S4, E3 | Flying the Nest

“A chat?” Randal calls out, the pronounced drollery in his tone leaving a surface-level tension over the silence that proceeds after each word uttered, “you think this is the time for a chat?” His chin slightly downcast as he listens to the man’s voice, his clear inflexion carrying a deeply unimpressed and unmoved weight behind his intent, the once-dubbed ‘Silver Slayer’ replies in kind.

“I prefer it to senseless killing, yes” Lou answers, nodding to himself in approval of his own declaration as his face moves toward the side he knows the concerning group’s leader to be standing. “It’s only been a few months, but I’ve seen more than enough death that could’ve been easily avoided” the man continues, speaking from a place of honesty whilst still uncertain of where he expects these words to lead him.

“You ought to start getting used to it then” Randal chirps back, continuing to stare through the dark, visibility-deprived forest without certainty over where the subject of his response occupies. “Believe me- I have been” Lou responds, nodding to himself as he continues to look ahead, managing to catch a glimpse of the rifle-wielding cover that he’s yet to entertain the presence of- their light skin shining in the moonlight as they quietly reposition themselves at a better angle.

“I know you want our girl, but my question is why?” Lou continues, tightening his hold on the rebar pipe as he listens to the distant jostling of weapons as they move with the hands of the enclave’s armed force, “what’s in it for you?” Spitting a wad of saliva onto the muddy ground that sits at his feet, Randal continues to stare in the direction of his Oz-like contemporary, unable to see the man he shares the other end of a conversation with.

“Revenge” the man declares, unable to see the man that hides within the near distance, but able to hear the audible chuckle that is taken from his vow. “Oh, come on- there’s got to be more than that” Lou replies, humoured by the insinuation that their motivation to kill is driven by such a petty purpose. “Why?” Randal questions back, shrugging his shoulders at the idea that his incentives aren’t adequate, “wouldn’t you want to go after someone if they killed people you cared about?”

Parting his lips to respond, Lou falls silent for a moment as his eyes fall toward the ground, thinking quietly to himself as the distant man reiterates his question. “If someone threatened you- or threatened the people you cared about- wouldn’t you want them dead?” Randal asks again, waiting for a reply from the unseen reaches of the woodland’s ground, one that another few seconds pass before he begins to lose patience in.

“Should I take that silence as a ‘yes’?” Randal concludes, calling out to the person that continues to leave him without an answer, the question refused and brushed away the moment the second voice finally replies. “Courtney isn’t a threat to you, and from what I’ve heard- you had it coming” Lou responds, removing the point of his rebar staff from the mud as he presses his back into the tree he stands behind the cover of, “you sent those pricks out to kill her, didn’t you?”

“We sent ‘those pricks’ out to take her goddamn island, that’s what we did” Randal replies, making his end of the story clear and well-understood. “We were running low on the shit she needed, and we knew she’d cut us off if we didn’t take the island for ourselves” the man continues, unable to see the physical response Lou reacts with- his closely-parted eyelids joining his scrunched face as he tries his best to reason with the enclave’s point of view.

“Whatever happened after that- I don’t have a clue of” Randal prepares to conclude, unwavering in his previously-established intent, “I know our guys didn’t come back. When we saw her paramotor fly out, we followed it here and started looking for places she’d camp out in. And it looks like we’ve found it.”

Pressing his teeth together, Lou stares off at the distance- peering through the darkness with the hopes of finding the figure at the preferred-end of the rifle, though he proves unlucky in his efforts. “Your people tried to kill her and she fought back in self-defence” the man responds back, continuing to try and reason with the group he still has yet to identify- but knows the true threat of, “they brought this upon themselves.”


“Blood is blood, man” Randal replies, aiming his gun in the direction of the voice that speaks out to him, not intending to fire unless able to spot the man’s build from beyond the shroud of night, “you spill blood- your blood spills.” Shaking his head in vehement denial, Lou’s reply falls silent as the sound of falling rain and crashing thunder is joined by the whirring of fan blades in the sky, their travel from over the treeline and toward the strait bringing a silence over the altercation.

