Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice

Halo: Feet First covers the story of a team of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers of the 7th Battalion, 105th Shock Troops Division. The main character, Duncan Iris, faces the full horror of the covenant war effort against humanity as well as the brave retaliation of outnumbered and outgunned UNSC forces. However, he also witnesses the turning of the tides as the war progresses.

152. Battle of Reach - Chapter 25 (Tutus)

Chapter 25 – Tutus

August 18th, 2552 - (10:34 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Eposz

New Alexandria, Csillagos éj Hotel

:********:

Erica held on tight to Noah while doing everything she could to pick up the pace, a tall order given their new situation. Mitchell was charging on ahead while Turner and Sára brought up the rear, leaving her in the safety of the middle. That also meant they couldn't go any faster than their weakest link and she was under no illusion as to who that was.

She wasn't getting so much as a chance to appreciate that they'd saved her son. She couldn't take comfort in having him in her arms or even pride in how he had managed to survive what few adults ever had, yet alone a child. All of that was left in the background of their more pressing need to disappear.

The hallways blended into an onrush of doors that passed by with every speeding step. The sound of their passage echoed around them, but the alien growls, squawks and jeers of their pursuers echoed from behind.

Seconds earlier the group had been forced out of the stairwell when they heard more Covenant coming, both from above and below. They emerged onto Floor 110 with the aim of reaching another stairwell on the other side of the hotel. They were making a run for the rooftop. Though Sára told them how dangerous it was, everyone else agreed it was better to take their chances out in the open. At least then they could hold out and maybe hail a passing aircraft, hopefully without getting the attention of anything with unfriendly intentions.

The threat at their backs had no intention of letting them get that far as Erica heard a door burst open somewhere behind them.

"They're right on us!" Sára cried.

"Keep going!" Mitchell said and charged on.

He led them through a gauntlet of corridors crowded with suitcases and other debris. Not wanting to trip, they hurdled over the obstacles with whatever swiftness they could afford.

Looking up, Erica spotted a point where the passageway they were in opened to a wide waiting area. It lay before the closed doors of a bar lounge, one of the hotel's largest and perhaps their best escape route. After clearing the run up to one of the entrances, Mitchell shouldered through the doors and searched the space with his shotgun.

"It's clear, come on."

Turner went in first with Sára second and Erica third. Mitchell shut the door behind them.

The lounge was a sizable two-story space. They had come out between the tables and chairs of the ground floor and under the overhanging shadow of the second. There was a bar on either side as well as on either level, each armed with an arsenal of glasses and bottles.

Mitchell led them towards the handful of exits on the other side of the room. They hadn't gotten halfway to them before heavy footfalls slowed their progress, culminating in two of the exit doors bursting off their hinges. Two figures thundered through the breach, blue armor smoking, spines rattling, cannons whining.

The entire lounge was set aglow by twin comets of plasma that raced towards the closest of the group.

Erica watched Turner move as if to jump aside only to vanish in an explosion of green light. She didn't get to scream as the blast spewed chunks of debris, punching Erica off her feet. She held onto Noah even as she crashed to the floor, shielding him against the fragments that sliced through her clothes.

She threw herself behind the nearest table with her son in hand. More plasma flew overhead, heating up the air into a singing turbulence. It crashed into the way they'd come in, battering the wall and blowing open a doorway. Burying Noah's head into her chest, she tried to shield him from the storm of flaming shards as she searched for the others.

Sára was huddled behind a table a few meters to her right. She didn't dare peek her head out to fire back or to make a run for one of the exits across the way. Mitchell, however, was off to her left, unloading his plasma pistol from behind one of the second floor's support columns. The green bolts splashing against the shields of the Hunters were nothing compared to what they were dishing out. One continued to engage even when the other wasn't, creating a continuous bombardment as they used their cannons to burn out the group. Mitchell's resistance eventually gained him their full attention. He rushed away as an incoming volley evicted him from his cover. The column blew into fiery splinters while he slid behind a nearby bar top.

It suddenly struck Erica harder than the explosions going off around her. Turner. The Hunters' first shot hadn't been aimed at her friend but at her and Noah. Turner had merely jumped in the way. She had saved them.

"Where's Turner!?" Sára asked.

Erica didn't answer. She couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she looked her in the eye and shook her head.

There was no room to mourn as the room itself was gradually set ablaze by a barrage of green detonations. The Hunters groaned and bellowed with each blast, never allowing even a second of peace.

"Is Noah still with you!?" Mitchell called.

"Yeah, I got him! Are these the same Hunters from the ballroom!?"

"Doubt it! Those things don't move that fast! Unless they caught a dropship up here, this must be another pair!"

Erica winced at the idea of multiple Hunters prowling around in her hotel. "How do we get out of this!?"

"There's no way forward from here! If they know which way we're going then we'll have to ditch the roof! Is there anywhere we can go that's closer!?"

In the middle of the hurricane of exploding tables and steaming air, Erica struggled to think. She ran through every room and every passageway that she could remember. There was nothing, nowhere else for them to run, or so she concluded at first. An intrusive thought told her otherwise. The idea saved her from the edge of despair only to dangle her right above it.

There was somewhere else they could go but it could very well take them through hell and back to get there.

"There's a safe room!" She shouted. "Floor 121! It's a steel reinforced space that even these things would have a tough time burning through!"

"I always heard rumors about there being a bunker here or something, but I didn't know it was true!" Mitchell replied.

"There's one in every Csillagos, company secret! They're only supposed to be used for important VIPs!"

"We're the only VIPs!" Mitchell ducked as a bolt from the Hunters struck the bar, blowing sizzling shards of wood and glass across the room. "Where specifically on 121!?"

"It's in the northern wing by the clinic, I can take us to it! Once we get there, I'll have to see if I can get us in through the front door!"

"What do you mean you'll have to see!?"

"Don't worry about that! Right now, we just need to leave!"

"There's an exit on our side but we can't make that!" Sára pointed out.

Almost emphasizing her point, a plasma explosion tore through the several meters of open space that stood between her and the closest exit.

Mitchell turned to the one right behind him. "Alright, there's some cover on my side! Try coming to me! Stay low!"

Erica knew she had no hope of pulling it off with Noah in tow. She had to put him down. She raised his head to get his scared and confused attention.

"Noe, listen to me. I'm going to need you to crawl, okay? Crawl right to Mr. Mitchell. Can you do that for me?"

They both tensed at a giant bolt of green that zipped a meter overhead, prickling their skin as it blasted further into the room.

Though hesitant, Noah nodded grimly. She quickly put him down and he scampered off. Despite his size, or perhaps because of it, he moved faster than either she or Sára could. In no time at all she lost sight of him in the maze of furniture.

The agitated growl of a Hunter was echoed by the growing whine and high-pitched bellow of a cannon. Erica saw the tables in front of her ripped to pieces by a flash flood of plasma. She reeled from the heat and bumped into Sára as she came up behind her.

Righting herself, she immediately looked out to the emerald inferno ahead, searching the graveyard of wrecked furnishings. "NOAH!"

"I got him!" Mitchell said.

Peering beyond the flames, she spotted Mitchell pulling her son up by the arm, dragging him away from the fire as fast as he could. He was okay.

She breathed easier. There was no chance for relief yet. There was still a wall of flames between her and escape. Not so in the other direction.

Mitchell returned behind the bar and put a dazed Noah on his back, letting him cling to his shoulders like a koala. "You've got to go the other way! Wait for a gap in the shooting!"

Erica shook her head, not wanting to leave them. Yet that much was clear that she had no other options.

"MOM!" Noah cried.

Seeing him so far away left her paralyzed. She bit her lip, stunned that losing him again had really been that easy.

"Stay with Mr. Mitchell, honey! I'll see you in a few minutes, okay!? Just stay with him!"

"Don't worry!" Mitchell replied. "I'll make sure he gets there!"

Erica was forced to take his word for it. With Sára urging her to follow, she ripped herself away from the scene and crawled in the other direction. They reached the point where the tables faded out into a stretch of open ground before the nearest exit. There they waited, enduring the percussive fury of plasma blasts both near and far until they had timed it just right.

In between the moment that one Hunter ceased firing and the other was preparing, the two of them made a run for it.

For Erica, the most agonizing several seconds of her life saw her lock eyes with one of the Hunters. It was already looking her way. Its cannon wasn't. Regardless, it tried to reorient itself for a better shot even as Sára charged into the door. Her weight and speed broke the locks and she sped out of the lounge, leaving Erica running after her.

Before she was out, she heard one last shout: "MOM!"

She peeked back and saw Noah disappear as Mitchell raced out of the other exit.

