Chapter Six: Heavy Drinking
106.9 FM Radio Station
November 2, 2557
The truck slowly came to a stop at the radio station, and three ODSTs approached it. They had SAWs in their hands, and looked formidable enough to take out anything that was thrown at them, until Michelle exploded out of the car.
"We have to go back!" she shouted, starting to run off in the direction that they had come from. "We need to find Getu!"
Howell showed a great display of his unrealized speed when he lashed out his hand and caught Michelle's arm, stopping her in her tracks. "We can't go back," he told her, "the place was over run by Prometheans. We had to retreat. Going back would only be suicide."
Michelle broke free from his grasp, and glared at him. "So what? He's my friend. Why would I leave him along out there without at least trying to help him? Is that what friends are for?" Seconds passed and Howell didn't answer, instead looking down at his feet. Michelle huffed, and started walking down the road.
"Hold it right there, Corporal," Sterling ordered, stepping out of his vehicle. "I don't care whether you feel obliged to rescue your friend or not. I can't let you go. If you go out there and manage not to get yourself killed, all you'll do is draw the bastards here."
"Listen, Sergeant," Michelle said, folding her arms and taking a step in offense toward the ODST. "I don't care what you want me to do. Getu is my friend, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure he stays alive. Do you understand me?"
Sterling nodded, but still pointed back to the radio station building. "Yeah, I understand. I know what it's like to feel the need to save your friends, your teammates, but sometimes you just can't do it because it'll put more people at risk. Sometimes, you have to make the sacrifice."
Michelle stared at him. Then she pulled her pistols out of their resting place, and shook her head. "I don't care what you say. I'm going after him and that's final." She turned to leave, but Sterling motioned to the two ODSTs outside and they blocked her path.
"Look, Corporal, I'm giving you two options," Sterling told her. "You can either go after him, without our aid and you can never come back here again. Or, you can stay here, which I recommend, and get evacuated with the rest of our unit when we leave. Which I also highly recommend."
"Those are my options?"
"Yes."
"And you'll agree with what I choose?"
Sterling nodded.
"...well then." Michelle turned back down the road, and began walking. "It was nice knowing you. Thanks for the ride. Sorry we didn't get to our date." She cast a look over at her shoulder, toward the fat rich man watching the scene in silence. "Howell? Are you coming?"
Howell frowned. "Michelle...I don't want to let you go on your own...but I don't want you to pass up this opportunity." He motioned to Sterling and the ODSTs. "This is our ticket out of this mess. We hole up here with them, then there's no more running and shooting and praying that we don't get killed during the night. This is safety."
"So...you're staying?"
"In a nutshell, yes."
Michelle nodded, and faced down the road again. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll admit, I was kind of hoping that you would be willing to come along. You might not be the best shot, and you do sneak some of our food at night, but you were great company. I'm going-"
"What the hell is going on out here?" Another ODST, clad in her armor, walked out of the radio station, with her arms folded across her chest. "I hear a bunch of shouting, and then I come out here and what do I see? This Marine woman and this..." she regarded Howell with a hint of disgust in her tone, "...this random guy."
Sterling shrugged. "Sorry, Captain Meyers," he apologized with a salute. "These are the two people that I found at that rest stop. I told you about them on the radio."
Captain Meyers nodded. "I remember. That should've been that. We found two people, and now they're stuck here with us. What's all the shouting about?"
"She," Sterling pointed at Michelle, "wants to leave to go after one of her friends that we had to leave behind. I tried to stop her, but she has her mind set on finding him."
"Yes, I do," Michelle added. "And it's rude to point, Sterling."
"Shut you mouth, Corporal," Meyers snapped, shooting a glance at the Marine. "As long as you're here, and I outrank you, then you will do as I say. There are no other alternatives." She looked over to Howell. "Same goes for you, civilian. You want to stay alive, then stay out of the way and don't cause us trouble."
Howell raised his hands in defense. "Jesus, lady. Back off."
That was not the right thing to say at the moment. "What did you just tell me to do, civilian? Did you just tell me to back off?"
"Well...um..."
"Look, civilian. I've had to put up with a bunch of shit over the past few weeks, and you're just adding to the list." Meyers looked over at her troops and motioned to Michelle and Howell. "Take them into the station. Supply them with food and water. If they cause you any trouble, then detain them."
"No," Michelle protested, raising her voice at the superior officer. "I'm going to find Getu. You do whatever the hell you want, but you're not going to stop me."
