A/N: This chapter was previously separated into chapters 3 and 4.
Ashes floated against the amber backdrop of the horizon, dancing in the updrafts as they spiraled toward the clouds.
Embers rose toward the sky as well, their red glow like so many ascending fireflies before blinking out. Farther along the updrafts faded and the ashes began their slow fall, the flakes weaving in and out amongst each other in a mournful ballet as their time grew short.
Below, a single figure stood along the crest of a ridge, tired blue eyes surveying the sky as the cinders fell like a sickly snow.
The ashen trail had appeared above the road and, at long last, Nickeli had followed it back Wto its source.
Laid out in the lowlands below him, a settlement smoldered in the morning sunlight.
Nothing stirred amongst the disorderly cluster of silver houses and it was apparent to the enlisted man that he had arrived far too late to bear witness to what had unfolded.
In a few buildings, long crimson fingers reached through windows and doorways as they were engulfed, but most of the fires had already burned themselves out.
He took a long breath, the bitter taint of burnt acrylic thick in the air. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Nick looked to the sky once more.
The heavens were still a bloody red, divided by clouds that sprawled out in long dark tendrils. To his eye, it seemed the sun hadn't shifted from where it sat on the horizon, the burning orange orb resting on a throne formed by distant hills, casting a baleful glare on the settlement below.
The corpsman trekked onward, pale grey dust rising around his boots. Brushing the papery flakes of ash from his hair, he eyed a stony trail that skirted the rocky ledge of the basin and began to walk along it.
The pathway was strewn with fallen boulders and crumbling washouts, the cumulative scars of years of neglect that he was careful to give a wide berth. The trail narrowed as it hugged the sheer face of one of the basin's walls, leaving Nickeli straddling a ribbon of earth only a few feet wide. Suddenly, a section of the earthen ridge gave way under his weight, and he stifled a curse as he quickly withdrew his foot, pressing his back against the rough stone.
Hastily crossing the remaining distance back to stable ground, he continued into a breech amongst the rocks where a pair of shabby chrome tenements sat, thick clusters of scraggly brush suffocating what little open ground remained and encroaching on the pathway.
Nick halted momentarily in front of one of the steel-colored structures. It looked nearly identical to the one he'd encountered along the gravel road, save for some weathering marks and a large 7 neatly painted in dark red lettering beside the door. However, unlike its counterparts in the valley below, the structure appeared to have been relatively untouched and bore only a few circular black pockmarks.
Suddenly, the almost complete silence was interrupted by a low, nearly inaudible murmur and corpsman then turned abruptly on his heel, eyes scanning the foliage from where he'd come with alarm.
For a tense moment, he anxiously stood at the ready—shifting from one foot to another as his heart began to throb in his ears. But the vegetation was still, and the only thing that could be heard was the hushed sound of his breathing.
Nickeli furrowed his brow in the direction of the undergrowth and subconsciously began massaging his right hand, having unknowingly clenched it into a painfully tight fist. Watching himself open and close the appendage several as blood began to color his whitened knuckles, he glanced around at the cracked granite walls to either side, searching for an explanation.
But when the cold stone faces of the cliffs offered no answer, his eyes fell back to the trail ahead of him, abandoning the anomaly as a phantom of the wind or his mind as he began walking.
As if aware that his back was turned, the ghastly moan rose from the shadows a second time, but now it had grown to piercing, guttural howl that sent an icy rush dancing up the medic's spine.
A gaunt black figure burst from the undergrowth as Nick turned, thrashing arms parting the twisted hands of the shrubbery that grabbed at it as it rushed by.
With another strangled shriek, the creature charged forward at an unstable jog; teetering from one side to the other with each uneven step, hollow azure eyes fixed on the corpsman at the other side of the small clearing.
The young trooper's hand went automatically for his sidearm, pulling the weapon from his thigh with practiced—albeit frantic—swiftness. Bracing his left hand under his right, he brought the intertwined appendages upward in a single, fluid stroke until they were level with his shoulder.
