Eating Dirt (And Sometimes Bugs)

[Geno]

We all know the story.

Of the fleet that came from New York. Of the flags they planted, the growing hubris of the Alma, the escalations and the riots and the killings. Many are in agreement that for them the stupid satellite was just the excuse they needed to start a war, and many more agree that it was our excuse to cut loose and show the authorities a great deal of Zoner exuberance.

And we all know how that went.

Flaming debris burned up in the atmosphere like a meteor shower for months, and the fires of war were perpetuated all throughout Erie by both sides of the conflict. On one end, we once had armored riot officers from the LPI more bent on capturing and detaining than doing wanton destruction. And on the other, our protesters turned into enraged anarchists and insurrectionists who lobbed firebombs and homemade tear gas grenades into the advancing patrols. For a time, it worked, and it looked fairly effective, too. Until Liberty's idea of enforcing security turned into spreading conquest for our resources, and this drastic change in mentality was even reflected in their methods.

Buildings were collapsed in an attempt to entrap everyone, and both laser bolts and kinetic bullets alike began to suppress everyone who chose to resist through lethal means. Tall pillars of soot and dust and ash could be seen rising from high rise part of the city we fled together, along with countless others. We couldn't fight, but neither did we choose to be subsumed. We fled for the hills.

I chose the runaway life along with my friends, I chose to hide like a rat under gutted concrete buildings when the fights were taking place near the lumber factories.

It worked, for a time. We rationed our scavenged meals, cooked them to make them look appetizing, while Mark and Ricky always ran away from the camp at night to rob the other survivors blind, or to break and enter into nearby stores to feed the rest of us.

Other survivors started noticing our misdeeds. How we survived by taking advantage of the ensuing bedlam to slip through the cracks. We were eventually reported, and the patrol officers came up perfectly good warrant contracts for arrest, detainment, and/or execution. As if they needed one to begin with.

Markus Pine, 10,432 SC.
Richard Wendell, 9,395 SC.
Liam Rachel Scottsdale, 4,223 SC.
Veronica Akemi Bennett, 4,112 SC.

I had been caught red handed. I became guilty by association, one of their scanners must've found us while we went on a scavenging hunt.

That's how we knew we were doomed. Probably right from the start, from the moment the announcement was made and all of those sanctimonious sentiments against Liberty became popular enough to be on the mouth of every Zoner.

When Liam dropped the news, we were shook. It became clear to us that these were going to be our last days on Erie. Getting out of this alive was no longer an option. We were doomed to be abducted, trialed by Liberty and treated like the rest of the terrorists we so thoroughly tried not to be.

But not me.

It was my last meal with everyone else. Huddled at our camp, hidden in the thicket a hundred kilometers away from Orwell. The woods sheltered us for so long, and along this equatorial band, heat and hydration was always our only concern, along with the few Raptor beast critters that would rear their heads at night. Ricky lost a finger to those things, but he didn't seem to mind, as he found a concerning amount of pleasure in piercing their skulls with his spear. Mark was his spotter, and they were always together. If I didn't know better, I would even hazard to guess they were long lost brothers, or maybe more.

The smell of the stew felt nauseating. Despite it giving off a nice scent of fire-red hyacinth and pork, my anxieties were through the roof, and they wouldn't let me stop thinking.

Both Rachel and Chris couldn't stop sobbing to themselves, as per their usual. They were known for bellyaching a lot and resorting to slog and self harm, and Michela tried calming them down, being the group mom that she was. Ricky and Mark wouldn't fucking stop downplaying their misery through their unending jaded comments bursting with irony, while Liam remained stoic and uncaring like his usual self, sharpening a stick with his white knife in sheer silence. Micheal tried having a small sermon, about how God was watching over us and how we were going to get through this, too. While I didn't touch my stew, not thinking I was worthy of it because of what I was about to do to everyone.

I toyed around with an empty tin can, filling it with nitrate powders and nails from our stash, and twisting the primer's rope with a nice knot, just like how I had done it a hundred times before. One more weapon for the stockpile, one more weapon for Ricky to be a godless savage with.

I looked over to my shoulders, and to the other side of the campfire. We were all so tired, we had been through so much, and we had lost everything to the invasion.

Some tears started welling up in my eyes when I glanced over to the young ones. I was just like them, not too long ago. But I had no Michela there to comfort me. I hope they will be okay without me.

