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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 ==
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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 == Season 6 Premiere
“This doesn’t look good” Emilio groans, aided through a set of sliding glass doors and into an overcrowded emergency room. “No, it doesn’t” Alicia whispers, panning her eyes across the room to find every chair flooded with those wounded, the faces of the doctors and nurses that desperately cling to hope of restoring order visibly flushed with stress. Whilst some patients shed horrified tears, others sit stoically, stone-faced in the presence of warfare. Gently leaving Emilio in Salem’s care, Alicia takes off after the nearest receptionist, the woman’s shapely figure eagerly stepping over the bloody tiles along the ground. “Excuse me?” Alicia inquires, forced to match the woman’s pace if any hope of offering her question is to be had, “how bad is what’s going on outside?” “It’s bad- does the full E.R not tell you that?” the scrub-wearing woman responds, refocusing her attention on those that occupy the waiting room, “everyone that needs immediate care, check in at any of these desks!” Moving aside for the horde of people to make a sprint toward the front of the line, Alicia returns to her friends with as few answers as she’d departed with. “Is this worse than we think?” the pregnant brunette woman inquires, leaving the question for either accompanying survivor to answer. “What exactly do we think?” Emilio retorts, the slight pain in his side only worsening with time, his voice becoming slightly weaker as the night moves forward. “That people are firing bullets at whatever walks” Salem answers, her own back pressed against the concrete wall. The tip of her spear resting against the ground, Alicia responds. “The question is ‘why?’ and ‘how do we make them stop?’” “Or rather ‘who are they?’” Emilio corrects, his face scrunching tightly as he lets out a sigh, partially in an effort of relieving his pain, “we only know a handful of-” Stopping himself short, Emilio’s face takes to the doors they’d entered through, where he’s afforded an unobstructed view of the street’s opposite end. “Get to cover” Emilio suddenly remarks, watching an assortment of guards hurry away from an unseen impending danger. Neither woman budging at first, Emilio doubles down on his declaration, driving the women to the nearest source of protection. “Get to cover!” Emilio shouts for a second time, mustering the strength to tighten his arm’s grasp over Salem’s neck and take Alicia’s wrist into his grasp. Lunging themselves behind the safety of the room’s unimpressive corner, the trio feel the ground shake beneath them as the sound of explosions burst closeby, able to retain their balance as the chaotic chatter of battle persists. Racing through the hospital’s entrance for cover, the surviving guards are greeted by the various sounds of screaming and howling, those they serve and protect yet to be accustomed to the ways of the world beyond Cumberland’s borders. “Everyone get to-!” the foremost guard exclaims, his unit passing through in an effort of running to cover as the declaration is cut short by the sound of gunfire. In an instant, the patrol’s leader drops to his knees in the middle of the floor, pierced by multiple rounds of ammunition that tear through the emergency room’s uncovered entrance. “Put your guns down and surrender!” the unit’s second in command exclaims, taking aim with his weapon at the souls that disembark the large vehicle that parks just outside. Not keen on obliging, the rebel forces open fire on the hospital, the gargantuan building’s life made obvious by the lights that stretch across each floor, electricity that Cumberland now mostly goes without. Unphased by the display set before him, the eighteen wheeler’s driver climbs down from the driver’s seat, striking a match to the end of his dart as bullets rip through the air. Left with the choice to capture Cumberland by force or offer a last stand in defiance of Nova Scotia, Rocky blows his smoke into the night sky, watching it waft through the air before rejoining his forces, armed with little more than a handgun. “What the hell do we do here?” Salem grunts, she and Alicia the only souls left with defence of any kind, though their respective mallet and makeshift spear fail to stack up against their assailants. An answer left unoffered, Emilio waits a few seconds before turning to the women beside him, somewhat surprised to find their collective sights already bestowed upon him. Finding little reason to argue against their dependency on him for guidance, Emilio takes possession of the power he’s been offered control of. “You’re gonna take Alicia to whatever exit’s closest, and then you’re gonna get her to wherever you think is safe” Emilio replies, turning his focus away from Salem as his finger raises toward Alicia. “I don’t care if you want to fight- you’re pregnant, and we need you alive” Emilio remarks, refuting Alicia’s rebuttal before it can be offered. “Where’s the safest place?” Salem inquires, again shielding herself from the return fire offered by those defending their home. “Wherever you think it is- I trust your instinct, you’ll find it!” Emilio responds, his hand resting on Salem’s shoulder as his voice lowers, their eyes making contact with each other, “I’m