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The Day Before Tomorrow: Part 2
Posted By: Azrael<sherwood.tondorf@gmail.com>
Date: 26 December 2008, 4:06 am
Read/Post Comments
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The Day Before Tomorrow
A Prequel to the "Minutemen" Series
Part Two
Harvard University
City of Boston
United North American Protectorate
October 10, 2552
Afternoon
For Christ's sake, your school, your city, and your planet is being bombarded and invaded by Covenant forces, and you're really thinking about sex right now?
Tim McManus had tried everything he could to keep that revelation buried in back of his consciousness. Despite being covered in soot and breathing in the rich stench of burning paper, wood, and smoldering brick, it had made its way into the front of his mind. McManus shook his head vigorously as if he could physically jettison the thoughts from his head, but once again, he failed.
Rachel Lynch, the object of Tim's untoward thoughts, tapped him on the shoulder a step behind him. "What's the matter with you?" She asked, concerned. Two hours ago Tim would have done handstands to command her attention like this. Despite her beautiful face and sparkling green eyes showing genuine concern and eager to hear his thoughts, Tim knew these particular thoughts would be a distraction that could get both of them killed.
"Nothing." Tim lied, tightening the straps of his backpack and checking his Battle Rifle for what had to be the hundredth time.
"You sure?" Ron Parsons chimed in, falling in step with the pair and shooting a glance Tim's way. "Ever since that library burned down, you've been fidgeting like a retard sitting on an ant hill."
Rachel laughed out loud at the off-color joke and Tim did his best impression of an appreciative chuckle. The trio was doing their best to not be depressed at the noticeable decrease in human noise and the marked increase in Covenant machinery in the distance.
"You notice that?" Ron asked, nodding toward the smoking city of Boston. "There were sirens about ten minutes ago. Cops, ambulances, fire. Now," Parsons paused, letting the silence hang over them like a cartoon anvil, "nothin'."
"I can't help but feel like we're being followed," Rachel responded, addressing the feeling that every one of them felt. One by one, they turned around and took in a remarkable sight.
At least two-dozen people; students, faculty, staff, and bystanders, were walking about ten feet behind them as if the three dirt-caked, exhausted kids had any idea where they were going. Tim sighed, and while he did not believe what he was saying to his new friends, said anyway, "I'll take care of it." To McManus' relief, the other two fell in behind him.
Tim had no earthly idea what he was going to say. He tried to think thoughts of leadership, of inspiration and courage, and instead only blurted out, "What's up?"
A history professor, a tall, rail-thin man with wispy gray hair and dirt streaked across his face, looked wide eyed at the Harvard student. "We thought you had a plan."
McManus could feel Ron sigh with exasperation behind him and knew Rachel would be feeling quite the same. Tim gave a slight shrug of helplessness and tried not to panic. "You gotta have us confused with someone else. We just rushed to that building because my friend was in there and we had to get her out."
"So now what?" Someone piped up from the back of the group. A murmur of agreement followed.
"So now—" Tim glanced over his shoulder at his friends with a look that begged for help, and seeing none there, returned with the same confused expression. "Look, I just don't know. You people said the Marines were getting folks out of here. Why don't you go there?"
The group now started to look menacing, as if Tim was keeping something from them. The professor pointed angrily behind McManus. "You're going to help the people back there, but you're just going to forget about everyone else?"
The brown-haired Harvard Junior put a hand to his forehead, squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, and reluctantly turned around to look where the faculty member was pointing. What had once been called Harvard Yard was now a funeral pyre. Freshman dorms lit the sky and belched smoke up into enemy airspace. Bodies littered the ground in various macabre poses. Between splintered trees that once shaded scholars, a bewildered, bloodied, and broken male student stumbled from point to point. "Lost cause" did not begin to describe it. McManus once again shook his head, and whispered to himself, "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me." The large group behind him took it a gesture of abandonment.
