Mythics (RATED T)

[Crystal]

"We're going to have to bury her," she whispered to Kit as he strode inside, carrying the girl as easily as her fish rode between her shoulders. "She deserves a proper burial."

She smiled at him then. Between him and Mother Nature, she felt almost safe.

They walked down the hallways of their old, deserted home, battering down locked doors and peeking into shattered ones, until, at the far end of a corridor, near the last bits of human civilization in the caves, they found a little makeshift kitchen and several untouched rooms leading off of it. It was dusty inside, and Crystal sneezed. No one had been living here when the Mythics had come. Nothing had been touched. She balanced the fish – the now rather annoyed, agitated fish – on the kitchen counter and set about trying to clean the place up for her patient. A swipe of her arm over the counter would have to do.

"Put him on the table, please, Father?" she asked the old man.

Her patient seemed not to have changed at all, and she bit her lip. God, but it was cruel of her to hope that he would either die or live, and whatever he did, do it quickly. It had only been an afternoon. "He'll have to fight for himself, Father," she said absently, chewing on her bottom lip. "There's nothing more that we can do to help him."

Crystal turned then. "We need food, first of all," she announced in a crisp and businesslike voice, pushing back her hair from her face with a tired hand. "And water. Kit, there should be jars beside the stove. Please fill them from the stream. Father, we'll want the use of the rooms. If you will inspect them, we'd be much obliged. And as for food.."

Her eye fell on the tank.

She grinned.

"Father," she said then, shrugging the straps of the tank back over her shoulders, "when you're done, will you please come with me? We're going hunting."

[KitClairvoyance]

Kit set the girl's body down on one of the unused beds, his hands stained with her blood. Closing the door to the room, he just motioned to the old man not to bother that room. Nodding his understanding, the old man set about his inspection of the other rooms.

"Hunting? The only wildlife down here consists of worms and moles," Kit said quizzically as he reached for the jars, choosing the largest of the two. They had no lids, but no cracks either, and would hold enough water for all of them.

"Worm sandwich sounds good though," he quipped helpfully, remembering the mush of worms he intended to cook for their breakfast - until the wolf came along and provided with a slightly more appetising meal. In another life, Kit would have fancied being an outback chef.

The rain was pouring heavily outside, pelting Kit with huge droplets as he knelt down by the river. Its waters raged furiously, swelled by the rain, and Kit nearly lost a jar to its current. Both jars filled, he knelt down and drank from the stream, taking his fill of the icy clear water. He felt more alive than he had been over the past week in the rain.

Carrying the two jars carefully, he made his way back into the hideout. A small stream of water had started trickling into the hideout, but it didn't worry Kit. The kitchen was relatively high up in the hideout, and it would take a week of rain before it'd be flooded.

Soaked through to the bone, he placed the jars down on the kitchen counter next to the sick guy.

"Quite a cheery day, haven't we?" he asked, not really expecting an answer from the man. Crystal and the old man were nowhere to be seen, presumably off hunting worms - unless she took a different sort of meaning to hunting. Both used spears. He shook the thought away, laughing.

"Back when there was a war still left to fight, when we still had an armed forces, a couple of the men had wives back home. Used to swap stories every night, some steamier than others." He sighed, the war had taken away his chance of being happily married. He turned to the sick man, "I don't know why I tell you this. When you're better, you owe me a couple stories. Everyone has a tale to tell about how life was before they came."

"I'm hungry, I hope they got a mole or two."

[Crystal]

Crystal grinned from ear to ear. The cloning tank was just fine.

The fish was, of course, a little peeved. It didn't like having samples taken out of it, and it floated around in its tank, glaring at her companion balefully. The Reverend was, all in all, rather stoic about it as she cheerfully scaled and deboned the fish's limp offspring. Odd thing about cloning, that: it never really succeeded. Cloning made a body: a good live living body that lived for awhile. But then it would die. It never really got a personality. Never really got a soul.

But dang if it didn't taste good.

