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Season 6 Finale
“Em’?” a soft voice calls out from a few seats away, directed toward the man with his hands folded upon his lap, head resting against the back of his chair. Leaving her seat to get closer, Nessie walks through the aisle slowly, the lights within the walkway purposefully dimmed to more comfortably accommodate the survivors, most of whom take advantage of the dark surroundings to gain all the shut-eye they can manage. “Em?” Nessie whispers again, gently nudging the man’s shoulder until he comes to, both eyes opening to look at the woman above him. “Is everyone okay?” Emilio whispers, sitting the rest of the way up before tending to the conversation whilst his friend takes the seat across the aisle from him. “Yeah, everyone’s fine- at least that I know of” Nessie whispers back, leaning closer to the man in an effort of keeping her voice to a minimum. Adjusting his posture, Emilio presses his shoulder into the back of his seat, turning to face the woman who’d awoken him, able to notice the troubled look in her face. “Are you alright?” he proceeds to wonder aloud as his arms cross, the uncertain expression on his friend’s visage not striking him with much confidence. “Aside from not being able to fall asleep- yeah, I’m alright” Nessie replies, unable to wipe the concerned look from her face as her chin juts forward, lowering toward the ground as the man looks on. “Why can’t you sleep?” Emilio inquires, a question that Nessie immediately attempts to answer, though she falls silent just as the words take a rest at the tip of her tongue. Dropping her eyes as she plays with the rings on her middle and pinky fingers, the woman falls back into her seat whilst staring at the ground. His friend uncomfortable, Emilio lets his legs fall into the aisleway’s centre, his entire body turned toward the other side of the vehicle. “Is something on your mind?” the man rephrases his question, drawing a momentary glance from his acquaintance as the query is allowed to settle, waiting for an answer he anticipates the arrival of. Biting the corner of her lip, Nessie glances toward the seat she’d come from, watching her brother’s head rest against the bus’ window as he surrenders to exhaustion, engulfed in a cosy slumber whilst she remains awake, incapable of expunging disquieting thoughts from her mind. “It’s not something as much as it is someone” the woman finally responds, her eyes kept toward the ground whilst her friend’s veer toward the aisle’s end. “Your brother can handle himself perfectly fine” Emilio reassures, his eyes kept in Clint’s direction whilst Nessie’s confused mein takes toward him. “What?” the woman replies, her curious eyes locking with the man as his head turns to reconnect with her, their sights colliding. “I’m not talking about Clint” the headstrong survivalist remarks, letting her hands fall back to her sides, “my brother can handle himself. It’s taking me some time, but I’m learning to accept that.” His eyes narrowing, Emilio looks toward the vehicle’s front whilst thinking quietly to himself, disconnecting his assumptions from one another before returning to the discourse. “It’s that woman you all talk about” Nessie corrects, watching the wheel in her friend’s head turn as she clarifies, “the one you said was in charge of that place in New York? You said she went back to where we’re going?” With his mouth agape, Emilio’s head pulls back for a moment as he clears his throat, his shoulder resting against the back of his seat once more. “You’re talking about Charlotte” he responds, nodding to himself before glancing toward the nearest window as the vehicle slows to a stop, their twenty six hour-long drive finally nearing its destination. “Clint and I heard about New York plenty during the first few months, but we never tried for it. We went straight to Sun City, and crossed onto Fishers Island- that was it” she recalls, sitting upright in her seat as she joins the grizzly man in staring toward the front of the bus. “From everything I’ve heard, there’s no reason for me to feel good about walking into her domain” Nessie explains, the rolling eyes her leader now wears doing little to provide her with confidence. “You’re not walking into her domain” Emilio replies, shaking his head at the thought whilst his pale-skinned counterpart squints her eyes, looking at him with confusion as the doors to the bus pull apart. “What do you mean?” Nessie whispers back, she and Emilio keeping their eyes glued to the front of their transportation, watching as men dressed in military garb and possessing automatic rifles climb aboard, their immediate interest taken in the driver. “Not only did we leave her for dead years ago, but we practically dumped her in the middle of nowhere with nothing to live for” the man whispers back, watching the apparent soldiers glance in his direction. “Her family was dead, two of her compounds were gone, and home was like nine hundred miles away” Emilio continues, his voice falling to a hush as the soldiers begin travelling the length of the vehicle, leaving no corner, nor crevasse unchecked. “Did you see a body?” Nessie whispers back, leaving her question to linger in lieu of an answer as the first soldier steps past her, inspecting the rest of the bus as a second militant inspects the passenger sheet provided to the driver. Laying against her husband’s side, Alicia remains asleep whilst Franklin passes a few glances toward the armed enforcement surveying his mode of transportation, awoken by the sound of their heavy boots colliding with the floor. His heel tapped by the tip of the armed soldier’s boot, Clint awakens from his slumber as his crossed arms pull apart, falling as his head pulls upward to look the guard in his eyes. Nodding to himself, the soldier turns his attention toward Jack and Lauren, the woman’s side resting against her husband’s whilst his arm rests around her neck. Bobbing his head, the guard turns back for the way he came, eyes taking to the only seat he hadn’t initially inspected. With her rifle aimed at the ground and finger resting against the trigger guard, Salem looks the soldier in the eyes without the slightest glimmer of fear, her poise undisturbed by the display of power beside her. “Can I help you?” Salem inquires, unable to see past the sunglasses and gator the man purposefully conceals his identity behind, only able to watch as his head bobs out of satisfaction with the response he’s received. “No, of course we didn’t see a body” Emilio whispers