His index finger came down on the trigger and the weapon spoke, the sharp bark of the handgun breaking any semblance of peace. The first round went wide, the marine's aim thrown slightly astray by the heavy first trigger pull, but he quickly fired twice more.
The next bullet found its mark in the lower part of the creature's emaciated torso, piercing its dark, leathery skin next to one of its bulging ribs. The bullet's companion entered higher, the copper-coated slug cutting through the flesh below the ridge of the ghastly figure's collarbone, sending a cloud of black fluid and flaked metal spraying from its back.
Stumbling from the impact, the monstrosity lost its footing and met the ground face-first, giving an agonized wail as it skidded to a stop in the rough brunette soil. Clawing at the earth in an attempt to recover, there was a final, sharp crack and the silhouette fell still, a wide crater in the top of its cranium and a steadily growing black stain in the sand.
A few feet away hovered the curled muzzle of Nickeli's berretta, steel-colored smoke wafting from the barrel in a spiraling trail that rose a few inches before disappearing into the wind.
Wordlessly tucking the pistol back into its housing, he regarded the corpse spread out in front of him with a mix of disgust and bewilderment.
However, his reprieve proved to be fleeting, as no sooner had he secured the straps of his holster around the weapon then a second predatory howl rose from the same direction as the first, but a chorus of other shrieks and snarls signaled that this time, anything that emerged from the shadows would not be alone. For now the sounds were a distant calls, but he knew that was bound to change.
Surveying the various terraces and alcoves dotting the stone walls that formed a bowl around the clearing, Nick's keen eyes searched intently for movement but found nothing.
Seeing that the fragile peace would hold for the time being, the marine turned and continued on the trail. Ignoring the palpitations of his heart and the buzz of the lingering adrenaline as it slowly dissipated, he maintained a brisk but vigilant pace.
Walking for a few minutes, Vandas found that his eyelids seemed to slowly fall of their own accord and that it was becoming increasingly difficult to summon the will to open them again. It had been a little over twenty-six hours since he'd pulled his head from his pillow and now he was finally feeling it. The gradual heaviness of exhaustion slowly growing as if some invisible companion had been following him all morning, dropping a stone in his pocket for every moment that he remained on his feet.
The trail gradually descended until a familiar gravel lane bisected Nick's path and he rejoined it, eager to add more distance between him and whatever prowled the stony trail.
The road continued away from the ruination from which a plume of sable smoke and ash continued to rise, and Nickeli walked along the right side where the wheels and boots of countless travelers has made the grey stone flat and smooth, scanning the thick grass and rocky outcrops with soldierly suspicion.
However, just as the road upon which he walked gradually changed from stone to dirt as he traveled, so too did the corpsman's mistrustful disposition, and by the time the weathered lane had become little more than two parallel strips of sun-kissed earth divided by a narrow band of wild grasses, Nick was casually sauntering down the road with his hands tucked in his pockets.
Now some distance away from the settlement, the wind was cool and fresh, and casting a long look back over his shoulder, he realized he could longer see the pillar of slowly rising smoke. The trail he now followed ran along the edge of a precipice overlooking farmland below that was laid in golden stripes across the plains.
The low sun cast an ethereal glow across the terrain in a flood of amber that seemed to flow from the horizon like a river.
As Nickeli was absorbed by the view, his pace slowly slackened until he seemed to simply meander from one side of the road to the other through the median where the grass had been shortened by passing vehicles.
He'd seen his share of spectacular dawns in his twenty-one years; the soft rays of early sunlight creeping through the branches and leaves of the woods outside his home in the Midwest; the long, wavering reflections on the tides of North Carolina; the fingers of first light slowly filling the streets of a hundred Afghani villages, and the waking horizon of a million past sunrises raced by the corpsman's mind's eye, the images faded by the gentle erosion of time.
And once again, he found himself staring into a foreign horizon, alone and uncertain. A deep sigh escape the young trooper. He was exhausted—in every sense of the word.
Resuming his leisurely pace, Nick continued along the serine lane for a while, his thumbs still hooked in his pockets.
However, as the route bent away from the cliffs and became more choked with foliage on either side, there was a subtle but detectable change in the air that instilled a slowly growing sense of anxiety in him, though the reason why evaded him.