She swept the five deboned fishes into a clear glass jar, wishing they'd taken the time to develop some sort of portable cloning tank, and turned to the old man expectantly. "Did you find anything in the pantry?" she asked hopefully. A little flour, some salt or pepper…

Reverend Stephen shook his head. "Nothing fit to eat," he said in one of his rare, old-man sentences. "Fish will do fine, child," he added kindly, noticing her disappointment. "You needn't concern yourself so."

Crystal sighed and ran her hand back through her brown curls, completely forgetting that she hadn't wiped off the slime. "Oh, ugh," she said suddenly, pulling her hand back down. Now she'd smell like fish all day. She cleaned up her mess, carefully sealed the tank back, and hoisted it once again onto her shoulders. Father took the jar without being asked, but he hefted his spear warily when she insisted on visiting the entrance to wash her hands and hair, and later to dig through the ruins of the medical facility, hoping for more equipment. The few bottles and kits she salvaged had been worth it.

Besides, Kit had promised that he and Mother Nature would see her safe. And if she trusted anyone, she trusted him.

Dear Kit. Without him, she would be dead or worse.

"This was our home," she said softly to the old man. "Mine and Kit's. I didn't know him well before this happened, though. One of the few precious things that came out of it. I wish.."

The Reverend said nothing.

Crystal said nothing either, but turned down the corridor to their kitchen and smiled at Kit, telling stories to her patient. The kitchen was bare, but equipped, and as she lit the stove and rummaged for a pan, she asked him to tell them a story. Maybe the one he had been telling when they came in, she added with an evil glint in her eye. The one about some man and his wife and being stranded somewhere with nothing to do.

[KitClairvoyance]

"Don't think the old Reverend would appreciate me telling that one, though - hey, that doesn't smell like worms or moles to me." Kit said and sat up in his chair, craning his neck to see what Crystal had in the pan.

The flaky, soft, white with a hint of pink raw flesh was unmistakable. He abandoned his manners for a short while to pluck out a piece, hot from the pan at the risk of burning himself, or worse, being on the receiving side of a smack from Crystal's spatula.

Popping his small prize into his mouth, Kit chewed slowly under the disapproving gaze of the old man. It was well worth it though, fish had become a scarce luxury since they came, and he was well enough tired of makeshift food and bland rations.

"You're a little box of wonders, you are," he ruffled Crystal's hair as he spoke before taking out the plates to help serve the fish in atonement for his minor sin.

In some ways, Kit was a little thankful that Crystal and the old man was around. He hadn't shared a meal with anyone before today, and for once he was able to put the threat of Mythics out of his mind. It reminded him of how it used to be, long before the invasion. Now.

He shuddered at the memory of how the Mythics ate their meals.

He piled the used plates in the sink, the kitchen quiet with everyone filled. "I'll do the dishes - they'll be useful once we set off - and take the first watch shift. Don't want to take any chances once the rain dies down. Old Rev can take the second shift, and between us, we should cover the night," he nodded to Crystal, "you can get some sleep."

Kit really didn't expect much to happen during the night, the Mythics would probably be reveling in their obsidian farm. Reaping the fruits of their hunts. He knew that if they kept low and stayed clear of them, they had a good chance of escaping without being hunted down.

"Okay people, get to bed. Long day tomorrow."

[Crystal]

She didn't get much sleep, despite the comfort of being in a bed again for the first time in a very long time. For the longest time now, Crystal reflected with the perverse weariness of a girl tired to the bone but too frightened to sleep, she had had roommates. Fellow friends. Cagemates.

Now it was just her and the dark, and God, why should she continue to avoid it? She was scared to the bone. There was a corpse in the next room, and a man dying just outside. There were aliens hunting them as food.

She was terrified.

She began turning over possibilities of their future over in her mind restlessly, sitting up in her bed. Her muscles immediately screamed at her, but she forced herself out of bed, to the few things she had taken from the lab. Pens, some paper. It helped her concentrate, writing things, drawing diagrams. They couldn't stay here, and she knew it, and the old man knew it, and Kit knew it. They'd have to leave. They'd have to go somewhere, somewhere further north, somewhere even colder. And when the Mythics finally got used to the freezing temperatures, they'd come after mankind, and mankind would have to run again. Was there anywhere to go? Was there anyone to keep them safe?