"Hey!" The academic shouted, desperation creeping into his voice, "We're talkin' to you!"
Rachel now stepped up and got between McManus and the group. "Whoa!" She shouted, getting too close and stabbing a finger at the taller man, "No one said we'd be your tour guides!"
"But those people in the yard—"
"Are probably dead!" Lynch was almost screaming now. "You want to stay out in the open and wait for them to find you?" Rachel whipped around and thrust her hand in the air, pointing at the giant CCS-Class Battlecruiser dominating the Boston skyline, its pulsing purple gravity lift thrust into the city center. The statement echoed off the surviving walls of the campus, leaving the group in silence. The injured girl exhaled sharply and joined her newfound comrades, revealing an expression of hopeless fatigue that hit Tim like a punch in the gut. Ron and Tim traded uncertain looks.
"Whaddaya wanna do?" Parsons asked.
Tim put a hand on Rachel's good shoulder and took a deep breath. "We could take quick look," he offered. "It is on the way to your place."
Ron shrugged helplessly. "If my place is still standing."
"Good point." Tim did not like being thought of as a leader. Only hours ago he was a carefree college student whose only thoughts had been on schoolwork and where he was going to eat lunch with his friends. Now he was running into burning buildings to save people he did not know and, though he was feeling strongly about the girl next to him, was not in the least bit qualified to be trusted with their lives. This isn't fair.
McManus gave himself a few extra seconds to try and make sense of the decision. A group like this, tired and scared strangers in the middle of a Covenant invasion, would not last long trying to move together. But they deserve a chance to get to safety, he told himself, and apparently we're the best candidates to get them there. If I was in one of those buildings, and I was still alive, he reasoned as best he could, I'd be hoping and praying for someone to save me. McManus balled his hands into fists, knowing that what he was about to say was at best foolhardy and at worst a death sentence. "All right," he said to no one in particular, "we'll take a look—a look—and see if there's anyone we can save. We don't take stupid chances, and we get out here as soon as possible."
McManus searched the faces of the two people he trusted in the group. Ron, despite reluctance to save Rachel before, nodded in agreement. Rachel's face showed the opposite reaction. McManus leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I came back for you," he pleaded, "others deserve at least a chance."
Lynch had apparently been just as torn as Tim, and he saw the dull streaks of small tears on her cheek. "But I'm a lot better looking than them," she sniffed through the joke.
"We'll see," Tim smiled, rolling his shoulders and walking toward the blaze. "C'mon, let's go."
The journey from McGoohan to the Yard was short and silent. Everyone was on edge, casting nervous glances into the sky and scanning for places to hide should hostile aliens suddenly emerge from the shadows. The leading trio realized as they got closer to the site that their view from farther away was much more pleasant than their current vantage point. Of the dozen or so buildings that surrounded the Yard, ten were completely demolished or gave no hope of a safe entry. Two seemed remotely feasible, the only two moderately intact dorms by the front gates. Both roofs had caved in, and the fires around the buildings were getting closer by the minute. As the group got closer, the rightmost dorm gave a low groan and leaned heavily on one side like a drunk. The mass of civilians gasped and took a big step back.
"Bit of a fixer-upper," Parsons joked. "Flipping it will be a bitch." Tim did not appreciate it.
"That dorm's a death trap," he stated, crossing his arms and then tilting his head toward the leftmost building. "The other one's Harding Hall. Two stairwells on either side after you get through the front door."
"How do you know that?" Rachel asked.
"I used to live there."
"Oh. Right."
Tim walked toward the bulging front doors, darkened with soot and splintered from the stress of the structure. Before he could make any other statements, the doors smashed open and a heavyset man in a Boston Police uniform emerged, carrying the limp body of a Harvard co-ed out of the building. The kids could not help but notice the M6C Magnum holstered on his thigh and Tim took an instant to wonder if maybe this scene was not as chivalrous at it first appeared. The cop paused, fires crackling and popping around him. He looked around in angry confusion at the crowd assembled in admiration and fear around him.