serious- I trust you.” “And what are you gonna do!?” Alicia interjects, her concern for Emilio’s well-being made obvious. With confidence, Emilio guides Salem’s hand away from himself and onto their pregnant acquaintance, answering while he does so. “I’m gonna make sure the rest of us get on that first ride to Nova Scotia with you” the man remarks, leading the women to their feet before ushering them away from the chaos, “just get to safety and I’ll meet up with you when the coast is clear!” Though understanding of her need to depart with Salem, Alicia struggles to leave Emilio behind, looking into the man’s eyes as she’s whisked through the nearest set of doors, unsure if the mental picture she’d snapped will be the last of him she’ll ever have the chance to see. Arms covering the sides of his head, Emilio safeguards his ears from the insurgent’s counterattack, allowing the dust to settle before making his move. Holding his crew’s fire, the second in command looks to his nearest comrade, recognising the curious look that’s given to him. “We have to give up ground!” the de facto general exclaims, displeased with the conclusion he’s been forced to make, “we don’t have the ammo to waste firing blindly!” “This building’s already pushed past capacity! If we let them in, people are gonna die!” the bewildered unit member exclaims, again met with the sour truth. “People are already dying!” the new leader shouts back, covering himself from insurrectionist fire, “we sacrifice the few to save the many!” Pressing his teeth together, the patrol member is forced into acceptance of his superior’s demands, aware of the fate that could befall him if defiance were to control his actions. Their shared inaction granting the rebellious forces the implication of triumph, the militia listens to the shattered glass gather at the floor, the first members of enemy fire stepping into the hospital’s boundaries. Not obligated to follow the same mantra as those tasked with serving the masses, Emilio leaps into action, sliding into the deceased general’s body before retrieving his weapon. Thrust into action, Emilio fires off a few rounds in return to the rebels, shielded from their bullets by the corpse he’d taken cover behind. Listening in for the emptying of magazines, Emilio takes his first opportunity to emerge from cover, his eyes narrowed as the weapon in his hand takes to his adversary. With two pulls of the trigger, Emilio spurts off a few rounds with tremendous accuracy, the foremost pair of trespassers falling to the ground before their empty clips can be replaced. The orders he’s been given only allow him to watch on, the general’s subordinate sets his sights on Emilio, watching the man climb out from cover and open fire on those threatening their livelihoods. “He’ll get himself killed, but he’ll buy us some breathing room” the de facto general murmurs to himself, biding his time as he waits for their brazen-faced to earn his infamy at the expense of his life. His higher-ranking comrade’s shallow outlook on the situation beginning to sour on him, the order-obeying crew mate becomes less keen on allowing the masses to die, deciding for himself that the rules he follows are one’s made of cowardice and self-sufficiency. Each further round Emilio fires empowering him, the compliant guard suddenly turns deviant, emerging from cover with an assist in mind. “Duck and cover!” a voice calls out from the larger emergency room, catching Emilio’s attention at the last possible moment, the one-man wrecking crew guiding himself to the nearest protection. Through the narrow corridor, an explosive flies through the air, its shell hurled past Emilio’s head as it soon collides with the ground, bouncing through the front doors and into enemy forces. Struck with a sudden jolt, Emilio feels the ground shake beneath him once more, the brief moment of terror-filled screams that arise from the hospital’s front silenced with a blast. Having braced for the sound he knew was inevitable, Emilio sets his sights on finishing the job at hand, removing himself from the building’s divider and setting his sights on the front lot. Taking his sights toward whatever moves, Emilio fires off one round after another, spilling blood wherever he sees fit until the big rig’s engine begins roaring. With a screech, the vehicle pulls off into the night, its trailer taking extensive damage from Emilio as its outer shell is pierced by countless bullets, the cabin and its driver, however, allowed to escape further into Cumberland’s horrified streets. Surrounded by death, Emilio stands in the centre of a corpse-filled sea of broken asphalt and explosive-aftermath, watching what remains of those responsible escape justice for the time being with a disgusted look. = 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 = “Agghh, fuuu-” Jack weakly groans, his hands hanging over his head as his eyes open, his vision somewhat blurry and the world around him oddly quiet, even for the apocalypse. “Where- am- I?” Jack whispers, feeling his knuckles press against the roof of his vehicle as he dangles above it, his perception of reality skewed beyond without any true understanding as to why. “On three!” a man with a much deeper voice proclaims, his hand wrapped around Jack’s neck as a much softer pair of hands caress his hanging arms and upper back. “One- two-” the man proclaims in quick succession, Jack’s eyes slowly guiding