She prayed. To God, to chance, she prayed a single word that carried the full burden of her soul, too soft for Sára to hear but loud enough perhaps for some higher power.

"Please."

:********:

Mitchell's escape was fraught at every point by the relentless chase of his Covenant pursuers. The moment he escaped the lounge and into the hallways, he heard footsteps coming after him, rapid and precise. He redoubled his own and found his way to a staircase.

Noah held onto him through each step. He'd been quiet the whole time. Mitchell didn't have the luxury of worrying if he was okay. So long as he was holding onto him, his sole focus was on getting them out alive.

He barreled up the stairs, leaping up two or three at a time in a bid to outrun the threat. The route to Floor 121 was straightforward but also straight up, taking him from one long flight to another. In his increasingly haggard thoughts, the steps seemed to go on forever. He briefly wondered if he had entered some personal hell where distant monsters screeched for his blood while he could hardly outrun them. All that while knowing that the worst wouldn't be reserved for him alone if he was caught.

He steeled himself against the temptation to crack up. He needed to get Noah to safety. He needed to get him back to his mom. It was a plan he was going to make good on, no matter what came his way.

His legs felt like jelly when he reached the final landing before a door marked '121'. He still had the power to kick it open and spring on through.

He came into an empty hallway riddled with plasma scoring and looted suitcases. No bodies. He took the last one as a good sign. He used a row of outlooking windows to get his bearings. He oriented himself to the north, listened out for sounds of movement then took a running start down the hallway. A three-way awaited him at the end. He held his plasma pistol at the ready, pulling up his shotgun as well. If he found anything then either hand would be ready to kill.

He reached the end and righted into the three-way, though his brain acknowledged too late the approach of rapid footsteps and the shadow that collided into him. The impact knocked him off his feet and he felt Noah go flying. He crashed down onto his side, wincing as he came face to face with an equally stunned and equally surprised Skirmisher.

The scramble was instant.

The Skirmisher reached for its fallen needle rifle. He did too, seizing the barrel and pointing it away just as a discharge ricocheted off the roof. His other hand reached around for his plasma pistol but a swipe from the Skirmisher knocked it out of reach. He used the opening to knee it in the stomach, earning a raucous cough from the alien. He ignored the spittle that spattered his face as he saw it rising to its feet, hooked a leg around its heel and pulled, yanking it back to the floor for a quick punch to the jaw. The blow sent a lance of pain up his arm but dazed his foe long enough for him to reach for his shotgun. Before he could bring it to bear, a clawed hand caught it mid-swing. Like he was doing with its rifle, the Skirmisher used all its strength to keep the barrel of the M45 away from it. He could sense the strain in its eyes and saw in them a mirror of his own struggle. Their shared desperation frothed into a determined shriek from the Jackal that was answered by a defiant shout from Mitchell. Again, he delivered a powerful knee to its stomach, earning another pained screech which was silenced by the sound of its jaw scything into his shoulder. Then it was his turn to scream.

The teeth dug into him like small daggers that threatened to sink even deeper as they locked into place. Despite crying out, he forced his shotgun closer to its chest, the weapon taking on a violent vibration as it became the epicenter of two contesting wills. A new epicenter arose as the Skirmisher held fast and simultaneously pushed its own weapon closer. Mitchell fought against it but his attacker bit down more furiously, shifting its teeth through his skin every time he resisted. The pain became too much and his headway with the M45 was slowed if not stalled. The needle rifle met less and less resistance. Every second its beaked barrel edged closer; a flash of pink would glance off the floor. Each shot came nearer, always ricocheting or embedding into the ground. Then in a rush of opposing strength he found himself looking right down into the dark eye of the weapon. Its sudden glow gave him a second wind.

Another knee caught the alien in the groin. Though he wasn't sure how their anatomy worked, he was happy to see it falter. He used his grasp on the rifle to yank his opponent closer and headbutted it as hard as he could. The creature winced but refused to give up its hold on his shoulder. He got what he wanted though once its gun arm weakened, enabling him to push it back, only for his own strength to falter at the last second. He saw the rifle racing back towards him faster than he could react.

Rather than a painless shot to end it all, he felt the Skirmisher bite down even harder as it screeched in pain. It unexpectedly released his shoulder and whipped around to its newest attacker.

Mitchell was shocked to see Noah there. The little boy had his full weight on the handle of a knife that was half-buried in its leg.

The Skirmisher shrieked at him. He flinched and stumbled back, crawling away as fast as he could.

Mitchell used the distraction to yank the rifle out of its hand and flip it into his. The alien whirled back around right on time to take the full brunt of his fire. It screamed at several pink crystals that stabbed into its armor, reeling back with each shot. It lost its grip on the M45 which he immediately swung into place and fired, unleashing a barking blast that tore through its chest. The roaring buckshot struck the needles and a blast of pink shards ripped it to shreds.

It took him a minute to catch his breath. He spotted Noah further down the hallway. He'd crawled far in just a few seconds and was sitting with his back against the wall, breathing hard. With the combat knife held in a death grip he looked to be on the verge of a panic attack.

Mitchell ran to his side, just as amazed and grateful for what the kid had done for him as he was worried. "Hey, hey you okay!?"

Noah didn't say anything.

He traced his hollow-eyed stare to the bloodied blade. He held out his hand. "Come on, hand it over."

Noah didn't seem to hear him at first. Then slowly and unsteadily he gave him the knife. Mitchell cleaned it off on his pants and slid it into his belt. He still didn't have time for a comforting word, although he could think of few that would help. He took Noah and hoisted him onto his back again. Making sure that he was hanging on and that their way was safe, he hoped the Skirmisher had been working alone.

It appeared to have been on its own when he ran into it, or at least it was until he heard the loud bang of a door swinging open. It had come from the same stairwell he had used earlier. Squawks and screeches followed.

Mitchell took his plasma pistol with one hand, secured his shotgun under his arm and moved with all haste to the floor's north wing.

:********:

Erica was worried beyond belief. There was no sign of Mitchell yet or of her son. Their window of opportunity was closing despite her and Sára having already reached their destination. They had the advantage of only having to carry themselves. Mitchell was saddled with a whole other person. As a hefty man, that could have slowed him down even more, perhaps enough for the Covenant to catch up. The horror of that possibility wasn't lost on her as she flitted her gaze between her datapad and the space in front of her.

A seated waiting area stood before the way to the safe room. Several rows of chairs were arrayed facing the glass door of a clinic. A host of the hotel's resident medical practitioners would have been ready and waiting there for patients from the Csillagos' clientele. Now their offices were dark and the door was locked. There was no one at the long receptionist desk that extended from one side of the room to the next, acting as a barrier between the clinic and the waiting area. No one except for Erica and Sára. The two of them had taken refuge behind it whilst the former typed away at her pad. The latter kept her eye on an inconspicuous section of wall near the entrance to the clinic.

"It's not opening." Sára whispered.

"Give me a sec." Erica tried her hand again at the user interface for the safe room. Her personal schematics and knowledge of the hotel was better at telling her where it was than how to get in. Her credentials allowed her device to pick up on its signal once she got close. The interface, however, was proving less than welcoming.

Adam Schaefer, her boss, would have had the access code for sure. His rank made him privy to it. There was no such guarantee for her. As a mid-level manager, she was required to log onto the Csillagos' brand website in order to submit a formal request for the code. A request that could be granted either in the next few minutes, hours or days. She didn't know for certain since she had never had to use it before. Not for the first time in her life, an intersystem commercial bureaucracy was a potential thorn in her side. Today it left her dumbfounded that there was no other faster means for someone to get access to the hotel's safest spot. Especially in the middle of an emergency, particularly in the middle of a war.

Her sluggish connection to the building's online portal was not helping either. She switched regularly between checking the progress of her request and trying her luck at the safe room's six-digit interface. Each time her best guess was greeted by a flash of red on her screen and the erasure of her last attempt. After her twelfth failure she was tempted to give up.

Tempted but not deterred.

She tried again, pulling up whatever numbers she could think of that held some relevance to her branch, ID numbers, area codes, anything that might help.

"Erica?" Sára called.

"Hold on." She replied. "I think-"

A light beep emitted from her pad. She shifted to the hotel portal which flashed her the best message she could have asked for: 'New Alexandria under Category 1 Emergency – Safe room_1 Priority access under expedited review (APPROVAL IMMINENT)'.

It was something.

"Erica?"

She checked up on Sára, saw her looking past the desk and peeked for herself.

A door slid open on the other end of the waiting area. Mitchell stormed in, carrying Noah on his back. He spotted them at the desks and hustled over.

"They made it!" Sára cheered.

