike took the can and set it in his lap, looking down at the contents. Fingers prodded absently at yellow chunks of some nameless fruit, occasionally dipping into the can in order to pick one up. The boy ate a few pieces before pushing the remainder away. Bumblebee watched the process with growing concern.
"C'mon, Sammy." Bumblebee coaxed, pushing the can back towards the child. "You got to eat."
Spike got to his feet, ignoring the food, and stood in front of the Autobot, hands raised expectantly. "Up."
Bumblebee regarded him for a moment and obligingly picked the boy up. As the child curled himself against the yellow metal, Bumblebee sighed.
It had been almost a week since they laid Spike's parents to rest, and the boy's appetite seemed to shrink day by day. Research into the worrisome behavior revealed that it was a common symptom during the early stages of mourning, as was his sudden need to constantly be around one of them (mostly Bumblebee) and wanting to be held and such. The clinginess Bumblebee could deal with, but the refusal to properly refuel was disconcerting.
They had buried the four slain humans together at the edge of the hill just outside the Ark's entrance. Trailbreaker and Bumblebee had dug the hole, six feet deep as human custom dictated, and laid their bodies into the earth and covered them with a mound of dirt. Several of the Ark-stationed Autobots found human death customs strange and frankly insulting.
"Who would want to be buried in the ground?" Sunstreaker had exclaimed when the plans for the funeral were announced. "Sounds more like a punishment than an honor to me."
Wheeljack had volunteered to create a headstone and, using a laser scalpel, he carved the plaque from a granite block retrieved from the ruins of the Burbank Post Office. They knew Spike's parents' names, but the two others were nameless. It didn't seem right to honor only those whose names had been remembered. So Wheeljack scoured the human information network for a suitable epitaph that would honor them all, nameless or otherwise. Deciding to incorporate one that also adorned the grave of a famous human named Susan B. Anthony, the headstone read:
"Liberty, Humanity, Justice, Equality."
The door to the Rec room slide aside and a tall black and white Mech entered. Jazz paused in the door way before stepping into the room. He made his way over to Bumblebee, striding around the scattered tables, his soft steps seeming to betray his own worries. Upon reaching Bumblebee's table, the saboteur stood over the pair, and looked down at Spike. The little boy clung to yellow metal of Bumblebee's chest like a gecko. Jazz absently noted the small chain around the boy's neck, the tags having been tucked securely into his shirt.
"Kid still not eating?" Jazz asked Bumblebee sympathetically, bending down to peer at the human child.
"Not much." Bumblebee shook his head, looking thoroughly concerned, but added slightly more optimistically, "He's drinking water all right, but he won't eat more than a few bites of food."
Jazz reached out and gently ran the tip of one finger across Spike's head. The brown mess of fluffy hair turned and bright green eyes gazed up at him.
Jazz smiled weakly and said, "Heya, kiddo."
"Hi…" Spike replied, somewhat distractedly.
There was a moment's pause.
"I don't know what to do, Jazz," Bumblebee admitted. "He can't go on like this forever."
"Don't worry Bee," Jazz assured the scout and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Wheeljack said he might have come up with something that might help the little guy, but there's no guarantee it'll get him to start eating right again. Why don't we head up there now and see what he's got cookin'?"
Bumblebee managed a small, somewhat forced, smile and nodded, but said nothing. Moving his arms slowly so as not to jostle the boy too much, Bumblebee shifted his grip and stood, then followed Jazz out of the Rec room. He silently hoped that whatever Wheeljack had thought of would work.
The hot sun beat down on their exposed necks. Aching feet screamed curses with each wobbling step, and fingertips throbbed with each beat of their tired hearts as their backs bent under the weight of the remainder of their worldly possessions.
The eldest of the group was thirty-two years old while the youngest was five. Possibly six, but, since none of them had a calendar or watch, it was hard to tell the exact passage of time with any sort of accuracy.
There were five of them in total, the eldest being in the lead. His short, jet-black hair was covered with an old, dusty, cowboy hat with a bronze steer-head ornament hanging loosely by two pull-strings below his chin. Tattered t-shirt and jeans clothed him while his sore feet sweated in a pair of worn, running sneakers. His cheerless face, dusted with a five o'clock shadow, gazed ahead of the group, eyeing their blistering, black-tar encrusted path. Heat rose off the surface like a sizzling grill and the image awoke wonderful memories of weekend BBQs. But the small, happy balloon burst abruptly when the image of family and friends now gone joined the memory. He felt a sickening drop in his stomach and he pushed the images away, staring angrily at the path before him. His anger only seemed to add to the heat.
To his left, a younger man in his early twenties staggered and gripped onto the leader's shoulder to stabilize himself.
"You ok, Seth?" The older man asked. Seth had been a slim boy in the beginning of their journey, but had bulked up during the constant exertion of their travels. He was a young man with bright red hair and eyes as green as the Ireland countryside.
Seth wiped his forehead and groaned. "It's so damn hot…I dunno…how much longer I can go…"
Seth made a motion as if to sit down, but the older man sneered and hefted him back up.
"Oh, no you don't," he said. "You get to cook evenly with the rest of us."
"Joseph…" The soft voice of a woman whined from the back of the group. "Seth's right. We need to rest. Let's just set up the tarp and wait until the sun's not blaring down our backs. Maggie can't take much more of this heat without any water, and Claire needs a rest."
Joseph looked back towards the woman. Janine was her name. She was a good head shorter than him with light blond hair that seemed to have turned white in the heat and a slim build. Her face was red and her light freckles stood out starkly against the burned skin. She couldn't have been older than twenty-three.
