West Virginia had been drudging through the Valley's foliage. Her side still ached from the bullet wounds, and she would occasionally suck in a sharp breath. Other than that, she was off balance, and that impeded her stealth ability. If West had the use of both arms, she would be able to climb over boulders and other obstacles that she now had to walk around.
It took forever.
Slowly, she noticed the alien rabbits departing from their burrows. This was a sign that it was technically night time, and she should sleep. But the sun never set, and West was too focused to rest. If anything, she was more determined to escape the alien rabbit's murderous gaze. She shuddered at the memory of them attacking her and a group of other Freelancers.
Poor, poor Oklahoma. He never took off his boots again since that day.
Slowly, West made her way out of the valley's small forest. Just within her sight was the Simulation Blue Base. She clutched the shadows of the Valley's sides. West didn't want to give away her position. Patiently, West observed the apparent Blue Simulation Stooges that were by one of the base's entrances.
For a second, West was confused. The coordinates that Delta gave her stated that in front of her was Blue Base. But the soldiers that she saw were in armor that was mostly red related. She came up with three possibilities.
One was that her eyesight had finally flipped out on her and she now saw colors reverted.
The second theory was that these simulation stooges were even more moronic than the last ones she encountered; they just picked the wrong colors for their team.
West's last theory was that Delta was wrong with his information. But Delta was never wrong.
Currently, there were two simulation soldiers stationed at the base's entrance. One in maroon that held his Battle Rifle at point. The other soldier in orange, who was unarmed and leaning against the base's wall. At one point, West saw the orange soldier started to argue with the maroon one.
"A slack off?" West guessed.
The sound of a car's engine became audible to West, and she quickly ducked behind a rock. With her working eye, she watched closely as a Warthog drove to the oddly colored Blue Simulation Stooges. A soldier in Standard Issue red armor jumped out.
"Wait? Standard Issue red armor? What the hell was going on? Only Simulation Red Army Soldiers wore that color armor." West finally believed that she had lost it. Well . . . lost it further than before. She continued to watch, her brain trying to sort out the details.
The red soldier was saluted by the maroon. The red soldier also saluted, just before cocking an old shotgun. The orange simulation stooge, however, just blew off the apparent superior. The red soldier seemed not to like the orange's actions and raised his shotgun. This peaked West's interest naturally, and she strained her ears to hear their conversation. However, she could not hear a word, even with her Sensitivity enchantment activated.
To West's surprise, the orange soldier didn't seem threatened by his superior's actions. If anything, he was aroused. In a quick moment, the orange soldier knocked the shotgun out of his face. Soon, the orange and red soldier were visibly arguing, throwing hands in the air and stomping feet like little, annoying children.
The maroon soldier turned away, as if to block out what was happening. West watched him for a brief second. To her, he seemed the most capable soldier there. He wasn't Caboose. There was no chance of that.
However, there was a great possibility that either the orange or the red soldier was Caboose. At this point, it was anyone's guess.
West was about to change position to a closer boulder when the red soldier hopped back into the beaten Warthog. The red soldier motioned for the others to join. The maroon soldier seemed to happily comply and climbed onto the back where the mobile turret was stationed. Both soldiers in the warthog stared at the orange soldier, waiting for him to join them.
The orange soldier did not show any signs of moving from where he stood. He even crossed his arms like a spoiled toddler. The red soldier raised his shotgun to the orange soldier's face one more time. And just like last time, the shotgun was shoved away.
However, a shot gun shell was fired a couple feet to the orange soldier's right side, and then he jumped with surprise. The sound rang through West's ears and she instantly became pumped. Before he could actually get injured, he ran into the base. The orange soldier almost tripped on the way in, it was almost too comical, and West had to repress a faulty laugh.
The two remaining soldiers hesitated before driving off towards the direction of Red Base. As soon as the sound of the car's engine was out of earshot, the orange soldier peeked out of Blue Base. He quickly scanned the area, and West ducked behind the rock. West counted to ten before continuing her observation.