Erica thought the same thing, yet the look on his face made her doubt that.

"I wouldn't be so sure." He groaned as he skirted around the edge of the desk. "There were a ton of them on my tail. They probably know which floor I came out on."

"Then they're not far behind." Erica realized, putting her pad aside as Mitchell handed over Noah. She noticed he was pale as he latched onto her. She hugged him close. "Don't worry, you're safe, alright? You're safe."

"Might not have time to explain it but he saved my life back there." Mitchell said.

That came as a surprise to Erica. She wanted to ask him what he meant when he went to examine the wall where Sára was.

"What's the situation with the safe room?"

"Still working on it, should take a few minutes." Erica reached for her pad and eyed the priority message on the screen.

"We don't have a few minutes."

"I know." She slipped the device into her pocket and bent down to sit Noah behind the desk. "Stay here, okay honey? Stay right here, don't move unless I come to get you, alright?"

"...Okay."

She didn't like how spaced out he was, or that his voice was barely above a whisper. With what Mitchell had said about him saving his life, she wondered to herself what new horrors he must have seen. She wanted him to survive. More than that, she wanted him to survive with some semblance of his childhood innocence intact. Even that seemed to be too much to ask as he watched her pull out her sidearm and work the slide.

"We'll have to hold out until I get the code. Think we can manage that?"

Mitchell considered it and shook his head. "Depends."

"On?"

"How long it takes," He gestured to the two entrances on the opposite side of the waiting area. "And what decides to come through those doors in the meantime."

"And we can't control any of those." Sára sighed.

"No, but we can compensate." Mitchell took some idea in stride and jogged out from the desk.

"What're you going to do?" Erica asked.

"Just cover me. Sára, give me a hand with these chairs."

Hesitant, Sára followed him. Together, they began grabbing chairs and hauling them towards the doors. With Mitchell taking the lead, they tossed them at the threshold.

Erica was quick on the uptake. From then on, she got herself a good position at the desk and kept watch. Meanwhile, Mitchell and Sára continued to dismantle the rows one chair after the next. The twin barricades grew into sizable obstacles for anything wishing to use the entrances.

At length, the working duo took a step back to survey their labor.

"That'll keep them back for a bit." Mitchell declared. "A few plasma grenades might do the trick though. Let's hope whatever comes here isn't smart enough to figure that out too fast."

Sára let out a long exhale. "Let's hope."

"Mom?"

Erica peered down at Noah.

He was watching her with an exhausted leer that sleep wouldn't remedy. "Where's Ms. Turner?"

The question startled her more than their predicament. Noah, he hadn't seen what happened. Her tongue locked up, trying to arrest itself from the lie that rolled out of her mouth anyway.

"She went looking for another way into the room we're trying to get to. Don't worry, she'll be back."

Rather than ask her when specifically like his normally curious self was always inclined to, he accepted her estimation with a slow, distant nod. It worried her.

Mitchell and Sára retreated to their own positions behind the desk. Now the three of them had an open range over the whole waiting area. The enemy would get more than they bargained for if they tried their luck at getting inside.

It didn't take long for them to hear the first footsteps. They were thankfully lighter than those they'd heard from the Hunters. Some were fast. Others were slow and ambling. The squawks of Jackals were joined by the high-pitched, idle chat of Grunts. Lastly, the deep and commanding voice Erica had learned to associate with Elites also came from beyond the entrances.

"Sounds like an Elite or two's out there." Mitchell put his plasma pistol within reach. "If you see one, forget the others and focus on it. I'll handle the shield."

"Got it." Sára replied with a shakiness that Erica had never noticed before, because it hadn't been there before.

She held her breath and prepared for the fight of her life.

The door sensors still worked and both entrances slid open. The patrolling shadows on the other side were stopped cold by the barriers of chairs. There was a deep growl from an Elite. Sára tensed by a minute degree that Erica managed to pick up on.

A burst of plasma fire made all three of them tense. The barriers lit up with flashes of green. The bellow of an unintelligible command brought a halt to it. There was more movement then silence. A low hiss filled the air followed by the distinct whine of a plasma grenade.

An azure explosion blew out part of the barrier on the leftward entrance, tossing pieces of chair debris into the ceiling.

"Figured it out faster than I would've liked." Mitchell grumbled.

More low hisses sounded from the entrances, succeeded by the growing whines and echoing roars of plasma detonations. Several was all it took to rip both barriers to pieces.

Erica ducked as a large piece of debris flew over her head and splintered off the wall.

Mitchell steadied himself with his M45, his plasma pistol ready to be drawn from the desk. "Boss!?"

Erica snuck a glance at her pad. The screen hadn't changed. Neither had the message. "Not yet!"

The aftermath hadn't cleared before the first shadows broke through the haze. A batch of Grunts surged forward.

While they were the first into the fray, Sára was the first to fire. The lead Grunt spiraled back as its right eye blew out the back of its head. Ignoring the fallen, the others ran on with suicidal abandon. They assaulted the desk with wild screams and wide shots from their pistols.

Erica led her own shots slightly ahead, catching one of them with a bullet to the ribs. The first slowed it, the second killed its momentum and the third killed it outright. Another Grunt ran ahead of it and streamed a trigger-happy burst at her. She ducked low but fired over the desktop, both her and Sára bracketing it for a moment then cutting it down with a head high volley.

The bark of the M45 taxed the closest Grunt with a toll of half of its stomach. The rest of it crashed to the floor in a bloody ruin. Ensuring none of them reached the desk, Mitchell swiveled to the next. Plasma bolts raced past his head while buckshot bit through his attacker's, hurling the last Grunt off its feet.

It hadn't hit the ground before the replacements streamed inside. They were so fast that what they were was entirely lost on Erica, leaving her confused and terrified by the shower of pink crystals that shattered around her. She ducked further behind the desk. Beside her, she saw Noah had folded in on himself and wrapped his head in his arms.

"Skirmishers!" Mitchell yelled. "Watch your aim!"

The sight of her son hiding for his life pushed her to act. She braved the tempest of flying needles to do what needed to be done. Her shots went wide at first as the gray-armored Skirmishers maneuvered from left to right with the dexterity of ice skaters. Their split-second stops and speedy reflexes allowed them to dodge and weave past her best attempts. Their seeming invincibility was shattered, however, after a lucky shot from Sára caused one of them to stumble. It fell to its knees then screeched from a few shots to the back. Erica unloaded into it until the last round cut through its throat, silencing it for good.

Out the corner of her eye she spotted Sára bowing back behind cover to shield herself from a torrent of blue plasma. A blue-armored Elite dashed into the room, lighting up the desk with unnerving accuracy.

"Elite!" Mitchell called out. Switching his shotgun for the plasma pistol, he charged an overloaded bolt, stood up and let it rip.

The green blast soared over the frenzy of Skirmishers to catch the Elite square in the chest, tossing it back a step. Both Erica and Sára set their sights on it. The largest of the aliens was greeted by a concentration of fire that pierced through its unshielded armor. It got the picture after taking a few to the stomach and dashed backward, firing and backpedaling with an elusiveness that only the Skirmishers could rival. It passed through one of the doors and leapt out of range.

The three of them were so focused on killing the Elite that they had almost entirely missed the approach of a second. It sped in from the other entrance. Unlike everything that came before, it made a beeline for the desk, heading straight for Erica's side.

It scarcely gave her a chance to reply to a downpour of suppression fire that forced her to take cover. Bursts of green bolts answered the blue as Mitchell tracked it, running down the length of the desk in a race to its less defended side. Battering the creature's shields, he had passed Erica and Noah by the time he lost the race. The Elite vaulted over the desk and came charging at them, its plasma rifle issuing a ferocious spray that seared the air around them. Mitchell ran to meet it, countering the fiery rain with an umbrella of dogged fury as he raised another overloaded bolt and released it.

The blow punched the Elite back a meter. Its energy shields fizzled away. Mitchell pulled up his shotgun and fired through nothing but air as his target, more enraged than dazed, dodged aside. Several rapid strides got it back on course along with a plasma burst that proved precise.

Mitchell gasped as several bolts stabbed him in the stomach.

The Elite didn't let him scream. It closed the distance between them with a bellowing roar and a metal boot that lightninged into his chest. Bones snapped. Blood spewed out of his mouth as he crashed to the floor.

The Elite charged on. Erica was already on her guard. Despite the close calls that flashed by fer face, fear, horror and rage steadied her aim as well as Sára's.

Six rounds found their mark. Three to the chest, two to the throat, one in its helmeted head. The last one whipped it off its feet and it collapsed under its own momentum. Blue blood quickly pooled beneath it.