Somewhere between fearful quick diagrams on her precious papers and her scattered memory of Kit's eager smile at the sight of the fish - the Reverend's tolerant gaze at his theft, Crystal fell asleep. She slept the exhausted sleep of the damned till nearly noon the next day.


When she finally emerged from her room, mussed and with an urgent need of water, she hurried first for the nearest washroom before rinsing her face and teeth with what little was left in the large jars Kit had filled the day before. Then, with teeth clenched, she turned to examine her patient. The two men were out somewhere, and she felt somehow isolated, lonely, a little scared. This dying man gave her something weaker to worry about.

He was little better than the day before. His wounds were infected, fever consumed him, and worst of all, he seemed to have little will to live. She sponged him down with the last of the cold spring water, changed his bandages, and fretted over him for the rest of the morning. If Kit and the Reverend had not already buried his daughter, they might have to add her father to the grave. Somewhere where the animals wouldn't get them. It might even be kinder to put them out as food for the poor starving beasts.

Crystal deliberately pushed away the thought.

Someday today, she thought as she walked out the door to examine their poor home and perhaps salvage what she could, they would have to decide what to do now.

[KitClairvoyance]

Night watch was as uneventful as Kit had expected it to be. He ventured out a couple times, the first to take a leak under the stars - the second actually for the stars themselves. The corpses of the Mythics still lay on the ground, damp from the rain. It seemed a little ironic to him now, that he wouldn't let the corpse of the young girl suffer the dishonour of being left out in the rain, yet not have a single thought about those of the Mythics. They used to be all human too, after all.

As he sat at the entrance to the hideout, rifle propped up next to him, he gazed up to the stars with a wonder that had been with him since he was a young boy. He had always wanted to travel to space, beyond the stars, to see what else was out there beyond their small blue planet. So he joined the military.

Funny how when most of humanity fled earth from the Mythics, it was the fact that he was military that had him stay behind as humanity abandoned her planet. He didn't regret it though. He had protected many people since then, made their lives a little easier. And he still could dream about one day being out there.

When he returned back to the small kitchen, the old man was already awake, looking over the sick man.

"He'll only be a liability."

"Is that how you treat those you protect, son?" The old man locked his gaze with Kit's, heavy, reminding him of his responsibility. "If you try to kill-"

"I won't kill him," Kit cut the old man off, tearing his gaze away from the both of them. "I'm going to bed, have a good night, reverend."

The old man didn't say a word as Kit walked past him. He paused outside Crystal's door, wondering if he should check in on her. The girl had gone through a lot in the past week. He gave a soft knock on her door, waited for a reply, and moved into his own room when he got none.

A soft light illuminated the room for him as he rummaged through the wardrobe, stripping himself of his damp, stale clothes and pulling on a fresh pair.

Finally in bed, he turned off the light and fell asleep to the faces of the people he fought alongside, and those he wanted to protect.


When he woke, Crystal had still not yet stirred. The old man was back inside, tending to the sick man.

"Hey pops, come give me a hand will you?"

He opened the door to the room where the dead girl lay, her body cold. The old man nodded his understanding, and grabbed his spear, following Kit as he carried the girl outside. They buried the girl in a shallow grave, not far from the river. The old man insisted on staying back to say a couple words over her grave. Kit shrugged and left him to his rites.

Coming back inside, he nearly bumped into Crystal.

"Good morning, lovely. Glad to see you awake. Know where we could find a couple maps?"

[Crystal]

Crystal jerked in surprise, and smiled before she could help herself. "Lovely?" she laughed. "Try the administrative section. Across the big hall from us commoners, and turn left. There should be paperwork being done there. Funny thing, bureaucracy. Necessary even when we're being hunted out of our skins."

She placed a hand on the faltering, thudding heartbeat of the father. How her patient burned, and she could do nothing, and Crystal somehow hoped that maybe he would see his daughter again in his afterlife. "He'll not last long," she said sadly. "I'm going to get more water, perhaps clean the place up a little, sponge him off again. When Father comes back in, will you ask him to say the last rites, Kit?" Snagging the empty jars, she padded down the hallways.

