There was a dark and heavy mood in the base throughout the week. Hardly anyone talked, and most kept to themselves, the feeling of remorse still strong. But one felt particularly awful as she sat in her room on her bed, staring down at the floor; her cornflower blue eyes glazed over as she was lost in thought. The girl who she'd been sharing a room with, Rose, was sat on her own bed with a bible in her hands, reading and silently praying. After she was done, she set the book down and looked over at Winry, who hadn't moved an inch since this morning.
"You can't blame yourself for what happened, Winry," Rose spoke gently, feeling terribly sorry for the girl. Winry didn't move, nor did she show any sign that she'd actually heard the girl. Rose sighed and got up, sitting down beside the girl and putting her arm around her in an attempt to comfort the girl.
"It's all my fault . . ." Winry said croakily, still staring at the ground. "If it hadn't been for me . . ."
"You can't blame yourself," Rose repeated firmly. "The officers were going in to the city anyway, it would still have happened even if they hadn't gone and got you," She said. "You should be grateful they came to get you, I couldn't imagine living in that place a day longer,"
Winry took in a hesitant breath as her mind went back to living in that place; about all the people she had lost in there. Her eyes began to brim with tears and she struggled to hold them back. She'd lost her mother, her father, her grandmother, most of her friends, and it had only just hit her she would never see them again, just like Vato Farman, a man who had braved the city in an attempt to save those who had survived.
"Why did this have to happen?" Winry asked, looking up at Rose as a couple of tears cascaded down her cheeks. "What did we do wrong?"
Rose shook her head. "I don't know, I guess this is just God's will," She said, subconsciously reaching to the necklace that hung around her neck. "This is God's way of showing us we are no longer welcome on his Earth,"
"But why?!" Winry demanded, standing up. "Why do we have to suffer for other people's mistakes? It just doesn't make sense!" She wasn't in any way religious, but she still felt extremely angry that 'God' would allow something like this. "If we are his blessed children then why are we suffering so much? Why do we have to pay for someone else's sins?!"
The darker skinned girl stared up at Winry in shock, finding herself unable to answer the blonde's questions. Standing up, she closed her eyes and shook her head again. "I cannot answer your questions, maybe you should ask The Lord himself," She suggested, walking out of the room and leaving the girl to stare absently after her.
Once she left, Winry crumpled on her bed again and broke out in violent tears, crying for those she'd lost, those that had been lost and those who had survived.
--
Although they were all still upset over the loss of their comrade, the officers in the bunker didn't let that keep them from working. Most of the day had been spent outside, planting crops and securing the area with barbed fencing. In fact, if anything, Farman's death had motivated them to work harder to finish this, so they could protect those who were still left.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Havoc looked down at his watch before digging his shovel in to the ground and letting it rest there whilst he went to fetch something to drink. Entering the bunker, he briskly walked towards a sink that was located not too far from the doors leading to the back. Switching on the water, he cupped his hands and filled them with water before splashing it over his face and hair, rubbing away the sweat and dirt before taking a drink.
Lifting his head, he shook the excess water from his hair and turned around to find a young brunette woman with solemn and distant forest green eyes staring outside as the other soldiers worked.
"Hello, Sheska," Havoc greeted, tilting his head to the side and watching as the woman continued to stare before glancing at Havoc and blinking, before she offered him a forced smile.
"Hello Jean," She replied, lacing her fingers behind her back and looking back outside. "How goes the preparations?"
"Good," Jean said with a nod, running his fingers through his hair as he stood beside the girl. "We're almost done planting everything, and we've just got to finish up on some rewiring before we're done, but it's going great so far,"
He looked down at Sheska, watching as she fell silent again. "How are you coping?" He asked carefully, watching as she subconsciously reached for the necklace that dangled around her neck. Hesitating, Sheska blew out a long breath before she hung her head, gazing at the floor.
"I'm doing okay . . . it's still weird waking up to him not there, you know?" She said in a feeble sort of tone, fingers twisting around the silver chain that bore a simple silver ring with a diamond incrusted in to it. "I mean, he only just proposed a week before this a-and now . . ." Sheska began to stutter, cutting herself off and letting a few stray tears drip to the floor.