Noah scurried away from it and right then Erica realized how close it had come to him. A second longer and Noah would have been within arm's reach.

The sound of crystals crashing nearby reminded her that there were still other threats in the room. She sighted the purple sphere on the Elite's belt. Without thinking, she grabbed it and launched it as far as she could into the waiting area.

It bounced between some of the Skirmishers who immediately backed off, none daring to get too close. Then it hit her around the same time that it hit them: she hadn't activated it. Not that she knew how to. The Skirmishers shrieked in mock delight and a few of them ran brazenly forward. They were too brazen for their own good as Sára spent a trio of rounds on the device, the third striking and setting it off. Two of the Skirmishers were consumed in the blast. Their ruined remains splattered across the floor. The others thought twice about advancing and decided against it, settling for their original tactic of evasion and suppression.

Erica tuned them out once she spotted Mitchell. Somehow, he had gotten back on his hands and knees and was struggling to get up.

"Erica!" Sára shouted.

"I've got him!" She crouched over to his side and hooked an arm under his. The second she did, it earned her a harsh coughing fit that spattered her in blood.

"Mitch!? Mitch, you still with me!?"

He raised his head as if to nod. It came back down in a retching cough. His wounds stole her attention. Steam wafted from several charred holes in his shirt that glowed ominously. A sinking feeling took hold of her. She wondered if he was going to make it. Moreover, with him out of action, she felt more exposed than she ever had before.

She kept him low while she helped him back to where Sára was. She was the only one holding the line and was hard-pressed by the amount of return fire. Still, she let off a shot when she could to discourage any more of their attackers from getting too close.

Erica witnessed the moment that Noah saw what had become of his good friend. The look of horror went beyond description.

"Don't look, honey." Was all she could say.

Noah didn't listen and the cost was his eyes glazing over.

"I'm getting you out of here, Mitch, you hear me?" She promised.

The only reply was a wheezing gasp.

As soon as Erica laid him down, she felt her pocket vibrate.

It was her datapad.

It was out of her pocket and in her hand in a blink. The message on the screen was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen:

'Safe room_1 – ACCESS GRANTED'.

One-handed, she seized the provided access code and typed the six life-saving digits into the interface.

A loud hiss turned them around to the wall. A vertical seam appeared from which two doors slid apart, inching back then retracting from the mouth of a dark passageway.

A second hiss came to ear, lower than the first. It grew in pitch to a violent thunder that reduced a distant part of the desk into an eruption of wood and electricity.

"Go!" Sára insisted. "I've got your back!"

Erica took her word for it. She ushered Noah to his feet, hooked Mitchell's arm over her shoulder and got them both moving. The doors pulled fully aside to reveal the lightless corridor ahead. Well-lit or not, Noah careened inside. Erica and Mitchell came next amidst a storm of snapping crystals and sizzling plasma. Sára brought up the rear. After fumbling a bit with her last magazine, she slid it home and shot at everything that moved, missing most but keeping the Covenant from getting a stable line of sight. Her task was made nigh impossible after a new squad of Grunts, Jackals and Elites spilled into the room.

While Sára sprayed and prayed, Erica pressed a button on her screen that reactivated the doors. A mechanical rumble got them moving. They slid back with sufficient speed to keep the growing plasma storm from catching them in the back. In seconds they shut in place. Over a dozen interlocking security mechanisms clicked together like metal teeth. A final hiss from the gears signaled the end of the fight but not the end of the lockdown procedures.

The illumination of Erica's pad was their guiding light. It showed them the depths of their refuge and that it was not in fact their refuge. It was little more than a long corridor with titanium walls and flooring. Their eyes adjusted to the dim lights that lined the ceiling from one end to the next. The last one revealed an iron door that stood like a disturbed figure in a dark alleyway, an alleyway that was quickly closing.

Another pair of metal doors slid from grooves in the walls behind them, hiding away the entrance. The next pair appeared even closer. It caused them to perceive at last that the whole passageway was lined with grooves and slowly closing doors.

"It's sealing itself off." Erica warned. "Come on."

The comparatively sluggish advance of the barriers gave them the advantage, albeit a minor one.

The four of them jogged, ran and hobbled past the encroaching restrictions that sealed shut at their backs. One of them would have come close to clamping on Mitchell's heel had Erica not seen it in time to yank him forward.

They reached the door at the very end right as the final barrier locked into place behind them. Erica grabbed the door's long handle and gave it a light tug. A subtle click left her a measure of relief. She pushed. It was too heavy. She tried pushing with her shoulder. It was still too heavy.

"Let me help." Sára said and braced her own shoulder against the door. On the count of three, they tried together. The door moved an inch but no further.

Something came out of Mitchell's mouth, whether a whisper or a wheeze, Erica couldn't tell. All the same, the chef raised a trembling arm and pushed alongside them. The door moved further though not where they needed it if they were to get it all the way open. A last tinge of force was required.

Noah provided it. He pressed both his head and palms against the door and gave it everything he had. It was enough.

The door's resistance gave way before the combined effort. It yielded ground one inch at a time until it was fully open. They stepped into the darkness on the inside and put their backs into shutting the door, adding one more barrier between them and everything that wanted to kill them.

:********:

Lights switched on and the safe room was pulled from the darkness by a dim gray illumination.

It was a small space, perhaps enough for a dozen people to sit around on the floor. That appeared to be all they could do. There was no furniture, no chairs, no tables, nothing but gray walls and dark carpeted flooring. It did come with a refrigerated storage unit in a corner of the room. Erica assumed it was full or gave it her best guess that it was. They would need it if they were going to survive.

There was a second room that was curtained off from the first. It was smaller and equally featureless. Nevertheless, it suited her purposes just fine. She led Mitchell inside and closed the curtains behind them. She helped him to the floor which immediately commenced a subtle transition from its initial gray to a dull red.

His breathing was erratic, a mix of haggard breaths, long wheezing and violent coughing fits. Erica comforted him how she could. Her priorities fell to searching the accompanying schematics on her datapad for the safe room's amenities. She sniffed out a hidden compartment connected to the second room that contained special supplies. A press of the icon carved a new seam out of the nearby wall. Something like a set of drawers slid out of them.

"Sára, check for towels...and biofoam if they have it."

"On it." Sára moved in and rummaged through the inventory.

Erica peered over her shoulder at Noah. He was standing half into the doorway, watching quietly.

"Noe, get me some water bottles out of the storage unit outside."

Noah didn't respond. She could tell he was spacing out again.

"Noah."

"Ye-, yeah?"

"Did you hear me? Get some water bottles out of the storage-, the cooler-looking thing in the other room. Make sure they're not too cold."

"...Okay."

He hurried off.

After an instrumental of investigative clatter and a background of groans from Mitchell, Sára came back with a handful of towels and, most fortunately, a canister of biofoam.

Erica took a few of the towels and gestured to the canister. "You know how to use that thing?"

Sára shook her head and handed it over. Erica put it aside while Noah came back carrying a couple of bottles. A few were icy. She had him set them on the floor and only handled those that were room temperature. She poured them onto her towels to get them soaked. Sára followed her example.

Having what they needed for the first step, Erica shook her patient gently by the shoulder. "Hey, stay awake, you hear me? Stay with me."

Up to that point Mitchell had been fighting to keep his eyes from shutting. Enduring the obvious pain, he cracked them back open.

His voice fell to a tired whisper. "I'm here."

"Good." Sighing at what she knew had to be done, she gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Listen, I'm going to have to do a few things. It's going to be a bit painful, but it'll keep you going."

Mitchell turned his head to her with the ease of a rusty nail, then passed her. Erica looked back again at Noah. He was still in the doorway, watching.

"Noe, I need you to step outside, okay? Stay there until I call you."

Noah swallowed. "Is-...is he...going to be alright?"

Erica didn't know how to answer.

"I'll be okay, Noe." Mitchell said, flashing him a smile that somehow hid the agony he was in. "What, you think this could hurt someone like me? I'm a big man, you know that."

"...But-"

"I'm a chef, Noe. I handle heat for a living." He paused to draw in a long breath. "I...can handle this one too."

Noah hesitated. He nodded at length and moved to leave when a muffled BANG resonated from somewhere in the hotel. They all stiffened. Erica quickly traced its source back to the passageway they came through, perhaps to the wall behind the receptionist's desk.

"Was that them?" Sára shakily asked.

Erica shut her eyes in worry. "Who else?"

"Is it really safe here, for us I mean?"

Another loud BANG set Erica's nerves on edge. She contained herself for their sakes, taking solace in noticing that the sounds weren't getting any closer.

