He wasn't alone.
The Engineer found himself repeating that as he stumbled out of the console room. An acrid smell was coming from the kitchen. Instant coffee, no doubt. There were beads of water in the bathroom sinks, freshly shorn hair clippings in the garbage can. The Demoman and Sniper had gone about their business, just like every other day he had known them. Their habits brought an air of easiness to the forgotten base.
After freshening up, the Engineer joined his teammates. They were making quite the ruckus, now that they heard him moving around. Not that they had been completely silent before, but now they were letting loose with broad laughs. He followed the scent of terrible coffee. Giving the sentry at the kitchen door a pat, he settled down with his teammates.
"Well! Good morning, mate!" the Demoman welcomed him.
"Good mornin', Tavish," the Engineer replied. He paused, then checked outside. The sun was in the wrong direction for it to be called morning anymore. "Or good afternoon, I guess."
The Sniper gave the Engineer a crooked smile. "Barely keepin' up, myself. Rough night, wasn't it?"
"I'll say," the Engineer agreed. He fetched a cup from the pantry, cleaned it out, and poured himself a cup. "Anything good to eat left?"
The Sniper wrinkled his nose. "Not unless you want to eat more soup. Maybe beans."
Neither sounded appetizing. The Engineer shook his head, then sat down. All the good things about a solid meal would have spoiled by now. Breads, bagels, cereals—all toast. No fresh veggies or fruits. Maybe jam, but nothing to put it on. Perhaps salted meats and fish, if he wanted to take a risk. The Engineer scratched his chin. "No canned fruit?"
"Got a can of apricots. Some peaches, some pears. A few maraschino cherries. Three years expired, though," the Sniper answered.
The Engineer sighed. "Suppose none of ya want to try 'n risk it with me?"
The Demoman tipped his head to the side. "Ah, hell. What's the worst that can happen?"
Grimacing, the Sniper held a hand to his stomach. "Guess I could always learn to weaponize other bodily wastes."
It wasn't hard to find a couple of decent cans. The three of them split a can of peaches and pears. Out of the fruit available, they seemed the least likely to be acidic enough to wreck the can's metal. They didn't taste the freshest, and they had a considerable level of slime to them, but the trio managed to gag them down. Even the terrible coffee helped them through it.
"We've got to get more supplies," the Demoman muttered, his face contorted with disgust.
"Don't know how much to buy," the Engineer said. He took a quick swig of coffee, then continued. "We could be here for weeks, maybe a couple of months. And who knows who'll be swingin' by here? We'll just have to work with what we've got for a little while."
The Sniper licked his arm, trying to get the bad taste off his tongue. Even his salty perspiration was preferable to the sensation of eating slimy fruit. "Suppose we wouldn't know where to go around here, anymore. The place seemed pretty dried up. Might have to start huntin'."
"I think there's an old truck around here, somewhere," the Engineer said. "If we get desperate—and I mean, real desperate—I could try 'n get it goin'."
"Might not hurt. You never know when an emergency situation's going to rear her ugly head." The Demoman nudged the Engineer.
The Engineer smiled but didn't reply. A low pool of concern began to bubble in his stomach. Either that, or he was already getting a stomachache from the questionable food. He stared at the Demoman for a moment, then the Sniper. The latter's face looked less raw than the day before. Certainly wasn't bleeding all over the place. The Engineer lowered his gaze, then went back to eating.
It was just nerves getting to him. That wasn't a kind of ailment a stubborn man like himself admitted to others. There was a lot to worry about, but he wasn't going to admit it. Well, not much more than the dozens of sentries around the base already said.
Maybe he had gone a little overboard last night.
"Anyone heard from Miss Paulin' this mornin'?" the Engineer asked.
The Sniper shook his head. "Not yet. Suppose she's still out huntin' for the Spy."
"Don't envy her that task," the Demoman snorted. "Trying to find the Spy in a city? I'd have better luck looking for—"
"Ol' Nessie at the bottom of that godforsaken loch," both the Sniper and the Engineer finished. They lifted their heads in surprise, then chuckled.
The Demoman grunted, then shook his head. "Well! If you big girls are done syncin' up, maybe you could go braid each other's hair for a while."
"I thought that's what the two of you were doing earlier," the Engineer replied.
The Sniper speared another pear slice. He chewed with one side of his mouth. "Clearly, you two need to go on a bondin' exercise. Get yourselves all nice and chummy."
"Since when have you cared about that, Mister 'Professionals have standards, not feelings'? Bloody hell, did you change out in the big bad world?" the Demoman sassed.
The Sniper fought back. "Oy! I've had the stick up my ass dislodged for years now!"
