Awakening: S1

by Pokiepup

Alright folks, here goes nothing… What we have here is something I have been toying with for a while – an original start to my WHF Series, a half-AU endeavor. Call it a Prequel if you care to. While originally the story was started right after the end of season 2 and built on to become its own entity, I've come to toy with a bit of originality with our favorite ..(See AN)

14. C13-

Chapter Thirteen:

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(Lauren's POV)

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"This is becoming our spot."

Although her voice is uncharacteristically soft, it cuts through the unrelenting howls of the unforgiving wind without effort. The faintest of unexplainable flutters in the depths of my chest demands acknowledgment to no avail. My attention pulled back from the void within the apparent endless treetops. Mounds of snow atop of them doing little to nothing to illuminate the darkness. Instead, the excess weight topples several of the branches sporadically, pulling them down into the nothingness. My eyes having attempted to follow several of them, the long curves of the branches like those of a winding trail only to lead me nowhere.

Or perhaps to an invitation.

Subtle realization beginning to dawn on me, noticing just how close to the edge I have become. The toes of my boots only millimeters over the edge of the cliff now, although more than enough to acknowledge the invisible lure my body had surrendered to. I draw in a deep breath through my nose and ignore the icy sting as I blink several times, gradually bringing myself back to a state of consciousness. My head remains down, eyes staring into the darkness, however, it is now more about not wanting her to notice how shaken I am rather than an indescribable moment. With my mind clear, or at the very least focused on her, for whatever disparity there remains between the distinction, composure settles in.

Keeping my back to her, I raise my head up as I begin to speak. "We don't have a spot Bo, this is just a location of convenience."

"I can never tell if you're intentionally trying to hurt me-or it just comes naturally to you."

Slowly I bring myself to face her. "Unfortunately, that makes two of us."

Hesitantly she lingers in the distance, pale moon light casting more than illumination, but even in this light, even at this distance I can see her face. I can see most of it anyway, my brain instinctively filling in the missing fragments to create the final piece. There is the faintest trace of amusement found within myself at her obscure fear of me. If anything, I should be afraid of her.

And I am.

However, not for the plethora of reasons I should be. By nature, she is a predator. Biologically she is one as well. By definition, she is in fact the perfect predator. Everything about her lures you in, her beauty and her gentle nature. Her natural sexual allure which invokes a response without effort coupled with a strength she has yet to fully realize is there. This coupled with the fact of how young she is and how she has exhibited more than once an inability to control herself when a situation had become too strenuous. It is indisputable she has taken a life, more than one regardless of the circumstances. She has compromised me, put me in jeopardy's way from the likes of Julius and Cunningham. From the likes of Dyson, who while I would not call a killer, has in fact demonstrated a capacity to do so. Logically there are many reasons I should fear her. Many reasons I should be the one lingering away from her, cautious of her. Not only her motives, but her every movement. It should be me who had fear coming off of them in waves, however, alas it is her.

"I brought you here to warn you."

"Right." She nods, almost scoffing at me as she dares to take two steps toward me. Her hand reaches up to run through her hair the way she does when she is flustered, but the cotton feel of the beanie reminds her it's there. Shaking her head, her hand falls back to her side. "It's always something with you Lauren. A cryptic message. Half-truths. A warning." Her eyes meet mine. "Lies."

I ignore her words, taking a single step forward. "Cunningham saw something last night."

"Wh-what does that mean?"

"He saw something-with us."

"There is no us." She snaps, and I suppose although it is the truth, a truth I have said several times aloud, it carries a different weight when she says it. "As you keep reminding me."

"Last night, at the Dollhouse, he saw."

"Saw what?" Again, she snaps and I only shake my head, finding myself unequivocally done with this conversation. Done with her and her incessant tendency toward petulance. "What Lauren, what did he see?" This time when she snaps at me, I am already walking toward her, aiming to storm passed. Too much time has been spent awaiting her arrival and I need to make it back down the path before the snow covers it in entirety. "Tell me what he saw Lauren." She demands now, grabbing my wrist just firmly enough to stop me, my shoulder hits hers as we stare one another down.

"He saw-."

"What?"

"He saw you dance for me." The same ferociousness in my voice as she has managed to hold. Already lax grip on my wrist loosening further until it is nearly only the curve of my hand that keeps hers in place. Her eyes once burning with anger now waver with traces of bashfulness.

Her lips begin to part, maybe to deny it. Maybe to attempt to save her pride which she holds so dear. Maybe to tell me she didn't know what she had been doing. Although we both know that would be a lie, regardless of what it started as, if it did start as something else-it finished with a clear intention of invoking something from me. Anger. Jealousy. Lust. Desire. Disgust. Hurt. I don't know, perhaps she herself doesn't know, but it was there. And even though I had my doubt last night. Even though I laid in my bed for hours last night debating and contemplating if what I saw and felt was real, the shy vulnerability written over her features only confirms what I had suspected.

