The painful, black fog began to lift slowly from Marcus's vision, and he groaned quietly, wincing and grasping at the back of his head, feeling the warm touch of his blood against his fingertips. Looking around, he could only see a broken glimpse of the dark, reddish skies through the shattered windshield of the now overturned Packhorse. As his vision began to slowly come into focus, Marcus tried to push himself from the driver's seat, only to find that the seatbelt had somehow managed to wrap around his chest tightly. Unsheathing his combat knife, Marcus sawed the blade through the belt...and was promptly dropped onto his right shoulder.

A stab of agony shot through Marcus's shoulder and his growled out a curse, pushing himself to his back as he had to scoot out from underneath the still smoldering wreck that had been their transport.

They.

Quickly looking around, Marcus tried to see if the two other Gears that had been riding in the Packhorse were anywhere to be seen. All he saw was the empty road with plumes of dust rolling across it, turning his attention back to the Packhorse, Marcus staggered to his feet, grasping at his right arm as his shoulder sent pulses of pain down to his fingers.

A low groan followed by a choked curse snagged Marcus's attention, and he quickly moved to the other side of the Packhorse. He froze momentarily, and it felt like every muscle in his chest snapped taut. The Packhorse had been thrown upside down, and it seemed to have landed on Baird. The blonde-haired Gear was slowly coming to, but already it didn't look good. As Baird coughed, blood bubbled up to his lips, and he made a short, strangled cry as he tried to push the Packhorse off his lower chest.

"Baird!" Marcus called, going over to the blonde-haired Gear's side.

"...get this fucking thing off me...!" Baird wheezed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he weakly pounded the ground with a fist. "...I can't-can't breathe, goddammit!"

"Then shut it, Baird," Marcus replied tersely, looking at the Packhorse. He hadn't necessarily meant to snap at Baird, but all he could focus on was getting the vehicle off Baird before it crushed the man in half.

Baird stopped talking, but another strained groan escaped his gritted teeth.

"Listen to me," Marcus said firmly. "I'm going to lift this thing off you, okay?"

"Hurry up!" Baird cried, the last word gargling as another spatter of blood escaped from Baird's lips.

Taking in a deep breath, Marcus put his shoulder underneath one of the frame bars of the Packhorse before fiercely shoving his full body weight up and against the bar. An explosion of pain shot up from his left knee, and it took everything Marcus had not to stagger under the sudden shock of agony, but at the sight of Baird weakly struggling to drag himself out from underneath the looming Packhorse, Marcus locked his knee, forcing himself to keep his footing against the pain.

Wheezing and coughing, Baird managed to roll onto his stomach and drag himself out from underneath the Packhorse. Blinking against the sting of sweat and grit in his eyes, Marcus watched as Baird pulled himself against the sand and rocks at an agonizingly slow pace.

"...Baird," Marcus warned, his rough voice creaking slightly. His shoulder felt like a cleaver was being stomped into it, and by this point it was nothing but sheer will that was keeping his left knee from giving way underneath him.

To his credit, Baird clutched at the ground and managed to shove himself forward. He instantly regretted the action, as it felt like all of his ribs were trying to rip apart his insides, starting with his lungs. Coughing and groaning, rolling onto his back, Baird finally opened his eyes and stared up at the reddish-brown skies. His chest heaved as he struggled to breath against the weight of the armor and against the undoubtable damage to his ribs and possibly lungs. Every breath felt like fire, and, for the first time in a very, very long time, Baird couldn't even find the air to summon up a string of creative curses.

Seeing Baird free, Marcus finally relented to the agony that had struck his knee like a viper and staggered slightly, giving the injured joint a much needed reprieve. His shoulder still pulsed with shockwaves of pain, and every time Marcus moved his right arm, he swore he could feel something driven deep into his shoulder, supplying both a hinderance of movement and a seemingly endless supply of pain.

Limping to Baird's side, Marcus quickly glanced over Baird's armor. It was partially crushed and mangled, and it looked as though Baird had been flung from the Packhorse, but the vehicle had flipped over and landed on him, trapping him under its considerable weight.

"Baird?" Marcus asked, lightly setting a hand on Baird's shoulder. The blonde-haired Gear was already dangerously pale, and his breathing was shallow.

"Did...did you get...your...your driver's license...out of...out of a cereal box?" Baird wheezed.

"Stay still," Marcus ordered quietly. "I need to find Harris."

"...rookie?"

"Yeah. And I wouldn't suggest talking too much, either. Save your breath."

"I'm...I'm not...going anywhere..."

"...you'd better not be," Marcus murmured to himself, casting one last look at Baird before turning back to the overturned Packhorse.

Looking inside the twisted mess that had once been a Packhorse, Marcus tried to see if Vernon Harris, a newly recruited Gear, was trapped, unconscious, or dead. He saw nothing, though, and stood up, wincing. Reaching to his right shoulder, Marcus could feel something jutting out of shoulder, slick with what he could probably safely assume was his blood.

Grabbing the jagged edge, Marcus set his jaw and wrenched it from his shoulder. Stifling a hoarse yell, Marcus breathed quickly through tightly gritted teeth as he looked around. He glanced down at what he had torn from his shoulder. It was a piece of metal, probably shrapnel from the explosives. The road seemed eerily quiet, save for the still hissing sands that had been blasted by white-hot fire when the roadside explosive had detonated.

"Harris?" Marcus called. "Private Harris!"

"...sir!"

Hearing Harris's voice, Marcus turned to see a hand frantically waving from underneath a pile of rubble and what few supplies the Packhorse had been carrying. Limping over, Marcus pulled away some of destroyed remnants of a box of supplies to reveal a very frazzled looking Private Harris.

