Chapter 17: Uplink

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When they got back to the snow hog, which they did as quickly as possible, Greg and Izzy sat together in the front in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Izzy reached forward slowly and started up the vehicle.

"We need to...um...get to the comms tower, and fix," she said quietly.

Greg just nodded. After another moment, she got the hog turned around and began making her way back to the trail that would take them there.

After a bit longer, she finally spoke again. "What are they?"

"Monsters," Greg muttered.

"You said they were like a virus or something? Could we turn into them?"

"No," Greg replied, running everything Payton had said to him through his head again. "No, when I was talking to Payton about them, he said it was really fast. Like, less than a minute. So we already would have turned. And he said, it wasn't like a virus, not exactly, like...they had to jump onto you or something. Damn, what did he say? He was vague about it after that initial part. I think he was paranoid, like worried someone would overhear him."

"If these are real hostiles, why haven't we been briefed on them!?" Izzy asked, suddenly angry.

"I don't know. He seemed to think they were only on Delta Halo. Maybe...they were too scared of spreading word around? These things seem really dangerous, like zombies or something. And obviously they aren't just on Delta Halo."

"Why do you call it Delta Halo?" she asked suddenly.

"What? I don't know, that's just what he called it. He kept calling it Delta Halo."

"So there's more than one of them?"

"I...guess so," he murmured.

"Dammit. Here we are, cut off and under-prepared, and now we're facing these things! What if more of them show up?"

"We'd better get that radio fixed pronto," he replied, and she nodded tightly in response.

A few moments later, they had the snow hog parked and were making their way back up the trail. As they made their way up it as fast as they safely could, Greg found himself more paranoid than ever. The mystery had finally been solved, and it was far worse than he thought it was going to be. Ever since hearing about them, a dark seed of worry relating to the Flood had been planted somewhere in the darker trenches of his mind.

Now that plant was in full bloom and slithering out into the light, and he hated it.

He'd had a few nightmares about facing them, even when he'd never seen one before. And now he had, and he knew a lot more nightmares were in his near future. They were horrifying and he was honestly having trouble with truly coming to grips with their reality. He couldn't stop seeing the mutated things, the beasts that once been human beings. Their decaying, leathery skin, their misshapen bodies, the tentacles, the sounds they made. What were they? His mind was going to the same place Izzy's had gone.

How did you become one?

Because what if he was wrong? He wasn't sure if it was airborne or bloodborne, like a traditional virus or infection, but he couldn't be sure because he didn't know. All he had to go off of was what he'd heard, which wasn't much, and what he'd seen so far. But despite his increased paranoia, as he scanned the frozen landscape of the island he and Izzy occupied, he saw nothing moving down there but the occasional varg or drub or alien deer. Although now he was less sure about the more distant shapes. They looked like they were moving like animals down on all fours but...

He wanted to use his zoom function built into the helmet, but it was too dangerous at the moment, what with walking up a mountain path. Finally, they reached the top, and he was extremely grateful that they'd thought to bring all the parts and tools with them from the base when they'd initially gone to the mine. Oh how he hoped they never had to go back into that mine. What if there were more openings? And how widespread was this whole situation?

"Okay, watch my back," Izzy said tightly.

Greg grunted a response and turned around, suddenly paranoid that something might have followed them up the trail, but it remained clear. He took the opportunity to check out all the things he saw moving off in the distance using the zoom feature. As the seconds became minutes, he saw that they were all just what he thought they were: animals. A pack of vargs. A few lone drubs. A couple of collections of alien deer. Nothing that looked human or anything vaguely like a human. He listened to the wind whistle and Izzy work, which mostly just mechanical clinks and clangs, and her cursing occasionally.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then a quarter hour.

Suddenly, there was a metallic snap and then, about thirty seconds later, she said, "I did it."

"It's fixed?" he asked, looking back at her.

"It works. Now it's just a matter of there being someone to talk to out there. Come on," she said, repacking her toolkit, "I really want to cut this suspense BS."