"Who do I have tah fuck to get some help 'round 'ere?" He roared. Tim, Ron, and Rachel jumped to assist him in easing the body down to the ground where Rachel laid down a blanket.
"How is she?" Rachel asked, concerned.
"Found 'er passed out tryin' tah break through a bathroom windah. Inhaled a lot o' smoke," the burly figure responded. "She flicker'd on for a sec on the stairs, says she got a roommate trapped in 'er room. Need a spare pair o' hands." He looked back and forth between McManus and Parsons. "Suppose you two wanna 'elp out an' she can tend ta' this one?"
Ron nodded vigorously. Tim did not seem so sure. "That building gonna hold?" he asked pointedly, casting a skeptical eye toward the dorm. The police officer laughed.
"Maybe. Maybe not. One way tah find out, 'eh?" He clapped a hand hard on Tim's shoulder and walked back toward the doomed dorm, chuckling. Tim stared, wide eyed, at Ron.
"Great. The one cop we find and the dude's fucking insane," he pointed out.
"Right, like we aren't." Ron answered back, tossing his backpack on the ground and following the hulking man.
Rachel shrugged off her backpack and began to stand. "I'm coming with you," she said. McManus grabbed her arm.
"You gotta stay here," Tim tried to say as forcefully as possible. "I can't bring my rifle in there and you've gotta look after this girl. Trust me." The brown-haired student did his best attempt at a wink and got up to join the two men at the entrance. Lynch smacked McManus on the back.
"The hell do you think you're doing?" She asked. Tim turned around, confused. "You're going in there without any way of staying in contact with me? What if you get hurt? What if you need help?"
Tim scratched his head, embarrassed. Lynch faced the group behind her. "Hey," she shouted, "anyone got radios or any kind of two-way communication?" A janitor sporting a bandaged head wound and a nametag that read "Harold," reached inside a tool kit and tossed two small radios to the red-haired Boston College student. Tim lunged to catch one device so she did not have to use her bad arm. The two students looked at each other for a split second until Tim raised the radio to his mouth. He clicked the transmit button and locked eyes with his newfound friend.
"Take it easy on me," he said. "It's my first time."
"Never," she answered. "Now get."
McManus smiled, nodded at the sassy remark, and took off toward the building where Ron and the mystery hulk were waiting and in the middle of conversation. Parsons looked very impressed.
"This is Officer Walt Merriweather," Ron introduced the cop to Tim as Walt crushed McManus' hand in a viselike hand shake. "Formerly Private First Class Walt Merriweather, UNSC. Purple heart recipient, and apparently wasn't bright enough for any other job than bashing criminals' heads in."
Merriweather laughed appreciatively as he tightened an improvised smoke mask around his mouth. "Do some recruitin' on thah side nah," he added, smashing the dorm doors in for entrance and shielding his face from the heat. " Follah me. Floor three, let's go!"
The trio ran in a tight group, now suddenly experts on the dangers experienced in structure fires. Merriweather, though resembling an ox, was surprisingly agile, jumping missing steps and shouting instructions to the rookie first responders. The entire building was pulsing with the heat of outside fires, the licking flames begging to meet the tinder of the dorm. The moaning and creaking of the residential building was growing into a dull roar around the group as they started advancing upstairs two at a time.
"You know anything about architecture, Walt?" Tim yelled from the rear.
"I know wha takes 'em down, if tha's what yah mean." Merriweather said, coming to a brief rest at the third floor's double doors.
"How do we know when we should get out?" McManus asked earnestly as Harding Hall groaned beneath their feet.
"If yah heah popcorn poppin' and there's no movie on, tha's windows smashing and tha's yah first bad sign. When thah roof caves in, it's a good time tah make yahselves scahce." Two floors below them a beam snapped suddenly, a crisp clap that made everyone flinch. "Structrah fiahs," Walt snorted, "Gimme dah creeps."