"I can't move my arm or legs, sir," Harris groaned, trying to pull his limbs free.

"Hold on," Marcus ordered. He looked over the wreckage quickly. He didn't want to accidentally cause something heavy to fall on Harris as he tried to free him.

Marcus shoved a smoking box of now unrecognizable contents aside, and Harris quickly reacted, yanking his right arm free and rubbing it lightly. He struggled to sit up as Marcus pulled another broken box off of Harris's abdomen, but soon began prying his legs free from the mangled mess that had once been necessary supplies.

"Where's Baird, sir?" Harris asked, breathing heavy. The Gear was currently wearing a helmet that concealed his dark brown hair, but he looked at Marcus with dark brown eyes, waiting for an answer.

"Baird's..." Marcus sighed. "Baird's hurt pretty bad. Packhorse flipped over on him."

Harris's eyes went wide and he worked on catching his breath. Though he already had a dark ring of a bruise forming around his left eye, it looked as though bruises were going to be the worst of his worries.

"See if you can find any sort of medical supplies in that mess," Marcus ordered.

"Sir, you're bleeding pretty bad, sir," Harris said quickly, eyeing Marcus's shoulder.

"I know. Deal with it later," Marcus replied.

Nodding, Harris turned and began digging through the supply boxes quickly, flinging some of the items to the side as he rooted through them.

Marcus walked over back to where Baird was still lying on the ground...and still struggling to breathe. But he was far more coherent than he had initially been, and he turned his head and looked up at Marcus with bloodshot, blue eyes.

"Find...the newbie?" Baird wheezed.

"Yeah," Marcus replied, crouching down. "Got him looking to see if any of the medical supplies made it. How're you feeling?"

"...fucking great!" Baird replied angrily. "...never be-hey...your shoulder's...bleeding."

"Yeah, must've landed on a piece of shrapnel when I cut myself free from the driver's seat."

"...clumsy...bull..."

Managing a faint grin, Marcus tried to wipe away some of the blood that was trickling from the corner of Baird's mouth. Though he grumbled and made a face, Baird didn't pull his head away. Looking around, Marcus tried to find some place that would be better than sitting out in the middle of a road. He was still extremely suspicious as to why the Locust hadn't shown up yet, but, given the circumstances, he'd take any sort of stroke of dumb luck they could get.

Baird's groaning and the sound of his armor grating on the ground snagged Marcus's attention and he looked down. Like the stubborn man he was, Baird was trying to slowly push himself into a sitting position. So far he'd only managed in propping himself up on his elbows.

"Don't move," Marcus ordered.

"I'm not going...goddammit...going to lay...on the ground...like a fucking...rug," Baird wheezed back, glaring up at Marcus.

"You're going to do more damage to yourself if you don't stay still."

Sighing and wincing, Baird ignored Marcus's advice and tried to push himself to his feet. Something inside him suddenly felt like it wrenched around the wrong way, and a paralyzing bolt of pain rocketed up Baird's spine. He immediately fell back with a hoarse cry, his back arching slightly as he pounded the ground with a fist and grimaced in agony.

"Baird!" Marcus quickly knelt down, ignoring the claws of pain in his left knee as best he could.

"Just shoot me!" Baird cried, coughing. "I can't even...can't even...can-"

"Quiet, Baird," Marcus ordered. "You're not doing yourself any favors by yelling like that."

"Fucking hurts!"

"I know, so try to stay still."

Finally relaxing and falling still, Baird looked up at Marcus with an almost pleading look, his blue eyes still bloodshot from the almost constantly blowing dust and stress. Frowning slightly, Marcus tried to ignore the feeling of helplessness that was starting to gnaw at him. He was no medic, that part was for sure. Granted, he knew basic first aid, but Baird needed a doctor, not a couple of band-aids.

"Sir!"

Private Harris's voice pulled Marcus out of his thoughts, and he looked over. Harris was limping slightly, but he was carrying a promisingly large medkit. Taking one look at Baird, though, Harris almost dropped the medkit.

"Uh...Baird? Sir?"

Baird held up his right middle finger in response.

"Oh good, he's still alive," Harris said with a sigh of relief.

"Private Harris, you wouldn't happen to know any form of medicine?"

"Uhh...sort of," Harris replied, rubbing the back of his head quickly.

"I...will not...accept help from...a 'sort of'!" Baird protested weakly.

"Can it, Baird," Marcus said firmly. He looked back at Harris, who was holding the medkit tightly, his arms shaking slightly. "Explain sort of, Private."

"I was...well, I was a veterinarian, sir," Harris explained quickly. "I was a veterinarian before I enlisted."

Well, it was better than nothing.

"Great!" Baird cried. "My life...hangs in the balance...of Fido's goddamn...doctor. Shoot. Me!"

Harris looked down at Baird, then up at Marcus, obviously nervous. Shaking his head slightly at Baird's arguing, Marcus kept his gaze on Harris.

"What was the worst case you had to work on?" he asked.

"Uh...well, hm." Harris paused, pondering the question. He then snapped his fingers lightly. "Probably where I had to do emergency surgery on a cow, sir. She'd gotten tangled in a harness and then ran her fool self into a piece of wood. Drove it straight into her stomach. Almost killed her and the calf she was carrying, but...managed to save them both." Harris managed a small, proud grin at the last part.

Marcus nodded slightly. Well, at least it sounded like Harris was able to work on more than a sick cat or dog that had swallowed a chew toy.

"Can you take a look at him?" Marcus asked, motioning to Baird.

"Of course, sir."

Harris knelt down beside Baird, who was favoring him with a dark scowl.

"Should I...bark or chirp...for you?" he sneered.