back, only answering the question once the soldier’s back turns toward him, eyes directed toward the departing the way he’d entered. “Then you can’t guarantee Nova Scotia isn’t still her domain, can you?” Nessie remarks, joining the rest of the group in watching the two soldiers step off their vehicle, its entrance shutting in the wake of their withdrawal. “I don’t need a guarantee, this isn’t some fantasy land” Emilio replies, feeling the weight of the bus thrust forward as their journey resumes, “whoever’s in charge now has only two options- work with us or work for us.” = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = Slipping a mussel past her lips, Katie swipes at the hair a soft wind blows in front of her face, each strand glistening beneath the light of a setting sun, the illumination of Charlottetown’s various streetlights signalling the death of yet another day. “Je suppose que parler français est une priorité ici” Aude remarks, walking ahead of Blaise with a similar plate in hand, a well-crafted sandwich sat beside a small pile of chips, “les gens n'arrêtent pas de me regarder de travers !” Chewing her meal, Katie nods to herself as the lawfully-wedded couple occupy the seat across from her, their perfectly clean plates reflecting the light that lays still above them. “We’re not in Quebec anymore, Aude” the younger woman remarks, picking up another mussel before slipping her thumbs between its shell, pulling it apart before placing it against her tongue, “it’s probably better off if we don’t give people a reason to think we’re hiding something from them.” “Je ne pense pas qu-” Blaise begins to respond, catching himself mid-sentence before switching languages, “I don’t think that’s our biggest concern.” Intrigued by the notion, Katie pauses her chewing for a moment before continuing, processing the man’s remark before reaching for a napkin. “What do you mean by that?” she asks, wiping her fingers before pressing her left elbow into the table, leaning on its surface whilst lowering her serviette to the side. “If it’s not our language drawing attention, it’s our presence” Aude replies, answering the question on her husband’s behalf, “we don’t fit in like the others do. People see us walking on the street and they ask themselves how we got a free ride into town when they had to earn theirs.” “I thought it was the island against Nova Scotia?” Katie whispers back, her intel not lining up with what the couple is assuring her. “They are, but there’s still a bridge between the provinces!” Aude laughs, driving a knife through the centre of her hoagie, “people come and go as they please. Just as there are some that have been here since the start, there are plenty of people from Nova Scotia that had to slave for what they have out there like we did.” Lowering her head, Katie thinks quietly to herself for a moment whilst the conversation’s third voice chimes in, filling the parts of the story that don’t align with each other. “The leadership is at ends, but the people don’t know that yet. People from both sides are still hopping across the bridge and going about their days” Blaise remarks, watching the young woman’s head lift to look him in the eyes, “the people coming over from Nova Scotia aren’t too pleased with all the new arrivals.” “Well, what have-” Katie begins to inquire, her attempt thwarted only by the surrendering of a folded piece of paper beside her plate, the hand responsible for its delivery joining the rest of the nondescript body that walks away from the outdoor patio, blending in with the rest of society as the post-apocalyptic mailman quickly reengages himself with the large crowd of people walking by. Momentarily lost in the presentation, Katie’s eyes take to the note as the table goes quiet, the married couple across from her waiting for an explanation as to the events that had just transpired. “Well, that was strange” Aude mutters beneath her breath, her hands claiming the first half of her sandwich, “you get a lot of fan mail these days? Were you some celebrity in the old days?” “If I was, then I’d be pretty bitter that my bank account didn’t get the memo” Katie replies, unfolding the unruffled piece of paper to read the poor handwriting that resides upon it. “Speaking of which, what the hell did you do in the old days?” Blaise asks, redirecting the conversation down a new road as the younger survivor crushes the paper into a mangled blob. “Let DCF fuck me over with a twelve-inch rod of bullshit for years on end” Katie replies, wiping her face and hands with the nearby napkin as she leaves her side of the table, throwing a small leather bag over her shoulder whilst preparing to leave, “I’ll see you guys back at the flat.” Her boots loudly tapping along the floor of city hall, Katie follows the signage that leads her toward the second level, a large staircase climbed in search of the man responsible for calling her to action. As minutes pass, her understanding of the building’s floor plan becomes greater than it had initially been, a deep breath taken as she steps through the door to a small, out-of-the-way reception area. “Ms. Dawson?” a friendly woman asks aloud, taking note of the young woman’s arrival the moment she steps onto the carpeted floor, “Mr. Gamble is ready for you.” With a curious glare, Katie passes the blonde-haired woman at the front desk in favour of the closed door near the room’s end. “Is his last name really ‘Gamble’?” she wonders back, looking to the woman who’d greeted her upon last-second hesitation, the question one that draws her interest. “I don’t know of him by any other” the unnamed receptionist assures, flashing the woman a smile before returning to her seat, both hands placed upon the laptop that sits atop her workspace. Nodding to herself, Katie lets herself into the office of Charlottetown’s leader, his head buried in a stack of papers that he gradually takes the tip of a pen to, signing one document after another without the briefest acknowledgement of his guest’s arrival. “Do you have your rifle with you?” Gamble inquires, processing the words his eyes read from the paper’s face, considering them whilst his visitor responds. “I was told not to carry my rifle on community grounds” Katie answers, less inclined to step out of line than she once had been, her hands folded atop the leather pouch that rests at her lap. “I’m glad to see you following the rules” Gamble quickly responds, signing off on another paper before setting his pen to the side, both hands folding atop the leather binder he now closes