"Let's not stand on ceremony then," Parsons said, patting both men on the back then checking the handle of the doors for heat. Satisfied, he put his weight into a sturdy kick that smashed the doors wide open, revealing a sickening sight.
A portion of the fourth floor had buckled and dropped straight down on the far end of the hall, pinning what looked like three students underneath. Only the odd limb stood out from the wreckage, a grisly juxtaposition to the relatively intact dorm room doors that sported cheery, colorful messages, funny pictures of friends, and names written in perfect female penmanship. Walt stalked down the hall checking room numbers as Tim and Ron tried not to stare.
"Was that before or after you were here?"
"Aftah." Merriweather said simply over his shoulder, indicating he did not want to continue the conversation. "Three-fourteen. Zoey and Maribel." Merriweather grabbed the handle and jiggled it, but it would not give. He swore aloud, backed up to the other side of the hall, and rammed a shoulder into the door. The door refused to buckle and the ex-Marine swore again and looked up the down the hallway. Seeing nothing that could help, he motioned McManus over.
"Group effort?" Tim guessed.
"Hell yeah," Walt nodded, putting a python-like arm around Tim's comparatively slender shoulders and grabbing him tight. "On three." Merriweather counted down and the two ran as hard as they could, giving a rousing shout as they hurled themselves into the solid surface, and yelling with exertion as the frame splintered in and conceded, sending the pair sprawling out into the mangled bedroom. Parsons was right on their heels, helping Tim up as Merriweather picked splinters out of his side. Ron flicked on a spare flashlight and swept it around the room.
"Zoey?" He called out. "Maribel?" Only the roaring of a fire about to jump into Harding Hall and the anguished sounds of a distant building collapsing answered him. McManus inspected the room quickly, noting one of the puffy pink duvets was stained with streaked blood, leading toward a smashed window. "Shit." Parsons breathed, motioning franticly for the others as he came to the other side of the bed.
Lying there, gasping in rasping breaths, was a young Harvard freshman. She was staring up at the ceiling and clutching around the stomach of her white t-shirt, which was rapidly becoming red. Merriweather swore again and dropped to his knees, checking the girl's pulse and breathing.
"Fuck," he said through grit teeth over his shoulder, then put on a reassuring face and put both hands gently on the girl's cheeks. "Ok deah, I'm with the Bowston cawps. You're gonna be fine. Don't move and try not ta speak. Relahx, relahx. We're going to stay with yah and get yah out of heah lickety-split. Blink twice if yah can heah me and yah understand."
Tim was heartened by the two blinks in response, but not by the slight cough and red bubbles that formed in the corners of her mouth. Walt motioned for Ron to watch over the girl and made a quick huddle with McManus.
"Internal bleedin', probably's got blood in her lungs. She's gotta be moved ASAP," Walt whispered.
"Can you call an ambulance?" McManus whispered back, feeling anxiety and fear creep into his chest. Tim did not feel any better at the police officer's laugh as Merriweather only pushed him out the door.
"You get me medical supplies right nah so we can move 'er. If we can make a stretchah, tha's bettah. Got a radio?" Tim nodded, eyes wide open. Walt slightly slapped Tim on the cheek reassuringly. "Get on the horn and make it happen."
McManus fumbled with the radio for a second, mashing the transmit button and nearly shouting with the adrenaline flying through his veins. "Rachel, we need any med bags and a stretcher right now." McManus waited for two seconds, hearing nothing back. "Rachel?" Tim now felt himself being forcibly pushed out of the room and into the hall.
"Signal's prolly fucked!" Walt chastised the student. "Try it out theah!"
Tim squeezed his hand tight around the radio and tried again, but he could only get out Rachel's name before he felt the odd sensation of the world shuddering and a loud crack that sounded like thunder ten feet in front of him. He flinched and cowered for a second, watching helplessly as the ceiling in the hallway started to buckle again.