“Goddamnit!” Randal exclaims, turning back toward his group and ushering his hand forward, redirecting his forces to the shoreline they’d initially landed on the island at, “go back!” Following their leader’s instructions, the army of well-armed enclave executioners rush back the way they’d arrived, their collective march splashing the water that’s collected in pockets of the destroyed path, its dirt turned to slushy mud.

Staying to the rear of his group, Randal remains in place for a moment, looking back in the man’s direction with a look of anger overwhelming his face. “You may have thought buying your girl some time was the right call- it wasn’t” the man declares, again aiming the barrel of his weapon into the woodland’s density, “after we kill the girl, we’re coming back for you- all of you.”

His objectives- both current and future- established, Randal vanishes into the darkness as quickly and soundly as the rest of the enclave does, taking to the seas just as they had prior to their arrival. Aware of the cleared coast, Lou dashes from his cover and sprints through the forest, trekking through mud and dousing himself in the dirty water that each puddle splashes upon his person as he hurries through the break in obstructions, entering an open field mostly void of its residents.

“Who the hell let Courtney fly off!?” the man barks, his eyes immediately falling upon Lee and Theo, who- alongside a small band of armed guards tasked with the perseverance of the camp’s ground- join the rest of Lou’s group. With his hands out, Sebastian speaks calmly to an irate Adrian, who simmers as he stares at him prior to the one-armed survivor’s return, which draws his attention solely upon their physical reunion.

His question still left unanswered, Lou continues to stare at the small collection in silence as another pair of boots approach from behind him, rejoining the camp as the voice they belong to calls out for a reply of their own. “Who the fuck took my paramotor!?” Courtney exclaims, her arms thrown outward- her dominant hand holding the rifle that had spared the self-appointed negotiator more of an issue than the one he’d had.

With wide eyes, Lou turns back to Courtney at a loss for words, stunned by her appearance momentarily before he glances back toward the small crowd, a few seconds passing until his mind gathers the information that’s yet to be spoken to him. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me” the man remarks, his head tilting to one side as it pulls back, a look of disbelief worn across his visage as the rebar staff’s point sinks back into the mud.

= RISE and REVOLT is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series from Season 1 onwards belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 =

Though the sky begins to lighten, the sunlight of a new day hides behind yet another set of dark, grey clouds. Over the Strait of Georgia, waters appear frosty- yet calm, moving with the flow of the wind and the touch of each heavenly droplet from above before running into the frozen tide that sits along the coastline, unbroken and undisturbed.

Flying well above the domineering skyline, the hijacking paramotorist soars toward the towers that comprise the skyline of downtown Vancouver, sheepishly tugging on the strings to her parachute in an effort of descending closer toward ground level. Nervously hovering over the air and through the slots between various office buildings and residential apartments, the woman turns back toward the coast with a look at the ground below- littered with an unspeakable amount of rotting corpses.

With a glance toward the seas, the semi-distinguishable outline of a fleet of boats making their way toward the mainland presents the woman with a predicament- forced to land in spite of having struggled to even get off the ground in the first place. Aware of the necessity that calls, the girl takes her time in forming a plan, eying an opening to take her opportunity from and seizing upon it.

Back toward the coastline, the girl lowers herself toward the wet sands of the city’s beachfront and lifts her legs, grimacing as she prepares to make contact with the ground for the first time since her departure from the island. Slowed to a manageable speed, the girl’s feet drag into the ground and kick up each sopping grain as the rest of her body follows suit, dragging along the soaked dunes as the parachute carries her a few extra metres, the slight tumble an easy price to pay.

Covered by the bright fabrics that gently fall from the sky to cover her, the girl ruffles her way through the covers and strips the motor from over her back, freeing herself from the restraints that had kept her in the air amidst her travels. Back upon solid ground, the woman’s eyes take back to the skyline that she’s faced with for the first time since the world fell into disrepair, a sigh of relief coming over Marta as she takes in what had dawned upon her whilst airborne- she’s on her own.

