Waits could hear the remaining two aliens climbing down the ladder as he pressed his left hand to his vest. Despite the stinging, he pulled his handgun as soon as he saw their boots. It felt awkward in his left hand and he knew he wouldn't be able to reload once the magazine was empty. I gotta make all nine shots count.

He shot the first alien in the back as soon as it came down. It slumped against the ladder and Waits finished it with a round to its head. The second soldier had just enough time to push the corpse out of its way before it fell screaming as Waits shot it in the chest.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Waits forced himself to stand by bracing himself against the wall. A sudden jab of pain pulsed through his right side. As he stood, trying to keep himself from passing out, he heard more rasping voices above. The hatch is open. Fuck! Waits fumbled to put his handgun back in its holster before picking up his AUG. Biting back a cry of pain, Waits turned to run back to the Bureau armory. His ears pricked when he heard something small and metal strike the concrete behind him, and something inside was screaming at him to run.

Slamming the door to the tunnel shut, Waits staggered through the firing range as an explosion rocked the tunnel. Concrete already loosened from the earlier bombings fell into the range, crashing down on the bulletproof barriers and crushing targets. Everything was muffled, drowned out by an intense ringing.

Waits shoved himself through the door back into the armory, and closed it behind him before falling to his knees and shouting, "Lock the door!"

Faulkner jogged over, sliding the lock into place before kneeling by Waits. "What happened, sir?"

"Damn sons-of-bitches dropped a grenade in the escape tunnel. Half the range is history."

Faulkner helped Waits stand, then eased him down by Shea and Brooks. "That door won't hold for long if they make their way here."

"I know, son. Just pray that they think the grenade got all of us. I don't even think they'll be able to get through the mess they made. Lotta concrete came down." Waits winced when the nurse began cleaning his wounds. He looked over at Brooks. The Head Marshal was still breathing. His right eye was closed. I just hope you haven't felt a thing since this started, Waits thought.

The feeling of giving up had sunk into Waits like a rock in water. The nurse had given him a painkiller, his exhaustion had finally won out, so he slept for several hours. His sleep was dreamless, but not restful. When he awoke, he felt like lead weights had been tied to his limbs and around his body. The state of his head hadn't changed much, and he could hear the nurse talking with Faulkner about Waits needing scans to determine how bad his concussion was.

He also heard her mention the burn on his shoulder was in the third degree. There was no way for her to say how bad the damage to his muscles was, but the force of the blast had been enough to dislocate his shoulder; the destruction of nerves rendered him unable to feel it.

Waits couldn't fight anymore, and as he continued to wake up, he could feel nothing but exhaustion and failure. Both morphed into shame, and he wished he had the strength to crawl into the back of the armory, away from everyone else. He kept his head down, not bothering to look at the nurse when she checked his bandages. The pain of every bruise felt magnified tenfold. Wounds from years passed were starting to ache. He had been broken before, but this was the first time it was coupled with shame and failure.

I let everyone down. Everyone here is going to die because of me. Waits looked around at the people sheltered in the armory. He didn't know any of the civilians personally. Other than Brooks and Shea, he hardly knew anyone in there. Even Naraleth he only knew on a professional level.

The nurse seemed fidgety. Despite having just checked everyone's bandages ten minutes ago, she checked them again. Waits could sense her anxiety. She was the only person there with any medical knowledge that went past basic first aid. Without her, Brooks, Shea, Naraleth, and many of the civilians probably would have died hours ago. A part of Waits felt like he should have asked her name a long time ago, but he managed to overhear it when she was talking with someone else: Sabilline.

"How are you feeling, Marshal?" Sabilline asked when she got to Waits.

"We'd be here all day if I answered that," he grunted.

"Well, we've got all day."

Waits had just enough strength to adjust his posture, and rest his head against the concrete of the wall. It wasn't comfortable, but it would do for now. "Short answer is that I'm tired. Long answer is that I don't want to admit I'm tired, because I feel like I've failed everyone still alive in the colony. I feel like I've been through hell and back several times, and yet I want to go back. I can't, though. The moment I sat down, the moment I fell asleep, it was over. I can't move without feeling like someone tied a thousand-pound weight to me. Everything fucking hurts."

"All I can do is give you another painkiller, but I don't have a lot left, and I don't want to give you too much."

"Then save it for the others. I'll deal with it."

"Marshal—"

"I'll deal with it. Frankly, I deserve to be in pain right now."

A part of Waits felt pity when he saw the look of defeat in Sabilline's eyes. She looked like she wanted to argue with him, but then she decided against it, standing up and going back over to her supply kit.

Quietly sighing, Waits opened his mouth to apologize, but then decided against it. He closed his eyes, hoping to turn his thoughts to something else, something other than the pain holding him to the floor.