Before a sound can make it passed her lips, I do what I had promised myself I wouldn't. "He saw, he saw how much I…"

"Wanted me?" She attempts to finish for me, almost hopeful as own bashfulness begins to make an impromptu appearance.

My eyes fall to her lips, unable to keep her gaze any longer. Swallowing at the sudden dryness in my throat, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the put of my stomach I force my eyes back to hers in an attempt to give her what she has been searching for from me. "Yearned for you."

For a moment her eyes search my face, waiting. Waiting for a deeper explanation maybe. Waiting for something to follow or maybe just an understanding. Uncertain of if she finds what she wanted or not, her lips curve into a tentative smile, her eyes shifting between mine and my lips. "It's the same." She whispers.

"It's not."

"It so is." Gently, naturally almost as she speaks, she draws out her words while her arms come to wrap over my neck.

Her eyes flutter shut as she leans in, lips brushing against mine asking for permission she already knows she has. Tenderly her lips press to mine, my eyes still open terrified to give into this, to her entirely. Terrified to live in the moment, even if it is only for a moment. She pulls always just for a mere moment, eyes remaining closed offering me a way out we both know I don't want. Like the trees had done, she lures me in. My eyes flutter shut and all else drifts away. The roar of the wind, the rustle of the tress, and even the sound of the snow beneath our feet until all there is, is us.

Is her.

My hand just barely reaches her cheek as she abruptly pulls her face from mine. Her normally warm, dark eyes nearly glistening a piercing blue now. She holds my gaze, hand cupping her cheek and for a mere moment she tilts her head ever so slightly into the touch. Almost surprised by my acceptance or perhaps my lack of fear. Whichever it may be becomes irrelevant as she turns her face away from me. With a breath drawn, and an ounce of self-control regained I force myself to focus. As my lips part to speak, to tell her that it's okay, her hands fall from my neck. Still without facing me, her hand come to rest on my stomach pushing slightly, but she doesn't move beyond that. My own hand comes to rest on her wrist, but she doesn't relax her push against me.

"Bo…?"

"We're not alone."

For a moment her words don't seem to register. I hear her, but I don't understand. And then I come to the realization, several in fact at once. She didn't pull away because of lack of control but rather she must have heard something. Her hand isn't pushing me away, but rather an attempt to keep me behind her, a protective stance. Lastly, my mind that had wandered away getting lost in the moment had yet to come back to reality. As least until she takes a single step backward forcing me to do the same. I look behind myself, but there's only the edge of the cliff and that isn't where she's looking. She isn't even looking to our right or straight ahead into the maze of trees but off to our left, down the spiraling path back toward her car and my route back to the manor. With another step back my hand finally falls from her wrist. My eyes locked in the direction of hers, staring into the nothingness.

My own voice a whisper when I say, "I don't hear anything".

I hear nothing because there is nothing. Nothing that wasn't there when I got here. A violent wind and the rustle of leaves and branches. Snow beneath our feet, compounding with the weight of our steps. Other than that, a unique silence that this place always has. One that you grow accustomed to as the time passes. Yet, I continue to listen, to search for whatever it is that has her in this state.

"I don't hear anything either." Her words still a whisper, one that makes my eyebrow raise. Curiously I lean forward from behind her, just enough to see a little more than the side of her face. "I feel it."

Whether the power of suggestion or something more when my eyes leave her face, back toward the trail, our one true route of escape I hear something. The faintest hint of something. My head tilting, ear toward the direction as I hold my breath and over the sound of my increasing heartbeat, I hear the snow being crushed beneath an incredible weight.

A singular thought coming to mind; we haven't moved.

"Run." Her demand soft, a single step backward and then another. "Run." Her second demand less of a plea than the first. And the third time she says "Run." She's spun around, hands on my arm and shoulder forcing me to turn. She pushes me forward with a force I would never expect from her, although that is neither here nor there now.

Now I'm running.

I'm not jogging or even sprinting, I'm running. Along the edge of the ridge, using what little moonlight there is peaking from behind the grey sky. Fifty, sixty, seventy yards. Eighty yards and my foot slips off the edge, I'm sure I'm going to slide right off, but her hands shove against my back and both feet are on solid ground again. Ninety, a hundred yards and I'm nearly sure it's her I'm running from, but a part of me thinks this is by design. A part of me is sure she could pass me if she wanted, be a head of me somewhat easily but rather she stays on my heels.

A hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty yards and we're in the tree line now. A hundred and thirty, a hundred and forty and the tree line is a blur now. I don't need to look back, I know. I've been here before. Been left for dead in a night worse than this one. A hundred and seventy, a hundred and ninety we're deep within the maze now. Two hundred and twenty I find myself tripping over foliage debris beneath the cover of the snow. I trip several times but manage to stay on my feet. Two hundred and sixty yards now and I find my foot caught in a branch or rock, something beneath the snow and I slam into a trunk of a tree.

My head throbs, something warm running down from my temple to my cheek. It could be blood or even sweat that I had yet to realize was present, although now it doesn't matter. Pushing off of the cold, rough surface I keep running. Two hundred and ninety yards and I'm sure Bo has abandoned me. I haven't felt her guiding push for several dozen yards. Three hundred and ten yards and my lungs are ablaze, the entirety of my chest is burning, and no amount of adrenaline is enough to cause the pain to fade now.

Three hundred and thirty yards and my body makes the decision for me. My knees lock, forcing myself to a dead halt. Spinning around I turn right into her. Her body slams against mine causing me to stumble backward. I'm sure I'm going to hit the ground, but her hands are gripping my elbows pulling me back up against her. She's panting, sweat dripping down her face but her eyes remain nearly translucent and she's very much aware.

So many times I've looked at her and have seen a girl. A girl in the way she behaves and her choices. A girl in the way her delicate features cause her to be perceived as. A girl even in her age, a gap between us that isn't in actuality alarming, but enough to notice. Although now, in this moment something is different. Something within her is different and she looks like a completely different person.

"C'mon. There has to be a clearing soon." My hand grabs her arm, forcing her to a stop and I only shake my head. Her eyes narrow, running over my face until they aren't. She's looking passed me again. "We have to go. Now." She snaps, her hands grabbing my wrist attempting to pull me.

Jerking my hands away, I shake my head once again desperately trying to catch my breath. "There is nowhere to run to."

She looks me over for a moment, as if unable to grasp what exactly I mean. Rather out of stubbornness, determination or complete lack of understanding she takes my hand. "We can't stay here." Her words a hardened plea as she attempts to pull me with a bit more gentleness than her previous attempts.

Four hundred, five hundred yards and we're deep enough within the maze I don't think we'll ever find a way out. Six hundred, seven hundred and I'm nearly sure beyond a doubt we won't. Eight hundred, nine hundred yards and we're fumbling into one another.

Nine hundred yards, just over a half of mile. It is nothing really, not for me and most certainly not for her, but at this altitude in this weather it may as well be five miles. The wind pushes against us with every step, the air icier the deeper we get. The adrenaline ruling out any attempt of controlled breathing to slow the exertion rate. I can feel my skin drenched beneath my clothing; I'm burning up now. Every impulse within myself screaming to pull my jacket off.

Self-control wavering as my focus does. It's the feel of her body periodically hitting mine, her hands finding some part of my body to guide me that keeps me focused. Somehow, just enough strength to keep going. Eventually we make it a mile and then a mile and a quarter and we find ourselves in a clearing of a sorts. The two of us colliding together as we slide on the snow slightly out from within the trees. A half mile radius of nothingness. Just a large empty circle.

"I know where we are." I pant out.

This time it's my hand that instinctively finds her stomach, keeping her from proceeding any further. It's not the complete truth, I should have said I know more or less where we are. I've been here before, yes. I know that underneath the snow is ice, yes. I know that either by natures design or some other design the ice here is like a trap, some spots stable while others will break with the weight of a pin, yes. I know that in one direction a little over a half mile there is a shed and two miles beyond that is the manor, yes. What I don't know is what direction exactly that is.

"We have to keep moving."

"I know." I look behind us, back into the maze and contemplate if that is the safer option for us.

My answer coming in the form of a shadow. There is something there, something lurking by the trunk of a tree within the darkness, and it is utterly illogical I would be able to make this out. I shouldn't be able to. If I was a witness on the stand in a court room, they would tear me to shreds. But I am not on the stand and nothing about tonight has been logical.

Something IS standing there.

Waiting. Watching. Waiting. Watching. Waiting. Watching. Waiting. Watching.

Running.

Running toward us. Our hands fumbling for one another as we turn to run out onto the ice. She doesn't know what awaits but she assumes it is a better alternative to whatever is behind us. I am not entirely sure of this, but my body acts on its own, in response to her lead. We slide through the snow, running as our steps are erratic. Somewhere along the way our hands fall from one another's. At some point either by her lead or by chance I'm a head of her now.

