Approximately Six Miles West of Port Farrell
Present Day
"It doesn't matter. Guy or girl, young or old, Gear or Stranded. The common denominator is blood - it's all red. And there's a hell of a lot leaking out these days."
- A passing comment overheard in a Stranded camp after a particularly devastating attack was blamed upon the COG.
People have different stress-tolerance levels. Some people - like Marcus - seemed to be like an old oak tree. Those people allowed the world to crash and plummet around them without ever being affected. I wasn't one of them.
Other people have such low stress levels that they turn and run at the slightest hint of adversity. They were more like a feather, or maybe a leaf. They tumbled down with the slightest blowing of the wind. I wasn't one of these people either; or, at least, I didn't like to think myself one.
If I had to think of a metaphor for myself, it would have to be of the slightly discolored moss clinging frantically to the edge of a water-rock. I could hold my own, but only for so long. If the river's current got too strong, or the roots grew too weak, the moss would plummet deep down into the unforgiving water. I, like the moss, could only withstand so much. Eventually I had to take a break, or I would crumble.
Hunting was that reprieve.
The woods were startling quiet. Snow and cold drove many of the animals south during the winter. The icy feeling in the air dampened any sound left over. Even the few leaves that had yet to fall refused to rustle in the cold wind. The scrubby branches of nearly-bare trees cast thin shadows on the ground. My boots crunched on the inch or two of fresh snow that had fallen throughout the night. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, my ears were ringing without the constant buzz of gunfire and artillery. It was quiet, but not silent. There was a different between the world being at peace and it holding its breath in anticipation.
I knew these woods. Every step that took me further away from the city took me one step closer back to myself, and what I knew to be true. This was my retreat from the world and its cancerous plots that tore at you and twisted you up inside. Out here the only thing I needed to worry about was my footsteps and my breathing. A hunting trip was more restful to me than a night of sleep; they both worked to center the mind and revitalize the spirit. Just like in battle, my body overrode my psyche and I functioned on instinct alone. As long as I focused on the hunt, I wouldn't have to think about anything else.
Usually I had Sam as a hunting partner. I had taught her long ago how to track the fresh scent of game through the woods, but this time I'd have to resort to my own tracking skills. Sam's skills had come in very handy over the years. She was good at tracking fresh game, yes, but it was more than that. She could also detect recently laid explosives, movement of grubs, and could find someone who went missing. Because a dog's nose was so many thousand times better than a human's, she was almost as valuable an asset as my guns.
There was this one time, however, about two years ago. A boy - about ten years old - had gone missing from the camp. His father had been teaching him how to lay snares for small animals when they were attacked by a pack of wretches. They were separated in the confusion; the man made it back to the camp, the boy didn't. Immediately I had scented Sam off of the boy's pillowcase. The trail usually went cold pretty soon, so we'd have move quickly. It was turning dark soon as well; the Krill would have been on us by the end of the hour.
Sweat, fear, adrenalin...all of these together make a pungent scent that was easy for Sam to follow. The only thing slowing her down was us; we couldn't navigate the rough terrain as well as her paws could.
We found him in a pile of rubble. A dead body stops smelling like a live one almost immediately. There was enough blood splattered around the grave-site that even I could smell the thick, coppery scent in the air. The wretches had really taken their time with him; if I hadn't heard the wailing of his father behind me I wouldn't be sure it was him.
I had been staring at the boy's body, looking for a way to save him even though he was beyond any form of help. It took me a while to notice Sam's reaction. She had been whining and turning in a tight circle. She finally laid down and pressed her paws over her nose in an attempt to block out the scent. She didn't know what to do with herself; it was the first time she'd found something she didn't want to find.
Now I was left feeling the same way she had. It was like trying to tread water in a hurricane. Every time I thought I'd gotten my head above water, a wave of despair and tragedy came crashing down over top me, pulling me back under. I had been perfectly fine not knowing who I was; now that I knew, I'd have to deal with it.
Not now, however. For now, I was on a mission. If I could find a large enough deer to trade for a ride to the Stranded Camp, I could get Sam back.
I lost track of how far I had walked. I didn't want to pay attention to my footsteps; I wanted to lose myself into the folds of the woods. For the moment I wasn't focused on the hunt. I just wanted to feel alright; wanted to feel...better. I just wanted to feel anything besides the anger and hurt that had followed me like a dark shadow ever since Nexus. I was starting to lose my grip on my rock. I could have walked for miles in that unfocused, left-foot right-foot rhythm, but I still had a task to fulfill. This wasn't supposed to be just a stroll through the woods; this was a hunt. I was here to kill something.
Scanning the fresh snow for tracks, I stopped to place makeshift snares along the trails. I wouldn't buy a ticket to the Stranded camp on rabbit and vole, but I could always smoke the meat and either eat it or trade it later. At the very least, it would give me an excuse to come back later and check on them. An excuse to escape, should the need arise.
I had walked for quite a bit further when I caught my first glance at deer tracks. They were mildly clear; the snow still made it the easiest tracking job I'd ever had. Silently I unslinged my longshot and veered off to follow the deer's hoof prints. I could feel my muscles tense up again as I mentally shifted into hunting mode.
