Various locations
Within five klicks of each other

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BRADLEY WAS dead.

It was like life was getting a kick out of of making Lale suffer. Boom. Fereldson was dead because of him. Boom. Ichabod betrayed them. Boom. Bradley was dead.

The ex-pilot's arms were crossed, his eyes closed. They stood at the channel where a few mere hours before, they had been fleeing for their lives. Alongside Bradley floated Arnie Herald and Daina Booi. All dead.

Lale hadn't known Bradley's religion, but he hoped wherever his friend was, he would be at peace to be floated into the marsh where he had survived the past year. He didn't want to think about what would happen to the corpses, and what any results of dinosaurs getting a taste of human would mean for them.

The living ones.

Everyone, sixteen in total, of seven women and nine men, stood silently as Lale and those closest to each of the dead gently pushed them into the open water. The reeds caught on their grey suits and Lale had to swallow back the thick feeling in his throat.

This is all wrong. It should've been me. It should've been me.

Bradley was the one who'd known how to survive in the Jurassic. But with the flick of a charger and twitch of a trigger, all that knowledge was lost, and all that was left were twelve discouraged Learners and four discouraged marines versus Ichabod.

And the dinosaurs.

Deep down, Lale knew that his friend didn't deserve to go such a way. He deserved to get a state funeral, coffin coated with the American flag. Or for his ashes to get scattered from Mount Everest's peak. He didn't deserve to get tossed into a marsh to be eaten by crocodiles or fish or whatever lived in prehistoric waters.

Finally, after a century of struggling, the reeds closed around Bradley's head, and he and Daina and Arnie were left to the marsh and whatever was in it. No medals to honor their courage. Not even a bouquet of flowers.

Nothing except for the hum of insects across the water.

Lale dragged himself out of the channel, well and truly spent. His suit was waterlogged and it seemed like that had messed up some of the connections inside - random spritzes of air chilled his inner elbows. The others tittered and moved about and some wiped away tears, but they were all doing nothing.

Waiting for someone to take the reins, perhaps. To tell them what to do. This realization dawned on Lale slower than it should've.

The sun was descending. The shadows were growing longer and Lale felt a chill run through his spine. They were waiting for him to tell them what to do.

And he was too tired of grieving for lost people to not do anything. Ichabod had to pay. His vow crept up on him like a slight breeze, and that anchored him again.

Lale relished the sharpening of his mind and thoughts for a brief second before he stood up, resignation slowing his movements only slightly. Leader or not, they all (or, at least he hoped) had vengeance on the mind. Ichabod was a traitorous bastard who had killed his friend and maybe even Amelia, though he didn't dwell on that too long.

Too many emotions leapt up at that thought, and he had to stay on task, no matter how much he wanted to fret over the missing young woman.

"Right." To him, this first word echoed like a gunshot through those in front of him. They straightened as he thought of what to say.

Don't blank out now. C'mon.

"Uh ... first, lets take inventory of your different skill sets." That was a good start, he reckoned. Maybe some of the Learners knew how to handle a volt-gun, or, at the very least, would be able to throw a primitive spear or two. "I'm Staff Sergeant Lale Jacobs of the National American Guarding Marine Corps. NAG-specialized, basically."

The other marines were nodding along, but the Learners looked mostly blank. Specialized marine corps weren't as huge as the voluntary American Guard, which was stupid and elementary compared to NAG. Lale stuffed away his contempt for the American Guard as he tried to straighten his train of thought.

Everyone has different skills, else they wouldn't be here, he reasoned. Maybe something useful will turn up. But all he could see in his mind's eye while he thought was who they lacked.

Amelia. Bradley. Luca (even the turdy little technician would've been of some use at that moment.)

But mostly Amelia. Lale tried to steel himself, but he couldn't help but hope - pray, even if praying wasn't his thing - that she was -

Alright. There're sleeping bags, rations, water flasks, and matches. Volt-guns are too heavy to travel with, even if they come in handy ... Amelia studied the assorted items laid out within the container.

Beyond the things of immediate usefulness were large metal beams that criss-crossed the length of the container's frame. What they could be used for, she had no clue, but a squirming suspicion in her gut suggested that Ichabod would be using them, for whatever idiotic reason he had decided to turn on them all for.

The droning of the griffinflies had long since faded, and she could only hope that Lale, Zoey, Tina and Luca had made it out alright.

(She also couldn't help but wish, with a burning hatred inside her chest that even surprised her herself, that Ichabod had been killed by those beastly prehistoric insects rather.)

Shaking herself from things she couldn't reassure herself over, Amelia refocused on the task at hand. She'd already realized that Bradley's house-on-stilts and the camp surrounding would be a danger zone; Ichabod had left her to die in her a dinosaur nesting ground, so why would he hesitate in trying to kill her again?

No, Amelia had already decided. Her best bet was to head for the place Bradley had pointed out from everyone to bathe. He had indicated (albeit vaguely, though she brushed that thought off) to the direction of the lake, and she had to have hope that Lale and the others would be there, and would be able to help in fighting back.

Whatever Ichabod has in store, it can't be anything good. She blinked back sweat cascading down her forehead and swept her hand across her dry lips. The container was stuffy and her ankle was throbbing. We have to stop him, before he hurts anyone else.

Her palm came away crusty with dried blood. Amelia unconsciously clenched it into a fist, her eyes narrowed on the shadowy slit of the slightly-ajar container door.

Ichabod. Ichabod. She reached out mentally - almost as if she wanted to harm him telepathically. I'm coming for you.

Amelia's other hand rested on the warm side of a volt-gun.

"We'll attack as soon as an opportunity presents itself," Lale's words of reassurance echoed in his mind as he lay with his arm flung over his face, staring at the sky. The rocky ground was hard beneath him, and the faint bays of far-off dinosaurs acted as unfamiliar background noises.

For the first time, Lale could trace through the constellations with his eyes, scraping his grey gaze across the dark blue and the white pinpricks. The stars had always been obscured, almost unreachable, though smog and the destroyed ozone layer.

He guessed he was always too busy surviving - eyes on his gun and on the people he was aiming to shoot - to look up and admire the universe. Even the dinosaurs that towered over the ERAA recruits paled in comparison to the Great Everything. He felt small.

That feeling clenched up in his chest like a fist. Even if he himself was small, Lale tried to reassure himself, what he was doing was not. What he and the fifteen other recruits did next; either defeat Ichabod or let him commit to his evil-doer plans, could affect the rest of the human race.

The future of it.

Lale released a sigh, and his breath shifted his dark fringe. He blinked back the sudden exhaustion pricking behind his eyeballs, begrudgingly accepting that even he had to sleep. Besides, they'd already planned a satisfactory plan of action; as soon as they got their hands on some weapons, even if it meant raiding the container that held the remaining volt-guns, they would fight back.

He shut his eyes. The burden of being the unofficial 'leader' was released as he shifted into a dreamless sleep.

We have to.

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