Season 5 Finale
His body shifting with the last of his big rig’s forward momentum, Rocky slows the vehicle to a halt, pushed back into his seat as the tires finally roll to a stop. “We’ve been on the road for almost thirty hours, Rocky” Franklin remarks groggily, having made up for lost sleep over the last few hours, “I’ll ask again- what’s the plan?” In pause, Rocky peers through the windshield, the unimpressive entrance to the settlement allowing him to leave space in his heart for optimism. “Well, it may be a tall ask, but I reckon this place can be humane if you treat it right” Rocky replies, his left hand lying limp on the top of the steering wheel, “I’m sure they can take some of us in. All of us, however, is unlikely.” “Are- that’s- that’s your plan?” Jack quickly speaks aloud, “throw fire at the problem and hope the people- who I’d like to remind you, voted against that fair share you were after- decide to forgive and forget?” Swaying his head, Rocky casts the man’s concerns aside, already too devoted to the idea he’s conjured in his mind. “Do you prefer sneaking off into the woods and living life in hiding?” Rocky rejoinders, “good luck strolling your way into Nova Scotia then!” Regret beginning to consume him, Jack presses his hands onto his lap as he gathers breath, his mind too full to continue the conversation. “Listen, if the four of you hadn’t shown up, I’d still be in Rockford counting down the days to a revolution- but I’m not” Rocky continues, aware of the lack in susceptibility within the crowd he panders to. “Not only do I owe the four of you that ticket to Nova Scotia, but I owe my people a home” Rocky begins to finish, letting his door open as he does, “if I’ve got to get on my knees and grovel, so be it. You do what you need to do.” Nothing left to say, Rocky climbs down from his seat in the cabin, both Jack and Franklin left to look at each other with silence, the latter man following Rocky’s lead in exiting the vehicle. “How’s it going, friend?” Rocky wonders aloud, enough anxiety over the world he enters to guide his hand toward the package of darts in his shirt pocket, “it’s a lovely evening, ain’t it?” Nervously strolling around the truck’s front, Jack and Franklin hang back, watching the man speak from a safe distance. “What’s his plan?” Nessie whispers, equally as out of the loop as Clint, who follows her closely as they reunite with the men ahead. “Please back your trucks away from the gate” Sal replies, stood atop a platform in a nearby tree, armed with an automatic rifle and a full view of the world beyond the border wall. “Hold up, we’re not looking for any trouble, and we’re not here to hassle you folks” Rocky replies, holding the tobacco end of his dart over the small flame of his lighter, “we’re just hoping for a little hospitality.” “We hold no hospitality for turncoats” Sal replies, his rifle aimed toward the ground, though both hands rest upon it in preparation, “there’s no welcome for people like you in Cumberland.” The hand he holds his dart in falling to his side, Rocky exhales a cloud of smoke, eyes kept on the man above. “They weren’t the turncoats, I was” Rocky returns, beginning to worry his efforts may be for nothing, “screen them, take in the people you want. Do whatever you feel you must and I’ll go.” “You’re a wanted man, Rocky” Sal replies quickly, passing a nod to the subordinates that remain hidden from Rockford’s view, “you won’t make it far regardless.” Pulling another drag, Rocky shrugs, holding back the intake as he responds. “All the more reason to give the rest of them a chance!” Rocky continues, letting the smoke escape through his nostrils, blown back by the steady winds that flow from the east, “you can turn me in and get yourselves a nice little reward from the big guys.” Pulling his weapon a few inches away from his hip, Sal prepares himself for whatever outcome may emerge of his refusal. “We’re not obligated to do right by the people you made the choice to neglect” Sal reiterates, voicing the orders of those who’ve given them to him, “and for the record, we’re not in a place to support an increase of a few thousand citizens even if we wanted to- which we still don’t.” His teeth clenched, Rocky takes in another pull of his dart, the cloud held in his lungs for a few seconds before finding its way to the air beyond his lips, no words uttered throughout that time. “I have people that could be of value to you. They’re strong people, I’d argue they’re as dedicated as any” Rocky pursues, paying no mind to the subtle shake of Sal’s head, “at least give them a look?” “We’re not accepting any of your residents, Rocky” Sal reaffirms, holding stiff in the upholding of his orders, “I’m not breaking policy for some ungrateful saps.” His worry having turned into disappointment throughout the conversation’s length, Rocky’s eyes take on a squint, offence taken to the claim that now draws an annoyance out from him, the dart silently guided back to his lips. “Ungrateful saps?” Rocky soon murmurs beneath his breath, almost reaching the depths required to certify it as a growl, “ungrateful saps!?” he shouts back, this time much louder. “We’re fed scraps because we made one tiny mistake, can’t afford to feed ourselves well because of one tiny mistake, and that makes us ungrateful!?” the smoker yells, pacing around the front lot in a fit of anger, “that’s real easy to say when your greedy ass is fed with our food!” “Turn your vehicles away from the gates, Rocky” Sal repeats, worriedly holding his weapon a few inches further toward the desperate leader, though he remains confident in his speech, “you’re not winning this one.” His narrow eyes widening, Rocky stares at Sal for another few seconds, inspecting the weapon the man holds at his waist. Pupils dilated, Rocky begins to turn away, nodding his head as he quietly pulls another drag from his dart. “Sir, we’re sorry for showing up like this. If we could go back, I’m sure we’d all prefer to meet on better terms” Jack calls out, earning Sal’s attention as he takes over for Rocky, “in fairness, Rockford’s been cut short for years. I’m sure no reasonable man could blame anyone for wanting the pay they feel they’re ow-” Stood there in one moment and gone the next, a single bullet rips through Sal’s skull just as Jack prepares to finish his plea, the smoking gun far closer than they’d wish it were. “Everyone in the fucking trucks!” Rocky exclaims, the dart he’d come close to finishing tossed into the gravel as he climbs back into the big rig, returning his handgun to the holster on his side. “What the hell did you just do!?” Jack barks, an unmistakable anger coursing through his body. “Calling an audible!” Rocky shouts back, slamming his rig’s door as he transitions the vehicle into drive, his foot slamming on the gas pedal without offering Jack’s group the opportunity to climb aboard. His wheels spinning in the dirt, Rocky forces his tractor trailer through the gates and continues driving, entering Cumberland’s quiet, midnight streets by force. “Come on, we’ve gotta go!” Nessie calls aloud, waving for Jack and Franklin to join Clint and herself in the seats of a nearby SUV. Without yet knowing it, Jack and Franklin’s decision has already been made, the eighteen wheelers, trucks and other vehicles riding into Rocky’s shadow only clarifying their destination. Unable to turn back any longer, Jack and Franklin take the siblings up on their offer, joining them in the convoy vehicle just as it couples with the herd. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “Are you sure they’re at the diner?” Emilio hurriedly asks, rushing from one end of the house to another as sirens blare throughout the streets. “They only left forty minutes ago, I seriously doubt they made the twenty minute walk, sat down and finished their meal already” Alicia calls back, holstering a loaded handgun onto her side, “even if they did, I have a hard time believing they wouldn’t hide out somewhere.” His boots clattering against the floor, Emilio dashes into the kitchen, his hand reaching into a drawer close to the floorboards, where his hand axe lies waiting. “Alright, keep away from the windows and stay close to the ground” Emilio warns, watching Alicia dig her spear out from behind the coats of their nearby closet. “If things get bad, we run for the cellar” Emilio continues, his hands resting upon Alicia’s shoulders, “you’ve got a baby on board- don’t go playing superhe-” The sound of gunfire cutting him off, Emilio pulls Alicia to the floor with him, each bullet that’s fired coming increasingly closer. His body laid over Alicia’s own, Emilio waits for the storm to pass, soon discovering himself to fall directly in the middle of it. The bullets now reaching their home, Emilio presses his hands to each ear, shielding himself from the shards of glass that fall upon their hardwood floors, bullets ripping through their home with intent to kill. Removing the weapon from Alicia’s holster, Emilio throws himself into the wall just beside the window, prepared to return fire. “Get to the basement, I’ll cover you!” Emilio exclaims, blindly opening fire on the gunmen before any attempt to dissuade him can be offered. Left with no further choice, Alicia retrieves her spear from the floor and makes a run for the sublevel, the door left open in hopes of Emilio following. Her footsteps shifting the unsteady bannister, Alicia reaches the bottom step, the poorly lit cellar that surrounds her doubling as a rather large concrete crypt, only the sounds of war aid in making her new surroundings less intimidating than they truly are. “Alicia, get down!” Emilio yells from above in a horrifying scream, his voice guiding the woman’s eyes back the way she’d arrived. For a brief moment, Alicia can see Emilio’s figure hurry past the door through the small crack she’d left open, his hands immediately pressing the door shut on his way by, never once thinking to join her below. Recalling Emilio’s advice, Alicia sprints over to a stack of rubber tires, dropping to the ground right beside them just as the house begins to quake. In a sudden moment, the ground moves, every light in the home goes dark as the world above explodes, a roaring blast the most appalling event of them all. Though the debris still rains, the second-long detonation subsides, the damage it’s done, even from an unaware eye, easy to assume. Peering toward the top of the staircase, Alicia finds the same sight she’d seen just seconds before, the only difference being the various cables that sway from the commotion. | Funnelling through the diner’s entrance, wait staff and patrons spill into the chaos-ridden streets, accepting the risks as they tempt fate into taking them swiftly. “They’re all gonna get themselves killed” Angela remarks, following Salem and Lauren to the diner’s kitchen, the three women holding more composure than every other customer combined. “Get whatever looks like the best weapon” Salem commands, leading the charge into the prep area, “we might need it.” “Who the fuck did we piss off so bad!?” Lauren grunts, very distant bursts of gunfire still herd through the kitchen’s walls. “Whoever it is, they’ve got quite the arsenal” Salem responds, her eyes taken toward a rubber mallet resting just beside the kitchen counter. “It doesn’t matter who we pissed off, it matters that we find somewhere safe” Angela replies, her fingers wrapped around the base of a rolling pin, “Unless they like Betty Crocker, I don’t think we stand much of a chance here.” Her boots tapping against the kitchen’s tiled floor, Salem approaches the building’s rear exit, peering through the window and into the alley beyond. Letting her breaths calm, Salem considers her choices in silence. “Whether my odds are high or low, I don’t care” Salem answers, turning back to look her friends in the eye, “I’m gonna make my dues out there, either join me or don’t- I won’t make the offer twice.” “Hell no!” Angela shouts back, taking no time to even consider the offer made, “I’ll find somewhere safe to settle in.” One answer offered, Salem turns her focus onto Lauren, her hand pressing against the rear exit door, ready to hurry into the night. “I think I’ll stay back, too” Lauren replies with a shrug, “diners haven’t been too bad to me in the past.” With a huff, Salem gives the women a nod as she steps into the alley, “good luck” she mutters, shielded by nightfall as she sprints into action. “Excuse me?” a jittery waitress inquires, stepping into the kitchen from the larger diner, noticing Lauren and Angela’s figures through the serving hatch. Turning silently, the women acknowledge the worker, waiting for her to speak up. “I- I’m Nia” the waitress murmurs, again receiving no more than a silent stare from the survivors. “O- ok?” Lauren responds, waving her hand to motion for the waitress to continue speaking. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting people to be back here” Nia nervously replies, trying hard to place her mind at ease. “Ha! Hahaha!” a deranged voice exclaims from the diner, firing his rifle off as he bursts through the doors. Throwing herself behind a stack of crates, Lauren pulls her knees close, the knife she’d claimed possession of readied at her side. Less fortunate, Angela and Nia squeeze into a corner, Angela’s shoulders touching two sides of the same wall whilst Nia trembles against her, her heavy breathing amplified by the tight corners they reside within. “Order up!” the voice cheerfully exclaims, enjoying his rampage slightly more than others would. Skipping into the kitchen, the man begins to fire rounds into the ceiling, his attention taken from the clouds of debris that fall upon his shoulders the moment his ears catch a squeal from afar. “Hello?” the man calls out, his insane persona set aside in favour of a more natural tone, almost wholesome in a way. Raising his firearm toward the kitchen’s exit, the man steps forward, the weapon trembling in his grasp. “Come on out, little one” the man says menacingly, squeezing the trigger once, a bullet ripping into the drywall at the kitchen’s rear. Catching another squeal, a smile breaks out along the gunman’s face, his eyes lighting up with joy as he pulls the trigger for a second time. “All of this food should have been mine!” the man roars, pulling the trigger for a third time, “you dirty fucks have been eating off my plate!” A fourth, fifth, and sixth pull of the trigger emptying the magazine, the man proceeds forward, toying with those that lie in wait like prey as he reloads. “I’m so glad Rocky finally got the big picture! Your camp is ours now!” the man cheers, pulling the trigger another three times, only hearing the squeals grow louder. Pressing her teeth together, Angela feels Nia’s body tremor against her own, feeling the security of her hiding spot diminish with every provocation. “We’re gonna put you little chickens to bed, bitch!” the man howls again, three further rounds put into the building’s dry wall, each earning a louder shriek than before. Barely able to see Lauren, Angela listens to the third shot ring out, her eyelids closing as the man’s voice grows nearer. “Come get what you deserve, asshole!” the man exclaims once more, his demands unexpectedly met by force. Her back against the wall in the most literal sense, Angela lets her survival instincts take over, her hands lifting to Nia’s upper back with a shove, kicking the woman out into enemy territory. “Hey!” Nia exclaims, screaming in betrayal as she looks the gunman in the eyes, his weapon already aimed. Letting the one gunshot emerge, Angela wastes no time in peering around the corner, the rolling pin thrown from her hand before Nia’s body even has the chance to hit the floor. Taken aback by the attack, the gunman braces, letting the object graze his arms before preparing to fire his weapon again. “You b-!” the man exclaims whilst Lauren sprints out from cover. Before he can take notice, Lauren’s blade swings through the air without another shot taken. Jabbed in the breastplate, the man crumbles to his knees, the firearm he drops on the floor finding its way into Lauren’s possession. Taking no chances, Lauren lifts the barrel to the man’s head, spilling his brains against the off-white floor below in relief. Gasping for each breath, Lauren glances toward Angela, unable to look in the woman’s direction without seeing Nia’s bloody carcass strewn on the ground. “You could’ve waited until he was out” Lauren grouses, crouching close to the ground with her hands pressed into her knees. Forcing herself to pay an eye to the bloody mess beside her, Angela steps up to Lauren, stood over the kneeling woman without remorse. “I did what it took to survive” Angela grumbles, stepping over what remains of the ceiling tiles on her way back to the dining room, “that’s what matters.” | Her finger pushing the curtains aside, Heather watches the flashes of light in the distance, the faint sounds of explosions roaring beyond the street. “When Jade said this place was like the world as it used to be, I was assuming she didn’t mean Syria” Jess groans, sitting on her bed with Amy wrapped up in her arms. “This isn’t a time for jokes, Jess” Heather responds, the salt lamp on the woman’s dresser coating the room in an orange hue. “And why the hell not?” Jess replies, her back resting against the bed’s headrest. Rolling her eyes, Heather peers away from the window, eyes settling upon the woman with the twisted sense of humour. “Because this is serious shit” Heather answers, trying not to present herself as being frightened for Amy’s sake. “Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” Amy interrupts, her innocence putting the hostility at ease. “I don’t think that’s gonna-” Heather begins to reply, stopping at Jess' intrusion, “no honey, I’m happy to let you call in sick” her mother responds, passing a glance back in Heather’s direction. Though silent at first, Amy thinks about her mother’s answer before looking back to Heather. “Does that mean I can stay home, Heather?” Amy asks again, the satisfaction Jess had worn on her face immediately fading, the inquiry almost too much for Heather to hold back a laugh from. “Amy, why don’t you go play in the next room over, okay?” Jess responds, not once removing her eyes from the woman across the room from her, “Mommy and Heather need to have a talk.” Compelled to refuse, Amy remains silent, looking for Heather’s response rather than asking for it. “Go ahead, honey” Heather reassures, watching the girl tap her feet along the wooden floor, and entering the abyss-like hallway that lies beyond the bedroom. “What the hell was that?” Jess begins, climbing off her bed to approach Heather, an angry gleam in her eyes. “What do you think it was, Jess?” Heather replies, stepping out onto the balcony with the invitation offered for Jess to do the same. “Did I not make it clear the other day? I’m Amy’s mother!” Jess exclaims, her outburst stalling as Heather interrupts, the sky lighting with fires between them. “Give me a fucking break, Jess- you’re her mother in name only” Heather cuts back, bringing an immediate silence upon the woman, who stares at Heather in shock. “Sure, you gave birth to her- and sure! She’s got your last name! Well, technically it’s John’s last name- but whatever! Sure, that’s all you!” Heather shouts, closing in the remaining distance Jess had yet to occupy, “but as far as actually being there for her, and being there to teach her how to live in this world?