The Will To Live✔️

Chapter 09: The Observatory

"Oh...finally," Greg whispered as he came to a halt at the base of the mountain.

He looked up, seeing the observatory he'd been walking towards for what felt like too long now looming overhead like a steel sentinel, looking grimly over the barren and forsaken land that fell under its providence. There were a series of switchbacks that provided the only means, as far as he could see, up to the structure itself. Greg slowly looked around, taking the time to rest for a bit and survey his surroundings.

Luck had been with him after that confrontation with the volar. Nothing else had come after him. Unfortunately, he hadn't run into any other buildings along the way, and just one abandoned car that had yielded nothing worthwhile. So mainly the walk had been boring. He'd hurried up as much as he could, and certainly it had gone faster because almost nothing had tripped him up, but he still felt the press of time.

With that thought looming on the horizon of his consciousness, Greg stopped resting and began making his way up the switchbacks. It was mindless and simple work, but also irritating work. There were eight of them, going up and up and up. But, like all bad (and good) things, it came to an end, and he at last found himself standing before the entrance to the observatory. It was an impressive structure, and neat-looking too. It was basically a tower of white metal with a bulbous cap that had a large metal pole sticking out of it.

Greg refocused his mind now that he had reached the next portion of his mission. He checked out the small area that served as a front lot for the observatory, but it was empty save for some benches and tables. He then moved in through the front door, clearing the room beyond slowly with his shotgun held firmly in hand. As he stepped inside however, he immediately picked up on something: blood. There was blood on the floor.

Human blood. A trail of it.

And it was fresh.

Someone was here.

"Hello?!" he called out. "UNSC Marine Corps!"

He paused, listened, and thought he heard a faint voice respond. "Crap," he whispered, and set off. Going as fast as he could while still checking his corners, he cleared the first floor, following the blood trail through an entrance lobby, a very small elevator lobby, then up two flights of stairs. The floor he came to looked like it wasn't really meant for the public, and he figured it was probably where whoever ran the place lived. Sure enough, as he opened a door and stepped inside, still following the bloody trail, he found himself in a very small living room. There was a kitchen area ahead of him, and...a body. This was where the trail ended.

Greg cursed and moved forward, immediately recognizing Private Bell. He was lying on his face on the floor and not moving at all. Kneeling by him, Greg checked his pulse, but his skin was room temperature. There was no pulse. He was dead.

"Who's there?" an extremely weak and familiar voice asked.

"Serrano?" Greg replied, rising quickly to his feet and turning towards the nearest door. "I'm coming in," he said and opened the door.

There he found Lance Corporal Isabella Serrano sprawled out on a single-wide bed, one leg and one arm hanging over the side. Her right arm was bloody on the forearm, and he immediately suspected the problem.

"Greg?" she asked weakly. She was deathly pale and as he crouched down beside her, he felt heat rolling off of her in massive waves.

"I'm here, Izzy," he replied. "Wolf thing bite you?"

"Yeah..."

"Don't worry, I can handle this. How long has it been?" he asked as he shrugged out of his backpack and dug out his medical kit.