The grass beneath their feet had a deep, emerald bright green that seemed almost unnatural, just like the trees that showed their brightest colors, dotted around the border of the cemetery. It was natural beauty at its finest. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance giving the entire graveyard a sense of peace and tranquility, one that was almost unnatural due to the turbulent state of the world. The graves were arranged in neat rows of ten, five rows filled, the sixth row now almost completely filled as well with two dug graves with attendant caskets, and six headstones

What struck Cameron the most was the headstones. Each was a heavy solid single block of stone. The name and dates were all engraved with hammer and chisel by hand. The letters were poorly formed but in spite of it or perhaps because of it, the words on every stone were carved with the best intentions that only comes with true friendship, and camaraderie in a world where a look, smile, and gesture made friends and built relationships. Mixed wild flowers decorated many of the graves as did personal touches. One headstone in the second row was wrapped in a leather jacket. Another had a foreign flag and what looked like military service medals. All the graves had been personalized.

Cameron blinked and caught a fragment of Peter’s words, “...for the smiles and happiness that they brought in to the world with them, that enriched both this place, their home and ours and also our lives.” He glanced at his watch… that had been a fast hour. The armband felt too tight for him, cutting off circulation as he turned his attention to it, he felt it, the breeze, and the hint of a fragrance, a scent. Cameron blinked as the light around him intensified for just a second and stared at a woman. She was close enough to touch, to see the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Her shoulder length hair twirled and danced in a nonexistent breeze. He shook his head. It couldn't be real. She was buried half a world away; it had been more than a few years since her funeral. She could not be here.

Cameron took a step back, adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream as his body, and his brain suggested that he run. He took another step back and the phantom before him seemingly took a step forward towards him. Now his brain screamed at his body to run, which he did, not caring where he was going as he ran in fear, passing through the cemetery gates as he took a random left, followed by a right turn down an alley between two buildings as he took another right. He kept running, not looking back as his lungs threatened to explode in his chest, sweat soaking him as he felt the apparition close upon him without any effort. Heart pounding he collapsed against the Fortress. He had no idea how he'd made it here, but he didn't care. The vehicle seemed to radiate a quiet menace, but he didn't care as he threw himself aboard, not bothering to close the door as he collapsed in to his bunk, scrambling along the shelf until he found the small wooden black box that he emptied out, scrambling amongst the photos, letters, and ticket stubs until he found the hotel mini bar sized bottle that he snapped open and drained in a single gulp as he reached for the second one and did the same.

At room temperature, the Vodka burned his tongue, and set his throat and empty stomach aflame, but he didn't care, as the spirits had helped keep the haunting spirit at bay. The apparition glided through the armored side of the fortress to settle on the bunk next to him. Cameron did the only thing he could do frozen by her presence, staring at the woman who gave him a smile of sadness, “What do you want?” he asked.

It waved its hand, and the scattered items, and mementos of a broken heart danced back in to the small box with a wave of her hand. The same hand then tapped the pocket of his vest. He shook his head, “I can’t do that.” he snapped. The apparition gave him the same sad smile as she shook her head. A gentle breath of wind pushed her right through or maybe in to him. She radiated heat, a warm that suffused him straight to the core, his own heartbeat was loud, pounding in his ears as a voice with the same melodic lit he remembered and recognized whispered “Let me go so that we can both be free, and happy with what we shared even if eternity is not ours to share.”

He blinked, and suddenly found himself standing alongside his comrades as Peter words reached him, “and so we lay our comrades to rest in peace, where they can be remembered for the happiness they brought in to our lives, and honored for their sacrifice. We lay them to rest upon what is hallowed ground.” and with that the service was over, but Cameron stayed rooted to the spot as he blinked and shook his head. Had all of that been nothing but a bizarre day dream? He turned, and stopped as something clinked against his foot. He looked down and his eyes widened, as he bent and picked up the small glass Smirnoff bottle.

“What the hell?” he hissed. Fortunately, nobody heard him, or seemed to think much of his behavior as he straightened up in time to catch watch the sunset over the graves, as Jaira called to him. He turned and picked up his pace, catching up to the rest as they made their way following the crowd towards the Redding Inn, where dinner was a fairly lavish affair as the Spartans relaxed and indulged, rediscovering foods that they had almost forgotten the taste and texture of such as freshly made bread. Cameron kept turning the small bottle over and over in his pocket, as he looked around the crowded room as his crew mingled and got to know the locals. He slipped away from the gathering towards the fortress but not unnoticed.