It took West awhile until she spotted a diminutive amount of orange on the green grass. It was hard to pick out, but it seemed like the orange soldier was stretched out on the ground . . . for a nap!
That was it. West was now confidently, absolutely, positively . . . almost certain that Caboose was the orange Simulation Stooge. There was no need to ask Delta to verify.
West checked to see if both of her guns were loaded. Once she was sure they were, she left the safety of the rock. Slowly, but carefully, West made her way through the open plain. It was against her instincts to be out in the open, and she had to fight them to approach her intended target. It was now the past the point of no return. But West didn't mind. She sort of liked problems that she had to fix on her own.
West was ready to finish a job that was neglected.
Simmons and Grif were once again doing what they had been doing for over two weeks. Simmons was actually doing his assigned job. And Grif was . . . being Grif. Both were dreading tonight's weekly meeting with the rest of the simulation soldiers. But Grif in particular, since Sarge wanted to put his life on the line again.
Speaking of the Devil, Sarge pulled up the badly beaten Chupathingy. Instantly, Simmons pulled his right hand up to salute his superior. Sarge did the same and then picked up his shotgun.
"At ease, Simmons." Sarge ordered. "Is everything ready for tonight's plan?"
"There's a jug of Kerosene just forty feet from the meeting place. Along with a couple dozen matches, just in case Grif messes up lighting one." Simmons informed. "Everything is accounted for, Sir. And I must say, a mighty nice job to boot."
"You're such a Kiss-ass . . ." Grif muttered, ignoring Sarge's presence.
"Well done Simmons. With both your jobs and the compliments." Sarge approved.
"You've got to be kidding me." Grif exclaimed as he waved his hands around like a mad men. "You're seriously going to kill me for a war that doesn't even exist!"
Sarge didn't seem to like what Grif was saying, and he again raised his shotgun to his face. Sarge let out an animal like growl. Normally, this would have startled Grif, but he was too pissed off that they were actually going to follow through with Sarge's insane plan.
"That's insubordination, Grif!" Sarge exclaimed. "I did expect it from you, but it's got on my nerves for the last time! The war between the Red Army and the Blue Army is real! I've seen it do horrible things to my fellow soldiers for years on end. And if I have to fire a shotgun shell to your face to make you believe that, I will . . . dirtbag."
"You're completely mental!" Grif yelled as he hit the shotgun out of his face. "I'm not doing it and you can't make me!"
"Oh yes I can!" Sarge yelled back, somehow gaining the personality of a seven yr. old, "I'm your commanding officer! I've fought through dangerous beaches of pirates while trying to find Davy Jones' heart in an unknown land with only the support of my enemies and lovers. And that was long before you were even born."
"That's a movie, Sarge. You're talking about Pirates of the Carib-bean." Grif muttered.
"Actually, Grif, its pronounced Caribbean, not Carib-bean. It's just one word, not a fake word tacked onto bean." Simmons corrected.
Simmons was ignored as Grif and Sarge continued their pointless argument. Simmons let out a sigh and tried to ignore them.
"I've had enough of your nonsense." Sarge said as he climbed into the driver's seat of the Chupathingy. "Simmons, remind me to shoot Grif if he doesn't die tonight."
"I'd be happy to comply, Sir." Simmons agreed to Sarge's demand. He headed to his usual position on the back of the Chupathingy.
After both soldiers in the Chupathingy were situated, they stared at Grif to hop in the passenger side. Their plan was to drop him off on their way to the meeting. Grif would then wait for the cue word, which would be "Cue Word", to douse himself and then ignite his body.
However, Grif remained where he stood and just stared at Sarge. He shook his head and leaned against the base.
"Well?" Sarge said, "Get in Grif."
"No, I'm not fucking doing it." Grif whined.
"It's better if you just accept your death now with what dignity and honor you have. If you had any dirtbag." Sarge said, raising his shotgun to Grif's face again.
"No! I'm not fucking helping you in a war movement for a war that doesn't exist!" Grif shouted and he hit Sarge's shotgun again.