Overwhelming fear rooted Tim to the spot; the student could only passively observe the bulge in the ceiling tiles getting bigger and bigger. He heard his name being screamed by Ron, but it seemed as if it was being said underwater. McManus was in the middle of a worldwide sports broadcast, and he was in slow motion, about to take the ultimate hit. As Tim scrunched his eyes shut and prepared for the pain, he felt the air rush out of his lungs and his eyes popped wide open in shock. He felt a slight breeze through his hair and he realized his was speeding backwards from the cave in; Tim's eyes flicked down to catch the Boston Police uniform that had him in a perfect form tackle.
In that instant, time normalized and he hit the ground hard, his ears ringing from the crash of the collapse, then adjusting to the scream of pain from Walt Merriweather. McManus scrambled back with his hands, terrified of the scene in front of him. The selfless ex-Marine was pinned from the knee down under the heavy weight of the collapsed hallway, and despite his efforts to wriggle free, the ox of a man was trapped. Ron ran into the intact portion of the hallway and rushed to Merriweather's side.
"Can you move?" Parsons asked, trying to lift the obstruction.
"Ah'm fuckin' pinned," Walt moaned, eyes shut tight in pain. "Gawd damn it."
Only then did Tim become aware of the staticy voice shouting his name. He lifted the radio to his mouth and called back, "Yeah, I'm here."
"Are you ok?" Rachel asked, worry evident in her voice. "What was that sound?"
"Rach," McManus said, joining Ron, "We've got a big problem. The cop's pinned and we've got a girl in critical that we've gotta move out of here. Grab the packs and get up here right the hell now."
"On it," Lynch replied, and the radio squawked off. McManus looked down at his savior, nearly speechless. "You saved my life," Tim said, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Shut up," Walt replied, wincing again. "You've gotta get that girl out nah. She's not gonna make it if we don't."
"Can you call any police or medical units?" Parsons pleaded. "We can't help all these people, and we need help to get you out of here."
Merriweather shifted his weight and his face blanched with pain. "When," he gasped, gritting his teeth through the anguish, "are yah gonna figure it out? This's the end of thah world. Anyone who could get out has gotten out. All those folks got is you." Walt tried his best at a smile. "Poor bastahds."
Tim and Ron's attempt to comfort their fallen comrade was cut short by the unmistakable sound of popping underneath them and down the hall. The Boston cop swore loudly and tried to sit up, reaching into his vest. He shrugged off Tim's attempts to stop him and pulled out a slim black device from inside his vest. Walt lay down then and sighed, catching his breath. He passed the handheld device over his head into McManus' care.
"Lissen, shut up, just friggin' lissen," Walt said. "That's my old data pahd. I got it synced ta UNSC freqs and you'll be able tah get to thah Marines through that. They'll get you all out of this shit. Ron," he instructed, trying to look down his body and get a good view of his predicament, "my M6 still ok?"
Parsons glanced down and nodded as Rachel, huffing and puffing, arrived on the scene, dragging backpacks and the Battle Rifle. Everyone ignored Lynch's hushed, surprised cursing in the background.
"Take the holstah and the piece. You shoot?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Take it, but it's only good 'gainst thah small bastahds and us. More'n likely you're gonna use it on yahself." Harding Hall made a very subtle shift to the right, and the splintering of beams and snapping of supports started to echo in the structure. "Get the girl and get out," Merriweather's demeanor changed, suddenly angry with the group for listening to him. Ron grabbed Rachel and the two scrambled into the room, leaving Tim pedaling backwards, still looking at Walt.
"Thank you," Tim said, knowing what was about to happen.
"Get those people out of Bawston," Walt replied, turning his gaze to ceiling. "All o' them."
