HAVEN ✓

Five

It is a massacre.

There are bodies, limp and bloody, strewn about the trees. Some are wearing crudely made tunics, others bear the deep green uniform of soldiers, and I find myself frantically scanning the ground for any familiar face. My thoughts sling back to Miles as he was a week earlier, sporting his border patrol uniform and smiling as he ruffled my hair. Fortunately, none of these fallen soldiers I see have the high-ranking border patrol markings on their sleeve.

At first, I am numb to my surroundings as we venture closer to the ongoing battle, the severity of reality not yet sinking in. Then when the metallic smell of blood and gore hits me, it's like a shock to my brain and I fight the urge to vomit.

I have never seen death. Not like this. In Herald, most causes of death are work accidents, sickness, and old age. Never before have I witnessed any of it first-hand, having no extended family and all my grandparents still living. I swallow the lump in my throat, horror-struck at the thought of one living being taking the life of another.

I don't know these people, but my heart aches thinking of the families these soldiers left behind. The grief that they will endure with the loss of their loved ones at the hands of these monsters. Grief I can relate to. Then as my eyes skit over the bloodied ground, I wonder—did these Outlanders have families that care about them? Will there be some mother grieving the loss of her child, or would she accept their death as support for the savagery in this forest?

Markee grabs my hand and urges me forward faster toward the screams and the fighting and gunshots.

Please don't let him be hurt.

Upon the battlefront, we crouch under a short, squat tree, the low hanging branches camouflaging us so we can search for Miles up close without being seen.

The combat is surprisingly evenly-matched. Our soldiers may have advanced weapons and organization, but they must have underestimated the Outlanders' larger numbers. At least two-hundred of them charge headlong into the fray. They're fearless, and that is what makes the attack most terrifying. No one anticipated this massive Breach with this many Outlanders crossing over into an all-out war.

No one could have predicted all this death.

Tearing my eyes from the gory scene, I take in the image of the redhead beside me. Her trembling fingers cover her mouth in attempt to hold in her horror as I meet her tear-rimmed eyes. I put my arm around her shoulders and we huddle close, taking brief comfort in each other.

"I see him!" she whispers. I follow her line of vision to find Miles wrestling with a bulky, scarred Outlander. His uniform is ripped in the shoulder and there is dark red blood streaming out of his nose. Miles has his knife inches away from the barbarian's throat, his muscles quivering with exertion.

The usual stoic Markee has completely vanished right before my eyes as we watch the scene unfold. Her thin frame trembles and I watch myself from a stranger's point of view. I see the arm I have around her squeeze her shoulders tighter, trying to bind the pieces as they fall apart, because it's all I can do. It's like I'm having an out-of-body experience, looking down on myself moving without intending to. It all feels unreal.

Markee's shriek brings me back to Earth just as she flies out of my arms and toward a now weaponless Miles who is writhing beneath the Outlander pinning him to the ground. The savage has his thick hands around Miles' throat. Markee races for them.

A swift movement out of the corner of my eye causes my gaze to shift and I am the only one who sees the soldier aiming his gun at the Outlander on top of Miles.

A fist grips my stomach as I realize what is about to happen.

I blink, eyes swimming with unshed tears. I just know that if the soldier shoots while Markee is in the line of fire between Miles and the savage, there is a chance that I could lose someone else in my life. They could disappear forever and I would never see them again, never hear their laugh again. The thought leaves cold, liquid fear dripping over me. My legs itch with the desire to flee, but my head is screaming at me to prevent this at all costs, so I do something Markee would do. Something impulsive.