"Do not raise your voice at me, Corporal," Meyers snapped, just like a mother would at her child. "You are under my command, and you will do as I say. Smith, Jenkins," the ODST Captain looked at the two soldiers blocking Michelle from leaving. "Take them inside. If the Corporal here still won't cooperate, then use force if necessary. And do not disturb me again!"
Meyers stormed off, hands on her hip and metaphorical smoke coming out of her ears. She slammed the door behind her as she entered, and several seconds later there was a crash from within.
Everyone standing outside stood in silence, sharing glances with each other and trying to act as if that whole encounter was a normal occurrence...which it was. Smith and Jenkins lowered their weapons, and shrugged. "Well, that happened," commented Jenkins.
Michelle nodded, and walked right past them. "Yes. Yes, it did. But that's not going to stop me."
"Hey, stop right there, lady!" snapped Smith. He raised his Battle Rifle at her, keeping the crosshairs on her back. "We're under strict orders to not let you leave. So...don't leave. We'll shoot."
Sterling pushed the other ODST's gun down. "Back off. She just lost one of her best friends." He looked at Michelle and shook his head. "You can go if you want; I'm done trying to get you to stay here. All I'm asking now is that you stay a little while longer so we can get to know each other better...before you die."
Michelle sighed. He could've made that sound a little better. Could've taken out that last little bit of optimism there at the end. "What are you after exactly? Are you going to buy me a beer or something? That's classic."
"Actually, that's what I had in mind," Sterling replied, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm. "After all, you running off and getting killed would kill that date we were going to have, so I'll have to go with the next best thing. I'll even give one to this rich bastard if you want," he added, patting Howell on the shoulder.
Several thoughts crossed through Michelle's head. She could simply go and find Getu alone, which these two idiot guards would probably try to prevent. Or, she could get Howell and Sterling boozed up and get them to come with her.
Really, it was no contest.
"Fine," Michelle said, sliding her pistols into their holsters. "I'll stay for only one drink, and that's it."
"Ha, one drink my ass," Howell muttered an hour later. The three of them were sitting inside of the main lobby of the radio station, which had been transformed into a pseudo-bar. Ammo crates sat on the ground with folding chairs and camping stools around them, and the lobby desk had been turned into the counter.
Howell glared at the two soldiers, who were sitting at a table that was covered in empty beer bottles. Michelle and Sterling were so stoned, that they could be called friggin' boulders. "Hm...boulders, I like what I did there. I'm going to write that down in my witty remarks book," the rich bastard muttered to himself, and took another sip of his whiskey.
The Marine and the ODST were engaged in drunken story telling. Trust me, it's only funny if it's not you.
"...and then she said, 'That wasn't a cow. That was a cat!'" Sterling slurred out, and then he and Michelle burst out into a hammered laughter. "A cat! That's hilarious!" He looked over at Howell. "It's fucking hilarious, right?"
The rich man smiled and politely nodded, even though his heart was not in it. "Yes, fucking hilarious. You are aware that you've told that same joke three times in a row, yes?"
"Ah, screw you, Howell," Michelle snapped. "You've never been any fun, you're just a stick in the mud that eats all of our food."
Sterling snickered to himself, his drunken brain proud of itself after concocting his next quip. "He's not a stick. He's fat. He's like a log or a tree or something like that!"
The two wasted soldier then broke out into laughter.
Howell sighed. "Oh dear God," he muttered, before setting his empty whiskey down. "If you two inane drunks are going to talk about something, Don't talk about me. Talk about something that I can use to make fun of you later. What about high school stories? Those are always the best."
"No!" Michelle jumped to her feet, and slammed her half-filled beer bottle to the ground. "No! No! No! I'm not gonna talk about no high school..." she screamed, her words blurred together. "No!" Michelle walked...okay, staggered toward the door, only to pass out part of the way there. She was out cold on the ground.
There was silence for several seconds. She seemed rather... reluctant... to share her high school stories, Howell noted. I'll have to ask about that later. Maybe make some jokes about it as well.
"...the next time we're in a combat situation," Howell then said, staring at Michelle. She was the one that kept them going, and now she was taken down by several bottles of beer. That didn't exactly strike up confidence in Howell. "I'm going to remember this scene and pray for my soul."
Sterling was laughing at the sight. He leaned back in his chair, unable to contain himself. The ODSTs laughed so hard that he fell backward, and joined Michelle on the floor. He too, had passed out.
