Chapter 551.5 - 4th & 10 (1/2)

The door opened and Dambree walked in, pulling the grav-skiinig mask off of her face. In the three months since she'd killed the slorpies on the shore of the lake the black rain had stopped, there was no more sounds of fighting, and the night had been peaceful and quiet.

”Was there someone out there?” Tru asked, setting the shotgun down.

Dambree nodded. ”Yes. They wanted to talk to me.”

”What did they want?” Aunt Fenn asked. Her belly was swollen to the point she spent a lot of time reclining in one of the chairs. Her second child conceived during the war was almost ready to be born.

”They told me it's time,” Dambree said. She sat down, still in her 'work clothes', and grabbed a can of Liquid Hate Black Coffee and Bubblegum. It squeaked ”you'll regret this” as she opened it. ”It's time for all of you to go home.”

Aunt Fenn sighed with relief.

”I don't want the baby born here,” Dambree said softly, looking at the top of the table. ”I'll radio it in and all of you can go home,” she picked up the radio off the table and looked at Tru and Elu. ”It's time.”

Tru nodded. ”I know.”

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Elu looked up at his sister, the Confederate grav striker behind him humming. ”Please?”

Dambree shook her head. ”We're all that's left of our family. Somebody's gotta live, not just hide out here, but live. Somebody's gotta make it. Me and Mister Mewmew, we're all used up.”

Elu nodded, taking his sister's hand. ”I love you.”

”I know,” Dambree said.

”I'm never going to forget you, not as long as I live,” Elu promised.

”I know,” Dambree said. ”I'll never forget you either. I love you.”

Dambree bent down and kissed her brother's forehead. ”Take care of Tru and Nee.”

”I will,” Elu promised. He turned and ran to the striker, where the rest of the family was waiting.

”I know,” Dambree whispered.

She stood on the ground, in front of the cabin, and watched the doors to the striker shut. Nee pressed her face against the window, crying, and watched her sister and Mister Mewmew dwindle as the striker rose into the sky.

Dambree didn't go inside, just moved over and sat on the hood of wrecked and ruined car, where she had a rucksack packed. Her brush clearing blade was sheathed on the side of it. Mister Mewmew tried to jump up, slipped, and Dambree grabbed him before he fell, lifting him up and putting him on the hood.

”They'll be here soon,” Dambree said softly.

”

”Me too, Mister Mewmew, me too,” Dambree said.

Time went by slowly, only the sounds of the lake in the distance, the call of birds, and the buzzing of insects.

Then came a growling snarling roar.

The grav-striker had seen better days. One door was torn off. The armor and windshield were shattered over the copilot's seat. The port graviton engine was smoking and showering sparks, burning inside with hot reddish flames.

”Ready?” Dambree asked.

Mister Mewmew stood up.

Dambree picked him up and the ruck both.

The grav-striker landed with a crunch and an unnatural stillness filled the air.

Dambree walked to the striker. She paused for a moment, looking back.

The cabin sat empty. It looked old, tired almost.

She sighed, and climbed up into the striker.

It lifted off with the howl of damaged grav-drives.

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Specialist Grade-5 Melinvae parked the car and got out. She was in her dress uniform, the dark blue heavy jacket wrapped around her and she put her dress cap on her head, grateful for the gloves.

The day was blustery, snow was on the mountain peaks, and autumn was evident in the gold and reddish leaves of the trees.

Ahead of her was a low stone wall, a single opening bracketed by two stone pillars that were waist high in the middle of the wall.

In the middle stood a large figure in a nun's habit, face hidden by a veil.

Melinvae walked up to the figure and stopped.

”Melinvae,” the figure said. The voice was female, but rough, gravelly. Melinvae knew it was the sound of vocal cord trauma.

”How are you?” Melinvae asked.

”Content,” the figure said.

”I have mail for you. Your family,” Melinvae said, holding out the envelopes.

The figure reached out with a white gloved hand, taking the envelopes.