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Season 6 Finale
“Em’?” a soft voice calls out from a few seats away, directed toward the man with his hands folded upon his lap, head resting against the back of his chair. Leaving her seat to get closer, Nessie walks through the aisle slowly, the lights within the walkway purposefully dimmed to more comfortably accommodate the survivors, most of whom take advantage of the dark surroundings to gain all the shut-eye they can manage. “Em?” Nessie whispers again, gently nudging the man’s shoulder until he comes to, both eyes opening to look at the woman above him. “Is everyone okay?” Emilio whispers, sitting the rest of the way up before tending to the conversation whilst his friend takes the seat across the aisle from him. “Yeah, everyone’s fine- at least that I know of” Nessie whispers back, leaning closer to the man in an effort of keeping her voice to a minimum. Adjusting his posture, Emilio presses his shoulder into the back of his seat, turning to face the woman who’d awoken him, able to notice the troubled look in her face. “Are you alright?” he proceeds to wonder aloud as his arms cross, the uncertain expression on his friend’s visage not striking him with much confidence. “Aside from not being able to fall asleep- yeah, I’m alright” Nessie replies, unable to wipe the concerned look from her face as her chin juts forward, lowering toward the ground as the man looks on. “Why can’t you sleep?” Emilio inquires, a question that Nessie immediately attempts to answer, though she falls silent just as the words take a rest at the tip of her tongue. Dropping her eyes as she plays with the rings on her middle and pinky fingers, the woman falls back into her seat whilst staring at the ground. His friend uncomfortable, Emilio lets his legs fall into the aisleway’s centre, his entire body turned toward the other side of the vehicle. “Is something on your mind?” the man rephrases his question, drawing a momentary glance from his acquaintance as the query is allowed to settle, waiting for an answer he anticipates the arrival of. Biting the corner of her lip, Nessie glances toward the seat she’d come from, watching her brother’s head rest against the bus’ window as he surrenders to exhaustion, engulfed in a cosy slumber whilst she remains awake, incapable of expunging disquieting thoughts from her mind. “It’s not something as much as it is someone” the woman finally responds, her eyes kept toward the ground whilst her friend’s veer toward the aisle’s end. “Your brother can handle himself perfectly fine” Emilio reassures, his eyes kept in Clint’s direction whilst Nessie’s confused mein takes toward him. “What?” the woman replies, her curious eyes locking with the man as his head turns to reconnect with her, their sights colliding. “I’m not talking about Clint” the headstrong survivalist remarks, letting her hands fall back to her sides, “my brother can handle himself. It’s taking me some time, but I’m learning to accept that.” His eyes narrowing, Emilio looks toward the vehicle’s front whilst thinking quietly to himself, disconnecting his assumptions from one another before returning to the discourse. “It’s that woman you all talk about” Nessie corrects, watching the wheel in her friend’s head turn as she clarifies, “the one you said was in charge of that place in New York? You said she went back to where we’re going?” With his mouth agape, Emilio’s head pulls back for a moment as he clears his throat, his shoulder resting against the back of his seat once more. “You’re talking about Charlotte” he responds, nodding to himself before glancing toward the nearest window as the vehicle slows to a stop, their twenty six hour-long drive finally nearing its destination. “Clint and I heard about New York plenty during the first few months, but we never tried for it. We went straight to Sun City, and crossed onto Fishers Island- that was it” she recalls, sitting upright in her seat as she joins the grizzly man in staring toward the front of the bus. “From everything I’ve heard, there’s no reason for me to feel good about walking into her domain” Nessie explains, the rolling eyes her leader now wears doing little to provide her with confidence. “You’re not walking into her domain” Emilio replies, shaking his head at the thought whilst his pale-skinned counterpart squints her eyes, looking at him with confusion as the doors to the bus pull apart. “What do you mean?” Nessie whispers back, she and Emilio keeping their eyes glued to the front of their transportation, watching as men dressed in military garb and possessing automatic rifles climb aboard, their immediate interest taken in the driver. “Not only did we leave her for dead years ago, but we practically dumped her in the middle of nowhere with nothing to live for” the man whispers back, watching the apparent soldiers glance in his direction. “Her family was dead, two of her compounds were gone, and home was like nine hundred miles away” Emilio continues, his voice falling to a hush as the soldiers begin travelling the length of the vehicle, leaving no corner, nor crevasse unchecked. “Did you see a body?” Nessie whispers back, leaving her question to linger in lieu of an answer as the first soldier steps past her, inspecting the rest of the bus as a second militant inspects the passenger sheet provided to the driver. Laying against her husband’s side, Alicia remains asleep whilst Franklin passes a few glances toward the armed enforcement surveying his mode of transportation, awoken by the sound of their heavy boots colliding with the floor. His heel tapped by the tip of the armed soldier’s boot, Clint awakens from his slumber as his crossed arms pull apart, falling as his head pulls upward to look the guard in his eyes. Nodding to himself, the soldier turns his attention toward Jack and Lauren, the woman’s side resting against her husband’s whilst his arm rests around her neck. Bobbing his head, the guard turns back for the way he came, eyes taking to the only seat he hadn’t initially inspected. With her rifle aimed at the ground and finger resting against the trigger guard, Salem looks the soldier in the eyes without the slightest glimmer of fear, her poise undisturbed by the display of power beside her. “Can I help you?” Salem inquires, unable to see past the sunglasses and gator the man purposefully conceals his identity behind, only able to watch as his head bobs out of satisfaction with the response he’s received. “No, of course we didn’t see a body” Emilio whispers back, only answering the question once the soldier’s back turns toward him, eyes directed toward the departing the way he’d entered. “Then you can’t guarantee Nova Scotia isn’t still her domain, can you?” Nessie remarks, joining the rest of the group in watching the two soldiers step off their vehicle, its entrance shutting in the wake of their withdrawal. “I don’t need a guarantee, this isn’t some fantasy land” Emilio replies, feeling the weight of the bus thrust forward as their journey resumes, “whoever’s in charge now has only two options- work with us or work for us.” = 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 = Slipping a mussel past her lips, Katie swipes at the hair a soft wind blows in front of her face, each strand glistening beneath the light of a setting sun, the illumination of Charlottetown’s various streetlights signalling the death of yet another day. “Je suppose que parler français est une priorité ici” Aude remarks, walking ahead of Blaise with a similar plate in hand, a well-crafted sandwich sat beside a small pile of chips, “les gens n'arrêtent pas de me regarder de travers !” Chewing her meal, Katie nods to herself as the lawfully-wedded couple occupy the seat across from her, their perfectly clean plates reflecting the light that lays still above them. “We’re not in Quebec anymore, Aude” the younger woman remarks, picking up another mussel before slipping her thumbs between its shell, pulling it apart before placing it against her tongue, “it’s probably better off if we don’t give people a reason to think we’re hiding something from them.” “Je ne pense pas qu-” Blaise begins to respond, catching himself mid-sentence before switching languages, “I don’t think that’s our biggest concern.” Intrigued by the notion, Katie pauses her chewing for a moment before continuing, processing the man’s remark before reaching for a napkin. “What do you mean by that?” she asks, wiping her fingers before pressing her left elbow into the table, leaning on its surface whilst lowering her serviette to the side. “If it’s not our language drawing attention, it’s our presence” Aude replies, answering the question on her husband’s behalf, “we don’t fit in like the others do. People see us walking on the street and they ask themselves how we got a free ride into town when they had to earn theirs.” “I thought it was the island against Nova Scotia?” Katie whispers back, her intel not lining up with what the couple is assuring her. “They are, but there’s still a bridge between the provinces!” Aude laughs, driving a knife through the centre of her hoagie, “people come and go as they please. Just as there are some that have been here since the start, there are plenty of people from Nova Scotia that had to slave for what they have out there like we did.” Lowering her head, Katie thinks quietly to herself for a moment whilst the conversation’s third voice chimes in, filling the parts of the story that don’t align with each other. “The leadership is at ends, but the people don’t know that yet. People from both sides are still hopping across the bridge and going about their days” Blaise remarks, watching the young woman’s head lift to look him in the eyes, “the people coming over from Nova Scotia aren’t too pleased with all the new arrivals.” “Well, what have-” Katie begins to inquire, her attempt thwarted only by the surrendering of a folded piece of paper beside her plate, the hand responsible for its delivery joining the rest of the nondescript body that walks away from the outdoor patio, blending in with the rest of society as the post-apocalyptic mailman quickly reengages himself with the large crowd of people walking by. Momentarily lost in the presentation, Katie’s eyes take to the note as the table goes quiet, the married couple across from her waiting for an explanation as to the events that had just transpired. “Well, that was strange” Aude mutters beneath her breath, her hands claiming the first half of her sandwich, “you get a lot of fan mail these days? Were you some celebrity in the old days?” “If I was, then I’d be pretty bitter that my bank account didn’t get the memo” Katie replies, unfolding the unruffled piece of paper to read the poor handwriting that resides upon it. “Speaking of which, what the hell did you do in the old days?” Blaise asks, redirecting the conversation down a new road as the younger survivor crushes the paper into a mangled blob. “Let DCF fuck me over with a twelve-inch rod of bullshit for years on end” Katie replies, wiping her face and hands with the nearby napkin as she leaves her side of the table, throwing a small leather bag over her shoulder whilst preparing to leave, “I’ll see you guys back at the flat.” Her boots loudly tapping along the floor of city hall, Katie follows the signage that leads her toward the second level, a large staircase climbed in search of the man responsible for calling her to action. As minutes pass, her understanding of the building’s floor plan becomes greater than it had initially been, a deep breath taken as she steps through the door to a small, out-of-the-way reception area. “Ms. Dawson?” a friendly woman asks aloud, taking note of the young woman’s arrival the moment she steps onto the carpeted floor, “Mr. Gamble is ready for you.” With a curious glare, Katie passes the blonde-haired woman at the front desk in favour of the closed door near the room’s end. “Is his last name really ‘Gamble’?” she wonders back, looking to the woman who’d greeted her upon last-second hesitation, the question one that draws her interest. “I don’t know of him by any other” the unnamed receptionist assures, flashing the woman a smile before returning to her seat, both hands placed upon the laptop that sits atop her workspace. Nodding to herself, Katie lets herself into the office of Charlottetown’s leader, his head buried in a stack of papers that he gradually takes the tip of a pen to, signing one document after another without the briefest acknowledgement of his guest’s arrival. “Do you have your rifle with you?” Gamble inquires, processing the words his eyes read from the paper’s face, considering them whilst his visitor responds. “I was told not to carry my rifle on community grounds” Katie answers, less inclined to step out of line than she once had been, her hands folded atop the leather pouch that rests at her lap. “I’m glad to see you following the rules” Gamble quickly responds, signing off on another paper before setting his pen to the side, both hands folding atop the leather binder he now closes shut. “With that said, I need you following our arrangement just as willingly as you follow my rules- is that clear?” the man doubles down, his cold eyes staring at the woman with total silence, the rigid exterior he presents providing the young woman with no room to take comfort in. “As long as I have a favourable chance of completing your request with my life intact, the answer is yes” Katie responds, watching the subtle nod that originates from across the desk. Lowering his eyes, Gamble sets the leather binder aside before taking another set of papers into his possession, the pen reclaimed in his left hand. “Juliet was the woman you met at the front desk. Go to her and ask for the receiver” Gamble directs, reading the printed claims that rest on the documents in front of him as he speaks, “they’re doing maintenance on the bridge. I want you to reach the halfway point, then look for the pillar with a big, pink splotch of paint. Connect it to the wires that are spilling out of the cracks and get back to land before you get spotted.” Though the directions are clear, the motives behind such a request prove suspicious, drawing the woman’s interest to the surface. “What does the-?” Katie begins to ask, her question interrupted by the unenthusiastic tone of Gamble’s sneering voice. “Just do as you’re told and don’t ask questions” the man remarks, swaying his hand in the woman’s path to order her dismissal. Her options limited, Katie looks to the man for a few additional seconds before turning away, exiting the man’s office in favour of the front desk, her duty clear. | Already having been stationed aboard the bus for over twenty-four hours, Emilio walks the aisle from the vehicle’s back to its front before repeating the cycle, keeping himself ready for their arrival whilst also pushing his persistent anxiety from getting out of hand. “Anyone wanna take a look at what’s ahead?” Jack calls out, his head resting against the window as he peers toward the road ahead, a sign with the flags of two long-deceased countries marking their travel’s culmination. “Welcome to Canada, ladies and gentlemen!” Clint howls, his hands coupled together as his proclamation rings throughout the cabin, earning a chorus of cheers and hollers in return. “The road is clear the rest of the way ahead, passengers!” the driver proclaims from the driver’s seat, the close proximity to home bringing a smile upon his face, “we’ll be arriving in Nova Scotia within the hour!” His declaration responded to with a series of applause, the driver returns his attention to the countdown that is their final descent upon civilisation’s last pillar of society. Standing in the middle of the walkway, Emilio’s eyes take to Jack’s side of the vehicle, the American-Canadian border passed over without interruption, the home they’ve fought valiantly for just around the metaphorical corner. His chest heavy with the air he pulls into his lungs, Emilio settles into the nearest seat, his hands wrapping around the chair that sits just ahead of him as his knees grow weak. “You ready, mountain man?” Franklin wonders aloud, nudging the unsteady man’s shoulder with his hand from behind, his playful smile met with his running mate’s mixed-emotion expression. “Yeah, it’s uh-” Emilio begins to reply, his eyes bolting from one side of the bus to the other as he looks for the words, unable to quite reach them. “You alright?” Franklin interrupts, the enthusiastic look he’d worn dissipating in lieu of a surprised and hesitant mein. Parting his lips, Emilio attempts to respond before falling silent once more, left sitting with his mouth open and eyes reluctant. “It’s just hard to fathom, I guess” he finally replies, the answer he provides met with immediate doubt, no amount of emphasis changing how unconvinced his close friend is. “Are you sure?” Franklin wonders aloud, his wife still resting against the side of his body, her eyes just as responsive to the conversation as she is, though her willingness to interrupt refuses to present itself. Still without much in the way of a response, Emilio looks into the father-to-be’s eyes and fails to conjure up a persuasive reply, his vacillation palpable. “Y’know, I remember when we first met at that steakhouse a few years back- when they were pushing you to take me on as your running mate” Franklin remarks, a smirk returning to his face, “you’ve got that same ‘I don’t know about this’ face on that you gave me then.” With a breathy laugh, Emilio looks away and nods, his eyebrows raising as his face turns back toward the couple’s direction. “It turned out to be a pretty good move, didn’t it?” Emilio jokes, resting his elbow against the back of his seat, his sights resting on Franklin. “It was, but I also know what that look means” the brute of a man responds, the cuts of his face and greater wounds of the new world worn like a badge of honour, “you were sceptical of bringing me on then- just like you’re sceptical about something now.” No longer capable of vehemently denying it any further, Emilio bows his head in shame as his friend persists, the obvious question raised from Alicia’s lips, “what’re you thinking?” Looking to the pregnant woman from the corner of his eye, the once-politician, now-leader thinks quietly to himself for a moment, assessing his thoughts before gazing out the window, speaking them into existence as he stores the mental images of abandoned pipes towering upward, their exteriors covered in flora. “I’m worried it’ll all end up going the same way it always has” the man responds, his view of an industrial era’s creation obstructed by the tree branches that grow over the road, colliding with the bus’ metal body, “I’m worried it’ll end up being just another dud.” Pressing his lips back together, Emilio watches the treeline grow increasingly harsh, its branches and vines twisting and knotting together to the point in which the abandoned facility that resides behind it falls out of view. “We’re all worried about that” Franklin remarks, recapturing Emilio’s attention with the five words alone, not finished in alleviating the voiced concerns. “We all saw Sun City, and Sheol, and all the rest. We might be holding out hope, but we’ve all still got those scars” the man continues, his loving embrace of Alicia tightening the longer he speaks, his fears of losing all that he cares for having been buried beneath the trauma of all the chaos they’ve overcome to this point. “It may have a new face, but it’s the same thing that the New World Order was- we saw how that ended” Franklin continues, pulling his wife closer whilst he clears his conscience, “aside from the siblings, I’m pretty sure we’re all secretly worried this is gonna fall apart eventually too.” Looking at the pair for a few additional seconds before returning his sight to the window, Emilio watches the never-ending line of woodlands pass as his friend’s remarks settle with him. “How do I make them stop?” the man asks back, listening to the subdued chuckle that Alicia replies with before watching an amused expression take over her husband’s face, “it’s been so long since we had this kind of hope, so- how do I stop questioning it?” Pressing the top of his chin against his wife’s head, Franklin presses his back against the bus’ wall before flashing the man a smile. “I’m not sure, buddy. I don’t even know if we’re capable of it anymore” he replies, the disheartened look on Emilio’s face mixing with the humoured response he takes from Franklin’s nonchalant attitude, “let me know if you find out, won’t you?” With a smirk, Emilio pats Franklin on the knee before leaving the chair, returning to his previous pacing of the aisle way as the sun begins to set fully, the sky darkening as the cabin begins to dim just as it had the night prior, a time limit placed on how long he has to accept whatever home resides ahead to greet them. | Her walkway lit by only a line of street lamps adorning each lane of the elevated roadway, Katie traverses the catwalk permanently fixed to the only link between New Brunswick and it’s island counterpart, a small bulge in her pocket covered with the reflective orange construction vest that adorns her person. Pointing her chin toward the ground, Katie walks in step with the various workers that cross her path, their attention all directed elsewhere as she walks by, unnoticed for the moment. Keeping her eyes forward, the young woman walks with an unquestioned swagger, blending in with those stuck with the night shift as if she too were stricken with the unfortunate scheduling. Paying mind to her own business, Katie peers toward the centre columns with each passing step, waiting for the first glimpse of pink paint her eye can capture, her well-worn demeanour covering a great weight she can feel press down upon her chest. Prompted to turn back, Katie’s eyes fall upon a man a few metres behind her, his shoulder pressing against the catwalk’s railing as he pulls a drag from his cigarette, the sound of his voice pulling her back. “You’re looking the wrong way” the man remarks, ending his declaration by unleashing a cloud of smoke into the air, the column he stands a short distance away from splattered with a bright pink coat of paint. Discarding his dart into the water of the below strait, the man steps forward with his hand extended, eyes set on the woman’s pocket. “You’ve got the receiver, haven’t you?” the man inquires, his eyes sporting bags beneath them as he waits for her response, the hesitance she presents not altering his expectations. “I wasn’t told I’d be expecting a friend” Katie responds, reluctantly taking a single step back, her confrontational stare held firmly against the man’s detached frown. “I wasn’t told I’d be expecting a woman- yet here we are” the man replies, again presenting his open hand to the woman, his head hanging to the side, “step away any further and you’ll draw suspicion.” Her hesitation not falling an inch, Katie inspects the man’s hand whilst gripping tightly at the small machine in her pocket, not wishing to let it free from her possession for even a moment. “The last time someone defied Gamble’s orders, he took their head” Katie warns, maintaining her distance from the poorly-dressed, frazzle-haired man, “I already signed up for one fight, I’m not interested in starting a second one before the first even gets underway.” “Gamble didn’t say anything about me because he doesn’t need to” the pale-faced civilian replies, his shoulders shrugging as he keeps his hand extended, waiting for the woman to surrender to his request, “I’m sure he didn’t tell you what that thing burning a hole in your pocket even does, did he?” Her frown increasing, Katie lets the man make his own assumptions as he crafts his own answer to the question. “He can’t trust you yet. Don’t make any mistakes about it- that’s a good thing” the man doubles down, stepping forward once more as his patience begins growing thin, “it’s always nice to have a clean slate with Gamble. If you’re on bad terms, it’s nice for sins to be forgiven. If you’re on good terms, there’s no reason to believe you won't make the same slate you had before.” “I’m just doing what I was told” Katie replies, a remark her apparent acquaintance doesn’t refute. “We all are- you’re no different” the man responds, his fingers parting further than they had before, “you were told to bring the receiver and I was told to hook it up. So, if you wanna stay in Gamble’s good graces, I’d suggest you put the damn thing in my hand before you force me to take it off you.” Scowling at the man, Katie glances toward his hand for a moment before considering her choices, the man that stands before her entirely unphased by whichever outcome prevails. Accepting her role in the plan of the island’s leadership, the increasingly-domesticated young woman cedes ownership of the prized possession to unfamiliar hands, the pleased expression on her counterpart preceding his return to the cement column. “What is that thing supposed to do?” Katie wonders aloud, watching the man set a pack of cigarettes on the ground before setting up the device with ease, wiring it as if he’d been familiar with the task for his entire life. “That’s for me to worry about and you to remain uninformed of” the man replies, finishing his job before covering the crack he settles the receiver into with the same cement its surroundings are composed of. “For now, you’re supposed to be the reliable hand. Someone who can do the job they’re told to do without knowing enough to threaten the rebellion” the man remarks, sliding a dart from the pack of cigarettes before striking another match, “I’d suggest you keep it that way for as long as you can.” No longer needed on the catwalk, the man steps past the island’s newest recruit with his eyes on returning home, his progress only stopped by the opposing force that takes the form of a hand holding him back. “You never told me your name” Katie remarks, able to see the details of the man’s face more clearly as they stand within the orange glow of the street lights above. Pressing his dart between both lips, the man bows his head and pulls away, returning home. “It’s Harvey” he responds, following through on his initial attempt to leave the chore behind, his new associate remaining where she last stood, watching him depart for greener pastures. | The short hand of his wrist watch held toward the number eleven, Emilio joins the rest of his people in gathering by the windows, watching the massive line of patrol units pass as their bus ventures onto the main road of their new home, the vast sea of empty plots they pass leading into the larger metropolitan, their first glance at the new world taken with relative glee. Leaving behind the busier main roads in favour of the small, one-lane passageways, the driver makes his way to the outskirts of St. John before pulling off the main roadway, his vehicle directed through an asphalt passageway cut off from the rest of the province by a collection of orange cones and caution lights. “Where are we going?” Jack calls out, his concerns sinking in ahead of the rest of his group, the driver’s somewhat calming response putting his mind at ease. “They need to do a background check on you and decided not to do it at the border” the man in the driver’s vest responds, carefully navigating the tight turns in search of the journey’s conclusion. With a few passing minutes, the ride comes to its final stop, a long-since abandoned school sitting just beyond the vehicle’s exit, where a group of armed guards await the group’s disembarkment. Guided off the vehicle one after another, the armed militants pat down the survivors individually, checking for any concealed weapons before stripping them of the ones they carry. Allowed to remain together, both married couples and the siblings are taken into the large schoolhouse for their questioning, both Emilio and Salem forced to do the same, though without each other’s company to share. “Are you carrying any weapons, drugs, or items of particular interest?” a bulletproof-wearing soldier inquires, his stern tone directed toward Emilio’s ear. “Not unless you consider the shoes on my feet to be any of the above” the bearded man responds, being as cooperative as he can manage despite the rather uncomfortable circumstances. Surrounded by well-equipped guards, Emilio follows the foremost man into the middle of a classroom, where only a pair of desks sit, their faces directed toward each other. “Wait here until further instruction, sir” the initial guard demands, stepping aside to allow his newest citizen entry to the decrepit, poorly-conditioned room. Thus far allowed to reside within their town with minimal reluctance, Emilio keeps his cards close to the chest, playing by the rules laid before him as he enters Nova Scotia’s rather unpleasant domain. To the sound of the door locking, the man- sore from over a day’s stay aboard a cramped and uncomfortable city bus- takes his seat at the second desk, his arms resting atop its smooth, cold surface as he waits for the command he was told to anticipate. Met with only the sound of water splashing into a greater puddle in the room’s corner, Emilio watches the moon rise higher into the sky the longer night passes, the small hand on his watch progressing forward without anything to show for it. Already tired and exhausted, the new civilian presses his forehead against the desktop, his eyes closing as he waits out the hours that pass. Turning at the will of the key that manipulates them, the door’s locks turn to allow those on the outside entry to a room that gradually lightens with the arrival of the sun from the east. Slumped over in his seat with his head against the desk, Emilio’s eyes remain shut as a pair of footsteps approach, his mind kept in temporary suspension as the outside world submits to the one he’s created within the confines of his imagination. Kept to a lull, the footsteps carefully navigate the debris-covered floor tiles on the way toward the desks, the body they belong to quietly slipping into the seat as its hands press against the wooden workspace. Jostling Emilio’s foot with the tip of her shoe, the woman sat across from the man awakens her subject from his slumber, her back pressing against the seat she occupies as he stirs, first glancing toward the window to see the dawn of a new day. Groaning, Emilio pulls back in his seat as he wipes his eyes, muttering beneath his breath as he looks to his watch, “what time is it?” Holding the clock face to his eyes, the man notices the short hand sit a short distance ahead of the numeral seven, the same indication he reads spoken aloud from the shiver-inducing voice that accompanies him. “It’s fifteen past six” the woman’s voice remarks, immediately striking Emilio with a rush of cold air, his eyes forcing themselves open as his head raises forward, locking eyes with the figure opposite him. His lips slightly parted as his head pulls away, the man with grey hairs in his heavy beard wears a look of shock as he falls silent, unable to process what he sees let alone put it into words. “Long time no see, Governor” the woman remarks, her arms crossed as her left leg drapes over the right, a smirk spreading from one ear to the other, “you look like shit.” Forgetting to exhale, the dirty-faced, bad-breathed survivor fills his lungs to their maximum capacity, only able to muster a single word as he lets out the deepest sigh he’d ever released. “You’re- I don’t-” Emilio mumbles, his lip quivering until he takes in a second breath, easing his mind just long enough to structure a single name from his shock-induced silence. “Charlotte.” Her locks somehow more blonde than he’d remembered them to be, Charlotte eyes the man as her head leans to one side, her face clear and clothes clean, hair brushed and makeup done. “I’m glad you remember me” the woman murmurs, subduing a giggle as she lowers her chin, keeping her eyes set upon Emilio’s as her eyebrows raise, a malicious expression worn on her vindictive and callous visage. “You’re- alive?” the man responds, progressively warming up to more well-rounded sentences as the seconds pass, his mind still shaken with the sight of a woman he’d never expected to see again. “I know, it’s a shocker, ain’t it?” Charlotte responds, revelling in the effect her return has on the man whose composure she controls like strings to a puppet. His eyes falling away, Emilio looks to the floor as the woman begins to speak, the process she embarks on recycling already recited by memory now. “Like I said- long time no see, Governor” Charlotte murmurs, recapturing the survivor’s eyes with the sound of her voice alone, each remark biting at the man’s ear with stupendous ease, “I think we have a lot to catch up on, don’t we?” Closing his lips, Emilio’s nostrils flare as he eases into his seat, both hands shaking as they rest against his own desktop. Sitting upright, the man keeps his eyes locked on Charlotte’s own, trying to gather himself in the wake of this revelation he’s become subject to. “Oka- okay” he murmurs, matching the woman’s posture whilst pressing further into the chair, steadying his breaths as he prepares for whatever is to be spoken. “Where do we begin?” he mutters, watching the woman’s smirk effortlessly grow by mere inches, Charlotte’s eyelids narrowing ever so closer together. == Rise ==
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Taking a towel to his face as he exits the bathroom, a shirtless Emilio in only a threadbare pair of blue jeans and socks climbs from the second level of his home with sights set on the front door. Allowing himself to leisurely stroll toward his home’s entrance, the man tosses the towel over his shoulder and grants entry to those on the other side, an approachable visage taken upon him.