"No, sir, but please be quiet so I won't have to put a twitch on you," Harris replied with a nervous smile, looking over the damage to Baird's armor. "I need to get this armor off before I can do anything."

"You better...not..."

Frustrated, Harris looked up at Marcus, who just nodded, keeping an eye out for Locust and watching Harris's work. Baird grumbled a curse, but lay still as Harris quickly worked on prying the mangled armor away as carefully as he could. When he managed to remove the chest armor, Marcus felt his blood go cold.

Two large blotches of blood had seeped into the white shirt that Baird had been wearing underneath the armor. One seemed to originate from the right side of his chest, while the other ringed the lower part of his ribs. Harris didn't say anything, though, and opened the medkit. He produced a pair of scissors and deftly cut open the shirt, then pulled off his gloves. A large, elliptical gouge had bored its way into the right side of Baird's chest, while at least five large gashes had ripped across the lower half of his chest, and though he couldn't tell for certain, Marcus swore he saw a glint of bone in the mess of blood and torn flesh. Again, Harris seemed incredibly calm.

"Corporal Baird," Harris said calmly. "I know this has got to hurt like hell, but I need you to be honest and tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how bad the pain is, okay?"

Though he started to say something acidic in response, Baird just sighed in exhaustion and nodded. It had been enough of a relief to get the crushing weight of the armor off his chest, and now all he wanted to do was get back on his feet.

Harris lightly pressed his fingertips on Baird's chest, causing the gouge to open slightly, a small well of blood rising up. Baird winced, but didn't seem too discomforted.

"Sir?" Harris asked.

"Five...five or six," he answered.

"Thank you." Harris moved his fingertips to the center of Baird's chest and again pressed down gently. "Sir?"

"One...for being...touched."

"Thank you, sir," Harris said in quiet exasperation. He then began working his way down the right side of Baird's ribcage.

"Sir?"

"Six."

The highest Baird ever said for the right side of his rib cage was a six, but when Harris went to the left side of Baird's rib cage, it was a far different story.

"Sir?" Harris asked, setting his fingertips on the upper left part of Baird's rib cage.

"...fuck...seven."

Harris moved his fingertips to the middle of the left side of Baird's ribs, but before he even applied any real pressure, Baird yelped and gritted his teeth tightly.

"Eleven! Twelve! Holy...fuck! Thirteen, goddammit!"

Pulling his hands away immediately, Harris waited until Baird had calmed down before looking up at Marcus. Marcus was frowning darkly, concern etched into his features, but when he caught Harris looking at him, he raised an eyebrow slightly in response. Harris just shook his head slightly, then turned his attention back to Baird. He placed his fingers on the lower left side of Baird's ribs and applied pressure. Though Baird winced, he didn't seem to be in as much agony as he had been a few moments ago.

"Eight," he gasped.

"Thank you, sir," Harris said, standing up. He staggered slightly, rubbing his knee, but turned to Marcus.

"Yes?" Marcus asked.

"Sir, Corporal Baird's ribs are badly broken on the left side," Harris explained, keeping his voice low. "I can do what I can to set them, and I know I can stitch up the wounds, but we need to get him to an actual doctor. If he were an animal, I'd be suggesting surgery, but I can't do that because, well...besides the obvious that Corporal Baird isn't an animal, I don't have anywhere near the necessary items to do a surgery."

"What can you do, Private?" Marcus inquired quietly.

"I can clean the injuries, get them stitched up, give him a coagulant to keep him from bleeding out, and then give him something for the pain."

"How long do we have to get him to a doctor?" Marcus inwardly braced himself for the answer. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it.

"It's hard to say for certain, sir," Harris said with a sigh. "But under the best of circumstances, I'd say about twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Under the worst...four hours."

Swallowing hard at the last part, Marcus nodded shortly.

"Do what you can, then, Private Harris."

"Yes, sir," Harris responded smartly.

Marcus watched Harris begin pulling various tools and items from the medkit and setting them down on a small piece of cloth he had brought with him from the wreckage. Pulling his helmet back slightly, Harris grabbed an antiseptic pad and, after ripping the packaging open, wiped his hands down as quickly but as carefully as possible. Baird watched Harris, looking somewhere between angry, curious, and mildly panicked.

"What're...you doing?" he asked.

"First, Corporal Baird, I'm going to take care of this gouge on your chest," Harris explained, already cleaning the wound. "I'll apply a local anesthesia, but I'm saving the really good stuff for later, okay?"

"Fine," Baird answered shortly, hissing against the sting of pain as the burn of antiseptic hit the wound on his chest.

Stepping back slightly, Marcus went to the Packhorse and began fishing their Lancers and Snub Pistols that they had been carrying and that had been flung to the back of the vehicle. He could hear Harris talking to Baird, with Baird snapping back with every acidic curse he could think of. Harris didn't seem affected, though, and kept the same, low tone. Marcus could only guess that after having to deal with panicked animals, especially ones as large as cows, Harris had learned a level of patience and how to keep an even tone.

Sighing, Marcus leaned against the overturned Packhorse, allowing himself a brief moment to let the weight of the situation crash down on him. Out of the three of them, Harris was the least injured, and while he was a good soldier, he was still definitely a rookie. Marcus himself was pretty banged up, but it didn't feel like anything he couldn't deal with. He didn't really have a choice. He would have to deal with it.

And then there was Baird. The blonde-haired Gear had definitely gotten the worst of the injuries amongst the three of them, and even the projected outlook was looking grim. Sighing heavily, Marcus gritted his teeth and stared down at the ground. Again it felt like somebody was slowly closing a vise on his chest, and when he heard Baird cry out in pain, Marcus felt the vise suddenly slam shut, almost knocking the wind out of him.