I hope Lace got out. I really hope she got out. Waits wanted nothing more than to see Aslett again. He wanted to hug her, hear her voice, sit with her, drink with her, anything. You've helped me feel less alone the last few months. I don't know what I'd do without you.

After falling asleep a second time, Waits awoke feeling slightly better. While Sabilline was occupied with Brooks, Waits tried to stand up. A shelf of ammunition boxes was on his right side and he reached with his left arm to grab a shelf, but flinched in pain when he put the slightest bit of pressure on his right shoulder.

"You know I can see you over there," Sabilline said, glancing up from Brooks. "Your job right now is to rest."

"Fuck off," Waits muttered. "I can't lay here and let us all get slaughtered."

Sabilline gave an exasperated sigh. "You'd be trying to go back out and fight if you lost all your limbs."

"Yes, I would." Waits turned his body, finally able to grab the shelf and force himself to stand. A dizzy feeling rushed through his head, and he gripped the shelf until his knuckles were white to keep from collapsing. As he was telling himself that he could put up with the dizziness, nausea suddenly surged through him. His grip on the shelf weakened, and he fell to his knees before retching and vomiting.

"Still wanna go back out there?" Sabilline asked.

Waits didn't offer a response, other than a groan. It was really embarrassing knowing Faulkner, his last remaining Marshal, was standing there, watching him try to spit the acidic taste from his mouth, but he cared less and less as time went on.

Please, don't tell me we're actually going to die in here, Waits thought. He didn't want to imagine how Aslett would react. His urge to keep going was strong, but how could he when he was incapacitated?

He didn't want to give up, but it felt like giving up was all he could do.

Waits entered a restless cycle of sleeping and waking, pondering what they all could do to survive. Sabilline kept checking his wounds, regardless of whether Waits was awake or not, and whenever she touched something sensitive, he would jolt up with a grunt. It felt like this would go on forever, and the shreds of hope he was clinging to were starting to fade.

After another few hours passed, Waits glanced to his left to check on Shea, Brooks, and Naraleth. He couldn't see any movement from Shea, and banished his exhaustion to say, "Nurse, I think Shea stopped breathing."

Sabilline knelt in front of Shea, cursing to herself as she tried to find evidence of breathing or a pulse. "He's breathing, but it's really shallow. So's his pulse."

"We have to get him outta here," Waits said.

"I don't think that's happening anytime soon, Marshal. There's nothing more I can do for him—"

Everyone in the armory froze when a roaring sound was heard overheard, followed by two bursts of energy from an alien ship's guns. Crashing sounds were heard, then something slammed down on the floor above. A crack appeared in the concrete ceiling.

The place in his heart where hope was supposed to be felt painfully hollow, and Waits could feel his internal fighting growing weaker and weaker. "Nurse," he said. "Put Shea's head on my lap. I don't want him to feel alone when he goes."

Nodding, Sabilline carefully moved Shea closer to Waits. Despite his own soreness, Waits took one of Shea's hands, holding it tightly.

Shea's eyes opened suddenly, and he started gasping for breath. His body jerked as he began coughing up a gray, viscous substance tinged with blood.

"His pulse is a little stronger," Sabilline said, "but if he's bleeding internally—"

"I know," Waits snapped. He sighed, immediately regretting that, and repeating in a softer tone, "I know."

Shea looked up at him in confusion. "What's going on? Are we... Are we going home?"

Waits was torn between lying and telling the truth. I can't make the best of this. He gently squeezed Shea's hand. "We're not. I'm sorry."

Shea's eyes left him, and began staring into space. "Waits, don't blame yourself for this. Please. I heard you earlier about how you think you deserve to be in pain. You did the best you could."

"I'm glad you think so." Waits swallowed hard, not wanting to cry. "Kid, that doesn't mean you deserve to die down here. I should've ordered us all to run sooner. This really is my fault."

"You don't need to carry all this responsibility, sir. Please. All I ask, if... if I'm going to die now, is that you don't blame yourself."

"Honestly, that's easier said than done."

Another alien ship passed over the Bureau, firing. Waits shielded Shea with his body when the concrete, smoke, and fire came down into the armory. He felt wetness creeping around his sock, and when he reached down, he felt the warmth of blood. Through the smoke and dust, he could see the survivors who couldn't be moved had been crushed by the concrete. The ones still alive were pinned down, and their pained screams were amplified by the small space. Waits could feel it piercing his skull and exploding in his brain. He cradled Shea against his chest.

We're gonna be buried alive. Waits suddenly found it hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut when the smoke began irritating them, and tried to keep his breathing even. Then he began gasping. There was a tight coiling sensation around his chest, and he felt as though his ribs were crushing his lungs.