- that’s me.” Her nostrils flaring, Jess stares into Heather’s eyes, her left hand beginning to twitch. “You know what, while I’m at it- I fuckin’ hate this way that you look at me- like I’m trying to replace you or something-” Heather furthers, her own right hand beginning to hover over her rear pocket. “You know you’re trying to replace me” Jess grunts, her shaky hand beginning to hover closer toward her pocket, “the way you treat her, and talk to her, and teach her things- you’re trying to replace me and you know it.” Her expression changing, Heather looks at Jess through apologetic eyes, her head shaking as her scrunched face eases. “Oh, honey- you’ve lost your mind” Heather replies condescendingly, her hand fully tucked into her back pocket, “if all that’s true, then I already did.” The response stunning her, all thoughts leave Jess’ mind, her eyes widening at Heather’s boldness, and her trembling hand steadying in a sudden moment of relief. The apologetic look on her face turning to confusion, Heather watches Jess back away without defence, the woman returning to the home’s depths without further argument. Anticipating further escalation, Heather finds herself at a loss for words, the switchblade she’d wrapped her fingers around left to fall back into her pocket. | “Alicia!” Salem cries out, throwing herself down the hill their home resides at the bottom of, watching as her pregnant friend crawls through the cellar doors beneath the grass’ surface. “I’m fine! Go get Emilio!” the woman exclaims, pulling herself onto the lawn whilst having yet to inspect the home’s damage for herself. “Wh- where!?” Salem confusedly responds, the question prompting Alicia to turn her head around. Through wide eyes, Alicia gawks at the front of their townhouse, its face baron, stripped of anything more than the gaping wound outlined by charred wood. “What the fuck happened in there!?” Salem wonders aloud, her fingers still wrapped around the mallet’s handle. Her concerns lying elsewhere, Alicia leaves the question unanswered, instead shouting aloud in horror. “Emilio!” Alicia screams, discarding her spear in favour of advancing upon the home, her only entrance being the wound that had taken both women by such surprise. “Em!” Alicia continues to blurt, the living room they’d occupied only a short time prior almost unrecognisable from its former state. “Where’d you last see him?” Salem shouts, following the woman closely, each pile of wreckage that’s strewn through the building makes the terrain rougher to travel. “Just past the basement door!” Alicia shouts, struggling to push past the last heaps of rubble between her and the man they search for. “Yeah- yeah, I’m here!” Emilio exclaims, his back leant over an overturned set of drawers, the uncomfortable position he lies within made bearable by the certainty of Alicia’s safety. “Oh, thank-fucking-god!” Alicia replies, the knot built in her stomach quickly unravelling. “Are you alright?” Emilio asks with a whimper, the woman refusing to answer without her arms wrapped around the man’s neck. “I’m fine- it’s you that has no reason to be” Alicia mutters, laying by her friend’s side as Salem catches up, the uncomfortable wreckage they lay beneath made less unwelcoming with such friendly faces. “Wanna clue us in on why our house isn’t- well, a house anymore?” Salem inquiries, taking a seat near Emilio’s feet. “I think it was a grenade- but I didn’t get a good look at it obviously” Emilio replies, his left hand pressed against his side, “it sure got a good look at me, though.” Pulling his hand away from the wound, Emilio presents a bloodstain on his shirt to his friends, a smile still worn on his face. “Of all the places to get shot, this is probably one I prefer” Emilio clarifies, able to let out a brief laugh without pain, “it was an in-and-out kind of thing- I’ll be fine with a little cleanup.” “Well, then let’s get you to a hospital!” Salem quickly responds, both Alicia’s concerns and her own quashed with Emilio’s light-hearted banter. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. It stings, but if that’s the worst of it, I can manage” Emilio promises, patting Alicia’s leg and giving Salem’s shin a tap with the head of his boot, “though, I think we’re gonna need new living conditions.” With her head hung, Alicia tries to settle herself from the rush of emotions the night has brought on, both gunfire and explosions still roaring in the distance. “Chin up, buttercup” Emilio jokes, interfering with her disappointed self-reflection by lifting her chin with his knuckle, “we’ve gotten over worse, haven’t we?” Putting her own worries aside, Alicia gives Emilio a smile, the reassuring nod she adds only helping put the troublesome times in the past, at least, that’s what it appears to do at first. The quiet air only allowing the chaotic events outside to feel louder, Emilio opens his mouth to speak, though is unable to find the words. “What is it?” Salem whispers, her elbows pressing into her knees whilst she sits forward, clearing the air for Emilio to air his thoughts. Taking in a deep breath, Emilio’s lips pucker, his eyes wandering back to the woman his words had been given freedom by. With a push, Emilio sits himself up the remainder of the way, his eyes kept on Salem with a disheartened look. “The walls couldn’t do it either, huh?” Emilio solemnly wonders, their conversation from the night prior recalled, “this is the world we live in- no matter where we go- isn’t it?” With her fingers locked, Salem frowns at the man, only able to offer a slow, poignant nod. Accepting the answer, Emilio changes his face’s direction, his eyes travelling to the friend he can only hope carries the next generation’s promise within her womb. “I’m afraid of the man I was turning into before Cumberland. I’m afraid of what I would have been like if Jade hadn’t found us” Emilio whispers, placing his hand upon Alicia’s arm, “I don’t wanna be that man again.” Not able to say much, Alicia takes her free hand to Emilio’s head, resting it on the side of his face, and only able to offer her sincere beliefs. “You won’t” the woman replies, letting her hand fall back upon the palm Emilio rests on her wrist, giving Salem the nod to push forward. “Let’s get you to the hospital, big guy” Salem grunts, aiding Alicia in helping the man up, their journey taking them back into the street, the hill they climb holding their latest chapter at its base. In the distance, gunfire continues to echo through the night’s sky, their past intermingling with their present, only leaving what resides of the world’s future in question. “Keep your head on a swivel” Emilio warns, returning Alicia’s firearm to its holster as they enter the night, every ounce of chaos that stands before them nothing in comparison to what they’ve seen, only worthy of being left behind in the world it belongs to. == Rise ==
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With his eyes closed, Jack listens to water crash onto the port he stands upon, the soft wind gusts caressing the same side of his face that bakes in the sun of an early July summer. The hairs on Franklin’s arm grazing him as he sways from side to side, Jack feels weight remove itself from his chest, freeing him to breathe calmly, at peace with the world he’s found himself in.
The tip of his thumb sliding over the ring on his finger, Jack’s eyelids present a dark shade of red, blood vessels targeted by the incredible light above. Moments of peace growing more difficult to come by as each day passes, Jack lets himself escape the world for the moment, retreating to a quiet place untouched by the earth’s worst. Every breath that leaves his lungs somehow quieter than the last, Jack’s swaying ceases, his hands hanging freely by his sides as his hair gently takes with the direction of the wind. As his feet press into the worn out boots he’s laced tightly, Jack’s head tilts toward the heavens, allowing the breeze to run up the underside of his chin. The world remains blocked by his eyelids, their dark red glow more closely resembling anger than his true inner peace. Before long, the red tint presented to shield his world of escape is dashed, replaced with the lonely, dark emptiness that only serves as his call to return home. His figure, along with the figures of those he stands beside, occupies the port just a few feet behind Rocky, their view of the deep, blue sky and remarkable sun now hidden behind Nova Scotia’s largest freighter, it’s starboard towering over Rockford’s leader, who symbolically stands ahead of his citizens- alone. Chains shrieking loudly as the anchors descend from the ship, Rocky remains stood in his place, already having set too many things into motion to turn back. “Be ready for a gunfight” Nessie whispers, her hand resting on the firearm she’s kept on her side as she glances over her shoulder, hundreds of armed soldiers ready to defend Rocky’s settlement with fury, “we can’t know how well they’ll handle this- either of them.” Keeping to himself, Jack watches a rope ladder descend from the ship’s bow, his face devoid of emotion, his mind refusing to be entangled in the impending discussion unless provoked. Within seconds, one man begins to climb over the ship’s ledge, his feet pressing into the unsteady rungs he prepares to descend. “We’re not the only ones that planned for this” Franklin murmurs, peering toward the boat’s gunwale, where hundreds of soldiers point barrels toward the ground. Still kept to a hush, Jack joins Franklin in his view, recognising the threat that lingers without concerning himself over it. “He planned for that, didn’t he?” Clint replies, leaving Jack as the only survivor not to partake in the discussion. “Sure, but he’s got twenty snipers on the cranes at most” Nessie ripostes, her anxiety beginning to rise as the confrontation nears, “not much separates us from having to fire uphill.” “We’re gonna be fine as long as Rocky doesn’t fuck this up” Franklin remarks, watching the climber make his final few steps toward the ground, “and if he does, we’ll step in.” His hands wiped against his rubber overalls, the unassuming man from Nova Scotia approaches Rocky, a confused look on his face as his eyes pan across Rockford’s armed militia. “What’s the point in all of this, Rocky?” the man wonders aloud, his hand extended toward the gathered populous. “The port’s closed, Cody. Nova Scotia’s business will not be tolerated here” Rocky responds, a comment that prompts Cody to hang his head. “No, I got that part. They let me know that before I set sail- I mean why?” Cody responds, the exhaustion he’s consumed by clear in his retort, “what is this supposed to change?” “It’s gonna get us our split of the pie” Rocky replies, continuing in spite of Cody’s hanging head, “it’s getting us what’s fair. I’m not talking about Nova Scotia’s definition of fair, I’m talking about fair-fair.” With one hand on his hip, the other wiping the sweat from his brow, Cody looks up to the man, his head shaking in disapproval. “It’s not, Rocky” Cody ripostes, his chin jutting in the direction of the ship’s armed staff, “it’ll get you killed and replaced by whoever gives the order.” “I’m dead either way, Cody- it doesn’t seem like Nova Scotia realises that yet” Rocky remarks, openly acknowledging the situation he’s tied to, “I don’t get a fair split, it won’t be long before these folks revolt. I don’t let you unload your shipments here, it won’t be long before Nova Scotia kills me. If I’m dead either way, I might as well take the option I’ve got the most to gain from.” Holding his chin high, Cody’s disappointment doesn’t wane, the droplets of sweat that run down his face clear despite the shadow his own ship casts over his body. “Alright, what do you want me to do?” Cody responds, Rocky’s reasoning making it obvious that no amount of persuasion can be depended upon, “the guys on board have orders to kill if you’re gonna keep standing here. Either you’re gonna make way for them and maybe live another day, or you’re gonna become a pincushion.” “I want a word with your superior” Rocky replies, a leather vest worn over a blue button-up, “kill me all you want, but I wish you luck in finding someone willing to oversee this camp.” With a sigh, Cody turns away from Rocky and returns to his vessel, though his path does not take him toward the rope ladder. “Rocky, you’re not going to get your way” Cody calls back, reaching the port’s edge before turning around, “this whole scene is pointless, and you’re using your life to let it play.” Shifting his head to the left, Rocky shrugs his shoulders and turns away, preferring not to see the death that awaits him in the instance that it is to come. Bemused, Cody walks back to Rocky, remaining persistent in his efforts to change the man’s mind. “How many times do I have to tell you, Rocky!?” Cody shouts, both hands thrown out at his sides, “give it a rest! This protest- or whatever it is- isn’t worth spilling your blood over!” Not only unphased, but slightly more vindicated than he was before, Rocky turns to look the man in his eyes, suspicious of Cody’s motivations. “We’re getting nowhere if you’re not going to answer me” Cody reiterates, watching Rocky’s face only continue to lighten, as if aware of something Cody has yet to become privy to. “We’re not going anywhere to begin with, Cody- this isn’t negotiable” Rocky ripostes, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “You know what, I’m starting to think you already knew that” Rocky furthers, stepping away from his spot to creep closer to Cody, “and, much like short-changing us under the guise of poor production, I think these threats, and those soldiers on your boat, and all of this talk about tempting fate are all the same- just for show.” His head pulling back, Cody stares into Rocky’s eyes, offence taken from the man’s declaration. “Rocky, this isn’t a joke” Cody remarks, continuing to stand firmly by his statement, “for fuck’s sake, I’m trying to keep you from getting yourself killed! Get your head out of your ass and smarten up damnit!” Having made peace with whichever outcome prevails, Rocky folds his hands by his lap boldly, swaying his head from one side to another, the residents of his settlement forced only to watch. “Any of you ever play poker?” Franklin whispers, leaving the question to linger. “Every other Saturday at the warehouse” Jack responds, finally placing his hat in the metaphorical ring the conversation has opened, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?” At the same time, the pair turn to look each other in the eyes, sharing the same thought as if their minds were interconnected. “He’s gonna call their bluff” Jack and Franklin reply, quickly taking their attention back to the scene unfolding before them. Stepping forward in effort to shorten the distance between them, Rocky’s hands remain folded by his lap, his voice dropping to the point where only Cody can hear him. “Give them the signal” Rocky whispers, tipping his head as if it were his cap before retreating, stepping back into the guards’ line of fire with his arms out, daring them to initiate conflict. “Rocky-” Cody steps forward to say, the open hand Rocky presents to him cutting short the intended exchange. “I’ve made my peace, Cody. There’s no going back as far as I’m concerned” Rocky replies, waiting with a literal pair of open arms, “give them the signal or give Nova Scotia a ring.” His lips pressed together, Cody stands in front of Rocky, looking him in the eyes without a response or retort. Stood above, the guards keep their aim upon not only Rocky, but any resident they can spot a weapon on, aware of the threat snipers pose to them. His decision made, Rocky remains affirmed, confident in the decision he’s made despite the uncertainty that lies ahead, his eyes holding steady upon his fate’s decider. Following Nessie’s lead, Jack, Franklin and Clint hover their hands over the weapons they’ve hidden by their hips, the outcome that lies ahead having been planned for in full. With the wipe of his hand over his full head of hair, Cody continues staring, his expression showing the bluff he’s failed to hide. “She’s not going to take this lightly” Cody ripostes in defeat, turning away to return to the ship, his second attempt now directing him to the ladder he’d initially climbed down. The threat alleviated for now, Rocky passes a look toward the group that stands behind him, able to find trust in their motives more than those of the citizens that back him. Slowly dropping his hand from the weapon on his hip, Jack sets the example for the rest of his group to follow, their worries quashed for the moment as further unpredictability awaits. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “You know we have a dishwasher, right?” Heather jokes, watching Jess handwash the ceramic plates that have gathered in the sink upon entering the kitchen. “You’re out of detergent” Jess remarks coldly, pressing her knuckles into the soft side of a scouring pad, “and I’m getting tired of looking at them.” Put off by the tone in Jess’ voice, Heather lets the conversation end with Jess’ reply, her attention needed from a stack of envelopes on the kitchen table. Scrunching her face at the sound of the chair legs Heather drags across the kitchen’s tiled floor, Jess continues with her business, trying hard not to pay the woman any mind. For a few minutes, Jess’ attempts work well, so focused on her duties to the sink that she begins to forget Heather is even present. “Amy wanted to know if you’d like to come out to dinner with us tonight. I told her I’d ask you just before she got on the bus” Heather remarks, her voice beginning to drag on Jess much like the chair had upon the floor. “Thanks for letting me know” Jess responds, again lacking the empathy Heather holds, which does not go unnoticed. “So- is that a ‘yes’?” Heather soon replies, not deriving much clarity from the woman’s response, “it’s my treat.” Propping the last dish into the dishwasher’s rack to dry, Jess turns her attention upon the woman. “Why does it need to be ‘your treat’?” Jess inquires, taking the woman’s statement for more than it was. “Because I came up with the idea” Heather ripostes, confused both by the attitude she’s been given and the reason behind Jess’ inquiry, “if I’m inviting you, it’s only reasonable that I pay the bill.” Nodding her head, Jess exits the room, still not offering Heather a direct answer. Not needing much to sense the hostility shown, Heather sets her mail down and follows after Jess, beginning to worry the tension between them has become a genuine issue not worth ignoring. “Is something wrong?” Heather calls out, following Jess as she steps through the living room on her way to the second level. “Yeah, there is” Jess remarks, offering no further answer to Heather’s dismay. “Alright, care to tell me what it is?” Heather inquires, reaching the staircase before Jess turns to answer. “You’re not Amy’s mother, and I think you should stop trying to be” Jess quickly remarks, leaning on the staircase’s bannister as she looks for the change in Heather’s expression. “W-?” Heather grumbles, hard for words at the accusation levied against her. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you looking after her with what happened to John, and how we all got split up- all of it” Jess clarifies, her annoyance present despite her understanding, “but you’re not her mother- I am.” “I never argued otherwise” Heather responds, a retort Jess refuses to deny as she resumes her climb. “You don’t need to, it’s not what you’re saying that says otherwise- it’s what you’re doing” Jess replies, aware that Heather is tailing her. “What is it that I’m doing?” Heather ripostes, unable to look past the flaws in the woman’s assertions, “I’m not doing anything now that I haven’t done since the New World Order.” Stepping into her bedroom, Jess throws her damp, grey t-shirt into a bin near the corner of the room, continuing the conversation in a black bra as she retrieves a new shirt. “I don’t know what you’re referring to by that” Jess remarks, looking into a random drawer as Heather responds. “I’ve been looking after her ever since the New World Order!” Heather proclaims, “whenever you or John were busy, it was always either Cam and I or Emilio and Bill that looked after her. This is more of the same!” “No, it’s not” Jess is quick to counter, throwing a loose purple shirt over her head as she steps past Heather, moving onto the next task, “things are different now.” Left with as much confusion as she had before, Heather follows Jess through the second-level hall. “You’re not making any sense! You’re saying these things and then giving no follow-up” Heather continues, the hall growing darker the further they walk as sunlight becomes more difficult to spot. “Because I don’t know how else to say it!” Jess cuts back, stepping into the room at the end of the hall, its interior largely dimmed by the blackout curtains adorning the entrance to the patio. “You’re walking her to the bus for school, you’re teaching her how to make fires, and prune trees, and skin deer- or something like that” Jess vents, opening the doors to the outside platform as light engulfs the bedroom, “you’re doing everything I should be doing.” Unravelling a hose from the twist ties that hold it to the patio’s bannister, Jess dips the nozzle into the can and presses her palm against the rear trigger. “You’re mad at me for teaching your daughter things because you didn’t?” Heather replies, somewhat taken aback by the less ambiguous reasoning, “in what world is that my fault?” “In this world- the one where I’m Amy’s mother, and you’re not” Jess ripostes, unwavering in her need to clarify that point, much to Heather’s chagrin. Watching Jess prepare the watering can for the flowers, Heather lets the woman’s complaints simmer, the selfishness and lack of accountability resting poorly within the bounds of her conscience. Tensions already high, Heather matches the spite and contempt Jess holds for her, battling fire with flames of equal intensity. “You know what, I don’t think I’m the person you should be blaming for that” Heather remarks, Jess’ attention pulled from the hanging basket of tulips momentarily, “after all, it wasn’t me that neglected Amy by wasting years of my life trying to tie down a man that was never meant for fatherhood in the first place.” Her spite quickly turning into malevolence, Jess’ hand stops swaying from one end of the flower patch to the other, the water now trickling out upon one lone, sad flower farther away than the others. “Maybe you should spend less time blaming me for helping your kid learn how to make it in life, and start holding yourself accountable” Heather persists, watching Jess lower the watering can to the deck’s wooden platform, “you don’t get to blame me for your own oversight.” Her aggravation having fully converted into anger, Jess closes in on Heather, her finger raised in the woman’s direction. “Don’t say another word” Jess responds, feeling her body tremble with an anger she’s unsure of her ability to control. “Why not? Is it because you want to avoid responsibility, or you don’t want to hear the truth?” Heather rebuttals, not taking Jess’ hints with their intended value, “if you feel left out, that’s your own way of admitting to yourself that you fucked up.” “I mean it, Heather- not another word” Jess ripostes, her nose within inches of Heather’s face, the vigour she holds clearing her mind of any care for the consequences of what is to occur. Whilst not amused by the woman’s warning, Heather takes notice of her uninterest in what she has to say, present-minded enough to see that any further comment will only be in request of an altercation. Following directions as asked, Heather shakes her head and retreats into the home, shrouded in the darkness as she re-enters the sunlight-deprived hall. Her heavy breathing beginning to settle, Jess slides her free hand from her left pocket, surrendering the switchblade she’d wrapped her fingers around moments prior. As her mind races, Jess reaches for the watering can and moves onto the next pot, her eyes rarely leaving the patio doors. | “It should be opening back up soon” Grace mutters, lifting a cappuccino to her lips as her statement is left unresponded to. “Lauren, did you hear me?” Grace queries, watching her friend salt a philly cheese steak intently. “No, I was listening to the salt shaker” Lauren replies, speaking through a humorous tone despite her answer being genuine. “I said the incinerator should be opening back up soon” Grace responds, sliding a knife through the centre of a cooked sausage, “Jade told me they’d be finished reworking the grid by the end of next week.” Nodding, Lauren takes the first half of her sandwich to her lips, letting Grace continue to speak as she indulges in her meal. “I know it’s not great work, but personally- I’m glad we’re going back to it” Grace admits, “I think being together this long has been hard for Donnie and I.” Her eyebrows narrowing, Lauren chews her sandwich to completion before opening her mouth to respond, her hand held over her lips as she does. “What makes you say that?” Lauren remarks, reaching for the cup of black coffee beside her. “I just feel like the two of us have grown distant” Grace ripostes, sinking her teeth into a chunk of waffle at the end of her fork, “maybe not being around each other all day will be good for us.” With a sigh, Lauren sets her sandwich down, another swig from her coffee helping her put away the bite of her meal quicker. “You think that’s why the two of you have been distant?” Lauren replies, hiding the pessimistic expression she frequently lets slip. “I mean, why not?” Grace responds, her hand guided toward a nearby bottle of maple syrup, “the distance started when I stopped working. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t want to be around myself all day either.” Letting the woman form her own beliefs, Lauren places her focus back on the meal that awaits her, hoping to avoid the topic for as long as it takes her to finish. “Why?” Grace follows, effortlessly crushing Lauren’s loudest hope. “I was just asking” Lauren remarks, trying to correct the course toward something else. “I know, but you asked it in a weird way” Grace responds, too familiar with Lauren to not notice the woman’s pessimistic mannerisms, “and you’re you, so there’s that.” Rolling her eyes, Lauren puts the sandwich down and begins wiping her hands. “I just don’t think it’s usually as simple as you’d like it to be with Donnie” Lauren ripostes, already spotting the dislike Grace begins showing toward her view, “nothing about him really screams ‘I’m the long-term, committed relationship’ type.” “Well, maybe that’s not the way he seems to you- but I’d like to think I know him better than that” Grace returns, the scrunched face Lauren reacts with suggesting the pessimistic expression has won. “You’d like to think that, but I think the more you know someone, the more invested you are in maintaining whatever view you’ve got of them- no matter how much they’ve changed since” Lauren divulges, “Donnie’s always just struck me as a guy that plays fast and loose.” Her head shaking, Grace disregards the opinion, diving back into her meal whilst reluctant to let the dialogue continue. “Let’s just eat our food” Grace grumbles, slicing another chunk of waffle onto her fork, “forget I asked.” | Touching back upon ground, Cody’s eyes take to Rocky, who remains at the forefront of his militia, ready to welcome whatever fate chooses to come upon him. Letting out a sigh, Cody marches back to the same confrontation he’d begun the day with, hoping for its conclusion now that the midday sun has turned into the evening-onsetting sunset. “Humour me, if you will. Was there actually a signal to open fire, or was that for show, too?” Rocky taunts, watching the amused grin stretch across Cody’s face. “The signal wasn’t for you, it was for whoever stood with you” Cody replies, lifting his shirt to reveal a handgun on his waist, “in interest of not getting too vulgar, I’ll just say that you were the signal- if you know what I mean.” “I don’t know if there’s a way for you to make it any clearer” Rocky jokes, his hands finding comfort crossed against his chest, “so, what’s the ruling?” The time for jokes having passed, Cody’s amused expression turns stoic, a weird look worn on his face from his inability to hide the apologetic eyes he still holds. “You know they’re too stubborn to give into any demands that aren’t given out by them” Cody responds, his head shaking as he concludes, “you’re out.” His eyes beginning to squint, Rocky latches onto the man’s response, confused by the simplicity it was offered with. “We’re out?” Rocky remarks, hoping for elaboration, “what do you mean by that?” Allowing the question to be asked, Cody begins to suck on his bottom lip, displeased with having to reply. “You’re no longer of use to Nova Scotia” Cody soberly ripostes, removing the firearm from his side and taking aim between Rocky’s eyes, “you’re out.” The turn catching him by surprise, Rocky is left standing at gunpoint, his eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, though none of it is the cause of the weapon in his face. “Take cover!” a guard exclaims, offering Rocky only enough time to watch Cody collapse, the small bullet hole beneath his twitching eye offering enough information to make a thorough assumption. “Get to the trucks!” Jack exclaims, pushing Nessie, who’s gun smokes from Cody’s fatal gunshot, toward Franklin and Clint. “Where are you going!?” Nessie shouts back, feeling Jack’s departure as his hands leave her shoulders. “To save our fucking deal!” Jack growls, bracing for the bullets that fire from above in an effort to reach Rocky, who remains a sitting duck without his attention. Rockford’s plan working perfectly, the gunmen hiding in their container cranes fire rockets at Nova Scotia’s fleet, engulfing those aboard the vessel in horrifying flames. “Stop standing around, motherfucker! We’ve gotta get out of here!” Jack exclaims, pulling Rocky away from the murder scene by the neck, their destination already determined. “Jack!” Franklin shouts, peering through the dirt clouds from the passenger seat of an eighteen wheeler, barely able to make the man’s outline. “Are Clint and Nessie with you!?” Jack shouts through the dust, pushing Rocky forward as the man breaks through the haze. “They’re in the carrier!” Franklin exclaims, moving aside to let Jack into the vehicle’s cabin as Rocky pulls himself into the driver’s seat. “Are you good to drive?” Jack shouts in a frenzy, satisfied with the nod that Rocky musters enough will to give, “then we’re set- let’s go!” Throwing the trailer into drive, Rocky presses his foot upon the gas and leads the convoy, his big-rig the first in a line of twenty, various other trucks and vans following the lead of their larger counterparts. “Alright, what’s our fucking plan now!?” Jack shouts, sharing a look at Rocky as they await an answer, the ‘Welcome to Rockford’ sign passing in their rear-view mirror as they depart. “We go to the next settlement over, that’s the new plan” Rocky replies, his answer still leaving much to be desired. “Alright, we get to the next settlement over and then what?” Franklin ripostes, his metal cap pressed against the dashboard for support his seatbelt fails to offer. “I’m not sure yet, but we’ve got plenty of time to figure that out” Rocky replies, pulling a dart from the pack in his vest pocket and striking it alight with the truck’s own lighter. Left with no better option, Jack and Franklin sink into their seats, readying themselves for the most uncertain drive they’ve ever been left to take part in. == Rise == “I never thought I’d hear sounds like these again” Jess murmurs, a finger guiding the curtain from her bedroom window, her eyes watching Heather tend to the lawn from atop her mower’s throne. “Why not?” Amy replies, stood on the opposite side of the queen-sized bed from Jess, the kid-sized t-shirt in her hand folded elegantly and with care.
