A Dash of Scarlet In Paradise

NIGHTFALL

IV

The stars were torches, flickering up in the lonely, vast space above. Marcus had to ignore Nirvana's allures and centralized his attention onto the situation. He needed more than a few crushed nutrient bars in order to make it though the night.

He felt the cold, wet mud smudged across his face, but his stomach persisted a much more obvious warning sign. Something came over Marcus all of a sudden. It was like everything he was fighting for was lost to the shadows.

He froze and slumped down to touch the soil again. Minutes had gone by, each more excruciating than the last. Marcus started to realize that his efforts were leading him nowhere. His head rested on a shredded log and a bug scurried past his forehead so quickly that the exhausted soldier couldn't sense it.

Gently, Marcus sealed his eyes, he began to take his mind off his hunger and rethink his primary objective.

Sector G-44, it can't be far. I hope it isn't.

Then, smoke was drawn up his nose. The once shut eyes blinked as Marcus sat straight. "What the..." his whisper was overheard by the lingering forest spirits.

In his line of sight, through the clouds was a trail of grey smoke, quite faint. It appeared as a staircase to the falling skies, but yet seemed very devilish. It was the symbol of a crashed ship.

Exhaling deeply, the man regained his might and got up to fix his protective vest. With a swipe, the perspiration on his face cleanly vanished. He cocked his pistol and held it right in front. The sounds of footsteps squelching in the mud got weaker and weaker.

Then there it was, but it was completely out of place. The cylindrical, chrome wreckage of the hefty craft erased the refined splendor of the ecstasy in was sunken in. A timbered tree made a clear cleavage across the gunship. The glass from all the windows had shattered and converted into a sheet of white sparkles. And even the 20 mm mini-gun set under the nose had been bent. But the most eerie sight, were three long carves on the metal door.

What the heck in the world could have done that...doesn't seem like the works of any machine I know.

Marcus dug throughout his backpack, his hand created a ruffling noise as he did so. A pearl black Swiss army knife disclosed itself to Marcus and so he apprehended it and used it to remove the foliage was secreting the door hinge.

Nothing really made sense. Marcus had no remembrance of anybody mentioning gunships being used in the operation. He still doubted for a while whether this discovery would lead to his success or his demise.

Summoning enough energy, he kicked down the door. Apparently it was delicate and would have been knocked down by anything anyways.

The alloy hull was battered and mostly crumpled. Cargo boxes had tumbled down and spilt food supplies as well as ammunition everywhere. Wood planks in irregular positions were the only remains of what were once benches.

Moonlight seeped through the tiny bullet holes all around the carrier. Now Marcus was getting a little anxious.

Flares, where are they?

He patted on his belt to pull out a flare, it was still in good condition.

Oh, duh.

All Marcus need was the slightest bit of illumination. It only took a scratch to light up the flare, and then followed a hissing sound. A dim red light rolled across a flat surface.

Following the red light, the sergeant headed to the cockpit, as it was the most sensible thing to do.

Two lifeless men hunched at the pilot and co-pilot seats. One had blood leaking out from his gut. The other had his head thrashed through the glass. Marcus recognized the pilot suit. It appears that the gunship belonged to the UDCF.

Just the thought alone was confusing. The fact still didn't ring a bell for Marcus. All he could do was to assume that the army sent additional support. All the projectile punches in the ship made it seem like some sort of conflict occurred there before.

He would have missed it if he walked any faster, but out of the corner of his eye, Marcus spotted a can of food, completely untouched.

The Velcro straps on his backpack ripped and Marcus extracted his pocketknife to make an alacritous cut. The thin aluminum lid peeled off. With the sleeve of his jacket, he cleaned his knife and then placed if back where he had found it.

He looked inside the can, fingers-crossed. Marcus was in such great hope that this would help him last. And how fortunate he was that night.

Within the can were chunks of beef, and the amount of food was surely enough to make Marcus sustain his concentration. He began to think again, but his mind just wiped his thoughts clean.

His fingers pinched at one of the chunks and tossed it into his mouth and savored the taste of real, edible food. He slowly continued his crude way of eating.

Once a bold leader now just an underdog, hiding and on the run. Every single movement Marcus made meant consuming more of his precious energy, so he bent down and squeezed his arm firmly, for it was aching terribly.

Somebody...anybody...