Finally, as he paused in a spot where the road dipped into lower terrain, the marine realized what was putting him ill at ease.
The thickly wooden slopes flanking the narrowed gravel street had fallen quiet. The chattering of the wildlife had been quashed and the hisses and hums of the insects no longer rose from the long grass and, hidden from the wind in the shallow basin, there was not even the rustling of the trees to pierce the heavy veil of silence that had fallen over the area.
His eyes now detecting the black streaks of movement darting along the ridges to either side, thoughts he'd pushed aside of the abomination now climbed with black talons from the dark recesses of his mind.
He walked in measured, steady strides as he mentally counted his ammunition, though he knew fighting would be futile as the sable phantoms grew more numerous.
Unable to withstand the torture of the feigning bliss any longer, Nick exploded into sprint, every fiber of his being straining in union to propel him forward as a ghastly hunting call rose from the hills and was answered by the howling of four other voices.
The heavy fall of his boots barely registering as fear and adrenaline drove him onward, and the fleeing marine could hear the thrashing of tree limbs and bushes as his pursuers tore through the undergrowth with animalistic determination.
The skeletal horrors quickly took to the smoother terrain of the trail behind him, their arms held at odd angles as they gave chase.
Seeing his escape at the bottom of a steep decline, Nickeli vaulted a tan sandstone boulder after a moment's hesitation and shifted his weight backward, jagged stones tearing into his pants and thigh as he dug into the terrain to gain traction and slow his descent.
The first of his hunters was not as perceptive however, and fell forward as it tried to run down the cliff face, hurtling passed its quarry and meeting the rocks below to the crunch of bone and cartilage.
The remainder of the creatures paused at the ledge, howling down at him for a moment before disappearing from sight to search for an alternate route.
At the bottom of the incline the corpsman's boots encountered level terrain, but the rest of his body was carried forward by momentum and he was thrown against the abrasive soil.
Nick's hand gripped at the side of his thigh as he rose from the ground, and the dusty tatters of his utility pants were already darkening with blood.
Pulling his hand away, he noted a sizeable cut where jagged stone had sank its teeth into him and there was the warm trickle of the crimson fluid as it flowed down the side of his knee and along his leg. The rocks may have barely cut past the skin, but it was agonizing nonetheless, and hot iron talons tore into his leg as he put his weight back on it.
Giving the fallen horror nearby only a brief glance to ensure it hadn't stirred, the private began walking, moving away from the base of the slope in uneven, labored steps.
Despite the difficulty, the corpsman marched through the gulch with his head held high and carefully surveyed the imposing sandstone walls, but they offered no exit. He had hastily fashioned a tourniquet out of his holster as he walked; pulling it up to cover the injury and torquing the straps to apply pressure until the flesh bulged around it.
While the pressure in itself was nearly as painful the injury, it slowed the flow of blood to a trickle that disappeared into the fabric of his pants and—perhaps more importantly—prevented him from leaving trail in the sand where he walked.
Nevertheless, he carried his pistol at his side and meticulously scanned the cliffs for the black silhouettes that he knew well enough now to dread.
Stumbling up one of the gulch's silty rises, Nickeli found the open horizon spread out in front of him as the canyon opened its wide mouth into a massive valley, at the bottom of which he could see the shale-colored walls of what looked like a quarry.
However, what the medic found more interesting was the looming silver spire that cast its shadow over the pit like a watchful sentry, and the rows of pale blue lights adorning the exterior glowed faintly against the day's orange light. If he could reach it, perhaps he could find out what the hell was going on.
Following the sandy channel, he found a suitable exit and began the strenuous task of pulling himself up the incline, and it took several minutes until he reached level ground.
Spotting a stout tree that sat stooped over a weather-worn boulder, Nick collapsed under it and reclined into the concaves of the smooth khaki stone.
Carefully easing the makeshift dressing off of his leg, he examined his wound.
The jagged gash sat near the middle of his thigh and ran a few inches up his leg. Though the bleeding had started to wane on its own, the climb had aggravated the wound and warm blood was again beginning to trickle down his leg in thick drops.