Each step taken alternates between and slip and a slide. My ankle already teetering on twisted is nearing a full sprang now. I can feel the tendons being pulled to their breaking point. The ice beneath my weight cracks every other step but there is no stopping now. There is no looking back or changing of course. Forward. Run forward out of the clearing and pray that it was the right direction.

Nearly there now, I slide the last four feet tripping my way onto solid ground. I turn back expecting to have her slam into me as the times before. But she isn't there. She isn't close. She's forty yards back still on the ice. Correction, she's in the ice. Her arms flail about, hands scraping on the ice trying to gain leverage. She's starting to go under completely now.

My eyes move from her up toward the tree line, toward where we were running from, and I see it there waiting. It has no form, no shape just a shadow to me…but it is there and very real. I could swear I felt it closer, right on us but now it is back at the line waiting and I wonder if it is a trap waiting for me to go to her and then it will attack. Then it will have us both. She yells out, words garbled by water but she's telling me to keep going. "Just go." She's yelling, words being drowned out as the water begins to overtake her.

If one must die, then what better way than for it to be for someone you love.

I run with every ounce of strength I have left back across the ice. A piece breaks and my foot starts to go in but I'm fast enough that I keep from falling in. Letting my legs give out I slide myself the last twenty feet to the hole she's slipped into. I just miss her, it's a second but it's enough.

She's gone.

For a moment I'm frozen, staring down into the water. Into the darkness. My mind attempts to cope with the realization it is about to have to make. She's gone. But staring into the empty water I see the waves crashing into the base of the cliff. The sun just barely rising so the water is still a dark beautiful sapphire and the sky a mixture shades of orange and blue and purple. I think for a mere moment how I would have loved for her to see that. To show her that sight as I finally gave her exactly what she wanted, a moment of just us. I think for a mere moment how beautiful it is, how beautiful she is and about fifty different images of her face come to mind. I was unaware I had even seen her that many times, but it's as if the memories are a flip book and the images are dancing their way to competition.

For a mere moment I remember what it's like to drown.

Thrusting my upper body into the water I reach as deep down into the water as I can. My skin burns from the touch but it pales in comparison to the dull ache lingering in my chest as a part of myself continues attempting to reconcile with the fact that she is gone.

I see the waves in my mind as I struggle to reach just a little deeper. I remember what it was like looking up from them. Looking up at the cliff as I sank further into the water. I remember attempting to hold my breath, telling myself I wouldn't breathe over and over again until my jaw was pried open despite my conviction allowing the salty water to fill my mouth and lungs until there was nothing.

Memory just nearly running its course as something grabs my forearms with an alarming force. Mind racing back to reality I grip her arms and pull up. Her hands tear wildly at me until they're on my shoulders as I am using my weight distribution to get her out of the water. Her body is collapsed on top of mine as I try to hold us both up. She coughs out water, struggling to catch her breath.

When she pulls back a moment later, her teeth clatter and her eyes are their normal dark brown. Her lips a dark blue but she speaks with such a conviction that I can't quite sort the emotion it invokes. "I told you to leave me."

I want to tell her…I don't know what I want to tell her. I haven't quite sorted it out myself so instead to avoid her stare I look back toward the tree line where our predator lingers. Maybe it never stepped foot onto the ice, maybe it can't come any further than the trees. Maybe it's afraid of water and that was enough to scare it. Maybe the only purpose it served was to scare us, warn us and it's purpose has been fulfilled. There are many maybes, but the only thing I know for certain is that I need to get her out of here.

So I do.

With barrowed strength and silently recited prayers I swore I would never use again I manage to get her onto her feet and back across the ice. Through the snow and over the hidden debris. And eventually to the shed I had remembered. There was a small pad lock on the door, would have been a small challenge for her regularly but now she would pose no more of a threat to it than I do. Call it coincidence or fate or prayer or law of averages I find it still on the door but unlocked.

Resting her against the wall I pull the lock off and the door open, it's dark the only light that of the pale moon that seeps through the cracks in the wood. Although I don't need to see much, I remember vividly the layout of the twenty foot by twenty foot shed. Various machetes and things of that nature hang from the walls. Some tools scattered about on a table on one end of the shed and a shelf built into the wall full of what I need.

Without hesitation I flip over the table pushing it against the corner of the wall, wincing at the sound it makes scraping against the floor, however the solid wood of the tabletop will provide an adequate barrier between the small cracks in the walls and us. Moving to the shelf I grab two of the thick blue plastics, and for a mere moment I remember the last time I had been here, the last time I had used one of these. But that was a different time and a different purpose. Quickly I shake them out, tossing them into a bunch on the floor in the corner where I had positioned the table. Then the same with four more before I go back to collect her. Guiding her in, I kick the door shut behind us and lean her up against the wall once more.