Howell looked back and forth between the two unconscious humans, and sighed. "Seriously, am I the only one that can hold their alcohol?" He complained, rising from his stool and walking over to the sleeping Marine. "Come on, Michelle, wake up. I'm taking you back to our room."
"I didn't..." Michelle muttered in her drunken sleep. "It was Sarah...we didn't..." She moaned when Howell kicked her in the stomach with the point of his boot. "Whazzat?" she asked, eyes flying open. "Wha's happenin'?"
"You got completely drunk," replied Howell, offering his hand to her. "Chances are, you're probably still drunk and haven't heard a single word I said." She took his hand, and Howell helped her to her feet. The minute he released her hand, she fell back to the ground. "Yep. That proves my theory."
After putting Michelle to bed in their slapdash room, which was just an old storage room outfitted with a few sleeping bags and no pillows, Howell walked the halls of the radio station. Pictures of the radio hosts lined the walls, watching anyone who passed through their corridor.
Most of the hosts appeared to be rather serious in the pictures, but occasionally there would be one that was cracking a smile or making a peace sign at the camera. Howell read the names of the radio personalities as he passed, finding absolutely no surprise that he hadn't heard of a single one of them.
There was a blank space in the row of pictures where another portrait should have been, but it was empty. The rectangular discoloration on the wall indicate that the picture had been there for a while at one point in time, but now it was nowhere in sight.
"Louis Grant," Howell muttered to himself, reading the name on the bronze square mounted just below the discoloration. "Never heard of him."
I'll probably never will hear of this man again. After all, with most of humanity dead, who's going to remember someone who simply sat around in this stuffy old building and talked into a microphone?
A pop echoed throughout the narrow hall, snapping him from his thoughts. His rich person sixth sense kicked in, recognizing it as a bottle of champagne.
I need to find this bottle, Howell thought. After all, it's been a while since I've had champagne. My palette is dying for something refined. Something to get the taste of these MREs out of my mouth. I hope it's some of the good kind of wine, not any of that gas station crap. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll be from the Howell family vineyard.
The fat rich man set to work, seeking out the source of the champagne. Each time he opened a door, he felt his heart swell with anticipation, his taste buds longing for the smooth flavor of what he hoped was some Merlot, but all he found was empty rooms and a random male ODST messing around with a random female ODST.
Howell passed by a digital bulletin board, covered with news stories. Several pages littered the screen, each of them reports on events that happened before the giant Promethean apocalypse. A nine-year-old boy was killed in a car crash with the police commissioner. The Insurrectionists had continued protests after the war, but most of them had been nonviolent due to the loss of their radical leaders during the Covenant invasions. Howell sulked at one headline: Howell Industries Workers Strike Continues!
That strike was what had brought him all the way out to Nevada in the first place. He needed to get away from the press and find a safe place to hole up in case things got violent. Also, a trip to Vegas never hurt anybody.
Another headline didn't impress him that much, Hope for Inter-species Peace, but it was the picture that went with it that caused his jaw to drop.
A Marine woman was posing with an Elite clad in crimson armor. She was riding on the Elite's shoulder, and the Elite was holding onto her feet in one hand so she wouldn't fall off. Both of them seemed happy. The woman was smiling. The Elite...well, Howell guessed that it would be smiling if it had a lower jaw; the spark of joy in its dull eyes attested to that.
He knew both of them.
It was Michelle and Getu.
Howell tapped the story on the bulletin board, and the news article expanded to to it's full size; roughly equal to the size of a datapad. He briefly read through the story.
...UNSC Corporal Michelle Collins poses with her long-time friend Sangheili Major Getu Sel'gath at the Human-Sangheili peace talks held in the former state of Nevada. The pair became became closely acquainted after Sel'gath, along with an unidentified Unggoy, saved Collins from a wrecked Bumblebee-Class lifeboat. Sel'gath and Collins set a perfect example of how things could be after the...
"So that's why she was so dead set on going back for the Elite," mused Howell, stroking his chin. "He saved her life, and she wants to return the favor..." His stomach twisted into knots as he recalled how he had been to concerned with keeping himself alive rather than assisting the person that was giving up so much just to take him with her.
Michelle and Getu had to give up food and water, amongst other things, that they didn't have to share with him. But they did it anyway, because they were good people. And then he had to come along and completely blow them off.
He could see his faint reflection on the board's screen, and Howell frowned at it. It wasn't the face of a truly grateful man, it was that of a complete jerk. Someone who would ditch the people that were being nice to him.
