War For The World

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The trek back to Hersch manor was thankfully far less stressful than the morning. It was a long walk back through the destroyed city, through the forest and up the hill, though Michaels hardly noticed. His head was still spinning, and the consistent ringing in his ears had done little to cease.

The perplexing events that had just proceeded him were beginning to sink in. He'd had little time to process them up until now, and the tiring walk alone through dense bush and muddy grounds gave the Seargent plenty a time to replay them in his mind.

He should be dead.

Undoubtedly and unequivocally dead.

And yet somehow, he was all in one piece (vaguely speaking)

It was the radio. It had to have been. Something about that long-distance radio he'd swiped from General Braltr's experiment lab had messed with the tripods mechanics.

For a brief moment he considered the possibility that Braltr had known, though this idea made little sense. If it had been the radios fault entirely, then why hadn't they used it sooner?

Michaels was reminded of his own tampering's with the device. The weird inner mechanisms of the radio, stringy and sticky to touch. He'd shoved a wire from the beacon in there, not bothering to inspect the intricacies of either and hoping that it'd all work out. For what it was worth it seemed it'd worked out for the better.

Earlier on in his trek he had tried to make contact with Abigail. Through the pain in his fingertips and screaming rib cage he'd tried and tried again, surfing through radio signals in a desperate attempt to reach her. The sound of static became a cruel sound, taunting him as he went. His previous radio had been smashed upon impact with the wooden floor of the town hall. This new radio seemed set to an entirely new wavelength. The realisation that he'd be on his own a little while longer had not phased him, instead he'd started walking. The next mission was clear. Martians and tripods and Nazis be damned, all he could focus on was his girl and his men. Once he knew for sure that Abigail was in good hands, he'd get to work on the second part.

***

Relief came flooding thick and fast as Michaels hand rapped against the cool hard wooden door of the manor. No sooner had his hand returned to that of his side did the door swing open to reveal a myriad of scared faces and soot ash covered people, though one face truly stuck out from the crowd.

"James!"

She came running towards him, and before he'd had time to brace his body for impact he was crashed into by a running Abigail. She was panting, with dried blood down her face and clothes that were either torn or burnt.

"What the hell happened to you!" she exclaimed, clutching onto him dearly and deeply. The presence of her against his chest felt good, regardless of the bruised ribs and cuts she was inadvertently digging into.

"You honestly wouldn't believe me if I told you" he said, offering up the faintest of chuckles.

"Its so good to see you" he then murmured into her ear. His grip tightened around her as his mind flashed back to the broken, headless body of Jones.

"I know what you mean. I missed you terribly, the others had to stop me from going back in there and finding you"

"I wouldn't've forgiven myself if you had. You're safe, Im safe, that's what matters at the moment"

He pulled her back, their embrace over. Staring into each other's eyes Michaels noticed the heavy rings under her eyes. Coupled with her bloodshot look and tear stricken makeup, he began to wonder what sort of a mess he must look like.