themselves toward the sound of his voice, unable to comprehend what’s happening, “three!” His seatbelt sliced at with a pocket knife, Jack’s body falls from its suspended position, returning to the ground with the comfort of various hands to catch him. “What’s- what!?” Jack shouts, trying to fight off the aid he’s being offered, though it pains him too greatly for reluctance to appear feasible. “Jack- Jack stop!” the deep voice commands, still met with hassle as the wounded man contests the help, refusing to give into the demands made of him. Already dazed and confused, the firm slap that meets the side of Jack’s face surrenders him to the care of those assisting him, the unwillingness to give into such orders ceasing upon the assault. With a final tug, the group effort prevails, dragging Jack from an overturned vehicle and onto glass-covered asphalt, the man’s face as cut and sliced as the rest of his group. “Please tell me you remember who I am” Franklin mutters, the request made both as a joke and as a fair concern. His eyelids pressing closely together, Jack pulls his head up as his hands sit atop his abdomen, barely able to make out his friend’s face. “Oh-fucking-hell” Jack groans, a response the rest of his group has yet to discern the implications of, the man’s eyes meeting Franklin’s once more, “even with cuts and scars on your face- you’re still more handsome than me.” Bowing his head, Franklin shares a laugh with Jack in a moment of relief, watching Nessie’s hands wipe the blood from the man’s face. “What happened?” Jack wonders aloud, digging his elbows into the rough roadway as he sits up, the van they’d piled into now left laying on its hood in the middle of the quiet street. “We- uh- we had a little disagreement with the driver” Franklin responds, following Jack’s face to the dead body lying face-down in the road, “we sort of won.” “Yeah- I can- see that” Jack replies, nodding his head as he surveys their immediate surroundings, a siren blaring in the distance as a spotlight flashes through the night sky. “Well, what do we do now?” Jack inquires, his back pressing into Nessie’s knee as Clint begins to speak. “We need to get out of here- that’s what we need to do” the man answers, met with immediate reluctance from his sister. “Clint, there’s no way they’re letting anyone past the exits. If we try to escape, we’ll be as good as dead” Nessie quips, finding quick support from the one-armed brute of a man. “Ness is right, we’re not getting out of here. The best we can do is hide out somewhere and figure out a plan” Franklin reassures, able to see the scepticism in Clint’s face. “Neither plan bodes well for us, does it?” Clint queries, the answer to his question too difficult for most to say aloud. “We’ll probably need a miracle- or a really understanding dictator” Jack remarks, not holding back the common scepticism he and Clint know themselves to be rooted within, “at least hunkering down somewhere will give us time to pull a rabbit out of our hat.” Sharing looks to each other in silence, the group comes to the same conclusion, understanding the need to act quickly. “We should get going then” Nessie speaks aloud, pulling away from beneath Jack to help him to his feet, Clint’s efforts spent looting the vehicle they’d overturned. Guided away from her tucked-away corner of the home, an older woman cautiously approaches the rapid tapping of knuckles at her front door. “Please, we need help!” a distressed woman cries out, her sincere tone lulling the frail home owner into a sense of comfort. Slowly unlocking the deadbolt, the woman peers through a crack in the door, the four unfamiliar faces that stand on her porch meeting her face with fearful expressions. “Oh, thank god! Our car was hit in the middle of the road and my brother’s hurt!” Nessie exclaims, an act worthy of a plethora of awards put on as she and Franklin lift up a hobbling Jack. “We were trying to get him to the hospital, but it’s not letting new people in!” Franklin furthers, his softest possible tone put on for the elderly lady, “can we stay with you for a few hours? Just until everything dies down?” With a second quick glance at the wounded Jack, the sincere Nessie and the silent Clint, the woman inspects the foursome that stand before her, eyes eventually travelling back to Franklin. Without a word, the woman lets the door open further, stepping away from the entrance to allow the small group her hospitality. “Thank you so much” Franklin grumbles, lifting Jack off his feet and carrying him through the door, Clint and Nessie following soon after. | “These things don’t look like they run” Salem remarks, travelling through the dark sky whilst leading Alicia to the sanctuary of an abandoned set of rail cars. “This is what you consider ‘safe’?” Alicia wonders aloud, still able to hear explosions in the near distance, the sirens just as audible as they were an hour prior. “Yeah, yeah- I get it- I’ll be the best aunt ever” Salem quips, sliding the large doors open one by one in search of a suitable residency. Rolling her eyes in amusement, Alicia follows Salem along the tracks, instinctively glancing back and forth at each end of the rail line every few seconds as if worried a train were bound for them. “Jackpot!” Salem exclaims, throwing her mallet into the empty caboose before climbing aboard, her hands extended toward her shadow, “come on in- the weather’s great!” Again