Part II: Regenesis


Present Day

Port Farrall

"I'm not going to give you a stirring speech. We face facts. Our society's changed out of all recognition in three hours. We're more at risk now than we were under Locust attack. We've lost even the most basic comforts we had in Jacinto. People will die of cold and hunger. People will become angry and scared very, very fast, and that's the point at which we face collapse.

It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better."

-Chairman Richard Prescott on the situation at Port Farrall.

The whole of humanity - except for the roving Stranded gangs splattered about the world - stood before me in its entirety. I stared at them all from my perch high on the hill, and suddenly felt very, very small.

Jacinto had emptied in an hour. It was a record breaking evacuation - after all, civilians were used to the type of catastrophe that forced them from their home. The logistics team could all pat themselves on the back and congratulate themselves on saving the vast majority of Jacinto. How many were saved? Seventy percent? Eighty? An amazing feat from the tactical perspective, but an encompassing sadness pressed against my chest. Yes, many were saved, but how many had died as well? And not just the civilians of Jacinto; many Stranded made their camps next to the city's outskirts? Their names would not be added to the list of dead.

Standing high upon the hill above Port Farrall, I tried to come to grips with the altered reality. So ended the long, horrible war that would never be forgotten. Life would go on. It would go on despite both the dead and the living, because this was a war that no one had quite survived. Something in humanity - something very important and precious - had been killed by it or, perhaps, it had just died of hunger, or starvation, or simply of disgust. Even now, the very first signs of 'moving on' could be seen amongst the survivors in the camps. We would try to bury the pain and sadness quickly, allow the earth to settle over it, and turn our backs on the horrible memories the war had provided. After all, our real life was now beginning, and what to make of it was up to us.

People below were scurrying about, looking for friends and family that had become separated during the evacuation. For once, I felt relieved that I had no one to search for. It saved me the terror and panic of searching through thousands of featureless faces in the streets, or scanning the lists of dead for a name. I knew those important to me were alive. That was good enough for now.

Night had fallen by the time our Raven had landed in Port Farrall. The dim lights of camp fires set throughout the camp glowed in the darkness. Emergency services were being set up as quickly as possible. The very basics - food, clean water, and shelter - took precedence over calculating total life lost. The dead could take care of themselves; for now the living needed our help.

I slowly rose to my feet, wincing as my muscles protested the movement. My body was sore and sticky; the runoff and filth from Jacinto still covered my skin and clothes in a thin sludge. Pain in my thigh billowed to an angry throbbing as I limped myself down to the city.

"Bri!" a shrill voice called. Turning at the sound, I barely recognized the flash of red hair before the small girl barreled into my side. "Bri, please, you have to help me. I can't find Maralin or my Dad!"

The young girl was Teresa - one of Dizzy's daughter. I had befriended them long ago when I lived with Ace. The only young girls on base tended to stick together. "Okay, Teresa. Calm down. When was the last time you saw them?"

Her pale face was filthy and tear-streaked. Her eyes shot quick, furtive looks around us as if she could peer through the thousands of people to find her family. "I was put on another boat back at Jacinto. We didn't have any choice in it. Now I can't find them! And I need-"

"It's okay," I interrupted in a soothing voice. She still clung to me frantically, so I rubbed a reassuring hand up and down her arm. "We'll find them. I promise."

Promises were a risky thing in today's world, but this I deserved. One thing had to go right today. Just this once. Guiding her through the frenzied crowd with my arm around her thin shoulders, I searched for a familiar face. Finally, I found Anya standing on the open ramp of an Armadillo. I marched myself and Teresa straight up to her. "I need to find Private Dizzy Wallins."

If Anya was taken off guard by the fierce instructions, she didn't show it. Instead, her hand went immediately to her comms. Murmuring a few short instructions, she searched the comm traffic for Teresa's father.

