They managed to make it to the navpoint and found the ranger's station without running into anymore Combat Forms.

That was about the only good thing that happened in the wake of the battle.

The snow had picked up, cutting visbility a bit and dropping the temperature further. Greg ended up lagging behind a bit to make sure nothing was following them, not the surviving Combat Forms and not any vargs that may have found their courage again with the defeat of the small army of Flood. Or anything else that was looking to kill them. As he followed the navpoint, trudging through the snow, trying to hurry up as he'd lost sight of everyone by then, the trees suddenly stopped coming and he found himself in a clearing.

The group materialized one by one through the snowfall.

"What's happening?" he asked as he moved to join them.

"We were waiting for you," Izzy replied. "Also..."

She gestured ahead of them. As he came to stand next to her, he saw what the problem was. The ranger's station was built up onto a rise in the land, giving it a decently commanding view of the area. But even from this distance he could see the devastation. Shattered windows, broken bodies hanging out of them, both Flood and human, lots of frozen blood. Though he could hear nothing but the gusts of wind.

With a sigh, he checked his battle rifle once more. "Izzy, with me. Everyone else, wait here and keep watch," he said, and set off towards the wooden stairway that led up. Izzy followed after him and together they mounted the stairs. Their pace was steady, wary of anything that might leap out at them, but Greg had the notion that any survivors of this battle were dead or gone by now. They reached the deck that ringed the entire exterior of the building. It was littered with Combat Forms, the pulped remains of Infection Forms, and shell casings.

So many of them among the falling snow.

"Come on," Greg muttered, pushing his way through the front entrance. There was no movement inside. They took a moment to clear it and Greg looked over the miserable, wrecked interior. It was an ugly place. Glass, blood, trash, spent shell casings, and dead bodies littered the floor. The furniture had all been pushed up against the windows in a last-ditch effort to create a makeshift barricade, but it had obviously failed.

Hell, there was a hole in the ceiling. He saw snow drifting in, gathering on the floor. It looked like there wasn't much in the way of guns around, though he couldn't know if that was because the Combat Forms had gathered them or because survivors had done so. Or if someone else had come here in between the last stand and now. Either way, it didn't matter. What mattered was that there was nothing hiding among the debris, and that Greg saw perhaps their only salvation on the other side of the ranger's station.

"Izzy, look," he said.

She came to stand by him. "Looks like it could run, maybe."

Another snow Carrier Warthog. He was dubious about whether or not it would run, as he imagined if it could run or was easily fixable, other survivors would have done so already. But maybe there hadn't been time, or maybe there had been no other survivors.

"Wait here," Greg said, and moved back over to the front door. "Get up here, people!" he called.

A moment later, everyone had gathered inside.

"We're secure for the moment. Laney, keep an eye outside and let us know if anything's sneaking up on us. Coretti, Breaker, Turner, search this place for anything useful or a map or any clue as to where we might find a working radio or a bigger, better location to get to. There's a Warthog down there, and Izzy and I are going to go check on it."

They all gave affirmative replies and set to it. Whatever else was happening, whatever other crap had gone wrong, he was immensely glad that he had a capable and compliant team. No arguing, no hesitation, just getting the job done. It wasn't always perfect, but he suspected that this fact was one of the most crucial reasons he had joined up with the UNSC.

"Come on," he said to Izzy, and they headed back out into the cold and down the stairs on the opposite side.

The storm at least wasn't worsening and visbility seemed to have cleared up at least a little bit. As they got to the Warthog, he saw a pair of paths leading away from the clearing it was parked in. One looked better and more well-maintained than the other. He checked around the area while Izzy started looking at the Warthog.

After about five minutes, she spoke up. "Good news...sorta."

"Tell me," Greg replied, coming over.

"From what I can determine, this Warthog is ready to go. The only thing it needs is power. We find a new power cell for it, we should be fine," she replied.

"Great," he muttered. "Come on, let's update the others. Then we'll follow that road," he pointed to the less-maintained one, "and see if there's a garage or equipment shed or something. Maybe it'll have a battery."

"Hopefully," Izzy replied.

When they headed back upstairs, not much had changed. He saw Breaker and Coretti hunting through the blood-splattered remains of the ranger's station. Turner was looking at something spread out over a desk.