The Demoman shot a dirty look to the other end of the table. He wiggled the eyebrow over his one good eye. "I bet you have."
As the two men went about picking on each other once again, the Engineer leaned back and laughed. He missed their rough-housing and arguing. The world had been so very quiet without them. He couldn't imagine what a deafening roar the kitchen would be once he got all of his teammates back. He leaned back, crossed his fingers over his belly, and smiled. For a bunch of foul-mouthed, contrary men with short tempers, they were endearing.
The sound dropped just as soon as it had started. Their fighting had drowned out the sound of dust crushed under heavy treads. The mad beeping of a dozen sentries caught their attention and broke their fighting. All three turned to the kitchen's window. A dark, rusted tank was coming down the hoodoo flanked road, towards their newly repaired gate.
It wasn't slowing down.
The Demoman and the Sniper leapt away from the table, knocking their chairs over as they ran for their weapons. The Engineer was baffled. He continued staring out the window, his brain stalling. It would be safer to hide below ground and let his machines do the work. They wouldn't last long, though.
"Truckie!" the Sniper yelled.
The Engineer snapped out of his confused trance. His friend tossed him both his wrench and a shotgun. The Sniper bolted upstairs, scrambling for the tallest building he could find. The Texan's stomach churned again, but he followed. There was no way he was going to let either of them fight without his protection. Short legs clambered up a flight of stairs.
"I hope you lunatics know what you're doin'!" the Engineer shouted.
Sentries squealed and opened fire as the tank came smashing through the front gate.
The Heavy never wanted to be in a car with the Medic or Soldier driving ever again.
For a trip that should have taken about a day's travel without stops, the mad duo had managed to cut it down to about fifteen hours. The Medic was crazy enough to drive dozens of miles over the speed limit. He might claim that he didn't know any better, but even the recently post-amnesiac Heavy didn't buy that story. The good doctor was mad, and he didn't care one bit about traffic laws. The Soldier—the former state trooper—was worse. He had his masculinity and cultural heritage on the line. There was no way he was going to let some crazed German in a swishy coat beat him!
Between them, the fluttering birds, and the Pyro's cheers of delight, the Heavy wasn't certain how he even got to sleep. Or how he kept his meals down.
He had to fight against his mad companions when they finally made it to the eastern border of New Mexico. "Maybe slow down now, da? Entering enemy territory."
"This is my land!" the Soldier argued. "I'll be damned if I let some European eagle eater take land from my glorious United States of America!"
The Medic relaxed in the front seat. He groomed one of his doves, batting not a single eyelash at the deserts racing around him. "Vhere should ve go first, hmm? Teufort, perhaps?"
The Soldier shook his head. "No! That is what that rat bastard will suspect us to do. We've got to keep him on his toes. Hit him when he least expects it. Then, kablam-o!"
"We need weapons. Will not be good unless I have Sasha." The Heavy paused on those words. His massive heart tightened. "Oh, my God! Sasha! I have lost her!"
The Pyro gave a sympathetic pat to the Heavy's leg. "Rr'm srrrry."
"Do not fret, Ruskie!" the Soldier boasted. "You've got at least one real American hero on your side. I won't let any woman fall into the hands of that old, slimy bastard! Not even your gun!"
The Medic raised his head, his curl bobbing as he moved. A clear thought struck him. "Zhat's right. Vomen. Vhat do you suppose happened to zhat alte Hexe and Miss Pauling?"
No one had an answer for that. Such thoughts troubled even the most disjointed and brave of minds. Granted, it wasn't as soul-crushing to lose Helen. She was a bit of a harpy, but she did get their checks signed. But Miss Pauling? That was disturbing. Even someone with an inner strength like her stood no chance alone, especially against an army of steel. Robots didn't have mercy on the cute and petite.
"We'll find them both," the Soldier assured the Medic. His voice took on a dark, serious tone, much unlike the bombastic man they all knew.
They chased the sun through the desert, crossing barren plains and empty towns. It wasn't just the Mann's lands than were plagued. Anyone with a brain on their heads was heading away from the fleet of robots. A desert state was hard enough to live in as it was. With interrupted shipments and disrupted irrigation lines, it became impossible to stay.
"It's so strange to be on roads wizh no cars," the Medic pondered. "I like it."
The Heavy shook his head. "Better than Manhattan? Da. Still no good."
