The Will To Live✔️

Chapter 07: Abandoned

The shotgun was a deeply reassuring weight in his grasp.

It had come with a shoulder strap, but he held it for the first few minutes of the walk towards his last stop before leaving this area. Partially out of a paranoia born of his encounter with the drub, but mainly out of the simple but profound comfort holding a gun gave him. He'd come to rely on them so much in his day-to-day life, come to view them in the same way that some people viewed pets. Dog might be man's best friend, but right now this shotgun was his. He'd be a corpse without it. But finally, he slung it as pragmatism overtook emotion.

Walking along that gravel road, his mind kept turning over.

He thought of the things he'd seen so far, of the dead bodies he'd discovered, of what may yet lie ahead. And then he thought about Serrano. She was probably the one he knew the least about, when he actually thought about it. Isabella Serrano, or as she liked to go by, Izzy, (though only to her friends, and those were rare), was a Lance Corporal and their best technician. She was maybe five and a half feet tall, made of compact muscle, and she packed a hell of a punch. More recently, she'd talked him into sparring a few times, though he couldn't quite figure out why, and damn did she have a mean right hook.

She was fast too.

But besides these things, he didn't actually know anything about her, and she'd been around a little longer than he had on the squad. She was very reserved, and from what he could tell, slow to trust. She hardly gave up anything about herself, and he saw her alone more often than not. Working out, reading, having meals, fixing something. Although like the sudden sparring offers, they had had a few lengthier conversations just recently. What did that mean? Tord had grinned and elbowed him a few times, saying that she liked him.

He had severe doubts about that.

He had a thing for her, to be sure, but who wouldn't? She was competent, she was capable, she was obviously attractive, but if she had any interest in anyone around, it wasn't him. And it was probably for the best, anyway. Greg had never been particularly good with relationships, but in a way, that had worked out to be in his favor as the war had gone on. People had a habit of either dying or leaving abruptly as they got rotated out elsewhere. Long relationships were not only against protocol, but basically out.

There wasn't really anything wrong with trysts or friends with benefits though.

But even then, he didn't do spectacularly. He'd had exactly one sexual encounter since coming to the Icarus. It was with a very attractive, skinny little brunette technician that was part of the bridge crew who'd come after him suddenly and intensely. And, well, Greg knew that he was nothing if not easy, and she had her own private quarters, so they'd slept together and it had been great. After that, she'd kind of just cut off contact with him. He'd been a little frustrated, mainly just because he'd wanted to know if he'd done something wrong.

But he found out later that evidently this was something she did. He'd basically been hunted, another name checked off her list of guys she wanted to jump. And after that, he'd been okay with it. He didn't mind being on a list like that, and he figured it was as good a reason as any for a one night stand. It had resulted in good sex, so that was nice. But mostly he'd just been too sour to go looking for anyone ever since hearing about Earth.

That was eating him alive.

Greg came out of his mind abruptly as he came around a bend and saw the first private cabin sitting at the edge of a driveway of gravel. No car in that driveway, but the front door was open. He marched up to the cabin and walked inside. Definitely a private cabin. Fancier. The material it was made out of looked smoother, higher quality. There was a big, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, an L of soft sofa across from it with a polished glass-top coffee table nearby. Greg tried the lights, but nothing happened.