They were bare and lonely and eerie, as always, and by the time she reached the entrance, she was shivering and quite nervous. In contrast, the world after the rain was lush and lovely. This place hadn't been charred, this place had escaped detection, this place was so beautiful it made one's teeth ache. She skirted the dead Mythic bodies, wary of predators and other guards, and made her way to the stream. Mental note to search for more weaponry before the day was through. It wasn't safe here, not here when they'd been found before.

The Reverend was making his way back when Crystal turned from filling her jars, and she nearly jumped into the stream at the sight of him. For a moment, she had mistaken him for an enemy. Then she hastened to his side, her long jacket brushing against her calves and her golden brown hair brushing her shoulders.

"'Tis not safe for you to be here alone, daughter," he said with surprising concern, like a priest for his flock.

"Father, we'll need to work today," she said haltingly. "Salvage what we can from this place, then leave, go north to avoid the farm. You understand, don't you?" Crystal paused, hurried on. "Your young man… I don't think he'll heal, Father."

The old man stopped, clenched himself, and she could see the anguish in his face. "Father," she said softly, "I don't think he wants to heal. We'll stay as long as we can for him, but you do understand? We have to leave. If you'll say the last rites…"

"You'll not kill him, daughter," the old man said suddenly, heatedly. "You'll not commit murder on Andrew. The Lord entrusted his soul to me; the Lord gives and takes what is His."

Crystal held her breath, held her tongue that the Mythics were God's creatures too, doubtless just as beloved. Perhaps the Lord's commandments did not hold if it was pale, cannibalistic, and trying to eat you.

"I won't have to, Father," she said on a sudden sigh, and the old man hung back as she walked back inside, as if to hide tears.

[KitClairvoyance]

Admin wasn't the hardest place to find, its doors had been torn open, great sheets of metal peeled back like flower petals. The survivors of the first assault had probably tried to barricade themselves inside, tables, chairs, bookshelves, cabinets, all thrown together to make passage hard for anyone who tried to get in.

Before the attack, it had been a lovely room. Potted plants provided the only greenery to be found in their underground sanctum, the floors were carpeted, kept clean by the half dozen or so cleaners that scurried around the hideout to make things that much more bearable. Now, now it was a mess smeared with blood all over the place. The odd thing was, there wasn't a body in sight. The Mythics that had remained must have picked the place clean.

Beyond the carnage of the front room, the other rooms were surprisingly untouched. Kit started his search in the fanciest of the rooms, complete with an artificial window that flickered between seaside and country randomly.

He gave the bookshelves a pass, heading straight for the large steel table that stretched across the middle of the room, surrounded by chairs that were still neatly tucked in. A pile of papers sat right in the middle, similar to the reports he had seen in the lab. Pads of paper were placed in front of each chair, all with the same summary of reports. Uninterested, he proceeded to check the cabinets that lined the wall of the room.

More reports.

"I knew administration was always a boring job," he told himself as he skipped the cabinets right to the last one and pulled it open to find folders and folders of maps, both paper and digital.

The dining room was awfully quiet when he got back, hefting the maps that covered the immediate area. Neither Crystal nor the old man seemed to be talking much, both more occupied with the sick man's condition, and from the looks on their faces, he wasn't going to last much longer.

Kit cleared his throat and set the maps down.

"Hey, we've got some work to do," he started, then halted by the old man's glare. He started again, but couldn't find the words to say. The silence hung thick in the air as the old man refused to take his eyes off Kit, accusing him somewhat of a crime he hadn't done.

"Fine, watch over him," he resigned and started on the maps, irritated at the old man's lack of cooperation.

[Crystal]

Andrew succumbed to the fever late that afternoon. He would have had a chance, had he fought, Crystal thought sadly. Another man was always welcome. Another arm to fight, another pair of eyes to keep watch. Another human to keep them company through the nights. But no, the father had only opened his eyes once, to fix them on the Reverend, to convey pain and grief, to beg them to let him go.

Then he'd closed them again, groaned insensibly, and dipped into delirium. By mid-afternoon, he had grown much weaker; by evening, he was gone.