“Well, it just didn’t seem possible” Jess ripostes, allowing the curtain to slide off the side of her digit, its silky fabric back to covering the window, “everything seemed too broken to get better.” Her eyes falling, Amy lets the shirt in her hand join a pile of others near the bed’s edge, only able to muster the barest memories of the apocalypse’s early days. “Were there always bad people?” Amy finally inquires, the question not of the selections Jess had presumed she’d be forced to answer. “Wh- what do you mean?” Jess responds, intrigued at the perspective of discovering her own daughter’s definition of the concept. “When you left me with Heather and Cam, I remember you telling me that you were leaving to stop bad people from doing bad stuff” Amy remarks, her eyes focused on the next shirt she presses against her chest to fold. “Oh- you’re talking about Sheol” Jess replies, a slight relief coming over her, “uh, there weren’t always those kinds of bad people. But, well- yes, there have always been bad people.” Placing the next shirt upon the nearby pile, Amy’s head pokes up as she reaches for the next piece of laundry to prepare for storage. “What’s the difference?” Amy inquires, a pink top with a purple butterfly in its centre taken into her hand. “Well, for a start, there used to be rules that kept things like what happened in Sheol from happening” Jess responds, taking a seat on her own side of the bed, “-rules that would have punished them for what they did so we wouldn’t have to.” Moving onto a grey top, Amy continues to fold her clothes as Jess talks, her mother beginning to lose track of the chore that had originally brought them to the room their conversation takes place in. “Things got really messy when everything changed. There weren’t people around to make sure those rules were followed” Jess begins to conclude, taking a look toward her daughter, “so we punished them.” Nearing the end of her laundry pile, Amy takes a pause, looking off at the corner of the room whilst her mother remains silent, curious to the thoughts wandering inside the young girl’s head. “What’s wrong?” Jess inquires, assuming from the near-minute Amy spends thinking that her mother’s explanation has brought upon a profound confusion. “So the people in that town did bad things because there weren’t people to stop them anymore?” Amy reflects, her mother’s bobbing head allowing her to make her own conclusion, “so, doesn’t that mean they were always like that?” Attempting to speak, Jess finds herself silenced by her own consideration, latching onto the presumption her daughter has made for the accuracy it holds. “What makes you say that?” Jess remarks, the impressive discovery somewhat blurring the route Amy took to reach it. “You said there were rules to keep them from doing bad things. So, the bad started when the rules stopped” Amy responds, “that means they were always bad, but the rules stopped them from being bad.” Her mouth agape, Jess stares at her daughter with widened eyes, her underestimation of Amy’s intellect dawning the sensation of utter shock. “Y- Yes, I- I guess you’re right” Jess finally regains her presence of mind long enough to reply, “how did you figure that out?” Returning to her chores, Amy gives her mother a shrug, now taking a pair of jeans into her hands. “I dunno” Amy replies, digesting the question as if it were a maths problem, “Heather said that, when someone answers a question, I should pull it apart to see if the little pieces make sense.” Her pleased reaction starting to subside, Jess feels a disappointment roll over just as relief had minutes prior. “Heather taught you to do that?” Jess ripostes, watching Amy bob her head with a smile, pleased to give credit where it’s due. Her pride wiped away in favour of defeat, Jess remains sat on her bedside as Amy prepares to return her pile to the drawers of her own bedroom. “It sounds like Heather taught you a lot” Jess remarks, doing well to hide the feeling of having been left behind in her daughter’s life, almost able to visualise the distance created in just the last few months. Satisfied with her work, Amy places her hands at the top and bottom of her pile and turns for the door. “I’m gonna help Heather with the trees” Amy remarks, shuffling toward the door as her mother’s voice beckons her back. “Hey, honey!” Jess calls out, a sudden worry over the impending answer to her own question arriving the moment Amy turns to look back at her, “can I ask you a question?” With a nod, Amy presses her shoulder against the wall and waits for her opportunity to answer, unable to decipher the issue lingering in the back of her mother’s mind. “Do you-” Jess begins, stopping herself as the anxious curl in her stomach begins to build, almost tempting her not to ask the question, though her relentlessness pushes through what stands in her way, convincing her otherwise, “do you love me?” With a smile, Amy nods her head, her shoulders shrugging as she does. “You’re my mom” Amy responds, almost glad the question is so easy to answer, “I have to!” The moment her daughter’s rejoinder is spoken, the curl in Jess’ stomach punches at her heart, the pain that overtakes her poorly hidden by a smile that Amy struggles to discern from one of authenticity. Tears beginning to rest upon her eyelid, Jess’ head bobs, allowing her daughter to return to her room before the emotion consumes her. As if she were hollow, Jess listens to her daughter’s answer on repeat, the final three words bouncing from one side of her head to the next with no end. Her core withering with each listen, Jess wipes the tear from her face and stares back to the window, curtain still draped before the midday sun. With a deep, aching sigh, Jess climbs off her firm mattress, her index finger parting the curtains once more. With a glare, Jess looks past the sunlight that shines brightly in her eyes, her only focus placed upon the woman atop the tractor lawnmower. Her convulsing irritation converted into indelible scorn, Jess leaves her eyes upon Heather while her expression turns into bitterness, an incredible dislike taken to the woman beyond the panes of glass. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “I don’t want to go to their party” Annie remarks, followed by Emilio as she makes her way to the sofa, holding a face stricken with exhaustion, her voice emptied of its common warmth. “I know that, I’m just forwarding the offer” Emilio quickly responds, stood over the same couch the woman begins to sink into. “And I’m declining it” Annie retorts, lifting a hand towel over her face as her head comes to a rest atop one of the pillows, “I hope you enjoy yourself.” Her legs stretching down the sofa’s length, Annie rests her hands on top of her stomach and stops responding, holding out hope that the conversation will end as easily as it had begun. “Do you need anything from me?” Emilio inquires, letting a few seconds pass before raising the question, “I’m here for whatever you need.” “If you can’t bring my husband back from the dead, then I don’t need anything” Annie replies, her frail voice growing weaker with every attempt to speak. Getting no further than he had upon arrival, Emilio nods his head and prepares to turn away, little left to offer now that his best suggestions have been turned away. Concealing his sigh, Emilio starts to leave the room, his hand raising to take the front door’s knob into his grasp, only for a sudden thought to cross his mind. Drawn back to the home’s lone resident, Emilio skips to the question with no lead up, too invested in the answer to care about the manner in which the question is asked. “Do you blame me for what happened to Ryan?” the man blurts out, left to stare at Annie for the seconds that follow as she silently removes the towel from over her face. “What?” Annie calmly ripostes, pressing her elbows into the cushions to prop herself up, “why would I think that?” “Because I was on the trip with him” Emilio responds, hands restlessly hanging by his sides, “I don’t know if, maybe somewhere deep inside, you blame me for not doing enough to keep him safe.” Flummoxed by the suggestion, Annie pushes her back against the seat’s armrest, her arms wrapping around her bunched-up legs. “Ryan didn’t need a chaperon” Annie remarks, hindsight beginning to make her wish he had, “he shouldn’t have even been out there in the first place.” Silent, Emilio’s head falls, not needed to find a response as Annie raises her own question toward him. “Do you blame yourself?” Annie wonders aloud, watching the man’s eyes lift back toward her. “I think I should have done more” Emilio replies, whilst not overwhelmed by the grief of a life being lost, is clearly touched by the effects such loss has had on the woman before him. “We all should have” Annie ripostes, not letting the pain cloud her better judgement, “I shouldn’t have let him go out on the hunts in the first place. If you don’t blame yourself, I can’t blame myself either.” His lips pressing together, Emilio remains silent, staring into Annie’s eyes whilst he answers with a nod, only able to accept what he’s being told. | The hallway he sits within lit rather poorly by the candles it’s lined with, Clint waits patiently for his name, amongst others, to be beckoned for. His right foot tapping against the old, wooden floor boards as seconds waste, Clint presses his back into the bench he waits upon, eyes not once moving from the door that separates him from the meeting that unfolds on the other side. “Can you quit that?” Jack wonders from a few feet away, his voice the first thing to pull Clint’s mind away from the door ahead. “What?” Clint responds, watching Jack’s finger aim toward his own foot. “Your tapping, will you stop please?” Jack repeats, feeling the uneasiness the rest of his group shares once Clint’s foot collides with the ground for the final time, “thank you.” Dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, Jack folds his left leg over the right, arms coupled in his lap as he waits for their names to be called. “It takes them an awfully long time to finish their greetings, doesn’t it?” Franklin muses, holding the same posture as Jack, though containing more suspicion than he cares to let on. “Patience isn’t much of a politician’s thing, is it?” Nessie jokes, dressed just as Jack, her left leg protruding further into the walkway than her right. “I’ve met plenty of senators and state officials, and none of them ever took twenty minutes to shake my hand” Franklin remarks, letting his true thoughts peak from behind the contained veil he’s erected. “What exact suspicion are you trying to hint at us, Frank’?” Jack responds, eyes drifting to the largest of the four figures. “I don’t have one” Franklin replies, slowly redirecting his face to the man who’d asked the question, “but I suggest we don’t wait much longer.” Lifting his chin, Jack’s eyes take to the ceiling as Nessie calls for Franklin’s focus. “We already showed up, we can’t just walk out” Nessie ripostes, her correction coming from Jack just as the statement finishes falling from her lips. “He’s not implying we should leave” Jack explains, gracefully climbing from his place on the bench, his hand beginning to stretch out for the doorknob, “he’s implying we should do this.” Assuming control of the group’s motivations, Jack opens the door to the conference room and descends upon the nearby meeting. The first to follow Jack’s lead, Franklin propels himself off the bench, his hand pressing against the door’s exterior to hold it open for the siblings that soon follow closely behind. At the group’s forefront, Jack steps through the short corridor that sits between the hallway and the ongoing meeting, only a few seconds separating their unrequested entrance and inevitable appearance. “Good afternoon” Jack warmly delivers, his hand reaching for one of the chairs in the first unoccupied quartet his eye catches, “we’re sorry for the tardiness.” Along with a small number of armed militants, the allegiances of whom lie with either Rockford or the larger Nova Scotia territory, Rocky and a second woman sit on opposite sides of the table, a handful of other individuals occupying various chairs throughout the room. “Who are these people?” the unintroduced woman inquires, looking to Rocky with great curiosity. “We’re the people whose guns are being used in this negotiation” Franklin responds, shouldering the conversation’s lead on his group’s behalf, “and who are you?” His question deflected, Rocky pulls his eyes away from his opposition. “Franklin, I did not call for the four of you” Rocky explains, a statement that both Franklin and the unnamed woman take interest in, though for very different reasons. “We weren’t waiting around for your call. You invited us to this thing, we’ll show up if we feel we’re being neglected” Franklin remarks. “I’m sorry, you invited these people here?” the woman replies, attention taken back toward Rocky. “Because these meetings aren’t fair to us! We’re always left screwed over by the people up north!” Rocky ripostes, his left hand balled into a fist as it rests on the table, “I figured it’d be good to have some people in my corner.” “Let’s not overlook the fact that over seventy percent of the stockpile you’re negotiating with are our guns” Franklin responds, sitting with Jack and Nessie to his right, whilst Clint occupies the seat to his left. “How did the four of you take on an ammunition pile of over four hundred guns?” the woman questions, immediately suspicious of their claim. “You’ve seen the stockpile, you know it exists. How we got it is not of your concern” Franklin replies, standing from his seat with his hand outstretched, “Franklin Carter, and you?” With squinted eyes, the woman looks at Franklin’s hand before turning back toward Rocky, almost as if looking for a hint of how to respond. “If I’m going to say another word, I want to refer to you by name” Franklin reassures, keeping his hand extended. Her arms draped over the armrests of her chair, the woman stares into Franklin’s eyes for a few seconds longer, slowly taking her sights toward the man’s hand. Brushing off the whispered voices that attempt to sway her mind elsewhere, the woman stands from her seat, taking Franklin’s hand into hers. “Courtney Golden” the woman ripostes, breaking the handshake after only a few seconds, “now tell me where you got the fucking guns.” | Dressed in jean shorts and a purple tank top, Lauren walks alongside Angela as they enter a crowded mansion, music bouncing off the home’s marble walls, and the distant cheers of pleased guests flood each hallway not too dissimilar to the flow of lava through the doomed streets of Pompeii. “This is almost too much room for a Walmart, let alone one man” Angela murmurs in awe of the building’s size. “Is that jealousy I’m picking up on?” Lauren mocks, the colourful lights dancing over Angela’s all-white dress. “No. It’s my way of saying that, with a house like this, he better not be offering cheap beer” Angela answers, playfully patting Lauren on the shoulder, “I’m gonna sneak off for a few. I’ll catch up with you later.” Dashing off into the evening just as she had arrived, Angela leaves Lauren to the frat-like party happening in each of her directions. Beer pong tables set up throughout the main foyer and front yards, kegs prepared in nearly every corner, and furniture adorning every last spot of solid ground, the usually well-maintained home spends its night hosting a scene of anything but. “You’re a lot easier to spot out from a crowd than I thought” Grace remarks from afar, climbing over various people as she descends the nearest stairs. “Just look for the person that’s off on their own and surrounded by no one- that’ll be me” Lauren responds, openly accepting of her lack of interaction. “It was more the ‘fish out of water’ look and great set of tits that helped you stand out, but sure- what you said!” Grace quips, offering one of the two cups of booze in her hand. “What’s this?” Lauren inquires, peering into the unfamiliar cup the moment it reaches her fingertips. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s a mixture of many different things” Grace replies, already beginning to lead Lauren through the huddled mess of people gathered in drinking circles. “Donnie!” Grace exclaims, her top teeth biting into her bottom lip as she enters the kitchen. “Hey” Donnie ripostes in a somewhat callous way, his hand limply guiding itself over Grace’s shoulder. His cheek pecked by his girlfriend’s lips, Donnie offers his free hand toward Lauren, introducing himself. “I’m Donnie” the man greets, watching Lauren’s head casually pull back. “I know, we’ve met before” Lauren responds, resting her hand on the top of Donnie’s own before guiding it back toward his side. Without apology, Donnie nods with no other word to offer, Lauren’s explanation simply taken for fact. “Lauren works with me at the disposal plant, remember?” Grace corrects, “the barbecue? Back in March? I introduced you to her while you were flipping burgers?” Only able to muster up a shrug, Donnie turns back to his drink. “I don’t remember, sorry” Donnie continues, the hand he’d rested upon Grace’s shoulders now moving to his side, “if you’ll excuse me.” | Lowering himself into a beach chair, Emilio’s orange-tinted face pulls toward the sky, eyes staring directly into the twilight’s onset. “I prefer doing this when it’s not in the middle of a forest during winter” Salem confesses, lifting the rim of a cold beer to her lips. “I’ll second that” Alicia remarks, her eyes watching the flames in their firepit ascend. “It almost makes me nostalgic for the zombie days” Emilio adds, cargo shorts covering his thighs, a short sleeved button up worn over his chest. “It reminds me of those nights we spent on the road. Remember?- those very first few months?” Salem remarks, her eyes set upon Alicia, “I don’t even remember where we were going, but I know where we ended up every night- right back in a forest somewhere.” “We weren’t going anywhere” Alicia answers, her smile stretching from ear to ear, “you had a thing about not wanting to settle down somewhere. You just wanted to keep moving.” The memory returning to her, Salem’s head begins to bob. “Oh yeah, and we had that beast of a pickup!” the woman recalls, her head lowered back onto the chair she sits upon, “what ever happened to that thing?” “I’m sure Neville put it to use somehow. It’s probably off somewhere collecting dust” Alicia assumes, “probably the same fate as that truck John took out to Connecticut.” “Oh, I forgot about that truck!” Emilio blurts out, slapping his forehead in disbelief, “we were catching a ride into Sheol from somewhere. I think we just left the thing under a tarp in the woods.” His head shaking, Emilio grabs a cup of lemonade by the rim, a brief sip from it affording him another thought. “Is it not insane that we made it this far?” Emilio inquires, looking to the women he sits with, “that we can look back at when it started with good memories?” Dropping her head along with the smile, Salem’s hands wrap around both sides of the bottle, its glass casing reflecting the bright orange embers. “Who’s to say it’s not over?” Salem replies, raising her eyes toward Emilio and Alicia despite her head remaining hung, “we’ve seen it before- it doesn’t take much to turn people against their leader.” “These people are different” Emilio quickly corrects, not letting the idea do much more than linger on his mind, “these people don’t have the same instinct as the people that survived the start of the outbreak.” “That doesn’t matter” Salem quickly retorts, neither voice raising any louder than their common tone, “as long as the world is the way we left it, we’re a stone's-throw from being right back where we started.” His argument quashed, Emilio looks back to the fire, uninterested in outright bending his knee to Salem’s assessment. | Climbing out from her passenger’s seat, Jade’s feet tap along her parkway’s asphalt as she approaches the figure ahead. “You’re not gonna hold me at gunpoint again, right?” the woman inquires, her eyes set upon the front door to 18 Rawson, where Jess sits waiting for her presence, “I gave you Amy back, I’d appreciate you letting me inside.” Wiping her hands on her jean-clad thighs, Jess pushes herself off the step, both hands held by her head as she approaches Cumberland’s commander. “I’m only here to ask you for a favour” Jess responds, watching Jade’s face light up as she holds back a chuckle. “Was letting you invade my home and walk away without punishment not enough?” Jade remarks, shuffling her fingers into the pockets on her waist. “Was what you said about parents and Nova Scotia true?” Jess inquires, her approach stopping a few feet away from her once-prisoner, “the first people to go north were parents and their children?” Eyelids narrowing, Jade begins to make her assumptions of where this favour is leading. “The first people to Nova Scotia are expecting parents, the second people are parents with children” Jade answers, her left knee arching as her back leans. “What happens with Amy when the next trip is made?” Jess inquires, providing no further context than what her questions offer, “who’s going with her? Is it me, or is it Heather?” With an exhale, Jade peers off into the night, only able to answer with a shrug at first. “I don’t know what decision I’ll make yet” Jade replies, her dark hair flowing perfectly over her shoulders, “at the end of the day, whoever goes with her is up to me.” “I’m her mother- her real mother- I birthed her, I raised her, I kept her alive when the dead came back” Jess argues, jumping directly into her presence’s purpose, “that is my daughter.” Her lips coloured maroon, Jade’s pearly white smile shows itself to Jess, its origins stemming to genuine amusement. “You held my brother at gunpoint and threatened to kill me if I didn’t let you see her” Jade retorts, “pardon me if I have a hard time believing you’re what she really needs right now.” Attempting to continue with her night, Jade steps forward, her intentions set on returning home without confrontation, though Jess proves such hopes to be impossible. “I’m not what she needs right now? She doesn’t need her mother right now?” Jess ripostes, her hand pressing against Jade’s chest as she moves the woman back, “who the fuck are you to tell me what’s in my daughter’s best interest?” “I don’t know, how about the fact that you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me? Is that a good start?” Jade counters, swiping Jess’ hand away from her chest, “or maybe it’s that Heather taught your own daughter so much more than you ever did.” Her face souring even more than it already had, Jess stares at Jade without a word, simply unable to think of a response. As Jade pushes past her, Jess’ eyes remain fixated on the spot Jade once stood upon, the anger she conceals guiding her hand to the grip protruding from her side. “Oh, and one more thing” Jade remarks, turning back to face Jess, who quickly pulls her hand away from the weapon, “if you ever touch me again, I’ll fit your teeth around the curb and lay a boot into the back of your head.” Her warning ushered, Jade steps into her home and shuts the door, leaving Jess stood in the middle of the road, staring into oblivion with no understanding of the emotions she feels. | “The guns are ours, we’ve fulfilled your quota, and we’re owed the agreed-upon share” Franklin explains, a disgruntled expression worn on Courtney’s face the longer she speaks, “anything less operates against the arrangement made in Nova Scotia’s deal with Rockford.” Her hand pressed against her mouth, Courtney looks at Franklin without a word, her mind still wrapping around the cards dealt. “Why is it always you one-armed people that fight the hardest?” Courtney mumbles beneath her breath, pushing herself out of the chair as her attention is pulled toward Rocky. Sucking on the corner of her lip, Courtney presses her hands against the table, its glossy finish resting calmly beneath her warm touch. “I can't” Courtney sighs, wiping the hopeful look off of Rocky’s face with the shake of her head, “you’ll either get what you’ve always gotten, or you get nothing.” Whilst not surprised, the sense of betrayal hits Rocky harder than he’d expected it to, feeling the answer truly set in the moment Courtney turns her back to him. “We had a deal!” Rocky shouts, joining Courtney in climbing to his feet, “you owe us a fair share!” Matching Rocky’s angry tone, Courtney twists back, furthering the argument as their visitors watch on. “Do you know how long we’ve waited for you to start pulling your weight? If anyone owes anyone anything, you owe us!” Courtney shouts, each continuation of the conflict drawing the armed support closer to getting involved. “You fucks made it impossible to produce to your standard!” Rocky argues back, face turning bright red, “you’ve been using us for years now!” Turning away, Courtney gathers her belongings, repeating her original conclusion. “Leave the weapons at the docks, and we’ll drop off the same shipment you always get” Courtney explains, doing no favours to her perception in the man’s eye. “Excuse me, but those are our weapons” Franklin interjects, watching Courtney’s face turn in his direction, “and, unless you give us what we want, you’re not laying a finger on our property.” Zipping up a small knapsack closeby, Courtney lets the conversation resume, her attention given to the large man across the room from her. “Those guns belong to Nova Scotia now” Courtney responds, looking into the man’s eyes as she approaches slowly, “they’re our property because we said so. If I were you, I’d start losing my affinity for them.” “And if I were you, I’d start noticing that you’ve got no leverage in this argument” Franklin retorts, stepping out of his seat to meet the woman halfway, his tall frame immediately presenting Courtney as inferior in comparison. “Let’s be honest, this is the straw that broke the camel’s back- metaphorically speaking” Franklin explains, “as soon as Rockford’s people know that Nova Scotia is outright choosing to neglect them, your brothers and sisters up north will lose a settlement.” Taking the man’s claims as a joke, Courtney chuckles as her nose points upward, guiding her eyes toward Franklin’s. “We control the northeastern coast, and we’ve manufactured all the weapons we’ll ever need” Courtney remarks, playfully tapping the man’s chest with the back of her hand, “stop acting like Rockford’s irreplaceable.” “Maybe you should stop acting like it is” Franklin quickly counters, not once dropping his eyes from Courtney’s, “while we’re being honest, let’s also point out that the guns have nothing to do with Rockford’s value to Nova Scotia. No, no, no- it’s the docks that do.” Her confident mask slipping, Courtney’s eyes narrow just slightly enough for Franklin to notice, his past career giving him the experience to know that he’s already found the woman’s soft point. “If it were about guns, you would’ve cut Rockford off completely. After all, that’s what your leader did down in Delaware” Franklin persists, drawing a precise interest in the man’s claims. “How do you know it’s a woman?” Courtney inquires, just now beginning to feel the silent threat imposed by those she stands before. With a chuckle, Jack stands to his own feet, joining beside Franklin to add an illustration to her well-hidden worries. “We’ve gone to war with your leader before, and spoiler alert- we won” Jack replies, continuing to chuckle, “you see, ask your leader what the New World Order was and I’m sure she’ll remember us. And again, spoiler alert- we won.” Having entered the room with suspicions placed upon the settlement they call home, Franklin and Jack exude a confidence the likes of which spell terror for those high up within Nova Scotia that stand in their way. “You can’t supply the rest of the settlements without our docks. It was the New World Order’s fatal weakness, and now it’s Nova Scotia’s” Franklin remarks, continuing to lay in the cold truth, “and we’re happy to wait out however long it takes for the settlements you need our docks to supply to change their tune on that fair share.” Nostrils flaring, Courtney’s eyes pull away, her head shaking as her eyes roll. “I can’t give you what you want” the woman finally ripostes, needing to pull away from the pair she’d stood before in order to reclaim her wits, “this isn’t a decision Nova Scotia made.” “Well then, I guess we know what the leader’s conference I wasn’t invited to was about” Rocky responds, watching Courtney’s eyes dart toward him, her facade left to the past. “Fine, yeah- the other settlements are too comfortable with the status quo. And most of their populations are actually increasing, so that only worsens the problem” Courtney remarks, too constrained to do much else than come clean, “you were lacking behind. They thought they could use that to take advantage of the ports.” His head hung, Rocky’s fate is put to stone, no amount of work he can manage being good enough for his superiors north of the border to free his people of their torture. “I don’t like it either, but liking the decisions they make isn’t my job” Courtney explains, throwing the paramotor over her shoulders. Peering up at the woman, Rocky lets out a deep breath, resigning to the challenge that now awaits him. “Thanks, Courtney” the man replies defeatedly, moving aside to allow the woman and her armed detail to pass. Disappointed, Courtney follows her soldiers around the table, her eyes initially set upon the exit before a second thought occurs to her. Her soft hand resting on Rocky’s shoulder, Courtney lowers her face to the man’s ear, whispering away from the attention of anyone else. “They might come to take them by force, but if you close the ports down, it might do enough to get the message across” Courtney explains, departing with a pat on the back and a nod in Franklin’s direction. The door closing behind her, Courtney leaves Rocky with those that remain, Rockford’s governor leaving his attention on their shoulders. “I’m still a man of my word” Rocky remarks, watching the four eyes keep upon him, all anxious to figure out where the next steps reside. “Can I trust the four of you?” Rocky inquires, swiping the long, grey locks of hair away from his face. “As long as you’re still able to get us to Nova Scotia, I don’t think we’ve given you any reason not to” Franklin ripostes, looking to his side to watch Jack nod. “I was wrong about what I said earlier- about not caring what happened to this place” Jack admits, accepting his desire to see Rockford be given what’s due, “if it doesn’t fuck us over, let’s make sure Nova Scotia pays.” Taking a glance in Clint and Nessie’s direction, Jack’s mind wraps around Courtney’s confession. “Either we just got lucky, or we got our confirmation that Charlotte’s still running the show” Jack concludes, “from the way I see it- it’s personal now.” Letting out a sigh of relief, Rocky steps around the table and departs the room, nodding to himself silently as Franklin’s group is left to stay behind. “I don’t think this is going to end well” Nessie murmurs, an admission the rest of the group hears, but does not interact with, their eyes set fully on what Rockford holds in store. == Rise == “For someone who waved a gun in my face demanding their daughter be given back, you have awfully little to say” Jade inspects, Jess’ back pressed against the brick wall beside the patio’s entry. “I told you what I came here for” Jess ripostes, the gun still held at her hip, prepared to take aim at the slightest hint of peril, “that’s all you need to know.”