"At least we don't have to deal with old people clogging up the roads. Or farmers," the Soldier grumbled. "Damn farmers, with their giant, slow tractors, hogging up the road! Who do they think they—"
His tirade was interrupted by a roar in the distance. An orange dust cloud billowed around a massive oncoming vehicle. The Soldier slammed on the brakes, pulling over as fast as he could. What passed the small car was massive, blue and gray, throttling towards the north with the aerodynamics of a steel brick. A whump rocked the vehicle. All four men stared at the passing monstrosity, falling silent in its wake.
"That was tank," the Heavy said.
"Ja," the Medic confirmed.
"Very big tank," the Heavy elaborated.
A year's worth of amnesia hadn't wiped out the memory of Gray's robot transport tanks. They were like overpowered garbage trucks, slamming through anything that got in their way. Each could carry a fleet in its belly. Not just of man-sized robots, either. Big ones. Massive ones. The kind that could stomp men flat.
The Soldier smirked, then restarted the car. He pulled off the road's shoulder, then spun around. Men and birds crashed into each other. With a soft rev of the car's engine, he began his pursuit.
"Bad idea!" the Heavy protested. "Very, very bad idea!"
The Soldier sniffled but didn't seem too concerned. "What's the firing range of those robots, anyway? A mile, tops? We stick a minute behind them, follow them along, and see where they're going."
"You are insane!" the Medic shouted. That was quite the statement, especially coming from the mad doctor. "Ve don't know how far zhey are going or vhere zhey are going to stop! Ve are unarmed. Did you forget? Unarmed!"
"Smokey Joe's got an axe. I've got a gun. Commie's got his fists, and you've got your birds and a razor blade," the Soldier countered. " We'll make this work."
The Pyro gave a happy buzz, then made a thumb's up. Neither the Heavy nor the Medic could believe their teammates. The Russian reached for the steering wheel but was smacked back by the Soldier. At least he hadn't turned his pistol on the Heavy. He gave the doctor another look, one of disbelief and frustration. The Medic sighed, then raised his hands.
"Oh, I supposed ve've survived vorse." The Medic conceded, then chuckled nervously.
The Heavy gave a low groan. Whatever energy he spent putting the Soldier into a headlock would be better served destroying robots. He took a look outside of the car, then worked on trying to figure out their position. The path felt old, forgotten. He wasn't sure if it was his mind failing, the state of New Mexico as a whole, or if it truly was something long since abandoned.
"Where would robot men go?" the Heavy asked.
Peeping in the Medic's lap gave them a clue. The entire flock had switch to the Medic's side of the vehicle. They were pecking at the windows, chittering and squawking. It didn't take the Medic long to figure out what was up with them. "Ah. Ve must be near a base. Zhey get antsy vhen zhey sense a roost nearby."
Their target swerved into a field full of hoodoos. What had been a straight drive now turned into zigzagging around rock formations. The Pyro gave a low grumble. This poor driving didn't agree with his constitution. The birds grew more anxious, hopping between the Medic and the Pyro as they fought to get out. They did little to calm the tensions in the car.
They broke free of the hoodoos and winding caves to find a field full of shimmering, squealing sentries. The robot tank was advancing on them, squashing the less fortunate beneath heavy treads. Explosions were rocketing around the tank. The familiar thunks of grenades on metal came from inside a whitewashed brick building. More rockets and clanking poured out of its sides. At the top were bright pops, shining like a misguided star in the afternoon light.
"Hydro!" the Soldier whooped.
"Old place," the Heavy muttered. "Never thought I would see it again."
The Medic's mind was already scheming. "Ve've got to stop zhose verboten robots from knocking zhat building down! Or vorse—"
"—The dam! They could flood us out!" the Soldier agreed.
"Rrr, strrp drr crr nn rrts frrht!" the Pyro rumbled.
The Soldier agreed to that. The little car skidded to a halt inside of the smashed gates to Hydro. Grabbing his axe, the Pyro leapt into the fray. He skipped past dozens of short little sentries, patting them as he went on his way. The Medic was the next to bail out. His birds jumped into the sky, white feathers and wings beating straight into danger. They clambered up to the top of the building, then began splitting formation. The Medic counted their numbers, then smiled. There were three friendly combatants, if his doves' congregations were trustworthy indicators.
"Ready, Ruskie?" the Soldier asked.
The Heavy gave a low sigh. "Da, Amerikanski."
The new combatants charged in as the tank advanced on the trio in the warehouse. Its gears roared. A mighty crack echoed through canyon walls and hoodoos as the tank slammed into the building. It didn't send the structure crumbling, but it put a good fracture into its front side. All three of the men inside of the building began to fall back. The top floor's southern face shifted forward, then slammed onto the tank. The massive vehicle pulled against the weight on top of it. Its treads growled as it struggled against the debris.