The priest bowed his head and crossed himself and murmured a prayer in a broken voice. Instinctively, she hugged him, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could feel the grief shaking in him. Then the old man shook himself, doubtless reminding himself that Andrew was in a better place now, and crossed to Kit, asking him to help bury his last parishioner.

Crystal padded over to the maps Kit had been looking over. "Here we are," she whispered quietly, touching a spot on one of them. In red were marked the Mythic cities; in green were marked the human settlements.

In black were marked the destroyed ones. Bleakly, she reached for a marker Kit had brought back, and changed the colour of their dot. The priest must have come from another settlement, too; two down. Oh so few left to go. She was rather surprised, in fact, that the aliens hadn't bothered with these maps. Best not to count on that in the future. Perhaps they really just couldn't be bothered to go through the vast quantities of paper the administration always generated.

Or perhaps, she thought, peering closer, Kit had only just marked these in. Crystal scooped up a cloth, wetting it and rubbing harder than she really needed to at the stains of Andrew's blood on the countertop. She expanded her cleaning frenzy shortly to the kitchen in general, before dropping the cloth and sinking into a chair, suddenly feeling very, very alone.

There was a small sound behind her, and she yelped, jumped, and turned so fast she almost fell. Nothing. She slowly lowered her gaze. Nothing in her hands either, to defend herself with. Not even a cooking knife.

Crystal swallowed hard before crossing to the wall. Clutching her Mythic spear, she headed off into what was left of their home. They were going to need more weapons.

[KitClairvoyance]

"It's a good day to die," the old man said, wiping his brow. The sun was beginning to set, reflected off the stream as a mild orange glow.

"What's that you say?" Kit asked, patting down the soil of Andrew's grave. They had buried the young man next to his daughter, both graves marked with simple crosses made from bound branches. No flowers. At least the soil would protect their bodies from being eaten - the Mythics preferred their food fresh, and they had fresh bodies in abundant supply. Tossing his makeshift spade aside, Kit knelt down and drank from the river.

Too many deaths. At least on the frontlines, those he buried went down fighting. These were innocent people, their lives nothing more than livestock to the aliens.

"Said it's a good day to die."

Kit shook his head, all afternoon the old man didn't speak, and now he was preaching death. Death does that to a person. You fight it, but the more you see of it, the more you accept it. He'd seen people turn on their friends when faced with too much death.

"There are better days to die yet to come pops, so we're going to keep on living, alright?"

The old man didn't reply. Kit was worried for him, having lost all those that were dear to him - it would strip any man of his will to live. A dangerous thing to lose. Refreshed, Kit took his spade up and turned back to the hideout. The old man made no move to follow.

He found the kitchen empty and clean. Perhaps Crystal needed to be alone as well - it had been a long day. Looking over the maps, it didn't take much to realise how bleak their situation was. Red surrounded them on practically every side, leaving little choice in where to go. Their best bet was to run dead north, taking them close to two patches of red, but past them was a wide swath of green - and where there were humans, there would be food, weapons, and possibly spacecraft.

Assuming the Mythics hadn't gotten to them first.

All that was left was to start moving. Kit went over to Crystal's room and knocked on the door. No reply. Tentatively, he pushed it aside to find an empty room.

A harsh crash came from the corridors. Kit slung his rifle off his back to bear on the empty kitchen.

"Crystal?"

Keeping his rifle aimed ahead, he started down the corridors, yelling Crystal's name out at regular intervals.

[Crystal]

Crystal swallowed hard, fidgeting with her spear.

The woman seemed not to hear at all. Crystal barely recognized her. She was young, perhaps in her early thirties or late twenties; she was dressed in a pinstriped suit and her hair pinned up neatly to her head.

She was also irrevocably mad.

It wasn't obvious at first. She stared right through Crystal with a smile on her face, and Crystal fought the urge to look behind her to see what there was. "Why, yes, Becca, a cup of tea please. These papers can be hard to carry sometimes, you know; they'll break my back one day."

Motions of sipping from a dry cup.

"No, no, of course not. Though, have you seen my husband?" The woman paused again, longer. "Oh, scouting. Of course. Our son is with him, too, you know. His first scouting mission, Roy and I are so proud of him."

More tea.