There was more walking, but not walking exactly, more like stalking. I was careful about where I let my boots fall; I didn't want to make the slightest unnecessary sound. The deer had gone north, and then veered off slightly to the east. When I came across a pile of still-steaming droppings I moved upwind; I was close, so close.
There…A flash of brown fur ducked through the trees about sixty yards ahead – not a problem for my longshot. Quickly, but quietly, I ducked down into a shooting position with my rifle resting on a sturdy tree branch. I gazed through the lens of my scope and lined up the reticles. It was an easy shot. The branches were almost bare; the white-washed world stood in stark contrast with the deep brown of the deer's flank. My muscles were already aching with the anticipation and victory of dragging its heavy carcass back to the Port.
It was a young buck with hardly any velvet left on his antlers. He was skittish; evidently he could hear something in the woods that I couldn't. It didn't matter, however. I needed this deer. I followed him with the barrel of my rifle as he weaved cautiously through the trees. Lining up my crosshairs with the area just behind his shoulder blades, I waited for him to take one…more…step…
Bang!
I damn near dropped my rifle; my heart pounded frantically in my chest. I hadn't pulled the trigger! I didn't pull the damn trigger! Just to be sure, I yanked back the bolt and examined the still-whole bullet resting in the chamber. It wasn't a mis-fire; it wasn't my gun! I let the bolt slam forward again and anxiously scanned the woods for whoever else was hunting this area.
Reflex had made me drop behind the tree for cover, so I peeked out around the trunk. The deer had dropped immediately; whoever this mysterious hunter was, they were a good shot. From my distant vantage point I could tell their bullet pierced both the heart and at least one lung. You didn't get a clean drop otherwise.
It took a minute, but finally my mysterious hunter appeared from the other side of the valley. The sun glinted off of COG armor plates; he or she was a Gear. I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or not. After another minute of careful observation, I finally recognized the scraggly plaits of hair down the woman's back.
I jogged down to her and the deer, making sure to call out a friendly, "Sergeant Mataki!" halfway down the hill. Her head snapped up to meet my gaze; she didn't look happy to see me. My boots skidded on the slippery snow as I came to a stop about ten feet from her. "Nice kill," I complimented her. "Almost took it for myself, but…you know…whatever."
Her grey eyes pierced straight through me, forcing me to lose track of my words. I stuttered to a stop. She stared at me for a moment that was slightly too long for awkward before speaking. "It's Bri, right?" she finally asked me.
I nodded, and then dropped my eyes to the deer carcass at our feet. There was something tense in the atmosphere between us. To Mataki's credit, she didn't beat around the bush with pointless small talk. "Why are you out here?"
I kicked some snow in the direction of the deer to make sure it was really dead. Its glistening black eyes didn't blink as the fluffy white came to rest around its brow. It had been a quick death, at the very least. "Same reason as you, I suspect," I finally answered her. It wasn't like she didn't have reason to ask; it wasn't common to run into someone this far out from civilization. And those you did run into didn't usually turn out to be friendly. "I was hoping to hunt down a deer or something to buy a ride back to my camp."
Mataki knelt down next to the deer. She looked up at me; her eyes squinted against the glare of the sun, but her sergeant training came through in the stubborn set of her jaw. "Camp? You're a Stranded, then?"
"Well," I hedged, "the short answer is yes."
"And the long answer?"
"The long answer..." I hedged off. Call me crazy, but there was something about Mataki that I didn't trust - at least not yet. When Cole first asked me if I was Stranded, there was nothing but idle curiosity in his voice. It was like asking if I preferred carrots or corn. But here, with this grizzled old sergeant glaring up at me, there was something...hostile in her gaze. Maybe she had the same prejudices against outsiders as the civilians, or maybe it was just me she didn't like. "The long answer is something I don't like to talk about much."
She didn't answer me, only gave a curt nod like I had confirmed something for her. She didn't like Stranded; that much was obvious. Her cold demeanor earlier finally made sense. She grabbed the hind legs of her kill and started dragging it off towards the west. Too late I noticed the 'Dill hidden back behind the trees almost a hundred yards off. Even though she didn't ask me to, I grabbed hold of one of the legs and helped her pull it along. Deer were heavy, even for cranky, Stranded-hating, old gears.
"You sure you don't wanna go ahead and gut it here? It'll make a mess if you take it back to the city to do that."
She didn't answer until we reached her 'Dill. She already had four or five deer strapped to the roof; their heads created a stomach-turning mesh of flesh. For a second, I was miffed at the unfairness of our hunts. She had six deer; I had none. Maybe I should have spent less time sight-seeing and spent more time actually hunting.
