The days pass in a blur, a monotonous cycle of waking, working, and sleeping. The cave becomes our world, our prison, our sanctuary. The supplies we brought back are a lifeline, a temporary reprieve from the inevitable, but they won't last forever.
Neither will the peace.
We all know it.
It's a quiet, unspoken truth that hangs over us, a constant, looming presence that colors every conversation, every action.
We're safe for now, but it's only a matter of time before they find us. Before they come for us.
Before we have to fight.
I've been avoiding thinking about it, avoiding making any decisions, any plans. But I can't avoid it any longer. The weight of responsibility is a heavy burden, a pressure that builds with each passing day, each moment of inaction.
I'm not the leader.
Arden's taken that role by default.
But he's...not doing anything. He organizes us for menial tasks, keeps the peace, ensures we have order.
But he's not a leader of a rebellion.
He's a man keeping a group of refugees alive.
I frown out at the desert below us, standing at the entrance of the cave.
The transport is partly buried in the sand now. Getting rid of it or destroying it would be foolish paranoia, and keeping it in the cave would be foolish naivety. So we left it in the desert, in sight, within reach, but not close enough to tell the aliens where in the caves we've hidden.
They haven't appeared for it. If it has a tracker, they haven't seemed to realize that it matters.
My fingers clench.
That doesn't mean we should rely on it.
I...
We can't stay here.
It's not just about the danger - we can't just live in the caves. There's no way to get reliable water, there's no way to re-establish greenhouses and crops, there's little way to cook. We can't go back to the base. Even if they're not there now they'll certainly send scouts to check it frequently.
That's assuming there's not a nasty surprise of some sort waiting for us.
No, no matter how desperate we are, we can never risk approaching that place again.
I can't say for sure how much damage we did to the supply depot. I know that warehouse was destroyed, and when we left the flames and smoke were visible behind us for a huge portion of the trip. It seems to me that the fire will have done considerable damage to their supplies.
But...
They have other depots.
I know it. We all do.
I've been watching their ships from up here. There are still a lot of them, and they're coming and going with regularity.
Whatever resources they lost, it wasn't crippling.
They'll have more than enough to survive without that one warehouse.
In fact, they never came here at all. What we did to them didn't even trigger a counter attack, another attempt at finding us.
Nothing.
I can't believe they don't care -
The memories of the flight from the base, the frantic, desperate scramble to escape, the sight of our friends being gunned down, of Mia and Eric standing calmly with our captors... it all comes rushing back, a tidal wave of pain and anger that threatens to pull me under.
I grit my teeth, my fists clenching at my sides.
They care.
But they...
"Deep thoughts?" Alistair asks, from behind me.
I didn't hear his approach, and so I turn my gaze toward him a little more quickly than necessary. "...They expect us to die." I finally say. "They're not worried about us."
He pauses, then moves to stand beside me, looking out at the desert as well.
He's silent for a long moment, "Even after torching their place?" He asks, a hint of dark humor in his tone.
I shake my head. "They didn't even come looking. They might not know where we are, but they didn't even look in the place they lost sight of us last." My fists tremble. "We're not worth their effort."
He lets out a breath through his nose, his hands in his pockets. "They showed a lot of effort when they killed our friends, don't you think?"
"That's different." I shake my head. "We almost escaped. Ivan...for years he was careful, right? He barely left any trail. But when we tried to escape, they came. They burned it all down. This...this isn't that. This is them knowing they've already won. We're just...waiting to die."
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't turn my head. I don't want to see his expression. I don't want to see the pity, the concern, the resignation.
"They're wrong."
The words catch me by surprise. My head jerks toward him, meeting his gaze. His expression is serious, his hazel eyes alight with a fierce determination.
"I'm not waiting to die." his voice is as firm as his gaze. "I'm going to take a hell of a lot of them out before I go. And I don't plan to go for a while yet."
I stare at him, taken aback by the intensity in his voice, the conviction in his words. It's not the first time I've seen this side of him, but it's still a surprise.
...It's the same anger in my veins. The same desire.
My gaze lingers on him for a long moment, before I turn to look outside the cave again.
"Don't know that I want to die." I say, finally. "...I just know that I want them. To hurt." My voice is quiet, but hard, edged with a bitterness I didn't know I was capable of.
"...I could accept that, too." He nods, thoughtfully. "The problem is..." He looks out at the desert again. "I don't know how to make them hurt."
I'm silent for a moment, considering his words. He's right, of course. We're just a handful of humans, with limited resources, limited knowledge. We're up against an entire civilization, an empire that spans across the galaxy. They have technology, weapons, resources that we can't even begin to imagine.
"We can't win."
"Who said anything about winning?"
I glance at him again.
"Pyrrhus." He said. As if he'd just spontaneously begun speaking the alien language.
"What?" I ask, confused.
His eyes meet mine. "King Pyrrhus. Won a war. Lost so much he said another victory like that would be his downfall." His lips pull into a smirk. "They think we're cockroaches just because we can't win. But we don't need to win to make them bleed." He raises his hands, mimicking a gun with his fingers. "We just need to keep getting in shots."
Before I can respond, Arden speaks. "It's easy to say angry words. Hard to do angry things."
My heart jumps in my throat. How long has he been listening? Why is he here now? He's looking at us both, his expression unreadable.
"There's no energy left to be angry when you're barely surviving." His gaze glances between the two of us, "And that's us. You feel strong now because you're fed and you got one over on them, but these supplies are going to run out. And then what? You think they'll sit around and let us raid them again? The nearest depot beyond that one is miles further." He shakes his head. "They'll be waiting for us."
"Good." Alistair responds, a dark satisfaction in his voice. "We'll make them pay for it."
Arden frowns, but Alistair doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn't care.
"We need to move." It's my voice that breaks their conversation.
Both of their gazes turn to me.
"There were other bases before this one they took, right?" I glance over at Arden, swallowing. "But Eric and Mia weren't there. They don't know where they are."
"We left those for a reason-"
"Were they worse than this cave?" I ask, bluntly.
He's quiet. "No."
"Then that's where we're going. Away from here."
"You just want to go back to hiding?" Arden asks, surprised.
I look out to the desert. "No." I say, softly. "But we need a place to be able to operate from. If we're going to hurt them, we can't just...be huddled in a cave. Right now, even if they never come for us, we'll die in here." I can see it. In the faces of everyone. The slow spiral of despair and depression. It's only been a few weeks, and already it's seeping in.
This isn't living at all.
I want to make them hurt. I want to burn them until there's nothing left. I want to scream and fight, and hate until there's nothing left of either of us.
I can't do that here.
Finally, Arden speaks again. "The nearest place is five days of walking away."
"What about with the transport?" I ask. "We've not been using it for anything else."
"...Three days." He admits. "But if we want to bring our supplies, it will take two trips." He glances back at the group in the cave, before adding. "Crowded ones." He murmurs, "Might even need three trips. And there's risk. A lot of risk."
I look out again at the transport, half buried in the sand. Three days of traveling, the risk of being found. Three days of exposure, of vulnerability.
...Three days for a third and final chance for the people who came here to be free.