Then he looked towards the last adult of their cluster, another woman named Claire, her stomach large with pregnancy, and the little girl at her side. Like her mother, the girl's dark skin was moist with perspiration and her normally fluffy mop of black hair was matted with sweat.
That decided him.
"All right. Ten minute shade break," he conceded. "Seth, help me with the tarp, will ya?"
There was a collective relieved and generally-happy sigh from the group as they went about unburdening themselves from backpacks and satchels and heavy jackets and windbreakers that seemed nothing but a nuisance and a burden in the hot sun. Joseph opened his bag and pulled out a bundle of grey plastic sheeting. White string was tied tightly around the bundle and, as the two men untangled it, the women began clearing a spot on the side of the road, brushing away sticks and rocks. When the tarp was untied, they brought the sheet over to the area the girls had cleared. Each of them scuttled under its protective shielding before Joseph pulled out two short, thin metal poles that looked as though they were from a camping tent. Seth and Claire, along with Maggie, took up spots near the far end of the tarp, tucking the excess material underneath them. Joseph passed one pole to Janine. They stabbed one end of each into the caked earth, taking several seconds to grind a suitably deep hole for the poles to stand securely, before feeding the top ends into holes in the tarp's rim. When the strange ritual was complete, they had a modest, make-shift shelter from the sun's rage.
For the last few months it had been their only reliable form of shelter and for the last week, it provided them with some relief from the fury of the western heat.
"The heat out here is ungodly!" Seth declared and he fished through his backpack. "I thought the west coast was supposed to have constant weather patterns. First the freezing snow and now burning dessert? This must be someone's idea of a cruel joke or someone must really hate us up there…or both. God, I'm really beginning to hate California. 'Safe haven' my ass."
"Seth!" Claire barked as she rushed to cover her child's ears.
"We just got out of the mountains Seth. Higher the altitude, the colder it is." Joseph replied as if he never heard Claire.
"And now we're frying to a crisp in frickin' Death Valley," He pulled out an orange chunky, boxy looking hand held radio and pulled up the antenna. When he flicked the on switch nothing happened…as he expected. The radio's batteries (the last of their supply) died three and a half weeks ago, while they were still crossing over the mountains. "Man, I hope we find some batteries soon so we can settle down for a while. This hopping around from place to place like Ninjas sucks."
"I agree…" Claire added, placing a tender hand on her baby bump.
"This hopping around from place to place like Ninjas' is keeping us alive," Joseph said pointedly. "I'd rather be freezing in the mountains or baking down here then being caught by one of those machines."
They had discovered, quite accidentally, that their hand held radio made a distinct squealing noise when one of the giant machines was near by. It had been their key advantage in keeping from being caught or killed. While there had been several close calls when they were still struggling to decipher the radio's range and accuracy, it had been remarkably smooth sailing. But now the batteries were dead, as was their advantage. Since then, Joseph had kept the group constantly on the move in case any of the alien machines were close. Claire's condition only made their movements even trickier.
"Amen," Janine contributed, earning a small, tired, smile from Joseph.
Claire hugged and rocked Maggie, wiping her hand continuously over the child's forehead and caressing her hair.
"Poor, baby-girl. Next town we stop at, I'm gonna get you some sunscreen. I promise. And a hat."
The little girl stirred in her mother arms and smiled. "A purple one. And one for the baby!"
Claire grinned. "Of course, honey."
"I hope the next town we hit is like the last one," Janine said, fingering the bottoms of her shoes. "We need to find a place to settle so we're prepared for when the baby comes. And I need new shoes. The soles on these ones are paper thin."
"I told you to grab some good sneakers when we stopped in flagstaff," Joseph said, gazing down at his own. "They last longer then those slip-on's. Easier to run in, too."
"Uh-huh," Janine replied, grimacing as she spotted a rip in the side of the shoe where the rubber met cloth. "Crap."
"Can we have some water, please?" Maggie asked, her soft voice cracking in her parched throat. Everyone turned to Joseph with hopeful eyes.
He sighed. "Yeah, but just enough to moisten your mouths. We don't know how long we gotta make this last."
General mutters of agreement went around as a bottle of water was pulled from a pack and passed around. They each took a tiny sip before it passed to the next person. It was an unspoken rule that Claire always went first and that she always got two sips, one for her and one for the unborn child in her womb. As the bottle reached Maggie, Joseph smiled, holding up two fingers.
"Mags can have two sips, too," he said, smiling, "You're starting to look like a piece of beef jerky there kiddo. And we're going to need you hydrated to help take care of the baby when it comes, right?"
"Yeah!" The little girl laughed, her small white teeth showing, revealing the gap on her lower jaw where she had lost a baby tooth the week before.
"Oh, please don't mention food…" Seth moaned, placing a sympathetic hand on his stomach.
Maggie's bubbly giggle was contagious as everyone chuckle along with her, including Seth.
"What do you say?" Claire asked her.
"Thank you, Joey," Maggie said as she took a second small sip.
"You're welcome, Mags."
Maggie was the only one that could get away with calling him Joey. To everyone else he was Joseph. Or a number of other names that weren't appropriate to repeat around a child Maggie's age. Joseph's smile widened when Claire caught his eye, mouthing a silent thank you to him.
He nodded.
"So," Seth said as he passed the bottle to Joseph, who stowed it away into his pack. "What city do we reach next?"
Joseph sat back on his elbows, looking out across the California dessert just beyond the confines of their tarp-cum-tent, and said, "Burbank."