"Teresa!" an all-too familiar voice hollered above the normal turmoil. We both turned to see Dizzy's moth eaten cowboy hat bouncing through the crowd at a frantic pace. Teresa broke from my arms to meet him halfway, throwing herself tearfully into his arms. Dizzy plucked both of his daughters - both with long, red hair - into his arms and lifted them off the ground, not even willing to share his flesh and blood with the ground. The family embraced happily, finding peace in the midst of hell.

My throat felt thick despite myself. What would it be like to throw myself into my father's arms, content at knowing he'd always be there for me? Would I ever grow accustomed to having a strong pair of arms picking me up when I fell? A warm hand grasped my shoulder, and I flinched around to see Anya's kind face nodding at me. "It'll be okay," she said.

Even if she didn't know the whole story - and I was relatively sure she didn't - her offered words of comfort struck a chord deep inside. Nodding once, I pulled my shoulder from her hand and walked down the ramp. Dizzy had set his daughters back onto their feet. He watched as I approached. "You alright there, Bri?"

My cracked lips burned slightly as I gifted him with a wan smile. "You know me, Dizzy. I'm always alright."

He looked like he would offer me a hug, but he had his arms full of his own daughters. His family was complete. There was no room in his father's heart even if I asked, and I was fine on my own. I had been for years now.

Bidding farewell to the trio, I headed back towards the outskirts of the ruined city. The bitter wind whipped through my untied hair, tangling the raven strands behind me. Somewhere I had lost the leather cord that kept my long hair pulled back. The sleeves of my jacket were ripped and town beyond repair, and everywhere my skin was covered in lesions and scrapes. Finding an abandoned building that had not yet been commandeered by Sharle and his crew, I ducked inside.

The interior of the building was what I had come to expect for an abandoned structure. Some walls had been torn down - the plaster and wire ripped from the rafters - leaving bare bricks behind. Some trash littered the corners of the rooms, and I saw the tail of a rat that fled into the shadows. The carpet was torn in places, and the bare floorboards were semi-rotted beneath. Broken glass glinted in the starlight from a broken window; wind whistled in through the hole in the wall. Snow fell in a thick haze outside, which added to the icy feeling of the building.

For tonight, it would be home.

The pain in my thigh intensified, so I had to work quickly to clear a space to rest. I grabbed a semi-rotted piece of wood and used it to scrape away the trash and filth from the far corner of the room. I took the metal cup from my empty canteen and placed it on the broken windowsill to fill with snow. I set my pack and rifles down against the wall, and gathered up anything flammable in the room; thread-bare pieces of carpet would be kindling, as would some limp pieces of paper. I broke apart pieces of wood to keep the fire going throughout the night. Setting up a protective ring in the corner of the room with some loose bricks I found, I readied my gatherings to create a fire.

I placed the fire in the corner of the room so the heat would reflect off the walls and give double the heat. I shredded the paper and dry twigs into the center of the circle and pulled out my lighter. It took a few flicks with my numb fingers to get it to light, but finally the kindling caught and gifted me with a bright, orange blaze. Blowing slightly to feed it oxygen, I slowly added more kindling. Slowly, I added more substantial fuel until my campfire was large enough to sustain itself for a while.

I retrieved my canteen cup from the windowsill. The falling snow had filled it almost to the top. The fire would melt most of it away, but hopefully I'd have enough to wash up with. My face felt sticky and gross even to me, as did most of my body.

Sitting next to the fire, I slowly peeled away the grey, blood-stained bandages wrapped around my leg. The fabric tugged at the just-healing skin and it started bleeding all over again. "Damn it," I muttered under my breath. I retrieved a bit of cloth from my pack and soaked it in the luke-warm snow water above the fire before gently using it to clear out the wound. Blood and water mixed together and soaked into the floor beneath me. I had to pull bits of gravel and pavement out of the injury.

It probably needed stitches, but I didn't have any suture kit. The doctors would be overwhelmed with far more grievous injuries in the med tent, and supplies would be limited as well. I had to go to the next best thing.