Picking up the weapons, Marcus walked back back over to where Harris was working quickly, with the same low tone. He was talking to Baird about what sounded like everything under the Sun. From the time he won a bit of money on a lottery ticket to when he had foolishly jumped from a second story dormitory room in the Academy and broken his right foot. It was all small talk, but Marcus recognized it as a method to keep Baird focused as best as possible.

When he saw Marcus, Baird looked up at him, this time he made no attempt to mask the pain he was currently in, and Marcus looked back at him somberly. After a few seconds, Baird managed a quick wink and started to grin, but suddenly grimaced and struck the ground again with his fist when Harris began to carefully set the broken ribs as best he could.

"You trying...to kill me?" Baird demanded weakly.

"No, sir," Harris answered. "If I was trying to do that, I'd start singing to you."

The answer was unexpected enough that Baird blinked and lifted his head slightly.

"Eh?"

"I can't sing to save my life, sir. Even my own mother, who was an accomplished singer in her own right, told me she thought a parrot with laryngitis could sing better."

"...damn...you suck."

"That I do, sir," Harris agreed.

The exchange sounded almost hilariously out of place, but as Harris finished wrapping bandages around Baird's ribs, Marcus had to give the Private credit. Harris had kept Baird's attention off the pain long enough to get his work done.

As he injected a small shot into Baird's right arm, Harris sighed and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He looked up at Marcus, standing up.

"He should be okay for a few hours, sir," Harris said. "The damage is bad, but not as bad as I had initially thought. Of course, he's not a horse, either, so...I'm sort of guessing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Private," Marcus answered flatly. "You did good."

Harris blinked, then grinned widely.

"Th-thank you, sir!" he stammered. He then quickly cleared his throat and tried to get his composure back. "Sir, I really should take a look at your injuries, too."

"I'm fine, Private."

"Don't...listen...to him," Baird called. "He's...stubborn...and bullheaded..."

"Erm," Harris said slowly, looking between Baird and Marcus quickly. "Sir, with all due respect, it would be best to have you in as best shape as possible, and you wouldn't be doing anybody, yourself included, any favors if you just try to grit your way through your injuries."

Marcus stared at Harris flatly, and, after a few minutes of letting Harris stand there and look as nervous as possible, he finally nodded.

"Thank you, sir," Harris said, breathing out slowly. "Now, if you would please sit down. I'll take a look at your shoulder first."

Sitting down carefully, wincing as his left knee yelled in protest, Marcus watched Harris fish a few more items from the medkit.

"What about you, Private?" he asked, tensing slightly as Harris began cleaning the wound on his shoulder.

"Me, sir?" Harris asked. "Oh, I think I'm fine. I'm going to be sore as fuck in the morning, sir, but nothing's broken, and I've only got minor cuts here and there."

"...asshole," Baird grumbled.

"Lucky for us," Marcus replied. Harris was currently carefully stitching the gouge shut, and Marcus was more than willing to put his focus elsewhere other than the constant stab of the needle. "Last thing we needed at this point was a critically injured medic."

Sulking, Baird looked away, not willing to agree, but knowing that Marcus was right. He sighed heavily as the anesthesia slowly began to take effect, and while it didn't erase the pain completely, it certainly took the edge off. He turned his gaze back to Marcus, who seemed to be staring at nothing in particularly as Harris worked on the last bit of stitching.

Reaching over and lightly hitting the toe of Marcus's boot, Baird waited for Marcus turn his gaze to him before grinning weakly.

"...maybe you'll...get candy...for being...a good patient," Baird chuckled hoarsely.

"Can it, Baird," Marcus muttered quietly.

Frowning, Baird punched the toe of Marcus's boot weakly in response, but Marcus didn't react.

"...what's...with you?"

Marcus stayed silent, and looked at Baird somberly. Harris had finished working on Marcus's shoulder, and had since starting wrapping bandages around Marcus's left knee. He seemed to be off in his own little world as he worked, though, and seemed to miss the exchange between Marcus and Baird completely.

Shaking his head, Marcus looked down at the ground. Harris had only used a local anesthesia for the stitches on his shoulder, but another, almost crushing feeling of exhaustion hit the dark-haired Gear, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Another, far more sinister feeling, was snaking its way into Marcus's thoughts. One that he was familiar with, but one that he knew he would have to fight tooth and nail. Guilt.

"Sir? Sergeant Fenix?"

Harris's voice once again pulled Marcus from his thoughts and he looked up at Harris, who was standing in front of him.

"Yes?"

"Were there any other injuries, sir? I took care of your shoulder and your knee," Harris said.

"No. Thank you, Private."

Nodding, Harris began packing the medkit back up. He froze suddenly, blanching an ashen white.

"Sergeant Fenix. Locust."

The three words were enough to immediately dismiss any and all other thoughts Marcus may have had at the moment, and he stood up quickly, looking to where Harris was staring.

Sure enough, there was a Kantus far down the road, his outline warped by the heat emanating off the road. He was too far away to even dream about shooting, but there was no denying that he was there.

"...fuck...fuck get me up," Baird demanded hoarsely.

"Private Harris, get Corporal Baird to his feet...carefully," Marcus ordered, never taking his eyes off the Kantus. He gripped his Lancer tightly, trying to discern what the damn thing was doing. "Get the rest of the weapons and the medkit. We're moving."

Wordlessly, Harris followed Marcus's orders, quickly gathering up the weapons and then the medkit. He turned to Baird, who had already propped himself back up on his elbows and was slowly struggling to get to his feet. Harris threw Baird's arm over his shoulders and lifted the blonde-haired Gear up.