"Same," he agreed.

A moment later, they were hurrying back down the trail.

* * *

The suspense only grew as they got back to the hog and began the drive back towards the UNSC outpost. It seemed to take ages even though nothing was actually slowing them down. No creatures getting their way, (not that that would particularly slow them down, unless maybe it was a drub), no bad weather, no car troubles. Still, by the time they finally pulled into the outpost's parking garage, Greg was nearly out of his mind with anxiety and impatience. It was when he suddenly wondered if something else was wrong, like some kind of malfunction they hadn't previously detected and he realized that would drive him absolutely out of his mind that he realized he needed to get a grip and calm the hell down.

Because it wasn't like calling up someone on the radio was the end-all, be-all solution to their problems. Even if they were lucky enough to get in touch with someone from UNSC Command or the UNSC at all, he doubted they had some miracle cure that they were poised to launch. No, whatever was happening, he had the idea that they were in this for a long haul. There was certainly a lot more hardship and misery ahead of him.

So he forcibly hit the brakes and chilled himself out as they made their way into the outpost. Finally, he sat down at the comms workstation and fired it up. Time to see if all their effort had been in vain or not. First he confirmed that the radio actually worked.

"First things first," he muttered as he began to tune the instruments. "We're going to try and get in touch with the goddamned Icarus. It'd be great to hear their voices."

"Hell yes, it would," Izzy replied.

But try as he might, he couldn't reach them. Not even a little. After several minutes, with an unhappy sigh, he instead set to work hunting for live UNSC emergency frequencies. Grabbing the mic, he set to work.

"This is Corporal Greg Walker of the UNSC Marine Corps, is anyone out there? Over." He paused once, listening, waiting, feeling Izzy tense at his side, and almost began to repeat himself.

Then there was a burst of static. "This is Sergeant Becker, I hear you Corporal. Where are you and what's your situation? Over."

Greg felt relief burst inside of him like a signal flare. "We're on-" He stopped as it suddenly occurred to him that he'd never actually learned the name of the island they were on. He looked beseechingly at Izzy.

"Polaris," she said.

"-we're on Polaris Island. There's two of us. We're, as far as we know, the only survivors of a pair of Fireteams sent down from orbit. We were hit by some kind of solar activity that fried most of the electronics in the area. We are both in good health, and ready and willing to help. Can we get some intel on what the hell is going on? We were never properly briefed. Over."

"Wait. You're saying that you are not from Wintermute? That you came from a UNSC vessel? Over," the Sergeant replied, sounding excited.

"Confirmed. We are from the UNSC Icarus. Unfortunately, we have no idea what happened to it. We can't reach it. Over."

A sigh. "I figured as much. Between the loss of several key communication relays, the solar storm, and this goddamned weather, it's hard to talk to anybody on the planet. Okay, situation is as follows: the entire planet is now under quarantine, as we have been hit with hostile force known as the Flood. Are you familiar? Over."

"Vaguely. I've heard about them. Over."

"That's a start. Have you encountered any on Polaris Island? Over."

"Affirmative. We encountered a lot of them in a mine, but we set off demolition charges and we may have plugged the tunnel they were coming through, but we can't be sure. Over."

"Aw, dammit." Another unhappy sighed. "I'm sending over a data packet now. It's all the intel we have on them at the moment, but the situation is very sketchy. I'm about fifty five miles from your current position, on the mainland at a refueling station we've set up in. Look, right now, we're in a bad situation all over. Mainly we're trying to find a place for civilians, and we were looking at Polaris Island. What does your intel suggest? Over."

Greg sighed heavily, glancing at Izzy, who looked uncertainly back at him. He considered it for a moment. "Our experiences here so far haven't painted exactly the best picture. There's a lot of dangerous creatures around, and we've confirmed that we're the only two people left on the island. There's not a lot of places to set up camp in, if you're looking at a refuge zone...and there's the Flood element, too. It could be worse, but it could be a whole hell of a lot better. Over."