“Don’t ask where we got the champagne” Jack warns, yet to allow the door to fully open before making his remarks, a confused tilt of his head taken toward the shirtless man greeting them. “I’ll treat it the same way I treated you coming to my door covered in blood a few nights ago asking for a pair of clothes-” Emilio replies, stepping aside to allow the husband and wife to pass, “-I didn’t see a thing.” Accepting the riposte for its value, Jack nods before following his wife through the entrance, a quick embrace shared between the pair as they make for the kitchen. “Where is everyone?” Lauren wonders aloud, the first to step through the divide between the rooms, finding the kitchen to be surprisingly empty for the occasion they were informed of. “I moved breakfast out to the backyard” Emilio responds, his finger pointing toward the open door a few metres past the kitchen’s island. “Figured we’d mark our last day in Cumberland with an outdoor platter of pancakes and waffles?” Jack jokes, rejoining his wife as they follow the man toward the backdoor, his pause before stepping through providing them with little more clarity. “Something like that” Emilio answers, guiding the husband and wife onto the rear patio and beneath the already-unravelled awning, the rest of their group already present and equally curious. “There he is!” Salem quips, sat atop the railing along the terrace’s edge, a rag taken to clean the barrel of her rifle as she’s left with little else to do. “Finally! Are you gonna tell us why you were covered in dirt when we got here!?” Clint anxiously inquires, a decent question to ask with the sight he and his sister had arrived early enough to be greeted with. “Yup!” Emilio replies, his tone gleeful and presented with pep as he walks past the entirety of his group, head directed toward the ground as he approaches a small set of stairs leading to the rest of his backyard. Silent through the rest of his venture, Emilio proceeds through the grass with expectation of his group following, their minds left temporarily perplexed. The first to depart from her post, Salem sets the example for her people, leaving the bannister to pull away from her unit, she tosses the strap of her rifle over her neck and follows the man without question. Proceeding to slowly do the same, the congregation soon turns into a line of people all following the same man, his feet carrying him toward a set of trees in the middle of his backyard, the grass below their shade ripped up and covered with loose dirt. “We did this before- back when we thought we’d found a home” Emilio remarks, finally coming to a stop as his hands press against his sides, nodding at his work as the people catch up, “but- this time- it’s real.” Silent, the group allows the sights they stand upon to settle in, hearing the man responsible continue as they make their peace..”Sometimes, I forget what Bill looked like at all once everything started shutting down. It’s hard to picture him as anything other than the man he was before” Emilio admits, holding back a pained expression as he looks below, “I know I’m not the only one that’s lost the people closest to me. I know I’m not the only one time is having it’s effect on.” Though humbled, most of the group sports an appearance of sadness, pained by seeing the names of those they’d watched perish over the years. “When we convinced ourselves to wage war after getting to Sun City, we said we were fighting for the people we lost” Emilio explains, passing a glance to the people gathered by each of his sides before concluding his thought, “but now that we’re moving forward, we remember them so we never have to look back again.” Written in marker and atop thin, stone tablets, the names of each member of their group lost to the world sit beneath the shade of a single pair of trees, resting atop shallow graves freshly dug. “While I love Bill, and while I miss him so fucking badly, I couldn’t be here right now- the man that I am- without losing him” Emilio explains, setting the standard response for those left to speak, “he made me stronger, and losing him forced me to prove that. I can’t ever let myself forget that.” Met with silence, the man keeps his head hung, eyes frozen upon the name below his feet, the patch of dirt it lies upon symbolically no higher than any other grave. Passing a few glances, the rest of the group quietly questions where to respond from this moment, unsure of what reaction is intended, or what question is being asked of them. Thinking quietly to himself for a moment, Jack glances toward graves as he steps away from Lauren’s side, his voice emerging from the mute chorus. “I knew Reggie the longest of the three, but Shauna was a close second,” the man proclaims, his hands gently swaying at each side as his stroll comes off casual, “Tyler actually hadn’t been working the floor for that long- probably about ten months or so.” A smirk suddenly appearing on his face, Jack nods whilst his eyes drift toward the sky, a laugh finding its way to the surface. “Actually, when Tyler started, it was like he’d barely worked a day in his life. It was terrible” the man recalls, casually switching his sights from the young man’s grave to the young woman’s grave. “Shauna had weekends off, but she still came in on a Saturday to break it down for him” Jack persists, an impressed nod carried in his posture as the group’s attention resides fully upon him, “within six hours, the guy went from nearly getting fired to being fully equipped to handle the forklift.” A pair of amused chuckles presented by Salem and Nessie, Jack continues with his story as his eyes wander toward Reggie’s grave, a halt to his smile appearing. “Reggie and I didn’t meet under the most preferable circumstances, but he sure as hell made every minute of every day count after that” he remarks, shaking his head with a renewed, yet somewhat broken smile, “he and Shauna worked well together. They never liked being the centre of attention, but they were just the smartest people.” Heads directing themselves toward other gravesites, the group listen to Jack’s remarks as they set their attention toward other names resting before them, their own stories all leading to the same plot of land in Cumberland. “They’d never call attention to themselves, but they were just great. I know you didn’t know them as the most crucial people, but they were my family” Jack concludes, his frown setting aside as he steps away, “I can’t thank them enough for being there all those years.” Scratching the soft spot beneath his eye, Jack moves aside as Alicia and Lauren couple together, approaching the far left set of tombstones with a heavy-hearted grimace. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been. It’s hard keeping track of the days sometimes- not that it really matters” the expecting mother remarks, her hands caressing the growing bump that builds upon her, “it feels like it’s been a fucking eternity since I’ve heard Meghan’s voice let alone talked to her.” Tucking her hands away within her back pockets, Lauren watches Alicia’s head bow before speaking, waiting for her thought to finish before interjecting. “I don’t even really like thinking about them, if I’m being honest” the woman confesses, looking to a set of three graves, all differing from each other in some way, “every memory I have- before it all or after, it doesn’t really matter- always has to co-exist with remembering just how sad the way they died was.” As if struck with a brutal sense of irony, Alicia’s eyes take to the burial plots of Janice and her son, understanding an inescapable cruelty that’s held within life’s most depraved moments. Though passing the mother and son’s plots, Lauren’s eyes centre upon Meghan’s spiritual resting place, a lingering dread laying within her core. “At least they had the chance to say goodbye” Alicia proclaims, letting free a sigh as she tries to assume a more optimistic point of view, “too many of our friends never got that chance.” Her eyelids widening, Lauren quietly nods before her gesture begins to slowly subdue itself, a frown returning to her face. “But they never should have had to” she concludes, turning away to rejoin her husband a short distance away, “none of them should have had to.” His hand coming to a rest on his wife’s shoulder, Franklin waits for the woman’s mourning to conclude before embracing her any further, not wishing to deprive her of the chance to put the past to bed. “I just hope the world will be better to us than it was to them” Alicia finishes, hiding the great sorrow she holds having to recall the conclusion to their lives, her heart breaking for what lessons it speaks toward the future, “but hope’s really all that any of us can do.” Stepping into her husband’s arms, Alicia steps aside to allow others to grieve, their silent appreciation for the life shared provided. “I’m not going to Nova Scotia” a woman’s voice suddenly remarks from within the group, the eyes of those not responsible for the claim directed toward the person in question. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been wrestling with this thought ever since we got here and I just didn’t know what to do until now” Angela admits, her head shaking as she approaches Tyler’s grave, reading his name with a tear in her eye. “Every night- just before I fall asleep- I realise how fucked I would’ve been if he and I never met” she continues, looking to an assortment of surprised expressions pointed at her, “I would’ve ended up getting shot in the war or dead on the road days later.” “Why does that have anything to do with whether or not you go to Nova Scotia?” Nessie asks from afar, neither she nor her brother having any offerings to make for the dead that lay before them. “Think of how many people died in that war- or after the bomb went off! He welcomed me into this group, and I’ve made it all these years longer than I otherwise would have!” Angela proclaims, a smile appearing over her face, “as long as I’m alive, there’s a piece of him still left in the world.” Silently listening to the woman, the group settles their peace just the same as Angela settles her own, using the past to dictate how she moves forward. “I stay quiet. I don’t risk my life unless I have to, and I can’t say I’m morally pure as far as how I go about keeping myself alive- but I’m alive” Angela explains, her head shaking as she shrugs her shoulders, “and as long as I’m alive, he- or the mark he’s left on the world- is still alive too.” Opening his mouth to respond, Emilio falls silent, his instincts directing him toward convincing the woman to change her mind, though his better judgement allows acceptance of her decision to prevail. “If that’s what you want, then-” the man remarks, looking the woman in the eyes as his shoulders drop, “-then I’m not going to stop you.” Appreciative, Angela flashes the man a grin and bows her head, returning to the larger group as emotions settle, the healing process allowing scars to become symbols of growth rather than memories of more horrid times. Without a word, Emilio hangs his head and cuts through those left watching on, leading the collection’s return to the patio. This time, without hesitation, the remainder of Emilio’s group follows his lead, leaving their past in the rear-view mirror with favour toward what is still to come. “It’s a beautiful day” the leader whispers beneath his breath, smiling as the sun emerges from behind the clouds to cover his face, the still-wet strands of hair on his head and face glowing beneath the bright light as he heads for the table, a look of genuine peace carried along the faces of all that walk with him. = 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 = Surrounded by constant chatter, Katie stands quietly beside the only three souls she’s been friendly enough to consider an acquaintance, the lead to Royo’s grazing muzzle held firmly within her hand. “Which part of the island is Charlottetown on?’ Max queries, the young woman to his right leaving the inquiry for their Quebecois counterparts to answer. “It’s a cosy little city between three big chunks of farmland” Blaise answers warmly, trying and failing to illustrate the island’s layout with the movement of her hands. “Two of them form a chokehold you’d have to get past if you wanted to put troops on the ground in the city” Aude jumps in, putting an end to her husband’s poor rip-off of charades, “the island’s got the boats to mount a line of defence Nova Scotia would have to get through to take the city. It’s not an easy task.” Paying no business to thoughts other than her own, Katie waits for the line they stand near the front of to progress forward, the only blockade to hold them back being the watertight doors they anxiously await the opening of. “That’s how empires started. Put your capital in a strategic place and you can move mountains” Blaise adds in, an enthused yet unaware Max providing him with his full attention, “Rome, Greece, the Ottoman’s, Portugal- the greatest empires abide by that same rule.” “Hmph!” Royo neighs, shaking his head until Katie’s hand gently brushes his snout, her ears still drowning out the discourse happening around her. “If all goes as Gamble says, then- as far as we know- there’ll only be two functioning societies in the world” Aude tacks on, tying a light jacket around her waist, “and while Nova Scotia has the gas, if PEI can corner Quebec and establish a route between the island and Newfoundland, there’s nothing Nova Scotia can offer that we don’t already have.” Incapable of fully disregarding the conversation happening a metre away from her, Katie’s eyes narrow momentarily as Blaise attempts to speak further, her voice interrupting the conversation with a question of her own. “Prince Edward Island doesn’t have an oil refinery?” the young woman asks aloud, caught by surprise at the fact, though the amused response she receives from the wealthy blonde frenchwoman implies such a reaction is laughable. “Of course not!” the woman remarks, preparing for the group’s departure ahead of time, her hands reaching around her head to tie her locks into a ponytail. “Why do you think they want to block Nova Scotia off from Newfoundland? So they can’t keep them from making oil!” Aude proclaims, unable to hold back a smile at the notion of a powerful entity relieving itself of leverage, “if the island’s not giving them their ships back, do you not think they’d want to nip self-sufficiency in the bud?” “But I thought Cape Breton stretched farther north than PEI?” Katie corrects the topography of the ruling province not lining up with the island’s plan, “can’t they just sail north to Newfoundland before we cut through Quebec to the east?” “Sure- if they controlled Nova Scotia!” Aude loudly corrects, letting her hair sway from atop her head as the sound of cheers break out from the front of their line. Ducking her head forward, Katie looks to the woman with great confusion, the claims being made incapable of aligning with the assumptions she’d been allowed to maintain. “Does Nova Scotia not control Nova Scotia?” Katie questions, an inquiry that even Max sides with, as baffled by the apparent revelation as his younger friend. “Max, when we were back in Concord, don’t you remember hearing them say they were pulling the plug on the Toronto compound?” their mutual acquaintance wonders, her husband having fallen silent in favour of deferring the task to his better half. “I mean, I remember you saying they pulled people back home because they couldn’t hold a line. Does that help?” the taller man answers, watching the emphatic nod emerge from Aude’s head as light begins to flood their cramped corridor, the watertight doors parting to present their newest recruits to a blissful sunset. “Yeah, Nova Scotia was the frontline!” the woman responds, listening to the calls of armed soldiers from closeby, hearing the orders of peaceful assembly with resounding clarity. “Everything was too chaotic when things first went down. The locals kept pushing them back until the NWO cut off their food supply” Aude continues, eventually forced to join her small group in funnelling forward, “they called the soldiers back to start fighting the dead once they came back and started chomping on their own.” “If they don’t control the-?” Katie begins to question back, only for a firm hand to press into her chest, picking her out from the crowd with ease for obvious reasons. “The rest of you go. You can get on with your little talk later” the stern militant remarks, directing the three survivors through the watertight compartment before resetting his focus upon the woman and her space-consuming stallion. “You’re Katie the horse girl, right?” the guard inquires, wearing an automatic rifle across his chest as the young woman nods quietly, “Gamble wants to see you in the capitol building. Just wait by the dock and he’ll lead you into town.” The haste yet rather friendly command offered, Katie joins her friends from Orleans Island in being shuffled off the war vessel, climbing onto Royo’s saddle to adequately step down the narrow gangway. “Holy shit” Katie murmurs beneath her breath, squinting her eyes as the bright sunset strikes at the side of her face, the spin of her steed providing her with the gorgeous view of the island’s chokepoint, two massive sides of farmland nearly touching together as the water that moves between them situates within the Charlottetown Harbour. Her white t-shirt appearing yellow within the natural setting, Katie stares at the scenery with an astonished expression, the sight of civilization one she’d never anticipated getting to experience again, lingering on its beauty for much longer than she’d prefer to admit. With her arms by each side, Katie rounds the corner toward Gamble’s office, uninterested in knocking to alert the man to her arrival, and in return, being struck with the potent stench of cigar smoke. “You couldn’t even let me get off the boat before sending a message- through your men- to come see you?” the young woman inquires, watching her superior’s head lift to greet her, his physical expression less than welcoming. “I expect you to have the decency of knocking before you enter” the rough, cold-faced man ripostes, removing the fine smoke from his mouth to acknowledge the woman’s entrance. “I’m only here because I was talked into it- not because I want to be” Katie proclaims, refusing to allow the man the satisfaction of believing his power over her is anything more than an illusion brought on by his title, “don’t think for a second that you own me, or that I’ll just bend the knee to everything you say.” Protruding his bottom lip, Gamble stares at Katie for a few moments in silence, digesting her claims whilst inspecting her before subtly nodding his head. Gently laying his cigar upon an ashtray, Gamble casually rolls his chair back and climbs to his feet, speaking as he approaches a shelf of books near the opposite end of his quarters. “People don’t get swayed into doing something they don’t like... not anymore” Gamble explains, lightly resting the tip of his finger against the spine of one book after another, moving onto the next until finding the one he searches for, “the people with spines weak enough to be guilted into things that way? Well, they died when the old world did- this world ain’t got the room for them.” “I wasn’t guilted, I was-” Katie attempts to correct, her interjection matched with one of Gamble’s own. “-convinced, yeah I got that. So, that makes you either one of two things” the man remarks, pulling an encyclopaedia out from a stack of others before returning to his workspace, “either you’re one of the weak that didn’t die out- which just means you’ll be dead within the next few days now that you’re somewhere that your kind doesn’t survive in.” Opening the hard cover, Gamble begins flipping through the pages without offering another word, his sudden silence bringing great curiosity over the obviously unarmed lady. “And the other one is?” she inquires, watching an eye roll immediately take toward her out of disgust. “Oh, come on!” the man remarks, lowering his cigar back to the tray just as he’d reclaimed it, “don’t be stupid- you know what the other one is!” Pressing his back into the chair, Gamble rests his arms against each side of the seat before taking a quick drag from the alluring symbol of high class wealth. “The other one is what you are” the man remarks, swiping his hand through the air as he takes his view toward the same bookshelf he’d just come from, already knowing what kind of survivor the young woman is, “you’re someone that wants to be here. You’re someone that wants a home, and you picked the right side to back.” “I didn’t pick a side” Katie again tries to correct, though incapable of making much headway. “You picked a side the moment you stepped off my boat. You picked a side the moment you ran a knife across my arm and still came back the next time I called you” Gamble argues back, his voice frighteningly calm and composed, “feeding me that ‘this is complicated’ bullshit is nonsense. I know why you came here, and trying to convince me otherwise does nothing- for either of us.” Silenced, Katie stares at the man with great intensity, his eyes never once faltering for as long as hers remain placed upon him. “Whether I want to be here or not doesn’t change the fact that- if push comes to shove- I’m not afraid to leave” the woman remarks, calling out the man’s scoff upon the voicing of her defiant soul. “If banishing you from the island’s not a threat, then we’ll just execute you” the man nonchalantly replies, again finding his younger counterpart stumped on a response, his honesty catching her entirely off guard. Amidst the quiet tension that follows their conversation to its point, Gamble takes the opportunity to continue speaking, both acknowledging her defiant will and youthful brazenness. “Katie, if you do what I ask of you- I’ll be as warm and fuzzy as you can expect a man in charge of humanity’s future to be. I can be your best friend or your greatest adversary” Gamble says, a warning he takes pleasure in presenting, “but I have too much on my plate to be told by my subordinates that they’re too good to follow my instructions to a tee.” Looking the man in the eyes, Katie feels a moment of genuine fear strike deep within her, the threats a man capable of following through to the fullest extent hitting her ear like the blast of a shotgun barrel. Her lip quivering as she struggles to speak, the young woman bows her head in an effort to part her eyes from Gamble’s imposing pupils, his voice lifting with the rest of his body the moment her face parts from his own. “As far as we’re concerned, when you’re willing and capable of doing what I ask of you, you’ll live like royalty all the way down to the clothes you wear and cars you drive” Gamble explains, stepping around his desk with the cigar in one hand, the other reaching toward the handle of a nearby refrigerator. Blowing a puff of smoke into the air as he opens the electric cooler, Gamble raises his eyebrow whilst reaching what resides within. “But when you fuck up, like let’s say- allowing a woman to sneak aboard my ship with a knife because you couldn’t do your job?” the man inquires, removing his hand before hurling the retrieved object toward Katie’s feet, “well- you suffer the consequences!” With a gross thud, the severed head of a reanimated face familiar to the young woman rolls along the carpeted floor, its teeth gnawing at air in hopes of reaching the tip of Katie’s boot a metre away. Horrified, Katie leaps back, colliding with the wall as she stares in horror, the effect of Gamble’s indoctrination too great for her to play off. Returning the cigar to its tray, Prince Edward Island’s leader slams his foot against the side of the recently-deceased patrol guard’s head, splattering his brain along the vintage rug. Looking away and trying not to gag, Katie allows Gamble to finish his thought, overcome with a flurry of reactions by the display she proves physically incapable of stomaching. “From my perspective- I see bringing you, the rest of your people, and Astor on as leader to be one giant investment. I’m providing you with my best and expecting you to reward me by giving me the numbers to take Nova Scotia down when they come” Gamble concludes, blowing a small puff of smoke against the side of Katie’s face, the back of her head nearly pressed against the office’s drywall, “so- unless you wanna end up like splatalot down there- just don’t screw up my investment.” | His back resting against a telephone poll, Emilio gazes around a small road surrounded by trees, its end lined with a small stack of sandbags that separate it from an adjacent street heading north and south. Sat atop the low-quality border with her bare arms resting against the denim of the jeans that cover her thighs, Jade looks to the folks she shares the company of, her brothers all waiting closeby just as she does. Wearing a pair of leather gloves, the slot for his pinky purposefully removed on one hand, Jack and Lauren sit close to the McKee family, both wearing a white t-shirt with differing colour shorts. One married couple sat across from the other, Franklin sits on the ground whilst his pregnant wife sits atop his lap, the skirt of the woman’s dress cut off at the knee whilst her husband’s grey sweatpants match with his black v-neck t-shirt. Her legs crossed with the rifle laid upon them, Salem stares into the sky while intermittently glancing in the direction of what remains of her group. The road barely wide enough to fit more than one car at a time, most of the group’s muffled sighs can be heard amongst their clustered gathering, the patient waiting for the arrival of their transportation allowing them to quietly enjoy the cosy surroundings that encompass them. “What’s Nova Scotia like?” Nessie asks aloud, sat beside her brother at the opposite end of the young relatives, only Angela behind them, sat in a lawn chair waiting to pay her friends well wishes. “M- me? You’re talking to-? Oh, you’re talking to me!” Jade confusedly remarks in surprise, glancing at the woman’s direction. Slowly shaking her head, the woman tries to illustrate the best description for what lies ahead for those before her, painting a rather desirable picture. “It’s- uh- it’s big” the woman murmurs, her verbal paintbrushes slowly warming to the canvas she’s been tasked with filling. “It’s not as much Nova Scotia as it is Nova Scotia and New Brunswick” Jade clarifies, bobbing her head from one side to another, both shoulders shrugging, “but they did the same thing we did. They stationed guards on the highways around Moncton, set it up as their capital, and did the same on the highway between Truro and New Glasgow.” “You get a lot of open space and travelled roads until you hit Moncton” Archie interjects, making due with the sum of his parts, “if they’re really destined to be the last pillar of society, then the last heartbeat of human civilisation runs through Moncton.” Nodding, Archie’s sister looks back to the group, a few squinted eyes and confused looks presented to her. “Moncton’s like a people’s town. Few cars, trains and buses are running, there’s a busy downtown with shops set up inside old ‘hole in the wall’ spots” Jade continues to remark, drawing further east as her recollections persist, “and then it gets quiet. The city turns into old towns- which turn into small neighbourhoods- which become farmland. If there was a life you wanted in the old world- you’ll be able to earn it for yourself in the new one.” Moving his head slightly forward, Emilio sets the rosy imagery painted for him aside, preferring to set his attention upon a more crucial piece of detail. “Why did they cut them in half?” the man queries, allowing the background noise of chirping crickets to accompany his question, “New Brunswick and Nova Scotia- why did they cut them in half?” “For the same reason we cut Cumberland in half at the start- there was just too much open space to look after” Oliver answers quickly, his response not sitting well in the back of Emilio’s mind. Feeling slightly offended at the unimpressive reply he feels is intentional, the bearded man repeats his question, scoffing at Oliver’s notion. “They don’t have to play by the rules. If they wanted guns to look after it, they could just bring them in” the man corrects, waiting for an answer. With a few seconds passing, his eyes pass from Oliver and Isaac toward Archie and Jade, the attempts to form a reasonable return less notable than the glance paid between the elder siblings. Narrowing his eyebrows, Emilio glares in the siblings’ direction, most of his group noticing this expression for precisely what it is, following his lead in raising their suspicion. “Why bother trying to take over land you don’t need?” Oliver begins to answer, his remarks paid to the man without his attention given, his sights set elsewhere. “That’s not necessarily the reason” Jade quips, correcting her younger brother’s explanation whilst looking Emilio in the eyes, a frown worn on her face. “They cut it off because they had an uprising” the woman clarifies, remaining seated atop the sandbag border just beside the Massachusetts state line with her eyes panning around the survivors. “They initially came into Nova Scotia and put the city under lockdown, but a few months into the outbreak- they didn’t have the numbers” Jade recalls, “they had too many people in other compounds and the Nova Scotians revolted.” Rolling her eyes, Salem shakes her head in disappointment, “sounds about right” she murmurs beneath her breath, though her closeness to the remaining survivors makes the remark more than audible. “Yeah, I know it does” Jade replies, sharing a look with the woman before finishing the story, “so they retreated to the 104, cut off Nova Scotia at the highway, and armed the border to the teeth. After about another year or so, they knew one of two things happened.” “They either ran out of food or settled down and started making their own” Jack remarks, finishing the woman’s declaration before the opportunity for herself to do so is presented. “Exactly. When they went in, they realised the lights were still running in Halifax and came back home without a peep” Jade concludes, her head shaking as her shoulders drop, “they decided they’d leave them be and make due with what they’d already built out west. They haven’t talked to each other since.” Sporting visible looks of disappointment, Emilio and his group think quietly to themselves for a moment, the silent introspection beginning just as the distant sound of a running motor emerges from afar. “How many people know about this?” Alicia suddenly wonders aloud, her eyes glancing toward the ground as her lips form a frown, waiting for the woman’s answer before coming to any conclusion. “I’m not around the place long enough to know. If it were an inner circle secret, that wouldn’t surprise me. If it were common knowledge, that also wouldn’t surprise me” Jade answers, the side of her face lit by a pair of headlights as she finishes speaking, “just don’t let anyone know it was us that told you.” As the woman’s answer finishes, Emilio looks to the pregnant woman from a few metres away, noticing her inquisitive expression and recognising what the woman’s mind is navigating through. The vehicle’s brakes screeching as they come to a halt, Nova Scotia’s bus pulls against the settlement’s small border and opens its doors, the compartments and storage pockets filled with the group’s belongings at the aid of the McKee brothers. Standing, Emilio jogs to the expecting couple’s side, taking Alicia’s hand and assisting her off the ground. Lowering his head, Emilio glances toward Cumberland’s leadership whilst subduing his voice into a whisper, his lips a short distance away from the pregnant woman’s ear. “I can see that face” the bearded man whispers, gently pressing his cheek against the woman’s own, “you’re planning something, aren’t you?” Leaning into the pair, Franklin keeps his ear close to listen into the conversation, purposefully pulled closed by Emilio’s hand. “If we keep our cards close to our chest, we can use the Halifax people to our advantage if our backs are against the wall” Alicia answers back, visibly struggling through exhaustion to stand up, “those people still tried to screw us once before. I don’t know who’s in charge now, but if they try what they did a few years ago, we could use the leverage.” “I’ll let the rest know” Franklin whispers back, understanding his place within the dialogue without it needing to be said, his hands wrapping around his wife’s stomach as they pull away from Emilio, wanting to keep suspicion to a minimum. With her hands in each pocket, Angela approaches her once-leader, now-acquaintance with a smile. “At least we both found home” the woman whispers, lifting her arms around the man and giving him a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got our reasons for choosing where we wish to spend our days, but we’re both finding the same thing” Emilio replies, patting the woman on the back as he pulls away, “take care, kid.” “You too” Angela responds, stepping past the man as Jade takes her place, approaching Emilio with a smile on her face, its origins not of happiness or glee, but from taking pleasure in the man and his group reaching the destination they’d been fighting for. “I don’t remember who I thought would or wouldn’t go to Nova Scotia- even if I know it wasn’t all of you- but you were different” the woman recalls, letting free a large exhale as she pats the man’s chest, “I knew you’d go eventually.” Curious, Emilio pulls his head back and nods, “is that so?’ he asks with an intrigued smirk. Casually walking beside the man with each hand in her back pocket, Jade lowers her head as the pair venture toward the last obstacle between Cumberland and Nova Scotia- the bus ride that carries them from one to the next. “You don’t meet a ton of natural leaders out there. When you see them- and I can’t explain why- you just notice it” Jade explains, inching closer to the bus with every step, “I knew the day would come when I’d have to watch you walk off.” Appreciative, Emilio bows his head to hide the grin that comes over his face, nodding as he steps closer to the bus. The air growing quiet between the two, Jade takes a moment to think to herself in silence, conjuring up the words to speak before voicing them aloud. “I know you think John was a good leader. I won’t argue one way or the other, but I know what you think” the woman remarks, watching the smile slowly fade from Emilio’s face in favour of a perceptive expression. “From everything you told me, I can agree that he was a good man. Even if he had his weaknesses, we can agree that his head was in the right place- at least most of the time” Jade explains, still looking into the man’s distant eyes, “but as a leader?” “He got us as far as he did” Emilio quickly interrupts, turning his head to look Jade in the eyes as they reach the sandbags, the McKee siblings stepping aside to allow the conversation to take place privately. “And he did a damn fine job doing so, but I’m still left feeling he didn’t become the leader he wanted to be” Jade interjects just as her friend had, watching him fall silent the moment her voice overwhelms his own. “Think back to New York. He brought the compound down because a civil war brewed out of the decision he made” the woman corrects, only able to continue speaking as Emilio stares toward her, biting his bottom lip to brace himself for the hard truth he can’t argue against. “In Sheol? He went in looking for revenge, and when he tried to liberate it, the place went tits-up” Jade continues, “and Sun City? He set the wheel in motion for another power vacuum, and that time- it got him killed.” “Alright, what is this?” Emilio asks aloud, watching Jade’s eyes shut as she shakes her head, prepared to interrupt him again in order to answer the question. “It’s me telling you that John wanted to be the glue that held utopia together- not the mallet that crushed it into pieces” the woman replies, again sparking enough interest in her colleague to silence him, “but time after time, all the way up until it got him killed, he tried and failed.” “What’s your point?” Emilio suddenly cuts back, his question sparking a few additional seconds of silence between the pair that only breaks amidst his follow-up, “what does any of this have to do with me?” Looking up, Jade puckers her lips and pulls her head back, removing her hands from behind her back and letting them hang by each side. “I’m saying that you became the leader that he wanted to be” the woman finishes, her voice remaining as composed as both of their voices had been through the discourse, a look of surprise dawning upon Emilio’s face. “You kept Cumberland together when a mallet came down on it. When the time came, you stepped in and held us together” Jade explains, a subdued look of pride appearing upon Emilio’s mein as she continues speaking, “I just wanted to tell you that- from everything you told me back in Providence, and through these months here- you’ve been the leader this group needed ever since day one. I just thought you should know that.” His praises given, Emilio looks Jade in the eyes for a few additional moments in utter silence, not knowing how to respond to her acclaim. “I- um-” the man stammers, taking a moment to take in a deep breath before releasing it with a huff, his shoulders dropping as if they’d finally been relieved of a metaphorical weight, settling on a simple reply worthy of being spoken, “thank you.” Arching the corners of her lips into a smile, Jade nods before extending her hand, her eyes locking onto the man’s own, “it’s been nice knowing you, Emilio.” Still shaken by her endorsement, the man stands in place for a moment before looking to her hand, slowly reaching to shake it as his mind processes her claim. “You too” Emilio replies, letting the gentle exchange pass before turning away, stepping over the wall of sandbags whilst the McKee’s watch, his sights set on the white bus with green and yellow streaks of paint along its side. Pausing for a moment, his hand rests on the side of the bus as his dominant foot presses onto its floor, his head turning back to Angela, Jade and her brothers as they wave goodbye. Mustering a smile, Emilio nods to the small group before climbing the rest of the way onboard, the double doors her steps through closing behind him as he traverses the small corridor. Surrounded by the siblings, and both married couples, Salem leaves one set beside her free for the occupancy of one man. Pulling out from Cumberland’s exit, the bus drags along Paine Road in search of the new world, leaving Emilio to settle into the only open chair. With his hands folded atop his lap, the man presses his back into the seat as the cabin’s lights power down, allowing the group to sleep through the night as their journey into Atlantic Canada ensues. “I’m gonna assume you all know about Halifax?” Emilio whispers, his group assembling together near the bus’ rear. Answered with silent nods in each direction, his face sports a subdued grin as he nods to himself, glancing at the window to Salem’s side. “Good” Emilio whispers, letting out a loud sigh as he leans his head back, both eyes closing as his chin raises toward the ceiling, “I like it when a plan comes together.” == Rise == A frosty glass of beer in his hand, a man with a mountain of scruff growing along his jawline resides within the seat of a picnic table as a growing crowd of rowdy civilians gathers just a few metres away. “You sit here like you know how many pieces of gum are underneath this table- like you’re a usual here” an older black lady remarks, her grey hairs appearing white beneath the absurdly hot sun directly above, “-but I know you ain’t... I know my usuals by name.”