"Hmph," he muttered. "Thurston Howell is a fair man," he told himself. "I always repay those who help me with equal compensation." He knew that deep down it was a lie. All he had to do was look over to the left, at the article about the Howell Industries strikes.
Those people worked long and hard to ensure that Howell's company stayed afloat, and they did a damn good job doing it. But CEO McGreedy Howell had to slowly decrease their wages to earn even more of a profit.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. "I'm a thief. A greedy, lying, no good, dirty rotten thief," he said, running a hand through his graying hair. "But even in spite of that, I'm still here. So many people had to die, but the mean and the cruel are the ones that survive."
A door creaked open, and the form of Captain Meyers leaned out of the recording room, where so many famous radio hosts had earned the fame. "Hey, you!" Meyers snapped, pointing at him. In her other hand was a champagne bottle.
Ah, so that's where that pop came from.
"I want to talk to you. I need...information about you and your lady friend." The ODST paused, and lowered her finger. "There's also some champagne, if you want a drink."
"Merlot?"
"Chardonnay."
"Dammit. Eh, it'll still do the job."
Meyers held the door for him, and handed him a plastic cup. "Believe it or not, but wine glasses aren't standard equipment in radio stations. That means that we'll be drinking from the same type of cups that teenagers use at parties."
"Charming," Howell replied, holding his cup toward her. "Back when I was a teenager, I didn't have to worry about my father catching us using alcohol. All I had to do was bribe him with some of my allowance, and I was off the hook."
"Wow. I wish my dad was that easy," Meyers said a hint of admiration in her voice as she poured Howell his wine. "But he was in law enforcement. When he caught me drinking alcohol, he wouldn't let me drink anything but water for the next year. He actually gave me a breathalyzer test three times a day, one after each meal."
Howell nodded politely when his cup was half-full of wine. "Yes, that does seem a bit obsessive. My father was also obsessive. He was just obsessed with money, not on my sobriety."
The older man found it interesting that Meyers had lost the bravado that she had shown earlier that day. First she was all blood and thunder, now she was making small talk. While he wasn't exactly out to make friends with her, having connections to the leader of an ODST squad had to have its perks in the future, right?
"I would like to propose a toast," Howell said, raising his glass...er, cup. "To us, now able to partake in heavy drinking without fearing the wrath of our parents." Meyers chuckled lightly, and they toasted. "Now, I believe that you have some questions that you want to ask me."
The ODST Captain tilted her head, and shrugged. "Actually, that was just an incentive to get you in here. I was lonely, and I needed someone to talk to. Someone that wasn't in the military, so I could hold and unprofessional conversation with them. Also, I wanted to apologize for acting like a bitch earlier."
Howell took a sip of his wine and nodded. "I see." He hadn't exactly accepted the apology. He still thought that she was a bitch. "Very well, I have some questions that I wish to ask you." He was formulating a plan. Hopefully something that would help him help Michelle. "Are you open for questioning?"
Meyers nodded. "I guess. I have nothing better to do on this Saturday night, which is totally sad."
"Indeed," the rich man replied, before immediately launching into his questions. "How long have you been in the ODSTs? How long did you fight in the war?"
"I've only been an ODST for about thirteen years," Meyers replied. "But I was fighting in the war for roughly sixteen."
"Interesting. Did you have any friends or family fighting?"
Meyers sighed and nodded, her eyes now distant and focused on the memories. "My college friends and I were all in the same unit at first. My sister was a technician on the UNSC Grafton."
"Did you lose anyone you cared about?"
"I lost everyone. My friends were killed in our very first combat mission. The Grafton was shot down on Reach." Tears were forming on the edge of her eyes.
Howell felt bad for bringing these haunting memories back to her, but he was trying to help his friend out. Sometimes you have to hurt someone's feelings for your own gain, as his father had told him many times. "And you felt helpless because you wished to help them?"
"My friends saved my life twice during the mission. Carly took a beam for me, and the rest died making sure that I got out alive. I was carrying the intel that we needed." She reached up and wiped her eyes, praying that the windows of the recording studio were tinted so her troops couldn't see her like this.
"You wanted to help them, but you couldn't," Howell reasoned. For an ODST, she opens up pretty easily, he thought. Most people would've already snapped or kept it clammed up inside of them. "Someone was preventing you from helping."
She nodded. "It was our Sergeant at the time. He wouldn't let me go back and help them, saying that our number one priority was getting the intel back to base." Meyers downed the last of the wine, and crushed her cup in her hand as if it were her Sergeant's head. "Avery Johnson was his name," she said, dropping the cup to the ground. "I was glad when I heard that he bit the dust."