Picking up his blood-stained holster from where it was leaned against his knee, he pulled his utility knife from its sheath and carefully used the large blade to cut a strip of fabric from his shirt.
Folding the olive green cloth several times to create impromptu bandage, the medic placed it over the gash and grimaced as he reapplied pressure. Pulling one of the longer nylon straps from the holster, he wrapped the fabric band around his thigh twice and pulled it taut.
Easing himself to his feet, Nick gave a low groan as he tentatively put weight on his bad leg. Binding the wound had done little to abate the fiery pain, but at least it would stop the bleeding long enough for him to find something better to dress it with.
Stooping to collect his effects, he pulled his weapon and sheathed knife from his now useless holster and tucked them into his waistline. Patting down the other pockets to ensure he hadn't overlooked anything, he tossed it into the underbrush.
Rising to his feet, Nickeli began up the ridge; leaving behind the small tree and the blood-stained soil.
A while later, he found himself slowly marching along the median of a sunbaked dirt road, the sun overhead painting his shadow in inky black.
His wounded leg throbbed painfully each time he put weight on it, and his uneven gait betrayed the agony of each step.
The tan polyester strap cinched around his thigh was stained a rusty maroon and chafed at the raw skin where his utility pants had been shredded. The side of his leg was streaked with dried rivulets of blood that traced their way along the various folds and creases of his pants, uniting where his slacks met his boots to form a sizeable dark blotch on the outside of his ankle.
Regardless, the private first class continued his trudge, staring down with an unfocused gaze at the road a few meters in front of him and pushing away all sensations but that of the crunch of gravel underfoot. He willed away the feeling of sweat trickling between his aching shoulder blades. He willed away the sharp pain that came with each step as the dressing on his leg pulled at the edges of the wound. He willed away the feeling of gnawing doubt that reminded him of just how lost he was.
For a while he marched in this trance; his head bowed slightly and his wounded leg never fully coming off the ground.
However, when the corpsman finally slipped out of the stupor, he found himself squinting into the dull glare of sunlight reflecting off of sheet metal. Situated on a small rise adjacent to the dirt road was another one of the metal structures, similar, but not identical to the ones he'd seen before.
It was a squat, elongated building with a drab gray exterior that visibly bore the scars of exposure to the elements. The paint was faded, and even from a distance Nickeli could see places where bare metal peaked through. Following a pair of ruts left in the grass by the continual wear of a commuting vehicle, he snaked his way up the incline and toward the structure.
As he approached, the marine pulled his berretta from where he'd stowed it in the back of his waistband and let it hang by his side. There was an edge of caution to the way he stalked tower the top of the knoll. His steps were carefully measured and he had braced his right hand with his left, holding the weapon low, but at the ready. He'd seen no indication of trouble but, as his prior run-in had firmly established, he was in exceedingly unknown and dangerous territory.
The building's entrance came into view as he drew closer and, to his surprise, he found the door dented and pushed inward, leaving a breach large enough for a much bigger person than he to comfortably enter. He paused at the threshold, running his free hand over the warped steel of the doorframe as he pondered with awe-struck horror what could've been powerful enough to roll the two-inch thick steel door aside like the lid of a sardine can.
Peeking into the interior of the building through the gaping hole, Nickeli found only the heavy veil of darkness staring back. However, the stench of death assaulted his senses and he balked, drawing away from the entrance as his stomach churned at the smell.
Gulping in one last lungful of fresh air and taking care not to brush against the sharp metal of the distorted doorframe, he stepped into the shadowy chamber with his weapon at the ready.
A few beams of light sprouting from the doorway and windows pierced the blackness, but it took a few moments for shadowy forms to emerge from the darkness as the medic's eyes began to adjust.
Almost instantly, Nickeli found a supine figure on the opposite side of the small chamber, its neck bent upward at an unnatural angle against the wall and boots pointing toward the door. Drawing closer and falling on one knee to inspect the casualty more closely, he detected the faint odor of cooked meat and quickly surmised that the man was very much dead. He'd been hit in the stomach and nearly been cut in two, splaying the contents of his ruptured abdomen onto the dark carpet in a stinking heap.