"No thanks, it'll be good for others to learn how to skin and dress a deer. Sure they can gut a locust with a chainsaw without batting an eye, but most of 'em lose their lunch when asked to disembowel a chicken." For a second, I wondered what kind of spoiled, yellow-belly novice couldn't skin and cook his own chicken. Some people were just way too accustomed to others doing the dirty work for them. She straightened up and dusted off her wrinkled hands. "Thanks for the help. Now, if we can just get them up on top…"
She'd managed to get the rest up on top of the 'Dill, but I could see the vaguest hint of exhaustion in the corners of her eyes. "Shouldn't be a problem. Let me just…" Without hesitating, I grabbed the side rungs of the 'Dill and hefted myself upwards. The roof was covered in sticky, half-congealed blood that stuck to my fingers and palms. Grimacing slightly at the heady scent of death in the air, I motioned for Mataki to pass up the fresh kill.
It took a bit of juggling on both of our parts – mostly because Bernie looked exhausted after hunting all day, even if she wouldn't admit it – but we finally got all the deer on top of the 'Dill and strapped down with frazzled rope. A slight layer of sweat emerged between me and my clothes while working, and I shivered as the winter wind came blowing through the woods. That was bad; I wasn't especially worried about hypothermia, not yet anyway, but it would make the walk back to the Port unbearable. Usually I was careful to not work up a sweat in cold weather, but I still felt like there was something I had to prove to Mataki. I guess my pride came before my well-being. How idiotic was that?
"I think we're good," Mataki said, her voice slightly breathless.
"Looks like it." I grabbed my lancer off the top of the 'Dill before hopping down. I was shivering slightly but I tried not to show her that. The off-color snow at my feet glinted mockingly up at me, as if it was reminding me what an idiot I was. Frost bite or no, six deer was still a lot of meat at a time when food was scarce. My mouth watered slightly as I thought about fire-roasted venison steaks, medium rare.
"I'll be off now," Mataki announced. The loud bang of a door slamming startled me out of my meaty daydreams. She was already tucked in on the drivers-side of the 'Dill and was cranking over the engine. I heard the mechanisms clank as she shifted into gear and prepared to take off.
"Hey, wait!" I called out, knocking on the passenger window. "Can I get a lift back Port Farrall?" I was cold, sweaty, and covered in quickly-congealing blood. Suddenly a long trek back through the woods didn't seem as appealing as it did this morning. Besides that, the sun was just starting to sink lower in the sky. I really didn't want to be stuck out here in the dark; especially if there were Locust wandering the area.
My hand rested on the door handle as I waited for her to nod or otherwise acknowledge my request. There was a second of time just long enough to be awkward as I stood dejectedly on the outside of the 'Dill and Mataki stared straight out of the windshield. I wondered if she didn't hear me, but I knew she did. The engine idled frustratedly as we both lingered in a stalemate.
Finally, finally, she turned her head to stare at me. I wasn't sure what I expected to find in her expression – uncertainty, confusion maybe. Instead, the fierceness and intensity of her appearance made me drop my hand from the door-handle. There, deep in her grey eyes and folded wrinkles, was anger. And hatred. And suspicion. Lots and lots of suspicion. I could read her emotions in the tightness of her lips and the crinkle of her eyebrows. There was a reason she had acted guarded while around me all this time. That reason was loathing; loathing for me and what I was.
Stranded.
I stumbled backwards in shock, as if her brush-off had been a physical blow that landed deep between my ribs. In the same instance she hit the gas pedal and roared off towards home, ducking and weaving through the trees. I felt like I should have said something – should have yelled some curses or insults her way, but I didn't feel angry. Not then, anyway. I just felt…shocked. I'd seen first-hand the animosity and hatred many COG held for the Stranded; experienced it that very morning, even. I guess I just wasn't expecting it from someone Delta held in such high regard.
"Yeah...screw you too," I muttered to the empty woods. The 'Dill was long gone, taking Mataki and her hatred with it. Ironically, she had left me Stranded in a very literal sense of the word. It looked like I would end up hoofing it all the way back to the Port.
The woods, which had seemed inviting and relaxing just this morning, now seemed dark and menacing. The lowering sun cast dark shadows that held any and all dangers my mind could dream up. Every flash of movement in the corner of my eye was a Locust ambush; every leaf rustle was an E-hole about to emerge. Reluctantly, I stuffed the daggers of fear away and began retracing my path through the woods.
"Mataki, if I die tonight, I am so going to kill you," I growled angrily as I continued the unending trek back home.
Author's Note: I'm so sorry this chapter took forever. A ton of stuff has been happening lately, although I feel that's all I ever say in my comments. On a positive note, the next two chapters are practically written! That's good, yeah?
So, if anyone is still reading this, what do you think of Bernie's cold brush-off? Could that spell trouble in the future? (Hint: Yes. It does. :D ) And what will happen when Bri finally gets back to camp and has to confront everything she's been hiding from? Stay tuned to find out!
On another note, I've been getting some reviews/messages about my other story, 'One More Time' asking me if I was planning on finishing it. Sadly, I am not. It's just so old and I've lost all enthusiasm for that story. I'll probably end up taking it down soon. However, if anyone is curious, I am planning on writing a one-chapter walkthrough of everything I had planned and how I resolved the Revan/Carth/Sarah debacle. Message me if you're interested! Don't worry, however. I am most certainly planning on finishing this one, as well as my other Gears of War fanfic, 'The Blood of Innocence'.
So, thank you so much for reading this far! I hope to have the next chapter up shortly!
