Haze

Baird watched as Dom went around the field, Lancer cradled to his chest as he checked the dead grubs. Every so often he would stop at a body and fire a few extra rounds, just to be safe. Even watching him, knowing the exact moment he would pull the trigger, Baird couldn't stop jumping at the sound.

It didn't surprise him. It was another hairy-assed firefight. The grubs ambushed them during their patrol and drug them three blocks away for a well placed trap. But he was still alive. Even if his mind was going in circles, even if his heart was still in his throat, he was alive. But he hated knowing the sound could jostle him this much. He gripped his Lancer, bracing for the next shot, and still he flinched at the semi-automatic pop.

It was the adrenaline, Baird decided. He was still reeling from the battle and his mind was cluttered with imaginary sounds and images. He could still hear Marcus yelling at Cole to get down before he lost his head to a grub sniper. That was when Baird's current mess began; watching his friend in danger was too much.

The feeling that overcame him at that moment was alien. His mind was cluttered with insignificant crap as he tried not to dwell on Cole's condition. As long as he was still alive, Baird had to focus on finding where the sniper was holed up. Unfortunately he was fighting through a haze. Anything in his eyesight beyond four meters was a blur. But he got the job done. He always did, even if he was close to pissing his pants.

He took off a glove and ran his hand over his sweaty face, jumping as Dom unloaded another burst. Damn it, he wasn't looking that time.

"Why do our patrols always go to shit?" he asked.

Cole was two steps behind him. He laughed, loud and obnoxious, grateful to be alive. "You know how it is. I get mobbed by fans everywhere I go."

"I always thought it might be you. Hey, Marcus," Baird called, but the other man had his hand to his ear, conversing with Control. "Did you hear that? Cole here is our bad luck charm. Let's trade him."

"Yeah, you'd miss me when your scrawny ass was sinking," Cole replied genially.

Dom had finished his search and now stood a short distance from Marcus. He gave his sergeant privacy for once, Baird noted. Any time he saw the men, they were attached at the hip. Standing by himself, Dom looked unsure, almost like a gangly teenager growing into his new body. Did he forget who he was when he wasn't hanging on Marcus?

"It's not just us," Marcus said as he joined the group. "Locust have been coming up all over this side."

"Damn. If they're this close to Jacinto, what does that mean for us?" Dom asked.

"Means Hoffman and Prescott need to work faster."

"So what's the plan?"

"We head back to the APC, hope it's not stripped, and finish our route."

Baird scoffed. "Fat chance."

"Can't you ever try optimism, man?" Dom asked.

"I'll only be happy when I'm cold and—well, not in the ground. Cremate me and scatter me over some grub corpses, okay?"

Dom rolled his eyes and started to lead the group on the hike back.

They walked the three blocks back to the APC in relative silence. Baird's ears were trained for the slightest rumble, straining against the ringing that served as a constant reminder for earplugs. If one grub hole appeared, there were normally others close behind. But the city was silent besides the thudding of boots. A few months ago, birds still chirped on this side of the city. They were gone, and the trees were still bare with their bark chipping away in charred bits on the slightest wind. The Hammer fell fourteen years ago and Sera still hadn't recovered.

Baird knew it was because of the ash in the atmosphere. Planet-wide destruction took a lot of time to disappear. As long as the ash was still hanging around—and with natural weather disrupted and unable to clear the air—the planet didn't have a chance to recover.

Doesn't help with the grubs eating away the core of the planet and burning down what's left of our forests. Wait, why do I even care? Shit. Adrenaline.

His hands were still shaking.

The APC was still in tact when they found it. Being nose-first in a trench dug by a Corpser was probably a good deterrent for the Stranded, but being paranoid, Baird gave the undercarriage a thorough scan. Every bolt was still attached, the fuel was still there, and he didn't find a single bomb. A good day in his book.

Deeming it safe, they carefully pushed it back onto the road. They had a patrol to finish.

"So, who saw me sideswipe that really ugly one?" Cole crowed. "He thought he was gonna get in close with one of our own weapons—ha, wasn't his lucky day!"