incapable of not taking amusement from Salem’s jokes, Alicia follows the woman’s lead, her feet pressing into the metal supports as she’s hoisted into the empty compartment. “For a 50’s era train- this isn’t that bad” Alicia remarks, her first glance at the interior finding dust-covered furniture and greatly-outdated technology awaiting her discovery. “Well, we didn’t rely on cars and trucks for everything decades ago. Trains were superior to- well- everything” Salem responds, smacking the cushion of a nearby chair repeatedly as she continues, “it makes sense that the crew would have something resembling comfort.” Remaining a participant in the conversation, Alicia’s journey takes her throughout the wider-than-anticipated cabin, eyes wandering throughout the decor of a bygone era. “I guess that’s fair” the woman ripostes, dusting off a bulbous kettle left upon a stovetop, “it’s a shame they’ll never come around again.” “What? The trains or the people?” Salem asks aloud, drawing Alicia’s eyes back toward her direction. “Both” the woman answers, swatting at an empty seat a short distance away before occupying it, the room’s length separating the girls from each other. “I don’t think either were bound for the future” Salem remarks, her pessimistic honesty prevailing through moments of soft, welcomed peace. “We’re still here” Alicia corrects, watching Salem’s finger quickly tap against the side of her head in silence, its tip pointing in her own direction as Salem begins to respond. “We were strong ones. We earned our place in the world” the mallet-toting badass reassures, resting back in her seat once more, arms draped over each wooden support at her sides, “everyone else fought each other for the scraps we were left. They couldn’t see the big picture, and that’s why it all went to shit.” Bobbing her head, Alicia admits to seeing the truth presented in Salem’s remark, though her sights switch to alternative takes. “That could be true- but what if it isn’t?” the woman inquires, slowly caressing the near-noticeable baby bump through her oversized shirt, “what if we were just the people that got lucky? Found a car when we needed to, took a road that kept us from meeting our doom- something like that?” Her lips puckered, Salem’s smirk appears as she nods, slightly unsure of how to respond, a stance that brings a smile upon Alicia’s face. “I guess the point is- we’re still here regardless” Salem answers, crossing one leg over the other as Alicia’s chin lowers, the friendly debate bringing a warmth over an already-stuffy train cabin. | “Emilio!” Archie calls out, adorning a bulletproof vest just as the men that surround him do, the man’s isolated presence drawing intrigue. “Word to the wise- it might not be smart to stand in the open with an automatic rifle in your arms right now” the oldest McKee sibling advises, approaching the heroic civilian before thinking to speak with his militia. Lowering his weapon, Emilio lets Archie’s armed personnel surround him, shielding the pair from the potential ambush that may await them. “What went on in there?” Archie inquires, his question answered with an apathetic, protective tone from his armed citizen. “They tried to attack the hospital, I pushed them back, most of them died and a few got away” Emilio remarks in quick succession, little more to add than that, “is that all?” His mouth slightly ajar, Archie lowers his chin just as he lowers his voice, a side-eye passed to the surviving members of their militia near the hospital’s top-most steps. “Not- not exactly” the man answers, gently pressing his hand against Emilio’s side, steering the man and his own armoured detail further from the medical building. “Listen. The power may have gone out, but the landlines are still operational” Archie clarifies, “when Jade got the call that some hispanic guy jumped in the line of fire and pinned back an entire army- she had her suspicions of who it was.” “Should I assume standing in the middle of the road with an assault rifle served as your confirmation?” Emilio inquires, a surprising head shake returned to him quickly. “No, I was just as sure as Jade was- that’s why I came out here” Archie answers, Emilio’s inquiry made immediately upon his conclusion. “And why exactly are you out here?” Emilio wonders aloud, his quickly-spoken question met with an exceptionally long pause, Archie’s hesitation to answer only prompting Emilio’s guard to raise. “Because we’re pretty sure this isn’t going to end tonight” Archie responds, his voice lowering slightly as his mouth moves closer to Emilio’s ear, “they stormed through the rear gate- damn near discovered Rawson.” “What? Hold on- who?” Emilio inquires, the answer he’d anticipated being among the least likely possibilities suddenly climbing up the list, “aren’t these people from inside the camp?” “No! It’s an entirely different camp from out in Massachusetts!” Archie responds, trying to maintain his whisper-like tone, “we’re not being overthrown- we’re being invaded!” His head pulling back, Emilio looks to Archie with widened eyes, the feeling in his hands replaced with a ‘pins and needles’ sensation. “We’d been using them for Nova Scotia to dock at their ports, but it seems they caught onto it” Archie explains, seemingly unopposed to divulging this information, “they sunk our flagship freighter and made the trip out here. They invaded through the rear-entry and split up from there. They’re like termites! They’re eating at our every corner!” “Don’t you have a patrol out looking for them!?” Emilio’s ability to speak suddenly returns, his follow-up questions appearing in full. “Of course we do, but do I need to remind you how small our population is!?” Archie queries, “it’s our militia of- what? A little over a thousand?