"So you're mad because you couldn't return the favor to your friends who saved your life?"
"I was mad. But it's all behind me now. Can I ask why you're asking all these questions?"
Howell opened the door, and motioned for her to exit. "Let me show you." He led her to the bulletin board, and tapped the news story of Michelle and Getu. "That's Michelle's friend right there," he said, resisting the urge to make a smart-ass remark. "He's the one that's got the mandibles." Oh well, some things you can't hold in.
"So...she's friends with a hingehead?"
"That was my reaction too, but I kept it in my head," said Howell. He pointed to the text of the story. "Getu saved her life, and Michelle wants to return the favor, but you won't let her. It's the exact same thing that you had to deal with. Only this time, you have the choice to give her a different outcome."
Meyers read over the story, and folded her arms. "What exactly do you want, civilian?"
"I want you to allow Michelle and I, and perhaps some ODSTs for protection, to hunt down her friend," Howell answered. "Even if Getu is dead, Michelle would be satisfied with the closure. She just wants to know whether or not her friend is alive. At least give her that."
The ODST rubbed her chin. She actually seemed to be thinking it over.
Howell felt his heart rise. This could be how he repays Michelle. She might actually be in his debt after this. Getu too.
"Well, I'm not going to up and let you go off on a suicidal mission, especially with my ODSTs," Meyers said several moments later. "However, if you do me a favor, I'll let you go look for your friend. But I'm not permitting any of my ODSTs on the search."
"Why not?"
"Because, Smith and Jenkins are idiots, Sterling is unpredictable, and Kayley and Keith..." She looked over to the door where Howell had walked in on the two ODSTs messing around with each other. Soft moans could be heard from the hall. "Let's just say that their energy gets spent on other things."
"What is the favor?" Howell asked, tossing his now empty cup to the floor. "I'm sure that we can handle it."
Meyers tapped the bulletin board screen, and selected a few options. It changed into a map, displaying satellite imagery of the surrounding area. It hadn't been updated recently, since the satellites had been shot down.
She put her finger on one part of the screen, over a small town. "This is the town of Payson. When we were first shipped out over here to look for survivors, we set up a small bunker in the vault of the bank. There was weapons, ammo, and armor. Kayley sealed the vault and changed the password and snagged the master keys"
Meyers pulled a small slip of paper and a plastic card out of her pocket and handed it to Howell. "Here they are. What I want you to do is get our supplies back here for us."
Howell took the password and key, and shrugged. "Doesn't sound that hard. I assume there's a catch," he added, making sure that he didn't jinx himself.
"Naturally," Meyers told him, much to the rich man's dismay. "The town is overrun with scavngers and those alien bastards, and-"
"Prometheans."
"What?"
"The aliens are called Prometheans, according to Michelle," Howell said. Then he was surprised at himself for pointing out some small detail like that.
Meyers rolled her eyes. "Whatever. The town is a war zone. Scavengers on...Prometheans. Take a guess who's winning. The scavengers are focused only on their survival, and will kill other humans just to make sure they'll live another day."
"Yes, we met some of those. Real jackasses."
"Indeed. The scavengers are hostile to us. They attacked Sterling and Smith the last time we tried for the supplies. They didn't even get halfway through the town before they were forced to fall back."
Howell then had a good question. "If you were so concerned about our safety while searching for Getu, why are you going to send us through a war zone? That doesn't add up. We'll still do it, but I'd like to know what logic you're using."
Meyers shrugged. "Well, before I got nothing out of it. This way, I get our supplies. She smiled and walked away before asking a question over her shoulder. "Why bother letting people do something unless you get something out of it?"
"That's sounds like something my father would say," he muttered.
Sorry for the long delay for this chapter. Life kept getting in the way...stupid life. Go away. I liked it before I had one.
I'm looking for a beta for this story, someone who's not afraid to completely tear these chapters apart. If you're up for it, shoot me a PM.
Just one more thing, as Columbo would say. I had this random idea that might be awesome or might be stupid. I've been thinking about perhaps making a community or something like that, and having other stories from other authors set in this Promethean Apocalypse. You know, having a bunch of stories set in the same Alternate Universe. Let me know if you like it. Let me know if you don't like it.
Also, the name of the radio station was based off of the one that I was listening to as I wrote this; 106.9 The Light. If there's anyone else out there that listens to it, you get a virtual cookie. If not, then more for me. :)
Peace out!