My hands cup her cheeks, bringing her face up so her eyes stare into mine. "Bo, feed." I attempt to coax her to no avail. "Bo, please."

She is with me, but she is no longer truly with me anymore.

I pull off my soaked jacket and then hers, followed by her shirt which she halfheartedly protests to. Couching down in front of her, I lazily spread the discarded items out to do whatever drying possible. She is nearly frozen and nowhere near coherent. I look up, into her eyes and wait for that comment, the one I know she would have if she were anywhere near lucid. But there is absolutely nothing there. Guiding her onto the bunchy, noisy plastic I throw my own shirt down beside hers. My hand goes into my pocket, pulling out my phone as I get a horrible idea. It is an idea that would probably kill us both. But would be worth the risk if it saves her from freezing to death like this. I think Cunningham is home tonight and we're not far, he could get to us quickly. What he'd do to us after he saved us is up for debate, but is irrelevant now.

The decision taken away as I come to find my phone is dead. Whether it be the cold that drained the battery or the water is irrelevant. I drop it with a thud, grab two more tarps from the shelf and crawl down beside her. I wrap a tarp around her and use one of the folded ones to prop behind her back attempting to keep as much padding between her and the cold. I drape one last one over us as I scoot beside her. My arms wrapped around her body, attempting to warm her.

Her head rests against my shoulder, but she says nothing. I am unsure how much time passes although it feels as if time has suspended. I count my heartbeats as I stare into the darkness and wait. I wait for her to awake. I wait for whatever that was in the trees to come for us. I even wait for Cunningham to appear having grown tired of waiting for my arrival.

Nothing happens.

My eyes wander the darkness, eventually lingering where I know I had discarded our clothing. Somewhere there is my phone. Maybe, just maybe I could try it again. I could try Hale or Dyson, but I don't know how far they are. I don't know if it would be worth it. The only viable option is Cunningham, but I wasn't panicked, the phone was dead and all of this second doubting myself is nothing more than guilt. I know this, yet the feeling refuses to subside.

I suppose I could leave her, run the rest of the way and bring help. I could make it. I have enough strength for that left. I'm sure of it. I am just unsure if she does. I am unable to convince myself she would be able to make it that long without whatever little heat my body is giving her. I am unsure that leaving her to die alone is the most humane thing to do, even if in an attempt to save her life.

So I do nothing.

My cheek presses to the top of her head, her soaked hair sending a sharp chill through my body that quickly fades. Her breathing is even now, the rise and fall of her chest calm, but her skin remains cold to the touch. She doesn't move, doesn't speak all there is, is the rhymic rise and fall of her chest.

If she does wake up I wonder if she will ask me how I knew about this place. I wonder more what I will tell her. The truth? Another half-truth? Maybe a lie? Sometimes a lie is kinder. Sometimes you don't really desire to know the truth, even if you think you want it. Maybe I'm just not ready to speak these things aloud. Perhaps at the end of the day I am not as okay with things as I tell myself I am.

How would I even begin to describe this, to make her understand?

What are the words to accurately describe…this? To tell her that the manor was, is and ever shall be a plantation of sorts. To explain that even though there is no longer a couple hundred tortured souls in the fields that there is still hundreds corralled differently now. To begin to describe what being enslaved truly means, especially for humans. How does one even begin to make one understand exactly what I am and always will be. How does one attempt to shift another's thinking from the normal world to this world?

Even if we made it through all of this, how would I explain The Maze? I've never spoken about it even to the two other survivors. I haven't even began to truly process it myself. I've had nightmares, terrors even with the memories, but I have never truly attempted to sort them. The beauty as well as the failure of compartmentalizing. With a heavy sigh, I lean forward just enough to see her face. Her lips remain blue, but now a faded shade rather than the previous darkness. She almost looks peaceful, as if she's just sleeping through a troubling dream that will come to pass. In this moment, she looks like a girl again. Young and innocent. I wonder if she could ever accept these things.

Without mercy the wind pounds against these four rickety walls and my only sense of comfort comes in the form of knowing these walls stood long before I arrived here, and they will be here long after. Shifting slightly, her weight becoming a tad too much for these exhausted muscles, yet I still refuse to let her go. Something pounds the against the roof and I can't help jumping at the abruptness of it, but when it happens again and then again it becomes just noise in the background.