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“How could you let this happen!?” Adrian exclaims, shouting at Lee as the younger man holds his hands up in refusal. “I had nothing to do with it” the camp’s leader replies, standing beside the table that Sonya tends to Norman upon, a look of concern still carried in his face over the man’s condition. “Adrian, listen to me-” Sebastian pleads, trying to speak reason into the man that he understands has every reason to react in this way.

“What!? What Sebastian!?” Adrian exclaims, his hands thrown out as he steps in the man’s face, refusing to believe the man’s words can bring any sense of reason into the situation at hand. “Nobody let this happen!” Sebastian responds, speaking louder from his initially calm tone of voice in order for it to process within the enraged father’s mind, “No one knew she took the paramotor until she was airborne- at that point, it was too late.” 

“Well somebody had to have seen her walk off with it!” Adrian shouts, trying to find someone to blame before his eyes fall upon Lou, the finger he points toward the man accompanied by a curious look and a lowered voice, “did you plan this?”

“He walked into this camp asking which one of us let Courtney fly off- of course he didn’t plan this” Jenn responds from beside Theo, having sought out the only pair of faces having been familiar to her for longer than a few hours. “If anything, Lou would’ve had me fly off” Courtney doubles down, knowing the man well enough at this point to understand his sensibilities, “I’m sure he’s more confident in Marta going out there than the rest of you, but he’d have asked me first.”

“They’re right, I didn’t know she was gonna do this” Lou responds, his answer prompting Adrian to sink his head and turn away, giving up on being confrontational as he sets his sights on the distant corners of camp. “But, if I’m being honest, it might’ve been a good thing that she was the one that went” the man continues, prompting the father to set his sights back toward a person he can consider close enough to call an ally.

“I’m sure the rest of you could learn if you needed, but Marta already knows how to make a gorecoat” Lou explains, trying to make his own peace with the circumstance at play, “if my friends are in Vancouver, she’ll walk with the dead until she finds them. At that point, she’ll have people skilled enough to watch after her just like we do.”

“That’s not the fucking point, Lou” Adrian replies in a much calmer- yet still agitated- voice, “my little girl’s out there- in Vancouver- all on her own with these fucking lunatics thinking she’s Courtney.”

“They won’t be able to find her amongst the dead. As long as she can land the thing- which isn’t that hard- they’ll never pick her out from the crowd” Courtney responds, taking over the defensive end of the conversation from Lou, “if Lou says she can handle herself, I believe him. Since that’s the case, we need to start figuring out what we’re gonna do when these people come back for round two.”

“Round two?” Theo questions back, curious as to what’s meant by such a thing as he looks toward his one-armed friend, whose head bows with a subtle nod as the woman speaks. “They think he went out there to buy me time to escape- not to negotiate for peace” Courtney explains, jutting her chin in the man’s direction before returning her sights to the camp’s leader, “he made it very clear he was coming back to take out the rest of us when the job was done.”

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Rudy wonders aloud from the huddled-together group, standing just beside his daughter as she tends to the wounds Norman wears. “I don’t want to imply that I don’t believe you, honey- but these people seem hell-bent on killing you” the man responds, trying to rationalise with what he does- and still doesn’t- know, “I’m sure there’s more to this world that I’m not familiar with yet, but it seems like more trouble than revenge is worth.”

“I told you exactly what happened” Courtney replies, speaking from behind Lou as his chin lowers toward the ground, eyelids pressing closer together than they usually do as Sebastian takes notice of this expression. “We were supposed to make a trade, they tried to ambush me, and I killed both of them” the woman continues to speak, the rest of the group watching in utter silence as Sebastian alone continues to single out the man across from him, “that’s the story.”