shut. “With that said, I need you following our arrangement just as willingly as you follow my rules- is that clear?” the man doubles down, his cold eyes staring at the woman with total silence, the rigid exterior he presents providing the young woman with no room to take comfort in. “As long as I have a favourable chance of completing your request with my life intact, the answer is yes” Katie responds, watching the subtle nod that originates from across the desk. Lowering his eyes, Gamble sets the leather binder aside before taking another set of papers into his possession, the pen reclaimed in his left hand. “Juliet was the woman you met at the front desk. Go to her and ask for the receiver” Gamble directs, reading the printed claims that rest on the documents in front of him as he speaks, “they’re doing maintenance on the bridge. I want you to reach the halfway point, then look for the pillar with a big, pink splotch of paint. Connect it to the wires that are spilling out of the cracks and get back to land before you get spotted.” Though the directions are clear, the motives behind such a request prove suspicious, drawing the woman’s interest to the surface. “What does the-?” Katie begins to ask, her question interrupted by the unenthusiastic tone of Gamble’s sneering voice. “Just do as you’re told and don’t ask questions” the man remarks, swaying his hand in the woman’s path to order her dismissal. Her options limited, Katie looks to the man for a few additional seconds before turning away, exiting the man’s office in favour of the front desk, her duty clear. | Already having been stationed aboard the bus for over twenty-four hours, Emilio walks the aisle from the vehicle’s back to its front before repeating the cycle, keeping himself ready for their arrival whilst also pushing his persistent anxiety from getting out of hand. “Anyone wanna take a look at what’s ahead?” Jack calls out, his head resting against the window as he peers toward the road ahead, a sign with the flags of two long-deceased countries marking their travel’s culmination. “Welcome to Canada, ladies and gentlemen!” Clint howls, his hands coupled together as his proclamation rings throughout the cabin, earning a chorus of cheers and hollers in return. “The road is clear the rest of the way ahead, passengers!” the driver proclaims from the driver’s seat, the close proximity to home bringing a smile upon his face, “we’ll be arriving in Nova Scotia within the hour!” His declaration responded to with a series of applause, the driver returns his attention to the countdown that is their final descent upon civilisation’s last pillar of society. Standing in the middle of the walkway, Emilio’s eyes take to Jack’s side of the vehicle, the American-Canadian border passed over without interruption, the home they’ve fought valiantly for just around the metaphorical corner. His chest heavy with the air he pulls into his lungs, Emilio settles into the nearest seat, his hands wrapping around the chair that sits just ahead of him as his knees grow weak. “You ready, mountain man?” Franklin wonders aloud, nudging the unsteady man’s shoulder with his hand from behind, his playful smile met with his running mate’s mixed-emotion expression. “Yeah, it’s uh-” Emilio begins to reply, his eyes bolting from one side of the bus to the other as he looks for the words, unable to quite reach them. “You alright?” Franklin interrupts, the enthusiastic look he’d worn dissipating in lieu of a surprised and hesitant mein. Parting his lips, Emilio attempts to respond before falling silent once more, left sitting with his mouth open and eyes reluctant. “It’s just hard to fathom, I guess” he finally replies, the answer he provides met with immediate doubt, no amount of emphasis changing how unconvinced his close friend is. “Are you sure?” Franklin wonders aloud, his wife still resting against the side of his body, her eyes just as responsive to the conversation as she is, though her willingness to interrupt refuses to present itself. Still without much in the way of a response, Emilio looks into the father-to-be’s eyes and fails to conjure up a persuasive reply, his vacillation palpable. “Y’know, I remember when we first met at that steakhouse a few years back- when they were pushing you to take me on as your running mate” Franklin remarks, a smirk returning to his face, “you’ve got that same ‘I don’t know about this’ face on that you gave me then.” With a breathy laugh, Emilio looks away and nods, his eyebrows raising as his face turns back toward the couple’s direction. “It turned out to be a pretty good move, didn’t it?” Emilio jokes, resting his elbow against the back of his seat, his sights resting on Franklin. “It was, but I also know what that look means” the brute of a man responds, the cuts of his face and greater wounds of the new world worn like a badge of honour, “you were sceptical of bringing me on then- just like you’re sceptical about something now.” No longer capable of vehemently denying it any further, Emilio bows his head in shame as his friend persists, the obvious question raised from Alicia’s lips, “what’re you thinking?” Looking to the pregnant woman from the corner of his eye, the once-politician, now-leader thinks quietly to himself for a moment, assessing his thoughts before gazing out the window, speaking them into existence as he stores the mental images of abandoned pipes towering upward, their exteriors covered in flora. “I’m worried it’ll all end up going the same way it always has” the man responds, his view of an industrial era’s creation obstructed by the tree branches that grow over the road, colliding with the bus’ metal body, “I’m worried it’ll end up being just another dud.” Pressing his lips back together, Emilio watches the treeline grow increasingly harsh, its branches and vines twisting and knotting together to the point in which the abandoned facility that resides behind it falls out of view. “We’re all worried about that” Franklin remarks, recapturing Emilio’s attention with the five words alone, not finished in alleviating the voiced concerns. “We all saw Sun City, and Sheol, and all the rest. We might be holding out hope, but we’ve all still got those scars” the man continues, his loving embrace of Alicia tightening the longer he speaks, his fears of losing all that he cares for having been buried beneath the trauma of all the chaos they’ve overcome to this point. “It may have a new face, but it’s the same thing that the New World Order was- we saw how that ended” Franklin