The longer I stare into the darkness, hypnotized by the relentless assaults from Mother Nature outside my mind begins to wander down a darkened path. Without rhyme or reason, I find myself back where I was the last time I was here, four, no maybe five years ago now. They call it The Hunt, a single night every three years where several Ashes and Morrigans come to compete. Although they're more of the spectators. Each Overseer is allowed to have six entries, or rather slaves. Generally, they are human and those who are possess some type of skill, something to make the night interesting. And if they are not human than they are the particularly vicious ones.

There aren't many rules, only four in fact. One; there can be and will be only one champion. Two; you must take at least one life. Three; if you try to escape a fate worse than enslavement awaits you. And four; do not embarrass your Overseer. It's simple really, as far as rules go. We learn more just attempting to function through everyday life being owned, so four rules are easy. Although, when put into practice they become a bit harder. Overall, the entire ordeal is over in no more than eighteen hours. Overseers grow bored easily I suppose.

Come dawn they drag us from our beds, as we never know the day this will take place. They drug us, tie us up, blindfold us and throw all six of us in a small cage. The ride is rough and long, perhaps the drugs within our systems make it more difficult to gain our barring. Eventually when they find our placement, where they wish to drop us they pull us from the cage and toss us to the floor. A single knife is dropped, and we are left to feel for it, find it and free ourselves. Whoever finds it, it's up to them whether to free the others or even leave it for them. One particular Hunt I heard one of the six left the others, they never managed to untie themselves before being slaughtered.

My group knew one another vaguely, all humans, Cunningham has a particular distaste for us. A former Navy Seal, a police officer, a state trooper, a hunter, a construction worker and myself. The Navy Seal was the first to free himself and then us. It's not encouraged to stay together, just as it's not encouraged for us to slaughter one another, there's no sport in that as they say. Unfortunately, by profession we were all team players, all used to moving in pairs or squads so that coupled with our vague familiarity it came natural to move forward together.

We fended off three attacks, a total of eight people before we lost the first one, the construction worker. It would be another four attacks and seven more people before we lost the state trooper. By the twelfth attack we had, correction they had managed to kill off over one third of the completion themselves. Undoubtedly there were other fights, other deaths away from us meaning the competition was at least down to half.

A thought that had apparently dawned on the hunter who had snapped the police officer's neck before running off in the trees leaving just two of us now. We walked for hours together, but eight feet apart, cautiously side eyeing one another. It must have been three or four o'clock when the sun retracted into the clouds and clear skies turned treacherous. Devil's Valley seven months out of the year is a winter tundra but the other five they're liable at any given moment to become a breeding ground for monsoons, and this particular day was no different.

Time felt irrelevant, it shouldn't have considering we only had so much time to survive, but it did. Perhaps it was an hour or two or three, but we wandered in what I would learn is the Maze. The valley has many trees, but there's a particular line, invisible to the naked eye where countless trees become something more. We wandered around in the mud, pouring rain slipping and sliding. We would look, acknowledge the other was okay and then proceed.

And then, it happened.

I was just about to say something, I don't remember what exactly. No, that's a lie, I do. I was going to make a joke, I was going to make a joke that I suppose in any other time would have been funny. A time old joke really, said in civilian life, basic, war, just a joke but somehow now it seems so petty. I started to say I guess we'll finally have an answer who's better, Army or Navy. It was just a joke, a tame version of one thrown around a million times, but it just felt so crass now.

Not that the words made it passed my lips regardless. I turned to him and smirked, lips parted to speak it into existence and blood spews from his mouth. His body flung through the air so high and far that I don't quite grasp what has happened at first. My mind not functioning properly, muscle memory taking over as I step back and reach for my sidearm that isn't there. For a mere moment I'm back on tour, a tripwire activated as several squad members go flying into the air.

Moments lost, vital moments lost but I remember where I am. What exactly is happening and realize the Navy Seal is impaled on a branch forty yards away. In front of me is an Ash, one I'm not familiar with. I stumble backward attempting to process this. Attempting to process my imamate death. I trip on a branch or rock, something falling onto my back. Hands and feet kick at the dirt feebly attempting to get away. This isn't how it is supposed to happen. They aren't allowed to intervene.

Perhaps that's why when he reaches, his hand never finds me. Cunningham drops down from a top of one of the trees and I get an answer I wasn't particularly searching for; how were they watching us. I don't wait, I run. I push myself up and run. I hear ungodly noises coming from behind me, but I don't turn around. For a second I stop, looking up at the Navy Seal's body, his eyes open, face expressionless and his body hangs limply. He's gone and all I can think is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the stupid joke. I'm sorry that you're dead. I'm sorry it wasn't me. I'm sorry whatever happened that lead you to this moment. I'm just so very sorry.