Amidst silence, the group sits with their own thoughts as they look at each other, only two pairs of eyes directed elsewhere- the ones of the young veteran and the older novice. “What is it, Lou?” Sebastian asks aloud, the question prompting his peers and superior to let their eyes venture into the man’s direction, his gaze still held toward the ground as the question that lingers on his mind is given the floor to be heard.

“You never really told us who these people are” Lou answers, finally lifting his sights from the ground as he turns back toward Courtney, a suspicious look in his eyes carried as his pupils drift toward the woman that stands behind him, “what kind of people are we dealing with?”

Courtney’s parted lips reuniting with each other as her eyes collide with Lou’s, the man’s suspicions- just based on the certainty he’s carried himself with in the group’s presence- prompts his peers to join him in curious wonder of what truth has yet to be spoken. As her eyes fall for a moment, the woman attempts to speak before Lee’s voice interjects itself into her reply, his concerns taken to the man that still bleeds heavily beside him.

“What’s wrong, Norman?” the man asks, taking the hand that the older gentleman lifts toward him, a look of great pain written across the soldier’s grizzled face. His every breath long and drawn-out, the white-haired, battle-tested survivor looks his much-younger, but well-respected leader in the eyes as he shakes his head. “Talk to me, man- what’s wrong?” Lee asks again, lowering himself to a knee beside the table-bound patient, his hand taken between the wounded’s two.

“Just get it over with” Norman calmly requests in between breaths, unable to speak further before being forced to take in another gasp. “Just- just- what? Get what over with?” Lee replies with genuine confusion, feeling the weight of Theo’s hand lower itself upon his shoulder without a clue as to why. “The pain. Just make it stop” the soldier replies, watching the hopeful expression remain upon his superior’s face.

“We’re trying, man- we’re trying! Sonya’s doing her best to get you up and-” Lee responds, watching the man’s head shake in refusal before he can finish his thought. “I’m just gonna weigh you down if they come back” Norman speaks through a sigh, pausing mid-breath to gather as much air as he can, “besides, man- it hurts too much.”

His hopeful look expensed, Lee shakes his head in refusal, his mind taking to words which offer encouragement, only to find an entirely opposite expression on Sonya’s face upon glancing up. In silence, the woman’s bloody hands release a pair of disinfected pliers from her grasp as her eyes turn toward her employer, their dejected, defeat-stricken appearance rendering whatever he’d intended to say bleak and fruitless.

With whatever strength he can muster, the gravely-wounded patient squeezes Lee’s hand tighter in an effort of regaining his focus without having to speak, the look of acceptance more than apparent in his face. “Let me go out honourably, sir” Norman pleads, making himself comfortable with the moments he knows to be amongst his last, the bleeding having worsened to the point that his teeth wear red stains.

A deep breath escaping his lungs, Lee’s shoulders fall as he looks to the man’s expression, his mind having to slowly quell itself to support the request brought upon him. Sitting with his own thoughts for a few moments in silence, the camp’s leader presses his lips into a smile and lets out a sombre nod, obliging the plea for mercy being made of him.

Grimacing, Theo takes in a deep breath as he readies his rifle, letting his friend return to his feet and give him the signal to follow through before stepping forward. “Take care of these people, Lee” Norman asks, wishing the best upon the souls he’s taken upon himself to serve the duty of protecting as his final proclamation. “I will do all I can, Norman” Lee reassures, stepping away from the man’s side to allow his new lead-commander the floor, looking away from what he knows must be done.

“I hope there’s a warm bed wherever I’m going-” Norman remarks, pressing his eyes shut as Theo presses the rifle to the side of his head, “-I could sure use a nap.” 

*pop*

Filled with silence, the air grows as cold as the winter chill that runs over the camp, its only source of warmth coming from the drops that fall from the cloudy skies ahead, fitting the mood that comes over the group perfectly. His face souring, Theo looks back to Lee as the camp’s leader seethes to himself, both expressions noticed fully by the rebar-wielding survivor that watches them from nearby, his silence following suit with the rest of his group- who watch on respectfully.