Undisturbed by the woman’s presence, the man’s resting eyes turn with the rest of his face, lifting toward the friendly owner of the mobile bar parked as close to the crowd as his own. “Emilio” the man replies, lifting the brew to his lips once more, offering his answer without any further remark, simply left to watch as the woman sets her tray of dishes along the opposite bench- which she takes a seat upon uninvited. “Do you not know what a razor is, Emilio?” the woman inquires, her eyes reading the man who sits at her outdoor bar in a clean, blue t-shirt and a pair of grey shorts. “I’ve heard of something like that, Ms-” Emilio begins to respond, answering her sarcastic question with a reply of equal value, his eyes trailing toward the nametag on the woman's button-up shirt, “-Ms. Saundra.” Pressing her eyes closer, the woman folds her arms atop the wooden table, leaning forward a slight amount as the crowd just beyond them grows increasingly restless. “You here to shoot the mayor again?” Saundra asks, a curious tone in her voice as she watches Emilio’s teeth appear, his head lowering as he chuckles to himself. “That’s the opposite of what I’m paid to do” the man responds, again lifting the glass bottle to his lips, taking another swig of the beverage he’d purchased. “Then why are you drinking on the job?” Saundra follows up, paying as little mind to the restless residents that pile up not far away. “Because I find that there are few better things to enjoy on a hot day than a cold beer” Emilio replies, again presenting his smile to the bar’s owner, not straying from the conversation’s path as the gathering becomes significantly louder, reacting to the appearance just beyond them. Her eyes trailing toward the top of town hall’s steps, Saundra’s eyebrows rise, “it looks like you’re on the clock- you still gonna sit here?” the woman inquires, watching her patron take a glance toward the building. “I don’t really see what the point is” Emilio answers, exhaustedly turning back to the table before downing another sip, “they’re a bit late on paychecks if you know what I mean?” Her face offering the man a frown, Saundra prepares to leave the table, not much else to offer the man aside from a greeting. “You enjoy your drink then, sir” the woman quips with a hint of sass, reclaiming her bussing tray before returning to her mobile setup. “That’s it?” Emilio calls out, re-earning the woman’s attention as his voice beckons her, “you’re just gonna ask what I do for a living and leave?” His arms waving toward the ground, Archie tries to subdue the collective audience to no avail, his attempts at bringing his people to a silence thwarted before it’d even begun. “You don’t seem as interested in talking as the others do- I’m just gonna assume you’re looking for a place to drink and not be bothered” the woman responds, her genuine tone casually turning into one of judgement and critique, “I don’t trouble myself with drunks.” Squinting, Emilio sets his bottle back to the table before returning his end of the discourse, sparking a slight amount of renewed interest in the woman. “You think I’m a drunk?” the man wonders aloud, the expression he’s given by the storeowner not sparking much confidence, “do I look like a drunk?” Placing her hand on her hip, Saundra’s judgemental visage only deepens, striking a sudden memory of his growing beard within Emilio’s mind. “I’m- I’m not!” the man proclaims, gently sliding the bottle a few centimetres away for a rather pathetic piece of visual proof, “I’m just- I’m-” he continues, glancing into the distance as he looks for the words to answer with, “I’m coping.” Her carping expression settling, Saundra listens to Archie’s request from the unused Cumberland centre before giving into the man’s claims, opting to believe him. Without a word, the woman slides a voucher from her pocket and places it before the empty-handed Emilio, reclaiming her recycled glass bottle in return before emptying it into the patchy lawn she parks upon. “Alcohol is not the remedy for pain, Emilio” Saundra ripostes, lowering the bottle into her bin of dirty dishes before preparing to walk away. “Well- what do you suggest?” the man calls out, watching the woman proceed to step back to her trailer as she briefly spins to answer. “You move on and forget about it, darlin’” Saundra replies, setting the tray on her serving window before climbing aboard, “you make due with what happened, you make your peace, and you move forward.” Left to his own devices at the closure of the truck’s window, Emilio keeps to himself for a moment before lifting his hands to each eye, wiping off the sweat that beads down his head. “I know you have questions- but I can’t answer them if you won't let me!” Archie remarks, trying to gain a foothold within the public to no use, his sister’s frail condition only making his appearance as the town’s leader more curious. Letting out a deep breath, Emilio turns to face the crowd, looking to their backs for the most part as the McKee siblings stand by, trying to provide themselves with a chance of controlling their administration’s image. “How did you let this happen!?” an unassuming member of the crowd screams at the top of their lungs, his comment drawing the grizzled, bear-sporting man at the barside for just a moment. “You’re failing us! Why!?” a woman shouts from further within the group, also drawing the survivor’s attention momentarily. “You shouldn’t be in power if you can’t protect us!” a second woman cries, her claims capturing Emilio’s attention more, the roaring remarks latching onto the man’s ear just as Saundra’s had- only for them to persist, “you’ve destroyed Cumberland!” His lips pressing together just as his teeth clench, Emilio’s nostrils begin to flare, the man’s anger shooting through the metaphorical roof as his eyes take to her direction. Seething without much in the way of options, the man’s hands ball into a fist as he leaves the bench, staring directly into the outraged group of civilians with blood rushing to his ears. As if a switch had been flipped, Emilio leaves his table, stepping through the small gatherings of people clumped together within the wider mob, brushing shoulders with whomever stands in his way without as much as an apology to provide them with. “Hey, watch the fuck out!” a random resident exclaims, firing his words in Emilio’s direction without receiving as much as a glare in return, ignored entirely and taking the response without grace. “Hey, did you hear me, tough guy!?” the man shouts once more, reaching for Emilio’s shoulder before pulling him around, his fist thrown in the larger man’s face. Side-stepping the attack, the bearded man lets the rather scrawny and pale resident’s hand fly by his face, delivering only a hard knee to the man’s gut amidst his follow through in return, its impact the only thing needed to bring the adrenaline-fueled occupant to his knees. Making his way through the frontline, Emilio climbs the steps to town hall, his approach toward the McKee’s and security’s refusal to respond drawing an interest from the still-shouting mob. “Emilio, what are you-?” Archie wonders aloud, looking the man in the eyes as his hand reaches into the waistband of his athletic shorts, retrieving the handgun he’d used to put Annie down. Turning to face the populous, Emilio aims his weapon toward the sky and pulls the trigger, immediately bringing the horde to a silence, their hands covering their ears as they crouch toward the ground in an effort to find safety. As screams briefly flood the sky, the drowning sounds of shouting and wailing cease soon thereafter, replaced with the controlled chaos’ utter quiet. As a few seconds pass, the man’s eyes look upon those that kneel before him before taking toward the sky, looking to a small building near the street’s end. “Does everyone see that school at the light? The one with the bell tower at the end of the road?” Emilio questions aloud, aiming his firearm toward the building’s roof as the residents turn their sights toward its exterior, the single pull of his trigger firing a bullet at his chosen target. With little delay, Emilio’s brass jacket collides with the clearly-visible bell, sending a loud and commanding ring through Cumberland’s most populated street on command, any watch worn by the mob’s members reading the time of forty-seven minutes past eleven. “If I can hit that tower from here- I can hit any one of you like that” the man remarks, snapping his fingers as the weapon lowers to his side, “I don’t play by Cumberland’s rules- so if any of you interrupt me, the next one’s for you.” “Emilio!” Archie hisses beneath his breath, trying to reclaim his position as the conference’s speaker, though the man with the firearm chooses not to allow him the honour. “Like I told you the other day- there’s no old Cumberland anymore” Emilio answers, his voice low enough so only the eldest of the McKee brothers can hear him, “so shut up, stand back, and let me show you how it’s done.” Mouth agape, Archie looks into the man’s eyes for a few moments before stepping back, releasing control of Cumberland’s direction to the bearded survivor, believing his sister’s call would be much the same. Watching the change in power commence, Emilio assumes his control- if only temporary- over Cumberland by returning his sights to the town’s people, his words delivered directly from the back of his mind. “God, it feels like I’m right back where I started- out on a hot day, in the middle of New England, talking to my constituents like they’ve got no clue what’s going on” the man exclaims, following his roots to the source from which they’d originated, “the only difference now is- well, you honestly don’t have any clue how good you have it.” Tilting his head, Emilio returns the firearm to his waistband as he continues to speak, taking a seat upon the second-highest step on town hall’s premises, the McKee brothers standing shoulder-to-shoulder just a few metres behind him. “The last time I did something like this, there was a global catastrophe occuring. People were getting sick, emergency services were falling- it was hell” the man proceeds, all eyes held firmly upon himself, “I had no clue how bad things were about to get.” A sigh of relief leaving his lungs as he lowers himself to the ground, Emilio waves off a man from Jade’s inner circle as he approaches with a megaphone, not feeling himself in need of his support. “But you- all of you- you never saw what it was like out there. You never lost people to this world- or to the people in it” he continues, extending his left leg further ahead of his right, which his elbow rests atop. “You didn’t lose friends like I did- at least most of you haven’t. You didn’t lose limbs like my people did. You didn’t lose the love of your life like I did- you’ve had it easy” Emilio furthers, his view spanning the entire length of the focused gathering, “and that changed recently. You found out what kind of world surrounds you. Yeah, newsflash- all of the trouble you think you’ve got now with the McKee’s- with Cumberland?- it’s all just a hiccup in here, but out there!? It’s permanent.” Scowling, Emilio lowers his eyes to the side as he holds back the vigour he’d taken over the years to his past, the droplets of sweat that run down his face colliding with the hot concrete he sits atop. “You live in a world where- if we were anywhere else- I could shoot you in the face, rob you for all that you have, and no one would do a damn thing- it’d be just another Friday” he says as his head shakes, “but it’s not because of four people- three of whom stand behind me now.” Running his tongue along the inside of his mouth, Emilio spits the taste of beer off his lips before continuing to speak, his hand pressing against the ground as he pushes himself up. “I’ve been around long enough to see places like these- where people try to live in peace- fall because the people thought they’d could’ve found something better” the man recalls, “the New World Order, Sheol, Sun City- you name it- their people all thought the same, and their people all ended up dead.” Retrieving his piece from the waistband he’d left it in, Emilio points to the crowd with the barrel of his weapon aimed at the ground, prepared to fire if needed. “I’m moving forward. I’m learning from the lessons that better people than myself tried to teach me, and I’m making sure what happened in those places doesn’t happen here” the once-politician, now turned leader remarks, “so- with that said- who wants to take their chances out on the road?” To absolute silence, the crowd keeps each hand to their sides, refusing to present Emilio with even the slightest sight of a fingertip. Nodding, the man turns to look Archie in the eye for a brief moment, his sights soon returning to the group he descends the steps toward. “Then my job is done here” Emilio proclaims, taking one stair at a time with the weapon in tow, “now shut up, stand back, and do what you’re told.” Parting like the sea, Cumberland’s residents make way for Emilio as he returns to Saundra’s trailer, not a single word to offer the man as they watch his every move. Returning his weapon to its holster, the man slides the woman’s voucher from his pocket and slaps it upon the counter, her hand readied with a chilled beer to hand him. “It’s time to move forward” Emilio murmurs, taking Saundra up on her advice as he graciously accepts the beverage, walking away from town hall in search for the next bus home. = 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 = “What about Caleb?” Jack wonders aloud, setting a cooler of beers in the centre of the relaxed group as he drifts the idea toward the expecting father. “I don’t know if I- a black man built like a defensive end- can get away with calling my kid ‘Caleb’” Franklin retorts, chuckling as he reaches near the counter argument’s end. “You’re right- especially if it’s a girl, which it will be” Alicia chirps, the only soul within the gathering to not hold a crisp lager. “Be careful! If you say that with such confidence, it’ll come out with a penis!” Clint proclaims, setting an empty bottle of liquor to the cooler’s side before reaching for a second, “and if it does come out with a penis, I like the name ‘Bob’.” Her head hanging, Alicia’s reaction matches that of nearly every other member of the survivors, only Salem and Franklin responding differently. “As in Robert, or you just want us to name our kid Bob?” the tall survivor wonders aloud, Clint’s nod at the latter-most option providing him with a follow-up, “so, you want us to name our child Bob? And you want us to be okay with that?” “It’s a simple name that harkens back to simpler times- I think it’s sweet” Clint replies, lightening his voice as he matches a regal reflection near his point’s conclusion. “Sugar’s sweet too, should we throw that one in the suggestion pile?” Salem mocks back, earning laughter from those she shares the room with- the man her jab was made toward included. “What about Nick?” Lauren asks aloud, throwing out a few additional names as her phone begins to ring, “or maybe Victor? Or Travis? Or Lee?” Or Lou?” “You’re supposed to be on my side!” Alicia shouts with a laugh, trying to reach for Lauren’s arm as the woman walks past her, “I can’t be the only one trying to come up with girl names!” “I’m trying my best, Alicia!” Clint jokes, raising both hands toward the woman, his shoulders shrugging, “-if you’re looking for more girl names, Bob is still on the table!” Rolling her eyes, the expecting mother quiets down as her husband takes a drink, the room falling quiet for the moment it takes Lauren to answer the call. “This is Lauren” the woman greets, immediately met with a flustered voice on the opposite end, its haste and lack of composure instantly catching the recipient by surprise. “Hold on, calm down!” Lauren remarks, pulling her head back as she presses the phone closer to her ear, the request for a moment of reprieve drawing Jack from his seat. “Grace, take a deep breath and repeat everything” the woman pleads, releasing possession of the phone to her husband the moment his hand grazes the headset, unable to make sense of anything said. “This is Jack, do me a favour and-” the man speaks, taking his head away from the phone just as quickly as it had been raised to his ear, his narrowed eyes looking at the machine with confusion. “She hung up” Jack remarks, looking at the headset for a few more seconds before returning it to the receiver, a look into his wife’s eyes given for guidance. “Is she in trouble?” Angela calls out from the back of the room, sat along the windowsill with a beer in her hand, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail. “I don’t know. I couldn’t understand anything she said, I just know what her voice sounds like” Lauren replies, shaking her head before letting a puff of air leave her lungs, her feet carrying her around Jack and toward the front door. Signing both his wife’s name and his own to a list at the bus’ front, Jack disembarks the vehicle in a hurry, racing to catch up with the woman ahead as she dashes through the quiet streets of a high-profile, residential neighbourhood. “Where’s her house!?” the man barks ahead, uncertain of his surroundings just as his wife is unsure of her friend’s predicament. As his question meets her ears, Lauren answers by veering off the well-kept sidewalk in favour of a stone-laden walkway, its sizeable length leading to a home her husband can only compare to a fortress. “This is her house!?” Jack shouts aloud, still receiving no verbal response from his wife, who now slams her fist into the locked door that prevents her from entering. “Grace! Open up!” Lauren exclaims, repeatedly slamming her balled fist against the entrance as a pair of footsteps hurry to answer their guest from within. Just as he reaches the halfway point of the path from the front lawn to the home, Jack watches the large door slide open just a crack, its width just enough for both his wife and himself to slip through. Pulling her friend into an embrace, Grace wraps her arms around Lauren’s back as she tries to relieve herself of the panic that’s consumed her voice. Not thinking much of it, Lauren’s kind response of reciprocating the gesture assumes control, her frenzied scramble to tend to her friend’s aid having forced her away from the inspective nature her husband still retains. “What the hell happened to you!?” Jack exclaims, needing little more than the sunlight that peers through the open door of Donnie’s mansion to find himself horrified. Covered in a deep layer of crimson, Grace’s hands pull away from Lauren as she takes a step back, allowing Jack’s wife to take a look at the same discovery he’d uncovered. Reaching for the blood-stained lightswitch, Jack sheds light on the previously-dark foyer, its sleek panel stained with the same colour as Grace’s hands. Upon the illumination of the spacious room, the scene’s details become quite clear, an unmistakable truth left for the newly-reunited couple to bear. Gone are the days of clean walls and a spotless floor, their immaculate upkeep replaced by splatters of red and a pool of blood not far from where Grace stands. Stricken into silence, Lauren is left to stare at her surroundings in awe as Jack eyes a trail near the home’s depths, his hand reaching for his wife’s wrist to guide her within his protection. “I didn’t know what else to do!” Grace proclaims, tears running down her gore-covered face, following the couple further into her home with her hands crossed against her chest. “Jesus- fuck!” Jack shouts, averting his wife’s eyes as he turns his head, the hand he tries to shield Lauren’s vision knocked away at her demand. Swiping her love’s hand aside, Lauren gazes upon the grizzly sight near the back of the kitchen, her grimace appearing as Grace continues to speak. “He said he didn’t want me staying here anymore, and I-” the assumed culprit recalls, struggling to speak much further with any composure, “-I just flipped!” “Yeah, I’d sure as hell say so!” Jack proclaims with great judgement, watching his wife casually approach Donnie’s body, his eyes wide and lifeless, his torso stabbed too many times for the woman to count. “I couldn’t help it! He never said he wasn’t happy! I-” Grace remarks, grasping for straws to make her actions appear semi-reasonable before the man behind her interrupts. “Lauren, we need to go now!” Jack grunts, taking Grace’s adrenaline-backed escalation as cover to subtly reach into an already-open drawer to his side. “Don’t! I need your help!” the killer pleads, sharing glances between both of her accomplices in hope that she can encourage them to fix the mistake she’d made. “I can’t go to jail for this! I never wanted to hurt him!” Grace states, yet to be made aware of Jack’s rummage through her counter, procuring a screwdriver from within its compartment. “Grace, I don’t know what you want us to do!” Lauren finally responds, addressing the woman’s terrified pleas, “there’s blood everywhere! There’s a murder weapon, a whole story to craft- a fucking body on the kitchen floor!” “Please!” Grace again begs, understanding of the improbable circumstances that surround their chances of a clean cover up, though unable to do anything other than hope she can undo her blunder. “Lauren, we’re this close to Nova Scotia- we can’t risk getting caught with this!” Jack pleads, his first two fingers holding barely a few atoms apart from each other as his attempt to reason with his wife is made. “I don’t think we have much of a choice, Jack!” Lauren snaps back, her eyes widened as she looks to her husband’s direction, “I’m covered in blood, our names are on the bus log, I’m sure someone will have seen us pounding on the door!” “Then we turn her in!” Jack proclaims back, grasping the tool in his right hand with a willingness to kill the now-quiet Grace, who subdues herself in hopes that her plea will win out. Opening her mouth, Lauren finds herself void of much to respond with, her stare into Jack’s eyes drifting toward Grace’s vulnerable, scared face. “Lauren, I know she’s your friend- but we can’t be letting that get in the way of the group” Jack furthers, reclaiming his wife’s attention as her head drifts toward him. As her lips press back together, Lauren’s face begins to ease, an apologetic look given to Grace as she steps away from the body, returning to her husband’s side. The sour expression returning, Grace’s eyes briefly take on a betrayed look of awe before following her face toward a red hatch on a nearby wall. Offering nothing more than the glance, Lauren and Jack hurry back for the front door until the woman they leave behind shouts for their return, the sound of a loaded gun emanating from where they’d departed. “Don’t move another inch!” Grace orders, an enraged tone carried within her voice as the couple spins around, finding her hand wrapped around the grip of a six-cylinder revolver. “You open that door an inch and I’ll shoot!” she warns, her previous act of providing the couple with a choice falling aside when the situation becomes dire, the threat of taking the pair down with her the only resort left. Already holding the exit’s handle within his grasp, Jack’s haste to leave stops immediately, aware that another wrong move may prove costly. “Grace, what the hell are you doing!?” Lauren worriedly calls out, feeling her husband’s posture shift as his hand falls from the door, obeying the instructions he’s been given. Stepping around his wife, Jack stands directly between the firearm and Lauren, his left hand reaching into his back pocket before joining the right- being held in surrender. | “We’ll rotate” Gamble remarks, seated in his on-board office with his arm laid atop the side of his chair, the scar his skin wears courtesy of Katie, “a few thousand of my people will come to the island in the spring, then another couple thousand will take the winter.” “And how do you plan on fulfilling your promises?” Astor queries, seated upward in the chair across from the desk of the vessel’s captain, his chin somewhat low to the ground. “Free food, free housing, health benefits, arable land for our private use? You’ve got a hefty offer you’re leaving on the table” the leader of Orleans Island remarks, “I know that’s in return for our service to your cause, but that’s still a lot to offer without Nova Scotia’s backing.” “And if we can control the 138, we’ll have access to upper Quebec before they do” Gamble quickly replies, the tip of his finger pressing into the hardwood of his desktop, “access to upper Quebec means access to the Gulf, which means access to Newfoundland and Anticosti, and that means we’ll own everything south of Greenland.” Rolling his eyes, Astor stares off toward the room’s corner as his mind encircles a greater question. “What does having any of that mean if we’re still outnumbered nearly two-to-one?” the naturally gentle man inquires, a question that sprouts a smile upon Gamble’s face. “It means everything. Not only will there still be people in Newfoundland, but we’ll own the North Atlantic!” the captain remarks, “and if they’ll wanna overwhelm us, they’ll need to cross the water to do it!” Beckoned for at the tapping of his office’s door frame, Gamble surrenders his attention to the young woman that obstructs the flow of light from the cramped corridor to his workspace. “Should I trust you’ve been thoroughly processed?” the man inquires, locking eyes with Katie as she ventures through the watertight entrance, nodding in Astor’s direction before answering the man’s worries. “You shouldn’t trust anything with that rag-tag crew of yours” the young woman defiantly ripostes, her empty hands folded atop her lap as she stands in the room’s centre. “Well, I have a reason to expect an upgrade in the quality of their performance-” Gamble responds, gradually spinning his chair in the woman’s direction, his conversation with the leader of Orleans Island set on hold, “-after all, that’s sort of what you expect when you behead the last person that screwed up, isn’t it?” Immediately squinting as she offers the man a mean mug, Katie refuses to dwell on the man’s claim, disregarding it entirely as better things capture her attention. “You called me here for a reason, so you’re either about to punish me for that scar on your arm, or tell me I’m not welcome on your island” the young woman proclaims, scratching her chin before relocating her coupled hands around her back. “Neither” Gamble replies almost gleefully, adjusting his button-up shirt as he leaves his chair, rounding the desk to get a better look at the woman, “Actually, I called you in here to tell you how happy I was when I heard that you agreed to leave with us.” Her squint intensifying, Katie’s hands remain furled behind her back, the short distance between herself and Gamble maintained with periodic steps back. “Like I’ve told you before, I value the willingness you have to get your hands dirty” the man furthers, taking a seat at the edge of his desk as Astor looks on quietly, his glances split between his close acquaintance and the man he’s chosen to do business with. “I just wanted to tell you that in person- y’know, without all the hostilities we shared last time” Gamble explains, holding his hand out to request the woman do the same, shaking on their quiet agreement to co-exist within the same province. Sceptical, Katie reads Gamble’s expression before subtly moving her chin toward Astor, the words she softly speaks aimed in his direction. “Le connard sait-il parler notre langue ?” the young woman murmurs, watching Astor’s brows raise in curiosity from the corner of her eyes. “Je, euh- je ne suis pas sûr. Je ne le crois pas” the man remarks, somewhat uncomfortable in the question presented, earning a brief smile for his efforts. “C'est bon” Katie replies, reaching her right hand through the air to accept Gamble’s offer, their palms colliding in mutual agreement, “C'est très bien.” | “Seriously, I appreciate it” Emilio reassures, walking alongside Archie through the entrance of ‘18 Rawson’. “What you did for us this morning was more than enough to warrant us lending Jack the truck” the eldest McKee brother responds, their stroll casually taking them through the kitchen and toward the patio. “I didn’t do anything for you that I shouldn’t have done in the past” Emilio answers, not wishing to provide the man with a misplaced sense of blind faith, “Cumberland’s better off with you in charge than someone else. Nothing I said this morning was anything less than the honest truth.” “And your honesty is appreciated” a third voice remarks from the outside, greeting Emilio the moment his curious eyes take toward the patio furniture. With a smirk, the bearded leader of Cumberland’s closest confidants steps through the rear doors to lock eyes with a familiar face, able to match the voice to its visage with minimal effort. “You made a quick recovery” Emilio quips, assisting Archie in tending to his wounded sister, Jade’s chest covered in two spots with large bandages. “Yeah well, what can I say? I’m a stubborn bitch” the woman groans as she returns to her feet, long black locks of hair tied into a ponytail behind her head, “I’m not letting anyone keep me out of work and shoot me in the tit.” Freeing a laugh, Emilio returns a pair of crutches to Cumberland’s mayor, her arms draped over each one to support the rest of her body, which is mostly too weak to afford her with. “Thank you” the woman mutters beneath her breath, taking a moment to relax as she turns her body toward a man she’s grown to consider a friend, her eyes looking into his. “Arch’ was serious, by the way- you did more than enough to earn the truck for a few hours” Jade explains, refusing to allow Emilio the satisfaction of refusing such praise. “They replayed the recording over the radio a few hours ago, and you better believe I heard every word” the woman persists, getting comfort with standing as she maintains eye contact, trying her best to put her appreciation into words, “it was very moving of you.” His head bowing, Emilio lets the woman’s praise sink in for a moment, considering the remarks made about his display before attempting to respond, only thwarted upon Jade’s follow-up. “Apparently, it was pretty moving to the people too” the woman adds, striking silence into her friend once more, “notifs went out telling them that workplaces were returning to business tomorrow. We’re moving forward and leaving that chaos in the past, and they seem fine with it.” Again smiling, though this time out of the corner of his mouth, Emilio bows his head for a second time, attempting to speak before halted yet again, though, not by words this time. “I’m glad you-” the man begins, raising his eyes to the woman before falling silent, her hand extending a leather pouch toward him without warning, leaving for his hand to claim from her. “Wh- what is this?” the bearded survivor inquires, slowly accepting what’s presented to him before glancing inside, his answer given the moment his fingers part the sack’s opening. “It’s my way of saying ‘now you’re done’” Jade remarks, watching Emilio’s eyes widen as he looks to her, having already peered into the wallet to discover its contents, “-and that, if you’re gonna lose people fighting from now on, it won’t be for me.” “These-” Emilio whispers, unable to shake the look of surprise that’s entrenched his face, forced to glance back toward the pouch in his possession periodically, “these are-.” “A deal’s a deal” Jade interjects, a smile worn on her face as Emilio’s eyes freeze upon her own, a lone tear falling from his right eye. “Congratulations, Em’” the woman assures, giving him a nod of approval as she releases a sigh, satisfied with the response, “you’re going to Nova Scotia.” | Peering into the rear view mirror every few seconds, Jack keeps the McKee’s truck on its course as the day turns to night, his view of Lauren in the backseat with a rolled up carpet gradually worsening with the loss of light. Gritting his teeth, Jack passes a few glares toward the armed woman in the passenger’s seat, his view of Grace’s face obstructed by the gun barrel that stands between their eyes. “Keep your finger off that trigger” Jack warns, not taking kindly to the visual threat aimed at his temple, “the last thing I need is to go over a bump and have my brains splattered all over Archie’s new upholstery.” “Stop talking” Grace answers back, scowling at the man behind the wheel as she glances toward the seat behind him, looking at Lauren out of the corner of her eye. “I wouldn’t have had to do this if you would’ve just helped me” the woman clarifies, not receiving anything more than a disgusted look from the husband and wife, “you made me do this.” “Did we make you kill your fuck buddy too?” Jack qualms, his left wrist draped over the steering wheel as he shifts the vehicle into third gear. “Shut up” Grace grunts, keeping the barrel aimed toward the man’s head, aware that his cooperation lasts for as long as her threat does. “Donnie made his decision, and I made mine” she whimpers, pressing herself against the door as the terrain grows rough, her weapon lowering toward Jack’s side so as to prevent herself from accidentally firing. “Donnie made his decision a long time ago, Grace” Lauren speaks out, bracing against her own side of the car as the truck drives over uneven patches of dirt, their tires having pulled off the well-paved asphalt in favour of their destination in the deep woods. “You wouldn’t know, Lauren” Grace quips back, wrapping the fingers on her left hand against her seat’s headrest, “you spent the whole time you’ve been here treating people like shit. You couldn’t see the good in someone if you tried.” “I saw enough good in you to run out of my house and come over because you were in tears on the phone” Lauren swiftly argues back, watching the truck’s headlights shine upon a familiar place, “-and what did I get in return? You dragged me into the mess you made.” As her nostrils flare, Grace braces for the mild halt to the truck’s acceleration, their drive through the night ending at the place that spiritually brought them together. Swiping hair from her eyes with her free hand, the gun woman glances toward the disposal plant she and Lauren had endured long hours overseeing, her attention returning to the victims she threatens the lives of. “I’m-” Grace murmurs, her lip quivering as she looks back to her once-coworker, the gun still aimed at Jack’s side as her head shakes, “-I’m not a bad person.” With a scowl, Lauren lifts her head back, keeping her eyes on the still-petrified woman in the front seat. “Maybe not” Lauren sighs beneath her breath, clicking her tongue as she pushes the backdoor open, maintaining eye contact with Grace as she begins to disembark, “but you’re a pretty shitty friend.” Following his wife’s lead, Jack exits the vehicle after applying the parking brake, Grace’s door the third and final to shut as the couple drags Donnie’s heavily-punctured corpse onto the ground. “Don’t make me do anything more than I already have” Grace proclaims, keeping her weapon aimed as she unseals the door to the incinerator for the first time since the day it’d closed for maintenance, “you go in, you dump his body, set off the machine, and you come back out.” “What’s your plan after that, huh?” Lauren quickly wonders aloud, waved off by her husband, who carries Donnie’s full weight in his arms. “That’s none of your business” Grace answers with little hesitation, keeping the weapon aimed as Lauren approaches a breaker box. “Well, if you’re dragging us this far, you might as well tell us it’ll be worth it!” Jack’s wife calls back, flipping a few switches with the expectation of lighting the tunnel they prepare to enter, her efforts futile. “What’s wrong?” Grace calls out, noticing Lauren’s confused expression the moment she turns to look at the large, open door. “The lights aren’t coming on” the second hostage responds, waiting for her once-friend to peer into the darkness before glancing toward her husband, giving him a subtle wink before looking back to the configuration of switches. Keeping a few switches off, Lauren quietly restores power to the incinerator itself, her shoulders shrugging. “I don’t think the lights are coming on” Lauren remarks, watching the distraught murderer retrieve a small flashlight from her pocket. “We don’t need lights- just in the incinerator” Grace determines, nodding her head toward the menacing corridor as her eyes take back toward the couple, “if the thing wont work, we’ll dump the body and play ignorant.” Hiding a defeated look, Lauren bows her head in Jack’s direction, directing him to continue as instructed in hope of a better opportunity arriving shortly. Letting a faint whistle leave his lips as he sets Donnie upon a mattress-deprived gurney, Jack keeps himself between Lauren and Grace, quietly switching off from pushing the mobile bed at his wife’s behest. “How are we supposed to trust that you won't kill us after we dump his body?” Jack inquires, looking Grace in the eyes as best he can as he raises his hands in surrender, the woman’s flashlight aimed at the ground as she walks backward, keeping her sights on those at her command. “Because you’re accessories to murder now” Grace responds, rounding a corner as it approaches, still paying no mind to length of tunnel they’ve yet to travel, “you’ve got too much to lose turning me in.” “How much good will that do when Donnie doesn’t show up to work next week?” Lauren inquires from behind the mobile flat top, aided by Jack’s hand as they turn the corner ahead, having struggled to move Donnie’s weight in a turn. “I’ll say that I haven’t seen him. I’ll say he’d been out into the late hours every night” Grace replies, grasping for whatever she can to spin a formidable tale, “maybe I’ll get knocked up by some guy at a bar and meet up with you in Nova Scotia.” Scowling, Lauren turns away from her coworker as Jack takes the reins of the conversation, a lighter tone carried in his voice. “I would’ve liked to know you before all of this happened” the man remarks, his wife firing a confused look at the back of his head as Grace’s tensions seem to ease, “I’m struggling to accept that this had to happened- because it didn’t- but that shouldn’t cloud everything I’m seeing you as now.” “What do you mean?” the woman with a reluctant trigger finger queries, taking kindly to the presentation Jack has gifted her, a small smirk concealed behind her lips as she catches up with her husband’s motivations. “Honestly, you seem like a piece of shit right now” the man ripostes, earning a momentary look of dissatisfaction from his fate’s keeper, only to watch it melt away as he concludes his thought, “but I’m sure that- if I’d gotten to know you sooner- I wouldn’t see you that way.” “You’re wrong. Your wife does and she knew me plenty” Grace argues back, appreciative of the kind thought, though sceptical of its accuracy. “No I don’t!” Lauren chirps back, following Jack’s line of attack perfectly, refuting the idea the distressed woman had silently conjured, using it as leverage, “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, I think you’re scared and acting irrationally! It’s not you I have a problem with, it’s what you’re doing to us.” “You said I was a shitty friend” Grace argues back, trying to make a point that she soon watches fall flat. “Yeah, you’re a shitty friend for trying to drag us down after we cared enough to jump to your aid!” Lauren proclaims, sighing as her tone lowers a few decibels, her head shaking as she tries to be kind, “but there’s a difference between being a shitty friend and being an evil person!” “I’m not evil!” Grace ripostes, defending herself to little avail, the couple she defends herself against making the same claim. “That’s what we’re saying!” Lauren proclaims, watching Grace lower the firearm a very small amount, though just enough for her husband to take notice of. Slowly reaching to his back pocket, Jack wraps his fingers around his screwdriver as he takes a short step further ahead of the gurney, inching closer to Grace as her defences lower. “What’s done is done. No matter what, we have to help you get rid of this body regardless” Lauren explains, watching Jack take another step further ahead, his weapon sliding the rest of the way from his pocket as he draws closer, “but what happens after that? That’s your choice to make.” Attempting to speak, Grace’s retreat down the tunnel grows slower, her eyes filling with regret as the gun falls a few further centimetres lower, prompting Jack to take another step closer. “I just did what I had to do- it wasn’t personal” Grace explains, again letting her weapon fall a little lower, her trust slowly rebuilding, “and if it can-” “Aarrgghh!” the echoing sound of groans flood through the corridor, cutting Grace off abruptly as she stumbles backward. Its hand wrapped around her ankle, a small and fragile corpse trips the gun woman as she walks back, leaving her to crash into the ground as a second zombie latches its teeth around her neck. Startled, both Jack and Lauren leap back as their distraught captor fires blindly through the tunnel, only a few bullets colliding with the corridor before the clip empties entirely. Thrashing on the ground for safety, Grace screams in agony as her flesh is ripped from the side of her head, the guttural cries of pain left unheard by the married couple just a few metres away, the blast from her weapon rendering Jack and Lauren incapable of hearing. “Ahh- Fuck!” Lauren groans, pressing her hands to each side of her head as Jack fights his way through the pain, watching the flashlight slip from Grace’s possession and roll toward his feet. Given his sight, Jack readies his screwdriver for a counterattack, watching Grace’s leg and face become a buffet for a pair of withered young bodies. With a scowl, Jack drops to his knees and drives his Phillip’s head through the back of one skull before taking his time with the other, leisurely crawling to him before matching the effort. The threat neutralised, Jack crawls across the ground in search of the tunnel’s opposite side, where he presses his back against the wall and shields his face from the corridor, his head pounding from the headache that ensues. “Lauren!” Jack calls out, screaming his wife’s name out of necessity, waiting for the moment he can hear himself utter the first syllable before moving forward. As an indescribable amount of time passes, Jack feels a warm hand tap against his arm, prompting him to unbury his face from the small of his arm. Suffering from much the same, Lauren wastes no time in trying to communicate, instead sitting by her husband's side as they lean against each other for comfort. “I think I can hear again” the man murmurs, his pouty bottom lip held outward as his coupled hands dangle between his spread legs, the chaos having slowly subsided. “I think I’m good too” Lauren responds, moving her jaw from one side to another as the ache lingers in her teeth. Gently retrieving the flashlight from her husband’s hand, she musters the courage to return to Grace’s side, the woman amidst a great deal of suffering as her fatal wounds are made easy to see. “Oh fuck” Lauren whimpers, shining the light on the faces of those responsible for attacking Grace, the dying woman’s eyes watering as she looks to whom she believes to be her friend. “Grace...” she murmurs further, recognising the faces of two boys Cumberland had perceived to be missing many weeks prior, their bodies bone-thin from what can only be described as apparent malnourishment, “Grace... you fucked up.” “I’m- I’m- I’m o- I’m okay” the chewed-up woman whispers, trying to muster enough strength to reach out for Lauren’s aid, though unable to move elbows off the ground. “Help me up” she continues to sigh, seeing the apologetic expression in Lauren’s face, though not detoured from mustering the best smile she can make in her dying hours, “help me up?” Puckering her lips, Lauren shakes her head as Jack’s footsteps shuffle close, his response taking a different approach. “Dump the other bodies in the incinerator now” the man orders, taking Grace by the hands and pulling her to both feet, allowing the woman to lean on him as they close in on the burning pit, waiting for Lauren to finish the job. “They can patch me up at the hospital” Grace whimpers, trying to nod as Lauren dumps Donnie’s body into the pit, hurrying back to tend to the dead she left behind. “I’m sure they will” Jack reassuringly says, putting a smile on the woman’s face as his wife drags the deceased children back. “You’ll drive me there, right?” Grace appreciatively asks, watching Lauren drop the bodies into the pit before Jack turns to look her in the eyes. “No” the man callously responds, leading her away from his side before drawing her closer to the pit, “no we will not.” Gently pushing his hand forward, Jack shoves Grace off the ledge and into a pile of corpses, their bones brittle and flesh melted away by flame. Following her husband’s lead, a disgust-fueled Lauren approaches the incinerator’s controls and presses her fist against a big, red button. “What are you doing!?” Grace fearfully whimpers with whatever strength she has left, watching the doors to her final resting place begin to seal shut. Going quiet, Jack and Lauren refuse to answer the woman’s inquiry, instead choosing to watch the massive, metal doors draw to a close from beside each other. As the gears cease their loud turning, the doors meet at their halfway point, colliding together as a brief moment of silence comes over the tunnel. “No chances” Jack whispers, immediately listening to the heaters kick on from behind safety, the instantaneous screams of death that emerge from the other side giving a literal claim to the sense. Forcing herself to listen to the consequences of her decision, Lauren puckers her lips and shakes her head, the fingers on her left hand interlocking with those on Jack’s right. “No...” she answers, turning to look her husband in the eyes as her right hand caresses the side of his face, refusing to rehash old wounds when faced with new ones, “...Whatever it takes.” Disappointed in how the events had to play out, Jack takes Lauren into his arms as the screaming stops, accepting what had to be done and his willingness to see it through. == Rise == His face wrought with the suffering of his trauma, Emilio sits at his countertop with a plain black mug of coffee sat before himself, his warm palms resting against each side of the ceramic cup, its inside filled with a beverage that’s now gone cold. His lips pressed together and eyes naturally wide, the man’s facial muscles hang like bags beneath his eyes as the sun finally reaches its highest point in the sky, the clouds it hides behind refusing to allow much light to reach Cumberland.