"That a map?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I just found it. It seems there is a colony about ten miles from here."

He walked over and joined her, studied the map she'd tracked down. It looked like that more well-maintained road he'd seen led to an actual road that itself finally led to a small colony called Boulder. "Excellent," he muttered, then turned back to the group. "The good news is that the Warthog is intact save for power. See if you can find anything in here that might help with that. Izzy and I are going to see if there's a nearby shed or garage that might hold a spare power cell. Keep your eyes sharp, we're still in hostile territory. We'll be back soon."

They headed back outside, down the stairs, and past the Warthog. They reached the path and began to walk slowly down it.

"You know, you're actually really good at this," Izzy said after a moment.

"Good at what?" he replied.

"Leadership. I know several people who are basically only good leaders when things are going according to plan. Not that I thought you were like that. But seeing you just handle all this stuff and without freaking out or complaining, just giving orders and getting shit done, it's...impressive," she replied.

He glanced at her. She looked uncomfortable, maybe even a little afraid. "Is that...a bad thing?" he asked finally.

"No, no. It's great. You're great. Just..." she trailed off.

He was going to push further but the path suddenly terminated in a little clearing where a pair of simple structures stood. One was smaller, looking like a shed, another indeed was a garage. They took a moment to check out the shed, found it was in very poor condition and likely wouldn't hold what they were looking for, then moved to the garage and secured it. No Flood hanging out here, no stray vargs or other things lurking among the shadows.

"So what then?" Greg asked finally as they began hunting along oily tabletops and dusty shelves for the power cell that would be their salvation.

She sighed. "I guess, what I was going to say is that the more time I spend with you, the more obvious it is that you're a really great guy. Like, you're obviously boyfriend material, I knew that from the beginning. But I feel like you're the kind of guy my friends and family would be nagging me to snag and snag hard, because you're amazing."

"Why do you sound so worried then?" he asked.

She sighed. "Two reasons. The first is...I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of commitment."

"I mean obviously," Greg replied.

Izzy turned to look at him, crossing her arms suddenly, and he could just read the anger and defensiveness in her stance. He braced, he hadn't quite meant for it to come out that blatantly, but he also wasn't sure if she'd take offense to it. Then, suddenly, she relaxed, sighed. "Yeah, you've got a point," she said. "I have to keep reminding myself that you aren't trying to attack me or make fun of me. More great things in your favor: you're kind and patient."

"So, I mean, what's bothering you? It's not like I'm going to tell you something like 'marry me or get lost', you know?"

She let out a soft laugh. "Another great thing about you: you won't pressure me to do things." She paused for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. "Here's my problem: I have seen a conflict to come in my head. I'm concerned that you're perfect for me, and I'd be an absolute moron not to commit to a relationship with you here and now. But I'm also worried that I might not be perfect for you. I screw relationships up. So it's like, should I just give up now and save myself the trouble? But what if I'm wrong? What if, yeah, I'm wrong for most people, but we'd actually be great together, and I just threw away the best relationship I'm ever gonna have?"

Greg was silent for several moments, considering this. "Well...that's a difficult problem, I'll grant you," he replied finally. "I guess, do you want to know what I think?"

"Obviously," she said.

He turned to face her fully, abandoning his search for the moment. She was leaned against a desk, framed by a wall-mounted shelf behind her packed full of all sorts of random junk. She had her arms crossed still. "I like you. A lot. If you were to ask me right now, point blank, if I thought we had a chance to work together in the long run, provided we're even given a long run, I would have to answer honestly: probably. Sure, there's gonna be problems. But I don't think they're the kind of problems that tear people apart. They could, if left unchecked, but I think we're both self-aware enough to recognize when something's a problem and, hopefully, reasonable enough to work through it. But what I think you should do now is just...let it ride, you know? Let's just keep doing what we're doing, handle things as they arise, and reevaluate periodically. And when this is all over, and we're off Wintermute, and maybe we've got some downtime, then we can seriously have a discussion about how we're both feeling about the relationship and where we want it to go...sound good?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, then laughed, and he was glad that the laugh was less derisive and more relieved. "Yeah," she said. "That sounds good." She sighed. "I get ahead of myself sometimes, and it makes me panic, like I need to make a decision right now. Like, I need to decide right here, in this freaking garage, whether or not we're going to be together forever or if I should break it off right now. And...you're right. That's ridiculous, it's just my brain panicking. But...I'm okay." She straightened back up.