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Crowded around the entrance to an old apartment complex lobby, the withered, element-stricken bodies of the undead horde together en mass, staring through the glass exterior the building gives them full view through. Completely surrounding the doors, the dead slam their fists against the window, the chill that comes over Vancouver preventing them from moving with enough force to make any real impact, forcing them to watch what unfolds within.

Pulled inwards, the building’s doors part at the hand of the figure which provokes such interest, granting the undead entry that- after such fierce demand- they refuse when provided. Inspecting for themselves momentarily, the dead stand by the open entrance to the residential tower for a few seconds before opting to disperse, walking off through the streets of Vancouver as if never captivated for even an instant and taking much of the horde with them.

Parted in two directions like the Red Sea, the army of undead figures continue about their day as the true source of their intrigue steps through the building’s glass facade, armed with a pistol in one hand and a blade in the other. The light grey hoodie that she’s splattered with the muck of a gutted corpse that lies in her wake on the complex’s lobby floor just beside her borrowed paramotor, Marta steps into the streets as if she had spent her entire life walking them.

Though faced with a light rain, the girl’s composure remains in cheque, her undead-like stroll through the area carrying her wherever the dead roam, her hopes of blending in as if she were one only rising higher as gunshots fire off in the distance, their proximity to the coastline installing a slight worry within her.

Continuing along her venture, Marta proceeds onward as she makes her best effort to drown out the sounds of live rounds, each shot emanating from the same place, though sounding closer to the girl than the ones that come before it. Driven toward the noise, the dead that the girl walks with begin to pass her by, intrigued more by the possible presence of survivors than they are by aimless wandering.

“Aarrgghh” one particular corpse groans, leant against the side of a building with his head down- almost as if he were just another deceased body- until the firing bullets provoke him into action. With more life than those he joins the ranks of, the undead corpse stands to his feet and begins walking quickly toward the fray, locking eyes with Marta momentarily as she stops in her tracks, shocked at the tenacity of this one corpse in comparison to his peers.

As if unaffected by the cold, the corpse simply takes note of the girl’s presence and marches on, eventually bringing himself to the point of a full-on run once a variety of gunshots begin to sound off in unison. Stood out in the open with the dead marching in her direction, Marta watches another few corpses spring to life from rather docile positions, prompted to act at the sound of life that brings them into an equal sprint to the one corpse that had stunned her so greatly.

Soon surrounded by an army of the dead with a few running corpses spaced out well enough, Marta finds herself unable to move forward without brushing shoulders with those she wishes to remain invisible to- her problems only beginning there.

Picking up in ferocity, the light grey clouds overhead that produce a light drizzle begin to roll out in favour of darker ones, the sound of distant thunder joining the amplified rain that- within seconds- becomes a full on storm. Pelted with each drop that she stands beneath, Marta finds the light grey colour of her sweatshirt darkened as her clothes begin to soak, the gore that she’d smeared herself in beginning to run just as any grime would.

Aware of this, Marta’s eyes take back to the dead that surround her, noticing a few side-eyes paid on the undead’s behalf, almost as if they’d begun to question whether or not her veil was just that- protection from being discovered as one of the living. Her time already limited as it is, the girl’s decision presents itself as one of immediate-necessity, the call one to be made now.

Her eyes wide and sights set on the surroundings she can spot between each body that surrounds her, Marta crafts a plan within her mind and assures herself of it, sparking the fire that her survival depends upon. Swiping her hand through the air, Marta drives her blade through the skull of the one corpse that stands in her way and reveals herself to the horde, stripping the knife from the corpse’s head as she clears herself a path to the other end of the street.

Sought after by both the element-stricken undead and the fresh bodies that solidify their numbers, Marta dashes across the open road and runs her shoulder into the chest of each corpse she can get away with mowing over, pursued by the rest that spot her out from the crowd.

Firing a bullet through doors locked with a chain through their handle, Marta sprints through the shattered glass to another residential complex and bolts for the nearest set of stairs, relentlessly chased by four fresh, able-bodied zombies in addition to the horde that slowly follows along. Gasping for each breath, the girl dashes through the building with her sights simply set on finding the next route forward, disregarding where it leads as long as it buys her time.

