Harrowed Earth: Distant Memories by Frank Carentz

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But we all find hope in our own personal ways. Some look for it within the stories they tell, some find it in prayer to a god that many believe to be dead and fewer still find their hope in the endless battle for survival.

I don't honestly know which of these groups I would count myself amongst. While my dreams seem to be finding hope in my memories, and I often find myself asking some unknown being "Why?", I can't whole heartedly state that I am either a story follower or a believer in some omnipotent power. And while I do find a modicum of solace in slaying the abominations that have come to rule my section of the world, I do not find hope within the death that is being dealt.

Death, something that we have all come to know rather well, there are but forty of us left this cycle and as I cipher this, I look at my fellows and see the hope I had spoken of is at an extreme low. You can feel it in the air, hear it in the voices, the prayers have lessened, the stories grown old and the war has never been won.

The Dust Season is growing near. Our only hope to survive the next few cycles is to either move on to another place using the Dust Storms as cover or stay where we are, and hope our supply's hold out..."

He immediately stopped reading the text within the memoirs after hearing the heavy hitting sound of approaching footsteps, foot falls that only a Mechanicus makes. A creature that was once of human decent and has since had its flesh married to machine. Bone and muscle now mixed with wire and steel in an unholy union that serves only its master. His hand quickly traded the journal for the Kylar-blade he had earlier sheathed in the dust beside him. The blade was large, nearly four foot in length with a hilt measuring at a full eighteen inches and wrapped in the treated skin of his first Sati kill. It had been a long time since he had found himself in the situation where his only option was close-quarters combat, but his MP-cartridge had gone empty a few days ago. His free hand quickly fell to his belt, flipping the switch to reactivate the oxy-filter, then reattaching his breathing unit and goggles over his face. He knew that it would only be a few more moments before the approaching monstrosity would gain sight of the shack he was currently hold-up in and come to have a peek at what was inside.

Being caught inside the shack was definitely a poor strategical move on his part, but they had never tracked him for this long before. Not to mention the fact that resting in the open during an El-Storm was definitely not something to be done by choice.