Chapter Three: Playing House

Today is my birthday, so I figured why not update? I hope you enjoy.

Highway 87, Arizona
November 01, 2557

It was amazing. None of the three had said anything in almost two whole days. Getu led the way, keeping his Beam Rifle in hand to take out any of the Prometheans should they get in the way. But, apparently on Highway 87, the Forerunner AI's found little interest. They hadn't seen one in days.

"Where are we?" Howell asked, lugging his two suitcases at the back of the pack. "It seems like we've been walking for days."

"We have," Michelle replied, reading off a map that she had found in a truck that was completely devoid of gas. "Two, to be precise." She jabbed her finger at a yellow squiggly line that went up from the city of New Pheonix. "We're on Highway 87, several miles west of the Tonto National Forest," she explained.

"I see," Howell said, squinting at the map. "And I suppose that it'll be a while before we get to where we're going right?"

"Um...yeah," Michelle answered, shooting him a strange look. "We're in Arizona, and we're going to New York. That's completely on the other half of the country."

Howell's stomach growl, and he growled in irritation. "When will we get some more food? I hate have to ration what we have. I need more."

Michelle sighed, and Getu shot a quick look back. "There's a town called Payson to the north. If we walk all day, we might just make it before nightfall. We can spend the night there, and get some food. Perhaps even find a radio that still works."

"I hope there is," Howell muttered as he tugged at his jacket with his free hand. His other hand held both suitcases. "I'm used to eating much better than these MREs."

"Well rich boy," Michelle said, slapping him on the back. "You'll just have to get used to it. After all, war is hell. Earth is hell. You can't just find a five-star restaurant at all anymore."

"I think that you mean it won't exactly be up and running," Howell corrected. "It'll still be there, just not operational."

"Yeah, whatever."

And that was how most of the conversations over the past few days had gone, as few as there were. Howell would complain about something, and Michelle would tell him to get over it. Getu remained silent as he followed them, keeping his eyes peeled for Prometheans.

"We should take up shelter for the night," Howell recommended. "I need to get some sleep in an actual bed if we plan to keep going on foot."

Michelle rolled her eyes. Here we go again. It hadn't even been a full minute since his last complaint. "Okay then, I'll make you a deal. You find an actual bed out here in the middle of no where, and we'll set up camp there, and you can take the bed."

"How about over there?" Howell pointed at a structure off in the distance. There was a house several hundred yards from the highway, and it looked intact. They couldn't see it very well, there was a lot of vegetation in the way, but there was unmistakeably a house.

As much as she hated letting Howell take them off course, Michelle shrugged. "Well, let's go then." Deep down, she was actually grateful that there would be a roof over their head for the night. "But I call first dibs on any food."

Howell folded his arms. "Well then, if that's the way it's going to be. I'll have to call dibs on the most comfortable bed in the house."

"Getu," Michelle turned to the Elite. "You can get seconds on food. We'll split it up evenly so we'll all have some." She saw the joy in Howell's eyes, and the calmness in Getu's. "But..." She saw the joy faded from Howell instantly. "...we have to ration if we want to have enough food to make it to Payson."

Howell sighed and patted his fat stomach. "It looks like I could've saved money on that gym membership. With as much food as we're eating now, I'll be skinnier than a stick at the end of this."

The house was small and empty. Fortunately, it showed no signs of looters. Michelle tried the doorknob, but the door was locked. "That's more good news," she mused. "Means no one's been able to get in, at least through this door."

"Yes, but then how are we getting in?" Howell asked. "If looters haven't gotten through the door, then that means we might no be able to either."

Michelle shot a look at Getu. "Do not worry," said the Elite, rearing his foot back. "I will take care of it." He swung his foot forward, slamming it into the door. The door promptly shattered into thousands of splinters, allowing access in. "And that, ladies and gentleman, is how it's done," Getu said, taking a bow.

Howell nodded in approval. "That's not exactly how I would have done it myself, but nevertheless, it got the job done, didn't it? Now, let's get some well needed rest."

After several seconds of exploring the house, the three travelers, reached a conclusion. This would make a great place to camp out for a while. There were beds and stocks of food. The TV's were intact and there were dozens of movies laying around, and thousands of hours of recorded shows on the TV's hard drive. But, the downside was that it was an obvious place. Any more survivors would probably seek shelter here once they saw it, and would turn hostile when the saw the group already there.

"What I don't understand," Howell said, munching on some chips as he leaned back in the chair, selecting a new show with the remote in his greasy hands, "is why humans turn against each other in desperate situations. Wouldn't they achieve more by working together?"

"They would," Michelle answered, relaxing on the couch. She laced her fingers under her head, and closed her eyes. "But it's a simple quality of man, that when faced with extinction, all other options are preferable."

