The Will To Live✔️

Chapter 35: Back To Basics

He spent a moment looking around for something, something useful. Something that gave him more direction than: towards the outpost. After a moment, he found it: right at where the edge of a massive forest met the large open field they had crashed into, he saw a Warthog. It didn't look to be in good shape, but maybe they could patch it up. That was it, that was their goal. At the very least, it was a sign of life.

Maybe there were friendly forces in the region.

Greg dropped back down into the cockpit. Breaker had joined the others. Greg saw that Laney had managed to track down a broken-down stretcher and was in the process of putting it together. Well, that was lucky at least.

"All right, I've got a plan," he said, and they all looked at him. "Breaker, Turner, the two of you get stretcher duty. Coretti, you're sticking back with them and covering them. Laney and Izzy will be up front with me. There's a Warthog maybe five hundred meters away, by a forest. It looks abandoned and maybe broken, but it's better than nothing. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Then let's get to it."

* * *

Progress was slower than Greg would have liked, but at this point he was counting his blessings. After a check of them all, besides Larsen's leg and a handful of scrapes, bruises, and cuts, and several headaches, they were fine and still in fighting condition. The snow was an omnipresent problem, slowing them down, and the way the skies were darkening rapidly as they crossed the field made him nervous. If they ran into a blizzard out here they might well be screwed. But it wasn't like they had a lot of options at the moment.

None of them could get anything over their radios. In a way, he was reminded of his time on Polaris Island. Although he was a hell of a lot less screwed this time around. Probably. Hopefully. He kept focused on the wrecked Warthog by the treeline, keeping an eye out for any sign of Flood or hostile wildlife. So far, he saw nothing. Though he could easily envision Flood or varg lurking among the trees.

Or infected varg.

This infection was getting way out of hand. He felt bad that they wouldn't be able to get the infected volar back to Yamazaki, because it was now smeared over about half a mile of the landscape, but given how quickly this infection was spreading, Greg had no doubt there would be many, many more opportunities to grab more corpses. He was honestly just dreading the moment when one of them asked for a live specimen.

That wasn't going to be fun.

"How's Larsen?" Greg asked when they reached about the halfway mark.

"Still out," Turner replied.

He sighed softly and wondered how hard of a hit he'd taken on his head. Certainly it was a blessing to the kid that he was unconscious, given the amount of pain he would be in if he were up, but they were at a disadvantage having to carry a stretcher. Not that they'd be a whole lot better if he was up, but at least conscious he'd have more mobility than a log. Greg glanced off in the distance to his left. The frozen lake and snow-capped trees beyond it, and the mountains beyond them, stood in silent winter splendor.

In a way, some part of him really appreciated the beauty of the snowscape, and he lamented that they couldn't enjoy it. What he wouldn't give to be able to sit in a log cabin or something, just hang out with Izzy all day, chopping firewood, reading, screwing, relaxing in bed with a fire crackling nearby. It would be great.

Maybe after this was over.

He resisted the urge to laugh.

Yeah, maybe after the whole war was over and they somehow came out the other side alive, intact, and sane.