- against damn near an entire compound thirsting for blood! How the hell is that mess something we can clean up anytime soon!?” “Well, what the hell are you telling me this for!?” Emilio silently questions, holding as much vigour as Archie had mere moments prior, “go tell your militia where to go next!” “Those pricks just attacked the hospital, how the fuck am I supposed to justify leaving this place unguarded!?” Archie responds, leaving Emilio short for alternatives. “Nova Scotia already knew Rockford went south when the freighter didn’t return their call, they had their militia on standby” Archie furthers, continuing to bridge the gap between Emilio and Cumberland’s leadership. “Jade sent in the call an hour ago, I’m sure we’re important enough for them to already have about twenty-thousand troops on the road for us- something like this is unprecedented” Archie continues, finally arriving at the point he’d shown up to make, “well- almost unprecedented.” His eyes pressing together out of confusion, Emilio watches the expression on Archie’s face begin to change, a response Emilio slowly uses to make assumptions over. “I know they’re not real, but Jade has almost a photographic memory. The moment she got word back from Nova Scotia, your group was the first thing to come into her mind” Archie explains, a remark that brings a bow over Emilio’s head, “if there’s any force greater than Nova Scotia, it’s the people that created it.” “John created it” Emilio immediately retorts, his chin still lowered despite his eyes raising, the glare he gives to Archie of no importance in the McKee sibling’s eyes. “All of you created it. Nova Scotia emerged from the New World Order’s ashes, and it was the lot of you that burned it to rubble” Archie clarifies, continuing to speak despite the shaking head Emilio answers him with, “however you see it- it doesn’t matter. Jade wants you and your group on top of this.” “On top of what?” Emilio hisses, his face filling with frustration as he speaks, “for one- more of our people from the New World Order are dead than alive. And second, you chose to leave two of those people behind in Providence!” “And we’ll go out looking for them! We’ll bring them into Cumberland, we’ll set them up with a home, and we’ll give them every accommodation they could ever dream of!” Archie proclaims, his voice lowering once more, “that is- if you agree to help us.” “Your bold remarks still fail to answer my question-” Emilio responds, his voice matching Archie’s low tone as their faces near closer, “help you with what!?” “Help us track down the people that invaded our home! Help us clean up, restore good faith with the people, not shoot ourselves in the foot, everything!” Archie remarks, the past of those he asks for the aid of proving to be an invaluable commodity, “we need you all to be our closest confidants. We need you all on the inside, we need you to help keep us in the people’s favour, we need you keeping everyone’s spirits high, we need you to be Cumberland!” Though still insulted from Archie’s prior comparison, Emilio’s mind warms up to the idea, aware of the importance of what’s asked of him, and aware of the fruits their labour can present. “What are we getting out of it in return?” Emilio queries, his voice shifting with the redirection of their conversation, Archie’s attempts at persuasion now shifting in favour of Emilio’s attempts at negotiation. “Whatever we can give you” Archie answers, his initial response brief and straight-forward, “we’ll set you all up with homes on Rawson Road, pay you all handsomely, give you an in on the leaders conference’s Jade attends, give you say and veto power in the settlement’s plans- whatever you want!” His expression softening upon Archie’s ultimate declaration, Emilio allows the man to continue as one request tops his mind, pulling him in like bait at the end of a fishing line. “We’ll make the entire settlement know you’re just as influential as us. It may have only been six months, but in the apocalypse, people show their true colours pretty quickly” Archie furthers, “but we’ve already been around you long enough to know we can trust you. We’re offering a hand we’ve never extended before.” Chin tilting high, Emilio’s eyes press close together as they take toward Archie’s own, the man finding an impeccable confidence in the moment he’d rarely held before. “We want to be on the first trip out to Nova Scotia” Emilio responds, a petition that produces no change in Archie’s posture. “Done. You’ll all be on the first trip out, you have our promise” the man responds, extending his hand with his fingers spread outward, “we don’t break our promises.” The air silent, Emilio lets the rifle switch from his right hand to his left, his free hand resting by his side for a few seconds before lifting. Their palms colliding, Emilio and Archie’s fingers wrap around each other’s dorsal, their arms shifting through the air as they shake upon their deal, Emilio’s group finally punching their ticket to a forever home. == Rise == |
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