Friday, September 29

64. (Let's try again.)

"Cold as hell out here," I mutter. She looks at me funny and smiles.

"It's not so bad. It's your own fault for picking such a snow-logged post."

I'm standing knee-deep in the white stuff, smoking one of my last cigars, bundled up on every inch of my body. "They'll be here soon?" I say over the roar of the wind as it whips more snow in my face.

"Probably." Her dress isn't moved by the wind at all, nor is her hair.

I squint and wipe my goggles. "Well, I'm sorry it had to happen this way. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

I shoulder my pulse rifle. Already I can see the lights of their flyers on the horizon. I key in the sequence necessary to heat up the internal workings of the weapon and turn away from her, towards the door leading into the bunker which I am the only guardian. "I'm doing the right thing."

"Your team was green." This isn't something she'd normally say, but it doesn't surprise me. She's not really here. "Young. They'll live another day thanks to you. All you have to do is give them time."

"It just means giving up on you." She's silent now. I don't look back. I say, "Good bye, Miranda. I love you."

A single line of footprints in the snow follow me to the door of the barracks. As I turn around to close and seal the hatch, giving those poor recruits a few extra seconds, I see no one standing in the snow where she'd been.

It only takes the beings in the flyers twenty minutes to find the bunker. I give them hell before I die.

Monday, September 25

63. (With a ring on my finger and joy in my heart.)

Kinda a mushy title, yeah?

Well it's fitting, 'cause I'm married now. Nyah.