My knife emerged from its sheath with a resounding swish. I tested the size of it against the bleeding gash in my leg; the knife was just wide enough to fit the entire wound. Normally, I'd clean the blade first, but ironically my knife was the cleanest thing I had on me. The black metal glinted in the reflection from the flame as I stuck it into the depth of the fire. As I waited for the metal to heat, I rinsed the bandages in the canteen cup. The water turned to a blood-tinted grey almost immediately. I rang them out over a pile of trash a few feet away and set them upon the bricks; the water would probably freeze away from the heat of the fire, and I didn't want to wake up covered in ice.

I stared at the knife - partially hidden within the orange and red licks of fire - and felt a nervous shiver pass over me. I'd only cauterized a wound once before, and I didn't relish the thought of trying it again. The smell of burnt flesh always hung around for days afterwards.

I picked up the cleanest stick from my stack of fire wood, and scraped off the damp bark from the outside of it. The wood scraped my teeth as I inserted it into my mouth and bit down slightly. It tasted of bark and dirt, but hopefully it would muffle my screams and stop me from cracking a tooth when I bit down against the pain.

My stomach heaved uncomfortably as I picked the knife up out of the fire by its handle. The blade steamed against the chill in the air, but didn't glow with heat. If it had been laminated with red or white heat, it would have been much too hot. Cauterization only worked to close wounds and stop bleeding. It made no sense to burn away healthy tissue. Of course, I hadn't known that my first time. Maybe this time wouldn't hurt as much.

Here goes nothing, I thought to myself as I pressed the blade to my leg.

The agony was immediate and intense. Groaning with the venomous sting, my wrist snapped my hand holding the knife away from my skin. My skin protested harshly, the bleeding wound now looking even more swollen and angry. Breathing deeply, I touched the burning blade back to my leg again and again, never leaving it there for more than a few seconds. It was better to do it in short bursts; both for my sanity and to avoid burning the healthy tissue around the wound. The pain made me gasp for breath as salty tears dripped down my cheeks unbidden. My jaw ached with the immense pressure from my teeth as I strained to clench my jaw shut.

I tapped the crude tool to my leg again and again, until I could take it no more. I collapsed to the floor as the pain as strong as one hundred daggers sank into my thigh. I stabbed the knife into the ground and spit the stick out of my mouth. Groaning with anguish, I clutched my leg tightly, just hoping the pain would recede. My eyes were watery with the sheer pain, and my breath came out in sharp, shallow rasps. Sweat dripped down the side of my face and covered my forehead in a thin sheen despite the cold weather. My stomach heaved, causing me to lean over and gag violently. If there had been anything substantial in my stomach, it would have come out.

Finally, the agony in my leg retreated enough for me to extend my leg and examine the wound. I coughed hoarsely and gently probed the thick scab trailing its way down the side of my thigh. It would make an interesting scar, at the very least. I took the bandages away from the fire and draped them gently over my leg. The fire hadn't done much in way of drying them, but the cool dampness felt good. Hissing as the rough fabric pulled the tender flesh the wrong way, I finished bandaging my leg.

I wanted to sleep immediately, but all of my stuff was drenched in disgusting flood water. I didn't make it this far on my own by letting my guns rust and my things rot. Blinking away exhaustion, I rose to gather more snow in my canteen cup. Placing it over the fire to melt, I upturned my pack so all of my things clattered to the floor. Most of it - my compass, foil-wrapped ration packs, and spare canteen - would be fine once they dried out. The ammo would be fine as well, as long as they had been properly cased. My spare clothing would have to be washed before I'd wear it again.

Searching through the pockets for my gun cleaning kit, I noticed something was off. My brow furrowed as I plunged my hand again and again through the pockets. "Oh, please no..." I whispered. I found the gun cleaning kit, but that wasn't what bothered me. I tapped my pants pockets and found them empty.

My locket was gone.

Suddenly, the memory came back to me. The locket had fallen through my limp fingers in the Hollow as I watched Dom press his gun's barrel against Maria's temple. It felt like a kick in the gut when I realized I'd never retrieved it from the stone floor. "Damnit..." I growled to myself, slapping my forehead with the heel of my hand. I had held on to that locket for fifteen years - through times with Bane, through Ace's death, through leaving Jacinto and becoming Stranded. Losing it felt like losing a part of myself. Now, thanks to the flooding in the tunnels, there was no way of retrieving it. It was gone forever.

