Hal was standing in the middle of a street. There were no lights. It was raining. And cold. So cold.
He looked around him. He didn't recognize where he was, and he didn't remember how he had gotten there. His breathing became more panicked as he searched for signs of Skitters, certain they were the reason for his whereabouts.
Suddenly, a bright light shone in his eyes. He squinted and felt a familiar sense of dread and pain as he glanced in front of him.
They were lined up perfectly, all of them staring Hal straight in the eyes.
No. No, he thought. Not again. Please, not again.
Before Hal could do so much as blink, the bullets plowed into the children, one by one. The little girl was last. She was so small, so innocent. She looked at Hal as the first bullet struck her.
Hal, she whispered before falling into a puddle of blood.
Hal shot straight up in bed, his body covered in a cold sweat. His breathing was uneven and rapid. He was alone in the tent. Hal slowly lowered himself back to a laying position, an involuntary tear rolling down his sweaty cheek.
It had been close to two weeks since he had been taken by Karen and the Skitter. Two weeks since he had witnessed those poor childrens' deaths. But he still couldn't get those images out of his head.
Doctor Glass had offered to talk with him privately about what he had been through. He had declined. Hal was hurting terribly, and he knew talking might help, but... He had plans. And talking would only get in the way.
Hal needed revenge, not therapy. But he wouldn't get his revenge until he was certain his family and the 2nd Mass wouldn't be harmed in the process. He was only willing to risk his own life. He just needed time. Time and planning.
Hal pressed the palms of his hands tightly against his eyes and took a deep breath. He forced himself to stand up, stretching and groaning along the way. Already dressed from the night before, he walked out into the campsite, shading his eyes from the sun.
Hal headed towards the mess tent, his stomach growling fiercely from hunger. As he was walking, he felt someone was watching him and he stopped quickly, turning to face his visitor.
Maggie. Hal couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. Maggie walked to him slowly and gave him a crooked smile.
"Hey there, Soldier Boy. Slept in kinda late today, huh?" She wore a smile on her face, but in her eyes Hal could see the caution, the worry. She knew he'd been different lately, distant almost. He could tell she wanted to ask him everything, but she never pushed him to talk.
"Yeah, I guess I needed some sleep." Hal said, trying to reassure Maggie that he was fine. Which he wasn't. He had barely slept since his father had brought him back to camp. But he'd be damned if he made Maggie worry more than she already was.
Maggie nodded, smirking a little. "Guess so."
They walked silently towards the mess tent together. As they ducked through the opening, Maggie reached out and took Hal's hand gently. And for a minute, Hal felt all the bad he had been feeling melt away.
Hal and his father were scavenging for food. Dai and Anthony had come with them, but they broke off into pairs when they reached the city. Tom had been pretty quiet since they had left camp. Hal wondered what he was thinking about.
They came across an abandoned diner and they both entered cautiously, ready to shoot. It was all clear, so Hal and Tom began to hunt for any food that may be salvageable.
As Hal was rummaging through a box of cans and packaged food, he saw a bracelet next to his foot. He bent down and picked it up. It was a charm bracelet. It looked almost identical to a bracelet he and his brothers had made for their mother. It even had a soccer ball charm and a 'Mom of the Year" charm.
Hal smiled sadly, remembering how happy his mother had been when she had put it on her wrist for the first time. She never took it off.
"You know, your mother once told me that charm bracelet you boys made her was her most prized position. I think it even took precedence over her wedding ring." Hal looked up to see his father watching him, a sad smile on his face.
Hal's dad chuckled a little, and wiped his mouth with his dirty hand before continuing. "She loved that thing, I'll tell you. Meant more to her than anything that you boys took the time to make it for her. She would parade it around like it was made of solid gold and diamonds." Tom paused, smiling at the memory of his late wife.
Hal looked down at his feet, clutching the charm bracelet tightly in his hand.
Tom looked at Hal, his eyes soft and affectionate. "You remind me so much of her, Hal. Ben and Matt are more like me, always have been. But you, you've always been just like your mother."
Tom walked closer to Hal, never breaking eye contact. "Rebecca. She was always so stubborn. It was one of the things I loved most about her. She never gave up, never slowed down. Just like you. Most people, after going through what you went through a few weeks ago, would have given up, or slowed down at least."
Hal's jaw tightened and he looked at his father painfully. "Dad..." He said quietly.
