"A moment comes in war when the last line must be crossed. The line that separates what you hold dear from what total war demands. If he couldn't cross that line, the battle was over, and he was lost.

His heart, the war.

Her face, the battlefield.

With a cry only he could hear, the hunter turned. And ran."
― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

"'Here I am! Come and get me, you son of a bitch!'"

When the first wave powered off the planet the silence became too much for the humans that had been left behind. They were used to the sound of their own trivial pursuits in their meaningless existence. It had drowned out the very voice of nature. Therefore in times like these as the snow started to fall, the millions of flakes falling, on the wreckage left of humanity, was almost deafening in the void. The snow was piling and drifting on the graveyard of abandoned cars on the deserted interstate. Bright white flakes fell softly and steadily, slowly minute after minute, erasing the ugliness left of the human wasteland.

As the storm began, the young man set out to find her. Her, the one who had made him turn tail and run. He hadn't finished her off, he couldn't, and the battle had been lost. There had been no other option for him, he turned and ran like a human coward. He had abandoned everything he had left, his people, for what?

He made it three miles before he stopped. It was not a matter of physical exhaustion, on the contrary the arrays kept him going without need for rest, at least not in this moment. What was he doing? Running away like a frightened child because she challenged him? Because she refused to go down, because he didn't have the heart to do what he needed to do, he let her go? The guttural yell was involuntary. It took three miles for heart to win out over reason and the arrays.

Stay or run, it didn't matter he had condemned her to die. She had been too far away to hear a scream but the way her body crumpled to the ground would stay with him.

Cassiopeia…

In his mind he watched her get up, she had shot off her gun. All of her shots were erratic as she blindly shot in the general direction she assumed her assailant was in. None came within range. He watched her…surprised? Amused? Through the scope of the high powered rifle, what was she doing here? She had crawled under the car. She had to know there was no escape. And yet…and yet, she had crawled out of the car. Stood up…and faced me. Faced death, with fear crystalized will. It was vulnerability, courage, and bravery.

What had he done?

A burst of bark exploded from the tree where he punched it. There was nothing for it as his own resolution crystalized, he shouldered the high powered rifle and took off running back in the direction he had come from.

He arrived back at his vantage point in just under twenty minutes. She was gone. Of course she's gone! What was he thinking that she would wait for him there? The arrays indicated the area was clear, the snow had begun to fall as he made it back, now as he made his way down to his missed shot it was falling in earnest.

In the median he found the bodies of the ones he had taken before she showed up. Before metal had wielded bone and his silver thread had been linked. The evidence of his failed shot was tinging the new fallen snow a coppery brown. The pain alone should have overwhelmed her and kept her down. Yet she found the strength to pull herself under the Buick. He turned to the vehicle, wait, his attention was pulling at the site of her shot and then he saw it, the M16. It was hers. She had etched her initials into the side. How like her, he checked it, unloaded the live round, replaced the bullet in the magazine, activated the safety, shouldered it and went to the car.

The size of the blood pool he found beneath the car would have made him sick to his stomach, but the arrays prevented that. How had she found the strength to stand up? His emotions were at war. She was alive. The area was clear, for one, but for how much longer? The storm was intensifying. In a few more minutes it would eradicate any signs of her next move.

Slowly he began circling away from the car. At last he spotted it, the blood trail. Following it a few steps more he looked up out over the horizon, knowing what lay ahead. Why are you going that way Cassie? It was the direction of the base. After all this time she was still looking for the brother, it had to be the reason. Where was she? She was exhausted, injured, bleeding, she had no chance at all. At most she had an hour head start. Silently he followed in pursuit of her blood trail.

As he walked he remembered a time before the arrays took away all physical discomforts. The family that had raised him was still alive before his awakening had showed him what he really was. It was a warm autumn day. His younger brother was playing jumping hay stacks, something he usually did with Evan. Evan was working on a motor in the barn, so the brother was alone.

No one knew exactly what had happened but the young boy missed his jump and fell exactly wrong. His leg had broken below the knee. The sound was ear shattering, the wail of a dying coyote it would seem. Being in the barn, being young and fast he was the first one to the child. It was a revolting sight, the bone protruded from the skin in the most gruesome angle out the front of the leg. His stomach had dropped he was choking back bile. He remembered the look on his brother's face, anguish and terror. "Evan, am I going to die?" For the brother he had to find strength to do what had to be done.

Holding the boy's ashen face he said "No." His brother's face relaxed upon hearing the words and the light brown eyes rolled to the back of his head as he passed out from shock. Evan scooped up the body carefully and carried him two hundred feet to the farm house where his mother was waiting.

On the interstate, he stopped. As he had wondered through the memories the arrays picked up on the subtle change on this vehicle. The windows were frosted but from the inside and the back hatch was cracked just a hair. Something was inside.

The heart beats were even and steady, you could have set a clock to it. The rest of him was wound tight like the strings of an instrument. He opened the back end of the SUV like an animal trainer opening the tiger's cage. He immediately processed the smell of infection and blood. He was confronted by the Bear.

How could you do this to her? The Bear stared accusingly at the Silencer.

He had waited too long.