The repetitive tapping of a knuckle calling for him at his home’s front, Emilio’s face finally takes away from the tabletop’s centre, eyes directed toward the archway between his foyer and kitchen. “Go away” the man remarks, despondent and dejected, not only irritable, but unwelcoming. Disobeying the man’s request, Jade gently opens the door to peek her head through, her eyes immediately locking upon the occupied kitchen. Without a word, the woman steps through the door and removes her shoes, entering the man’s space with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist. Without uttering a word, Emilio watches Cumberland’s leader step into his domain without refusing her presence, the bag’s crinkling sound filling the room as it’s laid upon an unused barstool. “I thought you might need some groceries” Jade ripostes, setting the bag down before waiting for the man across from her to respond, the silent seconds that linger between them offers more information to his mindset than words possibly could. Clicking his tongue, Emilio glances to the cup in front of him before returning his attention to the woman, “thank you” he responds simply, not a further word needed to convey his appreciation- however genuine it may be. Nodding her head, Jade remains standing in eerie silence once more, waiting for any further remarks that may emerge- but never do. However unnecessary her company may be, Jade slides a second empty stool from the kitchen’s island before claiming it as her seat, both hands folded atop the marble counter as she stares into the man’s eyes, not much to read- if anything at all. “Are you gonna drink that?” Jade queries, redirecting the man’s attention to the mug held between his hands, a brief glance all her acquaintance takes toward the beverage. “It’s cold” Emilio responds, his voice never once rising from the distant and downcast pitch it’d been presented with. Nodding, Jade reaches her hand across the tabletop and takes the mug into her possession, sliding it to her person before raising it toward her lips, “coffee is coffee.” Listening to the woman’s audible first sip of his beverage, Emilio waits for her conclusion before responding further, uninterested in providing a remark for something that doesn’t require one. With a satisfied sigh, Jade lowers the mug from her mouth, casually wiping the corner of her lips as she swallows, a light quip presented, “black coffee's still bitter as hell.” The silence furthering, Emilio stares into his guest’s eyes just as she does onto him, the room they inhabit darkening further as the clouds cover the sky more, not a bird to chirp beyond the windows, and not a roaring engine to pass the quiet street the Rawson neighbourhood was built upon. “Did you come here looking for something?” Emilio quietly inquires, his hands now laying against the stone finish in wake of the theft of his coffee. “You know why I came” Jade answers, a sorrow held within her voice’s reflection just the same as her grieving friend, the only difference being the future-set approach she harnesses. “No- I don’t” Emilio replies, his eyes narrowingly slightly as he responds, a subtle shake coming over his head. Lips puckered, Jade continues to stare at the horror-stricken man for a few seconds longer, maintaining a hushed-presence throughout the brief inspection. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” Jade remarks, again lifting the mug- though only halfway to her mouth, allowing her to finish the thought she’d entered with, “and the rest of your people do too, but you won’t talk to them.” “I don’t want to talk to them,” Emilio swiftly replies, watching the woman take down another swig of his once-warm brew, “-I don’t know why they’d even want to talk to me.” With a squint, Jade again wipes the corner of her mouth before answering the man’s concerns, listening to the insight he’s offered before providing her own. “You don’t know why they’d want to talk to you?” Jade repeats, though her duplication of the response comes off with a sarcastic tone, “why they’d want to know how you’re dealing with the loss? The loss that’s hitting all of you?” Bowing his head, Emilio’s eyes begin to circle the various rock formations sealed within the creation of his kitchen’s island. “Your people are hurting just as much as you are. They’re questioning themselves even though they shouldn’t, and it’s eati-” Jade continues, the calm tone of voice across the table preventing her from continuing as it interrupts. “Why shouldn’t they?” Emilio queries, his face souring as his glare returns to the face opposite him, his visage tensing. “Why shouldn’t they question themselves? Why shouldn’t I?” the man asks again, continuing to speak in lieu of Jade’s answer, which remains as non-present as most of his own had been presented with, “none of us saw it coming- so why shouldn’t we be asking ourselves how we could let that happen?” “Because you can’t always know what’s going on in someone’s head” the sturdy figure with a coffee in her reach responds without hesitation, watching the head of the man she shares the room with turn to the side and scoff. “Yeah, well- Amy knew” Emilio remarks back, drawing the curtains on Jade’s response as the woman falls silent, opening the floor for the man to continue, partially due to a lack of viable counterarguments, and partially out of respect for the man she wishes to let grieve. “The kid knew. She knew and none of us did. She saw it, she knew, and now- she’s dead” Emilio concludes, his chin falling as he lowers his back against the rear of his seat, “-they’re all dead.” The room falling silent once more, Jade matches Emilio’s posture, bowing her head as her tongue presses into the soft part of her mouth, a self-doubt made visually resonant. “If I hadn’t let Jess in- none of this would have happened,” the woman finally remarks, only lifting her face when Emilio does the same, “I’m more responsible for all of this than you are. So, if I’m sitting here to get us all on the right track again, there’s no reason for the rest of you not to try and do the same.” Flashing a grin as he nods, Emilio points a finger in the woman’s direction as he frees a light chuckle, “so that’s what this is about” he remarks, pulling in a deep breath as Jade begins to answer. “Yeah. I’m sorry I have to be the one to let you know this, but the world doesn’t stop turning just because a few people die” the woman responds, a serious tone having overtaken the sympathetic approach she no longer finds a need for, “Cumberland still needs to be set on the right track.” “Well, I wish you the best of luck!” Emilio disingenuously replies, leaving his seat as he begins rounding the island, setting his path on the home’s second level, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance.” Tongue still pressed against the inside of her cheek, Jade wraps both hands around the mug as Emilio steps past her, beginning to leave the room before her words call him back. Eyebrows furrowed and no longer able to portray a kindness she’d wanted to maintain through the visit, Jade’s head stares toward the seat her neighbour had recently departed, speaking just loud enough for her words to catch the man’s attention. “I guess that means you’re not interested in that ticket to Nova Scotia then, are you?” Jade quite vindictively remarks, an expression of great dissatisfaction in herself appearing along her face as she listens to Emilio’s footsteps cease. Stone-faced, Emilio pauses for a moment to digest what had just been said to him, trying to sort it from the abundance of other thoughts that flood through his head as he slowly turns back. “What did you just say to me?” Emilio calmly queries, watching the woman strikingly climb out from her seat, staring down from the man with a much smaller stature- but a much greater place on the settlement’s chain of command. “The deal was that you- and the rest of the group- would be my closest confidants” Jade replies, leaving the coffee behind as she subtly steps closer to the man, “that you’d exterminate what’s left of Rockford and help me keep Cumberland in order.” Disgusted, Emilio’s upper lip curls as his head leans to one side, his widened eyes paired with the white teeth he presents toward his superior. “Are you blackmailing me?” the man wonders aloud, watching Jade’s expression for a change that never arrives, neither pleasure, nor disappointment, held for him to bear witness to. “I’m doing what I have to for my town” Jade replies, refusing to provide the man- that matches her subtle approach with one of his own- with anything less than honesty. “If that means reminding you that I reunited you with the rest of your group, let you jump the line in spite of the backlash that may hold for me, and have done nothing but provide you with care the rest of the world would kill each other to experience again-” she continues, confident and bold, “-yeah, I’m willing to do that.” Enraged, Emilio parts the fingers on his right hand and wraps them around Jade’s throat, pushing the woman back into the kitchen and against the island, the impact of her collision with the built-in furniture shaking the room well enough to knock the cold cup of coffee over. Not one to take such aggression lightly, Jade swipes the man’s hand away from her neck and presses her heel into the man’s toes, its effect not only minimal- but essentially non-existent. Without a moment of delay, Emilio blocks a second shot- this time Jade’s fist aimed toward his face- and side-steps the woman, his outstretched foot tripping her as she zips past him. Only the hardwood floor to break her fall, Jade crashes into the ground and immediately rolls onto her back, an attempt at inciting a return fight thwarted as her eyes fall upon the gun that Emilio wields, its barrel held between her eyes. Defeated, Jade raises her hands in surrender, the ability for Emilio to end her life on a whim on its own enough to make her loss undisputable. Barely breaking a sweat, Emilio eases his aim on the weapon, slowly letting it fall to his side as he further steps over Jade, his feet planted upon the ground to each side of her hip before he chooses to step away. Returning to the kitchen’s island, Emilio picks up the ceramic mug and places his weapon atop the counter, his intentions having never been to hurt Jade, but rather remind her of his brute superiority. Freed from imminent danger, Cumberland’s leader slowly returns to her feet, allowing the man a few metres away to make do with their brief altercation’s aftermath. “We’re done” Emilio suddenly murmurs, reaching into a cabinet beneath the island, where he retrieves a roll of paper towels, tending to the spill. Confused, Jade watches the man swipe at the trail her drink left behind before presenting her inquiry. “What does that mean?” the woman asks back, her eyes kept on Emilio as he strolls to the nearest bin, discarding the soaked towels before setting the empty mug into his equally-empty sink. “It means we’re done” Emilio responds, finally turning to look the woman in the eyes once more before approaching her casually, neither survivor interested in rehashing their conflict. Pressing his lips together, Emilio lets the gears in his brain turn as he looks the woman in the eyes from up close, Jade’s silence offered purposefully. “John, Jess, and Amy- Meghan and Janice- both Tyler’s- Reggie, Shauna” Emilio names, each weighing on him just as much as the rest, the people the memories belong to sharing a fate he knows is inevitable for all, “Heather and Cameron, Troy and Katie... Bill... We’ve lost too many people fighting for this.” Her face softened at the mention of his predecessor's name and only weakening the further he moves along, Jade lets Emilio’s thoughts conclude before presenting the question that appears obvious in her mind. “Fighting for what?” the woman queries, lifting her chin to look the man in the eyes- wanting to hear him say the words. With a distraught visage, Emilio parts his lips to answer, only able to do so with a whisper. “Fighting for a home” the man replies, visible pain carried in the wake of every soul they’ve lost along their journey, “fighting for a place where we won’t be asked to lose people anymore.” Struck with a chill that lingers as the man steps past her, Jade only raises her voice to ask one further question, quietly acknowledging what they’ve already sacrificed for herself and the compound she takes greater care of than anything else in life. “Is that their decision?” the woman calls back, not wasting a beat in turning around the moment Emilio’s footsteps cease once more, their eyes colliding as she clarifies her question, “or is it yours?” With one foot already placed on the bottom-most step, Emilio’s head takes toward Jade, the silence between them intended to last until an answer is given. With his left hand on the bannister, Emilio’s eyes freeze upon Jade, his expression ever once changing as his voice lifts just loud enough for the woman to hear. “Those are interchangeable now” the man responds, carrying himself the rest of the way up the stairs as he leaves Jade behind, the woman’s posture unchanged as Emilio ascends each step just as he had the one prior, not backing down from his claim- but rather leaving it behind for those other than himself to accept. = 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 = “That’s a good boy, Royo” Katie murmurs, patting her horse’s muzzle whilst spraying him with the hose, his soapy hide rinsed of its bubbly coating. Pressed between her hand and the rubber tubing the water pours out from, the cleanser-covered sponge falls to the ground as Katie’s grasp on it slips, her eyes taken toward the dirt road that leads from the main street and to her shared townhouse, a single truck slowly approaching from the distance. Wiping her wet hand at her leg as she takes her rifle into hand, Katie keeps behind her trusted steed in hopes of remaining unnoticed, afforded time if an attack she has no reason to anticipate were to rear its head. “Hold steady, buddy” Katie whispers, lowering herself slightly to fully conceal herself from the vehicle that now slows to a stop, its lights powering down as its gears shift into park, a familiar man emerging from the driver’s seat alone. Made unaware of Katie’s presence at first, Astor steps along the dirt road on his way to the home’s front door, his each step watched by the woman he’s come to talk with from afar. “Are you armed?” Katie calls out from behind Royo’s large frame, immediately prompting the man the turn toward her, his right hand extending toward the air as he reaches for his hip. In a calm motion, Astor presents Katie with his handgun, its barrel pointed toward the sky as he gently lowers it to the ground, casually kicking it off the wooden patio the woman’s home hosts at its entrance. “I used to think you’d get less paranoid once you got comfortable here” Astor quips, his hands subtly returning to his sides as he descends the same steps he’d climbed not minutes prior, his approach toward Katie matched by the woman’s own. “Who said I ever got comfortable?” Katie inquires, keeping her rifle in tow by the strap over her shoulder, her progression forward stopping as she and the man maintain the distance of a few metres. Shrugging in the distance of the St. Lawrence, Astor bobs his head, “I suppose you have been a stubborn ass ever since I’ve met you” he remarks, flashing the woman a smile as his hands slide into each pocket, “maybe I shouldn’t have set my expectations so high.” Her lips held together, Katie presses her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she surveys their surroundings, the open fields filled with near-ready crops for as far as their eyes can reach. “It’s a sunny day in the middle of the summer- there’s plenty the two of us could be doing right now” the woman changes course, her arms crossing as Astor’s smile- though still present- begins to fade from its previously-full stature, “-why take the time out of your day to come here?” Releasing a sigh, Astor’s face drifts into the distance once more before his mouth opens, a slight concern taken to what the woman’s reaction will be. “How much do you care about the people here?” the island’s chosen leader queries, leaving one hand in his pocket and he strolls up to Royo’s side, stroking the side of his head as the question remains unanswered. “I wouldn’t wish a zombie apocalypse on them- does that count?” Katie responds, her arms remaining crossed as her body turns in her superior’s direction, eyes kept upon his person. “I’d say that’s a good start- certainly” Astor ripostes, his eyes pressing closer as he tips his chin forward, a nod given to the younger survivor, “what else?” Confused, yet perceptive to the challenge, Katie lets her hands fall, the woman returning to her prior duties as she reaches for the hose that lays lazily in a patch of mud that now sits topped with a puddle. “I cared enough about getting along with them to try learning French,” the woman remarks, earning a chuckle Astor hides well, his face and shirt splashed with whatever water runs off Royo’s body. “En parlant de quoi, votre français est-il toujours d'actualité ?” Orleans Island’s chief answers back, the corner of his white teeth appearing through the part in his lips. “It’s coming along well enough to know that you’re trying to get at something” Katie abruptly answers back, the playful expression on Astor’s face slightly undoing as she reclaims the conversation’s initial point, “I care about them enough to not want to see them in trouble- so what’s your point?” Quickly tiring of dancing around the conversation’s destination, Katie addresses the elephant in the field outright, scrubbing at Royo’s pelt as Astor’s amused expression lowers, his austere guise reemerging. Staring back to the woman without a word for a few moments, Astor does as requested, hanging his head. “I’m making the call to merge Orleans Island with PEI” Astor confesses, surprising Katie for a few seconds before her rational thinking kicks in, the shocked look on her face swiftly falling in favour of a content nod. “That’s a- that’s a big move” the young woman replies, offering a nod as she finishes swiping at her stallion’s coat, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Shaking his head, Astor prepares to apologise to the woman, aware of her disinterest long before his decision had been made, though its existence does nothing to dissuade him. “But I want to remind you of the same thing I told that woman back in the ‘States-” Katie interjects, not allowing the man to speak before offering her wishful hopes, “the people you’re walking with- the people that jumped on the chance to rule the ashes of a burned-out world- those people do.” “Gamble’s not with those people” Astor quickly corrects, watching the woman narrow her eyes as they remain attached to him, “-at least, he’s not anymore.” Her head shaking, Katie lets the hose fall from her hand as she reaches toward the clothesline for a dry towel. “That’s not how the New World Order usually does things” Katie replies, drying Royo off as she waits for Astor to quell her confusion. “Is mass murder one of the things they do?” Astor queries, watching the woman’s attendance to her horse stop as she freezes, caught by surprise at his question. “Gamble said they started funnelling survivors into PEI once they took in too many people for the mainland to handle comfortably” the man explains as Katie’s drying of Royo’s hide slowly resumes, “since then- whenever Nova Scotia needs more room in PEI- people go missing.” Her concern raising from a slight amount to something more definite, Katie remains quiet to continue hearing the man’s point, yet to see why it’s any of her concern. “Nova Scotia started housing their cruise ships on the island until recently- when the people in charge realised they were losing support” Astor concludes, following Katie as she circles Royo’s large frame, “now Gamble’s not following their orders, and he’s worried this scuffle’s gonna turn into an outright war soon enough.” “So why choose to join up with the island that seems pretty sure they’re about to lose?” Katie queries, her head tilting to one side as a better question suddenly arises, “-better yet, why are you telling me this?” His eyes rolling, Astor continues to follow the woman around her steed, the towel tossed aside as she reaches for Royo’s leather saddle. “Because Gamble wants to make sure you come along with us” Astor responds, listening to humoured laughter arrive from Katie’s core as the statement lingers. “Ninety percent of this place is made up of people that closed the bridge down when the world took a turn- we don’t have many capable hands to choose from!” the man remarks, at least providing validation to his claims, “and with that said- you’re the only person here who’s seen the outside in the last two years.” “Then find another reliable pair of hands!” Katie lashes back, tossing the saddle atop Royo before turning to speak directly to the man behind, “I’ve fought my wars and made it out alive- standing on the front lines again isn’t something I’m interested in.” Opening his mouth to reply, Astor finds himself thwarted, the woman’s remarks paid to him as a conversation-ender. “The answer’s no, Astor” Katie doubles down, reclaiming Royo’s lead before directing him back to the home, her words still directed toward the leader she leaves behind, “your fight isn’t mine anymore.” | As a crowd of concerned civilians pile onto the grounds of town hall, Lauren remains standing to the side, coping with her grief just as the rest of her group does whilst waiting for events to begin. The clear, blue sky capturing her undivided attention, she drowns out the surrounding banter in favour of numbing herself, passing the time by pretending the concept of it doesn’t exist. At the sensation of a gentle squeeze, Lauren emerges from her intentional-comatose, swinging her face toward the one man that may spark enough joy within her to make the fight through suffering worthwhile. “I think someone’s trying to get your attention” Jack whispers, lowering his face close to his wife’s before diverting it toward a break in the crowd, a familiar visage worn on the person that looks to Lauren’s direction as they wave. Arriving at the town’s centre alone, Grace brushes shoulders with a few of her fellow residents as she makes her way to the devoted couple, her familiarity with either face drastically different. To her left, a woman she’d worked beside for months resides next to a man she’d never once seen before, his expression as forcefully-welcoming as the one his wife wears. Though their friendship had never been the closest thing she’d held dear, Lauren’s genuine joy to see a familiar face not stricken with distress emerges on an unmeasurable scale. Without uttering a word, Lauren steps ahead of Jack and wraps her arms around Grace, pulling the woman in for an unanticipated hug. “Mark this as a first!” Grace remarks, reciprocating the embrace with surprise, not used to her colleague being the friendly type. “When it’s needed- it’s needed” Lauren replies, pulling out from the hold as she steps aside, extending her arm to their third wheel. “I’m Jack- it’s nice to meet you” the man introduces himself, extending the hand the woman proceeds to shake, still greatly disassociated from the pleasantries much of society had forced into normality. “So you’re the man Lauren could never stop talking about?” Grace jokes, giving her friend an impressed nod, “-you didn’t do too bad for yourself, girl!” Appreciative, Lauren offers the woman a smile as a hand presses into both Jack’s and her own lower back, yet another familiar face greeting the small group. “Where’s the rest of you guys?” Emilio wonders aloud, his wrinkled, white t-shirt a product of spending the entirety of the night prior asleep. “They’re helping Clint and Nessie move into their new place-” Jack answers, his eyes squinting prior to the conclusion of his own response, “-why?” His face panning across the crowd, Emilio’s eyes search for another recognisable visage from within the increasingly-cramped crowd. “Because Archie came by after his sister left yesterday- he said you were all supposed to be out here” the man replies, continuing to scan the mass heap of life that collects before him, “-why are you guys here then?” “They already had too many hands helping” Lauren responds, looking past Emilio’s shoulder at the sight of another expression she can pin a name to, finishing her reply before their conversation can be interrupted, “-we figured they’d be better off with fewer people to run into.” His hand gently smacking Emilio on the shoulder, Archie pulls his head in the direction of town hall’s front steps, the building they lead to presented as the obvious centre of attention. “I didn’t come by yesterday out of the good in my heart- that was Jade’s job” Archie remarks, confessing to the ruse he’d set the man up to walk into, “come on- get up there now.” His lip curling, Emilio’s snarl is immediately returned to the oldest McKee son, met with both hands lifting in surrender. “I’m just the messenger- don’t even bother pulling out that gun, quick-shot” Archie remarks, trying to lighten the mood as best he can, “you’ve already done the hardest part. If your eyes are still on Nova Scotia- it should all be smoother sailing from here.” Pressing his eyes together, Emilio watches Cumberland’s commander step through the door’s of town hall, her presence immediately bringing a hush over the crowd. “I may not have swung by yesterday out of the good of my heart, but I’m here now out of it-” Archie doubles down, his voice descending from the tough, no-nonsense reflection it’d carried before, “just get up on the stage, smile and nod- maybe wave a few times- and you’ll keep those tickets to Nova Scotia... But this is your only chance.” Parting his lips without the words to speak with, Emilio glances back toward the staircase as the muscles in his face ease, looking at Archie with a disappointed- yet accepting- frown. Without as much of a ‘see you later’, the man- led to the gathering under false pretences- follows Archie’s lead toward the side of town hall’s entrance, climbing onto their superior’s level from within the cover of shadows. Yet to speak a word, Jade watches her brother guide Emilio toward the inner circle that stands behind her, representing Cumberland’s most-trusted elite in a show of solidarity and respect. “I won’t lie to any of you- what’s been happening over the last few days truly pisses me off” the woman proclaims, her eyes set on those that look to her for clarity in a time of uncertainty. “To have people try to steal our home- everything we’ve worked to build here- it sickens me” Jade continues, both Emilio and her brother left standing with their hands coupled at their lap, joining the front line of saving leadership’s face, “what sickens me more is that I didn’t do enough to stop it.” Though her only reason for holding this conference lies within the task of maintaining a healthy grasp on her power, Jade speaks from a place of truth, her admittance less vague than the circumstances that host it. “But I didn’t ask you out here so I could apologise- I asked you out here so I can make it right to you” she continues, her voice naturally loud enough to be heard without the aid of a microphone and podium, two things that she refuses to keep close. Stood at the front steps of the building she refuses to use on principle, Jade looks to her people without anything to shield herself behind, wanting both metaphorically- and literally- to show those she rules over that there is nothing that separates herself from them. “I wanted you to hear it from me that we’ve not only located those in charge of the people who’d invaded us- but we’ve taken action upon them” she remarks, a few nods given to her below, “-they cannot hurt you anymore.” Though many remain sceptical- and for good reason- a large number of hands begin to slam together, applauding the efforts of the administration their livelihoods depend upon to survive. His own hopes riding on the reception, Emilio’s face takes on a light response, his hands joining those in the crowd as they slowly applaud. Her surveying of those below eventually guiding her sights to those behind her, Jade’s eyes fall upon Emilio, whose applause brings a brief smile over her face, which fixates on the man for a few seconds. As a few additional applauses emerge from below- likely joining out of a desire to fit in- her focus on Emilio takes away from those near the bottom of the steps, watching his face gradually lighten with genuine appreciation before suddenly taking a turn for the worse. At the sound of one round, Emilio’s hand reaches for the weapon on his waist, its barrel taking aim at the baggy clothes-wearing figure as it proceeds to fire a second shot of its own. Operating off the adrenaline of his shock, Emilio’s finger squeezes the trigger before the attacker’s weapon can fire a third bullet, his single round the only thing needed to isolate the situation. Stumbling back, Jade’s hands press against her chest as she struggles for balance, incapable of seeing her assassin’s face before surrendering to the pain. Within seconds, the woman responsible for leading the reunion of Cumberland’s people falls to the ground, her blood pooling onto the stone walkway as her executioner collapses onto the stairs she’d stood atop, shot dead by Emilio’s hand. As screams erupt from below, Jade’s inner circle rushes to her aid, most armed in an effort to prevent a follow-up attack from being launched. With his weapon still in tow on instinct, Emilio departs from the rest of the men and women he’d joined on stage, approaching the scene of the attack as opposed to its aftermath. As he nears closer to the edge, the steps come into vision, the body that lifelessly occupies it laid face-up. His mouth agape, Emilio’s weapon falls the rest of the way to his side, able to recall the woman’s identity the moment her face- lightened by the hot sun above- is presented to him. Speechless, the man rolls his eyes in disbelief as his body turns around completely, walking back to where the elitist line once stood without certainty of how to react. Her grey hoodie and black sweatpants untouched by the bullet wound in the side of her head, Annie’s spread arms come to a rest a short distance from the intended murder weapon, the whites of her eyes shown through her parted eyelids. Already numbed, Emilio’s soul practically flees from his body, unable to process the events still unfolding as a team of paramedics climb to Jade’s aid, risking a second attack he knows will not arrive in an effort to save their leader’s life. Her kindness leaving an impact on him, Emilio’s mind immediately calls her husband’s death into question, the grief left by Jess’ actions having yet to fully play out unbeknownst to him. With empty eyes, Emilio lays himself on the ground before sitting against town hall’s stone exterior, the awe he’s been overcome by drowning all sounds into one, unimportant and easy-to-ignore hum as the shock consumes him. | Travelling light, Katie rides Royo along the mostly-empty freeway as night begins to fall, the sky just light enough for the woman to make out much of her immediate surroundings. The sunset painting the St. Lawrence River in beautiful colours, the young woman guides her stallion through the grass-covered roadway and past abandoned vehicles that once littered her path. The lights on Orleans Island to her back, Katie leaves a life she’d tried to make work behind in favour of greener pastures, disappointed to find her hand forced as it has been, though confident another place worthy of being called ‘home’ will appear to her. “Oh, fuck you” Katie mutters beneath her breath, both eyes taking to the glowstick that waves in the roadway’s centre, the person responsible for making an attempt at collecting her attention deliberately blocking the one path through an assortment of scattered vehicles. As vehicles surround him, the narrow opening between two trucks sit to each of Max’s sides, refusing to allow Katie any further safe voyage. “You couldn’t even say goodbye?” the man jokes, watching Royo slow to a stop as Katie refuses to match his amused demeanour, an obvious annoyance carried within her remarks. “That’s always been the plan” the woman responds, remaining atop her steed as she speaks to the man thwarting her departure. “The moment Astor told me he wasn’t satisfied with isolating the island- I knew this place wouldn’t last” Katie explains, not pulling punches with her honesty, “had I known that sooner, I would’ve never gotten close to any of you. Hell- I wouldn’t have even left Toronto.” “And even after that- you stayed” Max counters, the response carrying enough truth for his roommate to find difficulty arguing. “Yeah, I stayed. I’m sorry for having thought I could talk some sense into the man- it’s my bad” Katie replies, shrugging her shoulders as her intentions remain intact, “but now I’m correcting it. I’m leaving, and I’m doing so without putting up a fight. If you wanna go north, that’s fine by me- but I’m not taking part in a war I’ve got no interest in.” “You do have interest in it” Max swiftly argues back, watching the woman’s face contort with befuddlement, curious for elaboration. “You stayed at Orleans because- if Astor wasn’t as interested in making friends- you knew it was a suitable place to stay permanently” the man continues, taking one step out from the blockade’s opening, “that’s why you chose not to stay in Toronto. You may have had a whole compound to yourself- unfinished or not- but you knew there was something better.” “You’re not making a point, Max” Katie unapologetically informs, her eyes rolling as she waits for the man to finish speaking, only interested in making it off the freeway before the sun sets. “Yeah, I am. You’re not leaving us because there’s somewhere better- you’re leaving because you don’t like the choice we’re making” the man replies, Royo’s jockey not refusing his conclusion. “Because it’s gonna get you all killed!” Katie snaps back, her patience dwindling the further the dying bulb in the sky sinks beneath the river’s surface, “I don’t get why you’re all so willing to die for these people, but I’m not! So please, move out of my way.” His expression reading defeat, Max’s head hangs as the woman waits for his response, much of the argument he can offer falling aside at her verbal refusal. Looking to the ground, the man steps out from the sea of cars, freeing the narrow path for his friend to traverse, not offering anything more than his disappointed expression as a ‘goodbye.’ Matching the sentiment, Katie guides Royo onward, his legs gently navigating the split in the graveyard of automobiles at his rider’s command, leaving the large man that had impeded his progress behind. Her journeys having taken her down this road many times before, Katie’s eyes press together as she allows her beloved companion navigate the route on his own, a lingering thought in the back of her mind believing that she’d yet to escape Orleans Island the way it appears she has. “I lost my brother and sister trying to get here” Max calls out, immediately drawing a sigh from deep within the woman as she beckons Royo to a halt, her eyelids parting as her horse turns around. “We heard about a place in Concord when everything started- spent a few weeks coming up from Springfield to get there” Max recalls, his eyes still kept toward the ground as Katie watches him, trying not to let her sympathy outweigh her better judgement. “When Neville died, everything started falling apart. The people that stepped up couldn’t get control and everyone started fighting” the man continues, unable to see the snarl in Katie’s lip, “that’s when I lost my little brother. It wasn’t long after that when we found out about people in Quebec- my sister figured it was worth a shot.” Swallowing her pride, Katie glances in the direction behind her, watching the gradual darkening of the sky settle in faster, the light yellow glow it’d taken on turning to a dark, citrusy-orange. “I can already guess where you’re going with this” the woman remarks, trying to maintain her emotional distance by putting on an undisturbed visage. “You really don’t” Max responds, finally turning his head to look the young woman in her eyes, his own drawing closer together as the haunting memories make their return to the surface. “Blaise and Aude were with us too. They’d been vacationing in White Mountains when shit hit the fan- so they found their way to Concord” the man continues, the twist admittedly catching Katie by surprise, “when the talk about Quebec came around, they cast their vote. So we- and a few others- started north.” Her stoic poise falling, Katie’s rigid demeanour begins to fall, replaced with a genuine distaste for each new, more harrowing twist. “We ran into a group when we were crossing the border- and that’s where I lost my sister” Max remarks, successfully keeping back tears as his face takes on a vengeful wrath, “Blaise and Aude aren’t convinced but I know- I know it was the people you talk about... The people in Nova Scotia.” Her breath stolen, Katie pulls her head back whilst Max shakes his own, a quiet rage held within his remarks she’d never known him to be capable of. Spitting on the overgrowth-covered asphalt, the man glances toward the sunset with a sour expression as the sweat trickles off the side of his face. “Why go along with Astor’s plan?” Katie questions aloud, watching the man silently redirect his attention upon her, “why would he even want to contact Nova Scotia if he knows what they did to you?” “Because he doesn’t- all we told him was that a few thugs shot at us, stole our shit, and killed my sister” Max quickly replies, an angered grin appearing through his lips. “Besides, if it were Nova Scotia that found us, I’d finally get a shot at having my revenge- even if I had to die for it” the man continues, doubling down on his remarks without daring to talk himself out of it, “but since it’s these people instead? Revenge isn’t a suicide mission- it’s my way forward.” Her head hanging, Katie lets the man’s words sink in before his voice catches her ear once more, her conscience prodded further. “I thought you’d know better than anyone else-” Max remarks, beginning to pull away as he makes peace with the woman’s decision, his feet carrying him back in the direction of Orleans Island as he takes a pause, subduing a weep at the thought of being the only one with such thoughts, “-how it feels to want revenge on the people that killed your family.” | His right foot repeatedly tapping against the linoleum tiles, Emilio’s eyes keep toward the frantic waiting room as his hands sit in his lap, more still than a surgeon’s mid-operation. All other seats already occupied, Jack and Lauren lean against each other a few metres to his side, the nine-fingered man’s arms wrapped around his wife’s waist as the second hand on the mounted analog clock. Paying little mind to the chaos that surrounds him, Emilio remains hunched over, his elbows pressing against his thighs as his mind wanders elsewhere, leaving behind an expression of great discouragement. “Do you think she’s gonna make it?” Angela wonders aloud, her question subdued slightly as her gaze is shared through the room, the rest of her group left waiting in a similar fashion as their leader, quiet and distant, anxiously waiting for information they haven’t already been given. “She took two bullets to the chest” Franklin murmurs, his left arm used as a pillow for his wife’s head to rest upon, her eyes closed and face relaxed, “-it’s a miracle she made it into surgery.” Lips pressed together, Emilio listens to the conversation that happens around him, the early hours of the morning setting in as the sun appears upon the horizon, signalling a day separate from one of eventful proportions the day prior. “I don’t see the point in speculation” Salem remarks, all eyes aside from Emilio and Alicia’s taking toward her direction, “we’re better off figuring out where we go from here- like, what happens to our agreement if she doesn’t pull through.” His shoulders shrugging, Clint looks to the woman in confusion, “I thought they all made that call- not just Jade.” “It was a Jade call” Emilio responds, cutting through the conversation as he becomes the discourse’s focus, “the McKee’s may honour it, but the call exists as long as Jade does.” Her rifle resting against the wall just to the side, Salem steps closer into the room’s centre, her eyes kept on the man ahead as she speaks. “Just to be safe- let’s cover all of our bases” the woman remarks, her arms remaining hung by each side as she comes to a stop, the question of the hour left for Emilio to answer, “-what happens if they don’t?” “Then we stay here until we earn our ticket” their leader swiftly replies, his head casually shaking as his eyes drift toward the distance, his response offered in a nonchalant manner. “Some of us may never get there that way” Jack remarks, his chin resting on the back of Lauren’s neck, “the only guarantee we have is Alicia and Fra-” Interrupted by the sound of emerging life, Jack falls silent as Archie steps through the doors of the surgical unit, his entry bringing an instant hush over the small, yet packed waiting area. His eyes puffy and red, the skin around them as pale as the rest of his face, Jade’s older brother comes to a rest halfway through the door, one hand extended to hold the barrier open as he collects his bearings. A long breath drawn outward, Archie runs his fingers through his hair- its length growing to the point of needing a trim- as his words cut through the silence like a pair of scissors to paper. “She got lucky” the man murmurs, the update he offers purposefully kept simple and brief before his face takes to Emilio, “she’s asking for you.” His eyebrows furrowing momentarily, Emilio takes a look toward the rest of his group before answering the request, leaving his chair with a navy baseball cap in his grasp. Joining Archie at the surgical centre’s wing, the more-affirmed man squeezes through the opening between his friend and the door before venturing through the wing, his eyes peering into each room as Jade’s brother remains where he’d left off, taking in a wave of relief at the wing’s exit. After a few short minutes of wandering, Emilio arrives at his destination, the first steps he takes when entering the recovery room drawing the wounded warrior’s attention. “My brothers said you were waiting for me” Jade remarks, her voice frail as its assertion wanes, both Isaac and Oliver sat in respective chairs at the room’s end, watching over their older sister with care. “You can’t really fault me for being concerned” Emilio answers, refusing to concern himself with the sensation of uneasiness that threatens to swallow him as he takes a seat near the woman’s beside. “I appreciate it nonetheless” Jade replies, the blanket pulled up to her hip’s level as the johnny gown covers the rest of her surgically-restored body, “it’s difficult remembering how people used to be sometimes- even when you’ve sort of never left it.” Squinting, Emilio’s head nods as he crosses one leg over the other, his hands coupling together atop his lap. “Seeing it from our perspective doesn’t make it any better” the man reassures, his eyes falling toward his hands as he fishes for the right words within his head, “I forgot how long it took me to not reach for my axe every time I rolled out of bed.” “It’s like once you see how it works outside- you can’t see things the same way anymore, isn’t it?” Jade ripostes, a gesture that earns Emilio’s full attention once more. As a disheartened grin comes over his face, the man’s head falls back toward his lap, his eyes wandering over the paired hands. “When we were back at the New World Order, John told Bill and I something- right when everything was falling apart- that I didn’t understand until now” Emilio remarks, taking a few additional seconds before restoring eye contact with the injured commander beside him. “He said ‘they’re not salvageable’- our people, they- they started killing each other” the man explains, the recollection horrifying him, “I always thought I knew what he was saying- and I always thought he was wrong.” Squinting, Jade keeps herself quiet, not wishing to impede the man from finishing his thought, too invested in the story to put an abrupt halt to it. “I used to think he meant the people inside of the compound- the ones that hadn’t been exposed to what happened out there- and maybe he was” Emilio explains, each eye growing watery as he looks his acquaintance in the eyes, his head shaking, “but I’ve started to think he was trying to tell us something... more” Following their sister’s lead, Isaac and Oliver remain respective observers, allowing the conversation to take part without them despite the brief glances Emilio pays toward their direction. “When they locked me up on that island- right after we found Sun City- I started wondering if he was just talking about people in general” the man goes on, reluctant to finish his thoughts out of fear that he’ll break the final line of denial he retains, though adamant that he must. “I thought he was wrong. I thought the people in the New World Order were salvageable- I thought anyone was salvageable” Emilio concludes, his head tilted toward one side as a single tear runs down the side of his face, forcing himself to continue, “but then I figured out what he actually meant.” Having assumed the man’s options had already depleted, Jade allows the third possibility to be spoken into existence, still uncompromising in her acceptance of his pace. “He was trying to protect them- just like he always did. He was telling himself- all the way up to the end- that, just because they’d seen evil, it didn’t mean they couldn’t unsee it” Emilio finishes, swiping the tear from his skin as his head shakes once more, “but he was wrong.” Exhaling, Jade’s eyes lower as she raises the question that lingers on her mind, “what are you saying, Emilio?” A look content coming over his visage, the man rests back in his seat as his arms fall upon the sides of his chair, “I’m trying to do what John did for them- for us-” Emilio responds, doing right by the past by taking its lessons to the future, “I’m warning you that- the Cumberland you knew two weeks ago... is not the Cumberland you’ll ever see again.” Raising slightly, Jade’s chin takes toward the air as her head presses further into her pillow, goosebumps noticeably forming on her arms and legs as a chill follows her spine as if it were a route. Her lips pressing together, Cumberland’s leader lets Emilio’s declaration settle as he leaves the seat beside her, departing the way he’d arrived as the omen lingers like a bad mood, striking fear into the hearts of the McKee family whilst offering them a chance to know what declination may spark. == Rise == Her shoulder pressing into the wall that forms the arch between her living room and kitchen, Jade’s eyes cement themselves upon the focused gathering that eagerly anticipates what they know is about to unfold. Comfortably resting against Jack’s side, Lauren’s hand gently rubs the point of her husband’s knee, maintaining a reassuring smile toward the couple across the room from them.