continues, pulling his wife closer whilst he clears his conscience, “aside from the siblings, I’m pretty sure we’re all secretly worried this is gonna fall apart eventually too.” Looking at the pair for a few additional seconds before returning his sight to the window, Emilio watches the never-ending line of woodlands pass as his friend’s remarks settle with him. “How do I make them stop?” the man asks back, listening to the subdued chuckle that Alicia replies with before watching an amused expression take over her husband’s face, “it’s been so long since we had this kind of hope, so- how do I stop questioning it?” Pressing the top of his chin against his wife’s head, Franklin presses his back against the bus’ wall before flashing the man a smile. “I’m not sure, buddy. I don’t even know if we’re capable of it anymore” he replies, the disheartened look on Emilio’s face mixing with the humoured response he takes from Franklin’s nonchalant attitude, “let me know if you find out, won’t you?” With a smirk, Emilio pats Franklin on the knee before leaving the chair, returning to his previous pacing of the aisle way as the sun begins to set fully, the sky darkening as the cabin begins to dim just as it had the night prior, a time limit placed on how long he has to accept whatever home resides ahead to greet them. | Her walkway lit by only a line of street lamps adorning each lane of the elevated roadway, Katie traverses the catwalk permanently fixed to the only link between New Brunswick and it’s island counterpart, a small bulge in her pocket covered with the reflective orange construction vest that adorns her person. Pointing her chin toward the ground, Katie walks in step with the various workers that cross her path, their attention all directed elsewhere as she walks by, unnoticed for the moment. Keeping her eyes forward, the young woman walks with an unquestioned swagger, blending in with those stuck with the night shift as if she too were stricken with the unfortunate scheduling. Paying mind to her own business, Katie peers toward the centre columns with each passing step, waiting for the first glimpse of pink paint her eye can capture, her well-worn demeanour covering a great weight she can feel press down upon her chest. Prompted to turn back, Katie’s eyes fall upon a man a few metres behind her, his shoulder pressing against the catwalk’s railing as he pulls a drag from his cigarette, the sound of his voice pulling her back. “You’re looking the wrong way” the man remarks, ending his declaration by unleashing a cloud of smoke into the air, the column he stands a short distance away from splattered with a bright pink coat of paint. Discarding his dart into the water of the below strait, the man steps forward with his hand extended, eyes set on the woman’s pocket. “You’ve got the receiver, haven’t you?” the man inquires, his eyes sporting bags beneath them as he waits for her response, the hesitance she presents not altering his expectations. “I wasn’t told I’d be expecting a friend” Katie responds, reluctantly taking a single step back, her confrontational stare held firmly against the man’s detached frown. “I wasn’t told I’d be expecting a woman- yet here we are” the man replies, again presenting his open hand to the woman, his head hanging to the side, “step away any further and you’ll draw suspicion.” Her hesitation not falling an inch, Katie inspects the man’s hand whilst gripping tightly at the small machine in her pocket, not wishing to let it free from her possession for even a moment. “The last time someone defied Gamble’s orders, he took their head” Katie warns, maintaining her distance from the poorly-dressed, frazzle-haired man, “I already signed up for one fight, I’m not interested in starting a second one before the first even gets underway.” “Gamble didn’t say anything about me because he doesn’t need to” the pale-faced civilian replies, his shoulders shrugging as he keeps his hand extended, waiting for the woman to surrender to his request, “I’m sure he didn’t tell you what that thing burning a hole in your pocket even does, did he?” Her frown increasing, Katie lets the man make his own assumptions as he crafts his own answer to the question. “He can’t trust you yet. Don’t make any mistakes about it- that’s a good thing” the man doubles down, stepping forward once more as his patience begins growing thin, “it’s always nice to have a clean slate with Gamble. If you’re on bad terms, it’s nice for sins to be forgiven. If you’re on good terms, there’s no reason to believe you won't make the same slate you had before.” “I’m just doing what I was told” Katie replies, a remark her apparent acquaintance doesn’t refute. “We all are- you’re no different” the man responds, his fingers parting further than they had before, “you were told to bring the receiver and I was told to hook it up. So, if you wanna stay in Gamble’s good graces, I’d suggest you put the damn thing in my hand before you force me to take it off you.” Scowling at the man, Katie glances toward his hand for a moment before considering her choices, the man that stands before her entirely unphased by whichever outcome prevails. Accepting her role in the plan of the island’s leadership, the increasingly-domesticated young woman cedes ownership of the prized possession to unfamiliar hands, the pleased expression on her counterpart preceding his return to the cement column. “What is that thing supposed to do?” Katie wonders aloud, watching the man set a pack of cigarettes on the ground before setting up the device with ease, wiring it as if he’d been familiar with the task for his entire life. “That’s for me to worry about and you to remain uninformed of” the man replies, finishing his job before covering the crack he settles the receiver into with the same cement its surroundings are composed of. “For now, you’re supposed to be the reliable hand. Someone who can do the job they’re told to do without knowing enough to threaten the rebellion” the man remarks, sliding a dart from the pack of cigarettes before striking another match, “I’d suggest you keep it that way for as long as you can.” No longer needed on the catwalk, the man steps past the island’s newest recruit with his eyes on returning home, his progress only stopped by the opposing force that takes the form of a hand holding him back. “You never told me your name” Katie remarks, able to see the details of the man’s face more clearly as they stand within the orange glow of the street lights above. Pressing his dart between both lips, the man bows