"Well, right now, it's our only viable option. It's isolated and we've got a lot of scared, displaced, and injured people here. Not to mention, we need our own HQ in the region. We've been preparing to make a push to the island itself, but we keep running into mishaps." Here, he hesitated. "Listen, I know it's a lot to ask, but...the only direct route to the island is a two-mile tunnel that connects the mainland to the island. It lets out on the north side of the town, it should be easy to find. Sea travel is largely out and air is too dangerous and too difficult at the moment. Whatever that damned solar flare was, it's left some kind of residual trace in the atmosphere and it's screwing with our ships. So I need the two of you to clear the way in that tunnel...over."

Greg swallowed, then glanced at Izzy, who looked pale. "Uh...I'm not sure if we're in any position to do that, precisely. There's only two of us, and we've just got a shotgun and a pair of pistols with not a whole lot of ammo between us...over."

"Dammit, this is bad. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if we have a lot of choices. I sent a recon squad in to scout the way, but lost contact with them not long after. Right now, all of our assets are engaged elsewhere. You're it, Marines. I can't exactly make you do this. I can order you, but you're there and I'm here. So I guess your two options are to sit there and wait for extraction, when and if it comes, or make your way through the tunnel. Just know that we could really use all hands on deck for this one. Over," Becker said. He sounded tired, resigned almost.

Greg stared at Izzy, and she stared back. A look of grim sureness crept slowly onto her face, and she locked eyes with him and nodded tightly. He sighed and hit the respond button. "Understood, Sergeant. We're going to mount up and head into the tunnel. We'll do our damnedest to secure it and see if we can't find your missing recon team. God willing, we'll link up with you at some point in the near future. How do we get to you? Over."

"It's easy, just keep following the road dead on after you get out of the tunnel." A pause. "Thank you for this. I genuinely wish you the two of you the absolute best of luck down there...out."

Greg slowly sat back, feeling like he'd been sucker punched. "That wasn't exactly what I was hoping for," he muttered.

"It's going to have to do," Izzy replied. "Because it's all we're going to get." She clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Come on, Greg. We've got a hell of a job ahead of us."

"Uh-huh," he managed, reaching up and placing his hand over hers.

They remained like that for several seconds, and then finally Greg stood up, and the two of them walked out of the control room.

* * *

The two of them spent the next hour and a half preparing.

They started by shutting down everything they could in the military base, to save what power there was left for those who would come after them. Then they studied up on the data that had been sent to them by Sergeant Becker. It filled in a few blanks, and even came with some helpful photos. The things they had faced down in the mine were officially called Combat Forms. The Flood was able to grow their numbers via Infection Forms, which were awful, little things that looked like bulbous alien heads on tiny tentacle legs.

Apparently, they burrowed into your chest and took you over.

Which was pretty horrifying to imagine. There were some bits of data on their combat abilities: strength, speed, attacks. What he knew about their chests held true, although apparently shooting them anywhere else was practically useless. There was another form he hadn't known about: a Carrier Form. It was a bloated, hideous blob that apparently acted as a natural explosive. It carried Infection Forms. As he read over this, he flashed back to reading over that guide to the island, learning about all the dangerous creatures.

What a nightmare this was going to be.

Once they had digested all this information, they set about preparing the base as much as they could. They made sure everything was locked down after rechecking all of the rooms they had previously locked off, just to be sure, then they debated over how much supplies to take with them. After figuring that out, loading up a pair of crates of food, water, medicine, clothing, and technical parts and tools in the back of the snow hog, they locked everything else up in the infirmary, mess hall, and storage areas respectively, and then left a detailed list of information on an infopad resting on the primary station of the control room, hoping to give the Marines who came after them as much of an edge as possible.

If they were hoping to tame this island, it was going to be very difficult.

Once they had done as much as they could, the pair got into their snow hog and began driving towards the town, and the path that would take them off of this island.

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