Four years ago

Red tape. All Rachel could see was red tape.

Ignoring the devastation, the screams, the crowd. All Rachel could see was the red tape blocking her way home.

"I have to get back," she whispered.

Rachel felt pressure, glancing up to see a grandmother-type woman looking at her with pity. "No one's going back, dearie. The Ripples hit. If anyone survived, they would be shipped out of the city."

The delivery was almost cold, but it was the truth. No one exposed to the Ripples would frequent the Cities ever again. It was the most humane way to reduce the spread of the Vine Infection.

Although Rachel was more in line with thinking, that was merely an excuse to reduce the spread of fear and give a false sense of security.

But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

They were gone—the people who cared about her, the family that had taken her in when she had no one. They were gone, and her dream of finally breaking free of her family went with them.

Live would move on. The city would be rebuilt, the containment bubble would be fixed, and new families would live there. It would be like nothing happened in the first place.

Her eyes teared up.

She clenched her fist, trying to think. She wanted to tear through the red tape to find them. To do something.

I can't do that. The Guard will catch me.

No, I need to think.

Think!

There must be a method...? a means.

If they survived, I would find them.

I owe them at least that much.

***

Present Day

That night, the Ripples took Melanie Spencer and her two young daughters, leaving Rachel, who was living there as a housekeeper and nanny, alone.

She was there mainly to attend school and study as a teacher. An occupation her family disapprove of. Dr. Melanie Spencer, a distant family relative, was the only one willing to take her in when she had nowhere else to go. They were an odd family, but Rachel felt more warmth from them than she ever did with her family.

They deserved better. Rachel's hands trembled.

Back then, after the Ripples hit and her sponsor family disappeared, Rachel was only a teenager, and the age of maturity was twenty-five. So, she had no other choice but to return to the family she wanted to get away from.

Her family, the Lui family, made their name in police politics. They were wealthy but just as corrupt. Rachel didn't want any part of it, but no options were left for her back then. So, she acted like a dutiful daughter and did what was expected of her. She got early admission to the police academy, placed herself at the top of her class, met the 'right' people, and did so with a smile.

She did all that so that Rachel could choose which department she would enlist in after graduation.

So, she joined the WMP as an apprentice, the only police unit marshalling the Compounds. It was her only chance to locate the family that helped her so much.

Even if her chances were slim.

And they might even be… Rachel shook her head in denial; she didn't want to think about that. They have to be alive; they must be.

She couldn't forgive herself if she didn't even try, especially knowing it could have easily been her out there on one of those Compounds, trying to survive, left alone.

"Ha, Girly!" a rough voice interrupted.

She turned to find a man leaning against the hood, smoking a cigar, and kicking the dirt with his worn-in boots. Sergeant Statson, her training officer, was a big bear of a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark cowboy hat covering his dark blue eyes.

Statson was different than any man she had met. He spoke his mind to the point of insulting and didn't like to take any crap from anyone. Sergeant Statson was one of the few honest cops Rachel had ever met. Although grumpy as hell, he was a great teacher.

Rachel heard he was a soldier in the Lumeye War, but she knew not to pry, maybe because she recognized that look in his eyes: guilt and regret.

"Girly, are you listening?" Sergeant Statson asked forcefully.

Rachel jumped. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"We're not in the office, Girly. So Statson will do," He corrected.

Please don't call me Girly. Rachel wanted to say, but she knew Statson was set in his ways.

"This place." He waved his arm around. It used to be a battlefield not too long ago. Amazing how the Wasteland just wiped the slate clean, like it never existed." His gaze was distant.

"It's beautiful, though." Rachel swept her black hair from her mixed Asian face as her gazes took in the Wasteland's beauty. Interfered only by the Connecting City Highway, bubbled tubes crisscrossed above the tree line and the slowly lower bridge leading into the Wastelands.

It was much better than the view behind them. Miles of scorched earth and a city wrapped in a bubble. Afraid to let anything from the Wastelands touch.

But it doesn't protect them from the Ripples. Nothing does. Unless the Wastelands itself.

Statson chuckled. "Beautiful things are the most likely to bite you in the ass. Just ask my ex-wife."

"Which one?" Rachel joked a little. She heard that he had three.

"All of them," he deadpanned.

He took out his gun, removed the magazine clip, checked the chamber, and put everything back together again. Then, he repeated the process with his spare.

"Sergeant? I mean, Statson." Rachel shook her head. Calling people by their titles had been drilled into her since she was a child, and it was a hard habit to break.

"I have a bad feeling, Girly, and my gut never steers me wrong," he continued. "This Outpost 23 operation is bigger than it appears, and I don't like going in unprepared."

"But Captain Remington said that the assignment was routine. Nothing to worry about." Rachel had her doubts, but she was just a newbie.

Although, the assignment wasn't sitting right with her, either.

Statson growled out. "Routine? You have potential, so I'll give you some advice." He paused before continuing. "Our esteemed Captain Remington has his head permanently slammed up his ass and doesn't know anything unless it's hand-fed to him. Trust me on this one." He winked, a devilish gleam in his eyes. "Better check your hardware while we have the time."

She, too, reached for her firearm strapped to her side. "And if you are wrong…."

He smiled, teeth gleaming, "Then call me paranoid," he paused. "Though I will tell you this. I don't see myself making a good expression at that fancy party. Especially one being set up by an asshole Major."

Rachel couldn't help but agree. Statson was more of a balls-cracking type than a smooth talker, so it was kind of odd that Statson and her, a trainee, were going into the Wasteland to represent the WMP.

Plus, even if the roads were lined with Mirsyte, where was the extra guard or even a scout? Anything to make the journey a little safer.

Budget cuts? Maybe? Still, something just feels off.

"How do you know that Major Hatten is an asshole?" Rachel asked with a smile; she didn't know why she was playing along. Maybe insanity was infectious.

"Believe me, Girly, all Majors are assholes. That's a fact of life," Statson stated.

The bridge finally opened. Rachel stretched and moved to the passenger side. "Let's just get this over with. Who knows, maybe nothing will happen?" She didn't believe it herself, but who knows?

"Piece of advice. Always think of worst-case scenarios. It will keep you alive longer." He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

A bird cries out in the distance.

***

Souring high, unnoticed by the two Marshals, was a falcon with silver wings circled once and twice before flying away.