Stifling a cry of pain, Baird squeezed his eyes shut. There was no amount of anesthesia that would numb this kind of pain, but the last thing he wanted to do was let the damn grub know he was hurt. Looking around quickly, Harris looked back at Marcus, who had never taken his eyes off the Kantus.

"Sergeant Fenix? Where are we going?"

"Saw what looked like an old farmhouse about a kilometer to the east. We're going there, Private."

"Yes, sir," Harris answered.

He began helping Baird limp quickly down the bar ditch beside the road and into a large field of tall weeds and what was left of a deserted crop. The foliage would help cover their tracks, but Marcus was almost positive the Kantus knew what they were doing. What he couldn't figure out was why the thing hadn't moved or done anything. It only raised his suspicions further.

()

Slowly turning the small name tag over in his claws, Taarl stared down the disgusting surface walker with narrowed eyes. He knew the human. He was infamous for killing scores of Taarl's kind with little more than a Lancer, knife, and seemingly unquenchable bloodthirst.

Taarl hated the man.

But now was not the time to go charging after him. Taarl was by himself at the moment, and while reinforcements would arrive soon, he knew that charging the dark-haired surface walker would be a death wish. But Taarl was a patient Kantus, and, judging by the mangled mess that had once been a human transport, the surface walkers were undoubtedly injured and would be easy pickings.

Looking down at the name tag, Taarl grinned inwardly to himself as he read over the name.

'Dr. Eleanor Boaz.'

Though the initial blood spatters had long since worn off, there was still the undeniable stain of human blood on the name tag. The stomach churning visage of the human woman smiled up at him, but Taarl would forever cherish the twisted, agonized expression she had worn as he'd slowly dissected her, piece by piece. The memories of her last shrieks were a lullabye to him, and he slid the name tag back into a pocket of his robes.

While it wasn't necessarily forbidden from keeping trophies, Taarl knew some of his brethren thought it odd that he had kept the name tag. What they didn't know, or didn't care to admit, was how much trouble that one, damnable human female had caused. She hadn't killed that many of Taarl's brethren, but those that she had killed she had butchered with the utmost prejudice.

She had flayed, electrocuted, and lobotomized whatever Locust had been unlucky enough to be captured by her, and by the time Taarl had finally caught up with her, he had walked in on her ripping the brain from a dying Drone.

Movement from the dark-haired surface walker snapped Taarl from his memories, and he watched as the armored soldier backed up and walked into a field. Snorting slightly, Taarl looked up at the already darkening sky. He would need to leave. The Kryll would be out in their usual droves soon, and Taarl had no intention of being their first course.

()

"Go, go," Marcus urged, eyeing the darkening skies.

"...fuck...hell...shit," Baird cursed as Harris practically dragged him along through the foliage.

"Yes, sir," Harris replied meekly.

"What...happened...with...the Kantus?" Baird called over his shoulder.

"Bastard just stood there," Marcus replied, narrowing his eyes. "Just stood there and stared me down."

"...the fuck?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The trio broke into a clearing and found themselves staring at a long since abandoned farmhouse. Fortunately, it didn't look too dilapidated and, more importantly, it looked like the walls and ceiling were still intact. Wasn't ideal, but it would keep the Kryll from eating them alive.

"Let's go," Marcus said, taking the lead and walking up the creaking stairs to the door.

He pushed the door open slowly, and quickly glanced around, Lancer at the ready. Harris waited with Baird outside quietly as Marcus went through every room thoroughly, making sure they were the only ones that had decided to use the farmhouse for the night.

Fortunately, there were only five rooms. A kitchen/dining area, a living room of some sort, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Going back to the front door, Marcus motioned for Harris and Baird. He watched as Harris carefully helped Baird limp up the stairs, then took one last long, scrutinizing look at the field before shutting the door.

"There's two bedrooms down that hallway," Marcus told Harris, pointing down the small hallway attached to the living room they'd walked into. "Looks like the master bedroom was on the right."

"Thank you, sir," Harris said. Though he hadn't complained, Marcus could tell by the young man's voice that Harris was exhausted.

As Harris helped Baird to the master bedroom, Marcus looked around for any and all light sources. He saw a fireplace on the north wall, but the smoke would give their position away in a heartbeat. Walking over to the doorway, Marcus flicked the light switch on the wall. Not surprisingly, none of the lights turned on. Looking around, Marcus walked into the kitchen and began opening every cabinet and drawer. The first wall of cabinets delivered nothing but a very startled pair of rats and dust covered canned goods. But the second had more practical items, and, thankfully, a set of flashlights.

Marcus picked them out of the cabinet and turned them on. Miraculously, both of them still had enough charge to deliver light. And it was enough that it would keep the darkness, and hopefully the Kryll, at bay.

"Sir?" Harris asked, poking his head into the kitchen.

"Yes, Private?"

"Corporal Baird is resting. The bed was dusty, but in good shape otherwise. I also found this." Harris held up a large, high-powered flashlight. It was larger than the two that Marcus had found, and Marcus could only assume that the people living here had had to deal with the Kryll enough to get their hands on more than just a measly couple of flashlights.

"Good work," Marcus said, taking the flashlight. It worked as well, and after almost unintentionally blinding himself temporarily, Marcus set the three flashlights down on the table. "We'll need to take turns on watch. I'm giving you first watch, Private Harris. After that, get some sleep."

"Yes, sir," Harris answered, nodding smartly. "Thank you, sir."

Nodding, Marcus walked around the rest of the house, checking the integrity of the windows and walls. Fortunately, most of the windows were boarded up and the walls were intact. Going back into the living room, Marcus saw Harris looking at an abandoned photo on the table in the middle of the room.