Her hands resting atop her lap, fingers interlocked, Jade’s right leg drops from her left thigh, the sole of her boot coming to rest upon the hardwood porch. “Need and want are two different things- I need to eat, but I don’t necessarily want to sometimes” Jade replies, her back sinking into the chair’s padding, “I don’t need to know anything more about you, but I do want to.” “That’s not my problem” Jess responds, her hair swept to one side of her head, eyes resting at the tips of the other woman’s boots, “give me my daughter, or I’ll kill you.” Allowing Jess’ declaration to simmer, Jade remains silent, considering how to respond. “What would happen then?” Jade inquires, remaining still in her chair as Jess listens, “you kill me, someone else takes my place and stalls just like I do. How many people are you gonna kill before someone comes around with a bigger gun?” “As many people as I have to” Jess replies, no need for a brief moment to consider a reply, the answer already held at the tip of her tongue, “without Amy, I’m dead anyway. I either find her myself, or I die trying.” The sky dark in the face of the morning’s wee hours, all that prevails through the silence are the grumbles of toads and buzzing wings of dragonflies that call the nearby pond home, rushing water from the nearby fountain reflecting the lights around the patio that host the women. “That sounds lonely” Jade ripostes, her voice beginning to soften, “I know that’s how it usually works with mothers, but I can’t imagine my life being dictated on the worth of someone else’s.” Her expression unchanged, Jess remains fixated on the ground just over Jade’s boots, tempted to respond. “I’m not a mom, and I’ve never been one. I’m not a wife, and the same rules apply. Maybe it’s just not my thing to understand” Jade persists, “but from an outsider’s perspective, that sounds sad.” “You’re right-” Jess replies, speaking in as much of a calculated tone as she had the entire night prior, “-it’s not your thing to get.” The pleasure she’d been given for a moment having faded, Jade’s mind begins to take elsewhere, only for the sound of the home’s front door pushing open to relieve the pair from the conversation. “Jade!?” Emilio angrily shouts, dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, leading the rest of his small group into 18 Rawson at Archie’s behest, “what’s with the really early wake up call!?” Spilling out from the doorway, Alicia, Lauren and Angela huddle together whilst Salem, Heather and Amy flood into corners further away. “If this is to tell me the incinerator’s back online, I’d be very pleased with that” Lauren adds in, purposefully shouting in a sarcastic tone, “though, you could have given me a call for that.” Hiding from sight, Jess listens to the voices emerge from within the home, her expression changing at the sense of relief that comes over her, the familiar voices that sing to her ears providing comfort. “They have orders not to shoot” Jade remarks, watching Jess’ face turn toward her direction, “go rejoin your daughter.” Offering the green light, Jade waits for Jess to take her up on the offer, still sat in the patio chair, her posture unchanged. Hesitant to believe the town’s sole power figure, the thought of finding Amy in the next room over dwarfs all other reluctances. Keeping the gun by her hip, Jess rounds the corner, stepping back into the home with eyes on the main foyer, the distant words shared amongst those she once shared a family with growing closer at each every step. “Jade!?” Emilio exclaims again, his wait for the woman to present herself nullified once Jess steps through the connecting archway, his anger subsiding in favour of shock just as the rest of the group does. “Jess?” Alicia murmurs, quick to look at the woman in complete surprise. “Mom!” Amy counters with overwhelming excitement, her tiny legs dashing across the home’s large interior as she leaps into her mother’s arms. Dropping to her knees, Jess tosses the gun aside as her arms wrap around her daughter, Archie, Isaac and Oliver quick to pull away from the reunion in an effort to check in on their sister. “Hi, honey” Jess responds, tearfully sobbing as she runs her fingers through Amy’s hair, the little girl’s face pressing against the side of her mother’s neck, their fractured family becoming as whole as it can be. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = The front door of his home slammed into with a heavy fist, Jack answers the door to find Rocky stood on his porch, dressed as if he were preparing to depart. “Should the reason you’re here worry me?” Jack introduces, his hand pressing against the door’s frame while the rest of his body leans against the closest wall. “Not unless the people up in Nova Scotia worry you” Rocky replies, allowing himself entry as he steps past Jack. “Where’s the rest of your folks?” Rocky inquires, listening to the creaks that emerge as Jack swings the door shut. “Doing something that involves not being in this house, I’d assume” Jack ripostes, his arms crossing over his chest as he settles into a seat, “now, why would the Nova Scotians worry me?” The question surprising him, Rocky presses his hip against the living room’s wall, stood just to the side of the group’s metal tub. “Well, with all they’ve managed to do in a world without law, it’d be safe to worry a little” Rocky replies, the thumbs on both of his hands tucked into the waistband of his blue jeans, “they’ve got a lot of power at their disposal, and I’m not just talking about fire power. It’s not common you’d find someone that thinks opposing Nova Scotia’s interest is smart.” His eyes squinting, Jack’s elbows rest against his chair’s armrests, his face wearing a curious look. “Who said anything about going against Nova Scotia?” Jack responds, flipping the top to a pack of darts open as he lights a match, “the worst case scenario is that we withhold the weapons if they don’t give us our fair split. What’s the reason to worry?” Looking Jack in the eyes as the smoke from burning herbs wafts throughout the room, Rocky folds his arms, the trench coat and gloves he wears rubbing together as his limbs cross. “I don’t think they see it that way” Rocky replies, his tone dropping a few notes, “they’re sending Courtney with reinforcements. There’s a chance they don’t view this as us trying to get our fair share.” “I’m not following” Jack ripostes, taking another drag as he presses further into his seat. “We may see it as trying to get a fair split, but they might not” Rocky replies, “if they think we’re trying to slight them, they’ll use those reinforcements to make sure we cooperate.” The smoke from another drag flowing from his nose, Jack kicks one leg over the other with comfort, confident enough in his perceptions to present a smile. “I’ve seen war with Nova Scotia- or the New World Order, as I knew them- and I’ve won that war” Jack responds, paying Rocky a wink with a smile, “I like our odds.” Perplexed, Rocky watches Jack leave his chair, the smoke still lifting from the dart he carries between his first two fingers. “Sure, when it comes to combat, I like our odds too” Rocky replies, continuing to speak as Jack walks across the room, “but putting boots to their asses doesn’t help us long term, does it?” “As long as it helps long enough to get me to Nova Scotia, I’m fine with anything” Jack ripostes, setting his half-burnt dart in the ashtray atop the counter. “Well that doesn’t bode well for me, does it?” Rocky replies, slowly following the man’s trail toward the kitchen, “you may not have to care about this place, but I do.” “Rocky, my only concern is with getting to Nova Scotia. That’s the way it’s been since the moment we made the deal for those guns” Jack responds, his hands pressed against the countertop’s edge, “no offence to you, but what happens to Rockford when I’m gone is none of my concern.” Taking a damp cloth to the kitchen area, Jack pulls another drag off the dart and dulls Rocky’s response out with his cleaning. “I don’t think you’re seeing the point. If they look at us as traitors, we’re both fucked” Rocky replies, watching the sweat drip from Jack’s face, “there’s gonna be nothing coming into Rockford, and there’ll be no ticket to Nova Scotia for you.” “You better play nice then” Jack ripostes, throwing the rag over his shoulder as he rounds the corner, pulling the cigarette to his lips as he looks Rocky in the eyes, “because, if you break your promise, I’m gonna be a very dangerous man to live around.” Taking a final drag, Jack presses the burning herbs into the ceramic pit, never once taking his eyes off the visitor. “I want what’s best for this settlement, and you want what’s best for yourself” Rocky replies, his crossed arms falling back to his sides, “the only way we both get what we want is if we work together.” With a light chuckle, Jack presses his hand against the counter, waiting for the man’s proposition to be made. “I want you and your friends to sit in on the meeting. I want them to know you’re a powerful influence in these talks” Rocky remarks, “they’re your guns after all, it’s only right.” The offer sitting in the back of his mind, Jack lets a few moments pass as he ponders the proposal. “They’re looking for it to be on the 28th of June. They’ll hold a summit with the leaders from the other settlements before then. If they’re letting the others have a say in whether or not we get shafted, my hopes aren’t high” Rocky concludes, bowing his head as he turns to let himself out, “I hope you’ll accept.” Exiting as independently as he’d arrived, Rocky returns to his business whilst Jack stays behind, still yet to fully digest the discussion that had taken place. | “And that’s when it happened” Jess responds, stood in the foyer’s centre with a gathered crowd huddled in her every direction, Amy sat in the chair beside her. “So, they run across you in the woods, they tell you where Cumberland is, and Ryan gets spooked by the horde and steps in the bear trap. What next?” Isaac replies, taking pen to pad as the woman responds, detailing every bit of the story presented. “Ameil hurried over to help him. I’m pretty sure he knew couldn’t open the trap, but I think he just wanted to know he tried” Jess ripostes, stoic in the face of a traumatic recollection, “that’s when the dead got him.” Visibly disheartened, Amy presses her hands over her knees as she falls back into her seat, whilst Heather sits close by with the feeling of nausea building within her. “After that, I just ran” Jess concludes, her hand placed upon her daughter’s feeble paw, “I didn’t stop until I got here.” The story offered, Isaac turns to Jade with a subtle nod, the cover of his notepad falling over the paper he’d written upon, the tale given closing a short chapter of mystery in Cumberland. “Alright. That’s all we need” Jade finally mutters, clearly disheartened as she turns for the patio, “welcome to Cumberland.” Watching the woman retreat, Emilio pulls away from his clustered group, following Jade through the length of her home in silence. “I can see your reflection in the windows, Emilio” Jade murmurs, stepping through the home’s rear exit. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright” Emilio replies, stepping onto the terrace as the woman falls into her seat. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jade questions, still carrying an obvious amount of sorrow behind the composed expression she’d prefer people see. “Because losing people isn’t supposed to be easy” Emilio replies, taking his eyes to the pond for a quiet moment. “What’s unfortunate about that is that it is” Jade ripostes, her feet stood close to the patio’s ledge, “the more people there are, the easier they are to lose. We live, we die, it’s natural. You get used to it eventually.” Not wishing to argue the moral dilemma behind the woman’s statement, Emilio remains quiet, unsure of how to react. “The hard part is having to tell their family” Jade adds, her hair laid over the shoulders she presents bare, only topped by the straps to her tank top, “that’s the part that sticks with you.” The sunlight bouncing off the water and cascading a bright, yellow glow over her pale face, Jade turns to return home, bags beginning to form beneath her eyes. “I’ll tell her for you” Emilio finally remarks, watching the woman’s eyes take to him, her lower jaw pushed slightly ahead. “Thanks for the offer, but the hunt was my idea. I need to be the one to tell her” Jade replies, her hand patting the man on the chest as she walks past. “Do you need to or do you want to?” Emilio turns back to reply, watching the woman spin around after a few silent moments. “You’re a good man, Emilio” Jade responds, patting the man on the side of the cheek before turning away again, “keep it that way.” | “You’re getting good at that” Jack remarks from afar, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watches Franklin’s bayonet drive through the eyesocket of a straggler beyond the gates of Rockford’s borders. “What’s got you working the hard labour?” Jack proceeds to inquire, his hand sifting through an assortment of weapons that have been left to a nearby metal bin, “I thought we’d left that life behind?” Amidst grunts and heavy breaths, Franklin fights the lines of sweat that drip from his face to answer. “They were short-handed. I figured it’d be of use to help” Franklin replies, slashing at another corpse through his momentary pause, “it also helps me get a break from you- which, if we’re being honest, wouldn’t be wise to invade.” Grasping the end of a rebar pipe, Jack struts toward Franklin with a humoured grin. “Let’s not pretend like you’re not getting something out of this too” Jack responds, the pipe held between his fingers as if it were a pool cue as he strolls past the large man, “go ahead and tell me that reuniting with Alicia wouldn’t make you the happiest man on earth, and I’ll call you a liar.” With ease, Jack presses his teeth together as stragglers roam closer, the closest of which parting its teeth to give Jack an easy attempt at ripping the pipe through the zombie’s throat. “I’m not mad at the plan, I’m mad that you kept it from me” Franklin ripostes, wiping the sweat from his face before joining Jack on the frontlines of defence, “you let me think she, and all the rest of them, were gone for months. You don’t just take that back and expect things to be peachy.” “Half of that plan would have revolved around getting Clint and Nessie on board” Jack replies, stabbing the next corpse in the face mid-sentence, “they didn’t want to follow a plan to begin with. If I tell any of you earlier, how well do you think it would have gone over?” The midsoles of his boots covered with sand, Franklin’s bayonet slices the next corpse’s face in two just as he begins to respond. “I didn’t say I couldn’t understand your reasoning, I said I’m no fan of it” Franklin responds, his boot lifting to press against the next corpse’s chest, “you need to give me a minute to forgive you for leaving me in the dark.” Finishing the job he’d started, Franklin’s boot shoves the dead to the dry soil below, and with a brief hover over the body’s face, splatters the brain matter its skull once contained along the ground. Staying behind, Jack lets the head of the rebar sit in the ground, his eyes squinting against the blinding light of the new summer. “I hope you won’t need much more than a minute in that case-” Jack replies, his free hand shielding his eyes from the world’s lightbulb above, “-because I don’t think we have much more than that to offer.” His path forward clear for the moment, Franklin peers to Jack from just over his shoulder, a curious look scrawled upon the combatant’s face. “I don’t like when you talk in riddles” Franklin ripostes, turning away from the field ahead in favour of returning to Jack, “cut to the chase and tell me what you’re getting at.” Through a sigh, Jack leads Franklin back the way they’d arrived, returning the rebar pipe along the way. “Rocky stopped by to let me know that he’d scheduled a meeting with the people from up north in a couple of weeks” Jack replies, the collar of his shirt beginning to darken with sweat, “he wanted us to take part.” Chewing the gum in his mouth slower, Franklin thinks to himself quietly for a moment, the bead of sweat that dangles from his nose finding its way to the rough ground before Franklin’s voice can emerge. “Why would he want to do that?” Franklin responds, finding no amount of silent questioning can offer him the answer he seeks, “that- it just makes no... no sense.” “He said he wanted our friends up north to know we’re a ‘powerful influence’ here” Jack replies, unable to hold back the eye roll he instinctively answers with. “So he wants them to think there are more people to push around than just him?” Franklin asks curiously, only able to get a shrug from Jack. “If that’s what it sounds like, then sure- it’s better than what I could come up with” Jack retorts, “whatever the reason is, the offer’s there. We either take it, or we don’t.” Hands pressed against his hips, Franklin’s eyes pull toward the coastline, where the sunlight bounces off the waves of the Atlantic’s warm waters, searching through countless thoughts in an effort of finding his preferred one. “Get Nessie and Clint to agree, and I’ll be on board” Franklin finally responds, stepping back into the harsh field to continue his work, “whether together or separate, some of us should be there.” Nothing left to say, Franklin turns back to his duties, rejoining the small militia beneath the gruelling heat as Jack watches on, satisfied with the answer enough to leave the conversation behind. | “So, are you scared?” Lauren inquires, stood beside Angela to the right of Alicia whilst Salem occupies the side to the left, their journey taking them up the quiet streets that lead to their home. “I don’t think ‘scared’ is the right word. ‘Disappointed’ might be, but ‘scared’ isn’t” Alicia ripostes, her baggy grey t-shirt worn just as it was when she’d first awoken, the entire day having passed since they’d stepped foot in their home. “Franklin?” Salem interjects, the disheartened nod she gets from the middle-bound woman affording her the answer. “It’s not that I’m worried about having a kid alone, it’s just that he’s not gonna be there- for any of it” Alicia replies, her head beginning to hang, “he won’t be there for the birth, or for the birthdays. He won’t be there for the first steps, or the first words. Our kid is gonna grow up without their father- that’s the hardest thing to think about.” “Sure, but on another hand, there’s a chance they won't” Salem responds, rubbing the small of Alicia’s back with a friendly, optimistic expression, “Lauren’s still holding out hope to get back to Jack. There’s a fair chance Franklin’s out there looking for you somewhere too.” Flashing the woman an appreciative grin, Alicia bows her head with thanks as the rest of the small group’s attention is taken by a sight in the distance. In silence, the group’s pace begins to lighten as a woman, overcome by grief, staples a set of flyers to the telephone