Getu was sitting on the floor awkwardly, since the other chair in the room wouldn't support his weight. "She is right, Mr. Howell," said the alien, calmly watching the TV show. "Many times I have seen humans turn on each other just to ensure their own survival."

"Tch," he muttered, noisily crunching another potato chip. "For me, all I would have to do is start waving my money around, and they'd all become loyal to none other than myself." He crumpled up the now empty chip bag, and tossed it across the room. They didn't plan on staying there for more than tonight, so who really cared about being tidy?

"Actually," Michelle said, "When the Covenant, or these Prometheans invade, no one's really concerned about who has the most money. It really all comes down to who's going to live the longest and provide for their family. And, they'd probably just take your money and shoot you, if they wanted it for some reason."

"Well, it's of no matter," the rich old man said, rising from his chair and brushing the crumbs off his checkered suit. "Since I have you two with me, I'm sure that I'll be safe, no matter where I am." Yawning and stretching, he walked off towards the stairs. "I'm off to bed. Good night."

"Wait!" Michelle pretty much jumped off the couch to stop him. "We're all sleeping down here, in the same room," she said. "If a Knight makes his way in here, I don't want you stuck up there all alone."

"But, they have beds up there!"

Getu stood up. "Don't worry, Mich. I have a plan."

"How long with this take?" she asked, folding her arms. She sensed that there was something coming that she wouldn't like to do.

The Elite shrugged. "A few minutes, give or take."

"Give or take what?"

"An hour."

As it turned out, Getu's estimated of the hour was much more accurate. With both Michelle and Getu moving the upstairs beds downstairs, and Howell merely observing, it had taken exactly 63 minutes. The sun had already set, and the stars were twinkling above.

"Michelle," Howell said, sniffing the air as his two group mates pushed the last bed into place. Three beds were lined up side by side, with the third an extra foot from the others. "What is that repugnant smell? It can't be our dear friend the alien, can it?"

For the first time since she could remember, Michelle blushed. "Actually, that's me," she answered in a quiet voice. "With all of this 'end of the world' and all that, I really haven't had the time to take a shower. I've been in this armor for at least two weeks."

Howell and Getu shot each other a look. Howell was the type of man who wouldn't understand what sweating was even if it was staring him in the face. And besides, it wasn't like he had done any manual labor other than walking in the past few days.

Getu was pretty much used to strenuous activity, and his armor even had a tempeture control, so he could remain cool even when walking through the hottest desert in the world. "Mich, I think you should take a bath," Getu suggested. "Even in spite of our dire situation, we can't let ourselves slip into barbaric ways. We must retain a decent sliver of civilization."

Michelle nodded. "I'm sure I can find some extra clothes in the house somewhere. And hopefully some deodorant." She walked off in search of the items, and soon found everything that she needed. Heading into the bathroom on the bottom floor, she noticed the ash pile sitting in front of the toilet.

"Looks like someone got caught with their pants down," she muttered for the second time in days, unlatching the Marine armor and letting it fall to the tile floor with heavy thuds. When Michelle took off the undersuit, she nearly gagged at the way it was sticking to her skin. That was going to need a wash.

Finally, she stepped into the nice rain of warm water, for the first time in what had seemed like forever. Her cares about the Prometheans seemed to slip away, cleansed by the water. It seemed as if she were regaining her lost humanity.

After several minutes, the water turned cold. "What the hell?" she cursed, shivering in the cold. "The water heater must be broken." With a great sigh of defeat, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Getu and Howell were still watching TV. On screen was a movie retelling of the battle of Harvest from the view of a simple Marine. Of course, he was some sort of super-marine, since he was killing Covenant left and right alone. Both Getu and Howell were a little sensitive about the war; both had lost many friends and many family members. But on the upside for Getu, it was Brutes getting shot at on screen, not Elites.

"You know," Howell said, after several minutes of slow-motion fight scenes and Marine drama, "I had a brother that fought on Harvest. Sadly, he was killed while they were evacuating the civilians."

The Elite nodded. "I had a brother too, but he was killed in a slipspace accident just off of your human planet Reach. He was a pilot."

They both looked up as the bathroom door squeaked open. "What?" Michelle asked, standing there. Her hair was dripping, and her armor's undersuit was in her hands. She had on a long white nightgown, and looked nothing like a Marine that had been through hell recently. "What?" she repeated, as they still stared at her.

"It's nothing," Howell said, finally adverting his eyes back to the TV as the main character delivered a no-scope headshot to a Brute. "It's just that your reminded me of my wife on our second honeymoon."