"Good." He looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Look what I found."

She turned around, saw what he had seen, then reached out and grabbed the power cell that was sitting there, nestled between a small crate and a big, rusty toolbox.

"Perfect," she said.

"Let's get out of here."


"Moment of truth," Izzy muttered, then she hit the ignition.

The Warthog hummed to life. Greg let out a sigh of relief.

"Don't relax yet," Izzy murmured, looking over the dash screen. He waited as she navigated a few menus, checking out the general status of the Warthog. Then she relaxed. "Okay, we're good. It runs and it's definitely enough to get us to that colony."

"Perfect. Go get the others, I'm going to try and get someone on the radio."

She smirked at him from the driver's seat. "You just wanna drive the Warthog."

He shrugged. "Is that so wrong?"

"As it happens, no, though I get shotgun," she said, getting out.

"Naturally."

He slipped into the driver's seat and connected his helmet radio to the Warthog's radio. It was a long shot, especially with the damned storm, but it wasn't like he had a reason not to do it. Greg sat there trying to establish a link with the Regional HQ. The minutes ticked by in the frigid snowfall. Before long, the others began to come out of the structure. By the time they were beginning to load Larsen into the back, he finally got something.

"...is Gibson, I hear you Walker...'s going on?"

Greg felt relief and immediately responded. "Our Pelican crashed. We're ten miles south of the town of Boulder. We need a pickup. We have Doctor Turner with us. Larsen has a broken leg and is unconscious," he reported.

"...think I got all that...wait one."

Gibson's voice was hazy and there was a lot of static, but as tenuous as the connection was, it was a connection. The seconds that dragged by began to feel huge and dangerous, and he had to fight the urge to ask if Gibson was still there, or if they had been disconnected.

Finally, "Got it! Pelican Gamma Four Eight Eight is en route to Boulder. ETA is thirty minutes," Gibson said.

Greg felt relief wash over him. "Understood."

"Also, there's been a huge change of plans..." Gibson replied, and he sounded angry. Greg waited, but his voice suddenly faded away.

"Gibson, I didn't get that last part. What's changed? Over." He waited, heard a few unintelligible phrases come up out of the electronic soup, and then the connection collapsed completely. He groaned and resisted the urge to punch the dashboard.

"What the hell does that mean?" Izzy asked from the passenger's seat.

"No idea. We'll find out later. Everyone buckled in?!" Greg called.

As soon as he had a string of affirmative replies, he hit the gas and began driving them towards Boulder and, hopefully, a Pelican.


Suspicion seeped into Greg's guts as they drew closer to Boulder.

Luck had been with them so far. As they had driven along the path that wound between the trees and then located the main road that led to the settlement, the snow had mostly cleared up. Visibility was pretty good. There also hadn't been any contacts, or at least nothing had leaped out and tried to attack them as they drove. He received an update from the Pelican after managing to get in touch with the pilot ten minutes into the drive and confirmed that the ship was on its way. The pilot was even going to set down on the south side so they could get right into the Pelican without having to drive through the colony.

It all felt too lucky, too good.

Greg knew he was, to a certain degree, being pessimistic and paranoid. Technically speaking, he could have a lucky streak lasting ten days starting now. But life had cracked him in the head with a baseball bat often enough to make him suspicious of anything too good to be true. Something had to go wrong. Of course, maybe something had already gone hugely, monumentally wrong. Gibson had said something about a change of plans.

Maybe he'd luck out with a safe ride and no more Flood to fight right up to the point where he learned that they were all dead for some reason.

Maybe the sun was going to go supernova or something.

He tried to shake the bad thoughts, instead focusing on the road. But the road was clear and straight, and the Warthog was handling fine. Instead, he found his thoughts slipping to Izzy. She was, well, an interesting person. He really liked her, and given time, he could see himself loving her. She was fierce, brave, tough, funny, quite attractive and by this point it was clear they were pretty sexually compatible, but…

She had a temper, and she'd been through a lot so far, and those bad times had left a mark on her in a way that meant she'd run into conflict more often than not. He'd been around people like that before and he didn't really like it. But he believed what he had said, he thought they could make it work. It would just require some consistent effort on their parts, which he was willing to do. Honestly, he wanted to, he really liked Izzy.