The three friends did their best to stabilize the girl in their care and lift her safely clear off of the floor. The building was now beginning to sway as if the ground underneath them were made of shifting sands, and caution was beginning to give way to the demands of survival. They quickly shuffled out of the door, Rachel and Ron balancing the freshman's head and shoulders while Tim turned his back to his friends and carried the girl's leg under each arm. As they passed Merriweather's body he yelled with all his heart and soul over the din. "Get 'em outta thah city!" He roared. "You have to!"
Ten feet before the door to the stairs, another clap of thunder sounded in the hallway and the distinctive shuffle of collapsing ceiling filled the space behind them. McManus fought the urge to look back to see if Walt was ok. Sensing Tim's desire, Parsons roared, "Tim! We've got to keep moving! The door!"
Without breaking stride, McManus shoved a foot perfectly into the double doors, banging them outwards and clearing space for the girl's head and shoulders. The trio could feel the building coming down around their ears, tiny pieces of debris raining down on them as they hustled, wheezing and huffing, down the stairs. The blistering heat of flame was rushing toward them, but Tim could feel the relatively chilly air of Harvard Yard sneaking out from the front entrance.
"Almost there!" He yelled over his shoulder, kicking open another set of double doors and yelling aloud in jubilation as he caught sight of the outside world. The team nearly sprinted the remaining distance as whole portions of the dorm fell behind them like a crashing wave. With only feet to spare, they cleared the front entrance of Harding Hall and very nearly tripped down the four brick stairs outside. Finally, they found a few seconds of peace and laid the severely injured girl on the singed grass of Harvard Yard, clear of the growing blaze. It was in that moment of respite that Tim noticed no one in his group, or in the gang of followers apart from them, was speaking. McManus looked up from the Freshman quizzically, then tilted his head.
"Hey Ron?" Tim said, suddenly very aware of the Battle Rifle slung across his chest, "what the hell's going on over there?"
Tim, Ron, and Rachel now focused their eyes from the direction they had originally come, and so had the rest of the surviving group. Pockets of new survivors, two at first, then groups of six and seven, were running down the small hill toward the Yard. Parsons took a few hesitant steps toward the oncoming crowds, still several hundred yards away. Ron adjusted the knit cap on his head that hid his blonde hair and squinted in confusion. "What the hell are they running fr—"
The answer, with its haunting wail and thumps of sizzling plasma weaponry, suddenly became obvious.
The hunting party of four Banshee attack craft screamed over the fleeing masses, streaking into view right after they deposited simultaneous fuel rod cannon blasts that vaporized most of the panicked mob. Even from farther away, the Covenant light fighter/bombers were purple blurs that left faint contrails behind glowing wingtip turbines. Tim was shocked at just how nimble the Banshees were. Their payload away, the aerial fighters engaged in formation loops that brought them right back into perfect attack position to kill everyone in Harvard Yard, including Tim, Ron and Rachel. To McManus' surprise, the feeling of fear that had gripped him in the hallway had suddenly lessened, and he found himself running toward the petrified group that had wanted to follow him in the first place.
"Scatter! Get into cover right now!" He screamed, waving his arms wildly at the dumbstruck mass. Before McManus could get himself killed, however, Rachel and Ron both grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him toward a still intact fountain, glittering with numerous lucky pennies and only a vague film of spilled blood. The trio ran headlong toward salvation as the Banshees unleashed purple and green hell on the civilians that seemed to growl and shriek before separating humans from their lives. Those who had figured out how to run were blown several feet up in the air as plasma bolts exploded turf and bodies, raining wet sod soaked in water and blood across the quad. Panicked Bostonians were gunned down savagely as they ran with no destination in mind, tripping and falling over each other to find some kind of safety in burning buildings.
Tim could smell the burning brick and his nose tingled with the ionized air as one Banshee zeroed in on the three friends. Before the trio could meet their maker, however, a single missile streaked through the sky, corkscrewing and swerving on a hard lock toward its target, slamming and exploding against a knobby purple wing and sending the Covenant air fighter into a sickeningly fast flat spin over the heads of the young adults. The gleaming violet craft smashed into a nearby dorm like a discarded toy hurled by a toddler into a pile of blocks, burying itself into the steel and brick and raining debris across the yard.