"Private Harris," Marcus said, motioning to the couch. "We need move the couch to bar the door."

Looking up, Harris nodded and immediately began moving the table from the middle of the room. Marcus walked over and between the two of them, they were able to shove the couch up against the door. It wasn't ideal, but it was far better than leaving the front door open for any Locust to get in through.

()

Night fell, and with it came the cacophony of shrieks and shrills from the Kryll as they circled high up into the skies, searching for anything living that they could devour.

Pacing in the living room, Harris looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard as he felt his mouth go dry. He hated the Kryll. They were completely unbiased in what they ate, and rarely were their meals dead. Taking a small sip of the canteen of water he'd brought with him, Harris walked back and forth, trying to ward off the exhaustion that was gnawing at his body. He only had a couple more hours and then he could get some much wanted sleep.

Marcus had retired to the other bedroom, but it didn't sound like he was getting much sleep. Harris could hear the Sergeant muttering and talking to himself, and at points, it sounded like Marcus was pacing in the small room. Shaking his head, Harris stretched his arms over his head and popped his neck, yawning. He'd heard rumors that Sergeant Fenix suffered from nightmares, and pretty bad ones at that, but Harris wasn't going to ask about them.

And while he couldn't speak for Marcus, Harris was pretty sure his eyes would be shut the instant his head hit the pillow.

()

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marcus stared down at the floor, then across the hallway to the master bedroom. The door was open just enough that he could see Baird, currently asleep, lying on the large bed with a sheet and thin blanket pulled up to his chest. Marcus watched as the blankets over Baird's chest slowly rose and fell with every breath Baird took. Frowning, Marcus sighed and ran his hands over his head.

Baird was obnoxious and undoubtedly an asshole, but he was a valuable and skilled Gear, and as much as Marcus hated to admit it, he'd grown to expect, and was a little accustomed to Baird's constant yammering and cursing.

A hoarse cough and weak groan made Marcus look up. Baird was twisting slightly under the blankets, grimacing, but after a few moments, he fell still and went back to sleep. How Baird didn't have nightmares was still nothing short of a mystery to Marcus, but it was something that he knew many Gears secretly admired and hated about Baird.

Sighing heavily, Marcus stood up. He wasn't getting any sleep at this rate, and he was pretty sure Private Harris would benefit from the rest.

Walking out into the living room, he saw Harris walking around in circles, humming to himself. When he saw Marcus, he stopped and stood up straight. Marcus waved a hand quickly, shaking his head.

"Go get some sleep, Private Harris," he said quietly.

"Sir? Are you sure? I don't think I-" Seeing Marcus's expression, Harris stopped and nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Marcus nodded and watched as Harris walked into the secondary bedroom. After a moment, he poked his head out of the doorway.

"Sir? Is it okay if I shut the door? I, er...sleep better...with the door shut." Harris seemed a little sheepish about the last part.

Marcus nodded in response, and Harris darted back inside the room, shutting the door behind him. Allowing himself a rare, short chuckle, Marcus shook his head slightly. If only nightmares were so easily dismissed by simply shutting a bedroom door...

After a few minutes, Marcus could hear the sound of Harris snoring loudly, a testament to how exhausted the Private had been. Walking to the master bedroom, Marcus looked down at Baird, who was still in some sort of catatonic sleep from the looks of it. A thin veil of sweat had formed on the blonde-haired man's face, and streaks of dirt and grit were smeared across his tanned skin.

Marcus gave himself a few minutes of deliberation, and then walked to the bathroom. He opened one of the cabinets and sorted through its contents, picking out the least dirty of the washcloths. He looked for any sort of medical supplies, but only found a few band-aids, a couple of discarded aspirin, and a pair of tweezers. Walking out of the bathroom and back to the master bedroom, Marcus carefully wiped the worst of the grime from Baird's face. Though Baird grumbled and stirred slightly, he seemed to fall back asleep. Setting the washcloth down on the nightstand table, Marcus sat down on the floor beside the bed, sighing heavily.

"...I'm sorry," Marcus muttered, looking down at as his hands. He hated apologies, and he was never good at them, but now it didn't matter. Nobody could hear him. "...damn grubs never cease to figure out a way to get the jump on us."

"...that's...because...you were driving..."

Baird's hoarse voice made Marcus look up. Baird was looking at him with half-lidded eyes, but his trademark smirk was on his face.

"You're awake," Marcus commented.

"...your pawing...at my face...would wake...anybody," Baird sneered.

"Had to get the dirt off you somehow."

"...aw...you do...like me," Baird coughed.

Marcus was quiet. He started slightly when he felt something lightly grab at the top of his head and eventually the side of his face. Looking up, he saw Baird peeking down at him from the edge of the bed, the blonde-haired man having scooted to the edge of the bed. Seeming a little off put, Marcus raised an eyebrow at Baird.

"What?"

"I was...expecting...an answer..."

Taken aback, Marcus stared up at Baird, who was still grinning weakly, albeit smugly. Coughing weakly, Baird tugged on Marcus's do-rag lightly. Marcus grasped Baird's hand, looking at him in exasperation. Marcus's straight, solemn expression didn't betray his racing thoughts, and by this point, he could hear his pulse hammering in his ears.

"...stupid...bull," Baird chuckled hoarsely. "...don't...get it...do you?"

Swallowing hard, Marcus was fairly sure he 'got it,' but he didn't dare say anything. Too much was at stake and he couldn't risk anything at this point. So, finally, he cleared his throat and shrugged slightly.

"Maybe," he finally answered.

"...need me...to spell...it out?"

"...maybe."