Appreciative, Franklin bows his head in the woman’s direction, his halved-arm resting upon the lower back of his child’s soon-to-be mother. His own head subtly nodding toward the ground, Jack sets his sights on the siblings, who stand near the first family of the settlement they’ve newly become acquainted with, both Jade and Isaac occupying a seat on the staircase a few metres beside Clint and Nessie. His own confidence less secure, Clint looks to the man with narrowed eyes, incapable of presenting a look of solace in good faith. “Does anyone need a refresher on the plan?” Emilio blurts aloud, descending from the home’s second level with Salem in tow, Archie’s bruised and bloodied face not far behind, walking as if nothing were wrong. Collective silence offered by those that occupy 18 Rawson, the answer to Emilio’s question becomes clear, a complete understanding of their assignment held. “Alright” the man remarks, gracefully patting Jade on the shoulder as he passes, returning to the home’s spacious, filled foyer. Before long, Jack’s ears follow his wife’s attention, the rest of the group soon to follow as engine’s begin to pierce through the silence of post-midnight, their driver’s setting upon one central square. Placing his eyes in the room’s centre, Jack bows his head in Emilio’s direction, ushering the start of their ultimate fight for unity. Through anger, Jack leads a cloaked figure into the home’s parkway, the man’s hands bound behind his back as the victim leans forward, simply placing his feet where his captor demands of him. “Where’s Rocky?” Franklin inquires, both he and Lauren the next to exit the home, Emilio, and Angela following closely behind. “On his way- who are they?” an unfamiliar man queries, armed with an automatic rifle as his baggy clothes flail in the wind, almost as if they weren’t his at all. Almost on command, Salem follows Clint and Nessie through the doors of 18 Rawson, their own rifles carried as Jess, Heather and Amy emerge soon after. “We don’t need Rocky to follow through on his promise anymore- we found the people we were looking for” Jack explains, guiding the cloaked-Archie to his knees on the rough asphalt. “What deal?” a second, also unfamiliar intruder questions, his voice slightly raised from that of the first person. “We got you the guns you stormed these walls with. In return, Rocky promised us the next trip to Nova Scotia” Jack answers, ripping the sack from Archie’s head before discarding it on the ground, “that’s where we were supposed to reunite with our group. Now that we’ve found them, we don’t need those greedy pricks up north anymore.” “Who the fuck is this?” the first loudmouth exclaims, directing the barrel of his gun toward the pavement in front of Archie, a scowl worn across his face. “I’ll answer that question when Rocky gets here” Jack replies, resting his hand on the grip of the firearm that resides by his hip. “I’m the one that asked the question- answer it” the unkempt Rockford resident remarks, prompting the content expression on Jack’s face to slowly deteriorate, replaced with a look of irritation. The air between them silent, Jack leans his head toward one shoulder as he eyes the man ahead, a brief smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth. Uninterested in offering a warning, Jack takes the firearm from his side and fires a single round, the brass jacket he shoots ripping through the man’s cheekbone without concern. His brains scrambled, the man tries to aim his weapon forward, though his motor functions refuse him the chance, his brain yet to comprehend the head trauma he’d suffered. To a silenced crowd, the man at Rockford’s forefront collapses into a heap on the ground, the hole in the back of his head allowing blood to pool around his scrambled cranium. His pistol-wielding hand lowering slightly, Jack takes one step forward and sets his eyes on the crowd’s remainder, most unsure of how to react. “We just took over this compound. Do you really want to test us?” the man inquires, illustrating his point in resounding fashion, those who dare question him left to think twice. His display interrupted only by the sound of heavy exhaust pipes pulling around the corner, Jack’s attention shares the focus of those he sides with, watching the bright lights of their anticipated eighteen wheeler near close. As the large wheels slow to a stop, Jack redirects the aim of his pistol to the air, his finger pulling the trigger three times as he fires a trifecta of rounds into the dark sky of an extremely early morning. “That’s the signal- get in position!” Jade hisses, huddled in the home’s veiled corners as her hands flail in differing directions, marshalling smaller groups of armed patrolmen in different paths. “Jade, this is a bad idea- you should be inside with Alicia and the rest” Isaac remarks, earning an appreciative smile and pat on the shoulder from his relative, her rifle thrown over one shoulder. “I’ll be right back here by sunrise” Jade murmurs, prepared for what is to come. Opening his driver’s side entrance, Rocky peers his head over the top of his truck's door, passing a smirk toward the men and woman he’d spent the last number of weeks getting to know. “What’s all of this?” the grey-haired man inquires, crossing his arms atop the door’s crest as his head leans forward, his loud voice echoing as it’s carried toward the curious scene ahead. “A solution to both of our problems” Jack answers, assuredly stepping around Archie as he approaches the rig with caution, partially using his own body to shield his offering from stray gunfire. “We started this fight, and now we’re ending it” Jack explains, reupholstering his handgun as he marches toward Rockford’s frontline, “we wanted our fair share- now we have it.” “And what about your problem?” Rocky swiftly calls out, harkening on the second half of the man’s claims with intrigue, his shoulders jutting outward, “how exactly did you solve that one?” His lip curling, Jack notices Rocky’s uninterest in his speech, the promises of prosperity and fables of fortune he presents Rockford with not appearing as genuine to the invasive settlement’s highest power. “We found our people here” Jack answers, jutting his chin toward the faces yet to imprint themselves upon Rocky’s mind, the people it had been so important to reach Nova Scotia in search of now stood by, armed to the teeth. “We gave you those guns for the first trip to Nova Scotia- now we don’t need it” Jack explains, letting his hands hang by each side as Rocky watches on, hesitant to buy into the claims being made. “And how the hell did you manage to take this whole thing over?” Rocky inquires curiously, the open window allowing him to use the door’s opening as a stepladder to the cabin’s roof, where he occupies a seat as the conversation persists. “Because we’ve been together since the dead rose. Everyone that you see behind me- old faces and new ones- we’ve been together since the start” Jack replies, both thumbs sliding into his jean pockets. “And you just convinced them to turn on their home?” Rocky continues to challenge, hiding his doubt in Jack’s claims less than before, aware of where the balance in power lies. “You don’t have to believe me, but I haven’t lied to you before” the younger man counters, watching Rocky wrap his fingers around a long, thick yellow rope, its leash leading directly toward the truck’s behind. “As a matter of fact- I don’t believe you” Rocky ripostes, glancing toward the mirror on his driver’s side door as his head shakes. Though a great distance away, Jack keeps a clear view of Rocky with a minor squint in his eye, watching the man glance toward his side with curiosity. Silently, Jack trails his glance toward the rig’s rear, able to see a small, yet noticeable fleet of Jade’s men briefly exposed for all to see as they dash through a strip of moonlight unshielded by the trees. In a moment of worry, the altercation’s presumed lead figure returns his sights to Rocky, taking immediate notice of the man’s grin. “Open fire!” Jack exclaims, not wasting his breath as he unsheathes his weapon, dashing to Lauren’s side as he opens fire on the unsuspecting Rockford fleet. Beaten to the punch of presenting hostility, Rocky harshly tugs at the rope as he slides off the cabin’s roof, safely reaching the ground before hurrying for cover with the remainder of his flock. Led by the opposite end of the rope, the rig’s trailer door lifts from its closure, exposing the depths of the hauler to the small counterattack Cumberland had quietly prepared to Rockford’s back. “AARRGGHH!” the trailer soon hisses, spilling dozens of the undead from its confines, their collective sights set on Cumberland’s counterforce, prompting the secretive group to present themselves and open fire. Spilling out from the treeline, Cumberland’s forces surround those responsible for turning the settlement upon its head, spilling blood throughout 18 Rawson’s paved parkway in the name of liberation. Hurrying to cover, Jack and Lauren claim a small side of the home’s exterior as a barricade, regrouping as the rest of their militia follows suit. “Jack!” Franklin exclaims, ducking behind the McKee’s parked truck in search of refuge. At the mere mention of his name, Jack springs from cover and empties his clip in the direction of enemy forces, answering the call he’d understood as Franklin requesting cover fire. With ease, the couple’s towering friend reaches safe haven, joining Jack and Lauren in reprieve from the cover fire. “Get back to Alicia, we’ll take over from here!” Jack directs, pushing a hesitant Franklin in the shoulder to usher him back into the home, the fight that rages in need of friendly hands. “He’s making a break for it!” Salem barks, retaining her cover as she fires into the treeline, only able to connect her rounds with the wooden logs Rocky uses for cover on his entry to total darkness. “I don’t have a shot on him!” Salem defeatedly cries, ducking back behind cover as she reloads, making way for Nessie to leave the safety of her asphalt cover. With Clint following closely behind, Nessie charges through the warzone with minimal need to open fire on the lessening front of Rockford as it makes a final stand. “Where are you going!?” Emilio shouts aloud, receiving no answer from the siblings as they vanish into the woods, giving chase to the man responsible for Cumberland’s uproar. “Frank!” Heather exclaims, shielding Amy against her black and red flannel-covered chest as she hurries toward the front door, leaving the young girl in the man’s possession. “I’m going after the siblings!” Heather explains, returning Amy’s gun to the large man’s hand, “keep Amy here- don’t let her leave!” The scene too disordered for the man to offer much of a refusal, Franklin nods his head as Heather charges out from cover, dashing through the battleground as Jack and Lauren prepare for the next round of their fight. Racing to the window, Amy peers through the glass to watch her parental figure descend upon the woodlands. “Amy, honey- get away from the window!” Alicia calls, motioning for the young girl to join herself and Franklin on the home’s second level, a call Amy nearly accepts in the nick of time. Passing a final glance through the home’s viewfinder, Amy watches a second familiar figure follow Heather’s lead through the woodland’s entrance, the newly-brunette hairs that shine in the moonlight striking immediate fear within the young girl. Without warning, Amy charges through the living room and rips her revolver from Franklin’s hand, disregarding Heather’s advice as she hurries through the exit of 18 Rawson. “Amy!” Lauren shouts, attempting to reach for the girl before coming up short, the Callis’ daughter making it a few metres further before falling into Emilio’s grasp. “Amy, get back in the house!” Emilio exclaims, pulling the girl away from open fire as bullets continue to fly, his protective instincts kicking in. “My mom’s gonna hurt Heather!” Amy sharply exclaims, ripping herself free of Emilio’s grasp before selflessly throwing herself into the battlefield. Saving her ammunition, Amy dips into the forest as Emilio gives chase, hurrying after the young girl whilst Jack and Lauren make their final ascent on the property’s tree-covered backdrop. Following the lead of their peers, Salem and Angela finish off the group’s rotation as they hurry into the woodlands, allowing Cumberland’s armed forces to finish the job they leave behind in favour of putting a dagger in Rockford’s revolution, joining their people in nailing Rocky’s coffin shut. = 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 = “Amy!” Emilio bellows at the top of his lungs, leaping over obstructions that hang low to the ground as he follows the short figure he can barely make out the shadow of beneath the dead of night. “Amy! Wait!” the man continues, his quest differing from that of his group’s, the gunshots that pierce the air in the very near distance failing to prevent him from keeping up with the child’s surprisingly quick pace. Though her deceptively fast pace keeps Emilio on his toes, Amy’s stubby little legs prevent her from outrunning the man that follows her closely, his refusal to fall back foils her escape. “Amy, stop!” Emilio shouts, continuing to run as he slips his hands between the small of the young girl’s arms, lifting her off the ground as he continues rushing ahead, only slowing once his target has fully left the ground. “Let me go! She’s gonna hurt Heather!” Amy barks, trying to squirm free of her captor’s possession, her arms and legs flailing as she desperately attempts to free herself. “Who’s going to hurt Heather!? What are you talking about!?” Emilio queries, falling to his knees as he presses the small child into the ground, unable to confidently secure her in mid-air any longer. “My mom! She’s gonna hurt Heather!” Amy reiterates, digging her fragile fingers into the soft, loose dirt in an effort to claw her way to freedom. “Why would your mother wanna hurt Heather!?” Emilio asks once more, finally easing his grasp on the small being, allowing her to again climb to her feet and begin running. “She’s gonna-!” Amy barks again, readying her firearm for use once more before a distant scream catches her ear, dragging her attention to the side as her scurry momentarily ceases. “Mom!” Amy exclaims, her eyes widened as her face is partially illuminated by the light that breaks through the leaves of trees above. “Amy, come bac-!” Emilio shouts, desperate to catch his breath as he begins running again, attempting to keep up with the child before the air is ripped from his lungs. Mid-run, Emilio’s body weight shifts to the side, crashing into the ground at the impact of a grown man catching him by surprise, both arms wrapped around Amy’s overseer as he’s tackled. “You fucks took our shit!” a heavy man barks, swinging his fist toward Emilio’s face with a force derived from sheer rage, catching the downed leader with a right hand. Barely acknowledging the punch’s effect, Emilio wraps his hands around the collar of his attacker’s shirt and thrusts his head forward to great effect, the weight he feels pressing upon him alleviated with one move. Dragging himself out from beneath his assailant, Emilio couples his arms together and shields his face, hit with an unexpected flash of light that catches him in the eyes. Within the same moment, a single bullet fires through the woodlands, immediately dragging a groan from the hefty figure Emilio had nearly been smothered beneath seconds prior. Ducking low to the ground, Emilio lowers his arms and gazes upon the large man with the round stomach, his right hand pressing against the wound that had just ripped through his chest. With wide eyes, the man’s face glances into Emilio’s, his visage one the capable survivor had never seen before, though the look in his aggressor's eyes is one that needs little explanation. Panicked and afraid, the fat man’s widened eyes fall upon Emilio, the bloodstain his hand covers only growing as it further stains his grey shirt. Without warning, a second bullet rips through the obese raider’s skull with great effect, immediately splattering his brain matter along the ground that his hefty frame soon crashes into, the threat of his presence alleviated with great effect. “Are you good!?” Jade’s friendly voice worriedly exclaims, the light she aims in Emilio’s direction presenting her with the man’s shocked expression. “Wh- which!? Which way did Amy go!?” Emilio remarks concerningly, looking to the ground for a few moments before an additional gunshot ruptures the sky, its sound resonating in the direction he’d initially chased the young girl toward. “Emilio!” Jade calls out, watching the man hurry toward the sound of hellfire without as much as a ‘goodbye’, her instincts kicking in as she reholsters her weapon and gives chase, following the sound of Emilio’s footsteps further into the uncertain terrain. | Huffing for a new breath with every step, Heather focuses on the topography ahead, making out barely visible glimpses at debris that lines her route in hopes of maintaining her momentum. As a break nears in the trees, Heather presses onward, crashing into the trunk of a large tree as she approaches a clearing in the forest, a chunk of her flannel sleeve tearing as her arm grazes a low-hanging branch. To her dismay, Heather’s search comes to a disappointing conclusion, the clearing she’d hoped would offer her insight to the target’s whereabouts proving to be a let down, nothing more than a near-circular patch of overgrown grass brightened by the unobstructed moon directly above. As her breaths grow quieter, Heather’s optimistic hopes become rejuvenated, her ears taking to the route she’d hurried down as a second set of footsteps draws close. With her weapon in hand, Heather takes aim at the break in the trees she’d scampered through and begins to wait, prepared to fire at the first sign of danger that presents itself to her. “Don’t shoot, it’s me!” Jess’ voice proclaims, her extended hands the first to catch the moonlight’s glow as they lead her into the open space, the woman’s exhausted gasps for air the first thing to follow her declaration. “Were you following me?” Heather inquires, her eyes kept steadily upon the hunched-forward woman, the front of her white tank top stained with sweat. “I thought you were going after the guy” Jess sighs, continuing to fight for each new breath as her hands press into her knees, offering herself the chance to collect her bearings. “Why not follow someone else?” Heather challenges, the hairs on her neck reacting to the situation appropriately, just as sceptical to the claims Jess makes as Heather herself is. “You were the last person to chase him before me- why? Is it a crime to follow you in the woods?” Jess queries, flashing the woman a smile as her sarcastic remark concludes, met with a silence that draws intrigue from the Callis family matriarch. Slowly collecting herself, Jess pushes herself upright, her eyes squinting as gunshots continue ringing in the distance, her attention not belonging to the sounds of war that surround her, but to the weapon that remains readied by Heather’s side. “You wanna put that gun away?” Jess calmly wonders aloud, looking into Heather’s eyes to find immediate distrust, an expression she can recognise all too well. “Not really” Heather ripostes with equal poise, her straightened arm prepared to pull upward if necessary, the finger she rests beside the trigger guard set to fire if the occasion calls for it. Gently nodding, Jess presses her teeth into the flesh of her top lip as her palms present themselves to the woman across from her, both hands raised in a show of surrender. “I’m not the enemy here, Heather” Jess explains, understanding that the woman she stares down has little good will toward her, “I don’t know what you think this is- but-” “I know exactly what this is” Heather interrupts, lifting her weapon in Jess’ direction, her finger having relocated to the trigger. Holding back a deep inhale, Jess raises her hands higher, her chin lifting further upward as the distant bullets slowly begin to cease. “Heather, listen to me- I get why you don’t trust me- I do” Jess ripostes, her voice lowering to a much more gentle tone, softly presenting her case to her fellow survivor, “I don’t have to like it in order to get used to sharing-” “Did you kill Ameil?” Heather interjects, cutting Jess’ elucidation short as her hand remains steady, the question that lingers without an answer catching Amy’s mother by surprise. “Wh- what?” Jess replies, scrunching her face as her eyes squint forward, the woman’s approach continuing in spite of the situation that presents itself to her. “You killed Ameil- didn’t you?” Heather repeats, jutting the barrel of her weapon in Jess’ direction as the question remains unanswered. “It didn’t click with me until the other night, but I didn’t want to believe it” Heather confesses, voluntarily stepping closer to the once-blonde survivor she’d once considered a close friend, “but you knowing about Cumberland- knowing about the family rule?- the way you’ve treated me up to now, well that- that feels off.” Pressing her lips together, Jess straightens herself out, her squinted eyes easing as she settles into her place, dropping the act of innocence as Heather inches closer. “Mmm” Jess sighs, her hands falling to each side as she subtly nods her head, “-yeah. Yeah, I killed Ameil.” Playing her cards effectively, Jess uses her revelation as bait to lower Heather’s guard, opening the chance for the dangerous survivor to lunge forward, swatting the gun out of her opponent’s hand before throwing her weight against the woman’s chest. Disarmed, Heather acts on instinct alone, wrapping her arms around Jess as the woman crashes against her, using her aggressor’s velocity as a weapon to her own advantage. Her body crashing into the grass, Heather’s grasp on the Callis matriarch is thwarted as the grown woman breaks free, wrestling Heather for a superior position as their collective reach stretches toward the unclaimed firearm. Their brief struggle forced to end, Jess focuses her efforts on overwhelming Heather, taking her open palms to the woman’s throat in an attempt to choke her into unconsciousness. Desperation kicking in, Amy’s caregiver puts her knee into Jess’ ribs, freeing herself from the fate of suffocation as her attacker climbs off, sights set elsewhere. Struggling to her feet, Heather listens to the mechanisms jostling in her weapon from a short distance away, the shadow her body casts on the ground colliding with Jess’ own, the difference between them being the handgun that rests in the hand of the opposite woman. Knowing obedience will only allow Jess a cleaner crime, Heather follows the gun woman's lead, lunging toward Jess in a poor effort of disarming her. With the swing of her hand, Jess lays the stock of her weapon into the side of Heather’s head, dropping the woman to the ground as she shouts in pain, her face pressing into the blades of grass. “She’s not your daughter!” Jess exclaims, resting her finger on the trigger as she takes aim at Heather’s head, the woman below turning her head to look the murderer in the eyes, “I’m not letting you take her from!- Argh!” Her small finger squeezing the trigger, Amy fires a bullet into the small of her mother’s back, neutralising her in a moment of terror and fear. “Amy” Jess sighs, falling to a knee as she watches her daughter rush past through the strands of hair that hang before her face, seeking the embrace of the woman Jess had threatened to put down. “Amy, don’t!” the girl’s mother cries, reaching her hand toward her daughter before pulling her reach back, unable to extend her limb too far without the bullet wound triggering a sharp, stinging pain throughout her body. “She’s not your mother!” Jess grunts, trying to return to a standing position as Heather’s arms cradle Amy tightly, reclaiming the girl as her own before hurrying into the night, hoping to avoid the wrath of a woman pushed too far past her breaking point. Watching the pair dash through the treeline once more, Jess musters the strength to give chase, forcing herself to fight through the excruciating anguish as she reclaims her firearm, storming off into the night with her mind set on reclaiming what belongs to her. | “Stop running so far ahead!” Jack proclaims, his wife’s silhouette easier to watch stray further ahead as the sky begins to lighten, a new day’s dawn appearing just beyond the horizon. “Keep up!” Lauren ripostes, shining a small light toward the dense coppice ahead, its minimal effect more than noticeable beneath the night. As instructed, Jack grits his teeth and increases his pace, dragging his feet through patches of dirt before leaping over the branches and roots that occupy the ground beneath him. Unsteady as it rests within her swinging hand, the light they brighten the immediate area with swipes across the air ahead, incapable of staying still for longer than a lonely second. “Fuck you!” a familiar, no-nonsense voice grunts to the couple’s far left, their journey immediately coming to a rest as their collective eyes take to the direction. “Was that-?” Jack begins to wonder aloud, gasping for air as he rejoins with Lauren, his inquiry halted at the sound of two gunshots that ring out in the same direction, causing need for concern. The gun she pulls the trigger of knocked from her grasp, Nessie finds herself overwhelmed by the small gaggle of intruders that surround her, brutalising the woman that threatens their attempt at escape. Only a few metres away, Clint’s predicament proves not to be much better, his ribs and head targeted by a swarm of paranoid trespassers as he lays on the ground, helpless to fight back as kicks rain down upon him. Trying desperately to fight back, Nessie feels her fight give in, each shove stealing the wind from her lungs before finally joining her brother on the ground, coming upon incredibly dire straits. Though heavily beaten, Nessie’s attempts to return to her feet persist, her hands pressing into the ground as her brother’s groans become more audible, the vicious attack he suffers only further fueling the woman’s starved counterassault. “Fuckin’ finish them off!” Rocky commands, listening to his servants wail upon those he’d once considered close enough to join at the frontlines of war, the only allegiance he has left shared with his desire to outrun the consequences of his actions. The only one of five aggressors to notice the need for immediate action, one man unnoticeably dissimilar from the rest of his flock unsheathes a knife, putting aside the child-like joy in his assault in favour of recognising the need for action. “Come on, finish them off already!” Rocky orders, seemingly offering the magic words that lead the knife-wielding marauder into action, his hand reaching toward the conquered sibling below. Pulling his arm back, Nessie’s assailant prepares to swing his knife forward, swiping through the air with deadly intent before his body’s weight shifts, the control in his arm completely lost as a great force crashes into his back and sends him flying across the debris-covered campground. With a gun in hand, Lauren shines her flashlight in the face of the three men that gather around Clint and opens fire, piercing each of their skulls with the pull of her trigger as her husband hurls himself through the air, shoving Nessie’s first accoster to the ground before setting his sights on the second. A great violence awoken within him, Jack’s protective nature presents itself without the need for warning, his sights taken toward the second, much less well-built man that had accompanied Rocky’s efforts. Thrusting his head forward, Jack’s skull collides with the bridge of the second man’s nose, immediately thwarting any counterattack the opposing forces may have been capable of distributing. Stood still with his hands by each side, Jack grits his teeth as he looks to the side, able to make out the slightest features of Rocky’s face in spite of the near-empty sky above. Returning to his feet, the first aggressor readies his knife for a second attack, plunging his hand through the air in the hopes of catching the well-intentioned man off guard to great failure. Wrapping his hand around the man’s wrist, Jack slides his palm over the man’s hand as he steps aside, stealing the blade from the assailant’s hand before tripping him toward the ground once more. Able to see Nessie’s figure crawl to her brother’s aid, the man’s blood lust only grows deeper, his vision clouded by a foggy haze of red as he eyes the larger attacker, his blade prepared. As if he were a butcher, Lauren’s husband takes the knife to the overweight adversary with ease, slashing at the man’s neck and chest, then following him to the ground as he collapses. With one final plunge, the man drives his blade into the large flock member’s chest cavity before turning upon the initial assailant, driving his knife into the second man’s stomach without an inch of reluctance or remorse. “Jac-!” Lauren exclaims, her exclamation abruptly cut short at the sound of a feverish grunt, the rasp behind the voice providing Jack with a face to invoke images of. The air taken from her, Lauren’s firearm and flashlight fall to the ground as she’s taken down, struck in the face by the solid right hand of Rockford’s once leader. His head spinning to face his wife’s direction, Jack leaves the second aggressor’s side in favour of the man that catches him by surprise. As the side of his face is battered with the handgun’s grip, Jack eats the blow and dares Rocky to deal another, the older man answering the request by raising the weapon’s barrel toward his head. *pop* Ripping through the trees, a bullet sores from beyond the campground’s scene and tears through Rocky’s forearm, not only providing enough damage to disarm the man, but immediately force him to a knee. An opportunity provided to him, Jack capitalises, kicking the grey-haired man in the face with enough force to put him on the ground. Briefly paying mind to the gunman behind him, Jack’s sights set upon the grounded man that now writhes on the ground with his arm in hand. Trying to slither away, Rocky presses his boots into the ground and pushes himself onward, only thwarted by the weight that presses upon him in the form of a knee. “You were supposed to help me!” Rocky shouts, incapable of crawling any further now that his attacker kneels upon him, his arms pinned to the ground. With a grin, Jack captures the flashlight from its bed of dirt before brightening the man’s face with its aid, a visible disgust for the powerless circumstance that he finds himself a victim of. “What happened to our deal!?” Rocky angrily queries, shouting into the heavens as Jack’s eyes take to the immediate surroundings, “we were supposed to be in this together!” With a smirk, the man positioned with power reaches into the dirt once more, his head shaking as his hand wraps around the smooth finish of a large, unassuming stone. “I only fight for one side” Jack answers, looking Lauren in the eyes as she stirs to her feet, shielding the wounded siblings from any further sign of danger. Returning his focus to the older survivor below, Jack shakes his head, “and that side-” the man remarks, watching Rocky’s face take on a look of horror as the dots connect, “-is not yours.” Simply because he desires to, Jack swings his hand forward one single time, crushing Rocky’s skull with enough force to leave a dent, the groggy look in his victim’s eyes showing signs of life, but not much in the way of awareness. Letting his flashlight drop, the man cracks the skull of Rockford’s commander with enough force for the bone to protrude from skin, any remaining sign of consciousness quickly fading. Increasing the pace, Jack brings his hand through the air again- and again- and again- repeatedly swinging at Rocky’s skull until there isn’t much of anything solid left to lay into, his fatal blow having been offered long ago. Filling his lungs with air before violently depleting them, the man’s blood-splattered face lifts toward his wife as the small boulder falls from his hand, its smooth face caked with blood. Cautiously stepping around Rocky’s body, Salem and Angela move toward the siblings, freeing Lauren to tend to her husband’s side. Their eyes colliding, Salem and Jack stare toward each other with a graceful nod, the mystery of who’d spared his life seemingly made clear at the sight of the rifle that rests within the sniper’s hand. | “Jess! Amy!” Emilio shouts in horror, his arms thrusting by his sides as he races through the woodlands, his motivations for entering the forest clearly differing from the rest of his group’s. “Emilio, where are you going!?” Jade exclaims, though she tries to keep up, her efforts feel insufficient when trailing behind a man whose speed far exceeds her own. “Amy! Come back!” Jess cries out into the open air, her firearm still swinging by her side as she follows the rustling of leaves and thudding footsteps. “She’s not your mother!” the woman continues to plead, worrying that the ground she’s already given up to the caring pair is too much to overcome, the wound in her back that presents her with such extreme pain ensuring the chase remains unbalanced. “Don’t look back!” Heather orders, pressing Amy’s head against her sternum as she hurries through overgrown vines and uneasy terrain. “Mom- stop!” Amy cries out, tightly pressing her eyes together as her head is pressed against her caregiver’s chest, fearful of her mother’s wrath, but even more horrified at the thought of what fate may await the woman whose arms she resides within. “Jess! JESS!” Emilio barks, eying a torn piece of red and black flannel as he hurries into a clearing, not stopping for a moment as he follows the patches of grass he can see has been trifled over. “Emilio, wait up!” Jade pleads, her request incapable of reaching the man at a worse time, their ears perking at the sound of another set of fired weaponry. Pulling her trigger, Amy fires another round in her mother’s direction, seemingly deciding that the hope of extending Jess the benefit of the doubt is no longer viable. “Oh, shit!” Heather exclaims, picking up the pace as she tears through another gap in the forest, the clearing that she enters not just an empty plot of land, but a wide and spacious open field- not an obstruction to take cover behind whatsoever. “Amy!” Jess screams, watching her daughter’s captor take toward an open field just a short distance ahead, her firearm readied as another bullet fires off in her direction. “Give me my daughter!” Jess howls, again ducking at the sound of a third shot ringing toward her as she steps upon well-cut grass, entering the field before steadying her aim. “Jess! Jess, sto-!” Emilio pleads, able to see a break in the woodlands approaching a few hundred metres ahead, the call of his resonant voice falling silent as yet another shot rings out, this time met with no further cover fire, its piercing sound sitting alone in a sea of grief. Subduing his voice, Emilio opts to continue the charge toward the field he can make the small details of, brushing Jade’s chase of him aside and allowing her to follow the breadcrumbs his footsteps have left behind. Though amidst the dead of night, a lone figure slowly walks forward beneath the cover of moonlight, its luminosity giving each blade of grass a dark green colour. Nearly too distracted to pay mind to the obstructions ahead, Emilio graces a few trees on his remaining quest toward the open field, the break in the trees now just ahead. “Emilio, wait!” Jade exclaims from behind, not wanting to thwart the man’s attempt at preventing tragedy, but not desiring the potential dangers he blindly rushes into. “Jess! Wait!” Emilio exclaims, holding his hands outward as he bursts through the woodland’s edge, finally entering the field to see a woman staring forward with her hand by her side, the weapon within it aimed at the ground. “I don’t know what they’ve done, but this isn’t worth throwing your-” Emilio pleads, trying his best to alleviate the situation before suddenly falling silent, the unresponsiveness Jess had met him with set aside as she begins slowly walking forward. Consumed by confusion, Emilio’s silence precedes his glance toward the open space, its trimmed grass allowing him to spot the presence of a second soul with ease, its body lifelessly lying face-down. Her grasp on the weapon depleting, Jess’ firearm falls to the ground as she walks forward, closing in on the body that rests just ahead, the desperate rage she’d been overcome by having vanished, replaced with an indescribable shock that sends shivers through her body. “N-” Emilio sighs, listening to Jade’s footsteps reach solid ground once more, finally having caught up just as his head tilts to one side, his face falling as his eyes widen, “No.” His head falling back and face taking toward the heavens, Emilio shakes his head in refusal, a tear running down his face as a sudden shortness of breath takes over, his arms covered with goosebumps as he returns to watching the woman stagger toward the crumpled heap. Her lip quivering, Jess’ expression fills with pain and regret as she approaches the soul she’d taken, a single wound in the back of Heather’s spine made clear in the light above. Speechless, Jess drops to her knees as she reaches toward Heather’s body, gasping for the breaths that evade her as she pushes the woman’s corpse aside, presenting her with the horrifying reality she made possible. Limping forward with bated breaths, Emilio shakes his head as he nears closer to Jess, watching the woman wrap her arms around her daughter and lift her off the ground. Her eyelids parted, Amy’s glossy eyes stare toward nothingness, the side of her head marked by the wound that resulted in her demise- Jess’ bullet having ripped through Heather’s chest and found a second target in her daughter’s head. Stricken with the grief of what she’d unintentionally caused, Jess falls to a seat on the ground as she cradles her daughter’s body, lightly brushing the hairs that cover her face aside as she holds back the wail of emotions that build within her. “Oh- god” Jade murmurs, pressing her hand against her mouth as Emilio continues forward, stopping a few metres away from the woman he’d known since the start of the old world’s demise. Her daughter’s head gently resting in the small of her arm, Jess looks to the damage she’d done with clarity, an understanding of what her actions have resulted in never made clearer than right now. Her lip quivering, Jess’ eyes pull away from her daughter’s face and take toward the man that had desperately tried to stop her, his hand holding the firearm he’d reclaimed from the ground. Shaking his head, Emilio silently offers Jess a signal, his disappointment in the job he now has to finish made resoundingly understandable. Parting her lips, Jess gives Emilio a subtle nod, her pressed-together eyelids forcing a tear down the side of her cheek. Incapable of hiding her guilt, Amy’s mother lets out a sigh as the feelings overwhelm her, confessing her acceptance. “I know...” Jess whispers, watching Emilio draw within a few metres, her head lifting to look the man in the eyes as she makes her own peace, “...I won’t stop you.” Her final utterance remarked, Jess lowers her face toward her deceased daughter and presses her lips to the young girl’s head, giving it a final kiss as she holds her tight. His face flooded with a stream of tears, Emilio takes a responsibility upon himself for the sake of his group, a responsibility he takes so those he loves don’t have to. Swallowing his pride, Emilio lifts the barrel toward Jess’ head and- in the same breath as he’d aimed it- pulls the trigger, mercifully ending the distraught mother’s fight and returning her to a life where her family can be nothing less. His will depleting the moment his shot is fired, Emilio drops the weapon and falls to the ground, his legs too weak to support his body, the grief Jess had felt now left for him to suffer through. Crumbling to his side, Emilio lays against the ground just a few feet from the scene of a tragedy as Jade nears close, rushing into the night to come to the aid of a man she can sympathise with more than she’d like to admit. Between Amy and Heather, an empty revolver sits within the dark blades of grass, the child’s fingerprints preserved on its metallic grip, which shines brightly beneath the light above, its barrel coming to rest a mere centimetres away from a lonely pink flower. Wrapping her arms around Emilio, Jade tries in whatever way possible to comfort the man stricken with sorrow and misery. Forced to lament the casualties, Emilio’s head rests upon the lap of Cumberland’s leader as she caresses the side of his face, unable to keep her own eyes away from the scene of such avoidable horrors. Drained of the will to fight through the anguish they dwell upon, Emilio and Jade reside within the field, quietly suffering a tragedy that’s yet to leave the ground they reside upon. == Rise == “They’re still following!” Nessie exclaims, her left hand pressed against the wound on Jack’s shoulder as her right propels him forward, pressing into his lower back. “You didn’t expect them to let off, did you!?” Franklin calls back, wrapping his arms around his head as bullets are fired off once more.