Tim could not even hear his own panicked exclamation as the event happened, but he did manage to catch out of the corner of his vision a dark green Pelican transport that had undoubtedly sent the alien attacker to its doom. Before McManus could point it out, he crunched his shin against the raised granite edge of the fountain and plunged face first into the lukewarm water, right next to Parsons and Lynch. The chaos and murder and stench of destruction around him disappeared in a hazy blue of chlorine, tiny dirty tiles, and discarded coins.
It was heaven on Earth.
The Harvard junior had no clue about the passage of time. Perhaps he had jumped in that fountain seconds ago, perhaps he had been in that dirty water for hours. There was no way for him to tell. Despite past experience, Tim opened his eyes in the fountain and fought to keep them opening in the stinging chlorine. On either side of him, Rachel and Ron lay perfectly still in the shallow water. Were it not for the air bubbles occasionally drifting to the surface, McManus would have feared them dead. It was a surreal experience, as if he were back in the womb.
He did not dare move, did not dare disturb the tranquil peace that the war outside could only try to shatter. Muffled explosions and muted cries of pain only became soothing reverberations in the granite pool, even the shooting pain in Tim's shin was only an afterthought, locked away in the back of his mind. After an eternity, the thuds and booms of the Banshee assault melted into nothing, and the group began to feel the burning urge to breathe fresh air again. Tim fought hard to stay down there, but the will to live finally overcame his desire for tranquility, and he pushed hard against the slick tile and shoved himself out of the water, gasping loudly for oxygen.
Two minutes ago Tim had fallen into a fountain in Harvard Yard. When he got out, he stepped soggy foot onto Mars.
Deep, wide craters from the Banshee's plasma bolts dotted the quad. Bodies lay strewn around the space, and not a single person was moving. Buildings that had half a chance of remaining standing were now rubble. Everyone who had counted on Tim and his friends for guidance and safety had been slaughtered. Harding Hall lay in ruins, collapsed upon itself. Only the two rescued Freshmen were intact, lying still several feet from their former dorm. The now soaking trio trudged across the space, shaking themselves free of water like dogs. Rachel wrung her deep red hair out over her shoulder, shivering in the strong autumn breeze. Ron checked on the girl that Walt had carried out while Tim and Rachel knelt by her roommate. McManus heard Parsons mutter a swear word and punch the ground.
"She's gone." Parsons spat in anger.
"Ours too." Tim replied sadly. McManus and Parsons sat down, miserable. Rachel instead stood up and shrugged off her backpack, slamming it down on the ground in rage.
"Fuck!" She screamed across the quad, collapsing to her knees. "Fuck this shit! It's not! Fucking! Fair! Give us a goddamn chance!" Lynch would have screamed until she passed out if Tim and Ron did not jump up and huddle around her for warmth and comfort. The Boston College co-ed began crying uncontrollably, rocking back and forth. McManus stroked her head and tried to soothe her, but his mind had now changed somehow. He could not put his finger on it, but he became aware he was scrutinizing every detail. Every sound, shadow, even faint smells were becoming minute and detailed. His awareness of the land was heightened, and he felt a tingling feeling in the back of his skull that told him this place, even though it was now quite devoid of life, would not be safe for long. His green eyes scanned the sky and shifted to his partner, Ron. In a stronger voice than he had previously used, he stated, "We've got to go."
"No way," Parsons said. "She's in no condition and we don't have any idea where we're going. We wouldn't stand a chance."
"We don't stand a chance here." McManus insisted, gesturing around the obliterated Yard. "Boston's a lost cause, Ron. We gotta get outta this city. That cop—"
"Walt," Ron interrupted, chastising Tim. McManus put his hands up in concession.
"Walt had that data pad and he said the Marines could get us out. I saw a Pelican fly over Harvard when the Banshees hit us. They know there's still people here. They've gotta wait for us. See if the pad's still working."