"This safe room and the connecting hallway are both made of Titanium A, the same type of metal the Navy uses on their starships. The owners of the hotels made it a staple of each of their branches around a decade ago. It's extremely durable against smaller energy weapons."

A third BANG rang through the room, powerful though no less distant than the first two.

Sára arched a worried brow. "That's smaller energy weapons?"

"Compared to what they use in orbit? Yes." Erica gestured to Noah. "Go ahead sweety, nothing's getting in here. No matter what, I'm right around the corner."

Another bout of hesitation on Noah's part was ended by an uncertain nod and an unsteady stride that took him out of the room.

She returned to Mitchell.

"It'll be rough." She assured, getting back on topic.

"Not as rough as getting shot in the gut I'd wager." Mitchell said, pulling together a weak grin.

"Let's hope not. We're pressed for time. I'm going to remove your shirt. The second it's out of the way, we're going to clean your wounds, apply a compress or two then get to work with the biofoam. That should stabilize you."

"Stabilize." Mitchell remarked. Almost seeming to taste the word, he came away with an unsure flavor. "How long will that last?"

"Until rescue comes."

"And when will that be?"

Erica was brought to a long pause.

In her silence Mitchell's grin faltered, faded and came back of its own volition. "Hey, I'm sure it's soon, alright? Don't worry. It'll la-"

She squeezed his shoulder.

"We'll make it last." She said with a confidence that had eluded her earlier.

Mitchell's grin melted into a more honest version of itself. He clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Surer than I'll ever be."

Erica turned to Sára.

Her countenance bordered somewhere between preparedness and disbelief. "Ready when you are."

"Let's start with his shirt, roll it up on your side."

The two of them grabbed the bottom of his shirt and began rolling it up. They didn't get far. Mitchell winced a few twirls in and gasped in pain.

"What's wrong?" Erica asked, stopping short of his midriff. "You feel something?"

He spoke through suffering breaths. "I'm...feeling everything..."

"What?"

"It's like you're...pulling my skin off..."

Erica and Sára sat paralyzed on either side of him. The former took a closer look at his shirt and at the four charred burn marks that had seared into it. The blackened craters no longer steamed or glowed, but each rise and fall of his chest revealed the problem in its horrific entirety.

The fabric and his skin were one. The heat of the plasma bolts had melted parts of the clothing around the wounds into the very flesh of his stomach. Erica nearly couldn't tell where his shirt ended and where his burns began.

"Erica?" Sára asked, her tone despairing.

Erica matched it with a placidness that she knew Mitchell would need. "It's fine. Sára, look in those compartments again, see if you can find some scissors."

It proved to be what Sára needed to. She got up and reached into the compartments, searching through their contents with fumbling hands.

"No, there's nothing. You're sure there's no med-kit in here? I don't know about the biofoam but I can handle that much at least."

Erica sat amazed. She hadn't even thought about looking for a med-kit. The idea had gone right over her head until now. "If you see one, pull it out. Whatever looks good, bring it over."

"Found one." Sára said relievedly and fished out what looked like a handheld stop sign. The octagonal container possessed a red 'H' on the front. Coming back, she thumbed a side-compartment and clicked it open, sliding out a small tray. On it was everything they might need, from an extra biofoam canister and morphine injectors to antiseptic dressings and a stitch kit.

Among them were a set of scalpels, scissors and tweezers that gleamed in the gray light.

"Perfect." Erica took the scalpel and started making small incisions into the clothing around the wounds. She switched it out for the scissors and commenced nerve-wracking work. Each careful snip put a slight tug on the fabric, painful for Mitchell yet bearable. She moved with the slow precision of a bomb defusal, widening each incision to the point that the rest of the shirt could detach from those parts that had fused. In under a few minutes, she'd left patches of scorched shirt behind. The rest she removed using a long cut from the waist up that freed Mitchell of the article. She balled it up and tossed it away.

Alongside his wounds, his stomach held the slight bulge of an older man, nonetheless toned by the shadowing remains of a Marine's physique. What looked like a bad rash was on the lower right side of his torso. That much told her that some of his ribs were broken.

Her sudden fear of a punctured lung was brought to heel when he got his breathing back under control.

He opened his eyes again after shutting them tight. "It's off?"

"Most of it."

"Good enough."

Erica took her wet towels. Sára joined her in the cleaning. They wiped away the dried blood and, as they got closer to the main focus, flecks of charred skin.

Erica saw him baring his teeth through the process. "Hand me his shirt."

Sára made the pass.

Erica cut off the sleeve, balled it up and offered it to him. "Here, it'll help."

Mitchell licked his flaking lips and opened his mouth. She wedged it between his jaws and he bit down, freeing both his sense of pain and her conscience to resume the work.

They wet a few more of the longer towels and left it to Sára to tie them over and under him. She knotted each so that they applied a small amount of pressure around the edges of the wounds, creating a pseudo-compress. Erica meanwhile put two fingers to his wrist. She didn't like what she found.

"How is it?" Mitchell asked.

Erica met his gaze and gave him a promising smile, though no solid answer. "Mitch, listen close, those wounds are a little closed off. I'm going to have to do some cutting in order to get enough room for the injector."

Mitchell's already weak expression fell at the mention of 'cutting'.

"Sára, I'm going to need you to hold him down for me just in case. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah, I'm-...I'm ready. Mr. Mitchell?"

Mitchell shut his eyes again. "Let's get it over with, I don't think Noah can take being by himself for much longer."

The echoing BANG off in the distance reminded them why.

Sára shuffled over to Mitchell's head and held him down by his shoulders. Erica popped another bottle and washed her hands. Once she got them dry, she took the scalpel in one hand and the tweezers in the other and leaned over his chest.

The third degree burns of the plasma scoring were particular in that they flowered out from their centers like flattened scabs. The spots of the severest burns had bloomed up slightly into crisp flakes of skin that protruded outwards or inwards, much like the craterous aftermath of a meteor shower. These became her focus. She cut carefully at those that looked ready to break off. She got ahold of them first with her tweezers to make sure they wouldn't fall deeper in. The cuts were quick and she pulled them out even quicker. Soon she was working on the larger pieces that were harder to move.

She kept watching him to gauge his pain.

To her surprise, he wasn't reacting at all. He eventually opened his eyes to observe while she cleared the debris. There was no hint of pain. She was relieved at first, then as she cut at the more sensitive areas, her relief fell into worry. He still wasn't reacting.

"Mitch?" She called.

He raised an exhausted brow.

"Are you feeling any of this?"

He blinked and slowly shook his head.

Right then her worry exploded into dread. She stopped after she'd fully cleared one of the wounds and peered inside. The small hole served as a window into something much worse. A collection of dark masses just beneath the surface shifted and pulsed, expanded and shrunk with his breathing. Even when she let the light shine on them, she couldn't see them properly. Then it struck her that the light wasn't the problem.

The burns hadn't stopped at his skin.

Erica's breath hitched in her throat. She decided to test it. She needed to be sure. She inserted a careful finger into the wound. She gave a light press on the masses that shifted weakly under her touch. Rather than being soft, they were coarse and almost unyielding.

"Can you feel that?"

Mitchell waited a while then shook his head again.

Erica pressed a little more, enough that he should have grunted in discomfort. "And that?"

His face remained placid.

She retreated from the wound and checked on another that she'd cleared. It was black there too. She repeated her test and gave two touches, one softer, one harder. Mitchell reacted to neither.

Erica removed her hand and sat back on her heels. She said nothing for a while though the two of them waited on her word. Reality embraced her with the tenderness of a bullet in the back once she reached the conclusion that had been evading her all along: they had failed before they even got started.

Mitchell's raspy voice broke the silence. "How is it?"

It pulled her out of the deepening void of her thoughts. "It's manageable. Hold steady, I'll apply the biofoam. That should patch you right up."

He nodded affirmatively. "Good to know."

Sára didn't appear convinced. Still, she held him down while she handed over the canister. One wound at a time, Erica slid the injector into the dark recesses of his chest and sprayed. The sludgy polymer hissed inside and quickly expanded, filling the breaches with their bubbling fizzle which then began to harden.

Erica put the canister aside and watched Mitchell start to breathe a little easier. Not deeper but easier. She reminisced on a demonstration that Renni had shown her once during one of her visits to Falchion. She'd told her how the biofoam held a compound called morphophetamine, a minor steroid that could take the edge off a severe trauma case. She had been advised never to use it with morphine, however, something that justified at least one of her decisions in avoiding the spare injections.

Mitchell gained enough strength to raise his head a few inches off the floor. Sára took the cloth out of his mouth and helped him prop his head on her knees.

