U is for Umbrage
Takes place during "Home, part 2"
by DeeRich
"The river tumbling green and white, far below me; the dark high banks, the plentiful umbrage, many bronze cedars, in shadow; and tempering and arching all the immense materiality, a clear sky overhead, with a few white clouds, limpid, spiritual, silent." -- Walt Whitman, Specimen Days & Collect
Bill was the first to see it.
Initially he thought it was a particularly colorful bush, but he noted the shredded undergrowth and cratered ground, clear evidence of an explosion, and realized it was a body. And Zeus warned the leaders of the Twelve Tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood. The weight on his shoulders increased.
He was on point, leading Chief Galen Tyrol and Billy Keikeya through the wilds of Kobol on their pursuit of President Laura Roslin. He signaled to the others what he had discovered.
Tyrol stepped to the edge of the low cliff. "There's been a fire fight here."
Bill nodded, treading carefully along the rocky edge, past the remains of two centurions. He led them down a narrow path to the bottom of the cliff.
Billy gasped and lurched forward.
Bill stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Careful. It looks like a landmine killed her."
Bill nodded at the Chief and they followed him as he carefully picked a trail over to the corpse.
"We can't leave her here." Billy knelt at Elosha's side.
"We can't carry her," said Galen.
"There are plenty of rocks," said Bill. "We'll build her a cairn."
When they finished, Bill ordered a rest break. The three men tiredly trudged to the edge of the clearing and collapsed beneath a clump of trees. Billy stretched his long frame on the ground while Galen sat, hunched forward cradling his rifle on his knees. Each man remained silent, contemplating what he had seen and what he might find ahead.
Bill leaned against a tree and turned his face toward the sky. Dappled shades of grey danced on the wind in the canopy. Who else will pay - has paid -- with their blood? His hand strayed to his chest pressing against and easing the dull throb that remained there. How many more will die for my mistake?
Bill led them off into the forest. Smashed branches and muddy slip marks gave evidence of more than a dozen feet following the same path, making it easy to follow. He pushed himself up the slope, refusing to give in to the fatigue that clawed at him as tenaciously as the mud that sucked at his boots.
The shadows had deepened around the roots of the trees, when he heard a noise. He halted the others with a hand signal, and listened. There it was again. A small sound, a crackling murmur definitely not of this wood.
They were almost topping a small rise that overlooked a thickly foliaged shelf on the mountainside. It was sheltered from the wind and intermittent rain by an escarpment and screened from prying eyes and sensors by a variety of bushes and trees. It even appeared fairly dry. He might have chosen it as an overnight camp himself.
Bill moved as far forward as he dared, dropped to his knees and elbows with a grunt, and low-crawled to the top of the rise. He drew his field glasses from his pocket. After bracing his elbows in the wet underbrush, he carefully focused on the area that was the source of the noise.
At first he saw only shades of green, shiny and dull - the upper and lower surfaces of leaves, flecks of brown - stems and trunks, and flashes of white - the rapidly setting sun reflecting off water dripping to the ground. Bill breathed deeply, ignoring the catch in his chest, and looked again - without looking for anything specific. He scanned the area with his eyes unfocused. There. He adjusted his glasses and clicked the magnification. A shelter. Studying the area slowly he picked out three crude lean-tos grouped together at the base of large trees.
Bill noted a fourth tarp set off from the others and examined it. Dark gnarled limbs hung low, brushing and casting shadows over the figure that stepped out of the shelter.
Laura.
Not Madame President, not Roslin -- Laura. It seemed natural to think of her that way.
Shoulders slumped, she moved slowly, picking her way over the uneven ground.
Her pale, almost transparent, skin contrasted with the dirty white clothes and loose grey coat she wore. Red hair hung over her shoulders, limp, dull and straight, without any of its usual waves and shine. Her glasses perched at the end of her nose and she clasped a worn book to her chest.
Bill clicked the magnification on his binoculars and her image jumped toward him. He noted, with some alarm, the bags under her eyes and the hitching motion of her chest as she gasped for each breath in the thin mountain air.
She really is dying. Until that moment there had been a small doubt about that bit of information from Saul. It was gone now.
Another figure stepped into view. Bill swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Lee.
Laura's eyes snapped to Lee's face and she stepped away, holding out the book for him to see. Lee shook his head and pointed at the sky. Laura followed his gesture and for a split second Bill's heart seized as she looked directly at him.
Lee and Laura turned. Their shoulders moved and Laura gestured again with her book. The foliage fluttered in the wind, branches dipping and waving. Bill clicked the magnification on the field glasses, trying to see whom they were facing. A stronger gust flipped the bough upward and he instantly recognized the blond ponytail.
Lee ... Kara ...... Laura. The scene before him blurred and he moved to rest his forehead on the eyepieces of his field glasses. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back sudden tears. His family was there, safe. He only needed to reach out.
He pushed himself to his feet.
This ends now.