Then she started to her feet, and her face blanched pale and white and there was stark terror etched on it as she fumbled for a nonexistent knife and she stared at the door Crystal was standing two feet from. Crystal darted a quick glance, tensing. "Oh my God, Becca! They're coming! Becca, can you hear them! Oh my God, they've got the guards, they've found us now! They're coming, Becca, hide! Hide, hurry!" And she fled to an inner cubbyhole, locked herself in and Crystal heard a sudden crash as she hit something. There was a groan, and then there was silence.

Crystal trembled, the tears coming down her cheeks as the cubbyhole door creaked open again, ten minutes later, and the woman staggered out.

"My goodness, I must have hit my head on something, no, no matter, I'll be fine." And she fixed her hair and sat down and smiled right through her again.

"Why, yes, Becca, a cup of tea please. These papers can be hard to carry sometimes, you know; they'll break my back one day. No, no, of course not. Though, have you seen my husband?"

She couldn't stop crying.

[KitClairvoyance]

Kit observed from a distance, his rifle long lowered as he watched the lady repeat her motions. Silently, he caught Crystal in a gentle hug and pulled her away, wiping her tears as he led her back down the corridor. For all it had achieved, the human mind was a fragile thing - and Kit struggled to comprehend what could have driven the lady as deep into denial as she was. He was torn between killing her out of mercy, and abandoning her to die away slowly.

Was there even a right thing to do?

Once they were far enough not to hear the lady's ramblings, he sat Crystal down and gave her a tight hug.

"We have to prepare to leave this place," he reminded her, wiping the fresh tears off her face. "Listen, if we bolt for it straight north, we might make it. We- "

"Becca?"

The young lady stood just in front of them, her hands huddled tight around her shrivelled form, and her smile wide. Kit saw rivulets of dried blood run down her thighs, and wondered once again what she had been subjected to to force her own mind so very deep into denial.

"Oh, Becca, be a darling and have some tea with me, won't you please?" The lady held out the empty tea cup towards them, her frail hands trembling with the effort.

"Becca wh-" she dropped the tea cup, sending it smashing against the floor. "Oh dear, how clumsy of me. Let me get a rag to clean up the mess." She gave the both of them another smile and turned back to her little room. Immediately, Kit took Crystal and led her away as fast as he could, stumbling along the way over the debris that littered the corridors before crashing into the kitchen.

The old man came over and led them in, full of concern but not asking a single question.

"I fried up the last of the fish," he offered hopefully. Nodding, Kit thanked him and brought a plate of freshly cooked fish to Crystal, worried for the poor girl.

[Crystal]

She barely nibbled at it before gagging and nearly throwing up and bursting into fresh tears, still clutching to her what she had managed to salvage before finding.. her. Nothing much. A few long slim knives in their sheathes. Maybe daggers. She hadn't checked. They were sharp and pointed and that was all that mattered, and Crystal was no good with guns. Another needle gun, and a fresh stock of ammunition she had found at the bottom of someone's closet. Warm clothing.

The Reverend, still clad in his rags and the tatters of his boots, disregarded the pile of scarves and socks and long johns and shirts she held, and started off the way she had come, the other rifle on his back. Crystal couldn't find it in her to stop him. He was a priest; perhaps he would know what to do. Perhaps his faith was stronger than the madness of Roy's wife, but it would have been kindness to kill her now.

Crystal started dully to her feet, dropping her loot on the table. "What must we do, Kit?" she asked. She glanced at the maps then, and came to the same, obvious, staring conclusion that he must have. "North," she whispered. "As soon as possible." And then she squared her shoulders, and swallowed. "We have to make ready, Kit," she said, trying to push away her grief and her pity. Becca, be a darling—

She turned. "We'll need to travel light. The Mythics are afraid of the cold," she added. "We travel this way," tracing a finger along the map, "keeping to the forest. If we travel during the nights, and they may be more inclined to stay away. And Kit—" she hesitated, swallowed. "We might want… to go further north than the nearest shelter. These maps are out of date."

"We'll all want a bath. Warmer clothing. The Reverend will probably just need new clothing, period. Food and water, as much as we can conveniently carry. More ammunition. And."