"You should be okay." Erica said. "Try not to move too much."

Mitchell stared at her long and hard. At last, an exhausted shadow of his old smirk returned.

"You know what I always appreciated about you, boss?" He asked. "Even before I had to call you that, I knew you were a rare sort, the kind you don't see too often that work their way up to the top one day and don't act like they never knew you the next. I think the biggest part of that was how honest you always were with people. Ms. Turner, me, everybody." He coughed and a slight trickle of blood caught his chin. "It always made you a terrible liar though."

Erica tensed as did Sára.

He took notice.

"What?" He said, his voice growing hoarser by the second. "You think I can't handle a bit of bad news? I'll tell you like how I told Noe. I'm a Marine, ex maybe, but like we say in the Corps, once a Marine, always a Marine. I can take it."

Erica couldn't.

Even so, she gave it how she could. She grabbed his shoulder again as consolingly as she could manage and shook her head.

"We'll keep you comfortable."

The words mumbled out of her mouth and yet she could see their effects as clear as day. Mitchell's eyes widened a fraction, his jaw falling a little slack. Then the lapse in his countenance vanished and for a moment he seemed to be his old self again. Yet he stared off into the distance, nodding as if to some passing memory.

"Can I get some water?"

Erica grabbed one of the bottles. Sára supported his head while they helped him get a drink. After he was done, they fell again into a wordless void.

"...I'm sorry about Ms. T," Mitchell said. "I should've listened out before giving the okay to go into that room."

"No, that's not on you." Erica argued. "We were rushing, we had to. If anything, I should've done something to-"

Mitchell looked her straight on. "Were you the one who cleared that lounge?"

She went quiet.

"There's not enough blame for the two of us, Eri. Let me take it with me. I'll make sure to apologize to her personally. I've got a few old friends of mine that'll probably be happy to see me too." He paused wistfully. "Anyway, while I'm at it, anyone here got a lost relative or two? If you want to pass on a message, now's the time."

Erica didn't respond. She was too busy trying to hold back tears to let the question register.

So was Sára but she wasn't so choked up that she couldn't open her mouth. She pushed against her quivering voice.

"C-, can you-, if you see them, can you...pass on a message to...Laszlo and...Elicia Sorvad?"

"How do they look?"

"Just like me but he has a big beard and-...and she has a stern face, but...she has a bright smile when she's ready."

Mitchell let out a small chuckle. "Careful, you're making it sound like I'm about to hit on somebody here."

Sára smiled a bit. "No, I don't think he'd let you."

"What do you want me to say?"

Erica saw the tears glistening in the softening blue pools of Sára's gaze. She was holding herself together against a grief that appeared older and deeper.

"Tell them I love them."

"...Anything else?" Mitchell asked empathetically.

Sára almost broke. She bit her lip to stop herself. "Tell them I wish I'd loved them more...both of them."

He nodded somberly. "Eri?"

With her vision hazing, Erica hardly noticed that he wasn't using her moniker of 'boss' anymore. "I think that apology to Ms. Turner will do just fine. You might not mention me but at least put my signature on it, will you?"

He laughed more lightly now, hardly a chuckle. "Alright."

"What about you?" Sára asked.

Mitchell thought about it. His decision was set in stone on his face.

:********:

Noah walked into the room after hearing his mom call for him. He was happy too. The loud sounds far outside the safe room were getting to him. To be able to move somewhere else felt like a reward.

Both his mom and Sára were sitting on either side of Mr. Mitchell who was lying on his back, shirt off. Noah made out the damp towels wrapped around his chest. They looked like bandages. While he would have thought it a bad sign, the welcoming smile that he greeted him with made him reconsider.

"Hey Noe." He said.

"...Hey."

"How're you feeling?"

Noah shrugged tentatively. "Better I guess..."

Mr. Mitchell nodded him over. His mom and Sára stood up and stepped back while he came to sit at his side.

"Are you going to be, okay?" Noah asked.

He waved him off. "I'll be fine, Noe. Me and your mom were just here talking about how long it's going to be before I get better. All I need is some rest and I'll get there."

"...You sure?"

"Trust me, it's not as bad as it looks." Mr. Mitchell put a hand on his stomach in a way that almost reminded Noah of Santa Claus. "Besides, I can hardly feel any of it. Right now, my main concern is you, kiddo."

That made Noah relax. He'd been worried sick after seeing what the giant lizard-thing had done to him. Knowing that he was going to be okay, he naturally straightened up. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Noah heard whirring sounds and followed them to Mr. Mitchell's robotic hand. Its inner pieces whined, locked and shifted as he raised a finger, pointing to the combat knife in his belt. Noah gawked at it. It was Mr. Walker's.

"I thought I lost that."

"You did. I saved it in case it came in handy again." Mr. Mitchell stopped to inhale deeply. A sudden bout of hard coughs put an end to that. "Sorry. The reason I pointed it out was to remind you of what you did back there."

Noah shriveled up inside at what he thought was a telling-off in the making. "I'm sorry. I was just scared."

"Scared?" Mitchell laughed, stopping short again of another fit. "Noe, that was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. And trust me, that's saying a lot. You tried to save my life, bud. I'm proud of you for it and I'm sure your old man would be too."

Noah felt a warmth rising in his chest. "You think so?"

Mr. Mitchell slowly reached over and bumped him on the knee. "I know so. You're going to be a strong young man someday, if you aren't already. A brave one too."

He paused and shut his eyes. Whether he was hurting or thinking, Noah couldn't say. Before long he let out a deep sigh.

"I'm going to need you to be braver for a little longer, maybe longer than you're used to. You're going to have to help protect your mom and Sára, at least until your dad gets here."

Noah didn't like the sound of that. He remembered the aliens and what they could do. "What about Ms. Turner when she gets here?"

"...Her too."

"And you'll help me, right?"

Out the corner of his eye he saw his mom and Sára fidgeting.

Mr. Mitchell, however, was steadfast. "Of course. But you might have to pull some more weight as you go."

That seemed simple enough. Noah figured he could definitely help out some more if Mr. Mitchell showed him the ropes. Maybe he could learn how to shoot a gun too? He thought it crazy on reflex, yet thinking back on his life over the past day alone, he was surprised at how much sense it seemed to make, not that his mom would ever let him near one.

Noah pointed to the knife. "All I've got is that. I don't know how to use anything else. I wish I could fight like my dad does."

"There's a way to fight without guns and knives." Mr. Mitchell replied and, like a heavy weight, lifted his real hand to point at his own head. "You've already been doing that plenty today."

Noah didn't get it. Wanting him to at least think he did, he nodded and switched topic.

"You really think my dad's coming?"

Mr. Mitchell glanced in his mom's direction. "He will. I'm sure he promised as much, right?"

"That he did." She agreed.

Their words gave Noah a much-needed boost. He felt more confident that they would make it, that they would be okay. His dad would rescue him like he always did for those families on other colonies, the families like those of his classmates who-…

That didn't matter. He was coming. Noah was sure of it. He would get them away from Reach and from there they would-...they would-...what would they do?

The storm of questions subsided when he heard Mr. Mitchell coughing again. This time there was no blood, and the fit wasn't as bad. Noah took it as another good sign that he was getting better.

He quickly pulled himself together again. "You've always been a lively kid, Noe. Remember when I taught you how to cook a few things?"

"Yeah."

"Don't worry yourself too much about fighting after this. You've got plenty of talent even if you don't know it yet, so don't quit. Keep it up. Keep cooking. Keep learning. You'll make plenty of friends that way."

Daniel.

Tommy.

Their faces came like a vision in Noah's head. So did the last time he had seen them. His throat tightened.

"It's...that easy?"

"No, but it's a start. You'll make things people want to eat, that'll make them more friendly and want to be around you more. That's the fight you need to keep at when this is over, helping people to be friendly again...to want to be again. Who knows, you might even get good enough to teach them."

"I-…I don't know if that'll really make anyone my friend."

More low whirring noises drew Noah to the robotic hand.

Mr. Mitchell was holding it out to him. "It made you mine, didn't it?"

Noah felt his eyes burning. More than ever before, he wanted to cry. He tried not to, thinking that it wouldn't be very brave of him. And still, trembling, he reached out for Mr. Mitchell's hand. The second he did and felt the cool fingers grasp his own, he let it all out.