Turning his gaze upward, the enlisted man examined the wall where the dead soldier would've stood. It was blackened and warped, and a few dark lines marked the path of molten metal where had it run down the wall and dripped to the floor. Casting a glance back at the gapping breach behind him, he tried to recall a weapon that might've caused the peculiar scarring but could think of nothing.
Rising with a small groan as his wound protested the movement, the private first class set about searching the rest of the building.
A few meters away he found a second corpse, this one perforated with wounds and crumpled near the foot of the couch he'd apparently been reclining on just before he was struck down.
Like the first man, this one wore a visored helmet and was encased in dark-colored plate armor that, however formidable looking, had failed to save him.
A crushing silence had reigned since Nick had stepped inside the building, amplifying the sound of his fluttering heart into thunder and the creak of the floor as he walked into the moan of one of those black abominations. A cold shiver ran down the medic's spine, putting the fine hairs on the back of his neck on end and he cast a wary glance over his right shoulder as if he expected to see a set of soulless azure orbs staring back.
Stepping around a partition, he found himself in the house's small kitchen. In the center of the room sat a metal dining table that had been hastily converted into an operating table. Atop it lay a single soldier, stripped to the waist and surrounded by the shredded packaging of sterile bandages and empty syrettes stained with bloody fingerprints.
The soldier's forearms hung in bloody ribbons, the skin and muscle torn away in long strips to expose splintered bone as if someone had stood over him and hacked away savagely with a meat cleaver. His face had endured a similar attack, his nose torn away and the flesh peeled away from one eye, leaving the gleaming orb in a fixed gaze at the ceiling. The rest of his features were similarly shredded and unrecognizable. However, Nickeli's discerning eye found no killing blow, meaning that the unfortunate soul would've been alive and possibly conscious as his comrades tried vainly to save him before he bled to death.
Try as he might, Nick couldn't keep his mind from filling the silence of the room with the anguished screams of the dying soldier.
A shudder roiled Nickeli's body, but he moved to the side of the table and inspected a dark blue satchel that had been left there. Rifling through the various pieces of equipment, he pulled out a cloth bundle and unfurled it across the top of the table, revealing an assortment of dressings and sealed foil packets.
The corpsman extracted several pieces of white gauze enclosed in clear cellophane and carefully set them aside. Going through the variety of other objects in the kit, one of foil packages caught his eye and he pulled it out, holding it up to the light for inspection.
It was no larger than a deck of playing cards and bore a bright red label adorned with white lettering and a small cross of the same color. Gelatin trauma dressing, the text read, and Nickeli turned it over to examine the instructions and details on the other side.
Taking care to ensure he hadn't overlooked anything, he gripped the edges of the foil envelope with both hands and pulled it open. The instructions had seemed pretty simple: tear off the seal and slather the gel on the injury.
Stealing a glance at the semi-translucent goo that clung to the inside of the packet, Nickeli set the open envelope on the table and began pulling apart the wrap on his leg. Spooling the bloody tan strap loosely around his hand, he tossed it aside and gently pulled away the scrap of fabric that sat on the wound.
The medic cringed as the blood-soaked cloth stuck fast and pulled at the edges of the wound, drawing a few dots of crimson from a tear in the freshly-mended skin. After nearly a moment more of careful labor, he successfully separated the bandage from his leg without further damage and tossed it onto the table next to the strap.
A series of gashes peeked through the hole in his right pant leg, surrounded by inflamed skin that had been rubbed raw and the long maroon stripes of crusted blood that ran down his leg along the lines of muscle and bone.
Sticking two fingers into the now open foil envelope, he scooped out a sizable glob of the cool, translucent salve and applied it to his leg, liberally coating the exposed skin of his thigh with a layer of the clear gel.
His skin prickled upon contact, and it felt as if ice water were being poured down the side of his leg. However, as he set about dressing the wound with the strips of gauze, he found that the burning sting and throbbing pain of the wound had abated, and by the time he finished applying the bandages he found that his leg felt entirely normal, aside from some residual stiffness or the occasional twinge of discomfort.