However, this time, Sarge let his trigger finger have some fun, and a shell was released from the weapon. A shotgun shell flew past Grif's right ear, causing a ringing sound to bounce through his head. Grif let out a small squeal and then he fled to the inside of the base for safety, away from the lunatic and his kiss-ass.
Grif's foot caught on a small rock that was jutting out of nowhere, and he floundered like a drunk as he tried to regain his balance. After a couple seconds, Grif was back on his feet, with less dignity than he had before. Grif felt really foolish and felt his face redden with anger a little, but he didn't stop retreating in the temporary base.
Simmons was snickering at Grif's clumsiness, thinking that Grif hadn't moved that fast since Tex kept beating him in his groin. And even then Grif didn't move fast enough to escape the onslaught of pain. Sarge, conversely, was fuming with rage. He gripped the steering wheel with tremendous force, and the steering wheel even dented a bit. Sarge growled like the Meta had and then turned around to see Simmons staring at him.
"Should we carry on in our plan?" Simmons asked, his voice hesitating a bit. "Do I have to drag Grif out here?"
"Naw, we'll just use Donut's body instead." Sarge compromised.
Somewhere else in Valhalla . . .
"I'm really hungry for some nice, well cooked oatmeal raisin cookies. Of course, they should be less than ninety calories for each serving." Donut silently said to himself. "Hell, I'd even take a Strawberry Frappuccino with extra cream and foam!"
Back at Blue Base . . .
"Excellent fall back plan, Sir." Simmons said, not knowing how Donut's immobile body was going to ignite istelf.
"Of course it is! Now let's get going." Sarge said as he pulled the Chupathingy foreword.
Grif stood by the base's entrance, listening to for the Chupathingy to get far enough away for him to slack off in peace. Soon enough, Grif could barely hear the Chupathingy's engine. He then decided it was time to go back outside. But first, he peeped his head out of the entrance, as if to make sure both Sarge and Simmons had left. There was no one in plain sight.
Finally confidant that he was alone, Grif went out to the open field by Blue base and sat down. He took off his helmet and let his long, shaggy hair breath in the faint breeze. He didn't sweep them out of his eyes, but rather just ignored them as he quickly became horizontal. Grif put his hand underneath his head and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath and let out a content yawn.
With Grif's body stretched out, he listened to the sounds of Valhalla. The stream was very relaxing, and Grif soon felt his body sink deeper into an unconscious state. Sun rays were hitting his armor, and the best way that Grif could describe it would be a heated blanket of comfort. A smile appeared on his face, almost like a child's. This is what Grif lived for—to be the lazy bastard that Sarge called him.
Something was wrong. Grif could feel it. But as usual, Grif ignored this feeling for a more comfortable one. He didn't even bother to think that he was being jumped on. That is, until it was too late.
A heavy force slammed against Grif's stomach, and he let out a sound of surprise. He opened his eyes to see a soldier in blue armor that he's never seen before. It was blood splattered; covering most of the soldier's left side. Bullet hole also covered the soldier. Grif could see blood trails going down the legs of the Unknown Soldier from these bullet holes. The helmet also was covered in layers of reddish brown blood. It was a terrifying sight.
But it wasn't as terrifying as how the soldier was holding its body. The soldier wielded at rusty, blood covered knife in one hand, which was currently being held at Grif's unprotected throat. But the other arm was held limp, as if there were no bones in the soldier's arm. Its head was tilted to the side of the limp arm. Through Grif's trembles, he could hear ragged breath that was very similar to the Meta's.
"Oh God!" Grif screeched as he finally decided what this thing was. "A Zombie!"
Where was the Chupathingy now that Grif needed it to go to Alaska? Damn Sarge for taking it.
"Quiet before I cut your throat out." The Zombie Soldier quietly threatened. "Don't test my patience; I was born with none."
The Zombie can talk? In all of the zombie movies that Grif saw, they couldn't talk. They were too stupid, and too dead, to talk. Maybe it was a new kind of zombie that the government made? Whatever kind this Zombie was, it was freaking the hell out of Grif.