He remembered how he entered the kitchen on Floor 71 in a time that felt too far away to be real. It was the day he first met Mr. Mitchell. He had run into him after trying to stake out the kitchen for a prank. The old chef had spotted him sneaking by the stoves and caught on to what he was up to. He gave him a good talking to for sure, telling him that if he wasn't going to stop his pranks then he should at least keep them out of somewhere as dangerous as the kitchen. That was something he could agree with. So was the scent of the food that he came to smell thereafter. Soon a lot of his afterschool time was spent watching him cook. He went from asking him about ingredients to a few taste tests before eventually asking him to teach him. Mr. Mitchell took him under his wing and showed him a thing or two when he could. More and more, he found himself looking forward to it. That hadn't changed.

He felt his mom holding him from falling onto Mr. Mitchell. He peeled his soaked eyes open and saw something similar welling up in his friend's.

Unlike him, he was keeping it restrained under an encouraging look. "Hey now, it'll be alright. You'll be fine. Brave too, right?"

Noah rubbed his eyes dry. It was a struggle to talk so he gave him as many nods as he could.

"Good...I-...I think that's...enough for now." He groaned like an old man stretching before bed. "I'm tired Noe. I need to talk with your mom for a bit before I get some shut eye. That okay with you?"

"Yeah." Noah said, fighting off the urge to cry even more. "That's okay."

He smiled. "Thanks Noe."

Noah let his mom help him up. She hugged him close and walked him out of the room. He couldn't remember what she said as she left him to sit in the bigger room outside. He was too wrapped up in what was said before, on the impossible idea that he really could make new friends, to listen to her talk or to notice when she left.

:********:

Mitchell was a wreck, he knew that, physically and now emotionally. He lowered his voice as best he could while he buried his face in his palms and bawled his eyes out. He tried to find the old salty Marine Sergeant in him that was so often his rock when tragedies struck. But this tragedy was his own and he couldn't so much as fess up to it to the one person who needed to know.

He wondered if Noah had figured it out regardless. He was a smart kid. How bad would it be if he understood that the last encouraging thing he said to him, though true, was supported by a lie? The lie that he would still be there for him. The fact that it wouldn't change a thing if he did know didn't help either.

In the end, he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye. That one word might have been sufficient. It would've been more honest at least.

Despite his sobbing, he saw the moment his boss slipped back into the room. She sat beside him and grasped his shoulder with what he recognized as gratitude.

"He thinks the world of you, almost as much as he does his dad. He really does, and so do I. You're a good man, Mitch."

Mitchell shook his head as he got his sobbing somewhat under control. "Me? No. I've had a lot of friends pass on me like this, saying things like 'make a name for yourself' or 'do something big'. Guess I was never meant for that kind of stuff. But that kid, he might just end up making it all worth it."

"...Is there anything else?"

"I could use some more water."

Erica gave him a heartening pat on the back and got up. She hadn't taken a step before they noticed the small pair of shoes standing an inch behind the curtain. Noah was listening. Right then he stepped inside, eyes red, carrying another bottle of water.

He strode right up to him and held it out. "Here you go."

Mitchell didn't detect a hint of suspicion on his face, only the deep worry he'd seen a minute earlier. It seemed he was still out of the loop.

Mitchell took it and slowly eased it to his mouth.

"Are you guys done talking now?" Noah asked innocently.

Mitchell wiped his mouth after a long drink, still thirsty. "Not yet. We'll let you know, okay?"

"You sure?"

"Of course."

While he took another long drink, Sára took Noah and gently led him back to the doorway.

The little boy stopped at the threshold to turn back again. "Did it help?"

Mitchell swallowed his last swig and held up the half-empty bottle gratefully, smiling as truthfully and contentedly as his conscience would allow.

"I'm feeling better already."

:********:

Erica tried not to weep. So did Sára. They needed to stay solid if they were to do what needed to be done. They'd found a white sheet in one of the safe room's enclosed compartments. Erica took one end of it. Sára took the other. Together, they carried it to Mitchell.

He was pale now. Lying still as he was, there was no trace of his famous grin. His eyes were closed, his face passive. Erica wanted to believe it was tranquil, that he had found some measure of peace before the end. He had slipped away quietly like a man dozing off after a long day. Erica and Sára had come to tuck him in.

They moved to either side of him in order to drape the sheet over his body. It was long enough for them to cover him from the boots on up. Erica watched his countenance fall under the shadow of the sheet until it disappeared entirely.

They stepped back once they were done.

Against her own desire to grieve, Erica wanted to be there for Noah who was standing right behind them. She had called him into the room. Though Mitchell had partly lied to give him the encouragement he needed, he had also done it to make his passing easier on her little boy. Having him despairing about all the impossible ways they could perhaps save his life would have taken more of a toll on everyone, or so Erica believed.

Mitchell was gone.

Now she needed Noah to see the truth.

He both saw and understood it in a way that confirmed her suspicions about Daniel and Tommy. His last conversation with Mitchell hammered home to her how deep his losses were. He had lost both of his best friends as well as someone who had been like an aunt to him and a man who'd been like a second father.

All that in just one day.

His losses were her losses. She saw the flood gathering in his soul and moved in before the dam broke. Shuddering, his legs buckled, and he fell into her arms. She held him close, offering what motherly support her presence could provide. His cries rose from sniffling sobs to outright wailing, from wordless moans to desperate apologies.

Not all those apologies were for Mitchell.

The most she could do was repeat as often as she could "It'll be okay" and "It's not your fault". Whatever consolation they held seemed to lose their potency and meaning each time. She eventually stopped trying. Still, she held him through the worst of it, through the shaking and trembling, through the gasping tears and whimpering grief, while holding back her own.

After a few minutes his crying subsided. It hadn't stopped, merely simmered.

She waited until she thought he was ready. Then she caringly walked him out to the main room. There she sat them both against the wall. She continued to hold him while he laid his head on her shoulder. She kept him there for almost half an hour as the last remnants of sorrow worked their way out of his system.

Then he mumbled something.

"What?" She asked.

Noah spoke up. "When's dad getting here?"

There was no honest answer she could give him. Nevertheless, she sensed that honesty wasn't what he needed given what he had already seen. She gave him a dishonest one instead.

"Soon."

She almost wished she weren't lying to him or to herself. The sad truth was just that. With what she'd gathered from their last call, Duncan was likely on another planet in another solar system. Even if he was on Reach, even if he was in the city, it still wouldn't matter so long as he wasn't in the building.

Like before, Noah seemed to accept it without that stubborn curiosity she was so used to. He was spent.

By and by, his crying stopped and his breathing went back to normal. Erica checked after a while and discovered that he had fallen asleep. She took a small towel she brought with her and wiped away the dampness from his face. She watched him twitch and fidget as he lost himself in the dreams of a fitful slumber. She could only wonder what was going through his mind, but she could only hope it was an escape from everything else.

She remained against the wall, wanting nothing more than to stay with him. The quietness settled in. It made her take notice of the lack of activity outside the safe room. The banging had stopped. The Covenant must have given up on trying to get inside, at least for now.

Before long, the calm lured Sára out of her silent vigil in the other room. She came to sit against an opposing wall and slid down to the floor. She didn't say a word. Instead, she left the two off to themselves and stared at her own feet. Yet Erica could feel her watching them at times.

Erica didn't have anything to say either so they both sat still. Occasionally, the faint rumblings of far-off explosions filled the nothingness between them.

Something on Noah's leg caught her eye. She saw for the first time that part of his pants was burned as were the soles of his shoes. She took them off his feet and rolled up what remained of his pants leg. He had burns like a less critical version of the kind she'd seen on Mitchell. Red splotches dotted the skin on the back of his leg. They looked like second degree. She made a mental note to find an antibiotic or epidermal for him when she got the chance.

"Think he'll be okay?" Sára asked.

It was yet another question Erica feared she would never be able to answer honestly. "I think so. It might be a bit before he's himself again but-..." A thought made her grimace. "I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for that."

"For what?"

Erica looked over her child to ensure he really was asleep. "Mitchell...Turner...he thought they would be okay. I don't know how much longer it'll be before he stops listening to me for it."

"Well, you did what was best for him."

"Was it?"

"You told him what he needed to hear to help him along. So did Mitchell."

Erica shook her head. "It means we lied to him."

"It means you care about him." Sára leaned forward. "You're a good mother. Anyone can see that much."

"...Except for me. I do the best I can but sometimes I feel even that's not enough." She paused as Noah stirred in his sleep. "I should never have brought us out here. I only came to Reach because I wanted to be closer to his dad. He's stationed here. I thought it'd be great if we could be in the same place and maybe see him more often. It was nice while it lasted, I guess."

"I figured you weren't from Reach. It was your accent. So where are you from?"

"Earth."

"You couldn't have known this would happen when you flew out here."

"I knew it was a risk." Erica countered. "And now it's a reality. It...honestly might've been better if we stayed there."

