The Will To Live✔️

Chapter 06: Derelict

Despite the cold, despite the dead bodies he'd found so far, despite the pain he was in...Greg actually felt kind of good. Not physically, more mentally. His goal was clearer than ever, and there was decent evidence that at least someone was still alive. Although, as he walked along the road, the frost on it glittering in the early morning sun like diamonds, he did find himself wondering about the second Pelican. There had been two when they'd initially come down, where was the second Fireteam? Was it possible that the interference that had hit his own ship had missed theirs? Possible, he decided, but highly unlikely.

So where had they gone down?

Technically, there were three other potential survivors from his own squad. Serrano, Bell, and Masterson. And there was a potential baker's dozen other survivors from the second squad. Though that also seemed unlikely. While he pondered this, he found his thoughts slipping to Masterson. He'd apparently been in the squad the longest after Brink, almost a year. A lifetime at this point. Masterson was something of an enigma to Greg. There had been air of quiet serenity about him, of calmness. He was a little like a monk.

Or how Greg imagined a monk might be. A warrior monk.

Well, a doctor warrior monk, technically speaking.

Masterson didn't have much to say, just the occasional comment or, if anyone had a question for him, an answer. He almost never hesitated when he answered, and his knowledge of medicine seemed encyclopedic. When the situation called for it, he was soothing. He had an excellent bedside manner, which had put Greg off a little. He'd initially mistaken Masterson's quiet demeanor for social discomfort, but his social skills were nearly as well developed as his medical ones. During the few extended conversations they'd had, Masterson had carried his end of the exchange on without a problem and seemingly with great joy.

Now that he thought about it, really thought about, here, alone, walking down this nearly silent frozen road, Greg thought he might finally have figured out what made Masterson tick. And it was nothing. Okay, maybe that wasn't precisely accurate. It was more what didn't make him tick. If he had to guess, Greg would say that Masterson had nothing to prove. That was genuinely rare. He couldn't really think of anyone else he'd met who had nothing to prove. Everyone had something to prove, it seemed.

Mostly how tough they were.

Greg had sought to remove that aspect of himself as much as possible, pride along with it. Pride and proving yourself...got in the way. It made you act irrational, prevented you from completing tasks sometimes. He personally didn't have a whole lot to prove to anyone anymore. He was strong, he was fairly fast, pretty decent in a fight, great in a firefight, he had a lot of endurance, was smart enough to get by. Clearly he was good at survival, or at least very lucky. He'd have to be to have survived all the crap he'd been through so far.

There was another car up ahead, he saw as he came around a bend in the road.

That sparked off a new thought as he picked up the pace. What had happened here? It was something he kept coming back to. There had probably been some kind of evacuation of the island, but what had made people just abandon their vehicles? And, furthermore, how many were dead on the island? God, on the planet? He didn't think that whatever it was was a widespread problem, but after all he'd seen, it was hard not to worst-case-scenario everything he came across. Greg tried to put that from his mind as he approached the car.

Obviously, someone had been by already.

The trunk was pried open and one of the doors had been left ajar. He spent a few minutes rummaging around through it. The glove compartment was empty and he found a few empty wrappers from a pair of candy bars and a bag of chips. Someone had definitely been here. Maybe even the survivors from his squad. Had they faced the vargs? Or any of the other nasty wildlife this place had to offer? Probably.