"...of course...you do," Baird laughed quietly, reaching down and hooking his fingers on the neck of Marcus's armor. "...c'mere."

Marcus didn't resist as Baird pulled him closer and kissed him firmly. Baird's hand lightly grazed the side of Marcus's face, and the blonde-haired Gear pulled back slowly.

"...got it...now?"

In response, Marcus leaned up, carefully setting his hand on the side of Baird's face and using his thumb to wipe away another small smear of dirt. He kissed Baird softly, trying to be careful, but Baird seemed to have other ideas as he deepened the kiss, making it more insistent. Marcus made a muffled grunt of surprise, but didn't resist. Baird's fingertips lightly traced the scar on Marcus's face before grasping gently at Marcus's jaw.

Reluctantly, Baird pulled away, the pain in his chest finally overtaking him. He grinned down at Marcus and winked before rolling over onto his back. Closing his eyes, Baird sighed heavily. His ribs were starting to ache and burn again, and exhaustion was worming its way through him. But it was a contented feeling of exhaustion, and he was willing to let sleep overtake him.

"...hey..."

"What?" Marcus asked, looking over the edge of the bed at Baird.

Snapping his fingers, Baird pointed to the side of the bed that was currently unoccupied. Marcus managed a short chuckle and shook his head.

"You know I don't sleep."

"...yeah...but I...do..," Baird replied, snapping his fingers again and pointing at the empty side of the bed. "...get...over here..."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Marcus stood up and walked over to the other side of the bed. He sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard. Slowly, Baird edged towards Marcus before the dark-haired Gear carefully pulled Baird to him. Wincing but crawling closer, Baird set his head on Marcus's chest, succumbing to the exhaustion that was racking his broken body. He felt Marcus sigh heavily, and Baird reached up and lightly patted Marcus on the chest before slipping back into sleep's merciful grasp.

()

Dawn slowly began to break through the dark clouds, sending the Kryll quickly flying for the dank, damp, and pitch dark of the subterranean tunnels they called home. Marcus looked outside the window at the fields that were slowly waving in the morning wind. It seemed eerily quiet, and he wanted to get out of the farmhouse as quickly as possible. They were sitting ducks in the thing during the day time.

Looking down at Baird, Marcus reluctantly shrugged slightly, trying to rouse the blonde-haired man awake.

"Baird?"

"...five more minutes," Baird muttered, pulling the blankets over his head.

Marcus didn't get a chance to respond. The window in the bedroom suddenly shattered, sending a spray of glass into the air, and Marcus snarled in pain as he felt a bullet rip across his already injured shoulder. Rolling to the floor, Marcus gritted his teeth and looked to Baird, who had snapped awake and rolled onto the floor. Though he was grimacing in pain, Baird looked at Marcus, far more coherent than he had been yesterday.

"Goddamn grubs found us!" Baird hissed.

"Sergeant Fenix!"

Hearing Harris's voice, Marcus immediately realized that the young man would be walking right into the line of fire if he opened the bedroom door.

"Private Harris! Keep your head down!" Marcus ordered.

Through the now broken window, the undeniable smell of smoke wafted into the house, and soon it began to curl in like an insidious, coiled claw. And slowly but surely, the unmistakable roar of a fire began to dominate the air. The fields were on fire...

"Go, go!" Marcus ordered, crouched down but making his way to the doorway of the master bedroom. He grabbed the two Lancers that he had left leaning on the wall, handing one to Baird.

Taking the Lancer, Baird followed Marcus out of the master bedroom, immediately regretting that they had had to leave his mangled armor behind. Any sort of armor was better than no armor in this case.

Private Harris was waiting outside in the hallway, crouched down and holding his Lancer. He looked over at Baird and Marcus, panic trying to break through his features.

"I think the Locust found us, sir," he said shakily.

"Yeah, they did," Marcus growled.

Smoke now filled the farmhouse, and it was just a matter of time before the flames in the fields leapt to the wooden house and sent it up in smoke as well.

"We're going to cook like a goddamn turkey in this thing if we don't get out of here," Baird yelled.

Looking around quickly, Marcus motioned for the other two to follow him. They made their way to the kitchen, and as he neared the small window on the kitchen wall, Marcus revved the chainsaw bayonet on his Lancer. Driving it into the wood, Marcus flinched slightly as splinters bit at his face. Sparks flew as he struck something metal, possibly a reinforcing bar or framework, but he continued to drag the chainsaw bayonet down the wall.

When he reached the floor, Marcus stepped back...and then charged the down damaged wall. Ramming it with his shoulder, he staggered slightly as the wood buckled, but didn't give way. The window shattered, glass raining down onto the floor, and Marcus backed up again, this time a little farther. Harris and Baird watched wordlessly, but they kept casting glances over their shoulders at the living room, where the Locust would most likely come in through.

Charging the damaged wall again, Marcus slammed his shoulder against it once again, his left knee suddenly shrieking in protest. This time, though, the wall gave way, and Marcus backed up, kicking the wood and framework away. He looked to Harris and Baird, motioning for them to go first.

"Private Harris, go," he ordered.

Nodding, Harris deftly leapt through the new door in the kitchen, landing on the ground with a grunt. Baird moved forward, looked at the damaged wall, then smirked up at Marcus.

"Told you that you acted like a bull," Baird stated arrogantly before working his way to the outside. He landed, but fell to his knees as pain shot up from his ribs to his shoulders, yanking him down.

Harris was already helping Baird to his feet as Marcus crawled out of the farmhouse. Looking around, Marcus gritted his teeth. They were surrounded by fire, and he could already hear the unmistakable shrieks and roars of Locust. Judging by one of the screams, they were dealing with at least one Kantus. Most likely the one that Marcus had seen yesterday. Spying a small shed, Marcus pointed at it.