pole nearby. Without a word, the woman walks off, venturing to the next street over as the trail of tears present through the light hint of makeup she wears. The first to step forward, Lauren pulls away from the group to approach the poster, the pictures plastered upon the paper striking her as familiar despite how far away they sit. “You alright, Laur’?” Angela calls out, just as taken back by the woman’s departure as those beside her. Without a response, Lauren continues upon the flyer, able to read the bold-lettered ‘Missing Children’ headline from afar, the faces in the picture just above growing clearer as she steps closer. “Seriously, Lauren- are you alright?” Alicia exclaims, the next to break off from the pack, concerned by the silence Lauren continues to meet them with. The odd women out, Salem and Angela soon pursue their separated friends together, watching Lauren stop at the pole’s base with a look of worry. “Who are Roddy and Randy?” Salem inquires from afar, reading the bold print beneath the boys’ pictures. “Do you know them, Laur’?” Alicia follows, her hand resting on the small of the woman’s back. Still silent, Lauren continues to look at the pictures, the sickening pit in her stomach only continuing to worsen with time. “Laur’?” Alicia calls again, Lauren still able to hear her name called, though too challenged for thought to respond, “Laur’?” Alicia calls once more, finally earning something of value. “No” Lauren replies, forcing the profound look of distress on her face aside, “I thought I did- but I don’t.” Offering no more than that, Lauren pulls away, hands hung by her sides as she walks off for home, the rest of her group left behind in confusion of how to react. | “I love how easy it is to find the two of you” Jack exclaims, stepping beside dirty footprints on his way to the bar where Clint and Nessie reside, drinking the night away in peace. “Does the fact that we like booze make us predictable?” Nessie ripostes, meeting Jack with a sarcastic tone. “It does to the trained eye” Jack responds with equal sarcasm, pulling the stool Nessie sits upon to the side, replacing her spot with an empty stool he soon occupies. “Do we need to ask why you’re here, or are you going to tell us regardless?” Clint qualms, his hands clasped around the condensation-covered glass his beer is contained within. “I think you already know the answer to that question” Jack responds, the dance music that softly roars through the building’s stereo system not strong enough to overpower the voice he follows his Irish ancestors in the tradition of commanding a room with. Downing the alcohol that remains in their glasses, the siblings climb down from their stools and follow Jack to the alley just behind the pub. “Rocky came by the house earlier” Jack remarks, not even fully walking through the tavern’s rear exit before starting the conversation, “he wants us to take part in the meeting he’s got with the Nova Scotians.” “Woah- hold up and slow down” Clint quickly interrupts, surprised at the information, “he- why?” With her arms crossed, Nessie stands in front of Jack whilst Clint leans against the bar’s brick wall rear entrance. “A power move? A bargaining chip? I don’t know- the point is, he wants us there” Jack replies, his face dirtied by what he’s occupied his day with, “Franklin’s interested as long as the two of you are.” “Why would we want to?” Nessie responds, sliding a stick of gum between her lips as she continues, “I don’t see how us getting involved with their meeting will help matters.” His head shaking, Jack is left with as little of an answer as he’d held for Franklin. “I can only guess what his motives are. He gave us the offer, and he said he wanted Nova Scotia to know we were powerful figures in the conversation” Jack replies, “aside from that, I can only make assumptions.” “Well, we’ll work with what we know then” Clint ripostes from afar, less interested than the others in speculation, “what reason would Rocky have for including us in this meeting?” The question raised, the trio wonder separately, working within the dimensions given. “I mean, he did say he wasn’t confident they’d give him a fair share” Jack replies, hurling a wad of spit onto the sunset-illuminated asphalt below, “maybe he thinks our support gives him a better shot?” “Or maybe he’s got too little leverage to make demands?” Nessie quickly adds, her arms still crossed upon her chest, “he did say he needed people to keep seeing him as a competent leader, didn’t he? If he’s getting shoved around by the pricks up north, it might keep him from retaining control down here.” “Or alternatively, he knows the meeting isn’t going to lead anywhere good” Clint responds, a notable dread carried in his response, “maybe having us there is less about giving us a say and more about redirecting the blame.” Looking away, Jack lets Clint’s conclusion settle, the idea too believable to disregard. “I did tell him what happened to Rockford wasn’t any of my concern after we were gone- he didn’t seem too put off by that” Jack recollects, finally turning to look Clint in the eyes, “you might be onto something.” Their suspicion only growing, Nessie offers her answer before any further persuasion can convince her otherwise. “We should take the offer” Nessie interrupts, cutting through the tense inner-thought before it can simmer any further. “Were you not listening to a single thing I just said?” Clint rebuttals, his sister’s response quickly changing his mind. “We can go there, sit in and wait for Rocky to make his move” Nessie explains, invigorated by the plan she’s concocted, “if he seems too eager to let the Canadians have their way, we can speak up and demand more of them. Make it impossible to blame us for cutting Rockford short, if that’s really what he’s hoping to do.” Hesitant, Clint makes his argument against the proposition, too eager to refuse his sister any leverage on the matter. “Not only would challenging Nova Scotia be a bad move, but it’d screw Rockford short anyway” Clint retorts, scratching the back of his buzzcut-shaven head, “we come in too cold, he can blame us for giving them too much. If we come in too hot, he can blame us for reaching too high and leaving the town with nothing.” “Then we don’t come in too hot or too cold- we let Rocky make his argument, and if he low-balls, we take over from there” Nessie replies, looking her brother in the eye as she speaks, “if he tells us to slow our roll, we pull our foot from the gas and let him take the fall for calling us off.” “It’s a better choice than just not showing up” Jack interjects, quickly finding himself aligning with Nessie, “Rockford still doesn’t know about the surplus last time I checked. If shit goes south, we still have a card to play stuffed up our sleeve.” Still reluctant, Clint begins to pace around the alley, the lingering doubt in his mind relentlessly trying to pull him toward opposing the idea. “We’re a threat to him now, Jack. When we first met the man, he said ‘if you were a threat to me, I’d want you gone’” Clint recalls, stood in the alley across from Jack and Nessie, who now reside shoulder-to-shoulder. “His hold on this compound is loosening every time the ships dock without enough food to feed the entire settlement” Jack ripostes, stepping away from Nessie to approach her brother, “we have to do something before he decides we know too much for comfort- this is our chance.” “If we sit around waiting for the next trip to Nova Scotia, we’ll just be sitting ducks” Nessie adds, rejoining her brother by standing to Jack’s side, “our best bet is to get some leverage on him while we can. If this settlement takes him down, we can make sure he doesn’t take us down with him.” Every attempt at persuasion leaving him feeling more guilty the longer he declines, the pressure to give in finally consumes Clint. “Fine” the man replies, granting Jack and Nessie the wave of relief they’re left consumed by, their accomplished sighs earned. == Rise == “You’re not answering my question!” Annie exclaims, stood in the foyer of 18 Rawson, overcome with grief and anger, “where the hell is my husband!?” Aside from the woman’s yelling, the home remains quiet, littered with people stood in unspecific corners, waiting for Jade’s answer. “He and Ameil never made it back” Jade responds, her head hung out of shame, entirely unable to look Annie in the eyes, “the horde caught up to us before they could get back- we had to leave.”
With a lump in her throat, Annie’s lip quivers, her voice unable to put into words the scattered thoughts that rush through her head. Nearing tears, Annie turns away from the woman, hiding her face from the home’s inhabitants as Heather takes her place in the discourse, leaving Amy in Salem’s arms. “Ameil knows his way around the dead, there’s a chance he and Ryan hunkered down somewhere out there” Heather suggests, her eyes searching for those equally-optimistic. “We haven’t found bodies, so there’s no reason to presume they're dead” Heather explains, waiting for a voice to speak up in her defence, “I think we should group up and go out looking.” The most reluctant of the siblings, Isaac speaks up first, his voice angelically deep. “We’re not private detectives, Heather. We can’t just stop what we’re doing every time someone gets lost” the man ripostes, an answer that mildly irritates the woman. “They’re not just someones- they’re your someones” Heather argues, her arms crossing as she approaches the man, “they were lost on your trip. So, as far as I’m concerned, you’re responsible.” The next to align himself with Isaac, Oliver interjects, sat on the centre staircase just a few feet away. “The town’s incinerator just got pushed offline and we’re expecting a call from Nova Scotia by the afternoon” Oliver remarks, leaving little room for reasoning, “we’re too busy for a search party.” Feeling disregarded, Heather’s arm-cross stiffens, her feet pressing against the ground with more force. “If the town’s people were sent into an uproar, would you be too busy for that?” the woman rebuttals, watching Isaac and Oliver’s eyebrows begin to narrow, Archie’s attention caught in the near-distance whilst Jade’s exterior is unchanged. “Watch your words carefully, Heather” Oliver warns, wishing to quell the threat before it’s too late, “you’ve got a lot riding on us.” “And as far as I can tell, you’ve got a lot riding on me now too” Heather counters, approaching the still-sat man with a determined look, “what would your citizens think if they knew that their streets were about to start smelling like sewage all because their leader wanted to go out for a hunt and left two of her own behind?” Grimacing, Oliver pulls himself away from his seat, allowing Heather to get closer toward his face before Jade puts her foot down. “That’s enough- both of you” Jade remarks, leaving her perch near the kitchen’s entrance as she approaches the squabbling pair, “we’ll send out a search party. It’s the least we can do.” The tension alleviated, Heather takes the silence that follows Jade’s order as an excuse to back away, returning to Annie’s side. “Archie, Isaac- go get ready to head out” Jade commands, trusting the men can take care of the job appointed to them, “as for everyone else, go back to your activities. This meeting is dismissed.” Her priorities elsewhere, Jade retreats to the kitchen, taking a seat at the foremost table as Emilio watches on, noticing the preoccupied look in her eyes. “Something on your mind?” Emilio asks, gently tapping the kitchen’s passage borders with his knuckle. His presence coming as a surprise, Jade takes her attention away from the map she’d sprawled across the tabletop. “Why? Do you need something?” Jade replies, her face empty, awaiting further comment. “No, I just wanted to check in” Emilio responds, an answer that slightly confuses the woman, “you look... worried.” Crossing her left leg over her right, Jade’s left hand stretches out to her kneecap, resting on its bend. “I run Cumberland- I’m always worried” Jade replies, unafraid to admit the concern she carries deep within herself, “all it takes is one fuck up for everything to come crashing down. I’m trying to avoid that.” Sensing the woman’s reluctance to say more, Emilio turns away. “I’ll leave you to it” Emilio ripostes, following the same exit the rest of his group had taken. “I don’t mean to be callous” Jade suddenly calls out, trying to be appreciative of the good intentions the man entered with, “I went out for one afternoon, and not only do I lose two people, but the town’s incinerator goes down while I’m off duty. For obvious reasons, this isn’t my finest hour.” His lips pressed together, Emilio gives the woman a gentle nod before proceeding toward the exit once more. “It’s not a problem” Emilio replies, wishing not to be of further interruption. Taking her eyes back to the map, Jade listens to the front door open and shut, a few seconds allowed to pass before relief comes over her. Her right hand balling into a fist, Jade swings her hand down upon the table, a crashing thud emerging from the contact. Throwing her back into the seat, Jade stares at the kitchen window across the room, where the pond in her backyard continues to be assaulted by the droplets that descend from the heavens as the new day begins to dawn. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “There aren’t many jobs out here looking for filler candidates” Lauren responds, watching a string of storefronts zip past the window of the public bus she and Alicia occupy. “So that’s it, huh?” Alicia queries, one foot pressed against the back of the seats ahead of her, “just wait out the outage and hope it doesn’t take long?” “I’ve got no other choice” Lauren ripostes, holding back her frustration so as not to take it out on her friend, “I just have to wait out the clock.” Defeated, Lauren sinks into her seat, staring down the length of the crowded vehicle with a frown. “How’s Grace taking all of this?” Alicia replies, directing the conversation elsewhere at the sight of Lauren’s dissatisfaction, “is she taking it well?” “Does she need to?” Lauren is quick to reply, a somewhat sarcastic tone in her voice, “Donnie’s the eighth- was it eighth?- richest person in Cumberland. Why would she- no, eighteenth richest, sorry- why would she need to worry?” Hands in her pockets, Lauren restlessly awaits the vehicle’s next stop, her window seat paying her the responsibility of manning the pull cord just above the glass divide separating her from the outside. “Because you still need to work if you’re gonna get to Nova Scotia” Alicia responds, looking into the unchanged expression on Lauren’s face, “you’re still trying to get to Nova Scotia, right?” Her blank expression not leaving, Lauren pulls her hand from the pocket and tugs the cord, preparing the pair for their departure. “I don’t know what I want at this point” Lauren replies, squeezing past Alicia as she leaves her seat, preparing to disembark. “What do you mean ‘I don’t know?’” Alicia retorts, her friend’s confession surprising her, “that’s the whole reason we came here!” Not eager to continue the conversation, Lauren remains quiet, silently waiting for the bus to reach their stop. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Alicia asks, feeling her body pull to the side as their stop appears, Lauren remaining quiet, “why are you ignoring me?” “Because I sense the judgement in your voice” Lauren quickly replies, stepping off the bus the moment the doors open. “Judg- I’m not judging you” Alicia corrects, following the woman’s lead through the quiet, suburbian streets, “I’m just surprised.” Stopping a few steps ahead of Alicia, Lauren lets other passengers step past her, carrying on with their days as Lauren takes hers to turn back to Alicia. “I made the wrong choice” Lauren admits, stepping back to the woman with a disheartened look, “I felt more complete out there with Jack than I do here alone.” Her head hung, Alicia lets Lauren continue to speak, the bus’ engine roaring as the vehicle drives past them, their conversation left to them. “For a long time, I thought I just wasn’t used to all this” Lauren concludes, her voice shaky, “but when I go to bed, I know Jack’s still out there- and I’ll never find him.” “There’s a lot more to you than Jack, Lauren” Alicia replies, attempting to continue before Lauren’s interruption halts her. “I know that, and I don’t care. Everything was simpler with him” Lauren ripostes, the lump in her throat growing the more she persists, “my entire life was a chaotic rollercoaster. School, then work, then the apocalypse, then Tori- then Jack. It’s like everything else wasn’t a problem, and all it took for me to be fine was him. I can’t shake that feeling.” Becoming aggravated, Lauren tosses her bag onto the ground and takes a seat on the curb, a few moments of sitting in silence persisting before Alicia occupies the spot beside her. “How did you do it?” Lauren inquires, turning her head to Alicia, “how did you get over Frank?” With a chuckle, Alicia’s head begins to hang, her answer taking a few seconds to conjure. “I didn’t” Alicia replies, holding back a smile as her hand slides into the pocket of her oversized jeans, a glossy photograph retrieved and tucked into Lauren’s possession. Squinting curiously, Lauren stares at the photograph, the image it depicts hidden as it lies face down on her palm. “This isn’t about to-?” Lauren begins to ask, stopping herself as her left hand points toward the photo’s back, “what you’re saying makes sense, but I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet.” Unable to hold her smile back, Alicia nods to the woman, forced to push the loose hairs over her ear. “You’re the only one that knows so far” Alicia replies, watching the woman cautiously turn the photograph over, the wave of uncertain worry that inhabited Lauren now quashed with genuine happiness, “I didn’t want anyone knowing until I knew for sure.” Her left hand covering her widened mouth, Lauren stares at her friend with wide eyes, all her troubles vanishing for one, incredibly fulfilling moment. “You’re pregnant!?” Lauren remarks, finally speaking the quiet part aloud as Alicia’s nod serves to confirm stated suspicions, “holy shit, you’re pregnant!” Wrapping her arms around her baby-bound friend with joy over the woman’s newfound destiny, Lauren pulls Alicia close, erasing their prior conversation from her mind in an effort to disregard it entirely, still partially incapable of addressing it with the weight required. | “I thought you restricted their gas supply, how’d they manage that?” Jade inquires, sat on the rear patio as the sun emerges, the rain that had crashed upon Cumberland waiting to return another day. “It had nothing to do with gas, their supply was the same as it’s always been” a woman’s voice responds, sharing the same aggravations as Jade, “wherever they got the arms, they didn’t get them with our help, our gas, or our supply.” “I hardly see why you’d need me to fly out to Nova Scotia for this” Jade quickly responds, sunken into one of the chairs overlooking the