Hannah's pov

War is the same everywhere, whether in a small town or an entire world, there is fear but mostly there are survivors. In Morganville war is just a little bit more bitey…

I've seen a human war. I've fought in a human war. We may complain about the vamps but honestly man can be just as cruel to each other without the excuse of needing some O negative to get through the day or years of burning hatred. Here we are just pawns on a chess board but we're moved to save others… to be the hero…

Maybe it was Morganville that taught me how to be a hero.

I was in Afghanistan, a blistering heat pounding down on us all. My pack was bulging and crippling after the walk, we were heading to a town on the outskirts of some big city that had in the last couple days experienced severe destruction; it was clear from where we stopped just how bad it had been walls were collapsing in on themselves, dust clogging the air making it dry and heavy to breathe, but mostly it was the stain upon stain of dried blood marking the ground in dark peeling red patches. Oh and the smell: the smell of rotting flesh, something even worse than a two-week floater. A deep scent that invaded my nostrils making me want to back away, the flies were in swarms, clustered on the blood and in the far distance a black mound lay unmoving…just the subtle sound of hundreds of paper-thin wings flapping. It wasn't pretty.

Then I heard an engine, a deep growl with a kick back of an exhaust. Something told me it was wrong but the other guys couldn't see it; they clambered on the back happy enough to be off their feet- I followed them… maybe Morganville intuition is good for one thing. We drove along for a few minutes in comfortable silence, the silence only the marines know- taking thin sips of our water. We were crossing a stretch of rubble really when it started- a second stood still as the Jeep was just engulfed in flames, they were licking the seats, touching the flesh of the trapped- their screams were burning in my ears. I'd jumped from the wreck, throwing my pack away- I'd pulled the guy at the back away with me- we'd lay together on the tough rocky ground trying to regain our breath when the yells of horror got louder- those believing they were trapped realising they were going to die.

So I ran back.

Not a thought entered my head about my own safety but I couldn't stand by and watch them burn to death trapped like the people back in Morganville who burn for their crimes- that I could do nothing about but this… I knew I could act. I ripped the door open, the lingering flames biting at my hands, I grabbed an arm and yanked trying to grit my teeth as their scream of agony ripped through me- they came free I took them to lie off in the safer territory. I did again. I was going back for a third time when the Jeep was just overcome with flame, a dark vivid orange, with red tongues flicking at me. Then it blew.

Heavy set black clouds, enveloped me, making me gasp for any clean air- that's when the car exploded and debris flew in every direction leaving me with a wound down my face, pouring a heavy stream of blood from my scalp and down.

It was after that I left, I got a medal for it but I don't deserve the medal I was doing a good thing… even if I was only able to save two, its two more than what would have been alive.

So again Morganville is at war but I'm not out fighting on the streets, I'm sitting by my Granma's side, dear sweet Granma Day- 106 and still going strong in town where folk are lucky to reach thirty without a bite mark she is free of any scar or an injury inflicted on her by the vampires, her scars are man-made. She was alive when the apartheid was the natural order of the world, she survived that as she's survived everything since but old age is something even my dear sweet Grandma can't beat. In recent months she been weaker and to cut a long story short the doctors can't see her being here much longer, this war is all we need really. Amelie offered for us to leave but she said no… of course she said no. So here I am cooped up in a hospital wing set up, a thin curtain the only divide between me and Grandma and this horrific world but for some reason it's peaceful; watching her breathe in and out over and over again is like a therapy to my soul and I feel at last safe. Richard's death pulled at my heart in a way that I'd really never known before, something I'd never allowed myself to experience and in honesty I've never really seen myself at peace with it until now. Granma always said I needed to look at myself more and know what I wanted and she was right I didn't realise just how much I loved that man until it was too late until the last of his blood was glistening on my hands. I won't make that mistake again. My Grandma has fought, hell she walked through Morganville on a cane in the middle of the Bishop/Amelie takeover; she has no fear and even as she leaves me I know she wouldn't want me to be sad… she'd want me to fight for my town, continue our legacy as survivors and I will.

The machine next to my seat beeps, a constant sound annoying at first but then it's kind of turned to a lullaby the kind makes you get lost in your own thoughts.

Minutes or maybe even hours pass, as I watch Grandma's weathered face deep in sleep, a smile playing at her lips, making the lines that little bit more defined.

But then the beeping stops, changing to a deep endless tone. The monitor no longer showing anything there, anything putting life through her veins. I watch her for a moment more, close my eyes and take a deep breath. Leaning in close I inhale the smell of my childhood, her own unique perfume with a cinnamon undertone; I press my lips to her forehead, feeling her soft skin against them; tears threaten as the enormity of the last few moments dawns me; I breathe heavily as the tears escape leaving trails down my cheeks.

'Oh grandma...' I whisper with my lips still pressed to her forehead. 'I will miss you.'

The tears feel never ending solid streaks streaming down my cheeks landing in my collar, I step back from her bed; she looks so small but not fragile: never fragile.

'I love you Grandma.' I tell her, and with one last lingering look I turn and walk away- not even bothering to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Whatever this thing is, let it come because I'm ready for a fight. For Grandma. For Richard. For myself.