Remorse does little to slow me now though. Eventually I make it to the ice, halting just before the mud turns to ice and at this point I don't even bother to attempt to understand how there is ice still in the middle of a monsoon. What I do attempt to evaluate is the seven people fighting and running over it. Just as my foot goes to step onto the ice I see the first drop. And then another and another until they're all gone in seconds.

So I run around it.

It could have been hours or minutes maybe, I don't know but eventually the manor comes into a distant sight and I can't help the twisted, sick sigh of relief that escapes me. Eighty yards, sixty yards, twenty yards…I drop to my knees. Hands buried in the mud as my head hangs. I roll onto my back and look up at the sky. The rain beats down on me mercilessly and I welcome the pain. It's not over yet. It can't be. Not by their rules.

"If you wanted to get me naked there was easier ways." Her weak laugh rips my mind from the memory.

"You're not naked." I respond, sharper than need be. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good, for someone who almost was drowned and then froze to death." She pulls back slightly, tilting her head up so her eyes meet mine. "Not so good for someone who didn't." There is a little shrug followed by a faint smirk. "I'm a glass half full kinda gal."

"You should have fed."

Brushing my comment of, she responds with "And you should have gone. I told you to go".

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?" Her question gentle, innocent even perhaps. She still looks far from okay, feels far from warm but her body has managed to heal somewhat. Her lips no longer blue, her eyes no longer empty.

"We need to go." I sidestep her question, beginning to pull away. "Can you stand?"

"Lauren." She calls, but I've already managed to stand. Shaking off the tarps I suddenly begin to realize how warm they actually were. The cold slamming into me as if a ton of bricks. Quickly I scoop up my icy, rigid clothes, a certain stiffness to them now, frozen even but not quite as wet anymore. "Lauren."

"The manor, it isn't far now. We can make it." I nod, slipping back into my shirt.

"Can you stop for a second?"

"We'll bring the tarps; we need to keep your temperature from dropping again."

She just nods, weakly as she takes her clothes from me and dresses as best she can underneath the tarps careful not to jolt her body too quickly. I help her too her feet, she can stand, but needs to lean against me. I nod to myself, as if agreeing I have just enough strength left for this. To get her to the manor. I pull up three tarps and wrestle with them until her one hand grips the corner of all three as it drapes around us and I hold the opposite corner. We pull it closed over us, her arm wrapped around my waist as mine wraps around hers.

Neither of us speak.

The sun begins to peek through the clouds, dawn is on the horizon now. We managed to make it through the night. We survived, from what I am still uncertain of, but we did. Gradually the manor comes into view, growing larger and larger with each fumbled step. My fear of her not making it to the house lessening. My fear of whatever was in the tress near gone now. My only fear left of what Cunningham will do when he sees us.

It is possible he'll take mercy on her. Perhaps he won't bother with her at all.

We stumble up the back stairs and through the door to the kitchen. She collapses in the nearest chair, tarps however helpful also a nuisance. They fall into a lump on the floor beside her as I go back to shut the door. "Wait here." I whisper, walking down the halls to the living space.

He isn't here.

It will be worse for us, for me if he has already gone out looking. He'll be angry he's wasted his time. Running my hand through my hair I start back toward the kitchen, a small paper catching my eye on a stand.

'Lauren,

Behave while I am gone.'

There's no need to sign it, I know who it's from. I can't help the faint smile that curves my lips. Maybe we really did survive last night. Maybe we are okay, for the most part anyway. I make it back into the kitchen and she seems more coherent now, weak but coherent. Apparently, I am right, because when I turn my back to make some tea for her, she's grabbed the paper I had discarded on the table.

"This how he always speaks to you?"

"T-that's actually one of the nicer days." I glance behind myself, noticing how she studies the paper. "I live in a different world than you."

"You've said."

After a couple of minutes, the pot steams and I fix her a cup. When I turn and hand it to her, her fingertips brush against mine and I don't immediately relinquish the cup, but rather meet her gaze. "We all make choices in life, the aftermath is what we must be prepared to deal with."

"Did you know this could be the aftermath?"

"No." I shake my head, pulling my hand away quickly. "Never could I have fathomed this could be a possible outcome."

"If you could, right now, would you run?"

"I can't."

"If you could."

"I can't."

"But IF you could." She puts the cup down, leaning forward slightly.

"I…" Her eyes peer into mine and I forget to breathe for just a moment. Forcing myself to look away I stare down at her cup, she's refusing to drink from. "I don't know anymore."

"Lauren…"

"I have to get you out of here, I have to get you some help." I say flatly, cutting her off.

I manage to use the house phone to call Hale, having memorized his number and not Dyson's. Regardless I know they both will show. Unable to deal with any more questions, any more feelings, any more…her I linger near the phone for several minutes until I'm sure they're near. Not long after I hear them in the back as I had instructed, not to risk them being seen.