his head and pulls away, returning home. “It’s Harvey” he responds, following through on his initial attempt to leave the chore behind, his new associate remaining where she last stood, watching him depart for greener pastures. | The short hand of his wrist watch held toward the number eleven, Emilio joins the rest of his people in gathering by the windows, watching the massive line of patrol units pass as their bus ventures onto the main road of their new home, the vast sea of empty plots they pass leading into the larger metropolitan, their first glance at the new world taken with relative glee. Leaving behind the busier main roads in favour of the small, one-lane passageways, the driver makes his way to the outskirts of St. John before pulling off the main roadway, his vehicle directed through an asphalt passageway cut off from the rest of the province by a collection of orange cones and caution lights. “Where are we going?” Jack calls out, his concerns sinking in ahead of the rest of his group, the driver’s somewhat calming response putting his mind at ease. “They need to do a background check on you and decided not to do it at the border” the man in the driver’s vest responds, carefully navigating the tight turns in search of the journey’s conclusion. With a few passing minutes, the ride comes to its final stop, a long-since abandoned school sitting just beyond the vehicle’s exit, where a group of armed guards await the group’s disembarkment. Guided off the vehicle one after another, the armed militants pat down the survivors individually, checking for any concealed weapons before stripping them of the ones they carry. Allowed to remain together, both married couples and the siblings are taken into the large schoolhouse for their questioning, both Emilio and Salem forced to do the same, though without each other’s company to share. “Are you carrying any weapons, drugs, or items of particular interest?” a bulletproof-wearing soldier inquires, his stern tone directed toward Emilio’s ear. “Not unless you consider the shoes on my feet to be any of the above” the bearded man responds, being as cooperative as he can manage despite the rather uncomfortable circumstances. Surrounded by well-equipped guards, Emilio follows the foremost man into the middle of a classroom, where only a pair of desks sit, their faces directed toward each other. “Wait here until further instruction, sir” the initial guard demands, stepping aside to allow his newest citizen entry to the decrepit, poorly-conditioned room. Thus far allowed to reside within their town with minimal reluctance, Emilio keeps his cards close to the chest, playing by the rules laid before him as he enters Nova Scotia’s rather unpleasant domain. To the sound of the door locking, the man- sore from over a day’s stay aboard a cramped and uncomfortable city bus- takes his seat at the second desk, his arms resting atop its smooth, cold surface as he waits for the command he was told to anticipate. Met with only the sound of water splashing into a greater puddle in the room’s corner, Emilio watches the moon rise higher into the sky the longer night passes, the small hand on his watch progressing forward without anything to show for it. Already tired and exhausted, the new civilian presses his forehead against the desktop, his eyes closing as he waits out the hours that pass. Turning at the will of the key that manipulates them, the door’s locks turn to allow those on the outside entry to a room that gradually lightens with the arrival of the sun from the east. Slumped over in his seat with his head against the desk, Emilio’s eyes remain shut as a pair of footsteps approach, his mind kept in temporary suspension as the outside world submits to the one he’s created within the confines of his imagination. Kept to a lull, the footsteps carefully navigate the debris-covered floor tiles on the way toward the desks, the body they belong to quietly slipping into the seat as its hands press against the wooden workspace. Jostling Emilio’s foot with the tip of her shoe, the woman sat across from the man awakens her subject from his slumber, her back pressing against the seat she occupies as he stirs, first glancing toward the window to see the dawn of a new day. Groaning, Emilio pulls back in his seat as he wipes his eyes, muttering beneath his breath as he looks to his watch, “what time is it?” Holding the clock face to his eyes, the man notices the short hand sit a short distance ahead of the numeral seven, the same indication he reads spoken aloud from the shiver-inducing voice that accompanies him. “It’s fifteen past six” the woman’s voice remarks, immediately striking Emilio with a rush of cold air, his eyes forcing themselves open as his head raises forward, locking eyes with the figure opposite him. His lips slightly parted as his head pulls away, the man with grey hairs in his heavy beard wears a look of shock as he falls silent, unable to process what he sees let alone put it into words. “Long time no see, Governor” the woman remarks, her arms crossed as her left leg drapes over the right, a smirk spreading from one ear to the other, “you look like shit.” Forgetting to exhale, the dirty-faced, bad-breathed survivor fills his lungs to their maximum capacity, only able to muster a single word as he lets out the deepest sigh he’d ever released. “You’re- I don’t-” Emilio mumbles, his lip quivering until he takes in a second breath, easing his mind just long enough to structure a single name from his shock-induced silence. “Charlotte.” Her locks somehow more blonde than he’d remembered them to be, Charlotte eyes the man as her head leans to one side, her face clear and clothes clean, hair brushed and makeup done. “I’m glad you remember me” the woman murmurs, subduing a giggle as she lowers her chin, keeping her eyes set upon Emilio’s as her eyebrows raise, a malicious expression worn on her vindictive and callous visage. “You’re- alive?” the man responds, progressively warming up to more well-rounded sentences as the seconds pass, his mind still shaken with the sight of a woman he’d never expected to see again. “I know, it’s a shocker, ain’t it?” Charlotte responds, revelling in the effect her return has on the man whose composure she controls like strings to a puppet. His eyes falling away, Emilio looks to the floor as the woman begins to speak, the process she embarks on recycling already recited by memory now. “Like I said- long time no see, Governor” Charlotte murmurs, recapturing the survivor’s eyes with the sound of her voice alone, each remark biting at the man’s ear with stupendous ease, “I think we have a lot to catch up on, don’t we?” Closing his lips, Emilio’s nostrils flare as he eases into his seat, both hands shaking as they rest against his own desktop. Sitting upright, the man keeps his eyes locked on Charlotte’s own, trying to gather himself in the wake of this revelation he’s become subject to. “Oka- okay” he murmurs, matching the woman’s posture whilst pressing further into the chair, steadying his breaths as he prepares for whatever is to be spoken. “Where do we begin?” he mutters, watching the woman’s smirk effortlessly grow by mere inches, Charlotte’s eyelids narrowing ever so closer together. == Rise ==