"But you..." His dad continued, ignoring Hal. "You just picked yourself back up, fighting for and protecting the 2nd Mass before you were even completely healed. Your mother would have done the same thing." His dad paused for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts. "I know you're hurting more than you let on. I know what you went through wasn't easy, and..."
"DAD!" Hal whispered frantically, pointing at the diner's entrance. "Skitters!" Tom whipped around and faced a small army of Skitters digging through some abandoned cars. Tom turned back to Hal quickly. "Down!" He whispered, dropping to the ground in an instant. Hal followed his father's orders immediately and collapsed to the floor.
They scrambled towards the back of the diner where the kitchen was, slithering past empty cans and silverware. They reached the kitchen making minimal noise and prepared themselves for war.
Hal fingered the trigger on his gun, ready to shoot anything that moved. Tom was doing the same on the other side of the doorway, and he leaned forward a bit and glanced back into the diner, checking to see if the slimy bastards had left.
Hal watched his father's eyes dart carefully back and forth, scoping every inch of the diner. After a few moments, Tom ducked his head back into the kitchen and shot Hal a look. They were in the diner.
Hal tightened his grip on the gun and pressed himself firmly against a wall, watching his father for any indication as to what their plan was. But there was no time for a plan. In the next second, two Skitters crawled through the kitchen doorway and immediately launched into attack-mode when they spotted Hal and Tom.
Hal opened fire on one of the Skitters, leaving the other for his father. The Skitter advanced on him, seeming to almost laugh off the bullets plunging through its flesh. Hal walked backwards quickly as he shot at the beast in front of him. He hoped his father was having an easier time than he was.
Hal backed into another wall and found himself cornered by the Skitter and an empty metal pantry shelf. He aimed for the head and shot furiously, Skitter blood shooting out in every direction. He was able to get a few shots off before he ran out of ammo. Hal's heart stopped, but he couldn't afford to lose even a second of combat with the Skitter as close to him as it was.
Hal tossed his gun aside quickly and pulled out his knife, holding it in front of him threateningly. "Come on you son of a bitch." Hal mumbled angrily. The Skitter made no advance on him, so Hal took a step forward and thrust the knife quickly. "I said come on!" Hal roared. The Skitter jumped back clumsily and hissed at Hal. It sprang powerfully, its head nearly touching the ceiling.
It landed on Hal, pinning his arms and legs down. The knife fell out of his hand and skid across the floor under one of the pantry shelves. Hal looked at it frantically, stretching his hand as much as he could to reach it, then turned his attention back to the Skitter.
It was looking at him, its blood dripping onto Hal's forehead. He squinched his face up, trying to keep the blood from rolling into his mouth. The Skitter cocked its head at Hal, looking him straight in the eye. It opened its mouth and made a strange clicking sound. Hal felt its hot, rancid breath on his face and he winced.
The Skitter lifted one of its slimy legs and put its pincers against Hal's cheek. He held his breath and watched the Skitter, waiting. Slowly, it put pressure on Hal's cheek and tugged down, making a deep, long incision. Hal yelled, hoping his dad would be able to help him somehow.
Once it cut down to Hal's chin it stopped and bent down into Hal's face, hissing quietly. It was so close that Hal's nose brushed against its hot, sticky flesh. He groaned and tried to turn away, but the Skitter grabbed him by the head and turned him so his wounded cheek was facing it.
The Skitter put its face against the wound, seeming to rest. It opened its mouth and breathed into it hard, sending a fresh wave of pain through Hal. He screamed at the pain and wrenched his body, thrashing around in an attempt to escape. Suddenly, there was a loud bang from behind the Skitter, and then its head seemed to almost disappear in a thick cloud of blood and slime.
The Skitter's headless body collapsed onto the floor right next to Hal. Hal looked up to see Dai helping his father up, and Anthony holding his shotgun up, smoke still rising from the barrel. Hal panted and swallowed hard, looking around the room at the other dead Skitters.
Anthony strode over to Hal and helped him to his feet. Tom raced over to make sure Hal was fine, showing concern for the gash in his cheek. Hal reassured his father that he was okay, but he wasn't actually too sure. When the Skitter had breathed into his wound, something hadn't felt right.
Hal rubbed his cheek, wiping the wet blood on his pants as he and his team headed back to their bikes. Something was definitely off. He wasn't sure what exactly, but he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
As Hal reached his bike, he started to feel lightheaded. He tried to support himself by holding onto his bike, but then he was falling. He never felt himself hit the ground.