Ensuring the wrap wouldn't snag on anything or loosen as he walked, Nick quietly made his way out of the house without delay. There was something disquieting about the place. It was like the place seemed to revile the presence of the living and claim ownership for…something else. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but a sinister air hung over the place and the longer he lingered there, the more he wanted to be rid of the place.
Raising one hand to his brow to shield his eyes as he emerged from the cool darkness of the house and stepped back into the sunlight, Nickeli took advantage of the view the small rise afforded him and surveyed the horizon.
The thickets of trees and undergrowth were becoming increasingly scarce and were now regularly interspaced by fields crowded with rich, amber grain stalks that rose to just above knee height.
Farther down the road something was burning and, without a breeze to scatter it, the smoke it produced climbed toward the clouds in a dark, vertical column that seemed a sinister inversion to the silver tower that lay in the same direction.
Descending from his vantage point and stepping back onto the road, the marine, seeing no reason to do otherwise, set-out once again.
However, the sense of unease that had suddenly found Nick inside the deteriorating prefab didn't depart. Instead, it followed him—hiding amongst the rocks and creeping through the shallow drainage ditches as he walked.
In spite of this, he continued to progress toward the rising pillar of smoke, quashing the occasional urge to look back over his shoulder.
His mended leg handled the weight without protest, aside from the occasional, sharp prick of pain or the ache of tired muscles.
The road was now flanked on either side by thick hedgerows strewn with immovable boulders that projected from the earth and thorny vines that grew in clusters like tangled concertina wire. Ahead, the undergrowth constricted the narrow band of open ground further until it overran the edges of the road as the land rose to the top of a small knoll.
A weak stirring of the breeze carried the now familiar pungence of scorched acrylic to his nose, eliciting a cringe from the corpsman as he began up the small incline—the source of the ascending smoke undoubtedly somewhere on its crest. The odor wasn't as pronounced as before, but the slight wind was funneled down the avenue by the walls of vegetation on either side.
On the top of the hill Nickeli found that a number of small structures had been situated there roughly in the shape of an oval around a flat, central clearing. Despite appearing in a small range of sizes and shapes, each was painted the same tint of matte grey and bore a number stenciled onto the side in dark blue.
One of the buildings—adorned with the number 14 and sporting a long, narrow window that ran its length—was marred with lines of black fist-sized circles and heavy black smoke poured through the gaps in its slotted window cover.
On the far side of the clearing, a series of silver poles rose toward the sky and the marine froze as he drew nearer and realized they weren't simply antennas as he first believed, but spikes, each hoisting the contorted form of a dead body some fifteen feet into the air.
They were men and women alike—attired in shredded armor or the tattered remnants of civilian clothing. A cold shudder danced down the length of Nick's spine as if someone was running the edge of a cold steel blade down his back, and a primal fear in his mind urged him in the opposite direction. He strained his eyes to make out the minute details of the distant figures as one seemed to stir and he hesitantly drew closer.
Noting the scattered pools and splatterings of blood that dyed patches of soil red and maroon, he silently crossed the clearing and halted a short distance from the grisly, artificial forest of steel and flesh.
At the base of each spike sat a heavy-looking metal tripod that rose to his waist and the steel-colored pikes gradually tapered to a point. Nickeli peered upward—studying the canopy of limp bodies with grotesque fascination. Dark, thick blood ran down the shimmering metal pylons in numerous tiny rivulets and the air was thick with its faintly metallic tang.
Suddenly, there was the low shuddering of straining metal and one of the spikes plunged downward—compacting neatly into the base. The corpse that had been mounted on it raced to meet the earth as the projection suddenly retreated from its chest, and it met the top of the tripod with a wet thump. Tumbling off the rounded peak of the platform, the body was pitched face down into the dirt with one of its arms jutting out from underneath it at an unnatural angle.
The corpsman, having previously taken a few hasty steps back, drew a sharp breath as the prone figure began to move. Digging its fingers into the soil to gain purchase, the body clawed its way to its feet, its eyes filled with the same empty blue glow as the creatures he had encountered before.