He climbed aboard, and was pulled the door shut, plunging the interior of the Fortress in to absolute darkness. When the lights were snapped on suddenly, he went blind and stumbled, spinning with the grace of a one legged ballerina, but managed to land on the sofa. His eyes adjusted and he found Jaira grinning at him, “I'm glad you don't fight zombies or raiders like that.”

He glared at her and she laughed at him for a moment before sobering up, “You still prefer your own company to anyone else don't you?”

“Yeah,” he replied as he pulled a bottle and a glass from the cupboard, pouring a generous measure of whiskey. He sloshed the contents of the bottle and Jaira nodded. He slid the first glass across the table to her and hesitated before taking a pull from the bottle itself… no sense in washing another glass.

“Going to that ceremony was hard for you wasn't it?” she searched her pockets and found the squashed packet of cigarettes and lighter. She fished one out and lit it, taking a long slow drag on it, she exhaled and threw the pack and lighter towards him.

“So what if it was?” he said, testily as he took a sip before lighting a cigarette, “Funerals, memorials, people crying and mourning, trying to, but not sure how to say good bye,” he said bitterly. He tapped his cigarette in to the ashtray and they said nothing for several long minutes. Jaira reached across the table for the pack and lit her second smoke of the evening. Finally, the silence was too much for him as distaste marred his features, “How old are these?!”

“From the roof top of a parking garage,” she said, “So you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, “Do I have to?”

“That depends on you. Not showered yet?” she knew him, and it was one of the few indulgences that he had. The fortress did have a water heater build in, but they didn't have the water storage for long showers, the kind that Cameron loved. She knew that he had taken the room at the end of the corridor on the fifth floor of the hotel for himself. She stubbed out her second cigarette and rose, “I'll stop by later,” she said with a smile that would have melted other men with its delicious promise. Standing, he stubbed out his own half smoked cigarette and emptied the ashtray on to the ground outside. He secured the door behind him, taking a walk to try and sort out the junkyard in his mind.

It was the middle of the night by the time Cameron was finished with his walk, and figured it was late enough to avoid any entanglements. He climbed the last flight of stairs, preferring them to the elevator, he paused in the corridor, the dim lighting enough to outline the hallway but hide the intricate patterns upon the carpet as he slid they key in the lock. The door swung open without a squeak as he stripped off his clothes and wandered in to the bathroom, turning up the water as hot and high as possible, clouds of steam billowing around him as he let the water hammer his face.

The door to his room clicked, someone trying to close it without making any noise and failing. The Beretta was in his hand and he was half out of the shower when she stepped in to view, “I've been looking for you,” she said, throwing her towel across the sink as she reached up and kissed him, pushing him and then joining him under the shower. He stiffened in more ways than one, holding out against her first, second and third kisses before giving in to the urge and desire he'd kept bottled up for months, since their one encounter months ago. Under the driving beat of the water, the steam and mist and raw heat, she came to a shattering climax, twice before he could withstand no more, her final climax and his own burning out of control, leaving them out of breath, curled up against each other on the floor of the narrow shower room. His eyes were closed as he seemed to relax, and for the first time she saw the lines upon his face, lines that marked responsibility, weariness, and pain, all gone leaving a look of childish innocence and peace. She just knew that as a little boy, he would have been adorable.

Her wandering figures brushed across it and doubled back, and he tensed as she traced the first of them, from the top of his left shoulder blade diagonally down across to the right. The second intersected and followed the curve of his spine, intersecting with several more, all across his back. Her fingers followed them with a morbid curiosity he felt. She opened her mouth to speak but he was out of the shower and shrugging on a bathrobe.

“Did you just teleport in to that?” she asked. He cursed quietly as he opened the bathroom door a crack, struggling to get a bathrobe on at the same time the narrow crack sucked out the steam and suddenly, she could see the full extent of the carnage: His back was a spider web of scars, her sharp breath didn’t surprise him, and told her why he always kept a shirt on. The scars crisscrossed, some like jagged lightning, others almost a centimeter wide. Interspaced between the lines were deep punctures and pock marks like furrows