Greg was snapped out of his thoughts as the radio came to life. "-geant Walker, can you hear me? Over."

It was their Pelican pilot. Crap. "I read you Berserker. What's happening Over."

"Bad news...zzt...problems and I had to-zzt-down on the north side of the colony. And-zzt-like there's a lot of activity do...zzt...over."

Greg felt his guts go cold. "Understood. How long for repairs? Over."

"Not sure. Working on it now. Over."

"Understood. On our way. Out." He quickly updated the others on the new situation. "So be ready. Guns out, locked and loaded. We might have to mix it up, shoot our way through for once." He tried to lighten to mood, but he could feel lead gathering in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like that whole 'a lot of activity' part.

Keeping his cool, Greg drove on.

The settlement appeared out of the distant wall of mist just a few minutes later. The road, at least, seemed to lead right through it, almost like an incision laying the colony open. Although the main road appeared to be somewhat blocked off by wrecked vehicles, Greg didn't think it was unnavigable. Though it would slow them down a hell of a lot.

He pulled to a halt about twenty meters shy of the threshold. Dark shapes moved uncertainly in the snowy mists and among the wrecks: the slow, lumbering forms of the Flood. Why were Flood slower in these parts? Or was it a location thing? Was it just a timeline thing? He was certainly slower in the cold, maybe they were, too. Maybe enough time had passed that the cold was finally settling in to them, hampering their mobility. Or maybe that had just been a bad batch back there. Ultimately, he surmised, it didn't matter.

Bottom line was that they needed to get through this colony.

He activated the radio. "Berserker, this is Walker. We're at the southern end of the colony, looking at a road that seems to go through the whole settlement. What's your exact location? Over."

This time, the transmission was much clearer. "I'm located directly north of your position, at the end of the road you just described. It does cut through the whole colony, and it's not very big, two miles maybe, but from the view I got flying overhead, you're going to have a hell of a time getting through the mess. I'm located in a field maybe fifty meters beyond the northern edge of the colony. I'm making good progress on the repairs, though I'll still need awhile. Over."

"Understood. On the way. Out." Greg sighed heavily and shifted in his seat. "Okay people, get up! Guns out! Hold on tight! I'm going to try and get us through this colony as quickly as possible," he called to them.

After a string of replies came back to him, Greg began driving towards the settlement.

He honed his focus down to a laser fineness. He was going to have to trust the others to do the shooting while he did the driving. As he stared through the windshield at the buildings and smashed vehicles that appeared, he began to see more and more Flood. Hell, there were already twenty Combat Forms in sight. They were moving slower, but they still seemed as dangerous as ever. A moment later, they crossed the threshold, passing between a pair of houses that sat along the outskirts of the settlement, and headed into it.

Immediately, the group opened fire. Izzy stood with her feet locked into place in the passenger's seat, her battle rifle sounding off. Behind him, Breaker, Laney, and Coretti fired from the back while, hopefully, Turner kept her head down and watched over Larsen. He couldn't pay any of them any mind right now. At the moment, he had to maintain focus on the road and his immediate left. He had his pistol within easy reach in case anything tried to attack him from that side and the others didn't have an opportunity to hit it.

The clear road ran out and Greg pushed the Warthog between the trunk of one vehicle and the hood of another. There was just barely enough room to get by and he had to slow down considerably to get through. He pushed the Warthog through, listening to the Flood growl around him, seeing them approach, picking up speed as they got closer, and then toppled over as their chests were blown out by well-placed shots. They were through and he drove about ten meters before coming to another snarl. No way through this one.

Greg drove to the right, up onto the sidewalk, and barely managed to push through between the edge of the wrecks and the front of a store with smashed out plate glass windows. The colony looked like it had been hit hard by the Flood. Once they were around the huge wreck, Greg drove on. A Combat Form leaped in front of the Warthog and went down as Izzy shot its chest out. It thumped as it went under the vehicle, which shook a bit. He shot a look to his left and saw a pair of Combat Forms coming his way.