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Taking a towel to his face as he exits the bathroom, a shirtless Emilio in only a threadbare pair of blue jeans and socks climbs from the second level of his home with sights set on the front door. Allowing himself to leisurely stroll toward his home’s entrance, the man tosses the towel over his shoulder and grants entry to those on the other side, an approachable visage taken upon him.
“Don’t ask where we got the champagne” Jack warns, yet to allow the door to fully open before making his remarks, a confused tilt of his head taken toward the shirtless man greeting them. “I’ll treat it the same way I treated you coming to my door covered in blood a few nights ago asking for a pair of clothes-” Emilio replies, stepping aside to allow the husband and wife to pass, “-I didn’t see a thing.” Accepting the riposte for its value, Jack nods before following his wife through the entrance, a quick embrace shared between the pair as they make for the kitchen. “Where is everyone?” Lauren wonders aloud, the first to step through the divide between the rooms, finding the kitchen to be surprisingly empty for the occasion they were informed of. “I moved breakfast out to the backyard” Emilio responds, his finger pointing toward the open door a few metres past the kitchen’s island. “Figured we’d mark our last day in Cumberland with an outdoor platter of pancakes and waffles?” Jack jokes, rejoining his wife as they follow the man toward the backdoor, his pause before stepping through providing them with little more clarity. “Something like that” Emilio answers, guiding the husband and wife onto the rear patio and beneath the already-unravelled awning, the rest of their group already present and equally curious. “There he is!” Salem quips, sat atop the railing along the terrace’s edge, a rag taken to clean the barrel of her rifle as she’s left with little else to do. “Finally! Are you gonna tell us why you were covered in dirt when we got here!?” Clint anxiously inquires, a decent question to ask with the sight he and his sister had arrived early enough to be greeted with. “Yup!” Emilio replies, his tone gleeful and presented with pep as he walks past the entirety of his group, head directed toward the ground as he approaches a small set of stairs leading to the rest of his backyard. Silent through the rest of his venture, Emilio proceeds through the grass with expectation of his group following, their minds left temporarily perplexed. The first to depart from her post, Salem sets the example for her people, leaving the bannister to pull away from her unit, she tosses the strap of her rifle over her neck and follows the man without question. Proceeding to slowly do the same, the congregation soon turns into a line of people all following the same man, his feet carrying him toward a set of trees in the middle of his backyard, the grass below their shade ripped up and covered with loose dirt. “We did this before- back when we thought we’d found a home” Emilio remarks, finally coming to a stop as his hands press against his sides, nodding at his work as the people catch up, “but- this time- it’s real.” Silent, the group allows the sights they stand upon to settle in, hearing the man responsible continue as they make their peace..”Sometimes, I forget what Bill looked like at all once everything started shutting down. It’s hard to picture him as anything other than the man he was before” Emilio admits, holding back a pained expression as he looks below, “I know I’m not the only one that’s lost the people closest to me. I know I’m not the only one time is having it’s effect on.” Though humbled, most of the group sports an appearance of sadness, pained by seeing the names of those they’d watched perish over the years. “When we convinced ourselves to wage war after getting to Sun City, we said we were fighting for the people we lost” Emilio explains, passing a glance to the people gathered by each of his sides before concluding his thought, “but now that we’re moving forward, we remember them so we never have to look back again.” Written in marker and atop thin, stone tablets, the names of each member of their group lost to the world sit beneath the shade of a single pair of trees, resting atop shallow graves freshly dug. “While I love Bill, and while I miss him so fucking badly, I couldn’t be here right now- the man that I am- without losing him” Emilio explains, setting the standard response for those left to speak, “he made me stronger, and losing him forced me to prove that. I can’t ever let myself forget that.” Met with silence, the man keeps his head hung, eyes frozen upon the name below his feet, the patch of dirt it lies upon symbolically no higher than any other grave. Passing a few glances, the rest of the group quietly questions where to respond from this moment, unsure of what reaction is intended, or what question is being asked of them. Thinking quietly to himself for a moment, Jack glances toward graves as he steps away from Lauren’s side, his voice emerging from the mute chorus. “I knew Reggie the longest of the three, but Shauna was a close second,” the man proclaims, his hands gently swaying at each side as his stroll comes off casual, “Tyler actually hadn’t been working the floor for that long- probably about ten months or so.” A smirk suddenly appearing on his face, Jack nods whilst his eyes drift toward the sky, a laugh finding its way to the surface. “Actually, when Tyler started, it was like he’d barely worked a day in his life. It was terrible” the man recalls, casually switching his sights from the young man’s grave to the young woman’s grave. “Shauna had weekends off, but she still came in on a Saturday to break it down for him” Jack persists, an impressed nod carried in his posture as the group’s