The Pyro made his advance. He clambered onto the back of the tank, then began taking whacks out of it. A curious Scout bot peaked its head out of the tank's top. With one swing, the Pyro cleaved its head from its face. What seemed like a brutal assault was just another round of whack-a-mole for the Pyro. He pulled his axe back, letting parts fly like confetti as he tore the machine apart.
The tank's back hatch flopped open. Robots of all makes poured out. The Heavy was waiting for them. With one hand, he snatched a frail Medic bot and slammed it into the ground, shattering its plating. The Medic snapped the bot's medi-gun up, then began his duties. The Heavy creamed machines into the ground, bleeding and broken fists mending under the healing beam of the gun. Meanwhile, the capricious Medic taunted his attackers, weaving left and right around rockets and grenades.
It took a whopping six shots from the Soldier's pistol for him to remember why he hated dainty guns. He pitched it aside, then dove for the body of a fallen robot in his image. He pulled a barely scratched rocket launcher out of a pile of metallic scrap. With one eager grin, he rushed into a clot of robots. Fire erupted around the crazed American as he pointed the launcher at his feet. He soared through the air, cackling as the robots foolish enough to crowd him exploded into a dozen tiny pieces. The Medic caught him as he landed, saving out-of-practice knees and ankles from the brutality of his attack.
Eight precise thunks landed just behind the tank. The Heavy and the Medic pulled back as the sticky bombs tore through escaping robots. More ran afoul of the machines in the courtyard. They would wind up to shoot at the new fighters, only to be blown apart by cheerful sentries and their missile launchers. Lightning from cloudless skies blasted through metallic skulls. Robots would snap back and forth between the frontlines and the harasser in the sky.
The Soldier cackled as he landed on top of an enemy. "And you guys thought this would be hard!"
"Is embarrassing!" the Heavy grunted as he punched a model made in his likeness. He struck it once more, pulling against its gloves and procuring them for himself. "Perfect machines? Hah! Beaten by fat, out of shape men!"
Brilliant light shimmered around the Heavy as the Medic activated his medi-gun's charge. Robots seized up and went silent under the slightest tap from the Heavy's fists. The Medic split his attention between the massive Russian, the hopping American, and the cackling Pyro. Another combatant leapt into the fray, landing on top of the tank next to the Pyro. He drew his grenade launcher, then jammed it down the hatch. Wild cackling escaped both of them as the control console inside the machine blew up in a thousand fireballs.
The Demoman gave the Pyro a bright grin. He shook the firebug's hand, then pulled him away from the heat-belching hatch. "Nice to see you again, by the way!"
"Rrrkrrs!" the Pyro agreed.
The hammering against the tank grew stronger as the enemy force dwindled. The robots rallied their last strengths, ripping into whatever came too close to them. A huge Soldier robot unwound from the tank, prepared to pulverize the combatants with his rockets. It was no match for the slim assassin aiming from the ruins of his protective nest. One bullet halved its health. Another took its sight offline. The last sent it crashing onto the ground, sentries mocking its falling with hundreds of bullets.
One of the last robots must have gotten it through its processors that the attack was a failure. It clambered into the smoking cabin, hoping to skitter away. With a whine and a thump, it managed to pull away from the damaged warehouse. Both the Sniper and Engineer above held tight to the walls as the building shook. The tank cranked around, then sped down the lane. It smashed over its comrades, trying in vain to crush the humans beneath its treads.
It wasn't enough.
The smoking, wheezing machine crawled towards the smashed gates. The Demoman sighed, then shook his head. Eight more sticky bombs launched into the air. They were followed by a multitude of grenades and rockets. Even the spent sentries continued clicking away at the target, as if air was hazardous enough to the tank. There was no way it could carry on. It wheezed, then came to a halt, treads blown to pieces and its driver smashed to smithereens.
A loud, raucous cheer came up from the seven reunited men. They swarmed together, achy legs and shrapnel wounds nothing compared to the joy they shared. High fives and back flips were shared between the Demoman and the Soldier. The Pyro coddled the Engineer, giving him happy grunts and pats on the back. With one whistle, the Medic summoned his doves. He set them upon the Sniper, forcing him to hold still as they groomed his tussled hair. The Heavy scooped up all three of his newly found companions, his laugh loud enough to shake the broken warehouse.
"My friends!" the Heavy roared with laughter. "It is so good to see you again!"
The sentiment was shared between all of them—even if they couldn't exactly breathe with the massive Heavy's arms squeezing them flat.
Author's Note
It's a bit early to be updating again, but I will be busy with Thanksgiving holiday weekend. Thought you could have this, in the meantime.