Though fast herself, Marta’s stamina begins to wane in ways the dead’s simply don’t, forcing her to accept the fact that the ability to evade those that follow her has an expiration. Wishing to extend her allotted time for as long as she can muster, the woman turns her back to the path ahead in favour of tackling the situation head-on, a stand taken against those that mindlessly wish to do her harm.

Far ahead of his peers, the first zombie turns the corner Marta now faces, her firearm aimed at the corpse she knows herself to have on chance at. His growls bouncing off the tight walls of the corridor he sprints through, the undead monster shows his teeth to the young woman as he closes the distance between them, throwing himself forward as a bullet rips through his skull, striking him dead before his teeth have the chance to sink into the survivor he wishes to feast upon.

Driven to the ground beneath the inadvertent shoulder tackle the flying corpse lays on her, Marta collides with the hallway’s carpeting as the pistol flies from her hand, the collision knocking the wind out of her with the worst timing.

Struggling for her breath, Marta’s eyes widen farther than they had upon realising the gorecoat strategy would prove futile beneath the heavy rain, the inability to catch her breath only adding to the impossible task ahead. Able to hear the thud of rushing footsteps from just overhead, the disarmed, breathless woman tries to wriggle out from beneath the corpse before she can pull in even a sliver of air, her hand reaching out for the firearm at her side as the remaining corpses draw near.

Unable to process anything more than her need to fight for each second, Marta’s hand continues to extend toward her firearm as the people whose footsteps she’d heard overhead sprint past her, driving their weapons into the zombies that remain as if it were easy work. With the swing of their tomahawks, a pair of women down the first two corpses as a third survivor- a black man whose face the breathless girl does not recognise- puts down the final corpse with a kitchen knife.

Yet to process that she’d been spared certain doom, Marta continues to reach her hand toward the firearm as her lungs finally expand with a fresh gasp of air. “Get her up, come on!” one of the two girls from before- this one a blonde, white girl with braided hair- exclaims to the fourth man that stands above the downed survivor, his hand taking Marta’s outstretched palm into his own as he pulls her from beneath the weight of her first kill.

“Is she bit?” the second girl- a dark-skinned woman with hair cut purposefully short- asks aloud, the answer uncertain as of yet, all their spared fifth friend can answer with being an exasperatedly-shaken head. “No? You’re saying you’re not bitten?” the man helping her up asks, setting her against the wall as he tries to keep her up, his face- also dark-skinned and drained of energy through what appears like many sleepless nights in a row- as unfamiliar as the rest.

“No” Marta gasps, struggling to catch every breath as the mechanisms to her weapon shake with the rest of the gun just across the corridor from her. “Woah, everyone move!” the fourth, heroic, dark-skinned man- having joined the two girls in their undead-killing just seconds prior- exclaims, aiming the woman’s own gun at her head and forcing the rest of his group to pull apart.

“Woah, man! What the fuck are you doing!?” the braided-hair, white woman exclaims, the only voice to call into question her friend’s out-of-character behaviour. With a stern voice, the subject of her inquiry looks back to her, staring at her in the eyes as his hold on the weapon grows stiff and unwavering, his finger ready to pull the trigger if prompted by the actions of their as-of-yet untrusted new friend.

“This is Halston’s gun” the pistol-wielding man replies, bringing an eerie silence over the rest of his group as their eyes take toward his direction, inevitably returning to the puzzling survivor they’d happen to cross paths with. Taken aback by the revelation, the man who’d helped the young woman to her feet now looks at her with bewildered eyes, unsure of what to think as his lips grasp to speak the first question that comes to mind, unable to consider any other of equal importance.

“Who are you?” the man asks, watching the woman meet his eyes with an equally-flummoxed visage all of her own, almost as if wondering the same thing herself.

== RISE and REVOLT ==