Their destination as unclear as the distance they have yet to travel, the embattled survivors begin to struggle beneath the weight of exhaustion, its crippling grasp daring them to step past their breaking point. Watching Clint stray further ahead, Franklin fights to maintain the pace he’s taken on, his face glistening with sweat as his lungs exhale deep puffs of air, fatigue beginning to settle in. Lowering his chin, Franklin stares toward the ground as further gunfire screams through the dark sky, his eyes nearly pressing shut as each new step pulls a groan from him. Barely able to notice the soundtrack of war that surrounds him, Franklin’s motivations fight weariness for supremacy as his mind sets itself on autopilot, focusing not on his terminus, but those his attempts to escape are taken for. “Stop!” Clint exclaims, throwing his arms toward the group in his wake, his hands forcefully shoving Franklin back as their paths meet once more, the larger man’s frame incapable of slowing down without assistance. “Why!?” Nessie barks, she and Jack sharing the struggle those ahead have as they begin to lessen their hurry, their breaths growing harder to come by. Visibly frazzled and shaken, Clint’s eyes veer toward whatever he can make out, his vision obstructed by the shade of night. “In here! Now!” the man soon growls, pulling away from the group’s forefront in favour of what rests closeby, its steel exterior providing himself and those he considers close with a desperately-needed commodity- shelter. “What are you doing!?” Nessie hisses, barely able to form words through her craved attempts at regaining her breath. “Stop questioning me! Get in!” Clint swiftly quips, pushing the door to a train car inward, providing the group with an immediate reprieve from the grave perils they face. “Nessie-” Jack grunts, still relying on the woman’s support to keep himself standing, his free hand pointing its index finger in the direction they’d travelled toward, “-he’s right.” The track remaining straight ahead for what seems like kilometres, a pair of headlights pierce through the dim night, effectively cutting the group off from advancing forward or retreating entirely. “Shit- alright, come on!” Nessie responds, assisting Franklin in aiding Jack to the train’s caboose before climbing aboard themselves, making sure to lock the door on their way in. Dropping to her knees, Nessie slinks into the corner as she attempts to capture her bearings, loose strands of hair sticking to the sweat on her face just the same as the rest of her group’s. “Stay quiet” Jack whispers, pulling himself into a seat near the cabin’s entrance, each breath forcing him to wince in pain, “-give ‘em a second to pass.” The back of his head pressing against a wall, Franklin’s eyes pull away from his group in favour of what sits near, a curious look appearing over his face as the room’s orange glow is taken notice of. “Psst” the man whistles across the cramped corridor, directing Clint’s attention toward the rest of the caboose’s interior, a single lantern left sat atop a counter closeby, its glass surrounding an already-lit flame. Its walls lined with the same glossy, hardwood finish as its ceiling and floor does, the caboose sits in beautiful condition, void of dust and debris whilst presenting a homely feeling. Just beyond the small group, a set of chairs sit in the centre of the room near to a vintage desktop, which rests near the end of a small couch long enough to serve as a bed if needed. The further the caboose trails on, the more it has to present. Lights that no longer work adorn the walls, curtains cover the windows whose blinds already seal the outside world from getting a peak at what resides within. As the caboose nears the back, a further set of chairs sit near a compact, but sturdy fireplace- the steel shell that covers it proving to be just as good of a stovetop as any. “Don’t make a sound” Salem whispers, huddled in the corner with the right side of her body pressing against Alicia, her finger on the trigger to the rifle she presses against her forehead. “We’re outnumbered” Alicia ripostes, her voice nearly too quiet for even the woman beside her to hear. “Even if you were fighting with me- that wouldn’t change” Salem replies, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks Alicia in the eyes, attention redirected toward the first few footsteps she can gather since their train car’s intrusion. Quietly adjusting herself, Salem keeps crouched behind a set of half-walls, their presence only ever intended to serve an aesthetic purpose until this moment. On one knee, Salem keeps her chin toward the ground as she waits for an opportunity, readied to fire if she feels the need. Stepping closer, the heavy set of footsteps cease, replaced by what the long-range shooter knows to be the movement of her lantern, immediately revealing her target’s location. “Don’t move!” Salem commands, standing out from cover with her eye already pressed against the scope, her dominant hand’s finger prepared to exchange gunfire. Panic and exhaustion mixing together, the group collectively turns to the cabin’s end, their hands raising in an unprompted display of surrender- too tired to fight any longer than they already have. Setting the lantern down, Franklin reciprocates his group’s gesture, both hands held toward the air as his fingers part, his eyes yet to fall upon the person that holds them at gunpoint from the room over. Her eyes widening, Salem’s head pulls away from her rifle, its barrel still aimed as her motor functions struggle to catch up with her brain. “Wh-” Salem murmurs, slowly lowering her weapon from the group’s direction as Alicia takes notice, watching from behind cover as Salem’s guard lowers. “You’re alive?” Salem softly speaks aloud, her bottom lip quivering as her weapon falls the rest of the way to her side, “you’re- you’re alive.” Squinting in the woman’s direction, Alicia watches Salem lower the rifle to her side with confusion, puzzled at the presence that provides her friend with such comfort. As her head pulls back, Salem’s eyes lower toward the pregnant stowaway with a half-smile, incapable of presenting emotion clearly in the moment. “Yeah-” the large man at the foursome’s forefront replies, his deep voice not only familiar to Alicia’s ear, but longed-for, “we’re alive.” Her eyelids having widely parted, Alicia pushes herself off the ground, her knees leaving the hardwood floors as she ascends to her feet. Speechless, Salem steps aside, clearing the centre aisle for her friends to reconnect, the pair’s embrace casting a shadow against the back wall as Salem passes, reuniting with Jack and the siblings as the distant sounds of muffled voices remain beyond the caboose’s quarters. = 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 = With her rifle in tow, Katie stares down the ominous vessel that rests within the calm waters of the St. Lawrence, its anchor sunken into the water’s depths as its gangway rests against Orleans Island’s solid ground. One foot placed in front of the other, the young woman ascends the ship’s side, able to notice the armed man that waits at the staircase’s summit for her presence, his unamused expression following her as she draws nearer, inching closer to his ship. “Katie Dawson?” the man inquires, his question answered only with an unamused grunt equal to his own facial visage, “sorry- no unauthorised weapons allowed onboard.” Her forward progression halted at the boat’s entrance, Katie scowls in the man’s direction, momentarily redirecting her gaze toward the loaded weapon she gently cradles, her desire to continue onward quickly depleting. “Maybe I don’t feel comfortable trusting people that park war boats just outside of my house” Katie ripostes, her tone immediately taking on a reluctant inflection. “I don’t see how that’s my problem” the stationed guard replies, unfazed by the woman’s claims, but even further unperturbed by her lack of cooperation. “Because I was asked here by Mr. Megaphone- whoever that black guy was from the other day” Katie retorts, her left foot coming to a rest a slight distance further outward than her right, “you look like a toothpick with hair- so I doubt you’re more important than he is. Since that’s the case- I doubt he’d be happy knowing you kept us from talking because of this petty nonsense.” “I’m following protocols, girl” the man swiftly replies, directing the downward-facing barrel of his weapon toward a distant corner of the vessel’s entrance platform, “if he’s got a problem with me following orders- so be it. With that said, leave the gun by the door or just leave in general.” Her tongue pressing into the corner of her mouth, Katie’s eyelids near closer to each other as she stands silently for a moment, a brief glance shared toward the corridor she anticipates entering through. Nostrils flaring, the young woman surrenders to the cruiser’s regulations and relinquishes her long-range firearm, gently resting it upon the tiny platform before stepping through the opened water-tight door. With a side-eye, Katie ducks her head as she steps into the ship, the guard she walks past offering a few words of encouragement. “At the end of the corridor, turn right and Gamble’s office will be the third door on the left” the man remarks, unabashedly presenting the young woman with a sarcastic grin, “-enjoy your stay aboard the S.S Go Fuck Yourself.” Briefly pausing, Katie’s face takes toward her shoulder, allowing her eyes to fall upon the foul-mouthed, grey suit-wearing guard as she returns the half-assed remark. “Try not to fall overboard carrying that massive head of yours, jackass” the acquainted survivor responds, resetting her sights toward the long, narrow passageway that resides before her, its space small enough to be fully-illuminated by the small, unimpressive bulbs that sit within reinforced shields. Undaunted by the ringing of pipes that line walls in her every direction, Katie’s eyes keep to the hallway’s end, briefly glancing down each new branch the sector presents to her, its corridors equally cramped as the one she ventures through. “Welcome” Gamble remarks, watching his visitor’s head peer around the frame of his office door, a pair of glasses sitting halfway down the bridge of his nose as he silently reads the notes off a piece of paper. “I certainly don’t feel like it” Katie replies, watching Gamble’s silent stare approach her face, waiting for emphasis to be added within her remark, “welcomed- I don’t feel like it.” “Ah, well that’s not my problem” Gamble quickly ripostes, taking a final look into his notepad as he ascends from the chair he’d occupied for most of the day, attention soon redirected toward his guest. “Astor says you’re his go to- the person he calls when he needs a pair of hands to get dirty for him” the man continues, stepping around his desk before taking a seat upon its front, his hands placed against the hardwood to each side. “Is that what he said?” Katie curiously replies, crossing her arms as her head tilts toward one shoulder. “It’s what he implied- yes” Gamble quickly remarks, matching the woman’s posture by folding his arms against his chest, one eyebrow raised higher than the other, “and from what he’s mentioned, you seem to be the most-adapt person in his camp. Just how many years did you spend on the outside? Three? Four? You’ve practically seen every step of the world’s decay.” “I fail to see how any of that is your business” Katie eagerly interjects, not taking kindly to the cold, disproportionate amount of control the vessel’s leading figure has seemingly attempted to claim. “Believe it or not- everything about Orleans Island is my business” Gamble corrects, flashing a smile in the corner of his mouth as the shoulder of his suit jacket lightly grazes the side of his face, “if you’re who gets the dirty work done- that’s my business.” “In that case, maybe I should ask a better question” Katie retorts, her right knee bending outward as her arm-cross deepens, “why should I give a shit?” The qualm earning a light chuckle from him, Gamble’s chin lowers for a moment, only returning as his eyes reconnect with the young woman ahead. “Because it’s better to have some people as allies than others” Gamble answers, lowering his arms slightly as his grin dissipates, his naturally commanding expression returning, “I’m one of the people you’d rather not have in the opposite corner.” “I’ve seen plenty of people in this world- probably more than I’d like to admit- with a better claim to that than you” Katie retorts, unafraid of the man’s intimidating posture, taking it more as a presentation than an honest depiction of who sits before her. “I doubt that” Gamble remarks, his voice inherently deep and smooth, his stare never once leaving Katie from this moment onward, “but I don’t doubt why you’d think that.” Unfurling his arms, the well-dressed man lowers himself from the desk’s edge, matching Katie’s stance as the woman’s eyes become level with the centre of his chest. Not flinching, Katie uncrosses her arms and closes the distance between herself and the dictatorial figure, her dominant hand presenting just the tip of her index finger forward. “Then tell me why I should think any differently” the woman challenges, pressing her single digit into the man’s sternum and pushing him backward, literally poking him in search of his weak spot, “more importantly- tell me why I should give a fu-” Allowing the first subtle jab, Gamble’s left hand wraps around the woman’s wrist the moment her finger skims his body for a second time. “Ahh!” the young woman groans, leaning to the side as her arm is turned to the right, guided at Gamble’s will as she falls to a knee, her limb remaining in the man’s possession. “Is this a good start?” Gamble inquires, his voice not raising any further than the calm, collected tone he’d initially begun speaking to the young woman with, a gesture that only strengthens his point. “Not at all!” Katie grunts, pulling in a deep breath as she unsheathes a blade from within her belt loop, her left hand swiping through the air as she slices into the flesh of the man’s arm, prompting his aggression’s ceasing. “Argh, you BITCH!” Gamble howls, stumbling backward as his right hand tightly grasps the wound on his left arm, watching Katie confidently return to her feet with the knife in tow. “To answer your question from before- about how long I’d been out there?” Katie remarks, earning Gamble’s attention as she addresses the earlier concern from their conversation, “-long enough to know when people have really bad security measures.” Grimacing, Gamble groans toward the young lady, who returns the knife to her side and slowly makes for the cabin’s exit, confident in her declaration. “If you ever lay a hand on me again- I’ll fucking kill you” Katie warns, stepping through the room’s exit as Gamble watches on, applying pressure to his wound as the young woman departs, yet to be sure of what kind of impression he’s taken from their confrontation. | “Where is he!?” Lauren howls as she storms through the front doors of a small station redesigned to house a small police force, her group following closely behind as Emilio leads the charge onward. “Lauren!” a voice all-to familiar to the woman cries out, rounding the corner with an eager expression, his eyes immediately falling upon his love the moment she steps into view. Without another word, Lauren bursts past the small obstructions in her path and leaps into Jack’s arms, her face pressing into the small of the man’s neck as he snatches her out of the air. Not holding back his emotions, Jack’s smile overcomes his face, overwhelmed with joy as he drops to a knee, his forehead resting against the side of the woman’s face. “That’s beautiful” Franklin murmurs from afar, catching Emilio’s attention at the immediate sound of his voice. “You made it you goddamn son of a bitch!” Emilio humorously proclaims, stepping around the rejoined couple with his arms held outward. “It’s nice to see you again, governor!” Franklin enthusiastically erupts, high-fiving his long-time friend before embracing the man with glee, his lone-remaining hand patting the once-running mate on the back. “And same to you, lieutenant governor” Emilio jokes, pulling his head away to look the man in the eyes, one part of a larger reunion he’d never truly anticipated seeing. Sharing the reintroduction, Clint and Nessie stroll around the corner, reacquainting themselves with those they’d once been separated from, overcome with appreciation for the opportunity to reconvene. “As much as I hate to interrupt this- duty calls” a voice familiar to all calls aloud, capturing the group’s undivided attention with just the sound of her voice. Her brothers flanking each of her sides, Jade walks into the station’s foyer with purpose, one foot stepping ahead of the other with sights set on the destination ahead. “I still have a lunatic walking my streets and I’d like to put a stop to that” the woman remarks, hands tucked into the pockets of her tight, black jeans. “I know the four of you were part of Rocky’s inner circle. And even though I’m prepared to look past all of that, there’s no denying that he doesn’t put Cumberland under siege if not for you all spitting nonsense into his ear” the woman continues, putting an end to the chipper assembly her department hosts, “so- if I’m willing to scratch your backs and turn a blind eye to your crimes- I expect something in return.” “We’re not gonna deny you that” Franklin swiftly interrupts, a gesture reciprocated as Jack ascends from one knee, allowing Lauren’s feet to reconnect with solid ground. Letting free a sigh from the deepest caverns of her lungs, Jade’s eyes take to the siblings before colliding with the reconnected couples, a subdued look of joy appearing through her stern visage as she peers toward Alicia’s small baby bump. “I know” the woman exhales, lessening the stubborn and hardened stance she’d assumed upon her arrival, chin lowering as she composes herself from the hurried drive she’d entered with. “If Rocky’s still out there, just tell us what we need to do” Jack speaks out, his arm kept tightly wrapped around his wife’s waist as he presents his hand toward Cumberland’s general, “I gave a finger to get into Rocky’s good graces. If it takes a whole hand to get into yours- so be it- just say the word.” Extending her hand toward the man, Jade shakes her head in refusal, lightening the tone in her voice as she reclaims the discussion’s lead, trying to voice her concerns with an empathetic undertone. “I’d prefer you keep your hand and help me take that bastard's head instead, how does that sound?” the woman counteroffers, her remarks bringing an enthused look upon the group’s countenance. “That sounds like a fucking deal” Franklin swiftly replies, offering the same answer the rest of his small subgroup would have given themselves, accepting on the group’s behalf as their path toward absolution becomes clear. | “She just went down for bed, but I can wake her if you need” Heather softly speaks, twirling the cord to the phone’s handset as her conversation nears its natural conclusion. “I think it’s time the girl has her question answered” Emilio responds, pressing his elbow into the police station’s concrete wall as he whispers into the handset’s receiver, “it’s time she knows why we’re the good guys.” Her head nodding, Heather releases her finger’s grasp of the twisted cord as Jessica descends the home’s main staircase, barely catching a glimpse of the home’s owner out of her eye’s corner. “I know” Heather replies, building the courage within herself to accept the course of action that she’s called to, “have her send a car- we’ll be ready.” As a few seconds pass, the call ends, prompting the woman to return the phone to its receiver as an unanticipated voice collects her curiosity. “Who was that?” Jess questions aloud, resting her elbow on the bannister as Heather spins in her direction, slightly flustered by her unexpected attendance. “Uh, it’s- it was Emilio” Heather stammers, beginning to approach Amy’s mother on her way toward the above-level’s bedrooms, “they found the others. We’re needed at Jade’s place.” With her mouth in the shape of an ‘O’, Jess nods her head and allows Heather to pass, staring toward the open window at the living room’s back-most wall before speaking her silent thoughts aloud. “Are you bringing Amy?” the woman at the steps’ bottom asks aloud, turning to look at her child’s caregiver with a partially-empty expression. “Y- yeah, why?” Heather ripostes, coming to a stop near the staircase’s peak, practically able to watch the gears turn inside Jess’ head. “No- no reason” Jess answers, subtly shaking her head as Heather begins to nod, “I was just wondering.” Without a verbal riposte, Heather nods in the woman’s direction, watching Jess’ eyes drift toward the distance of the home’s interior before another thought dawns upon her. “You know how important Amy is to me, right?” Jess unanticipatedly queries, harbouring a visibly hopeful visage as Heather begins to nod. “She’s your daughter- of course I do” Heather answers, her hand coming to a rest upon her hip as she opens the floodgates to their impending discourse, “why?” Lowering her head, Jess stares at the patterns of the staircase’s carpeting, forming her replies off the cuff. “I just wanted to know that you knew- that you understood how much I cared about my daughter” the woman answers, lowering her voice to hide any hint of emotion that she worries could break through to the surface, “I wanted to make sure you knew that- even if I haven’t always showed it- I love my daughter more than anything else in this world.” Confused, Heather attempts to seek common ground with the woman below her, aware of the tragedies the woman has faced and not wanting to be insensitive to them. “Parents fuck up sometimes. Even if you make a bad choice- or make the wrong call somewhere along the line- you always have the best intentions for your kids” Heather answers, bringing out a small, barely noticeable glimmer of hope in the woman’s demeanour, “of course I know how much you love Amy.” “Then you know why I’m so worried, right?” Jess quickly asks aloud, the softened muscles in her face presenting Heather with the appearance of a woman desperate for the extension of an olive branch. “I don’t always have to love it- but you’ve been a great influence on Amy. I’m glad she’s had you, but I’m so worried that she doesn’t just see you as that” the concerned parent remarks, climbing one step higher on the staircase, “I’m scared she sees you more as my replacement.” Her head shaking, Heather remains where she’d stopped, three individual steps away from the home’s second level. “You’re her mother, Jess- I can’t replace you” the woman responds, her claim immediately argued against by the child’s mother, Jess’ feet climbing to the next step. “That’s not necessarily true” the woman replies, sliding her hand along the wooden railing as she journeys to the next highest step, “all I have left in this world is my daughter- and I can’t lose that bond.” “Jess, you’re not going to!” Heather assuredly responds with conviction, her refusal to believe such a claim thwarted once more. “Heather, I asked her the other day if she loved me, and do you know how she responded?” Jess swiftly asks aloud, ascending one place higher as she comes within five steps of her daughter’s keeper, “she said- ‘I have to- you’re my mom!’- like her love for me wasn’t something that I earned- but was something I was entitled to.” “She’s a kid living in a world filled with chaos, you can’t expect her to fully understand the concept of love!” Heather argues back, the distance between both parties now shortened to four steps. “She doesn’t need to understand love in order to show her true feelings” Jess argues back, another step taken forward to shorten the gap to three stairs, “she looks at you as someone she trusts. Someone she looks up to and can count on. And me? I’m just the person she belongs to!” “What are you trying to say Jess?” Heather inquires, resting her open palm against the bannister as the woman ahead of her climbs yet another step, their faces inching closer as the seconds pass. “I’m saying that- while I appreciate everything you’ve done for her- you’re driving a wedge between Amy and I” Jess declares, finally reaching the lone stair between herself and Heather, “I want to know that- when the time comes- you’ll keep from getting between Amy and I any further.” The woman’s conclusion prompting her eyebrows to furrow, Heather’s head pulls back, the thoughts that spring to her mind kept subdued as she looks into Jess’ expectant expression. Trying to collect her thoughts, Heather shakes her head and climbs the remaining steps to the top, preparing to make for Amy’s room before the response she’d anxiously attempted to concoct makes its way to the tip of her tongue. “I’m not going to keep you from Amy, Jess- but I’m not going to make that decision for her” Heather replies, the anticipative expression the young girl’s mother had worn gradually subsiding to a more natural, unemotional visage, “if she decides that she wants you to care for her- that’s fine and I’ll respect that. But if she decides she’d rather keep the status quo going- I’ll expect you to respect that just the same.” Her bottom lip lowered a slight amount from her top, Jess looks to Heather with a somewhat surprised look before grunting to clear her throat, silently nodding in the woman’s direction to respond. Left with an uneasy feeling, Heather relieves herself of the weight she’d felt cradling her chest before rounding the corner, clearing herself from Jess’ view in favour of tending to the mid-slumber youth. Her blank face beginning to gradually descend into a dissatisfied scowl, Jess redirects herself toward ground level, allowing Heather’s answer to settle as her mind forms its own conclusions. | “Hurry the fuck up, dipshit!” an aggravated man remarks, his dirty hands tossing a handheld radio across the room to a man of equally filthy standards. Without a rebuttal, the ordered man charges through the living room and past a small couch near the room’s back, its cushions occupied by a frail elderly couple with their hands bound by rope and mouths covered with duct tape. Through the front door, the grease-stained man hurries toward the quiet neighbourhood’s road with the radio set in his hand, a gleeful and chipper look held upon his face. “Boss! Boss!” the man exclaims, climbing the stepladder of a big rig’s cabin with his hand extended toward the open window, “they’re calling for us!” Pressing his eyes closely together, Rocky looks to the speaker with intrigue as he discards his lit cigarette through the door’s opening, freeing his hand to claim the handset. “You will cooperate” Jack’s voice speaks, carried through the airways with a declarative tone, “this settlement no longer belongs to you- and it does not belong to Nova Scotia- you now belong to us.” Switching hands, the transmitter finds the refuge of Franklin’s palm, where it’s carried across the room once more. “Once again, we’ll repeat ourselves slowly” the larger man remarks, keeping his finger upon the speaker’s button as he holds the receiver toward one pair of lips in particular. “Cumberland’s leadership has fallen” a disgruntled and groggy Archie remarks, his voice weak and frail, “she surrenders to her intruders.” A grin appearing from behind his lips, Rocky turns the keys in his ignition and waves his hand toward the quiet home at the end of the nondescript road he parks upon. “If you are what remains of Rockford, we ask you to follow the signal flare” Jack announces, pulling the trigger to brighten the sky with a brilliant orange glow, his call to arms presented to what remains of Cumberland’s society, “join us for this monumental rebirth. Join us for a dawn where we take what’s ours.” Putting his foot to the pedal at the sound of engine’s roaring, Rocky directs his eighteen wheeler toward the main road, joining his flock in firing shots into the dead of night, victory and triumph having found him at long last. == Rise == “Well- no- the match doesn’t add up” Max admits, watching Katie pace through their kitchen as he stands near the table at the rooms centre, “-but that doesn’t necessarily mean the guy’s got some agenda.”
“Everyone has an agenda” Katie swiftly remarks, lowering a bottle of water from her lips as she wipes a droplet from her chin, the long black sleeve that runs over her arm dampened. “Oh really?” the woman’s roommate murmurs, crossing his arms as his head bobs gently, “what’s my agenda?” Discarding the plastic container, Katie reaches for her knapsack, hurling the strap over her head as she replies. “You want me to stay out of trouble ‘cause you’ve gotten used to having a non-Quebecois friend around” the young woman remarks, tucking a black mask into the pocket of her equally-dark pants. “I wouldn’t call that an agenda” Max refutes, his eyes narrowing as his roommate advances upon their shared-home’s rear-door, her hand resting upon the doorknob. “-I would” Katie answers, twisting the handle before placing her foot beyond the home’s floor, fully intent on walking into the early morning as Max’s voice calls her back. “Do you remember how we met?” the man eagerly exclaims, stopping the woman’s second foot from crossing the threshold of their spacious home. Her lips pressing together, Katie’s foot pulls back into the home, her right hand resting on the door’s smooth, outer surface as her eyes peer over the top of her left shoulder. “I do” Katie responds, gradually turning the rest of her body in the direction her face takes toward, “why do you ask?” Resting against the home’s entry, the woman watches her fellow lodger step away from the table, shrugging as he slowly approaches her, “I’m losing track of time-” he answers, smirking as his head tilts to the side, “remind me, won’t you?” Rolling her eyes, Katie hides a grin, her tongue clicking as her lips detach. “I was firing at some cans in the back and you came up from down the road” the woman recalls, her shoulders falling as her neck straightens, her eyes lifting higher the closer her friend nears, “you said I’d get in trouble if I kept acting like I didn’t give a shit.” Nodding, Max draws closer, leaning against the wall opposite his much smaller lodger, “and then what did I tell you to do?” Her grin having turned into a semi-frown, Katie’s eyes direct themselves closer toward the floor, her dissatisfied expression accompanying the reply. “You told me to listen to you-” the woman answers, again lifting her face toward Max’s, reasserting their shared eye contact, “-you said you’d help make the island feel more like home.” “And why is there a difference now?” Max quickly wonders aloud, watching the look of confident intent return to his co-tenant's face as she steps the rest of the way through the door. “Because now I do give a shit” Katie concludes, venturing into the night as the sun nears its daily return to the sky, the rifle carried by her side as she steps through her grassy field, her mind set on one destination. As the sky begins to turn red, a beige truck slows to a sudden stop over a pebble-covered dirt road, its occupants not taking long to disembark the vehicle. His heavy boots colliding with the ground, Gamble leaves the driver’s seat as his small group gathers closely behind, following him down the narrow stretch of passageway as its end approaches. The side of her face placed near the scope, Katie watches the still-unfamiliar man approach a small warehouse at the street’s conclusion, its roof withered and sections of its walls attacked by years of rust and decay. Though her hand rests on her weapon’s grip, her finger rests nowhere near the trigger, her intentions made obvious in physical presence alone. Though her second eye sits shut, Katie’s lip curls just as her nostrils flare, an evident distrust of the man and the armed posse he’s flanked by taking her visage captive. From her scope’s corner, Katie’s attention is taken by the warehouse's large, metal door opening, those occupying the inside stepping out to greet their guest. “Thank god John taught me well” Katie whispers, her reluctant demeanour replaced with one of visible disgust as she sets forth a scowl. His hand reaching out, Astor embraces Gamble’s hand with his own, a smile shared on both of their faces as they enter the non-descript shack at the road’s end, sealing the entrance shut as the pair of forces advance within. = 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 = As his eyes press together, Jack’s head rests on the back of his hand as he slowly spins his chair from one side to the other. “There’s no way they have the entire camp walled off, right?” Clint wonders aloud, the tired tone he speaks with harbouring an exhaustion that makes confidence difficult to come by. “If any part of the border isn’t walled off, it’ll be covered by their guards” Franklin ripostes, gently tapping his metal cap upon his right knee. His face pulling out from his right hand, Jack tilts his chin toward the ceiling, letting the conversation ensue around him. “That doesn’t matter much. We’ve either got to live in here or get out of here- there’s no in between” Nessie remarks, the group’s only survivor to speak with any resemblance of enthusiasm. “I think we’re at the point where we’ve gotta accept there are only two options” the woman continues, tying the laces of her boots tightly as she occupies a spot on the floor, “we’ve gotta get ready, so I think we should just get this vote out of the way.” “We’re tempting death either way- there has to be another option” Clint responds, his eyebrows furrowing as his head tilts back, both hands motionless in his lap. Eyes parting, Jack’s pupils take to the ceiling as the rest of the group continues their discourse, his mind having wandered in search of the missing selection Clint had kept the discussion alive over. “There’s not. We’ve been up all night and we’re still left with two choices” Franklin proclaims, his neck cracking as he shifts his chin from one direction to the other, “I say we-” Interrupted, Franklin stops as Jack speaks out, his head lowering back toward his group’s direction as his eyes widen, the muscles in his face both relaxed and strained at once. “There is a third option” Jack suddenly remarks, curling the corner of his lip as his disinterest prevails, “well, a third temporary option- but a third option regardless.” His silence shared by the siblings, Franklin leans back in his chair, his arms falling over both sides of the seat he sits atop. “Go ahead” the larger man remarks, crossing one leg over the other, too exhausted for his intrigue to come across as genuine. Grimacing as his lips part, Jack hesitates to speak, the look on his face implying a great shame taken over the thought that’s crossed his mind. Hanging his head for a moment, Jack clears his throat and leans forward, pulling away from his seat’s back support as he answers, “we could kill her.” His semi-intrigued guise twisting into a surprised look of disbelief, Franklin presses his elbows into the armrests, leaning forward as the siblings reply with their own silent, judgemental stares. “What did you say?” Franklin whispers, offering the question silently so as to keep himself from responding with an outburst of anger. Letting a sigh free, Jack stares into the distance for a moment before accepting the role he’s taken within the group, his offer of seemingly empty evil presenting him as the devil on the group’s collective shoulder. “I said we could kill her” Jack doubles down, this time with less reluctance to offer his proposition, “-she’s dying of cancer and struggles to move. Killing her now wouldn’t just help give us time to let things settle down, it’d be offering her a merciful death.” “What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Franklin shouts, angrily removing himself from the chair he sat upon as Jack does the same, a sudden jolt of life kicked into the group as a whole. “Frank, calm the hell down!” Nessie exclaims, joining her brother in standing between the pair of men, their arms extended in an effort of keeping Franklin and Jack at opposite ends. “I’m thinking about what’s in our best interest!” Jack proclaims, matching Franklin’s angered tone as his face scrunches, filling with the same bitterness that his friend’s contains. Lowering his voice to a near-hiss, Jack continues to speak, calling for Franklin’s attention as the man turns away. “We barely broke into this place three days ago! Tensions are high!” Jack proclaims, “if we hold out for a few more days, we could go to the front gates with our hands up and claim ignorance.” Hand on his hip, Franklin turns around with his finger pointed, mustering every ounce of will he can offer not to let their conflict turn physical. “We don’t need to kill her for that!” Franklin counters, his right foot taking a large step ahead of his left. Glancing toward the staircase’s direction, Jack matches Franklin’s posture, lunging forward with his right foot all the same, their faces mere metres apart from each other’s. “Why would she want to live? Do you not see the world that surrounds her outside? It’s like living in a war zone!” Jack ripostes, “and what’s gonna happen when she comes back? She’s not just gonna stay dead!” Closing his mouth, Franklin shakes his head, walking away once more. “You can argue against me all you’d like- it’s not changing that this works out for everyone” the unabashed man remarks, watching as Clint and Nessie gradually pull away from the space that divides the group’s decision-makers, “she gets to go with dignity, we’ll have a better chance at running out the clock, and no one’s forced into having to suffer something they don’t deserve.” Both from a place of having nothing to respond to Jack with as well as a harbour of revulsion, Franklin looks his friend in the eyes, his head shaking as he remains riposteless. “Look me in the eyes and tell me the alternative- walking into a firing squad and letting that woman upstairs feel what it’s like to be ravaged by cancer- tell me that’s what you’d prefer” Jack orders, arguing until no better case can be made. His mouth agape, Franklin places his hand on his hip and turns for the back door, shaking his head as he walks off. “I’m not pulling the trigger” Franklin replies, stepping into the enclosed backyard before slamming the door on his way out, the floor vibrating as the entrance shuts entirely. | Occupying the passenger’s seat, Emilio’s eyes are struck by momentary dashes of light that peer through the trees along his vehicle’s small road, blinding him before vanishing- only to reemerge seconds later. “Something on your mind, sunshine?” a soft, effeminate voice with an impenetrably sarcastic undertone quips, her hands softly grazing the wheel she turns with the will of the road. “Not at all” Emilio answers, glancing toward Jade in the seat beside him momentarily, his eyes taking to an elderly couple that walk along the well-maintained street with their hands intertwined. “It certainly doesn’t seem that way” Jade retorts, her back pressing into the leather seat she’d moved closer to the wheel, “you look like someone that’s got their mind on something.” Squinting, Emilio watches his window pass the older pair as he takes to his driver’s riposte, picking it apart for the truth that hides within it. “I’m just thinking” Emilio replies, feigning a smile and putting an arch in his eyebrows. “Thinking about what?” Jade swiftly counters, periodically peering toward Emilio’s face, the clear road ahead giving her little reason not to maintain the playful gambit they’d opened the door to. “Thinking about the future-” the man remarks, his right arm resting against the shape of the vehicle’s door, his right side pressing into the truck’s sturdy interior, “wondering whether or not it’ll be that paradise I’ve always imagined it being- or if it’ll just be another place like what we’ve always seen.” Pressing her lips together, Jade moves loose strands of hair behind her ears as she takes the nearest left turn, her pale arms presented to the sunny skies in part thanks to the black tank top she sports. “You think a place with the inner workings of Nova Scotia can fall apart so easily?” the woman inquires, again briefly glancing in Emilio’s direction every few moments. “It has once before” the man answers, resting his left foot atop his right, his front positioned in Jade’s direction, “and to make matters worse- it doesn’t seem like much has changed since then.” “Of course things have changed- four years into the apocalypse is a lot different than four days into it” the woman responds, letting her left hand fall from the wheel as they near their destination. “That doesn’t mean the people have” Emilio responds, meeting Jade’s eyes as the truck slows to a halt, the woman’s hand shifting the vehicle into park. “What do you mean by that?” Jade inquires, subduing a partial grin from overtaking her face as her passenger unbuckles his seatbelt, already stepping through the door. “You know what I mean by that” the man responds, his reply allowed to remain simple as he directs himself toward the street’s centre, a small patrol unit gathered for his arrival. “Woah- Ms. McKee!” one guard, his face as unimportant and unmemorable as any other remarks, “-I thought you weren’t supposed to be outside of Rawson!?” Tying her hair into a ponytail, Jade follows closely behind Emilio, the man’s feet carrying him in the direction of an overturned car, its windows shattered into fragments that lay upon an asphalt road dotted with blood. “Supposed to and want to are two different things, Duke” Jade replies, stopping in her tracks as her friend wanders toward the nearest point of interest, “when you’re in charge- you get to choose option two.” Bowing his head, the armed guard redirects his attention toward Emilio, an embarrassed undertone residing within the confines of his speech. “Alright, enough standing around- why is this wreckage so important?” Jade finally inquires, placing her hands upon her hips as her left knee protrudes forward. “Uh, because- it’s-” Duke mumbles, his eyes lowering to the ground as he attempts to regain his bearings, “it’s not ours- that’s why. We don’t have a record of the licence plate and we couldn’t identify the driver.” “So- it’s Rockford’s?” Jade correctly ripostes, watching Duke’s head nod before stepping past him, journeying back to Emilio’s side, “-you should have started with that.” His left knee pressing into the ground, Emilio gazes through the vehicle’s wound- an opening that had once been used as a window- with a curious gleam in his eye. “Anything catch your eye?” Jade wonders aloud, carefully pressing her elbow into the small car’s underbelly, its components exposed to the sky as the automobile rests stomach-up. “Nope” Emilio grumbles, crawling over glass and metal debris to enter the front seat, its furnishings left in perfect condition, “but if they only came in here with a handful of cars and trucks- that roamer wasn’t the only one in this thing.” “This thing could have been laying around for days- they could be anywhere by now” Jade quickly replies, shaking her head as she peers toward the nearest treeline, its obstruction leaving scattered cascades of sunlight atop the asphalt. “Yeah, well- that seems to be the common theme” Emilio remarks, pulling himself into the backseat as he responds through groans, “with any kind of luck- they’ll have stayed apart from each other and kept small in-” The man’s voice falling silent, Jade waits a few moments for the verbal thought to conclude as she remains outside, the time that passes without a response concerning her. “You alright in there?” the woman calls out, patting the car’s bumper twice as she steps aside, listening to the shuffle of Emilio’s body as he pulls himself free of the backseat. Halfway through the window of the closed door, Emilio extends his hand toward Jade, who kneels from her standing position. “Do you recognise this?” Jack queries, a long and thin piece of sharpened metal pressed between his fingers as his face dawns a half-smile. “Not at all- why? Should I?” Jade answers, watching Emilio’s left arm fold, his flattened hand slipping into his sleeve until only half of his arm peers through the fabric cuff. “Does this ring a bell?” Jack retorts, his right hand pressing the blade’s base against his elbow, which folds to mimic a severed arm. “Is that Franklin’s prosthetic?” Jade soon guesses, moving aside to allow Emilio to drag himself the rest of the way to freedom. “It’s the bayonet Frank wears at the end of his prosthetic!” Emilio gleefully responds, letting the dagger hang by his side as he climbs to his feet, “if Frank was in this car, the rest probably were too.” “-Which means they could be around here somewhere!” Jade adds on, her tone shifting from curious to optimistic as her hand directs itself toward the radio on her side. “Which also means that we should ramp up our search around here” Emilio quips further, sliding the mostly-dull blade into his back pocket, “the sooner we can find out where they are- the sooner we’ll be able to set our sights solely on finding the other little chickens running around this nest.” | Sweat beading down the side of his face, Astor sits at a large barrel, his hands wrapped around a plunger that he repeatedly presses into the container’s insides. “Oh chère dame, ne voyez-vous pas ? Nous avons trouvé des bénédictions sur l'île d'Orléans” the man murmurs beneath his breath, an angelic hum in his voice as he sings, “que vos fils et vos filles prospèrent davantage - vivant en paix sur la rive du Saint-Laurent.” The heel of his right foot tapping against the wooden floorboard of his equipment-strewn barn, Astor presses into his work, pushing himself past a sweat in an effort of obtaining perfection. “Oh chère dame, ne voyez-vous pas ? Nous avons trouvé des bénédictions sur l'île d'Orléans” the man repeats, singing over the audible sounds of his barn doors parting, granting entry from the outside to those that go unnoticed, “que vos fils et vos filles prospèrent-” Interrupted mid-sentence, Astor’s head swings backward, his passionate work set aside in favour of addressing the intrusive figure that stands before him. “That’s a lovely tune” Katie remarks, her voice carried through the open space she shares with the island’s leader, “for clarity-purposes only- why don’t you tell me just who you’re asking to ‘find prosperity along St. Lawrence’s shore’- us or them?” Initially jumping at the young woman’s voice, Astor brings himself down from the high of fright, hanging his head for a moment as he catches his breath. His flannel sleeve dampened as he runs it across his glistening forehead, Astor pulls his gloved hands from the shift they’d been stationed upon as he climbs out of his chair, laughing off the woman’s question as he reaches for a dry rag. “For us- of course!” Astor answers, covering his face with the dry cloth before patting the sides of his head, “who else would I be referring to?” Presenting the man with a grin, Katie places one foot in front of the other, slowly approaching the man with her head hanging. “I’m really glad you asked that” the young woman replies, the rifle she’d held at her side now directed in Astor’s direction, her humoured visage wiped away immediately, “who else would you be referring to?” The light-hearted banter he’d attempted to open their dialogue now lost in the face of the threat that looms near, Astor’s face goes blank, caution taken in his every word. “I don’t know- that’s why I asked you” Astor rejoins, leisurely raising his hands in a show of peace and surrender, “can you tell me why you’re holding that rifle at me?” “Tell me why you met with Gamble at that warehouse earlier today and I’ll think about it” Katie hastily counters, tilting her head to one side as she draws closer, “you went through a lot of trouble to make sure you were out of anyone’s sight.” “For a start- it wasn’t enough trouble for you to catch that” Astor corrects, unhurriedly lowering himself back to the stool he’d just recently departed from, “and for second, I didn’t set up that meeting- Gamble did.” “I don’t care who set it up. However, I’d really like to know why it was planned so far out” Katie again quickly speaks out, each metre she steps closer with increasing the damage of the shot she can manage to fire off, “that kind of secrecy doesn’t usually yield anything good.” Sighing through his frown, Astor remains calm, his collected composure preventing Katie from feeling the need to overstep the control she possesses. “He was talking about the island’s crop yield” Astor responds, his hands held steadily in the air as they have been for the majority of the confrontation, “he wanted to know how the new guidelines were coming along.” “Why does he care?” Katie speedily questions once more, pulling a nearby stool with her foot as her weapon remains upon the man seated before her, “why is he even still around to begin with?” Clicking his tongue, Astor’s chin lifts slightly, his eyes watching Katie occupy the seat in front of him as he attempts to respond. “Because we might not be on our own for much longer” the man replies, watching Katie’s face scrunch as her head subtly shakes. “I thought that’s what you wanted” the young woman qualms, leaning back slightly as Astor’s eyes fall, “you wanted to open up to the rest of the world- I thought that was your plan.” “My plan was to work with other settlements- not to be their pawn” Astor calmly corrects, slowly lowering his arms until the palms of each hand rest against his legs, “and it seems that- if some chips fall against us- we might end up being the latter without help.” Lowering her weapon, Katie lowers her face toward the ground, trying to decipher what’s being told to her. “Gamble’s part of some community, and apparently there’s another- more powerful- community that his is at odds with” Astor continues, his eyes wandering throughout the barn as he speaks, “that place wants to get into Toronto through the St. Lawrence, and from the way it sounds- if that happens, we might be forced to assimilate into their camp or be left out entirely.” “What the hell are these camps then?” Katie queries, her arms crossing as she lowers the rifle to the ground, her left leg resting atop her right. “The Nova Scotia camp and a smaller part of them that wants to break off” Astor replies, the young woman’s mind already having assumed the former at the earlier appearance of cruise vessels. “Gamble’s part of PEI- which is apparently part of the Nova Scotia people- but in name only” the man continues to speak, “he said Nova Scotia is in charge of everything and keeps using their oil pockets to subdue some revolt. Now the island’s getting restless, and with ‘Scotia’s hopes of getting into Toronto, he thinks they’ll come onto our island and wrangle us in or kick us out entirely.” “And you believed him?” Katie queries, the question answered immediately. “Everything he said lines up with what you said. Nova Scotia, wanting to get into Toronto, the oil monopoly- it all lines up!” Astor proclaims, his hands now wrapping around the stool’s curved seat as he leans forward, “and he’s not shying away from being honest about things- he said that, if they agree to go into Toronto, we’ll either be forced off the island by Nova Scotia or by them.” “Then why pick a side?” Katie counters, the question too great not to linger in her mind, “if either option ends up getting us forced off the island, what difference is there between either choice?” “Because Gamble already promised sanctuary to everyone here. At the very least, I know we’ll have a home if push comes to shove” Astor responds, “I’m only raising the yield receipts to prove our worth. I want to show them that we can meet such a dramatic uptick. And the excess food will better prepare us for what’s to come. .” Her eyes narrowing, Katie’s head drops to the ground for a moment, her eyes wandering across the splintered boards for a moment. Without a word further, Katie retrieves her rifle and makes for the way she’d arrived, her mind wrapping around what she’s now become privy to. “Hey, Katie!?” Astor beckons aloud, watching the woman gradually turn herself toward his direction, “if you ever hold me at gunpoint again- there’ll be consequences.” Though able to challenge the man’s authority, Katie chooses to abstain from any further conflict, nodding her head as she steps back onto the soil of Orleans Island, her eyes set on returning home. | Gently pressing his knuckle against the bedroom door, Jack fills the dark room he enters with the light of the hallway he steps in from. His slow steps taken with caution, Jack approaches the IV bag that reflects the moonlight in the bedroom window, the liquid inside sitting steadily. Pulling in a breath, Jack takes a syringe he’d held by his side, lining the needle up with the clear tube that runs from the bags before gently piercing its rubbery exterior. “Are you here to kill me?” Celia inquires, her frail voice preventing Jack’s thumb from pushing the plunger, the question asked without any reluctance to the answer- regardless of what it may be. Pressing his lips together, Jack looks into the woman’s face, able to see her detailed glare in his direction the longer his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Yes” Jack quietly replies, his answer kept short and brief, the tone of his voice lacking emotion of any kind as he remains neither eager, nor discouraged, to follow through on what he sees fit. “Hmph” Celia mutters, puckering her lips as she looks to the ceiling, thinking quietly to herself for a moment before refocusing on Jack, an almost unnoticeable smirk appearing in the corners of her mouth, “thank you.” With a nod, Jack looks the woman in the eyes, his thumb pressing down on the plunger as the tube fills with an intentionally strong dose of barbiturates. “You’ll go peacefully within a few minutes” Jack whispers, calmly taking a seat near the edge of the woman’s bed, the plunger left in her I.V as he removes a screwdriver from his back pocket, “then I’ll make sure you don’t come back like everyone else.” “How thoughtful of you” the woman weakishly responds, a tear running down the side of her face as she replies, presenting no touch of sorrow in her voice. “I’ve had a long enough life up here as is- I’d prefer not overstaying my welcome” Celia quips, subduing a laugh as Jack lays his weapon at her feet, disarming himself as the frail lady continues, “you’re doing me a real favour.” “I’m not doing it for you” Jack quickly corrects, his voice retaining its impassive tone, “we need more time than what you’re giving us- all I’m doing is taking that time back.” Amused, Celia lets out a short chuckle, beginning to feel the effects her dose begins with, able to muster plenty of strength to keep the conversation alive just as she is. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have wasted the medication” the woman remarks, watching Jack’s face struggle to retain the uncompassionate visage it sports. “I figured you’d done enough in this life to earn a peaceful departure” Jack corrects, scrunching his nose before freeing a short laugh from his lungs, replacing it with a deep breath, “besides- none of us have chemo.” “And I hope you never do” Celia ripostes, laying her palms atop her bed’s comforter as her breaths steady, her eyes beginning to flutter slightly. “I hope- for your sake- that the world you and your loved ones make is much better than the one I leave behind” the demise-bound lady confesses, another tear shed down the side of her face, “you and your people are the ones I hope play a big part in that.” His eyes narrowing, Jack’s head tilts to one side, watching the woman’s eyelids begin to press together, “why do you say that?” he queries, intrigued by her remark. “Because you all care- even if you’re trying really hard not to right now” Celia answers, struggling to keep her eyes parted, the smile that emerges on Jack’s face only further corroborating her claim, “we don’t root out the trees and flowers for a reason- we save that for the weeds. You and your friends- you’re no weeds.” Bowing his head, Jack nods to himself as he peers back toward the older woman, her dying breaths nearing closer. “I hope you and Franklin find your loved ones” Celia whispers, her lips parting less as the seconds pass, the drugs’ effects kicking in further, “I hope you live long and happy lives.” Exhaling through his nose, Jack presses his left eye shut, quashing the tear that threatens to fall from his face before it has the chance. “And I hope you make it out of here alive” Celia proceeds, reclaiming Jack’s full attention, his frown overwhelming the heart-filled smile, “I hope you make the next Cumberland better than it was when you arrived.” Again restraining a chuckle, Jack nods once more, glancing through the blinds that sit over the woman’s head, covering her bedroom window. “We’ve got to make it through your guards in order to do that” Jack remarks, his head shaking as the woman nears life’s final turn, “I don’t like our chances all too much.” Mustering the strength to shake her head, Celia refutes the man’s claims, offering him parting words carried with hope. “Follow the train tracks” Celia murmurs, her life fading as she finishes speaking, “they won’t chase you- Jade won’t let them.” His narrowed eyes parting immediately, Jack’s lips pull away from each other, his tongue pressing against his teeth as a heavy set of footsteps climb the stairs in a hurry. “Jade!? Did you just say Jade!?” Jack eagerly questions, pressing his hands against each of the woman’s shoulders, trying to shake her awake as Franklin pushes himself through the door. “They’re back!” the large man exclaims, engulfing the bedroom with light from the hallway, allowing him to watch Jack try to jolt the woman out of her deathbed. “What are you doing!?” Franklin exclaims, taking a step closer to the bed’s side before noticing the syringe that protrudes from the woman’s clear tubing, easily able to put the pieces together. “She said Jade! She said ‘Jade wouldn’t let them’!” Jack exclaims, looking the larger man in the eyes as he continues violently thrashing the woman from her slumber. Pressing his teeth together, Franklin’s gentle pull of Jack’s shoulders strengthens, his efforts now set on prying the man from his victim. “It’s over, Jack! She’s gone and we’ve got to go!” the man proclaims, pulling his friend off the bed before claiming the screwdriver, finishing the job Jack had started. With a forceful thrust, Franklin buries the Philip’s head through the woman’s corpse, leaving the weapon embedded in her eye socket as a large set of knocks pound at the downstairs entrance. Pressing his hand over Jack’s mouth, Franklin lowers his voice, whispering directions into the man’s ear. “The guards are back and Celia’s not gonna get us out of this mess!” the handicapped survivor mutters, releasing his grasp of his friend’s face, “we have to get out of here!” “She said Jade’s name, Frank! The rest of our group is here!” Jack hisses, the vein in his forehead more defined as his head lunges forward. “Well they can’t find us standing over a dead body with a screwdriver in her face!” Franklin replies, hurriedly returning to the hallway as he motions Jack to, “we’ve gotta get out of here now!” “Ms. Good!” a loud, masculine voice barks from the front step, his voice able to reach the ears of those on the story above. Groaning, Jack reluctantly gives into Franklin’s lead, quietly descending the steps in the larger man’s shadow, both Clint and Nessie already stood by the backdoor- prepared for the evacuation they’d agreed upon moments earlier. “Where’s the train tracks!?” Jack whispers aloud, his voice reaching out to the siblings stood by, waiting for his presence patiently. “How would any of us kn-!?” Nessie begins to answer, interrupted at the sound of mechanisms turning across the room, the front door gently pushed open to reveal a pair of familiar faces. “Run!” Jack exclaims, throwing his weight into Franklin’s back in a moment of desperation, propelling the man into the twins as he reaches for a ceramic vase. “Don’t move!” the young black officer exclaims, his shoulder pushed inward as his caucasian counterpart readies his pistol. Narrowly providing himself with cover, Jack launches the delicate projectile across the room, allowing it to shatter against the drywall as he darts through the backdoor, following his group’s lead. “Four people out the back! We need help here!” the first officer exclaims, calling out to a guard-filled van parked just beyond the parkway, prepared for a chase. “Stay low!” Clint proclaims, snaking through the tall grass that grows along their hillside, Franklin and his sister not too far behind. “Where’s Jack!?” Nessie calls out, covering her ears as gunshots ring out, forcing her to duck close to the ground. “I’m back-!” the man calls out, no more than a few dozen metres behind as a second flurry of gunshots ring out, some hitting the ground closely enough to tear dirt up, “Argh!” “Get somewhere safe!” Nessie commands, retreating the way she’d come before stepping past Franklin, waving him aside as she sets her focus on the groans in the near distance. “Jack, follow my voice!” Nessie commands, again ducking close to the ground as yet another halestorm of bullets tear through the air, some nearing closer than she’d prefer them to be. Appearing through the overgrowth, Jack reunites with Nessie, her arms wrapping around the man’s shoulders as his right hand presses against his left shoulder. “They got me twice!” Jack grunts, keeping Nessie on the path toward the freedom they hope for as a fourth round of shots fire into the cover of night, this time incapable of halting the pair from moving forward. “Celia said Jade was in charge!” Jack exclaims, increasing his pace as a break in the unintended forestry nears, his voice grating as he winces in pain, “she told me to follow the train tracks!” On cue, the pair spill through the jungle-like blades of lawn and onto a long passageway of weed-covered gravel, various sets of rolled steel tracks peering out through the accumulation of green vines. “Hurry up!” Franklin exclaims, waving his hand toward the distant pair before being forced to huddle toward the ground again, a fifth set of gunshots ripping through the sky as Jack and Nessie defy their intended effects, using the valuable seconds to reconvene with their group. “Follow the tracks!” Jack groans, stepping past Clint and Franklin on his way to the group’s forefront, taking leadership of their collective charge toward the world beyond, their hopes left to depend on Celia’s word. == Rise == His elbows pressing into each side of an old chair he sits comfortably upon, Franklin lowers the back of his head against the seat’s long back. “I don’t think there’s a safer option” Clint remarks, hiding the weapons he’d taken with him through Cumberland’s borders in secret, a dirty rag taken to his hammer. “Well, there’s gonna have to be” Jack replies, peering through the blinds that cover a nearby window, his pointer finger pulling the thin dividers away from the glass.