Muttering a curse, he raised the pistol and fired, putting a round into the Infection Form of one of them. Izzy shot the other one and he set the pistol down and almost ran into another abandoned vehicle. He slowed and pulled around it, didn't want to send anyone flying out of the vehicle because he turned a bit too hard.

They drove on, the next several moments coming to him in a series of brief encounters. He drove around, between, and through the derelict metal hulks of vehicles. He suddenly found himself wondering why there were so many damned vehicles, but the answer came to him not much later. Or probably the answer. There was a good chance that this settlement has served as a rally point for people from all over the area. A sick feeling settled into his stomach. They must've found themselves walking into a meat grinder at some point.

Or maybe it had become a slaughterhouse trap.

He pushed the thoughts aside and kept going. On and on they drove and shot and kept the Flood that roamed all over the place at bay. Greg had made sure to set a marker before they'd come into the settlement. He obsessively kept track of it. Bit by bit, meter by meter, he made the number smaller and smaller. A hundred meters passed. Then three hundred. Then five. A thousand. They managed to make it through the first mile without running into any real problems. But it wasn't much past there when they hit the center of town.

There, they found not just a skein of wrecked or derelict vehicles, but an actual barricade, no doubt set up by the military as a last stand type scenario. It completely blocked off the main road. Cursing, Greg backed up to the nearest road, turned down it, and navigated it as fast as he could. They could get around this, it was just a detour.

But there were a lot more Flood around.

They had ammo, they'd found a fair amount back at the ranger's station, but it wasn't like they had an infinite amount.

Luck stayed with them: the side street was decently clear. Greg brought them down it, turned back onto the main road, and kept on trucking. Seconds bled by, slowly, painfully, morphing into minutes. The symphony of death and destruction around him became all-consuming, and before long, it felt like this was the entirety of his existence. He stayed focused, gritting his teeth, gripping the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the road.

They almost made it.

After a hellish nightmare of Flood and vehicles and nonstop gunfire, he actually caught sight of the field the Pelican was resting in.

It was one of the most welcome things he'd ever seen.

"Almost there!" Greg called, though he didn't know if they could hear him over the sheer chaos that surrounded them.

They were maybe a hundred meters shy of the end of the road when it happened.

Greg brought them through another wreck, and was prepared to basically gun it. He was getting ready to warn everyone to hold on when a Tank Form, that's exactly what his mind screamed out at him when it entered his field of vision, came barreling out from around a building and made a beeline right for them.

"Tank!" Greg screamed as he tried to avoid it. But it was no good, the thing brought one huge arm down on the engine of the Carrier Warthog and smashed it, bringing it to an abrupt halt. Izzy went flipping up over the windshield, just barely managing to hang onto the frame of the Warthog, and kept herself from flying completely free of it. As it was, she managed to land with an ugly sound on the smashed hood of the Warthog just as the Tank pulled its arm back. He heard the others shouting in pain and surprise behind him.

As it was, his own helmet cracked into the steering wheel and his head was shot through with suffering as it bounced around inside. But he was out of his seat and on the offensive in a second, opening fire on the Tank with his battle rifle and giving it pause as he blew chunks of flesh out of it. "Turner, Breaker, Laney! Get Larsen and get to the Pelican! Now!" he screamed. "Coretti, Izzy! Help me kill this thing!"

Chaos reigned as everyone tried to comply with his orders. He didn't even know if the others were still awake or even alive at this point. Izzy was on the hood, but she rolled off of it, stumbled but stayed upright as she hit the street, and brought her battle rifle, which she had somehow managed to hold onto, to bear and opened fire. The pair of them drove the Tank back as he heard the others working behind him. Some were firing into the encroaching Flood, which were still a problem as well. As he reloaded, he cast a glance over his shoulder.

Laney was standing up on the back of the Carrier, taking out Combat Forms with an almost machine-like precision, while Breaker and Turner got Larsen back onto his stretcher. Coretti was recovering, seemingly in a bit of a daze. Crap. Greg finished reloading and resumed fire. The Tank seemed like it was done being pushed back. It surged forward suddenly, coming right for him, and knocked Izzy down in the process. He did the only thing he could think of: he turned and ran. Almost into the waiting tentacles of a Combat Form.