"I can see survivors down there!" a man's voice shouted. "Get that damn door off its hinges!"

A minute later, there was the sound of a torch cutting through the hinges of the armory door, following by someone tossing the big piece of metal aside. Though his vision was blurred, Waits could see four Marines jogging in.

"Get the medtechs in here, now!" one of the Marines yelled, muffled by a heavy gas mask.

Waits could feel time passing, but he wasn't sure if it was minutes or hours. He could feel Shea being pulled away from him. At the same time, he felt like he was falling, and he had no control over his descent. That uncontrolled fall then turned into floating. Waits could still hear voices, and the heavy banging of gunfire outside the Bureau, but all he could feel was cold.

His thoughts weren't reliable. He couldn't latch onto a single one, and then he saw himself as a boy, running through the woods outside his old home in Deerfield. The feeling of the summer breeze was as clear as day. The sound of it rustling the leaves was clear, too, like he was right there.

"Jethro! Damn it, I told you to stay in the fucking yard! You trying to get yourself killed?!"

He turned to see his father coming after him. Then he saw he was in a car, his father next to him, teaching him how to drive. He saw himself driving out to Boston to pick up his sister late at night after her friends abandoned her. He saw himself talking to a recruiter in the cafeteria at high school.

"I don't feel like college is right for me. Hell, I don't know what's right for me. I don't wanna stay here, that's for sure. There's not much to do," he remembered saying.

The recruiter gave him a sympathetic look. "You want to go places?"

"I do, sir."

"You like helping people?"

"In my own way. I once walked a lady to a hospital in a snowstorm after her car slid off the road and into a tree."

"Then I think you'd make a great Marshal. Give it some thought, then call me, okay?"

The feeling of nervousness when Waits attended basic training was still there. It was the first time he went away from home, and he didn't regret it. After graduation, a slew of memories poured over him, and with them came the emotions he felt at the time. It was intense and overwhelming, and Waits wanted to scream. He wanted it all to stop.

It stopped when he started to fall again, and landed on a stretcher outside a USCM dropship. Several gunships raced by overheard. Two medtechs were with him. One of them had placed a respirator over Waits's face, and was forcing air into his lungs with a transparent bladder. The second was performing compressions on his chest.

"Heartbeat's getting stronger," the second medtech said.

"Keep up compressions," the first one ordered.

Waits felt something cramp in his chest, followed by heavy jabs of pain all over his torso, like someone was stabbing his chest with a knife. Involuntarily, he jerked partly upright.

The medtechs moved back when he coughed up a gray, bloody substance. One of them opened her radio, asking how many other survivors were coughing up blood.

"If they were exposed to the smoke, they'll cough up blood," came a reply.

It felt like someone was squeezing every individual organ in his torso. Waits wasn't sure he wanted to be feeling that. When the medtechs realized his eyes were open, one of them touched his forehead. "You're gonna be alright, Marshal, hang in there," he said.

Waits could feel a tiny glimmer of relief over the fact that the Marines were there. He wanted to tell them to take care of the rest of the survivors before him, but his strength was nonexistent, even to talk.

"Okay, get him on the dropship," one of the medtechs said. "I want all these people placed in cryosleep as soon as we get back to the ship."

We're going home, right? Back to Earth? Waits thought. His thoughts were becoming fuzzy as he slid back into unconsciousness. As long as we're far away from here.

Waits's dreams in cryosleep weren't peaceful images of going back to Earth, to civilization. No quiet country roads or town streets. No summer breezes, no salty ocean air. All he could see was smoke and fire and the violet glares of their alien attackers. He could hear screaming and gunshots and the roar of the fighter crafts as they bombed the colony. He could feel intense pain tearing into him like claws. Blood was pooling beneath him, and he saw piles of broken concrete lying on top of people crying for help.

He couldn't remember waking from cryosleep. His body felt limp and heavy whenever he was conscious enough to feel the doctors handling him. Vague flashes of events going on around him were all he could see. He saw a light passing over him, and could see he was in a very small space. His chest tightened, and he suddenly felt like the walls of the space were going to close on him. Then the light and the walls and the tightness faded.

His next brief flash of consciousness was in a dark room, with only a large lamp hovering directly over him. He heard someone say that they were fully prepped for surgery, heard metal instruments being moved around, then felt the prick of a needle, followed by an opaque respirator being placed over his nose and mouth.

Rather than help him breathe, Waits felt like he was being shoved into another small space. A small space where he could escape the fire and smoke and blood and screaming. As the anesthesia took over, he was terrified of going back into his own mind, but found relief in the fact that he would see, feel, and hear nothing as darkness overtook him once more.