It was chaos.

Screams, explosions, gunfire… everywhere she turned Laura saw only darkness and destruction. The world was filled with blood and smoke and fire and it was taking all her strength to not just sink to the ground and cry with fear and despair.

She forced herself to focus, scanning her surroundings for some means of escape or at least somewhere to hide… and found nothing.

Her shoulders sank and she shook her head helplessly. The despair started to seep through the widening cracks in her resolve and she felt her knees starting to buckle beneath her. A sob escaped her lips, and Laura Roslin gave up and let herself fall.

A hand grabbed her arm.

Laura looked up, but all she could see through the smoke and the darkness was a vague silhouette. Before she could speak she found herself running through the melee, being dragged along at a breakneck pace by whoever it was who had such a firm grip on her arm.

She suddenly realised that she didn't know if she was running away from death or toward it. Who was to say that her mysterious rescuer wasn't a Cylon? She was sure there were any number of things the Cylons might want her for, whether she were dead or alive. Should she really be blindly following this man, whoever he was? But how could she not – his grip on her arm felt like steel.

They had run far enough now for the fighting to be thinning out. This meant that there was less smoke, and Laura felt like she could breathe more easily and regain some of her focus. Unfortunately their distance from the centre of the conflict also meant that there was less light. She felt dead leaves crunching under her feet and had a vague impression of branches as she was pulled into ducks and weaves around invisible obstacles. A more definite impression of a branch was given when one sprung back into her face after whoever it was who was pulling her pushed past it. Laura cried out involuntarily, which earned her a shhh! from her capto-- rescu-- …companion. She clamped her jaw shut as blood began to trickle down her cheek.

Something metallic glittered between the trees not far away—a Cylon centurion? Laura froze, which was not a good idea with her current forward momentum. She tripped and was dragged several feet before her companion stopped and pulled her upright again. When she regained her balance she saw what had been glinting behind the trees.

They were standing in a small clearing, at the side of which was parked one of Galactica's Raptors.

"Get in," said a familiar gravelly voice, and she squinted at the man letting go of her arm and finally recognized him.

It was Bill Adama. He was panting rather heavily and gently pushing her towards the ship.

Laura's brain suddenly kicked itself back into gear and she protested in a whisper, "We can't just fly off and leave them here to die! We could fit ten more people on that ship, at least!"

Bill shook his head and his pushing became more persistent. "The engine's shot; this ship's not flying anywhere. We need to get the weapons and food rations which are onboard and then get the hell out of here."

Understanding dawned and she stopped resisting his push. They scrambled aboard the Raptor and Bill grabbed a bag and started to fill it with emergency food rations. Even in the low lighting Laura could see that there were more than enough rations to fit into the bag three times over, but when it was about three-quarters full he pulled out another bag and threw it at her, motioning for her to take over while he opened another container and started throwing its contents into his own bag. Laura realised that the second container contained ammunition and tried to calculate in her head what the best ratio of food to ammo might be, but she didn't have enough experience in situations like these for her to be able to reason properly. She left the strategic thinking in Bill's capable hands and concentrated on packing her bag as quickly as possible. Still, when he handed her her own allotment of ammunition she couldn't help the shiver which went down her spine. She had never been very comfortable around weapons.

Then Bill handed her a gun.

She hesitated for a short instant but then took it, trying not to let her hands shake. The metal was cold and the shape of her grip felt strange, but this was no time to be squeamish.

"You okay with this?" Bill asked, pausing for a second in his ruthless raid of the ship's supplies.

Laura made herself nod.

"Alright. Remember, just point, shoot and don't be surprised by the recoil." He packed two more guns in his bag and loaded a third, which he secured in a holster around his waist.

"Right," Laura affirmed somewhat belatedly, trying not to stare too hard at the unfamiliar sight of the gun in her hands.

Bill scrambled toward the hatch and looked out. "Okay, looks like we're clear." He met her gaze through the dim light and held it for a second. She gave him a nod, which he returned. "Right." He held out his hand for hers. "Let's go."

She reached out for him and they jumped out of the ship and continued running into the night.