Havoc's chest tightened and he moved in, placing an arm around the young girl and pulling her in to a gentle and friendly embrace. "I know you miss him Sheska . . . we all do but . . ." He trailed off and looked out of the bunker distantly. "We have to move on and live our lives the best we can, try and survive this ordeal and get out alive,"
"I know, I know," Sheska whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's just . . . hard for me," She tried to explain, but somehow thought it was useless.
"I know it is," Havoc reassured her. "And we're all here for you, you know that," He said, offering her a gentle smile and letting go of her shoulder. "But I should get back to work, so I'll see you later," He said, waving his hand and heading back off outside.
"Take care," Sheska said with a nod before turning around and heading off.
--
Sat in his office with his head in his hand, Mustang stared absently at the paper in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table in a rhythmic fashion. As a colonel, he was one of the highest ranks left, apart from Olivia Armstrong and a few other men, but he'd taken most of the responsibility, especially for keeping his men safe.
But after the loss of Farman, he wondered if all his decisions had been the right ones. It had been a heavy blow, and had brought up the most horrible memories of fallen comrades.
A knock at the door brought him out of his daydream, and he looked up to see a rather concerned looking Hawkeye at the door, holding a tray with food on it.
"Sir?" She said, walking in to the room and setting the tray down on his desk. "Are you alright? You haven't eaten ever since . . ."
"I'm fine, Hawkeye," Mustang reassured her, although not too convincingly. He had dark marks under his eyes from lack of sleep and he looked paler than usual, which made him look almost ghostly under his raven black mop of hair.
Hawkeye watched her superior carefully for a moment, folding her arms over her chest and pausing in silence. Having worked under Mustang for so many years, she had a knack for knowing when he was hiding something, and she had a knack for getting it out of him.
The man began to tap his pencil again, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him before lifting up to settle on Hawkeye. He furrowed his brows at her before letting out a sigh and dropping his pencil, pulling the tray of food towards himself and beginning to eat.
"I'm thinking about moving the base," He informed her.
Hawkeye's eyes widened in surprise and her jaw fell slack.
"Moving the base? But why?"
"We're too close to the city . . . and I fear after the last raid the zombies with begin to venture out of the city," The colonel began, closing his eyes. "I'm afraid that they might be intelligent enough to realise there are people still alive and they might come looking for us,"
"But sir, you can't be sure," Hawkeye argued. "And even if they did, we can protect ourselves here, we have enough resources to deal with these creatures, so why move?"
"We need to find more survivors, if there are any," Mustang said. "Our numbers are dwindling, and most of the survivors can't protect themselves if faced with an attack,"
"So would it not be better to teach them to defend themselves?"
Mustang sighed a long sigh and covered his mouth with his hand, thinking hard.
"I've been thinking about this a lot, Hawkeye. I think it would be for the best if we moved,"
"You can't keep blaming yourself like this Roy!" Hawkeye burst out suddenly, slamming her fist on the table and leaning closer to glare at the man. "Farman's death was at no fault of your own; moving will only exacerbate our situation,
"We are all upset about losing Farman, but packing up and moving? How will that help any of us? Surely it would only put us in more danger seeing as we hardly know how badly the damage is outside of the base and the city,"
Shocked at how agitated the woman was getting about his decision, Mustang continued to stare at her for a while before he growled under his breath and closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands.
"You're right, you're right it was a stupid idea to even consider . . ." He muttered to himself to the satisfaction of his lieutenant. "But we can't just . . . sit here and do nothing; something needs to be done,"
"I agree sir, but I'm not sure moving everyone is the right choice," Hawkeye explained calmly. "And I'm sure the others would agree with me when I say that,"
Mustang shook his head. "Of course . . . but the thing is . . . what are we going to do instead?"
Both adults fell silent in thought, the only noise was of the clock ticking away on the wall. After about five minutes, Hawkeye finally spoke up.
"We could try and attempt to fix the radio tower . . . to see if we can send out a message to other survivors,"
Mustang's face lit up. "That's brilliant!" He said, getting up from his seat enthusiastically. "Why didn't I think of that before? Of course! If we can channel a signal to all radio networks we can send them a message about our position and possibly rally up more survivors! Riza you're a genius!"
Hawkeye blushed lightly at the mention of her first name, but kept quiet about it. She was glad the colonel was back to his usual self again as he grabbed his coat, finished the last of his food and rushed off to find Fuery, the one person who could help fix the radio tower.
Clearing away the tray, she followed him out of the room and down towards the kitchens, a gentle smile on her face.
