The night erupted in sound, as the ethereal blue light that lit up the scene below erupted into orange. Screams and gunfire rent the night, as growls and whirs played as a subtle undertone. His mind wasn't paralyzed, blazing fast, or even empty. It was level, focused, and determined not to lose her, or anyone else, for that matter.
His M60 pounded a rhythm out in the chilled Boston air. The harbor was in sight, and the last bit of orange that hung in the sky was fading. It would have been a peaceful view, if not for the war being waged below him. He poured fire into the cityscape, from which issued his enemy. Six-legged green things poured from the shadows, illuminated only by the flashes of blue light, which flew from some unseen part of the city. His position on the east wall was fortified, but not well enough. Rounds still tore through the brick barricade like it was Jell-O, and men all around him still fell, never to see daylight again.
He more reacted to the cry than heard it. It took only a flash for him to act after the last scream of a dying man crossed his ears.
"They're in the courtya—"
He habitually slung his M60 across his back and soared down from the top of the eight-foot wall. His left ankle stung as he hit the ground. He paid it no mind. He slung his Claymore from its scabbard, cleaving two Skitter skulls as he did. He swung with abandon, knowing he was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, to run headlong into a gang of Skitters. He fought for seeming hours, while really only minutes passed. He fought to reach the door control. If he could just trigger lockdown, he could retake the courtyard.
His blade tasted the brains of four more Skitters before he hit the override beside the gate. The steel door hit the ground with a frightening smash, and he realized, he had just locked himself in the courtyard with six Skitters.
"Eh," he said to himself.
He dealt swiftly with the first four, but as he raised his hand against the fifth, the distant report of a rifle sounded, and the Skitter's jaw exploded, spraying his face with purple blood. The next Bug was dispatched similarly. He raised his head to call a thanks to his helper, but stood half stunned to see Kait, standing at the doorway, rifle held upwards smiling flirtatiously at him. He held aloft a thumbs-up, and loosed a terrifyingly enthusiastic
"OORAH!" And stamped a cleaved Skitter skull to mush with one move. Kait was taken aback by the blood thirst of her usually levelheaded companion. He was not this kind of person. This was not the Nathan Tucker who had picked her up from the middle of a street, held her in his arms and defended her from the evil that had robbed them of their normal lives.
This was not Nathan the soldier, which she had fallen in love with. This was Nathan the warrior, the Nathan that knew only war, and killing, and almost seemed to enjoy it. She shuddered at the thought.
3 Hours Later-He kicked his way through the stinking, darkened mounds that littered the perimeter. He gazed at the harbor, distraught over the fear that had defined his hug with Kait after the last of the attacking force had been dispatched. Why was she afraid? Skitters are scary, yeah, but she had got over it when she killed her first, or so he thought. He honestly didn't know.
He finally, after thee hours, came to the conclusion that she just couldn't handle war like he could. Not one man or woman here could.
"I'm alone…" He concluded. But why was he? Why was no one else gifted with the ability to see war, death, and destruction… and forget? He searched his regretfully limited life experience, racked his brains for an answer. Was society right? Was he, at fifteen, still an ignorant stinking child? Or was he crazy? A sociopath? He haltingly, like a schoolboy, realized… Bryan isn't the embodiment of war. He's a soldier… One who fights because he has to… to … protect, to keep war out of his home. "I'm a warrior… I take the fight to another's home, to keep them out of mine." He saw how a warrior and a soldier were alike… and yet, more different than white and black.
"I'm not meant for the things a soldier is. I'm on the frontlines 24/7."… He pondered the consequences of his decision… "What am I giving up?" Slowly, and sometimes not surely, he listed out the things he assumed he couldn't have… comfort, a stable life, (although no one has that now…) … love… That last realization stung him. He hated the fact that it was so true. On the line 24/7… what happens when my duty is done? When the enemy gets too strong for me to protect Kat, and Kait? If I'm in love with Kait, and she loves me… and we're together… What happens to her if I join the rest of the human race? When I die, she could lose it like she did when she lost her manager…
He realized his narrow miss with her in the tower, almost a kiss, almost a seal between him and her. Now he appreciated the interruption of the new arrivals. They had kept him from making a promise he couldn't keep, a promise always being there for her. If he died he would leave her here, and it would tear her to pieces.
He brushed off the sinking feelings gathering like storm clouds at the back of his mind. He had absent mindedly climbed back up the watchtower. He could see in all directions, far off to the harbor, where the black, mangled wrecks of freighters sat, the smoke and fire from their violent deaths long gone. He could also see close up, to the scene wrapping up below. Kids playing Yu-Gi-Oh, right in the same place that, four hours ago, was a war-zone. Blood still stained the cement… He saw adults, some soldiers, and most civilians. One was crying over in a corner, three more stood in a huddle, shooting dirty looks at two teenagers. Couldn't see why… Then he saw elderly, three, four, basket cases, most were just there to help with the kids… He saw a few older folks carrying guns, as well as a few kids…
He saw one kid, must've been 12, patrolling the wall near his fighting position. There was someone with him, a woman. All Nathan could tell about her was that she was blonde, and knew her way around her UMP. He surveyed the courtyard again. This time he saw Kait and Kat and Bryan, standing around shootin' the breeze from what he could tell. He gazed over the city, in the opposite direction from the harbor…
Outpost Yankee, Boston MAHe jolted forward, out of darkness, knife in hand. The image of the watchtower, and Kat appeared as the dark dissolved.
"Hey…" She said. "That new guy wants to see you. He said his name was Weaver."
"Can't Bryan do it?" He groaned sluggishly…
"Weaver asked for the our leader… even Bryan agreed you make most of the decisions…" She said.
"What?!" He asked, confused, and still a little groggy. "Bryan's seven years older than me! How is he not the leader?"
"I don't know… But I guess its official now…" She put on a mock sheepish grin, and tilted her head jokingly. Her hair slinked over her shoulders to follow her head. It was black…and shiny, just like her sisters.
His boots clomped as he sauntered sleepily through the hallway to the office room where the four slept. This base had once been a warehouse, simply used for a small outpost at the start of the siege. The hastily constructed courtyard wall, and watchtower gave credit to this theory. He opened the door and stepped in to see five men huddled around the table. They had spread maps and figurines over the surface of it. They were obviously under equipped, he thought as he recognized the maps to be tourist maps, and a few of the figurines as action figures of Clones and Jedi from that TV show The Clone Wars.
His entrance garnered the attention of the men. All but two were military. He reached his hand forward to shake the hand of the man he recognized to be the highest ranked. He stopped suddenly though, when all of the military men snapped to a salute.
He wondered for a split second, and then saluted back. The men lowered their hands and began to shake his. He greeted each one congenially and then introduced himself.
"It's nice to finally meet you Lieutenant." The Colonel said. His name was Porter. He was tall, but aging, and his hair was white. Introductions went around, Reed, Weaver, Jameson, and finally, Mason.
The last one was different. He wasn't military, he wasn't brazen like Reed and Weaver, and he wasn't loud, and strong willed like Jameson. He stood back from the group, obviously studying me. He was tall, like Porter, but younger by far. His hair and eyes were deep brown, and obviously, the only thing he knew how to do with his AK… was point and shoot. He looked physically capable enough, but he didn't seem to belong in a Militia. When all the introductions were finished, Nathan turned to Porter and said,
"Well, Colonel…The reputation of the Massachusetts Militia precedes it…"