Sára nodded dismissively like she wanted her to stay away from her regrets. "You came from Earth, you say."

"Yeah. Born and raised even. I left when this little guy was a baby. It's been nearly a decade since I last saw it. Can't imagine how much things have changed there."

Sára pondered on that for a moment. "Makes sense. United Republic of North America?"

Erica side-eyed her. "How'd you guess that?"

Sára smiled. "Like I said, the accent." Her own accent changed, suddenly dropping the fluidity of its Slavic bent to take on a more practiced North American rhythm. "I know a lot about the region, did a few online classes for linguistic anthropology beforehand. I wanted to sound less foreign once I got there. My dad thought it was a good idea at the time."

Erica remembered the two names she had passed on to Mitchell. She raised a brow. "Why?"

The reminiscent glow that Sára had been cultivating dimmed with the question. Her accent returned. "I was supposed to go off to a university there for my studies. Harvard, have you ever heard of it?"

Erica had. "A really old school."

"Very. In the next 80 years or so they'll be celebrating their first millennium. With all that knowledge, I was planning on learning to be a doctor there. That was the plan at least. My parents debated over whether I was a better fit for cardiology or neurology." She grimaced. "Guess it's a moot point now."

Erica sensed she was verging on uncharted territory with her new acquaintance. Prying into people's personal lives was not something she liked to do. Dealing with the weekly controversies of her human resources department had taught her that much. All the same, Sára's alias of 'Alana Simko' and her entourage of three armed ONI agents was a long-standing thorn in the side of her curiosity. Moreover, she was picking up on the heaviness in the air and wanted to address it.

"You're from Reach, right? Which part?"

Sára smiled again. "Quezon. That was before my father moved us..."

Erica noticed the way she trailed off. Her intrigue got the better of her as did a burning honesty that wanted to overrule her lying spree. The question came out on its own.

"Why were you with those ONI agents?"

She watched Sára freeze up like she'd said something embarrassing, or discomforting.

Sára clasped her hands together, rubbing her fingers over her palms like she was in the middle of some uncomfortable debate to which she alone was given audience. Her hands tightened then slackened along with her posture.

"Can I tell you something, Erica? Just you?"

Erica had a nervous feeling in her stomach. She looked at Noah to confirm he was still asleep then gave her the go-ahead.

What came next was a story she could never have seen coming. Never had she watched someone spill their guts so thoroughly in her life as Sára did over the next ten minutes.

She told her of her parents' involvement in ONI, how they worked with the organization for years in some obscure field of science she had never heard of before: 'xenoarchaeology'. It had taken them to various places around what remained of humanity's territorial claims to the stars before finally settling them at Visegrád Relay. She told her of her life there with her father, and somewhat with her mother. The tale ended in a sad telling of the terrifying events leading up to the communications blackout.

Erica sat in shock. She was stunned to learn that Sára and her family had been at the fore of the Covenant's assault on Reach. She had her suspicions about the relays but had no idea that the Covenant had been on the planet for so long, almost a month before anyone in the public had found out about it. It horrified her to think that they were on Reach while she was taking Noah to school and managing her employees every day, blissfully unaware of the threat on their doorstep.

More than anything she felt sorry for Sára, for her parents. She was the first to lose her family out of a long, long list to come. That, Erica realized, was what bothered her new acquaintance the most.

"I knew." Sára said, nearly shaking. "I knew from the beginning what was coming. I saw it myself and I said nothing."

Erica spoke up. "You couldn't have said anything. Those agents would've punished you for it, I'm sure."

"That's the same excuse I told myself every day and look where it got me, where it got us." She covered her face in her hands as if she was trying to shield herself from the world around her. "I knew. I knew I could've said something, anything to anyone. Even telling Noah might've helped. I wanted to spare him that back then when he snuck into my room with his friends. At that point I just wanted someone to talk to. I couldn't do it even then. Who knows, maybe he would still be around his friends right now if I did."

Her voice began to crack with the first shivering tears. "And Ms. Turner...and Mr. Mitchell. Everyone, anyone, even you. I didn't-...I didn't say a word. Now it's too late to help anybody. Even me saying all this to you is as good as me telling my mom I-..."

She hesitated as Erica sat down beside her. She was too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice when she had gotten up with Noah and walked over.

"That you loved her." Erica said, finishing her sentence. "Is that why you said you thought I was a good mother?"

Sára couldn't answer anymore. What Erica said seemed to hit the nail on the head and she broke down completely.

Erica stayed by her side the whole time, keeping a comforting hand on her back whilst she cried her heart out.

It took her as long as it did Noah to calm back down. Even so, she tried to speak through her sobs.

"Was she ever proud of me? My dad was an open book and I loved him for it, but her? I never asked her, did I? I always-, always thought I had more time to talk, to figure things out in the future, you know? And I didn't. I didn't know that was it. I would've told her so much. I would've asked so much." Sára clasped her hands together again and pulled them to her forehead like she was praying to some deity for another chance. "I wanted to know so much. Now I'll never get to because I was too scared of the same things that I wanted to find out anyway. I messed up, and no matter how much I try I can't ever take that back, any of it. I honestly think it would've been better if those Elites had found me. At least then I wouldn't have had to see how many lives I'd end up ruining by just keeping my mouth shut, even my own."

Erica gave her a moment. Then seeing that she was on the verge of crying again, she spoke softly, a way that years of motherhood had taught her to master.

"Sára, I'm sorry. I really am. But if I'm to be honest with you, I don't think we would've believed you even if you did talk."

Sára slowly peered out from her hands to look her in the eye. "What?"

"This is Reach, Sára. Reach. It's basically Earth. The thought of losing it would've been lost on most of us. Up until the Covenant showed up today, I had considered it but it still came as a shock to actually see them here. A part of me still doesn't want to believe this is really happening. Plenty of others were the same way in the days leading up to it. They wouldn't have listened. And if they did, you would have been a voice in the wilderness: only a few people would have been around to hear you, yet alone to believe you." Erica wrapped her arm around her and pulled her in for a hug. "It's not your fault, Sára, or anyone here."

Sára stared at her with eyes like the windows of an empty home. Then a glimmer entered them, hopeful absolution perhaps. Nevertheless, a shadow fell over them and she looked away.

"That doesn't bring anyone back though, does it?"

"No." Erica replied. "But blaming yourself so much that you would rather join them doesn't help either. If anything, it'd be the opposite of what they would've wanted."

Sára stopped to meet her eyes again.

Erica leaned over. "I'm not always straightforward with Noah. Sometimes I tell him off. Sometimes I make him cry. But if I died, the last thing I would ever want him to think was that I did all that because I didn't love him. I'm sure yours wouldn't want you to think that way either, both of them. Most parents try the best they can, and sometimes their best isn't good enough, but that doesn't mean they didn't try. I learned though that...sometimes them just coming back to you, just trying to be there with you is enough...so that when they're not anymore, they never really feel like they ever left."

Erica wasn't sure if spilling her own guts had worked.

ln the dark veil of Sára's face that glimmer of absolution came back. She lightened up, even if it took a bit of intuition to notice. Her attention returned to her feet but her eyes searched about like they were trying to see if what she had said was true. Then she shut them and, in a long exhale, released her hands from their vice grip on one another. She relaxed again.

Erica gently pulled her over to let her rest her head on her shoulder. Sára didn't complain. In fact, she shifted to make herself more comfortable, her expression a quiet war between an old sorrow and a new and uncertain contentment.

Erica watched the day's exhaustion take its toll as she fell asleep. She chose then to take a good look at the younger woman, at her encounters with her rather than her person.

At first, she thought her a mysterious figure and a potential danger to her son. That was back when she first found her looking out at the city with Noah. More experience had taught her that she was wrong, that Sára was just someone who the war had taken so much from. Someone who was simply looking for an escape from her isolation, someone who'd found that escape with Noah. For the first time, his pranks had led to some good after all.

Erica peered between the two and understood, much to her own heartache, how similar they were.

Having two people cry on her shoulder and having many more people to cry for herself, she wished she had her own shoulder to lean on. She thought of Duncan, of where he was. Mitchell's assurance to Noah that his dad would be back soon made her wonder. It was a lie or one she was beginning to reconsider as the truth. She wanted to believe in it herself, and she did. It was a blind hope yet also all she had to stave off the despair that had come to dominate her day. She would see him again. She would cry on his shoulder again. By an act of her stubborn will alone she made herself perceive that fate wasn't so cruel. It had allowed her to make it this far, hadn't it? Looking back over her life, she came to believe that luck, no matter its dark twists and confusing curveballs, had ever been a friend of the Iris family.

Tutus - Safe