Greg let out a shout of surprise, dodged around it, and kept running towards a nearby building, what looked to have once been a general store. He glanced behind him and saw the Tank casually smash aside the Combat Form, breaking several bones and sending it flying with a swipe of one of its tree-trunk limbs. Damn, the thing really wanted him. An idea hit him. Greg ran for the store, leaped through the broken front window, hit the floor inside, and kept on sprinting between two long aisles. He had the thing's attention, might as well use it.

Behind him, he heard pure catastrophe as it ripped into the store after him. Greg quickly located a back door that led to a loading bay and smashed through it. He kept running, finding a handful of dead Marines back here. It seemed like there'd been another last stand situation. He almost kept running but skidded to a halt as he caught sight of something in the sunlight coming in through a broken-open garage door at the end of the room.

"No way," he whispered, leaning down and snatching up the abandoned rocket launcher.

Checking it, he found a single rocket still loaded into it. Oh this was too perfect. Greg fired a few more rounds through the open door behind him with his battle rifle, just to make sure the Tank wouldn't lose track of him, then hurried out through the open garage door. The second he was at a minimum safety distance, Greg spun on his heel and hefted the launcher. Just in time: the Tank came smashing through the doorway into the storage area.

The second he had the shot lined up, he fired the rocket.

The explosion was spectacular and did the trick.

The Tank Form detonated, coming apart in several pieces, though as the debris settled and the dust cleared, he was surprised to see that it hadn't been pulverized. It must be made of some seriously tough stuff. Again, what in the hell was this thing before it had been turned into a Flood? Reluctantly, he abandoned the launcher, as he didn't have time to screw around with it and there were no more rockets around, and he ran off to see how the others were doing.


Getting back to the others and fighting their way to the Pelican seemed to happen in a blur.

But it did happen, and all bad things must come to an end. At least, in theory. After some segment of time that Greg still wasn't sure about, they all made it back to the dropship and he was exceptionally glad to see that the pilot had it working again. They took off and shot back towards Armitage Station without hesitation.

And as it turned out, Greg didn't even need to wait until they landed before learning what, exactly, had changed.

Apparently, everything had.

"I repeat, this is Walker to Gibson, over."

"Walker! There you are! Damn! What happened!?" Gibson asked. Now he sounded angry and somewhat panicked. That could not be good.

"The new Pelican had some problems, we had to shoot our way through the colony, we're in the air, almost back to base. Everyone's good, except for Larsen, his leg's still broken. What the hell is going on?" Greg replied.

"The techs finally managed to get a stable line of communication to the galaxy at large and update someone with some authority on our situation. Their response was basically 'hold on', and then an hour ago they finally got back to us. Walker, an armada of Elite cruisers is on its way to Wintermute right now. They'll be here in about one day. They're going to glass the whole planet."

Greg felt his entire body go cold. "W...what? How is that not an act of war?" He noticed everyone in the cabin sat up and took notice when he said that.

"You don't understand: they have UNSC sanction. The Brass agrees. Wintermute needs to burn. However, this is why I've been so damned desperate to get through to you, we have one opportunity to buy ourselves an extra four days for proper evacuations. They forwarded some intelligence to us. In a Flood infestation this large, there's a larger intelligence at work. What they are calling a Gravemind. The Flood have to generate it somehow, and given our timeline, there has to be what they call a Proto-Gravemind. If we can find it, and kill it, that will throw Flood all over the entire planet into disarray. But if we can't find and kill it, we all die in a day. I'm preparing a plan that's going to involve you and your team. Let me know as soon as you get back to base. Out."

Greg sat in silence for several seconds.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Izzy asked.

Greg swallowed. "We have twenty four hours to save Wintermute."


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, there we go, end of Part 3! I hope you all enjoyed it. I am now putting The Will To Live back on hiatus so I can return my attention to The DOOM Chronicles. The good news there is that I don't intend for Part III of The DOOM Chronicles - Episode Three to be especially long, and once it's finished, I will return and write Part 4, the final part of this story. If all goes well, we could actually see the end of The Will To Live before 2021!