"Let's go!" he shouted, having to raise his voice to be heard over the roaring fires.

As they neared the shed, the door suddenly erupted as two Wretches lunged from its shadows. Skidding to a stop, the three Gears immediately opened fire at the darting Locust. One fell just short of Marcus's boots, but the other managed to dodge around and ram into Harris's stomach, knocking the younger Gear over. Turning, Baird revved the chainsaw bayonet on his Lancer and stabbed it into the Wretch, grinning grimly as he heard the monstrosity squeal in pain.

Quickly scrambling to his feet, Harris looked at Baird and nodded quickly.

"Thank you, sir," he said breathlessly.

"Keep moving," Marcus ordered.

He led them past the now partially destroyed shed, heading towards what looked to be a small, unfinished stone building. Most likely it had been intended to house either supplies or farm equipment, but the owners hadn't had the time to complete it. But the stones would provide better cover than wood, and stones wouldn't burn.

"Watch our six!" Marcus cautioned, keeping an eye out as they raced towards the unfinished stone shed. He could hear Baird wheezing fiercely, but they couldn't stop. If they stopped now, they were dead.

Bullets began whizzing through the air as the Locust fired blindly, but as they drew closer to the shed, Baird dared a glance over his shoulder to see the Locust emerging from the burning fields like something out of a horror show. The grubs were coated with ash and were panting against the smoke, baring mouthfuls of sharp, jagged teeth.

This day just kept getting better and better...

Vaulting over the unfinished stone wall, Marcus began to return fire as the Locust began to draw close, trying to buy Harris and Baird enough time to take cover. Two more Wretches fell to the gunfire, but eventually Drones began to emerge from the fields. Hissing a curse under his breath, Marcus grimly acknowledged that the Kantus had been scoping the place out, and had now brought a whole horde of Locust right down on their position.

By a stroke of luck, they had a small lake to their back, which would at least keep the Locust from flanking them. Not like they would really need to at this point...

At this point, all three Gears were desperately firing at any Locust they could train their Lancers on.

"We're going to run out of bullets before these fuckers stop appearing out of the fields!" Baird yelled, ducking as a bullet pinged off the rocks near him. "Shit!"

Hurling a frag grenade at the oncoming Locust, Marcus tossed Baird an extra clip of ammunition before returning to fire at the Locust. A Drone had managed to stagger its way dangerously close to them, and Marcus could see a weak, almost depraved grin on the beast's features. Marcus soon found out why the creature still wore a grin as it collapsed...

The ground in front of them suddenly whipped up in a flurry of jet black clouds and choking fumes, and Harris coughed hoarsely, gagging as the air was sucked out of him. A shrill, reverberating scream rattled the air, heard even over the fires, and Marcus looked up to see the Kantus he had seen from yesterday standing on the roof of the farmhouse.

The Drone that had collapsed suddenly lurched to its feet, hissing and snarling as it charged Marcus head on. It lunged, crashing into Marcus and slamming the Gear into the ground, cracking Marcus's head against a rock. Raking his claws across Marcus's neck and then chest armor, the Drone tried to rip its way through Marcus's armor in a wild frenzy.

"Shit!" Baird yelled. He set his jaw and charged the Drone, ramming it with his right shoulder. A roar of pain and fury escaped Baird as he swung his Lancer upward, burying the chainsaw bayonet in the Drone's stomach. Firing the chainsaw bayonet to life, Baird gritted his teeth, bringing the bayonet up and through the Drone.

As the pieces of the Drone fell in opposite directions, Baird staggered back, gasping weakly. Whatever had even started to heal he had just re-damaged, and now his world was spinning threateningly. Marcus quickly got to his feet, grabbing Baird as the blonde-haired Gear collapsed. Slowly Baird fell to his knees, and he coughed and wretched up a mouthful of blood. Breathing hard, feeling his warm blood trickling down the gouges in his neck and pooling in the neck of his armor, Marcus looked up and saw the Locust drawing closer, the Kantus shrieking at them to keep pressing the fight. Even as Marcus and Harris continued to cut down the Locust one by one, they seemed to keep coming.

Forcing himself to stand, Baird slammed his Lancer down on the rock wall, unable to brace it against his now injured shoulder. He pulled the trigger, gritting his teeth against the rattling recoil, determined to take as many grubs down as he could.

Suddenly, the Kantus stopped in mid-scream and whirled around. He dove out of the way just as a sudden hailstorm of bullets ripped the roof right off the farmhouse. A large black shadow suddenly rose up from the thick, choking smoke, and a King Raven tore through like some sort of ebony dragon and began circling the area, laying down a flurry of bullets that mowed down the Locust. Realizing they were now being ripped to ribbons from the helicopter, the Locust began to scatter back into the still burning fields, trying to find cover from the relentless bullets.

"Am I seeing things?" Harris cried, rubbing his eyes quickly.

Marcus didn't answer, but watched as the King Raven did yet another circle around them, driving off the Locust attackers and sending clouds of smoke and dust into the air and the Locust fleeing for their miserable lives.

()

Within the safety of the King Raven, Baird had been strapped to an emergency stretcher, while Marcus and Harris had been seated as the King Raven lifted off and began flying through the air.

Marcus looked over at Harris, who was leaning back against the back of the seat, breathing heavily but otherwise okay. Turning his gaze to Baird, Marcus was surprised to see that Baird was still awake and coherent enough to grin up at him weakly. Relenting to the mix of emotion and relief that washed over him, Marcus returned the grin wordlessly.

For now...they were safe. And at that moment, that was all that mattered...