Dyson barrels in the backdoor. He looks nearly as rough as her. From the moment he enters the door he is yelling. Yelling at me and at her and just in general. Eventually Hale calms him enough, enough that he looks over Bo before getting worked up again. Once again causing Hale to have to tame him, this time forcing him outside, back to the car presumably. When Hale returns, he looks me over and gives me a soft smile followed by a nod.

Gently he gets Bo onto her feet and although she stares at me the entire time, she doesn't say anything. Rather she leans into his hold and lets him guide her out. Apprehensively I follow them out, standing on the porch as he practically cares her down the stairs. Just a bit more and I can breathe. Just a few more steps she'll be in the car with them, away from here and I know she'll be okay. She turns as they step off of the last stair, still in his hold but determined to move no further.

"Lauren-I wouldn't have left you either."

She doesn't wait for a response, if I had one, simply allows Hale to get her into the car. He looks back at me once more before getting into the car, his concern is nice. Although I know as well as he does his concern isn't so much about my condition now, but rather the repercussions to follow if or rather when Cunningham finds out.

I suppose it's a problem for later.

When they're gone from eye's view I intend to turn back into the house, clean my mess and possibly get something resembling sleep. But something in the distance catches my eye. For a moment I'm frozen in fear, I'm sure it's the creature from last night.

There's nothing.

I wait and wait, searching for it, but as I search for what I saw the snow becomes mud and the light flakes of snow become furious raindrops. I'm back there, back so many years ago. It happened out there, just twenty or so yards. I remember it all, so vividly.

From the east I heard a scream, rain in my eyes, vision blurred I don't quite see it. I see a large shape coming towards me. I feel something fly by my head. Bolting upright, shaking my head I look to my left and see a tomahawk on the ground just out of arm's reach. Looking to my right, he slams into me with a force that I'm sure had broken something.

We roll several times, the mud making it hard for either of us to gain any traction. I'm desperately trying to get away while he's trying very obviously to rip my head off. I push back against his face as he flips me and not that it matters much now, but I realize it's the traitorous hunter. Anger turning to rage enough to fuel me, as I bring my forehead into his nose. My knee weakly up between us into his groin. It's enough though. He falls off of me and I scramble to get away.

And then I see it.

I feel his hand on my back and it's just a reaction. My hand had already reached for the handle. Without much thought, or any at all I swing backward. It hits, I know that much. I flip around and swing once, twice, three times more before leaving it buried in his chest. Falling backward, my hand pushing the hair from my face I can't help screaming out in agony, in rage, in something I can't quite describe.

Ungodly sounds make themselves present once against causing me to move onto my knees, looking back out toward the trees. Cunningham is coming, shirtless for some reason. I would come to learn just how much he loved to kill and feel the blood on his skin. He is storming toward me and all I feel is frightened. As angry as I am there's absolutely nothing I could do against him.

Then I see it. See four more Overseers coming out form the east and the west, three Ashes and a Morrigan. They're coming for him. Up until this point I had never seen anything as grotesque and brutal as this. Their blows are heard even from this distance. He manages to kill one relatively soon. The other three seem to pose a challenge. They get him onto his knees, it's a struggle but they've got him there.

Suddenly it all makes sense, why so many groups had attacked us. Why there's suddenly weapons, strictly forbidden during the Hunt. Why that first Overseer had attacked. This was never really about The Hunt this year, but rather a way to take him out. I look back over my shoulder at the manor and all I can think is run. This is it run, but there's a part of me that knows if he survives, he'll kill me. Even if I do run, the other's will kill me. Or worse. They'll take me and do, I don't know what. Is it possible they can be worse than him?

Is there worse than Cunningham?

The sound of a growling howl forces my attention back towards the four of them. I pull the tomahawk from the hunter's chest and run toward them several yards, before hurling it at the one going for his head. It's similar to those certain Special Forces members carry, I'm loosely familiar with it. Just enough to be able to use it acutely at fifteen yards. It's a direct, deadly blow and he falls giving Cunningham enough space to end the other two in moments.

He growls out in victory before coming toward me and I'm still not completely sure he isn't going to kill me, but he comes to stand shoulder to shoulder and says nothing. "The devil you know is better than the one you don't." I say flatly, and he just smiles, almost laughs even.

"Come Lauren." He laughs out, already walking past me.

It was the first time he had used my name.

Freeing myself from the memory, looking away from the filed toward where Hale's car was, long gone now. Shaking off the memory, the night, the feelings swirling around I head back inside, closing the door behind myself as I lie and say I deal with it later.