Crystal paused. "We'll want the fish. It's the only thing left home we can conveniently save, Kit," she said hurriedly, her voice breaking, trying to be logical. "And it's the only fish we have, and, it's... Oh, Kit... We have to save something!"

[KitClairvoyance]

As Kit closed the door to his room, he couldn't help but feel a little relieved that the day was over. The plan had been for them to move out that very day, but they were all still tired emotionally and physically - and Kit was worried the most about Crystal. Outside in the kitchen, the lights were all out; the only living thing being the fish that found amusement in swimming up and down the length of its tank. Consensus had been that the fish would be taken along, if only because Crystal couldn't bear to leave it behind.

People found comfort in the oddest of places. Crystal was right about the bath though, the cool water washing off the day's worries and troubles. Kit pondered how the reverend was dealing with the loss of his flock, or if he could deal with the loss at all. In a way, death brought peace - the silence that night no longer carrying the low undertones of Andrew's suffering. Once cleaned, Kit slipped on another pair of fresh clothes - they had plenty enough to last them through the journey, he figured there was no harm in leaving dirty laundry behind.

The evening had been a quiet one in general, each one of them absorbed in their own worries and thoughts. Nobody said it, but they had to leave.

In a way, Kit felt a little sad at leaving their hideout behind. Once he left Alaska, Kit travelled from hideout to hideout before settling in on this one. It seemed so safe. The threat was real - yet everyone still found a reason to keep smiling. To keep working. As far away as it was from his hometown, it still felt like home.

Perhaps it would still be home - just not to them. The lady deep down in the corridors. Kit had never seen her before, but then the admin staff tended to keep to themselves. Perhaps the hideout would still take care of her, still be a home. Maybe in her mind, it still was.

His bed didn't seem as comfortable that night - Kit turning and tossing upon it in an attempt to sleep. He was tired, yes, but hardly sleepy. Thoughts still surfaced and bubbled, thoughts about survival and where to go. Thoughts about how much further would the Mythic onslaught continue. Thoughts about the farm - the prisoners. How many more people had been added to the wire mesh cages.

Kit curled up tight, still unable to sleep even though he knew he needed it.

[Crystal]

They hadn't kept watch that night. They were exhausted, all of them, and Crystal, piling her long, damp hair on her head, shivered in the chill of her little room. She pulled her wool blanket closer about her shoulders and began to brush her hair. It took a long time, knotted as it was with neglect, but then it had been so long since her last bath. She had even taken the time to look in a small mirror a little earlier, and oh, how horrible it had been to see her new face, with rings of terror around her already dark-black eyes, and her cheekbones stark in the cold overhead light. It hadn't been so long ago that she had been pretty and well-fed.

She forced her scrounged comb through copper-blonde ringlets, and threw the loose hair to the ground, suppressing her urge to dispose of it neatly. And she thought of old Reverend Stephen, who had returned just half an hour ago with a new light in his eyes, a light of new faith and hope in his God. She wondered what he had seen to renew his faith such, but the lady, whom she had been able to hear at intervals, had quit her crying - and the old man had said very quietly that she slept.

Crystal prayed she slept peacefully.

For now, she bit her lip and packed for the next day. A change of clothing. Food, mostly. And the large hard-plastic bottle for the fish that she had been so thankful to Kit for allowing her to bring. It was oval and tall and slim, and the fish didn't quite appreciate having to swim vertically, but she strapped it tight to the side of her pack, and dropped in a bottle of feed, and zipped up her pack to survey her clothing for the next day critically. A dark top under a plain, long-sleeved white shirt. Jeans and her heavy calf-length camouflage coat. Soft work boots.

Crystal sighed, curled up on her bed, and tried to will herself to sleep. But it was so dark, and oh but she was so horribly afraid. The painted walls kept turning back into obsidian whenever she opened her eyes.

Sometime in the night, she heard Kit tossing and turning in his room, and she got up, stumbled over to his room, and quietly slipped in at the door. She hesitated at the foot of his bed. But her unreasonable terror overtook her, and she crawled in between him and the wall, curled up tight against his back, shut her eyes, and hoped he wouldn't mind.