Getu was still staring, though. This was the first time that he could remember seeing Michelle out of armor. She looked...normal. No longer was her face caked in dirt and blood. No longer was her hair plastered down by her helmet. "You look better," he said after a few seconds, failing in his attempt to remain silent.

Michelle's cheeks grew red again. It had been a while since anyone, human or Elite, had ever said that. Okay, it was the first time an Elite had said that. "Thanks," she replied, before seeking out the washing machine and tossing her undersuit into it. She then dumped the entire thing of laundry detergent into the slot, and pressed the start button.

"What'cha watching?" Michelle asked, returning to her position on the couch. "It looks like some war movie." Of course, this was obvious as on-screen Marines were pumping lead into the oncoming Brutes and Jackals. "Is this Harvest?" she questioned after a few minutes. "This is completely inaccurate."

Howell rolled his eyes and sighed. "Who cares? It was still one of the top movies of 2549. No one really cares for accuracy. Just action."

"I mean seriously, that model of Battle Rifle wasn't even around at the Battle of Harvest. Same for the Assault Rifles. And they have three Marines taking out fifty-billion Brutes. And then there's..."

It was another whole hour before the movie ended. Michelle had continued to point out flaws throughout the entire thing, even some during the credits. Finally, the Marine had reached her point of exhaustion, and went to her bed.

"You know," Howell said, shrugging off his coat and looking at the three beds that they had placed between the kitchen and the living room. "We could've simply moved all of the beds to one room upstairs, instead of moving them all the way downstairs. Would've saved time."

"Safer this way, human," Getu replied, taking the bed in the middle. He knew Michelle's way of thinking in this new world. "We're closer to all the doors, meaning that we can get out faster than if we were upstairs." The bed groaned under his weight, and the Elite groaned as he began to unlatch less-important parts of his armor.

Howell shrugged as he walked to the bathroom. "I need to shave," he announced, rubbing his hand over his chin to feel all of the small bits of stubble growing in. "Is there a razor in there?" he asked Michelle. "I didn't happen to pack one."

"Not enough room next to your teddy bear?"

"Oh ha ha," came the reply. "Everyone's a comedian." There was an awkward silence. "But yes, pretty much."

Michelle rolled her eyes. A grown man needing a teddy bear. That was something that she was never going to get used to. "Yeah, I think there's a razor in the bottom shelf."

"Thank you," he called back. "Um...should I ignore that pile of remains in here?"

"That's what I did."

"Fair enough." The door shut, and soon one could hear Howell humming as he shaved off his stubble. Surprising, he somehow managed to hum off key.

Getu had removed most of his armor, and was reclining in his bed, the middle bed, in only his undersuit and hand armor. He shifted several times. "I guess I'm never going to get used to these beds," he muttered, moving around some more. "Back on our planet, they were much simpler."

"Did you ever see anything like this coming?" Michelle asked, catching Getu off guard. "In all of those apocalypse movies and books, there was nothing like this. Recently, there have been some apocalypses based off a Covenant invasion, but there's nothing like these Prometheans."

Getu clicked his mandibles equivalent to a shrug. "Personally, I never have considered myself as one that would be stuck in the end of the world. I always figured I would be dead before then."

Michelle laughed lightly. "Yeah, that's what I used to think. Now we're actually stuck in this. Every minute of our lives are going to be spent in fear, but that should be short given the situation."

"Don't you think we'll reach this New York?"

"I want to think that," she said, pulling her blanket up to her chin. "But that city is so far away, and there's so many Prometheans out there that can kill us. The odds are against us."

"Hey," Getu said, turning his head to look at her. "Never tell me the odds. We've beaten the odds before, and we can do it again. We've escaped from that Halo, we've escaped from the Covenant's ship, and we'll escape from this. We're the best team there is."

"We're still missing our other member," she reminded him. "Where was Pango going again?" Pango was a Uggnoy that had separated from the Covenant during the Great Schism. He was one of the few grunts that remained apart from the Covenant when it was pulled back together under the Brutes. The Elites had put him in charge of a small intelligence team that had gone undercover to spy on the recent uprising of the Storm Covenant.

"Last I heard, he was on vacation on his home planet," Getu replied turning his head back to the roof. "To him, we're out of sight and out of mind."

Michelle sighed. She missed the little whiner. He had been an invaluable part of their little trio during the last days of the war. Now, he was probably sitting back in the sun, on a beach, drinking a methane smoothie. "I hope he comes for us sooner or later. And brings a fleet with him."

Getu shook his head. "He probably won't, but the Elites will. They've dropped out of contact with Thel Vadum, and will sooner or later send someone in to investigate. Then they'll come back to take on the Prometheans."

"Really?"

Getu closed his eyes and sighed. "I hope so."