Turning away from the monstrosity as it struggled to get to its feet, Nickeli bolted toward the nearest building, and the steel door nearly failed to rise fast enough as he sprinted inside. He'd counted nearly a dozen spikes and, having seen the handiwork of only a few off those creatures, knew better than to try and stand and fight.
The door closed behind him with a faint hiss, leaving him in darkness as the marine breathlessly tried to calm his palpitating heart. However, his relief was short lived as he realized he wasn't alone inside the cramped dwelling.
From the corner of his eye he picked out the form of a human standing amongst the shadows.
The stranger stood against the far wall of the small room—too thoroughly shrouded by the blackness for the corpsman's searching eye to distinguish any detail. However, what little light that did filter in through the shuttered window glinted off the barrel of a rifle leveled at his chest, and the enlisted man swallowed hard.
Slowly raising his hands until they sat in line with his armpits, he displayed his scuffed but empty palms to the individual holding him at gunpoint and suppressed a cough as his throat tightened.
The shadow and the marine stood in a silence that, too the latter, seemed an eternity as the sound of his thundering heart grew deafening. From behind Nickeli suddenly came the sound of flesh pounding steel as a husk tried to gain entry, and the pair both glanced in the direction of the door with equal concern.
Their gaze connecting once more, the soldier lowered their weapon and turned toward a previously unseen door, indicating for the corpsman to follow with a lateral jerk of the head.
Following the stranger into the adjoining room, the hammering at the entrance grew fainter as an interior door closed behind him and they stepped into a slightly smaller chamber. Though there were no windows, sunlight fell through an open skylight—placing a bright square on the floor and granting the rest of the room a dull illumination.
The soldier stepped into the light and gazed upward, off-white armor seeming to glow in the darkened interior. A feminine face and amber eyes studied the skylight for a moment before turning to the corpsman.
Her helmeted nodded upward meaningfully and she stooped slightly, intertwining her fingers and cupping them at groin level. Glancing at the opening, Nick gave a sharp nod and stepped forward.
Placing the toe of his boot into her waiting hands and momentarily placing a hand on her shoulder to brace himself, his hands quickly found either side of the metal frame of the open skylight and he hoisted himself through.
Hauling his torso through the opening, he struggled momentarily to pull himself up the rest of the way as aching arms protested the strain.
There was an unexpected upward push from below, lending the medic enough strength to get a knee through. Quickly clambering onto the roof, he turned back to the hatch.
Bracing himself with one hand, he lowered the other through the skylight and offered it to the soldier below.
Her cool, gloved palm locked around his wrist and he lifted her until she could secure a handhold of her own. Pulling herself to her feet, the woman gave a nod and made her way to the far side of the roof before dropping to the ground below.
Sticking close behind, Nickeli took the drop and landed hard, drawing a grimace as the impact aggravated his wounded leg. Stooping, the corpsman paused to inspect the mass of white gauze clinging to his thigh to ensure it hadn't been jostled loose.
A quick check revealed that it hadn't shifted, but he tightened it slightly for good measure before searching for his newfound companion.
He found her standing against the wall near the edge of the building with her rifle held tightly against her chest, and he quietly rose to his feet and took up position at her elbow.
Glancing at the medic as he joined her, the trooper turned and peered around the corner for a long moment, her fingers drumming against the foregrip of her weapon with nervous expectation.
However it seemed to Nickeli that whatever she'd been anticipating failed to materialize as a faint wave of relief stole the tension from her tight shoulders and clenched jaw. Letting the muzzle of the rifle she was clutching fall downward once again, she pushed herself off the wall and turned to the marine. "Come on,"
Her voice was hushed and hoarse, but it held the steady undertone of confidence. The corpsman offered a nod and withdrew his sidearm from where it was tucked into the back of his waistband. His stained and dirty palms closing tightly around the weapon's polymer grip, he pulled back on the hammer but refrained from disengaging the safety.
Following the woman as she pushed off the side of the building and started away from the cluster of buildings, the pair quickly vanished into the boulder-strewn undergrowth.