Grif made a weird sound in the back of his throat. It was the only sound he could make when he was this scared. The Zombie Soldier didn't like that and pressed the knife harder onto his throat.
"Answer all of my questions and I may just kill you faster than I would want to." The Zombie Soldier bent over to his ear and muttered this.
It was then that Grif realized that this Zombie Soldier was a Chic, and he didn't know whether to be more afraid or not. In the past, he's had more trouble with female soldiers, like Tex, than guys. And it was a Zombie Chic Soldier, too. The worst kind.
"What do you want from me?" Grif asked, his voice trembling.
Grif's body was shaking, and that made it harder for the Zombie Chic Soldier to hold on. She almost fell over, but quickly kicked him in the nuts to make him stop moving as much. With a shot of pain running through Grif, he turned his head away from the Zombie Chic Soldier. And through the throbbing, Grif could barely make out his Battle Riffle that was about ten feet away. He had to distract the Zombie Chic Soldier, and get that gun.
"I want information." The Zombie Chic Soldier stated, her voice seething with rage. "Tell me everything you know about AI units."
This surprised Grif. Usually zombies only wanted to dine on the living's flesh.
"All I know about them is that Freelancers were given them. And that they were stolen by one of their own. They cause nothing but trouble!" Grif said as he readied his body for a counter attack.
The Zombie Chic Soldier brought her protected head closer to Grif's face. There, she whispered coldly, "you lie!"
And just then, Grif kicked the Zombie Chic Soldier in the groin. But he didn't do it to cause her pain like she just had to him. Grif did it to knock her away from his body far enough so he could make a break for it.
And it did just that. His kick sent the Zombie Chic Soldier flying a few feet away from him. The force of his kick sent the Zombie Chic Soldier in a coughing fit. It sounded really unhealthy, but what could you expect from a Zombie. Grif took a foolish glance to see the Zombie Chic Soldier on all fours as if to heave.
Grif's kick gave just enough distance for him to turn around and start crawling on all fours towards his Battle Rifle. Through his gasps, he slowly made it to his gun. Grif turned around to face the Zombie Chic Soldier and shoot her from a distance. But sadly, she herself was starting an attack.
Expertly, the Zombie Chic Soldier had thrown her knife towards Grif's hands. The knife had hit her intended target and it stuck into Grif's left wrist. It was painful, and Grif led out a yelp and dropped the Battle Rifle before he could fire it. It seemed like all hope was lost for Grif.
Miraculous for Grif, though, as the weapon hit the ground, a few shots were fired. It wasn't at the direction of his attacker, but someone in Valhalla would have hard it and would come to help him. And he knew that.
The Zombie Chic Soldier knew that too and let out an insane growl. With full force, she clumsily tackled Grif who was still nursing his new injury. This sent both of them into the stream by Blue Base. She again was on the top of him in a matter of seconds. But this was more dangerous than before, as Grif was having trouble keeping his head out of the water to breath. His head was bobbing up and under the water; her newly acquired SMG stuck under his chin.
"You made a very dreadful mistake, Caboose. I can't kill you, but you don't necessarily need to be in perfect condition to get my information." The Zombie Chic Soldier fumed.
"Wait? I'm not Caboose!" Grif yelled, seeing his chance at freedom. "My name's Grif, Dexter Grif!"
There was almost no pause as the Zombie Chic Soldier screamed at him like a rabid kid on steroids, "I don't believe you!"
And with that, she swiftly hit Grif's head multiple times with her SMG. Grif could feel an immense amount of blood escaping from his nose. The blood was replaced by water as he had trouble keeping his head above the water. Grif's only thought at first was, Ouch! But then he thought that this Zombie Chic Soldier was demented and feral.
But suddenly, the Zombie Chic Soldier stopped her attacks and put her SMG on her belt. She pulled Grif's head up by his hair, causing him to cry out in agony. Grif could almost see through her visor, and see her mad eyes fiercely looking at him.
"Fine, I believe you . . ." She muttered at a sane volume, but then she was screeching at the top of her lungs. "But that just means that I can kill you now!"
