AN: This update is up much faster than my usual once a week (or once every two or three weeks…) posting schedule, and thanks for that go to buttercups3, whose extremely prompt review after my three-week hiatus from posting prompted me to hurry the next update up a bit, and virgobeauty30, who didn't want to be left hanging and asked for a new chapter ASAP. This is as ASAP as it gets with me, folks. :-) If you see any errors, please be kind enough to let me know. I edited a LOT faster than usual. Also, it's really sort of half a chapter, since otherwise it would have been CRAZY long. Next half coming soon, from Charlie's POV!

Disclaimer: Still not mine, no matter how much of it I write. Also still making 0% money but having 100% fun.

Combustion

com·bus·tion
/kəmˈbəsCHən/

Noun
1. The process of burning something: "the combustion of fossil fuels".
2. Rapid chemical combination of a substance with oxygen, producing heat and light.

- Google Dictionary

Miles reflects, as he slogs across the power plant courtyard carrying his rifle in his right hand with an unconscious and surprisingly heavy Bass slung across his left shoulder, that maybe this isn't his best plan ever. He's tired, his shoulder hurts like hell, and it's nearly impossible to watch for threats, aim the rifle, and make a convincing show of threatening his unconscious hostage so that none of the Militia soldiers get cocky about rushing him.

Or hell, maybe he's just old and out of shape. Although if he'd been planning on picking a hostage in the first place, he really couldn't have made a better choice. Whether or not any of these soldiers actually like Bass, it's clear that they're all scared to death of what might happen to them if they're either directly or indirectly responsible for his death.

Jeremy and the twelve men with him - dammit, that's way more than the three he'd busted into the hallway with - are still following at a distance - a much closer distance than Miles would prefer - and he shifts to keep Bass's body between himself and any overly ambitious marksmen.

There's smoke and rubble at the wall by the side gate, and Miles feels the corner of his mouth turn up a little at that. Aaron Pittman might be next to useless in combat, but the ex-computer nerd had less give up in him than a lot of soldiers Miles had trained. Miles grunts, shifts Bass's dead weight a little farther across his back, and jogs toward the exit. He hears a couple of shouts from men near the wall, but there's an angry answering shout from Jeremy and no bullets come flying his way.

Which is just as well, because he'll fall flat on his face if he has to try to dodge anything right now.

The wall looms ahead of him, dust and smoke still rising from the rubble, and Miles has one hairy moment where he has to let go of the rifle and leave it slung over his shoulder to navigate a tricky patch. He looks over his shoulder and hisses out a short sigh of relief: the dust and smoke make enough of a screen to hide him from Jeremy and the soldiers.

Using both hands, he hauls Bass the last two feet out of the rubble - and nearly runs into Charlie, whose open-mouthed grin morphs into an even more open-mouthed expression of shock as she catches sight of Bass's body.

"Is that - ?"

"Yep," Miles grunts, jogging past and grabbing Charlie's arm to move her along.

"Is he - ?" She looks over at him as they move to catch up with the others, her blue eyes widening.

"Nope."

"What happened to him?"

"Me," Miles snaps, throwing a shoulder to shift Bass's weight. Maybe Charlie can carry on a conversation in full sentences while running and dodging obstacles, but she's twenty years younger than Miles, and she's also not carrying an extra hundred and eighty pounds. Miles spares a glance from the ground to check on the others - and comes to an abrupt stop as he nearly runs into Rachel, Danny, Nora, and Aaron, who have all turned toward him with the same open-mouthed stare.

It takes him a second and a half to realize that none of them are looking at him. Then he hears a high-pitched whine that rises in the air and up the back of his spine to the base of his brain, where it triggers a whole host of very visceral memories. He turns as the whine becomes a mechanical thrum, splitting the air in a rhythmic chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop.

And from behind the power plant wall, a Huey labors into view, hovering ponderously for a few seconds, thirty feet in the air, before dipping its nose and angling straight toward them.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years since anything manmade flew the skies, and the first thing up there has a big black "M" painted on the nose.

Eight years ago, Miles would have been proud.

Now, he's just really, really tired.

"Get down!" he roars over the whirl of the rotors. "Behind me! Now!" He grabs Charlie, the only one standing close enough, and throws her to the ground behind him. Then he draws his sword with his right hand and slides Bass's unconscious form off his shoulder - watch the leg - catching him with his left arm under Bass's left shoulder. The others have gathered behind him by the time he snakes his left hand up, grabs the back of Bass's hair, pulls his friend's head back, and raises his sword to his neck.

The helicopter just hovers thirty feet above them, waiting. Hopefully, there's someone up there who knows him, who will know better than to call his bluff. And hopefully, it's not Jeremy, because Jeremy would call his bluff. He spares a glance over his shoulder to make sure everyone's still there.

Aaron, Danny and Charlie, and Nora are all looking at the chopper with almost identical expressions of mixed wonder and terror. Well, actually, Nora's looking at the chopper like she wants to blow it up.

And Rachel...is looking at him. They lock eyes for half a second -

- and Miles tears his away at the rattle of the Huey's minigun. He raises the sword a little higher, planting his feet and making his threat abundantly clear.

The wind from the helicopter's blades whips Miles' hair into his eyes and flattens the grass around his little group as it descends another ten feet. Nora catches his eye with a question, angling her right shoulder and lifting the bomb. Miles holds her gaze - wait - and suddenly, the Huey banks around and buzzes back off toward the power plant, leaving the seven of them alone in the field.

In the wake of the chopper's rotor noise, silence falls.

Rachel breaks it.

"What the hell, Miles?"