Where Light Dies

13. The Big Picture

"Why're you here?"

"To apologize."

-- Dayton, base camp - 2015 --

Blake was dumbfounded. He sat quietly, staring at the two glasses of beer on the table between them. Reyna picked one up, chugging down almost half the glass in one go.

No one's underage here I suppose.

His eyes wandered from the circle of light to its source, the rugged cavity left by a manhole that was blown up during the first great war. The central hall brimmed with activity as people went about their daily routine, bargaining at makeshift shops with ammo and clothing they'd found during their surface runs. To think that it all happened under the grace of one huge hole in the wall was indeed a fun fact. Any other source of light would've drawn the darks above like moths to a flame.

Most of hustle however seemed to ensue in their corner of the hall, being the space that housed the only bar in the entire base. Barley was one of the main crops grown on their lands, being the source of bread, stews, a wide variety of homecooked medicines, and of course the most important one out there, beer. Brewing fine beer wasn't the easiest of jobs below the surface. But it was one of the well-paid ones, second only to farming.

"Apologizing? To me?" Blake asked, focussing on the problem at hand.

"For Carl. I lashed out," she mumbled, sipping her drink slower now. The memory was still fresh in her mind, although a week had already passed.

"You were wounded and starving for two whole days. I think that's more than enough to explain your stance," he said, recalling her reaction for the briefest of moments.

You don't deny it?

Blake took a long sip of his beer, the memory fading before it intensified.

"Well I left you behind, so that's one major camp rule broken. Guess I'll be kicked out soon enough," she said, finishing her glass. Blake smirked at her words.

"I guess it's your lucky day then," he replied, swirling his glass before sipping again. "I'm an exception."

"What?"

"The rule doesn't apply to me. Campers are allowed to leave me behind."

"You're kidding right?"

"Sarah made the rule herself. You can ask her."

"Why you?" she said, staring into his crimson eyes.

Why me? Is that a joke?

"The thing is," he dragged on, toying with his glass. "I can't die."

"What?"

"I keep regenerating. It's a waste of time if people try to save me. I'll just crawl back here anyway," he said with a sigh, pushing his glass towards Reyna. "Besides I fight better when I'm alone. The rule's pretty effective. They don't care what happens to me, and I don't care what happens to them. It a win-win situation."

"Then what about the ones who do care?" she said, recalling memories of a day she should have died.

One life for the sake of seven others, felt like the right choice back then, she thought, remembering her mother's cries beside her bedridden form. One week, temporary paralysis. She feared she'd never move again, that she'd turn into a mind caged in a body. And her mother's face, with no tears left to cry, every single day. She'd seen hell.

"I know that you think you're doing the right thing. The line between right and wrong, gets blurry most of the time," she slurred, grabbing hold of Blake's glass now. Is she drunk already?