Just as the Zombie Chic Soldier pulled her SMG off of her belt and brought it to Grif's now blood covered face, shots were heard. As if in slow motion, Grif saw as bullets hit the Zombie Chic Soldier's useless shoulder. Black holes in the blue and red splattered armor marked where the bullets hit.
It only grazed her, but it seemed to cause her extreme pain.
The Zombie Chic Soldier seemed to move in the direction of the bullets and fell off of Grif and into the stream. She rolled around in the water, screaming her head off, causing some pain for Grif, and the new shooter, Simmons.
As soon as the Zombie Chic Soldier was off of him, Grif ran for his life. He ran towards Simmons, who was armed with an Assault Rifle. Grif hid behind Simmons as if he was a little kid hiding behind his mother. Simmons would have shot Grif's attacker again, but he was too shocked when he got a closer look at Grif's wounds.
"Sarge is on his way here with everyone else. But it's gonna take a while." Simmons stated. And then Simmons asked through the girl's screams. "What did she do to you!"
"Anything that she would have done to Caboose!" Grif exclaimed as he wiped some of the blood off of his face. "Must be an ex-girlfriend he dumped for Church."
"This is no time for jokes!" Simmons yelled as he reloaded.
Simmons was right; the Zombie Chic Soldier was standing up now and was wielding her SMG. Most of the blood had washed off of her, but her own was seeping through the holes again. She was growling almost exactly like the Meta had when he was extremely pissed off.
"Are you Caboose?" She yelled at Simmons; her head rolling around and giving her a hysterical look.
Oh god, Simmons thought, a Meta that can talk!
"No!" Simmons yelled back, frightened by his last thought. "What do you want from Caboose?"
The Zombie Chic Soldier ignored his question and let out a ferocious roar. She then let out a rip of bullets from her SMG. They weren't very accurate as she ran towards the two Simulation Stooges, but they freaked him out. Simmons was so scared that he briefly forgot how to fire his weapon.
The Zombie Chic Soldier took that opportunity to unarm Simmons. She quickly put her SMG on her waist and punched Simmons in the elbow of the hand that was holding the Assault Rifle. The Zombie Chic Soldier then twisted her arm around his until she grabbed the gun. And then she quickly whacked Simmons with his own gun.
"Why are you hitting yourself?" The Zombie Chic Soldier taunted Simmons, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
Unwillingly, Simmons let go of the gun so it couldn't cause any more pain to him in the ribs. The Zombie Chic Soldier took it and expertly clubbed Simmons in the head with it. There was just enough force in her attack to knock Simmons unconscious. He fell to the ground, and Grif watched, horror struck. He thought that the Zombie Chic Soldier just killed his friend.
But she wasn't done yet. The Zombie Chic Soldier aimed the Assault Rifle at Simmons head, which was now also bleeding as bad as Grif's nose, and was about to shoot. However, Grif mustered up enough courage to tackle her before it was too late. Grif did it with a animal like call, just like the Zombie Chic Soldier had done multiple times. The force knocked the weapon out of her hands and they both fell to the ground.
This time, their roles were switched. Grif was on top of the Zombie Chic Soldier and was furiously punching at her helmet. Grif didn't know how long his courage would last, so he let her have it. However, they weren't well placed and the mad girl easily dodged almost every single one. Fortunately, the ones that had been landed seemed to cause the Zombie Chic Soldier extreme pain, as she screeched as the well laid punches hit her.
Angrily, the Zombie Chic soldier punched Grif's stomach, and he couldn't keep his attack up anymore. They separated once more and started to combat while standing up. Quickly they punched and kicked at each other. No one landed a blow, but it was intense. Blood and perspiration was dripping from both of their bodies.
Without realizing it, they were both putting distance between each other. They were circling, seeing which one wanted to make the next move. Neither wanted to, knowing that the only way to kill each other was to use a gun.
But something yelled out to them. And both soldiers turned around to see Doc, Caboose, Tucker, Wash, and Sarge standing on the hill. All five of them were preparing their weapons for battle, if you count Doc preparing his medical scanner too.