I swallowed it down. Tried not to let them see me. Liam's eyes caught up with mine - that man was an enigma, and I could never tell what was going through his head.

It wouldn't be long before nighttime arrived. A starless, cloudy night. How fitting.

I packed a few of my explosives. I was planning to use them as decoys to scare off the Raptors. I packed some water, and most importantly, my PDA device, where I had marked my point of interest all those years ago. My torchlight, and whatever was left of my courage.

I walked off, while trying not to crush the dead leaves under my feet.

The smell of a windless summer night permeated my nostrils. I didn't hear any beasties, nor did I hear any drone patrols flying up above the woods.

The grass brushed against my bare legs. A sign I was starting to get off the beaten path. Even the tall trees and their tall roots seemed bent on preventing passage, as their density began to feel more and more packed.

I turned on my flashlight. A white beam, like a pocket searchlight, was unleashed, as it cut through the gloomy darkness.

I walked onwards. And onwards, and onwards, stumbling across weeds and roots and plants and branches and stones and moss on several occasions, scratching my palms and my knees. The woods felt as though they stretched onwards forever, and ever, and ever. The longer I walked, the more my anxieties and my injuries began to well up. The more time I spent without keeping my hands busy, the more my shaky sanity evaporated into a fog inside my head.

I checked my PDA. Two more kilometers. I was nearly at the home stretch. I started jogging towards my destination. I was so close.

My dad looked at me very funny when I proposed the idea of leaving Aomori without him. He never knew why I asked to be a pilot for the GMG, until the all the pieces of my strange behavior clicked together.

He yelled at me, thinking I was going to become just another barbarian crowding Sirius. Another gaijin. He would go on about how humiliating it was going to be, to see his other heir leaving Kusari and choosing to live like a forest fairy with her mom.

To me, he was still my dad, and I loved him, and I cared about him, but him, he saw me as a disappointment more than a daughter. I could have been better, I could have been obedient, attentive, submissive. But I defied Father, just like how I chose to defy the standards of life in Kusari.

At the time, stealing his Benzaiten with his access keycard and fleeing into Liberty with it felt like a good idea. But as time went on, I soon realized how much more I could've become had I just listened to the old man.

Especially after the Invasion happened.

I stuck with my decision. I crossed the docking ring's descent, and fled far and deep inside the atmosphere of Erie, until I found a small meadow where I could touch down. The same meadow I reached after entire hours of walking on foot, all those years later.

She was still there, on top of that small hill, concealed by overgrown grass and vegetation, covered in mud, dirt and grime and grass and flowers. It was almost inspiring to see how nature would still reclaim everything.

"I didn't know you had it in you."

Liam emerged from the woods, grasping a gun. I could see his attentive, predatorial gait and his blonde hair without having to my flashlight, as the earliest sunlight hours of the morning began lighting up the sky.

"Back off, Liam. Go back to camp."

"Not a chance, Veronica. We had a deal. You promised we would all see this through to the end." He would shake his head, as he continued to advance towards me.

"Leave me alone! This is my ship, these are my choices, and this is MY LIFE. You're not welcome in it."

A scowl emerged on his shaved face. His blue eyes narrowed, as he held the pistol with both hands, moments away from pulling his trigger.

"Why the hell would you follow me here?! What, you don't trust me anymore, is that it?"

A few laser bolts were fired from his pistol. They marked the Matsuo-3 with black scorch marks. I dove to my immediate right, stumbling into the grass.

"Sorry, Veronica. We need this ship more than you do."

Liam continued pulling the trigger. My survival instincts kicked in, as I pulled myself up and hid behind the ship. I could feel my heartbeat pulse in my ears, my palms sweating like never before.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

I could hear his footsteps run up behind me in a rush.

"I had you figured out from the moment you talked about leaving."

I had to think, quickly. Briefly. With a shaky hand, I reached for one of my canned explosives inside my backpack. That boy was too smart for his own good. I had to do something.

"I trusted you. We all did."

My lighter, I could not find my lighter. I checked my pockets. My back pockets. My coat's pockets. My backpack's pockets.

"Give me the ship, Veronica."

Something brushed against my fingers while I was frantically digging inside my backpack. Something rectangular, something made of plastic.

He walked closer, closer, ever closer. The leaves on the ground crunched under his boots at every step. A bright, white spark was unleashed from the green primer's wiring.

His gun was aimed at me, as he turned the corner.

Time grinded to a halt.