“What do you suppose that is?” Franklin calmly inquires, his right hand wrapping around the metal cap that rests upon his left nub and sits within his lap. “I don’t need to have a place in mind in order to know our current situation isn’t the most ideal” Jack answers, clearing his throat as he steps further toward the group, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he takes a nearby seat at the kitchen table. “I’d argue differently” Nessie responds, her arms crossed as she sits in a corner of the room, the floor more comfortable to her than the old fashioned furniture that adorns their temporary living space. “The woman has terminal cancer, and this house is connected to the town by a single, one-lane road” Nessie proceeds, remaining sat as her arms uncross, hands instead falling into her lap, “give me a more ideal circumstance than that.” “One where we’re not wanted fugitives” Jack answers, another sip taken from a mug, a warm mouthful of tea soothing his aches, “one that gets us out of here A.S.A.P.” Letting a deep breath leave through his nose, Franklin propels himself forward, climbing from his chair as he makes for the nearby staircase, not ushering a single word to his group before doing so. “Where are you going?” Clint wonders aloud, the obvious inquiry raised as Franklin turns back, his right hand resting along the bannister. “To talk to our cancer-ridden old lady” Franklin ripostes, climbing the first few steps before speaking further, “might as well get to know the woman that’ll spend the rest of her life dying on the floor above us, right?” Not keen on talking the man out of his motivations, Jack sets the group’s precedent, leading the group in allowing Franklin to walk off undisturbed. The wooden steps covered by an emerald green-coloured carpet, Franklin’s each step presses down on the floorboards, his weight prompting the ground to creek. The corridor he wanders down dark and covered in the wallpaper of a different decade, Franklin’s hand slides along the wall, his eyes taking to the one room whose door resides partially-open, touching the hallway with the slightest amount of light. The large man’s knuckles tapping softly upon the cracked bedroom door, Franklin peers through the entrance’s opening, an assortment of machines rattling off different mechanical noises greeting him upon arrival. “Yes?” Celia asks aloud, laid in her bed and on her back with the covers pulled up to her neck, both hands wrapping around the sheet’s end. “I just wanted to check in” Franklin answers, looking to the ground as he slowly enters the room, cautious not to step on anything of importance, “you were kind to us- I figured I’d try to return the favour.” Her head shaking weakly, Celia offers the younger, much larger man the most sincere smile she can present, appreciative of the gesture. “I don’t think my predicament has changed in the last fourteen hours” Celia responds, her voice frail and gravelly, filled with a rasp as she removes a mask from over her face. “No, I’m sure it didn’t” Franklin replies, his eyes taking to an empty chair in the room’s corner, his feet carrying him toward it as he continues speaking, “but, for as long as you have left, I’d like to at least make that time comfortable.” Her eyes closing, the woman’s head rests against her pillow as she lowers the mask to her chest, her face lit only by the orange lift of a new dawn through the curtain-covered windows above her bed’s headrest. The air growing silent, Celia takes her eyes from the ceiling above to the man beside her bed, both hands coupled across her chest. “You want to know how long I have left?” the frail woman inquires, watching Franklin’s chin lower and he subtly shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want me to” the man answers, his elbows pressing into the armrests at each side, “I don’t want to be invasive.” Shaking her head, Celia refuses the answer, correcting Franklin’s reply, “it’s natural to wonder about someone’s expiration date the moment it seems they’re going bad.” Letting out a confused chuckle, Franklin shakes his head with a smile, his hand wrapping around his nub once more. “That’s an awfully bleak way of looking at death, isn’t it?” the man jokes, sharing a breathy laugh with the home’s owner, her head shaking just as his own had. “It’s natural- that’s all” Celia reassures, her eyes lowering toward Franklin’s lap, “-it’s as natural as my wonder about how you got that.” Eyes wandering toward his severed arm, Franklin frowns before returning his eyes toward the bedridden lady. “I got bit when all of this started” the man answers, rubbing the metal cap as his back presses further into the seat, “some quick-thinking people saved my life. They cut my arm off before the infection could spread.” Her nod subtle, Celia takes Franklin’s answer for more information than it had been offered with. “Is it as bad as everyone says?” the old woman wonders aloud, elaborating upon her guests’ confused reaction to her inquiry, “the world outside of Cumberland? Is it as bad as everyone says?” His eyes squinting, Franklin’s head tilts as he considers his reply, neither able to affirm or deny the woman’s preconceptions. “It’s not as bad as it used to be” the man answers, Celia’s eyes keeping upon him as he proceeds, “people are starting to rebuild. It’s slow- but we’ve come back from worse.” Her lips pressing together, the frail woman provides her visitor with a smile, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “It sounds like the worst part is over” Celia responds, a momentary relief coming over Franklin at her declaration, a truth he’d never truly considered having finally found its way to him. “I just wish it would’ve happened sooner” the woman adds, a gesture Franklin finds interest in the elaboration of. “My sons were supposed to come home a few months after everything shut down. They decided to stay with their family in California when ‘stand your ground’ was suspended” Celia furthers, turning to Franklin with a downcast expression, “-I haven’t heard from them since.” Apologetic, the visitor struggles to offer any words before Celia speaks further, keeping him from voicing his good wishes and condolences before the chance is raised to provide them. “There’s an equal part of me that hopes they’re alive as there is a part that hopes they went peacefully” Celia confesses, squeezing the comforter’s end tightly as her toes pop out from beneath the blanket, “I want to reunite with them after I go, but I also hope they can see the world’s rebirth.” Bowing his head, Franklin nods imperceptibly, his right hand still grasping the metal cap as Celia raises another inquiry, “do you have loved ones out there?” Clearing his heart from the empathy that built within it just as he clears his throat, Franklin gently scratches at his forehead. “I have a woman I love dearly that’s out- somewhere” the man replies, his head slightly tilted to one side, “I have a group that I ran with when everything happened, but she’s my top priority.” Her face filling with a slight amount of life, Celia uncouples one hand from the blanket and reaches toward Franklin’s arm, resting her palm upon the back of his hand. “If she’s made it as far as you have- through the world you claim it to be- I’m sure she’s still out there” the elderly lady replies, watching Franklin’s expression match the relieved look of delectation that hers does. = 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’m surprised you’re not seasick” Blaise proclaims, lifting a glass of champagne toward his lips as he sits at the wheel of his recreational vessel, traversing the waters of the St. Lawrence as Katie’s hand wraps around the boat’s side. “I climbed the roof of a hospital no more than a few days ago” Katie shouts back, speaking over the waves their cruiser crashes over, “how does me doing anything surprise you at all?” Shrugging, Blaise slows the boat’s speed as the vessel gradually rolls to a stop, his white t-shirt as bright as his teeth are. “How did you guys manage to buy a boat in the first place?” Katie questions, her jean shorts slid off as she and Aude join Blaise in stripping to their beachwear. “Being efficient at our jobs- the usual way” Blaise responds, tucking his shirt into a small knapsack before retrieving a bottle of sunscreen. “He means we got it before the world went to shit” Aude reiterates, lathering herself in a light coat of suntan lotion as Katie watches on, accepting Blaise’s offer of the sunscreen bottle. “We bought one of those personal fuel pumps- y’know, the ones that take sugar and make it into fuel?- We bought one of those when gas prices went up” Blaise continues, swiping at his neck with his sun protection as he reclaims the driver’s seat, “little did we know how handy it would be.” Wiping her hands on the modest, light blue bikini top she wears, Katie appreciatively accepts Aude’s offer of a wine glass as the sun sits overhead, uncovered by clouds of any sort. “Why bother farming so much then?” the youngest woman of the group asks aloud, “you could have this island set with gasoline full-time. Why bother farming if you can make a killing off being the island’s gas pump?” Chuckling, Blaise rests his champagne glass on the boat’s side, his fingers wrapping around its thin neck. “We were already doing both- to an extent- before the world ended anyway” the man remarks, crossing his left leg over his right thigh, “besides, Orleans Island is an agricultural community. Why wouldn’t we farm?” “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I just figured it’d be easier to fuel the town than make food for it!” Katie swiftly defends herself with a smile, taking humour from the conversation. “If we’re being honest, it probably would be” Blaise ripostes, leaning further in his seat as the ship gently rocks back and forth, “and with the new production requirements, it’s a lot more difficult to argue anything otherwise than it was before.” Eyebrows narrowing, Katie looks in Blaise’s direction with curiosity, her ears latching onto the prior statement. “What production requirements?” the young woman queries, her head redirected in Aude’s direction as the older woman responds. The glass of wine lowered from her lips, Blaise’s wife places a small pair of sunglasses over her face, “there’s this talk around the island that Astor’s installing new guidelines for the island’s north.” “Why?” the third wheel quickly inquires, the uncertain expression over her female acquaintance’s face voicing a shared confusion. “Apparently, we’re not producing enough to feed the entire island properly- people are eating more than they used to or something- I don’t know” Aude answers, her silk kimono flailing in the gentle breeze, “the number ‘thirty percent’ keeps getting thrown around. I’m pretty sure it has to do with how much more we have to produce.” “Thirty percent more?” Katie speedily ripostes, her eyes widening as she glances in Blaise’s direction, “there’s no way we’ve used up enough to warrant everyone planting that big of a crop yield!” “I could be wrong! I’m just telling you what I heard!” Aude laughs, putting a straw hat on as she shakes her head, “but I agree with you- thirty percent more to cover our consumption rate is outlandish.” Her awe subtly falling, Katie rests in her seat as the temperature rises, the cool breeze from before now moving along its path as they stand within its wake. Her suspicions growing, Katie pulls the wine glass to her lips once more and takes a sip, staring out at Orleans Island’s coastline with a curious glare | Gently descending the staircase from the upper level of her home, Jess keeps her presence silent, her ear raised in the direction of those she shares the home with. Sat on the same side of the table with a deconstructed handgun between them, Heather and Amy share the kitchen space, the older woman accepting a white rag the younger girl presents to her. “Wait until my signal” Heather murmurs, watching the Callis’ offspring as the young girl stares intently at the disassembled parts that sit before her. From the living room, Jess watches the interaction proceed, silently watching the woman she’s failed to see eye-to-eye with tap the table with two fingers. As if motivated to break records, Amy’s hand zips from one side of the table to the next, fitting pieces together and sliding them into larger components, gradually turning the pile of mechanical debris into something that loosely resembles a semi-automatic weapon. Falling from Amy’s hand, a spring collides with the floor, rolling further beneath the table and prompting Heather to interject her peace. “The corpse is coming closer- don’t get flustered” Heather warns, refusing to assist her younger half as the stopwatch continues to tick up. The pieces of the weapon pressed against the table’s surface, Amy fits together the next two pieces with her left hand alone as her right reaches toward the floor, taking the runaway coil between her index and middle fingers before returning it to the tabletop. Unobstructed, Amy continues to piece her weapon together, eyes momentarily glancing across the room every few seconds as Heather's voice speaks calmly. “He’s drawing nearer- don’t stop now” the older woman whispers, quietly pulling away from her chair before occupying the space ahead of the child, placing one foot in front of the other as she draws closer, mirroring the image of the undead. With a final few motions, Amy fits the magazine into her weapon and pulls the slide back, directing the barrel of her weapon between Heather’s eyes as her finger rests against the trigger guard. Accustomed to the training they’ve put together, Heather gently swipes her right hand at the weapon the moment it meets her skin, taking precaution in redirecting the aim from her face. With her left hand, Heather’s thumb presses upon the dial, stopping the time from increasing any additional seconds. “Three minutes, eighteen seconds” Heather grumbles with a smile, watching the gleeful expression emerge upon Amy’s face, “-great job, kiddo!” Overjoyed, Amy wraps her arms around her parental figure and throws her weight forward, embracing Heather in a moment of pure delight. “That was impressive” Jess remarks, stepping through the arch that separates the kitchen from the living room, her congratulations offered with a somewhat disappointed tone, “Heather’s taught you well.” Bowing her head, Amy pulls away from Heather and turns her attention toward Jess, still presenting a happy visage, though it’s appearance seems less genuine. “Thanks, mom” the young girl replies, returning her put-together weapon to the table as she couples her hands at her waist. Her face falling, Jess nods as she sighs, swiping her darkening strands of hair away from her pale face. “Honey, can I talk with Heather for a minute?” the woman wonders aloud, waiting a few moments before Amy wanders off in silence, the room left to the adults’ disposal. Reclaiming Amy’s weapon from the table, Heather watches Jess approach, taking the seat she had occupied seconds before as Heather casually pulls away. Coupling her hands atop the wooden table, Jess stares at the wall ahead, her mouth slightly ajar as Heather awaits her speech. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk” Jess murmurs, focusing her sights upon the armed lady a few metres away from her, the look of shame she wears more than apparent. Lowering her guard from the defensive state she’d entered the conversation with, Heather remains quiet, allowing Amy’s mother to continue offering the apology it seems she’s eager to provide. “You’ve done more to make sure Amy has a fighting chance than I did, and I let my jealousy get in the way of seeing that” Jess proceeds, licking the inside of her dry mouth, “you kept my little girl safe when I couldn’t- I shouldn’t be blaming you for anything.” Her chin lowering, Heather folds her shirt over the firearm’s barrel, attempting to respond before Jess departs, keeping Heather from interjecting her own thoughts. “I’m heading out- I just wanted to apologise” Jess remarks, leaving the chair before stepping into the living room, the suddenness their conversation had come and passed with leaving Heather at a loss for words. Stepping through the front door, Jess begins walking for the street’s end, a luminous stoplight at her destination drawing closer with each step. In a moment, her distraught face begins to fall, replaced with a look of intent, her certainty in knowing what she’s after presented in full. | “What else are we gonna do!?” Jack queries, pacing through the living room with a dart in his hand, a drag taken with each response he receives, “we’re surrounded by enemies in a sea that wants to drown us!” “We could surrender!” Clint abruptly responds, his head held in the hand he props against the kitchen table as Jack pulls another drag, “explain our side and offer to draw Rocky in!” His head shaking, Franklin removes the metal cap from his arm, leaving it on the floor beside him as his rebuttal is made. “There’s no guaranteeing they won’t shoot us on sight- and we have no clue that Rocky’s even still alive out there” the man ripostes, “we have to look at surrender as a death sentence.” “We have the munitions to offer!” the situation’s staunch critic remarks, his sister stepping away from his side in favour of fetching another drink from the kitchen. “And Rockford’s in this mess because Nova Scotia- nor Cumberland- value munitions too highly” Franklin counters, immediately finding his point argued against. “With what’s going on right now- their tune might have changed a little bit!” Clint responds, the back-and-forth debate stifled where it’s left. “Enough! Neither of you are right because there is no right!” Jack proclaims, waving his hands through the air as the conversation dies down, “any move we make- from this moment or any that comes next- is based on blind faith.” “Is that blind faith gonna lead us somewhere other than this house?” Nessie interjects, her question raised as she’s mid-pour on a pot of coffee, “-’cause it’s just as likely that they’ve got people patrolling twenty four-seven as anything you’ve said so far.” Going quiet, the room leaves the lost foursome in silence, defeated by their circumstance as all schemes prove futile. “Then we need to figure out something” Jack cuts in, taking another drag from his dart as he makes for the backdoor, his hand reaching for the knob just as his attention, as well as the remainder of his group’s, take toward the front door. Without a word from the other side, a loud, firm knock slams against the front door of the small, out-of-the-way home. “What do we-?” Clint begins to ask, the group’s whispered hush for him to stay quiet doing the audible work that Nessie’s hand pressing against her brother’s mouth does physically. “I need the owner of the house to answer now” a man with a deep, intimidating voice exclaims, again slamming his fist into the front door. “I don’t think the door’s locked!” Jack whispers, listening to a set of footsteps gently press into the floorboards just overhead as his eyes widen. Her teeth pressing together, Nessie shoves her brother into the kitchen and hurries for the front door, her feet tapping along the squeaking floorboards as she races for the door. “This is your last warning!” the declarative man remarks, his hand twisting the doorknob with the intention of letting himself in, prompting Nessie to hurry her efforts. Extending her hand and parting her fingers, Nessie quietly flips the deadbolt’s lock as their guest attempts to push the hardwood entrance inward, thwarted by the fragile, old lock that keeps him from entering. With an equal swiftness, Nessie dashes through the living room, joining the rest of her group in the kitchen as Celia’s motorised chair descends the steps. With a hiss, Jack catches Nessie by the arm as she rounds the corner, dragging her back into the living room as he throws himself into one of the seats. “The others went to pick up meds on the other side of town- they’ll be back in an hour- got it?” Jack whispers, providing Nessie with her alibi as he covers his leg with a blanket, “don’t face the front door!” Their stories clear, Nessie gracefully nods toward Jack as Celia nears the staircase’s bottom, shouting as a foot is put toward the outside of her door. “Take my door and I’ll take your life!” the frail woman exclaims, able to notice Franklin and Clint’s absence in spite of her annoyance-caused proclamation. Their orders offered, the men on the other side of the door cease their break-in, waiting for the old lady to safely reach the door and greet those on the other side. Slightly trembling as she opens the door its full length, Celia peers toward the damaged exterior of her entrance, an angered stare directed toward the youngest of the patrolmen that stand before her. “Ma’am, you’re supposed to-” the inexperienced officer remarks, showing the homeowner little empathy for his actions. Without a reason not to, Celia turns her hand toward the attempted intruder and slaps him across the mouth, cutting his remark short as his head turns to the side, eyes widened in disbelief. “Did your mother never teach you to knock!?” Celia furiously shouts, placing the end of her cane toward the chest of the young guard, pushing him back in favour of his more composed partner. “Explain yourself!” Celia demands, taking her eyes away from the pale man with the handprint on his cheek toward the respectful black man that stands patiently behind. “We’re just following procedure, ma’am- we’re sorry about your door” the officer explains, taking the frail patient’s silence as room to continue speaking, “another settlement invaded two nights ago- we’re going through neighbourhoods and making sure none of our residents are in danger.” “Yes, I could gather that by the sirens and radio reports- why does this concern me?” Celia inquires, her right hand pressing against the doorframe as her left presses into the cane at her side. “Because there was a single car accident a few streets away that night, and we’ve positively identified the vehicle as belonging to the invading settlement” the guard ripostes, too focused on clearly stating his business to notice the subtle change in Celia’s facial expression. “Fuck” Jack whispers beneath his breath, sliding the screwdriver from its place in his belt loop, prepared for the attack that may come next. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” the guard proceeds to wonder aloud, leaving the group, both the duo in hiding and the duo in the open, unable to do anything other than listen into the conversation’s conclusion. “A car accident you say?” Celia wonders aloud, peering off into the distance of Cumberland’s night as her lips pucker, “boy- I hope no one was hurt!” His head pulling back, the questioning officer stares at the woman with confusion. “Ma’am, these people invaded us in the middle of the night- they’re not good people” the man curiously replies, watching Celia’s head tilt. “Who’s that to say? Perhaps they’re decent people that you happen not to have a reason to like!” Celia counters, her remarks only further confusing the guard at bay, “even if so, there’s no reason to wish harm on anyone- good or bad- they’ll always meet the fate they deserve.” His mouth opening, the officer finds the power of speech to be evading him, the task he’d been left with taken over by his less-preferred partner. “Will you please answer his question?” the first patrolman interrupts, returning the inquiry to the forefront of their shared focus, Celia’s ire-filled eyes finding him with ease. Her lips puckered, Celia’s eyes take toward the distance once more, her mind trying to locate her response as those she shares a home with eagerly await her reply. “I heard a gaggle of people that night- at least I think I did- it was difficult to discern while the sirens were going” Celia answers, her head shaking as her eyes reconnect with the guards on her front step, “but aside from that- no- I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.” Annoyed, the first officer attempts to respond, his rebuttal interrupted as his more-likeable colleague replies. “That’s all we needed to know, ma’am- we’re sorry to have bothered you” the young officer replies, pulling his coworker aside as Celia shuts the door, anxiously returning the divide between herself and the guards at the front. In the same breath as the entrance shuts, the frail woman locks both the knob and the door itself, taking a moment to herself as the group emerges from hiding. Pressing her palm against the wooden frame, Celia rests for a moment as she collects her breath, her face hanging as the group comes together, Jack’s feigned injury no longer on his mind. “Are you alright, Mrs. Good?” Franklin softly inquires, calling out with a sympathetic tone. Recalled to the gathering at hand, Celia turns to face those that seek sanctuary from her, playing off the information she’d been offered. “I’m fine, thank you” Celia answers, groggily carrying herself toward the seat at the bottom of the steps, visibly exhausted from the task. His caring nature driving him toward the woman’s aid, Franklin sprints across the room and gently leads the elderly woman the rest of the way, offering to ascend the steps with her. “The hospitals should be clear by tomorrow night for that leg of yours” Celia remarks, clearly motioning toward an uninjured Jack, whose cigarette catches her eye, “I’d appreciate you taking the phag outside when you light it, though.” Swallowing the build up of spit in his mouth, Jack responds with a stuttered nod, “yes ma’am” he replies, quickly grinding the dart’s tip out as per request. Satisfied with the man’s response, Celia lets her chair carry the rest of the way up the stairs, Franklin’s shoulders shrugging in his group’s direction as he walks off to aid the woman’s return to bed. “That went better than I was anticipating” Nessie remarks, letting a deep sigh of relief leave her lungs. “Yeah, don’t let it take too much time from you-” Clint responds, reclaiming his seat beside the kitchen’s table, “-she just gave us twenty four hours to come up with a plan that won’t get us killed.” Digesting the situation that’d just unfolded, Jack gives his head a shake, returning himself to the moment as he retakes his seat, discarding the dart in his empty tea cup. “No. She gave us a clue of how to get out of this” Jack replies, clearing his mind of the close call as his attention redirects toward the task at hand, “if people here are willing to see the good in us, there might be a chance to talk ourselves out of this.” “Woah- hold on!” Clint responds, interrupting Jack before the path his thoughts threaten to take is travelled too far, “not everyone in this place is gonna be as willing to forgive and forget as the woman that doesn’t have to live long enough to see the outcome.” “Even with that- they’re still looking” Nessie ripostes, throwing her support behind Jack in hopes it leads somewhere promising, “if it’s taken them two days to address an overturned car, they’re clearly too busy with more pressing matters.” “You’re reading too far into this” Clint swiftly retorts, his rebuttal made as quickly as Jack’s is offered right back. “We don’t have much of a choice, do we!?” Jack challenges, looking Clint in the eyes with a look of concern, “if we’re gonna get caught- and that’s probably how this is gonna end- we’re gonna need to hope we can talk our way out of things.” Frowning, Clint turns his head away, hands placed on his hips as he approaches the other side of the room, Franklin’s footsteps leading down the staircase. “One way or another, we’re leaving tomorrow night” Jack explains, not hesitating to put his foot down on the decision made, “we can either walk through that door with a plan or without one, but either way, our choice has already been made for us.” Eyes panning around the room, Jack waits for an objection, Franklin’s calm and unopposed demeanour already voicing his thoughts. Shaking her head, Nessie refuses to speak against Jack’s remark as Clint becomes the focus of the group’s attention. With a sigh, Clint presents his hands toward the drag-smelling man, refusing to argue his point any further. Gathered upon the same page, the group simmers down from their conflicting pedestals, allowing Jack to lower himself back into the chair at the group’s centre. “With that said- let’s set our sights back on the thing that matters” Jack concludes, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, his feet intertwined with each other as they lock at the ankles, the man’s eyes panning across the room one more time, “what’s our plan?” == Rise == His heavy boots pressing into the steps he descends, Emilio watches his feet move from one platform to the next carefully, not yet comfortable with the home he’s been kindly rewarded with. Just beyond the staircase’s conclusion, the home’s front door presents Emilio with the beckoning call of his fellow neighbours, their knuckles tapping against the aluminium entrance.