"Finally," Grif muttered, "It's about time."
Grif pulled away from the match and headed for cover. The Zombie Chic Soldier ignored him and was worried about the cavalry. In her state, she could take two soldiers easily, but three would be pushing it without outside assistance in the form of an AI construct. Six soldiers, including the one she was just beating up, was a death sentence.
Without even thinking about it, the Zombie Chic Soldier took a Frag Grenade and ripped the safety off in one hand. With excellent aim, despite her current condition, she threw it at a boulder that was coincidentally precariously balanced right in front of the opening of where the five new soldiers were. As planned, the Grenade stuck between the boulder and the cliff it was resting on, and it exploded. This caused the boulder to tumble down and seal the entry from this side of the Valley.
"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Grif called out when he watched the boulder fall. "No one can make that through!"
Only one soldier was fast enough to dodge the boulder. The Zombie Chic Soldier saw that it was a soldier wearing blue armor with yellow trim. Grif knew that it was Wash.
Agent Washington stared for a moment as he recognized Carolina's armor. But he wasn't surprised to see it. He knew it wasn't her. He saw her dead body with his own eyes. Whoever it was had stolen the armor from Command.
"Aw fuck!" Grif heard Tucker yell from the other side of the boulder. "We have to go around; it'll take a couple of minutes."
Grif was losing strength, and Wash could see that. Wash motioned for Grif to lie down and rest. It was a motioned that signaled that this was his fight now. He cocked his Battle Rifle.
The Zombie Chic Soldier noticed this too and quickly grabbed her own Battle Rifle.
"Are you Caboose?" The Zombie Chic Soldier screeched like a pig.
"Careful, Wash, that's a Zombie!" Grif warned with the last of his strength.
"That's not a Zombie, Grif. That's someone who's impersonating a Freelancer." Wash corrected him. And then Wash tried to bait the Impersonator by saying, "And what if I am?"
"Then I can't kill you, but I can definitely injure you critically, you bastard!" The Impersonator spewed.
Soon a firefight started between the two opponents. It was fascinating to watch as both soldiers seemed to elegantly dodge each other's bullets as they ducked behind rocks and the occasional tree. Both were rolling across the ground, sliding behind cover. They were almost exact equals.
"Even though they're trying to kill each other," Grif said, "this is pretty fucking awesome to watch."
Soon, as Wash and the Impersonator gained ground between themselves, they stopped firing. They abandoned their long distance weapons and were soon rolling around on the ground together like pigs. During that, they picked up weapons. Wash grabbed the blood covered knife, and the Impersonator picked up her SMG.
Clearly, she had the upper hand, even though she had taken more damage to her side. But they both pressed their weapons against each other's throats, seeing who had the stronger will. They couldn't see each other's eyes, but both pairs were filled with a black rage.
"What do you want from Caboose?"Wash asked through gritted teeth, his muscles pulling him away from her SMG.
"Personally, I want you dead." She croaked at him, still believing he was Caboose. The Impersonator was also trying to pull away from his own weapon. "But I need information on the AI you took."
Wash had taken several AI units in his life, so hopefully, he could distract her long enough for him or Grif to kill her. But something was off, something was eerily recognizable. Even though her voice was damaged, it sounded too familiar for comfort.
"Why do you need the information?" Wash muttered.
And then the Impersonator seemed to finally snap mentally in half and she screeched as loud as she could her answer. It sounded as if all life was dying in her shriek
"Because you were the one who caused everyone I know to die!" The girl shrieked as she pushed her SMG further into Wash's throat.
Finally, Wash remembered who that voice belonged to. He dropped his knife in amazement and just stared at her. Even with the armor on, he could clearly see who it was who held him at gun point.
"It can't be." Wash muttered to himself through her shriek.
And just as Agent West Virginia was about to pull the trigger, Wash saw as a dart was lodged between her helmet and chest plate. He instantly recognized what it was and watched Agent West Virginia fall to the ground, knocked out by the tranquillizer that Doc had just gotten in the last shipment.