Rage didn't come close to describing the anger I felt at myself for losing it. I shoved my pack onto the ground next to the fire to dry out as I got to my feet and began to pace. My hands practically shook with emotion as I mentally berated myself. Oh, way to go, Bri! my mind chanted sarcastically, One moment of surprise and you drop the most important thing you own. Very smart, very intelligent.

Finally, when my tortured leg could hold my weight no longer, I slumped to the ground next to the fire. It was such a little thing, but suddenly I felt like crying. The annoying prick of tears pressed at me from behind my eyelids, so I shut them. You are NOT going to cry, I berated myself. When I believed that, I opened my eyes. I was angry and disappointed, but there was nothing to do about it. Instead of sitting there wallowing in self-pity, I picked up my guns.

Both my sniper and pistol had taken a swim before, but the lancer was something new. The water wouldn't hurt them, unless it was allowed to sit there and rust. I wasn't sure about the chainsaw on the lancer, however. There had to be electronics in there, or - at the very least - a fuel source. If water mixed with the fuel port...well, I didn't really know what would happen. I set the lancer aside for the moment; I'd have to get somebody more familiar with the weapon to show me how to clean it in the morning. Hopefully one damp night wouldn't hurt it.

I knew my pistol and sniper inside and out, however. I found comfort and peace in dismantling and cleaning my guns. The menial task was almost relaxing after what felt like days of straight combat and fighting. I needed this moment to reaffirm myself and to allow all the adrenalin to fade out of my system.

Sliding the upper-receiver back on my pistol, I cocked it and pulled the trigger. The dry click of the hammer falling let me know I had replaced everything correctly. I pulled a magazine - freshly dried and reloaded - and pressed it back into my gun. I pulled the slide back and released it, hearing it slam home with a fresh round in the chamber. I laid it on my uninjured side and picked up my sniper. I had finished cleaning it earlier, but the familiar weight was comforting in my hands. I turned it over and gazed at the butt-stock where Ace had carved. The pair of aces still brought a slight smile to my face as I ran my fingers over the scratches. "I still miss you, you know," I said out loud, as if Ace was in a place where he could hear me. "Every day, every minute. And I still don't forgive you."

If Ace had been here, he would have known exactly what to do. He probably would march me up to Dom right then - 'Right this second, Bri!' - to tell him the truth. He wouldn't rest until everything in my life was put right. That was the kind of friend he was. And not just to me, either. He'd go to hell and back for everyone. It was what made me love him, and - in the end - what got him killed. Still, I missed having his warm voice calmly instructing me on how to fix whatever shamble my life was in. No matter what happened, I could always come to him for advice.

And, at the very least, he'd know how to clean that damn lancer correctly.

The fire crackled merrily beside me as the snow began to fall faster and thicker outside the broken window. For now, I was warm and relatively dry. I missed Sam's warm, furry body next to mine, but she'd be happy spending time with Momma. Eventually I'd have to make the fifteen mile trip south to return to the camp, but not tonight. I rearranged my items to catch the heat so they'd dry out overnight.

I had a few hours until daylight. The next day would bring its own drama and disappointment, but my eyes were already sinking closed. I laid back on the hard floor next to the fire. Ace's sniper rested on the ground along my side; my pistol laid under my hand. Breathing a sigh, I shut my eyes and prayed for a dreamless sleep.


Author's Note: Hopefully this chapter was a nice break from all the suspense and drama. Don't worry - it won't stay that way for long!

I'm going to keep the chapters kind of short so I can update more frequently. I'm really excited to write through Port Farrall! :D

Don't worry! In the next chapter Dom gets a very important conversation, as does Marcus. I won't reveal more (Spoilers!) but hopefully you guys can stick with me just a tad bit longer.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review on your way out, if you don't mind!