Chapter Five; The Shooting at Sunrise.
Actual sunrise is a beautiful thing if you care to watch it. It is not red and pink and orange as the greatest writers and poets would have you believe; there is nothing inherently romantic about it. Instead, there is a quiet peace that pervades the air, a stillness before the cacophony of morning begins. The colours described are as inaccurate as the metaphor with reds, oranges and pinks being in short supply.
It starts as a green flash across the horizon: Not a bright green, or even a dull green, it is more the colour of oxidised copper when in shadow. Then, slowly, as the world inevitably revolves more shades appear; there is the purple of blackberry juice, the amber of a well-aged single malt. Then follow hues of indigo, violet, ocher, fawn, sapphire, mint, grey, black, gold and finally, there is orange. The transition is as subtle as rain falling onto wet grass but there is a brightening of the world, an intake of breath, before the sun announces its arrival with blinding light and deafening noise.
It is there, where the first glint of morning passes over the horizon; where the sun kisses the sky for the first time each day, that Shepard knelt. In that perfect, quiet zone, watching as shadows lengthened and daylight spread across the world.
The shot that rang out was intrusively loud. A single sharp crack followed by a distortion as the shell ripped through skin and muscle, before lodging into bone and marrow. It sent the body propelling backwards before causing it to crash to the floor.
Rachel didn't have time to think: didn't have time to react. She threw the now very dead medic to the floor and dove behind a thankfully robust bench. She didn't see Shepard turning before the shot, didn't hear his too-late warning.
Blood and bone matter covered the left side of Rachel's face, and she tried to wipe it off with her right hand but only succeeded in smearing more blood and gore across her face. Her back pressed into the bench, she checked her magazine. Three clips left, not enough to take on an army of mercs. She cursed.
"Shepard!" Rachel risked a quick glance over towards Shepard's location, "Shepard! Goddammit, where are you?"
A high-velocity round thudded into the back of the bench sending splinters and debris flying into the air. Rachel flinched, fingers fumbling on the magazine. She could hear footsteps crunching towards her across the gravel; it was now or never.
Suddenly a secondary shot rang out, there was an echo and a thud as a body hit the floor.
And then all hell broke loose.
Bullets were flying everywhere, smacking into the back of the bench, the floor, the hospital behind her. It sounded like four or five submachine-guns, all coming from the north-west corner of the medical supply building.
"Shepherd!" Rachel shouted again, and then, as if summoned by her name, there was a skid and a thud as Shepherd careened into the bench beside her. "And where the hell have you been! Just leaving me here to take on an army all by myself?"
"I take it you missed me then?" Shepherd responded with a cheeky grin, dirt and something else not so pleasant smeared across his left cheek.
Rachel scowled, unused to Shepard's unorthodox way of working. "I think there's a bunch of them up on the corner of the medical supply building, four or five by my count but there could be more."
Shepard's quick peek over the top of the bench was rewarded by a barrage of bullets that left bright red tracer trails in the air.
"Can you make it to that cover over there?" Shepard nodded with his head towards a slightly angled, shot out sky car that was resting about five meters to their right. Rachel risked a quick glance around the side of the bench, judging the distance.
"Yeah, I think I can do that." And then, without further warning she launched herself into midair, arms and gun outstretched, landing with a forward roll just behind the front passenger door of the broken sky car.
Shepard nodded, clearly impressed. Her speed and agility hadn't even given the mercs time to react. However, as Shepard raised her head above his barricade a hail of bullets peppered the bench, the car and the surrounding tarmac. Clearly, he would not be so lucky.
Shepard swore, this was going to be harder than he had thought. Before he could amend his plan, there was a deep blue glow originating from his left. Without any help from Shepard, Rachel proceeded to decimate the medical supply building. The complete west side of the building was reduced to rubble and a cloud of white dust rose in the cool early morning air. Shepard again risked a glance above his improvised cover, before nodding without conscious thought. Deciding to risk keeping his head above cover, Shepard watched the partly collapsed building and waited to see if there was any flash of gunfire. When there was no ring of a bullet hurtling towards them, Shepard decided it was safe to stand up.
He wiped her face, dusted down his uniform, and walked over to the unnamed medic's body. Kneeling as if in prayer Shepard added the John Doe to the long list of those he had failed. Bowing his head, he closed the medic's eyes and stood.
Rachel was standing behind him, arms folded and pistol returned to holster strapped to her ribs. She had one eyebrow raised and was watching him intently. If she hadn't had flaming red hair, Shepard could have convinced himself he was looking at a very different doctor.
"I didn't know you religious; there was nothing in your file," Rachel stated.
"Prayers for the wicked should not be forsaken" Shepard responded, a small smile curving his lips as he remembered the origin of those words. "I didn't know you were a biotic, but then, I haven't seen your file."
The statement was meant in jest, but Shepard could see that Rachel understood the well-disguised barb.
Rachel nodded before pointing north-west with her chin. "The nearest inhabited place is about 2 days walk that way." Shepard looked at her questioningly, "Despite what you may or may not have heard Shepard, the Earth is in no way repaired. Most of humanity, as well as any Asari, Turians, Salarians or Krogan that were either in the battle or were stationed on Earth, have been moved to refugee camps. They are understaffed, malnourished and overcrowded." This last sentence was said with such dispassion that Shepard began to see how Dr Rachel Josephs had gained a reputation for clean, efficient medical skill.
"However," she continued, "we may be able to find a sky car or transport to a more major city. Where is it you intend to go?"
Shepard thought for a moment. He never pondered his life after the war; that was all there had ever been, all that ever was. Every waking, and most sleeping, thoughts were taken up with strategy, battle simulation and troop morale or numbers.
"Away..." The word escaped him as a whisper, so quiet that Shepard couldn't be sure he had even said it. He let the wind play with the letters, spinning them through her fingers with gentle tendrils of air, like a magician playing with a coin. He continued, his words gaining strength as he found momentum. "Away from here. Away from the Alliance, from war. Away from seeing my friends die and knowing I could have stopped it; do you know what it's like?" He was pacing now, scuffing up dust as his boots crunched into the dirt, "Having to make a choice, knowing that whatever you do, someone you care about will die. First Kadien, then Mordin?" His voice strained, almost, but not quite breaking. He looked at Josheps then, suddenly aware of what he had just said: suddenly aware of who he was.
"Serila, the nurse who helped you through your physio, said you'd had doubts."
Shepard looked away and down, contemplating the patterns in the dirt. A self-mocking smile found its way onto his face, and Rachel noticed that it looked well-used, if out of place.
"What else has she told you?" Shepard asked, still not meeting her eyes.
Rachel shrugged before answering. "That you have nightmares."
"Every soldier has nightmares," Shepard responded flatly, still keeping his eyes downcast.
"Only one who is ashamed of what they have done."
Shepard looked at her then, his face as hard and cold as iced steel, his eyes boring into Josephs.
"You have no idea what I've done." Each word was spat out across the space between them, and Rachel was shocked by the venom in them. There was nothing in his file that hinted at anything that would warrant the guilt and self-loathing that Shepard now displayed.
Silence echoed between them, stretching to the stars and back.
Rachel leant back on one leg, resting her weight onto her right hip. The move was so characteristic that Shepard had to blink several times.
Rachel raised her eyebrow, a half-smile curling the corners of her mouth.
"We have to get moving." She stated and began walking off towards the camp. Shepard, still wrapped up in his guilt and misgivings, followed a few paces behind her.