As the sun begins to rise above Cumberland, Emilio’s eyes glance through a nearby window, the night sky just beginning to fall aside in favour of its dawn counterpart. With the turn of his wrist, Emilio exposes his home to the outside world, where Jade stands atop his front step. Her face filled with the exhaustion of at least one full day without sleep, Jade flashes her best smile, greeting Emilio with as kind of a demeanour as she can muster. “Thanks for accepting” the woman casually murmurs, her pain hidden as she wastes little time in offering her gratitude. Though he’s more than able to answer with a light-hearted quip, Emilio’s mind rests on their shared disappointment in the circumstances at hand, “I’m sorry this happened.” With a sigh, Jade nods her head, her lips turning upward as she smiles again, this time without showing her teeth, “I am too.” Their eyes keeping upon each other for a moment, Emilio breaks their silent staredown, pulling aside to grant Cumberland’s commander entry to his home. “I wanted to run over some things before you got the group together” Jade explains, entering the foyer as she steps through the front door, her hands comfortably tucked into her back pockets, “-make sure this thing goes down without a hitch.” Refusing to present much of a confrontational or argumentative display, Emilio gently shuts the door, his mouth kept shut in favour of keeping his ears receptive. “I’m not asking you to bring them back alive, but I’d appreciate it if you tried to. The town already knows that houses are to be checked, so you shouldn’t incur much issue” Jade informs, her left hand taken from behind herself as she rubs at her forehead, “if they don’t let you in, take that as a sign.” Nodding, Emilio remains quiet, affording Jade nothing less than his full, undivided attention. “You’ll sweep everything from the freight line to Arnold Mills until mid-noon, then Nova Scotia’s crew will take over where you left off” the woman continues, forcing herself to recite the orders from memory, “after that, you’ll get home, change into something formal, and join me on the opposite side of town. I’m making a speech and I want your group there.” Clear on what’s expected of him, Emilio waits a few moments following Jade’s conclusion, only speaking when the woman’s satisfaction has been met. “Need me to repeat any of that, or do you get it?” the tired figure of leadership inquires, waiting for the homeowner to answer her question, his response taking longer to find her ear than she’d anticipated. His eyes narrowing, Emilio bobs his head toward the next room over as he leaves the barron entrance, stepping past Jade with his hands in his pockets. As ushered to, Cumberland’s figurehead follows the newest member of her inner circle through the equally-dispassionate living room as they enter an adjacent kitchen, a hot pot of coffee already waiting for them. “How’re you holding up?” Emilio asks aloud, pulling out a chair on his way past the kitchen’s island, his destination set on the pair of mugs that await them. “As best I can, I suppose?” Jade ripostes, confused by the hospitality shown to her, both due to its infrequency and its suddenness. Nodding his head once more, Emilio fills each mug halfway, their curved lips spout steam into the air as the man takes one ceramic cup into each hand. “You really don’t have to-” Jade begins to refuse, her hands held toward the presentation as Emilio cuts her off, placing one mug on the woman’s side whilst occupying the other. “You won’t give yourself a minute to sit down, and your brothers won’t step in to make you” Emilio explains, extending his hand toward the still-empty stool, “take a second to breathe.” Her lips still parted from the response she’d initially begun offering, Jade keeps her eyes on Emilio as the muscles in her face ease, the tension in her body falling rapidly. Her lips joining together, Jade climbs atop the wooden barstool, lifting her glass toward Emilio in a display of appreciation before taking the beverage to her lips. “How’s your family been holding up?” Emilio wonders aloud, watching the sour expression that suddenly comes upon Jade’s face as he slides a rack of sugar packets and creamer singles toward her side of the table. “That’s what this is about?” Jade answers, tearing the lid to a pair of sugar pouches before emptying them into her warm drink, “you want to know about my family?” Pressing the drink between both hands, Emilio answers with little more than a shrug, watching the woman across from him empty an additional two creamers into what was once black coffee. “I can’t imagine you get the chance to have many of those” Emilio answers, another sip taken from his piping beverage as Jade stirs the contents of her drink. “Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?” Jade inquires back, lifting her eyebrow as she reclaims possession of the ceramic cup, “-just take a second to think about what’s going on right now and wonder why I might not have much down time?” “My question still stands” Emilio remarks, redirecting the conversation to the calm, personal matters that plague the reasoning behind their current intermingling. Her tongue pressing against the corner of her mouth as she downs another swig, this time with more delight, Jade repeats the question silently before providing an answer. “They’re fine, I guess” the woman finally answers, crossing her left leg over her right, her left elbow pressing into the marble countertop she sits at, “we’re always doing our own things. It’s kind of hard to keep in touch like most families do.” His chin lifting ever-so slightly, Emilio returns his cup to the table’s surface, thinking of another qualm before Jade raises one of her own. “How about yours?” the grey jacket-wearing, black jean-adorning lady of Cumberland queries, the three words left as is. “The husband’s been dead for, god- about two years now?” Emilio replies, his brown slacks clashing with the green t-shirt he wears, “mom and dad are long gone by now, I’d suppose- that doesn’t leave too much family for me, does it?” “I wasn’t referring to them” Jade quickly corrects, gently tapping her heel against one of the stool’s wooden supports, “you’ve got as much love for your group as I have for my brothers. How are they?” His stunted expression lingering for a few moments, Emilio’s head suddenly bows as he stares into the pool of black coffee held within his palms. “They’re coping” the man finally replies, the sound of birds flying just over the McKee Family’s lake to hum softly in the distance of his open windows, “getting over the people they’ve lost by trying to find comfort here.” Smiling for a brief moment before tucking loose hairs behind her ear, Jade’s attention is reclaimed by Emilio’s follow-up. “How are you doing?” Emilio inquires, immediately drawing Jade’s mesmerising eyes toward his face, the answer to his question a difficult one both to offer and accept. Parting her lips, Jade’s head tilts to her left shoulder, her eyes wandering toward the nearest window in search of providing her refuge to think. “I’m not-” Jade begins to murmur, interrupting herself as the remainder of her sentence has yet to present itself to her. “I’m not-” the woman again remarks, maintaining her pondering expression before letting it slip, her genuine thoughts proving too much to hide behind, the semi-confident posture she’d held falling into an uncertain curiosity. The loose hairs falling from behind the ear she’d tucked them away to, Jade returns her focus in Emilio’s direction, the reply she provides emerging as nothing less than genuine. “I’m scared” the woman confesses, her voice still carrying its confident tone, though her face no longer holds the unbreakable demeanour it commonly does, “I think about what Cumberland is, and I worry about how it’ll carry on after all of this- about how the people will carry on after all of this.” Beginning to nod, Jade’s mind continues to wrap itself around the concerns that course through her head, releasing the troubles she’d stored in the deepest recesses of her mind. “I thought I had everything figured out. I thought I could keep the dead and the bad away” Jade persists, speaking as if she’d torpedoed all that came before, as if the Cumberland that was will never exist once more. “Everything we’ve built here is under threat” Jade continues, her visage turning into a bitter, vengeful display as her face keeps upon the man across from her. “I can’t afford to forget the mistakes I made that led up to this. I can’t let the world think they can walk in and steal our livelihoods” Jade concludes, her left hand balling into a fist as she takes a final swig of her drink, looking Emilio in the eyes as her proclamation is made, “I need to show them that Cumberland belongs to us.” = 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 = “Katie!” Aude exclaims, leading Blaise by the hand as she squeezes through a gathering of their homeland’s few thousand residents, “what’s going on!?” Her arms crossed, Katie takes a glance in her friends’ direction, responding as she relocates her attention toward the warships that dock directly off their coastline. “Astor’s little experiment is paying off” Katie replies, her tone presenting those that stand alongside her with an unflattered disappointment. “Another colony found us!?” Blaise exclaims, his gleeful tone unmatched by the woman his inquiry is directed at, the experienced survivor’s chin lowered as her rifle rests against her side. “Colony, settlement- it’s something” Katie answers, her fingers tightly wrapping around her weapons sturdy framework, “I take the fact that they have battleships to mean they’ve got a lot more firepower than we do.” Whilst the green colour to the field they stand within becomes more prominent as the morning sun finds its place in the sky, the group keep their eyes toward the fleet of ships, each lowering their anchors one at a time, following the lead of those around them. “Hey, Katie?” Max wonders aloud, continuing to wait for the life that remains aboard the vessels to present itself innocently, his arms crossed just as the young woman’s are, “did your camp in New York have those boats?” Her right teeth pressing into the soft, pink flesh of her bottom lip, Katie shakes her head silently for a moment. “We had speed boats for patrol- never these” the young woman answers, the slight breeze that moves over the island’s fertile lands whipping through the loose strands of hair that fall from her ponytail, “if we didn’t have these things, I’d be pretty worryful of the people that do.” “But they’re anchoring! Doesn’t that mean they’re getting off the boats?” Aude soon queries, the question prompting their survivalist guidance to turn her head. “Why do you think I’m carrying my rifle?” Katie answers back, a smug frown worn over her face briefly before her eyes carry back to the stationary flotilla. His feet beginning to hurt from the hours of standing in anticipation, Max musters the energy to let off an open-ended quip, peering toward Katie through the corner of his eyes, “maybe it’s your trust issues?” Eyelids nearing closer to each other, the rifle-wielding conqueror turns her focus in the man’s direction, able to read between the lines of his comment. “And what trust issues do tho-” Katie begins countering, only stopping herself when the ship’s present their first sign of life since their display of peace, the watertight doors to their cruisers peering open to reveal the crew that operates them. In a single-file line, an assortment of individuals emerge from the ship’s depths, their casual attire in no way matching the illustrations the island’s residents had conjured in their minds. Presenting themselves as unarmed, the onboard crew line beside each other, their eyes facing the island’s coastline and falling upon the ever-increasing number of residents that pile together, staring toward the foreign corps. “Are we in danger?” Aude ponders aloud, a question that Katie seemingly gestures at as her rifle further readies, able to take toward the ships in a moment’s notice. “Only until they give us a reason to think we aren’t” the young woman ripostes, finger caressing the trigger guard as the centre-most ship presents Orleans Island with its yearned-for explanation. Through the watertight doors, a black man of average height steps upon the promenade deck, the last member of the surrounding fleet to join the fray, a megaphone carried in one hand as the other wraps around a nearby bannister. Clicking his tongue, the man pulls the megaphone to his parted lips, eyes gazing from one end of the collection to the other, not a shred of self-doubt contained within him. “I’m gonna take it that you’re the people putting those signs up around Quebec City” the man declares, sucking on his tongue as the crowd remains quiet, “Est-ce que l'un d'entre vous sait parler anglais ?” Her eyes narrowing, Katie further readies her firearm as the crowd that surrounds her hoist their hands toward the air, all individually retaining some amount of firepower, though hesitant to use it. “That’s a good number. I’m Gamble” the man introduces himself, finally approaching the reason behind his presence, “can any of you point me in the direction of your leader?” Without speaking as much as a singular word, the crowd’s faces redirect to the man already near the forefront of the compiled residents, his posture stoic and assertive. “I’m guessing- by the signage you’ve put up- that I’m supposed to be welcomed here, right?” Gamble questions, barely able to see Astor nod in response to his inquiry, a sight that affords him a small amount of trust in the man’s promises, “good. I think the two of us should have a chat, if you wouldn’t mind?” | “Salem!” Emilio calls out, the woman an entire suburban street’s-length away from him, “mind taking care of this!?” Having her enjoyment in the luxury they’ve been afforded with, Salem takes notice of the corpse that stumbles through a nearby set of trees, a smirk coming over her as her face lowers to the scope of her rifle. With a short exhale, the woman’s finger pulls the trigger in moments, the bullet that leaves her weapon splitting through the corpse’s skull within seconds. “The girl’s still got it!” Lauren proclaims, following the stone pathway that leads to the nearest front door, the rest of her group wandering on toward the next residency. “I don’t think Salem’s very capable of ‘losing it’ to begin with” Heather responds, following closely behind Amy as Jess resides near the group’s front. “Yeah, I hope that’s true” the sniper sighs, returning the weapon to her back as she follows Angela’s lead, “the last thing I need is rust.” “Driver on Sleepy Hollow! I repeat, there’s a driver on Sleepy Hollow!” a frantic voice calls out, ripping through the radios that sit upon the hips of those in the group, desperately trying to make contact. The communication they’ve been given incapable of reaching further than a few hundred metres, Emilio’s eyes take to his road’s end, the signage that occupies the corner reading the street name he’d anticipated. “Everyone, get cover!” Emilio commands, watching Heather and Jess guide Amy toward a short stone wall whilst Salem and Angela settle into a spot behind some trees, his position the only one open to vulnerability. Roaring in the distance, Emilio watches a vehicle speed down the street they’d spent the last few minutes walking, its tires screeching along the ground as its motor revs. “Em’, get the fuck down!” Lauren exclaims, stepping through the front door she’d just entered through to find the road cleared aside from the man at their forefront, his firearm readied. Pressing his eyes together, Emilio focuses on the windshield as his finger rests on the trigger, the barrel of his weapon slowly redirecting with the vehicle’s motion. Pulling the trigger once, Emilio’s first shot misses, barely grazing the car’s hood as it draws nearer, the distance between the man and the multi-ton minivan rapidly growing shorter. With a second attempt, Emilio fails to deal a fatal blow, his bullet piercing the glass viewfinder and impaling the driver’s shoulder. Biting his bottom lip, Emilio readies his third shot, the vehicle continuing to speed in his direction as their short game of ‘cat and mouse’ threatens to end horrifically. With a loud shriek, the third bullet slices through the windshield and spills blood, its brass casing ripping through the driver’s side window as it tears through the motorist’s head, killing him. Control of the wheel lost, the automobile veers off course and overturns itself, spinning violently as it thrashes along the asphalt, ripping through the small woodland area before coming to a rest in the flora-infested path of land. Pulling his dominant hand away from the road, Emilio looks at his firearm suspiciously, eyes pressing closely together as a police vehicle pulls up, easily able to spot the debris-covered path the vehicle had left behind in its journey to the crash site. The right side of his body facing the road ahead, Emilio’s weapon lowers as a pair of officers exit their cruiser, hurrying to the wreckage site. “Nice shot!” one of the men exclaims, patting Emilio on the shoulder as they race past him, confusing the man further. “That-” Emilio begins to mutter beneath his breath, his head peering to the side as his eyes return to their normal, resting state, “-that wasn’t my shot.” “Holy shit, kid! Nice shot!” Salem exclaims, emerging from cover as Angela follows, her eyes taking to the opposite side of the road, the site where Emilio’s attention soon lingers as well. Sharing in Emilio’s surprise, Jess’s shadow-covered face looks to her own daughter with surprise, the smoking gun being credited with the day’s save held within Amy’s hands, her finger gently pulling itself away from the trigger. | “Thank you for your hospitality” Nessie remarks, speaking softly to the frail woman as she pulls away, leaving the foursome with a tray of tea. “You’re welcome, dear” the elderly woman responds, slowly retreating with her dominant hand on a portable oxygen tank, supporting herself as she steps away. “Is there anything we can do for you?” Franklin inquires, watching the woman lower herself into a stairlift as she prepares to ascend to the level above. “Do you have the cure for cancer, by any chance?” the woman wonders, her exhausted exterior no match for the humoured expression she wills upon her face. Lips pressing together, the friendly face Franklin offered his assistance with falls into a sympathetic apology, his head beginning to hang. “I don’t, unfortunately” the large, one-armed man responds, visibly disheartened in the woman’s reply. “Don’t be sorry” the frail woman replies, guiding her chair toward the higher level, “if we smile and laugh at the bad stuff, why go through it at all?” The question undoubtedly morbid and bleak, the woman’s inquiry nonetheless makes sense, leaving the group with something to wonder over. “Celia Good” Jack whispers, reading the name off a piece of mail before extending the envelope in Franklin’s direction. “Alright?” Franklin ripostes, accepting the letter that’s been turned over to his possession, “why are you telling me this?” His shoulders shrugging, Jack lowers his ankle from the pillow he’d placed it atop, his feigned injuries no longer anything more than a few bruises, scrapes, cuts and some soreness. “I don’t know” Jack answers, lifting a cup of tea from the platter as he makes his way for the empty kitchen, turning out the lights that illuminate the home’s interior, “she’s being kind to us- we might as well refer to her by name.” | His formal attire slightly frazzled, Emilio walks down the elegant parkway with his black tie undone and sleeves uncuffed. “What’s going on?” Emilio wonders aloud, watching Archie approach him with his face held toward the ground, an odd haste to his walk. “Get inside quickly, please” the man replies, giving Emilio a light push in the direction of ‘18 Rawson, the home’s door left propped open. Glancing back, Emilio watches Archie walk off to greet the next visitor for the evening with the same hurriedness, offering just as much information to the second person as what was given to him. Though confused, Emilio buys into the declaration that he was met with, quickening his walk through the McKee’s residence and marching toward his first inclination. “What’s going on?” Emilio wonders aloud, finding Jade stood in the centre of his group, a glass of vodka on the rocks held in her hand, “why did you call off the speech?” “Because there are more pressing matters to deal with” a woman responds from the gathered populous’ side, her identity unfamiliar to the man she speaks with. “Who’s this?” Emilio responds, returning his attention to Cumberland’s leader as his index finger points in the guest’s direction. Her hand extended, the woman introduces herself, a bottle of beer carried in her own non-dominant hand, “I’m Courtney, I work for Nova Scotia.” Accepting the handshake, Emilio again looks to Jade before directing his next question to the woman his hand discovers the warmth of. “Hello ‘Courtney from Nova Scotia’” the man replies, still yet to be met with anything other than the conversation’s swiftness, “why am I talking to you?” “Because we have a problem” Jade answers, her voice a few octaves lower than it usually is, “-a big problem.” “It’s not a big problem, they’re not with Rockford!” Salem interjects, again adding detail to a conversation Emilio has yet to be given the full face of. “Stop! For fuck’s sake, what’s going on!?” Emilio barks, his hands held outward at each side, refusing to let another voice speak without any further information being offered. “The rest of our group is already here” Angela answers, silencing the roar of different stances as she claims possession of the conversation’s unravelling. “Jack and Franklin, Clint and Nessie- they’re already in Cumberland” Angela reiterates, watching Emilio’s astonished expression fade into something gradually horrified as she fuels the fire that had been threatening to build, “-they were with Rockford.” “No- they were in Rockford!” Salem doubles down, Emilio’s face now turning in her direction, “-like I said, I gave them the map from your glove compartment, and I told them to find a place far enough away from wherever I guessed your camp would be.” “I’m telling you, Salem- they’re with Rockford” Courtney swiftly responds, setting her drink on a small glass coffee table, “they sat at the table with Rocky. They negotiated for the fair split with Rocky, they suggested the port sanctions with Rocky. They’re not just with Rockford, they’re in Rockford’s inner circle.” “Everyone, shut the fuck up!” Emilio howls again, his eyes turning away from all voices aside from one, his full trust stored within the vows they put forward. “Salem, explain to me what’s going on” Emilio requests, his hand extended toward Courtney the moment she tries to interject, halting the woman’s remarks before they have the chance to present themselves. “When we left them in Providence, I snuck a map out of their glove compartment” Salem recalls, tugging at the rifle strap that runs across her chest, “I dropped it out of the window for them to pick up. It was right after you brained that corpse on the way out.” “Can we please stop living in-” Courtney begins to wonder aloud, drawing Emilio’s ire further than he’s willing to allow her. Unsheathing his blade, Emilio rests the tip of his sharpened weapon against Courtney’s throat, halting her from speaking any further. “I’ve killed people in a fit of rage before, so I’ll ask this only once-” the man warns, looking Courtney in the eyes as his declaration is uttered, “do not speak another word until I tell you.” Their eyes colliding, Emilio watches the surrender in Courtney’s face appear as his blade lowers, his eyes taken back to the woman he trusts most of all. “I hashed out a plan with Jack while you guys dug into that buck. There were three or four places around Providence you could have taken us, so I told him to the closest places beyond those” Salem concludes, looking Emilio in the eyes as she finishes, “he was gonna get their ticket through there and meet us in Nova Scotia.” His eyes lowering, Emilio lets the information sit with him as Salem’s attention retreats toward Courtney. “Whatever they’ve done for Rockford, I promise you-” Salem proceeds, doubling down on her claim with added emphasis, “-I promise you, they only did it to get themselves to Nova Scotia.” “Who are you to me other than the group I tried to lead away from Sun City?” Courtney inquires, her question directed toward Salem, despite being open for the rest of the group to answer. “We’re the group that Jade’s trusted to keep Cumberland operating” Emilio swiftly responds, his eyes retaken toward Courtney before falling upon the settlement’s leader, “you don’t have to trust us anymore than you can throw us, but Jade knows that we’re worth our word.” Having anticipated being the discourse’s natural endpoint, Jade downs the rest of her drink before setting her glass aside, watching Courtney and Salem’s eyes take toward her direction just as Emilio's does. “If they’re out there, the least we can do is give them enough benefit of the doubt to ask them for their side of the story” Salem proclaims, standing beside Emilio’s remarks just as he had done for her, “you know damn well Franklin and Jack wouldn’t do anything to harm Alicia and Lauren.” Her lips pressing together, Jade looks to the group’s leadership figures, watching Salem and Emilio stand side-by-side whilst Courtney stands alone to their side, her own point fair and reasonable. “If we’re taking the intruders alive, we can at least make sense of giving their guys an interrogation” Jade reasons, unofficially placing herself in the corner of her closest confidants as she looks to Courtney, Nova Scotia’s representative shrugging out of a place of acceptance. “And what’s your plan if they turn out to be on Rockford’s side?” Courtney inquires, her dislike for the foursome not rooted in who they are as people, but what they’ve done to one of Nova Scotia’s greatest assets. “They won’t be- we don’t even need to consider what would happen otherwise” Emilio replies, looking Courtney in the eyes once more, remaining confident in his promises, “consider this to be the way I prove that you can trust me.” Extending his hand much like Courtney had, Emilio waits for the woman’s response, her eyes wandering throughout the patio. Her lips puckering ever-so-slightly, Courtney considers the man’s offer, waiting for the slightest appearance of deception through the man’s demeanour. “Don’t make me regret this” Courtney warns, tucking her dominant hand into Emilio’s in a symbolic gesture of peace, their eyes connecting once more as their deal is written in honour. == Rise == Its hooves dashing over rich, fertile soil, a horse sprints through tall grass and nature-covered asphalt roads, led by the ropes that tie to either side of its halter. “Ouvrez les portes !” a man orders, standing at the centre of a large, open campground with his hands by his hips, taking notice of his fellow survivor’s return the moment they catch his ear.
Through the makeshift barrier, the horse and its rider depart the scenes of a decrepit downtown, the overgrowth they’ve travelled across fading as the roads return to the well-manicured state they’d once been known to exist as. A leather cap worn over her head and a cloth gaiter worn over her face, the woman and her horse join the declarative man on a long bridge over the St. Lawrence River. “Find anything?” the denim-jacketed man inquires with eagerness, his arms crossed as a steady wind blows over his face, his hair maintained with such dignity that it shines vibrantly beneath the summer’s sun. “Just more of the same” the woman replies, pulling down her face covering as she sheds the chapeau from atop her head, her horse walking with the man down the bridge’s length, “more of the dead and less of the living. The apocalypse at its barest.” Disappointed, the man refuses to show his acquaintance such dejection, wearing a smile and a cheerful expression. “That’s alright, Princess Katie” the man jokes, looking up at the woman as he follows his horse’s lead to their home island, “if they’re still around today, they’ll be around tomorrow.” Consistently tempted with success, Katie finds herself discouraged further with each wasted effort, each empty-handed return leaving her more exhausted. With a few silent moments spent continuing to venture down the bridge’s length, a thought is raised into Katie’s mind, struggling to present itself as doubts creep into the woman’s head, convincing her not to question the man’s motivations. However strong her concerns may be, the question never truly subsides, each second the pair spend in silence threatens to rip the query from Katie’s head by force. “Comment évolue la langue du peuple ?” the man suddenly questions, comforting Katie as their shared journey continues, having picked up on the uncomfortable nature she’d begun to present. Saved from her own self-dismantling, Katie digests the inquiry made, challenging herself to conjure a full sentence quietly before uttering a word. “J'apprends vite. Je pense que le français s'en sort bien. Est-ce que ça se voit ?” the woman murmurs, her voice gradually beginning to lower as her response begins to reach its natural conclusion. His eyes widening slightly as his lips pucker, the man looks Katie in the eyes with a subtle nod, visibly impressed. “Très bien !” the jean-jacket fashioned man replies, watching the accomplished look of satisfaction come over the woman, “Je commence à comprendre pourquoi Orléans commence à t'apprécier.” Taking a moment to double-check her translation, Katie’s smile holds firm, appreciative of the kind words. “Je suis satisfait des progrès, mais il y a quelque chose dont je veux vous parler” Katie proceeds, her older companion letting his humorous and fun-appreciating demeanour retract, “Ça vous dérange si on utilise ma langue maternelle ?” Coupling his hands behind his back, the man gives Katie an approving nod, the rubber soles of his shoes crunching upon grains of sand and loose pebbles that occupy the bridge’s asphalt surface. “English or French- speak with which you please” the man answers, tilting his chin toward the air in Katie’s direction as they near the bridge’s end, “is there something wrong?” With a subtle squint, Katie shakes her head in refusal, watching a second set of gates pull apart as their conversation progresses. “It’s not that there’s something wrong, it’s that there’s something I don’t understand” Katie corrects, returning home to an island that exemplifies what self-sustainability in a post-apocalyptic world is. “You have all of this” Katie proclaims, extending her hand toward a sea of flatland lined with small villages, various cottages, and an abundance of arable land, all of which pops with the colours of various produce, “why would you need anything from the outside world?” His lip curling, the man presents a smile, his head shaking as he looks toward the bountiful offerings his island presents, his answer interrupted before having the chance to make itself heard. “And Astor- don’t give me some whimsical fantasy about how we can build a new society, or some bogus like that” Katie warns, her hand gently resting upon the man’s shoulder, “the world outside of Orleans is a nasty place. How could you think you’d need anything from it?” His face straightening, Astor’s gleeful expression subsides at Katie’s behest, their slow journey carrying them back to solid ground, where the asphalt has been ripped up and replaced with dirt. “Because we need to keep ourselves honest -Nous ne pouvons pas nous mettre à l'aise -we can’t hide from the world forever” the man responds honestly, a remark his acquaintance finds difficult to refute, “you came from America. If you found us all these years later, so too can anyone else.” “But you don’t need to invite trouble your way in order to know how to deal with it” Katie responds, a gesture that doesn’t discourage the man’s rationales, “pourquoi inonderiez-vous votre maison pour vous préparer à un tsunami ?” “Pour savoir quand le tsunami est passé” Astor replies, unwavering in his stoic approach to the nature of their shared world, “when you isolate yourself, you get to enjoy what you have at the cost of leaving yourself in the dark.” Her lips pressing together, Katie looks to Orleans’ commander with lowered eyes, unable to find common ground with the man’s ideals in this instance. Her head hung, Katie digests Astor’s remarks for a moment as worry begins to fester deep within her mind, her dissatisfaction with Astor’s decision angering her the longer it remains the conversation’s topic. With hopes of avoiding an outburst, Katie takes her horse’s lead and quickens her pace, hurrying away from Astor’s side with her sights set on returning home, the open field and farmhouse she calls home the only destination on her mind. = 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 = “Why is it such a problem?” a voice inquires from Katie’s side, their conversation one of many that happen around the outer grounds of a cosy and quaint winery. “Because this place is too good for the world out there, Aude!” Katie answers, frustrated at the lack of support her stance gathers, accepting the views of those that surround her, though left with the feeling that she’s alone in her beliefs, “places like these don’t get to live in this world.” Her elbows pressing into the top of a barrel that had been fashioned into a table, Katie stares at the waters of the St. Lawrence River from above the hill she and her friends reside upon, her battle garb from earlier replaced in favour of a white t-shirt and a pair of denim overalls. “You can see his point though, right?” a man questions, his hand resting on the small of Aude’s back as he lowers his wine glass to the table. “When all of this hell began, my brother and I were constantly in-and-out of our camp. We knew what rust meant in a live-or-die situation-” Katie answers, her eyes steadily meeting the man’s, “-of course I see his point, Blaise.” “I think Blaise means something different” a man, the fourth and final member of the conversation, corrects, “- Tu veux dire quelque chose de différent ?” “I’m no less able to speak English than I was five seconds ago, Max” the blonde man in the plaid, button-up shirt remarks. “I’d still like to learn French, wouldn’t you mind playing along every once in a while?” Max pleads, putting forward his playful request for active participation in a way to present the group with humour. “Kidding aside, I think he’s more asking if you can understand his reasoning” the non-bilingual man inquires, his left foot hanging off the barstool’s footrest, “why he’d sacrifice this place’s beauty if it means being in touch with what’s outside?” “Then no, I can’t” Katie replies, gently swirling her red wine around the glass’ bowl as she leans back, “we don’t need anything more than what we have. Opening up to the world is only worthwhile if there’s something we need from it.” “Society has to rebuild someday” Aude quickly responds, watching Katie’ sights set upon her, the drink in the woman’s hand no longer actively swirling, “we can’t stay hidden in these dark ages forever.” Her eyes pressing closer together, Katie leans further back in her seat, resting her drink on the barrel’s surface as she lets Aude’s declaration settle, their meals brought to the table in the time it takes her to form a retort. “How do you know the society that’s being built is one worth living in?” Katie wonders aloud, pondering the question few people have dared to ask, let alone consider. “I’ve seen the people that lead this movement to rebuild society. They may seem righteous, but they just perpetuate the same greed that got us here in the first place” the hardened survivor remarks, able to see a hope in the eyes of those that surround her, a hope she fails to remember the feeling of. Spirits somewhat lowered, the trio that join Katie remain somewhat quiet, letting the woman stare into each of their eyes with an expression equal in parts judgemental as it is saddened. Not one to be discouraged from a good meal, Blaise slides his silverware from the cloth napkin it was wrapped within and swirls a forkful of pasta around the utensil. “It’d be a slap in the face of evolution to spend the rest of our days in hiding” Blaise finally answers, a light blow to the heap of alfredo sauce-covered dinner at the end of his fork, “Astor- quite correctly, in my opinion- understands that.” Quiet, Katie watches the blonde man press his lips against the metal prongs and slides his rolled spaghetti onto the surface of his tongue, the flavours both immaculate and divine. “We’re not hiding- we’re surviving” the discussion’s opposing figure responds, reclaiming her glass of wine before putting down a quarter of it, “we’re living a life that anyone- be it stranded in the middle of the wilderness, or forced to fight through those concrete jungles out there- would be envious of.” “That shouldn’t stop us from wanting more” Aude swiftly debates, reclaiming Katie’s sole focus, “we rebuilt society like we dreamed of doing when this all started. Shouldn’t we want to strive for more?” Folding her hands atop their dinner table, Katie lets Aude’s question settle with her just as she’d allowed the other points made to do. Parting her lips to speak, the American woman with a laundry list of lost souls in her rear-view mirror remains silent, unable to answer adequately as she’d like. Her face warmed by the plate of steaming vegetables and cooked fish before her, Katie’s opposite begins to wane as her face looks to the meal beside her assorted silverware. “Maybe” Katie answers, sliding her fork and knife from their respective places before digging into her meal, letting the discourse pass with a hush. | “Good boy” Katie whispers, tying her horse’s lead to a rusty pipe in an underground parking garage as she pats his snout, “you keep watch for me, alright?” Adjusting her cloth face covering and leather hood, Katie shines a flashlight through the water-covered ground she steps through, the sublevel she occupies slightly submerged by the rainwater that uses it as a halfway point before reaching the garage’s drainage system. Undisturbed by the murky conditions she steps through, Katie arms herself with a knife as her flashlight shines upon a door near the open space’s rear, the sunlight of a new day not presenting her with enough guiding light. Sloshing through ankle-deep waves, Katie breaks through the flora that holds her exit point shut, entering the stairwell that promises to lead her toward the destination at hand. “The things I do for home” Katie murmurs beneath her breath, a rope fastened around her waist as its second end ties around the sturdiest electrical box her surroundings can offer. Face bathed in a bright light, Katie peers toward the heavens, the hand she holds a can of spray paint in affording her coverage from the sun that burns intensely just overhead. Taking a look to her side, Katie’s eyes fall upon the long drop to the ground from the rooftop she stands upon, a sloping green curve to the summit she must descend makes her stomach churn. “Pense juste aux bons moments” Katie murmurs beneath her breath, pressing her eyes together as her chin lifts toward the clear, blue sky, “Pense juste aux bons moments.” Letting free a sigh of relief, Katie lifts her right leg over the nearest divider, putting her faith in the rope that soon serves as the only thing sparing her from certain death. “This part never gets any easier, does it?” Katie mutters to herself, cautiously balancing herself upon the pinnacle of gothic architecture before readying the spray can for the task at hand. With a few motions of her hand, Katie plastered the green rooftop with a set of white letters, a message delivered to the heavens and those that travel beneath its vantage point. “Follow the St. Lawrence-” Katie whispers to herself, reading her own scrawling aloud before calling its legibility into question, “that’s clear enough, right?” With a subtle nod, the woman clasps her hands around the thick rope and begins to return the way she’d arrived, a momentary sound in the distance just barely managing to claim her ear. Like a cat drawn to the sound of a mouse, Katie’s eyes take to the clouds, searching for the hum that she’s confident in having heard many times before. Her faith remaining entrusted within the restraints, Katie withdraws the rifle from her back and presses her knee into the concrete steep, hanging halfway between the roof and a seven-story descent into death with her eye pressed to the weapon’s scope. “Where the fuck are you?” Katie questions aloud, only interested in the answer presenting itself physically, the backdrop of puffy white clouds amidst a light blue sky nothing less than perfect in Katie’s eyes. Her finger resting on the trigger, Katie slowly pans her scope across the sky, aiming toward the direction of the sound before she inevitably uncovers a familiar sight, the dark parachute that soars high above the ground giving flight to a single woman with a motor strapped to her back. “Where are you off to, lady?” Katie wonders to herself quietly, following the woman’s trail whilst assessing the direction she flies. “What are you doing so far out from Monc-?” Katie begins to whisper, her inquiry cut short as the pressure of the rope around her chest increases, pulling her back to the rooftop with great force. Caught by surprise and seemingly outnumbered, Katie prepares herself for the potential of what lies ahead, little option left at her disposal as the plummet back toward earth’s surface remains as viable a threat as any other. Back where she’d begun, Katie topples over the ledge she’d climbed over, rifle aimed at her sudden guests the moment she collides with solid ground once more. “Back up!” Katie exclaims, attempting to place her finger against the trigger to no effect, her lights put out beneath the force of a heavy boot that catches her between the eyes, snuffing out her fight just as quickly as it had presented itself. | “I told you, I’m fine” Katie stubbornly remarks, sliding her arm into the sleeve of a flannel shirt as she climbs off the examining table, her nose bloodied, eye blackened, and brow cut. “I don’t doubt that, and I’m sure you’ve seen worse on the road- but we need to err on the side of caution” Astor responds, trying to dissuade Katie from leaving the doctor’s room by blocking her exit, his repeated failures to do so exploited with ease. “Oh, do we!?” Katie exclaims, stopping her progression forward as her head pulls back, an immediate look of insult worn over her face. “Why is it that now- when we actually meet the people you want to get into contact with- we have to err on the side of caution?” the woman queries, a reasonable question to ask, “you’ve literally got me climbing onto rooftops and spray painting directions to our home- but now is when you choose to err on the side of caution? Give me a break!” Her irritation increasing, Katie jabs at Astor’s side with her shoulder, brushing past the man on her way through the door. “Katie, do not talk to me like that” Astor warns, his face beginning to wear a look of dissatisfaction at the woman’s demeanour as his legs carry him in the woman’s direction, “you will not disrespect me like that.” Pausing her exit mid-step, Katie freezes in the middle of the hallway, the eyes she’d directed toward the building’s exits now refocusing upon the man behind her. “This is still my camp, and I am still the man that graciously let you inside” Astor continues, the woman he speaks to now gradually turning back in his direction, a look of awe in her expression, “do not mistake my kindness as an invitation for you to step all over me, or question my leadership.” Her facial muscles beginning to scrunch, Katie approaches her leader with poise, her open hands held by each side as their eyes lock. “Or what?” Katie wonders aloud, concealing her challenge of Astor’s insinuations as her head sways, the confidence exuding from each uttered syllable, “are you gonna kick me out?” Grimacing, Astor’s nose begins to compress, his nostrils flaring as Katie’s bold replies are made, daring him to stand by the claims it’s become too late to retract. “Maybe if you had a wife and some kids, you’d be less interested in getting the people in your cosy little town killed” the woman ripostes, narrowing her eyelids as she inches closer to the town’s leader, “you’d understand how precious life is. Maybe you’d be less likely to place bets with it if you knew how much you’d lose.” “You should stop before you step any further out of line” Astor warns, quickly finding himself tempted by Katie’s intentional confrontation. “It seems like the only way to guarantee I’ll live through this demonstration of yours is to step out of line anyway- so, what do I have to lose?” Katie inquires, her voice lowering as she nears closer, “I’ve survived out there on my own without your help, you’d be wrong if you think I couldn’t do it again.” His chin lifting, Astor attempts to maintain eye contact with the woman, though her progression forward inevitably forces his glance to the side. “Aude made a compelling point to me last night- she said we should strive for more than just rebuilding society. I didn’t want to admit it, but I agree with her” the woman confesses, drawing nearer as she removes the rifle from across her back, her eyes pressing closer together, “but even if we should strive for more- that doesn’t mean we’re ready to.” Recentring his attention on the woman, his eyes watching the rifle ready itself for an assault, Astor brings to light the question Katie’s open-ended explanation leaves him with. “Who is ‘we’re?’- Is it us, or is it you?” the man inquires, adjusting the collar of his button-up shirt as Katie lifts the barrel of her weapon toward his throat, steadying the barrel against his neck whilst Astor lets her, refusing to present the weakness displays such as Katie’s were designed to extract. “I don’t trust people- not most, anyway” Katie responds, her head tilting to one side as she plays with the concept of tempting Astor’s fate, “they always hide their true colours.” Letting out a deep sigh, the island’s leader lifts his arms from his sides, extending his palms toward the pair of walls that surround them. “You don’t have to agree with the decisions I make for my people, but you’re not going to question my devotion to keeping them safe at whatever costs” Astor remarks, closing his eyes as his face looks to the sky, “if that involves dying for my people- I’ll die.” The weapon held steady, Katie lets a few additional seconds pass before making her decision, a momentary look at the man’s face making it possible to see the peace he’d made with whatever fate awaited him. The stoic posture of the arm falling, Astor’s life is allowed to continue, the weapon he’d been held at the mercy of falling barrel-first toward the ground. “You have fun with that” Katie replies, returning the rifle to her back as she turns around, making for the exit with her mind made, “you can kill your flock, but you won’t kill me.” | Filling a knapsack with some loose clothes, a knife and whatever ammunition she’d entered Orleans Island with, Katie prepares her departure from the town’s good graces. “You don’t need to stand across the room watching me pack my shit like a creep” the woman proclaims, calling out to the man she knows stands in the doorway behind her from the shadow his figure casts on her floor, “-I know you don’t agree with this.” His arms crossed, Max steps away from the doorframe he’d pressed the side of his body against, entering Katie’s room quietly before taking a seat on her already-stripped bed. “I think you’re making a mistake, and I don’t like the idea of being the only non-Quebecois member of our friend group” Max replies, shrugging as his head shakes, “-you can have your pick about why I don’t like this.” With a sigh, Katie fastens the strap of her rifle over her chest, the knapsack she’d filled to her liking joining the barrel of her weapon as it peeks over her right shoulder. “Let Blaise and Aude know that I wish them the best, will you?” Katie requests, patting Max on the back before stepping out of the room, carrying herself to the home’s exit. “If you’re so confident that we’re giving ourselves up to the bad guys, then let’s have a little thought experiment, shall we?” Max inquires, walking after the leather-capped woman as she makes for her trusty steed, “tell me why- aside from their political opinions- we need to sound the alarm on the end times.” “I’m not playing this game, Max” Katie quickly replies, laughing as her head shakes, the saddle she straddles prepared for the long night that lies ahead. “Who said this is a game? I’m asking a simple question” the bulky man remarks, his scuffed boots stepping through mud as Katie prepares her departure. “Because the people in charge are evil. And if I can’t trust the people in charge, I can’t trust anything that follows them” Katie replies, an answer that Max finds to be nothing less than fair. “In that same breath, let me ask you another question” Max proceeds, his arm resting on the saddle just beside Katie’s leg, “if you trusted Astor enough to come onto the island, why can’t you trust his judgement?” “Because he hasn’t seen what I’ve seen” Katie answers just as swiftly as she’d done throughout the night, “I trust that he’s doing this for a good reason, what I don’t trust is-” Cutting herself off mid-sentence, Katie sets her sights on the waterfront a few short kilometres from their spacious front yard, barely able to notice large outlines treading over the water’s surface beneath the guise of night. “Do you see that?” Katie inquires, her eyes squinting as her head pushes forward, eyes setting more stoically upon the curious sights she’d yet to discern from anything suspicious. “Stay here, Royo” Katie remarks, petting her horse’s head as she suddenly disembarks, the rifle held at her abdomen as she nears the coastline of St. Lawrence’s River with Max in tow. “Are those boats?” Max wonders aloud, quickening his pace to keep up with the roommate he’d come too close to losing. Refusing to answer, Katie’s approach of the waterfront ceases without warning, prompting Max to take concern over the display provided to him. “Katie, what’s wrong?” Max wonders aloud, looking into the woman’s face as her eyes take toward the glistening river, the vessel she looks at presenting itself beyond denial. “They found us” Katie mutters, staring into a spotlight aimed at a large warship’s side, where a woman stands in full display, her left hand waving a white flag beside a peace symbol, which adorns the craft’s starboard in white spray paint. == Rise == |
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