pond, “if they have these weapons, there’s nothing coming up there will solve.” The front door to her home opening in the distance, Jade brushes her brother’s re-entry off, continuing her call with no distraction. “Because we’re landlocked here, Jade. The folks up in Manchester won’t have Portsmouth up and running for months- hell, maybe years!” the woman on the other line replies, clearly simmering with anger, “this isn’t a meeting of negotiation, this is a strategy meeting. Jade, we’re on the brink of war- and Cumberland might be ground zero.” “You’re not leaving me with a lot of wiggle room here, I’ve already got a problem with-” Jade ripostes, looking to her patio’s entrance before going silent, her wide eyes offered to the sight that stands before her, “-I have to call you back.” Met with reluctance, Jade sets her radio’s receiver down and pulls herself up, both hands raised to her home’s invader. “Let my brother go” Jade replies, looking into Jessica’s eyes as the widow holds her handgun to the back of Archie’s head, “lower the gun and let my brother go now.” Her cold face continuing to stare at Jade, Jess refuses the woman’s request, her dirt-covered shoes leaving the muddy trail of her entrance behind. “You have someone of mine” Jess responds, her baritone voice showing little empathy, the end justifying the means as far as she is concerned, “I want her back.” | Walking Rockford’s grounds in a sleeveless white shirt, Franklin’s skin glistens with sweat as he makes his way home, his shortened arm temporarily freed from its metal extension. “‘Ay, Frank” Clint exclaims, Franklin’s large frame helping him stand out in a crowd, “can I talk to you for a sec?” With no reason to refuse, Franklin steps forward, severing himself from the unending line of residents that he passes by. “What’s up?” the man asks, a bead of sweat dripping off his chin, hands placed upon his hips as Clint begins to respond. “Not much- which is kind of the point” Clint replies, glancing at every resident, guard, and high-ranking official that strolls past, “doesn’t the town seem a little normal?” “When did normal become a bad thing?” Franklin ripostes, humoured by Clint’s discovery. “I never said it was a ‘bad thing’, but it’s definitely off from what I’d thought it would be” Clint replies, his arms crossed at his chest, his back resting against a brick wall to the dirt road’s side, “Rocky’s been worried everyone would be starved into a revolution, yet- here they are- all of the troubles are done with, and no one’s acting any different.” Squinting at the busy pathway as the sun burns bright just overhead, Franklin shares Clint’s overlook of the pedestrians, admittedly finding their lackadaisical response bizarre. “It’s like nothing’s changed. It’s like today’s no different from any other” Clint clarifies, turning his face toward Franklin, the man’s curious demeanour allowing him to feel like he’d not been the only one to grow suspicious, “excitement- I’d understand, worry- I’d understand, but nothing?” His concern only growing the more he questions the crowd without an answer to support the conclusions he’s made, Franklin pats Clint on the shoulder, turning back the way he came. “Let me check in with Rocky” Franklin responds, embracing the summer heat in hopes of uncovering answers, “I’ll check back with you later.” “There’s not much unshattered trust here anymore, so keep the docks off limits” Rocky replies, stood in his quiet home, its walls dating back to the late nineteenth century. “We don’t load anything onto their boats until an agreement is reached, and that is final” Rocky persists, giving the men he’s entrusted to guard Rockford their orders as Franklin knocks at the door, “our days of being fucked over are done with.” With a gentle tug, Rocky’s door squeaks its way open, exposing the interior of his house to the elements of the blazing outdoors. “Wipe your shoes off on the rug and close the door on your way in” Rocky greets, retreating to the rest of his home as Franklin enters, following the instructions as given. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything” Franklin remarks, watching Rocky sink into the leather cushions of a recently upholstered sofa. “I’m never anything but busy, so there’s no avoiding an interruption” Rocky ripostes, extending his hand to the empty chair across the room, “is there something I can help you with?” Not wishing to press his sweaty body into the seat, Franklin rests on its edge, his hands folded as his knees part. “I wouldn’t say ‘help with’, but more like ‘makes sense of’” Franklin replies, slightly unsettled by the various deer heads mounted along the walls. “There’s too much in the world for me to explain enough of, but I’ll do my best” Rocky responds, the friendly smile he wears not as large as Franklin would assume it’d be under the circumstances provided. “Well, I guess I’m just confused. I mean, I see everyone walking on the street today, and it’s like nothing’s changed” Franklin replies, noticing the interesting nod Rocky responds with, “as if taking a cargo plane’s worth of guns and ammo changes nothing. Why is that?” Letting out a sigh, Rocky’s right arm rests against his couch’s side, his eyes finding the analog clock’s smaller hand pointing toward the number ‘two’. “It’s because they don’t know yet” Rocky ripostes, his left hand moving to his right, where the button to his plaid shirt’s sleeve pops free. “They- why don’t they know?” Franklin replies, the answer catching him by surprise as much as the ease in which it arrived with. “Because I want to err on the side of caution” Rocky responds, continuing to undo his buttons and roll his sleeves as he leaves the couch, approaching a small table that sits closeby, where he takes a pack of cigarettes into his hand. “I’m only telling you this because I’m deep in your debt. What you and your friends have done for me is more than I could ever ask for- from you or Nova Scotia” Rocky explains, now taking a matchbox into his hand, “I want you to tell me you’ll keep this quiet.” His lips pressing together, Franklin waits a few moments before giving the man a nod, “I will” the survivor responds, still sat in his seat. Satisfied with the answer he’s given, Rocky proceeds, striking the match and lifting the flame to the stick’s tobacco end. “Nova Scotia makes fucking us over a passtime” Rocky soon replies, a puff of smoke floating from his lips, “this isn’t a new thing, they’ve been doing it for years. Long enough, in fact, for other settlements to get comfortable.” Reclaiming his seat on the couch, Rocky lets an ashtray sit on his lap as the conversation continues, momentarily breaking to pull a drag from the dart. “Comfortable enough- in fact- to be rather dissatisfied in the idea of Nova Scotia having to take from them to supply for us, even if we’re only taking our fair share” Rocky continues, the stick held between his right hand’s middle and ring finger, “even if we have scheduled a meeting, I’m not so sure Nova Scotia will be too bipartisan.” His eyes trailing off, Franklin’s concern only grows, his position between Rocky and the sunlit window casting the large man’s shadow upon the floorboards. “I don’t want you to get your hopes down. I’m not saying they won’t, I’m saying I’m not sure enough to just hand them our new toys and stretch out our hands for-” Rocky pauses, another drag taken from the cig, “-for a bigger cut. It’s a lot deeper than that, and that’s how it always is when you play Nova Scotia’s game.” “And you’re not telling the residents because- because why?” Franklin asks, his original question yet to be answered. “I don’t need their hopes up any more than yours are. They’d assume the same thing you did- that we’ll all be fine when the ships come to dock” Rocky replies, tipping the dart over the lap-top bowl, its transparent bottom strewn with ashes, “high hopes lead to falls from high places. If that happens, that revolution I’ve told you about will draw near- I promise you that.” | “Is Isaac alive?” Jade inquires, the unshaken aim Jess holds her gun with proving the composure she acts with, unphased by the lustre of the sanctuary they reside in. “He’s alive, but he’ll have a headache” Jess responds, her voice kept to the baritone pitch she’d entered with, “now, I want my daughter back. I know she’s here, and I know that you know where she is. Give her back, or I’ll kill all of you where you stand.” With her hands raised in surrender, Jade chooses her words with care, her voice lowering to a calm, undisturbed tone of voice. “None of us want to die over this, and none of us have to” Jade replies, her brother’s eyes following each step she makes, “but if we’re going to have this conversation, we need to be civil about it.” The ground rules laid out, Jade keeps her right hand held upward as her left slowly reaches to her side, the gun she wears on her hip easily visible. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than you want to hurt me. We all just want to make it out of this situation alive, alright?” Jade continues, freeing her gun from its holster before laying it on the ground, her foot kicking it to the side, where it falls off the patio’s ledge and into the artificial fountain, “let’s talk about this.” Blood running from the wound on the side of his face, Archie grimaces in pain as his left eye presses shut, hoping for Jess to meet Jade’s invitation. “Let my brother get help for Isaac, you can hold me at whatever gunpoint you want, and we’ll talk” Jade pursues, quietly hoping the woman will entertain her offer, the reluctance to show emotion making the interaction’s outcome impossible to predict, “you’re here for someone, and you said I know them. I would like to help you.” “Why?” Jess finally responds, the same tone in her voice left unchanged, “you don’t know the first thing about me aside from my name. Why would you help me?” Letting out a sigh, Jade’s hopeful expression turns to disappointment, almost judging the gun woman in a way. “Because whoever you came here for is clearly important enough to warrant holding my brother at gunpoint” Jade ripostes, “and to add to that, I already tried to help you before. You chose not to cooperate.” Her hair waving with the calm breeze that begins to roll in, Jess studies Cumberland’s leader, her eyes, her posture, her responses, anything that could provide an insight into the woman’s true motives. “Please let my brother go, and we’ll talk about whatever it is you’re here for” Jade concludes, preparing for the choice she believes Jess to have already made, unable to believe anything she can say would change that decision, “I gave you that chance before, and I’m giving it to you again.” Her chin tilting up, Jess pulls her sights toward Archie, the man still giving into Jess’ ownership with faith in his sister to ease the situation. Carefully considering her choices, Jess takes three steps away from Archie, her firearm slowly turned onto Jade once pleased with the distance. “Go help your brother” Jess orders the man, his body turning back for the way he’d arrived the moment Jess grants his freedom. “Thank you” Jade replies as Jess turns back to her, the gun woman's dirt-stained grey shirt entirely opposite that of Jade’s soft, ironed black tank top. “I came here for my daughter” Jess responds, brushing off the woman’s appreciation in favour of whom she’d arrived for, “now that I’ve given you what’s yours- do the same.” | “Sometimes I wonder how most of you survived while everything was still running” Jack quips, carrying a tray with an uncooked chicken atop it, “I worked in a warehouse for minimum wage and I can cook a better chicken than your local bar and grill could. What’s your excuse?” Amused, Clint and Nessie sit beside a wooden tub, washing boards and clothes dampened with soapy water carried in their hands. “We spent our childhood living off fast food and high metabolism” Nessie responds, the barely-padded chair she sits atop squeaking each time she moves, “went straight from that to living off the land. Ovens weren’t necessary when you have a knife to gut and skin with, and a fire to cook over.” “That might be the only valid excuse- props to you” Jack replies, rubbing his hands with a wet rag just as Franklin steps through the door. “Franklin, what do you know how to cook?” Jack charmingly calls out, posing over the counter like a catalogue model, his knuckles pressed against the bottom of his chin. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?” Franklin ripostes, discarding his sweat-soaked shirt in the pile of dirty clothes the siblings sit beside. “We’ve known each other for at least a few years at this point, I’m sure we’ve repeated the same conversations multiple times” Jack replies, continuing to present his smile, “that never changes how much fun I have when you answer.” Rolling his eyes, Franklin ascends the stairs and begins to approach the bathroom, his attempt to wash the day’s dirt from his dark skin thwarted upon the sound of Clint’s voice. “How’d the talk with Rocky go!?” Clint shouts, watching Franklin peer his head through the space between the bannister and the ground-level ceiling. “It was fine. No, it went well” Franklin responds, climbing back down the stairs to briefly rejoin the group, “he, uh, he told me plenty.” The room quiet, Clint, Nessie, and Jack stare at Franklin, waiting for the man to offer more than he’d explained thus far. Aware of his inability to get away with such little offered, Franklin leans against the bannister’s base, hesitant to give into the group’s request for more. “He said he wanted to ‘err on the side of caution’” Franklin replies, obviously displeased to rekindle the earlier conversation, “he said that he wanted the supply Nova Scotia owes to the town before he’ll hand them any weapons.” “Wait, he’s sceptical?- why is he sceptical?” Jack ripostes, his hands now pressing against the edge of the counter as he leans forward, the siblings both taking a break from the laundry to partake in the conversation. “He- well- Nova Scotia’s been dividing the rest of what they owe Rockford amongst the other settlements for a while now” Franklin stutters, still trying to understand the man’s outlook, “he’s worried the settlements will force Nova Scotia to keep the status quo.” “So- so, what I’m hearing is- the plan is to tell Nova Scotia to fuck off if they don’t give him what he wants?” Nessie replies, wiping the sweat from her face with her forearm, “that hardly seems like something Nova Scotia’s gonna tolerate.” “It’s not like there’s much of a choice here. Nova Scotia’s used the excuse of ‘you don’t produce enough’ to keep shortchanging this place” Franklin responds, his free hand sliding into his back pocket, “he thinks that, even if they shortchange him again this time, they’ll have to face the music. They won’t be able to excuse it for a lack of production- they’ll have to outright exploit him with nothing to hide behind.” “Okay, that’s great for Rocky’s ego- now tell me how that helps us” Jack replies, sliding the gloves from his hands as he approaches Franklin, “we still have a trip to Nova Scotia hanging in the balance here. This little ‘stab me in my front, not my back’ routine he’s playing is gonna backfire on us.” “Yeah, no shit. Go ahead, though- tell me what I can do about it” Franklin ripostes, both hands leaving their respective posts, now held out from his sides, “he’s the law of the land around here!” Too frustrated to begin moulding strategy, Jack rolls his eyes and walks away, tending to the group’s dinner as a way of escaping the mounting anger that begins to fill him. “He’s stuck to his word this far, and he’s admittedly set us up pretty well” Clint replies, assuming the conversation’s controls, “those guns wouldn’t be his if it weren’t for you. If we sat down with him, we might be able to talk him into a better plan.” “Oh, I see” Jack scoffs from the kitchen, unable to help himself from listening in, “you wanna reason with the man planning to stick it to the apocalypse’s equivalent of a world superpower- what could go wrong!?” Bracing the cold sweat that covers his body, Franklin crosses his arms, watching Jack’s return. “Do you have a better idea?” Franklin responds, watching Jack unfasten the apron around his waist, “as far as I know, this is the only option we’ve got!” Stepping forward with his finger pointed at Franklin, Jack attempts to speak, standing like a statue in the same position as he falls silent, a sudden thought dawning. With a sigh, Jack’s hands meet his hips, his head hanging as his right foot taps the ground. “I have to confess something” Jack suddenly replies, sharing a look around the room as the home’s silent residents wait for him to continue, “we didn’t come here by accident.” Confused, the group continues to look on, yet to comprehend what Jack’s admitting to. This lack of awareness recognised, Jack’s right hand glides into his back pocket, his palm retrieving a folded, glossy paper marked with different colours of ink. Looking Franklin in the eyes, Jack extends the folded guide, “I had Salem take the passenger’s seat for a reason. She must have gotten this from the glove compartment” the man admits, letting the paper enter Franklin’s hand. “I couldn’t let Lauren get away” Jack murmurs, leaving the group to their discovery as he returns to the kitchen. Huddling together, Clint and Nessie watch Franklin unfold the paper atop the woman’s squeaky chair, what they find not taking long to be understood. “Are these the settlements!?” Clint calls out, his question unanswered as Jack continues to walk away, the trails all leading to various towns throughout the northeast, all leading to their northernmost point. “We were close enough to Norwood, Cumberland, and Norwich for me to know where they went. I didn’t want to risk getting turned away by Jade” Jack explains, shame ridden through his voice, “this was the safest option we had.” Unsure of how to respond, Franklin sets the map down and walks across the house, caught in a mix of anger and relief. “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner!?” Franklin shouts, his raised tone matched by the cook, who throws his apron to the floor. “There was no point! We got here like I’d hoped, and the only one hurt in the process was me!” Jack exclaims, the sound of his confrontational voice bringing the room to another silence. “We have people to get back to, and the way there is through Rockford” Jack concludes, his voice calmer than before, “we have to fix this, and we need to do it quickly.” His hand extended, Jack waits for Franklin to return the gesture. “You have Alicia, I have Lauren, and the siblings have each other. We either take this opportunity or we lose them for good” Jack persists, looking his tall friend in the eyes as his fingers stretch out, “take it or leave it.” Nostrils flaring, Franklin looks to the man’s hand, thinking quietly to himself as his eyes meet Jack’s, the man left waiting for his decision. == Rise == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
October 2023
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