Parsons shrugged off his backpack and left Tim to care for Rachel. Digging into the pack, he pulled out the dripping black device and shook it once in a futile effort to clear off excess moisture. "This thing's effed." Ron muttered to himself. "Taking a data pad for a swim and expecting—" Parsons rant was interrupted by the soft blue light of the personal digital assistant winking on, silencing the smart-ass dining services employee and earning a slight laugh through his nose. "How 'bout that?" He said to himself, shaking his head. "UNSC makes some tough stuff." Parsons reached over and handed the device to Tim, who was still holding Rachel close. As McManus took hold of the data pad, Rachel disengaged, stood up, and rubbed her arms self-consciously.
"Sorry," Lynch sniffed. "It's just, you know."
Tim and Ron nodded understandingly. McManus looked over toward the girl's backpack. "We should eat," he said. "Take my pack and figure out what's still viable, okay? I need a second to look at this thing and figure out where we're going."
Parsons cleared his throat and wrung water out of his knit cap. "We, uh," Ron lowered his voice. "We might wanna think about getting some dry clothes off some of the, uh," Ron subtly nodded toward the bodies in the Yard, but Lynch caught the look.
"No," she stated emphatically. "No we're not doing that. I'm not about to strip dead bodies. I won't. I don't care if the world's ending, I'm not going to let us stoop to that level." Rachel looked to Tim for backup. McManus nodded sadly with the girl.
"I can't do that, Ron," he said. "There're enough fires around to warm us. Let's give 'em at least some dignity." Parsons shrugged and dropped the topic, opting to join McManus in scrutinizing the digital map in front of them.
"Is this real time?" The tall, blonde-haired Harvard employee asked. Tim grunted in the affirmative.
"Covenant ass-raped us," the student frowned. "All the bridges near us are out, but there's a route that looks ok right over the Charles River."
"Ok," Parsons said, confusion creeping into his voice, "but you said all the bridges are out."
"I tried out for crew two years ago," McManus said, scrolling along the bird's eye view of the city with his middle finger and thumb and settling on a crimson and white roofed building along the Charles River. "There's a boathouse that we can get into and ferry across. We'll be exposed, but I doubt the Covenant will be patrolling the area again so soon."
"Bet your life on that?" Parsons half-joked. Tim looked over his shoulder at his friend with a very serious look on his face.
"We gotta get outta here, Ron." He said in a level voice. "We're gonna have to take some chances if we want to reach the Marines, and we gotta trust each other." Parsons reached down and gave the student a hand up and the two men walked toward the now-recomposed Rachel Lynch, who handed them both beef jerky and bottles of water.
"What's the word?" She asked as Parsons attached Merriweather's holster to his right thigh.
"Well," Ron said, racking the slide on the M6C and checking the magazine before placing it in the holster, "Timmy's winning the 'willingly going into deathtraps' competition two to one."
"Do I want to know?" Lynch asked McManus, who took one last look at the data pad before shutting it off and stuffing it in his pocket. Tim shook his head.
"I'll tell you on the way," Tim said, taking the lead and pressing his Battle Rifle to his shoulder.
The attractive redheaded college student wiped her nose with a damp sleeve and traded trusting nods with both men. Rachel secured a drier cap over her head once more and focused on the sturdy frame of McManus to ground herself back in the moment.
She caught Tim looking back over his shoulder at her and the two locked eyes for another moment, McManus immediately going back to scanning the path ahead of them as if he were embarrassed to be looking anywhere but straight. Lynch jogged a few steps up and adjusted Tim's backpack, wiping soot off his jacket and patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. She was delighted to get a smile out of him.
Parsons brought up the rear, looking ahead into an increasingly creepy silence of a murdered city. In the distance, the giant Covenant Battlecruiser hung overhead with no intention of leaving.
"What could possibly go wrong?" Ron sighed.
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