attention resides fully upon him, “within six hours, the guy went from nearly getting fired to being fully equipped to handle the forklift.” A pair of amused chuckles presented by Salem and Nessie, Jack continues with his story as his eyes wander toward Reggie’s grave, a halt to his smile appearing. “Reggie and I didn’t meet under the most preferable circumstances, but he sure as hell made every minute of every day count after that” he remarks, shaking his head with a renewed, yet somewhat broken smile, “he and Shauna worked well together. They never liked being the centre of attention, but they were just the smartest people.” Heads directing themselves toward other gravesites, the group listen to Jack’s remarks as they set their attention toward other names resting before them, their own stories all leading to the same plot of land in Cumberland. “They’d never call attention to themselves, but they were just great. I know you didn’t know them as the most crucial people, but they were my family” Jack concludes, his frown setting aside as he steps away, “I can’t thank them enough for being there all those years.” Scratching the soft spot beneath his eye, Jack moves aside as Alicia and Lauren couple together, approaching the far left set of tombstones with a heavy-hearted grimace. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been. It’s hard keeping track of the days sometimes- not that it really matters” the expecting mother remarks, her hands caressing the growing bump that builds upon her, “it feels like it’s been a fucking eternity since I’ve heard Meghan’s voice let alone talked to her.” Tucking her hands away within her back pockets, Lauren watches Alicia’s head bow before speaking, waiting for her thought to finish before interjecting. “I don’t even really like thinking about them, if I’m being honest” the woman confesses, looking to a set of three graves, all differing from each other in some way, “every memory I have- before it all or after, it doesn’t really matter- always has to co-exist with remembering just how sad the way they died was.” As if struck with a brutal sense of irony, Alicia’s eyes take to the burial plots of Janice and her son, understanding an inescapable cruelty that’s held within life’s most depraved moments. Though passing the mother and son’s plots, Lauren’s eyes centre upon Meghan’s spiritual resting place, a lingering dread laying within her core. “At least they had the chance to say goodbye” Alicia proclaims, letting free a sigh as she tries to assume a more optimistic point of view, “too many of our friends never got that chance.” Her eyelids widening, Lauren quietly nods before her gesture begins to slowly subdue itself, a frown returning to her face. “But they never should have had to” she concludes, turning away to rejoin her husband a short distance away, “none of them should have had to.” His hand coming to a rest on his wife’s shoulder, Franklin waits for the woman’s mourning to conclude before embracing her any further, not wishing to deprive her of the chance to put the past to bed. “I just hope the world will be better to us than it was to them” Alicia finishes, hiding the great sorrow she holds having to recall the conclusion to their lives, her heart breaking for what lessons it speaks toward the future, “but hope’s really all that any of us can do.” Stepping into her husband’s arms, Alicia steps aside to allow others to grieve, their silent appreciation for the life shared provided. “I’m not going to Nova Scotia” a woman’s voice suddenly remarks from within the group, the eyes of those not responsible for the claim directed toward the person in question. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been wrestling with this thought ever since we got here and I just didn’t know what to do until now” Angela admits, her head shaking as she approaches Tyler’s grave, reading his name with a tear in her eye. “Every night- just before I fall asleep- I realise how fucked I would’ve been if he and I never met” she continues, looking to an assortment of surprised expressions pointed at her, “I would’ve ended up getting shot in the war or dead on the road days later.” “Why does that have anything to do with whether or not you go to Nova Scotia?” Nessie asks from afar, neither she nor her brother having any offerings to make for the dead that lay before them. “Think of how many people died in that war- or after the bomb went off! He welcomed me into this group, and I’ve made it all these years longer than I otherwise would have!” Angela proclaims, a smile appearing over her face, “as long as I’m alive, there’s a piece of him still left in the world.” Silently listening to the woman, the group settles their peace just the same as Angela settles her own, using the past to dictate how she moves forward. “I stay quiet. I don’t risk my life unless I have to, and I can’t say I’m morally pure as far as how I go about keeping myself alive- but I’m alive” Angela explains, her head shaking as she shrugs her shoulders, “and as long as I’m alive, he- or the mark he’s left on the world- is still alive too.” Opening his mouth to respond, Emilio falls silent, his instincts directing him toward convincing the woman to change her mind, though his better judgement allows acceptance of her decision to prevail. “If that’s what you want, then-” the man remarks, looking the woman in the eyes as his shoulders drop, “-then I’m not going to stop you.” Appreciative, Angela flashes the man a grin and bows her head, returning to the larger group as emotions settle, the healing process allowing scars to become symbols of growth rather than memories of more horrid times. Without a word, Emilio hangs his head and cuts through those left watching on, leading the collection’s return to the patio. This time, without hesitation, the remainder of Emilio’s group follows his lead, leaving their past in the rear-view mirror with favour toward what is still to come. “It’s a beautiful day” the leader whispers beneath his breath, smiling as the sun emerges from behind the clouds to cover his face, the still-wet strands of hair on his head and face glowing beneath the bright light as he heads for the table, a look of genuine peace carried along the faces of all that walk with him. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = Surrounded by constant chatter, Katie stands quietly beside the only three souls she’s been friendly enough to consider an acquaintance, the lead to Royo’s grazing muzzle held firmly within her hand. “Which part of the island is Charlottetown on?’ Max queries, the young woman to his right leaving the inquiry for their Quebecois counterparts to answer. “It’s a cosy little city between three big chunks of farmland” Blaise answers warmly, trying and failing to illustrate the island’s layout with the movement of her hands. “Two of them form a chokehold you’d have to get past if you wanted to put troops on the ground in the city” Aude jumps in, putting an end to her husband’s poor rip-off of charades, “the island’s got the boats to mount a line of defence Nova Scotia would have to get through to take the city. It’s not an easy task.” Paying no business to thoughts other than her own, Katie waits for the line they stand near the front of to progress forward, the only blockade to hold them back being the watertight doors they anxiously await the opening of. “That’s how empires started. Put your capital in a strategic place and you can move mountains” Blaise adds in, an enthused yet unaware Max providing him with his full attention, “Rome, Greece, the Ottoman’s, Portugal- the greatest empires abide by that same rule.” “Hmph!” Royo neighs, shaking his head until Katie’s hand gently brushes his snout, her ears still drowning out the discourse happening around her. “If all goes as Gamble says, then- as far as we know- there’ll only be two functioning societies in the world” Aude tacks on, tying a light jacket around her waist, “and while Nova Scotia has the gas, if PEI can corner Quebec and establish a route between the island and Newfoundland, there’s nothing Nova Scotia can offer that we don’t already have.” Incapable of fully disregarding the conversation happening a metre away from her, Katie’s eyes narrow momentarily as Blaise attempts to speak further, her voice interrupting the conversation with a question of her own. “Prince Edward Island doesn’t have an oil refinery?” the young woman asks aloud, caught by surprise at the fact, though the amused response she receives from the wealthy blonde frenchwoman implies such a reaction is laughable. “Of course not!” the woman remarks, preparing for the group’s departure ahead of time, her hands reaching around her head to tie her locks into a ponytail. “Why do you think they want to block Nova Scotia off from Newfoundland? So they can’t keep them from making oil!” Aude proclaims, unable to hold back a smile at the notion of a powerful entity relieving itself of leverage, “if the island’s not giving them their ships back, do you not think they’d want to nip self-sufficiency in the bud?” “But I thought Cape Breton stretched farther north than PEI?” Katie corrects the topography of the ruling province not lining up with the island’s plan, “can’t they just sail north to Newfoundland before we cut through Quebec to the east?” “Sure- if they controlled Nova Scotia!” Aude loudly corrects, letting her hair sway from atop her head as the sound of cheers break out from the front of their line. Ducking her head forward, Katie looks to the woman with great confusion, the claims being made incapable of aligning with the assumptions she’d been allowed to maintain. “Does Nova Scotia not control Nova Scotia?” Katie questions, an inquiry that even Max sides with, as baffled by the apparent revelation as his younger friend. “Max, when we were back in Concord, don’t you remember hearing them say they were pulling the plug on the Toronto compound?” their mutual acquaintance wonders, her husband having fallen silent in favour of deferring the task to his better half. “I mean, I remember you saying they pulled people back home because they couldn’t hold a line. Does that help?” the taller man answers, watching the emphatic nod emerge from Aude’s head as light begins to flood their cramped corridor, the watertight doors parting to present their newest recruits to a blissful sunset. “Yeah, Nova Scotia was the frontline!” the woman responds, listening to the calls of armed soldiers from closeby, hearing the orders of peaceful assembly with resounding clarity. “Everything was too chaotic when things first went down. The locals kept pushing them back until the NWO cut off their food supply” Aude continues, eventually forced to join her small group in funnelling forward, “they called the soldiers back to start fighting the dead once they came back and started chomping on their own.” “If they don’t control the-?” Katie begins to question back, only for a firm hand to press into her chest, picking her out from the crowd with ease for obvious reasons. “The rest of you go. You can get on with your little talk later” the stern militant remarks, directing the three survivors through the watertight compartment before resetting his focus upon the woman and her space-consuming stallion. “You’re Katie the horse girl, right?” the guard inquires, wearing an automatic rifle across his chest as the young woman nods quietly, “Gamble wants to see you in the capitol building. Just wait by the dock and he’ll lead you into town.” The haste yet rather friendly command offered, Katie joins her friends from Orleans Island in being shuffled off the war vessel, climbing onto Royo’s saddle to adequately step down the narrow gangway. “Holy shit” Katie murmurs beneath her breath, squinting her eyes as the bright sunset strikes at the side of her face, the spin of her steed providing her with the gorgeous view of the island’s chokepoint, two massive sides of farmland nearly touching together as the water that moves between them situates within the Charlottetown Harbour. Her white t-shirt appearing yellow within the natural setting, Katie stares at the scenery with an astonished expression, the sight of civilization one she’d never anticipated getting to experience again, lingering on its beauty for much longer than she’d prefer to admit. With her arms by each side, Katie rounds the corner toward Gamble’s office, uninterested in knocking to alert the man to her arrival, and in return, being struck with the potent stench of cigar smoke. “You couldn’t even let me get off the boat before sending a message- through your men- to come see you?” the young woman inquires, watching her superior’s head lift to greet her, his physical expression less than welcoming. “I expect you to have the decency of knocking before you enter” the rough, cold-faced man ripostes, removing the fine smoke from his mouth to acknowledge the woman’s entrance. “I’m only here because I was talked into it- not because I want to be” Katie proclaims, refusing to allow the man the satisfaction of believing his power over her is anything more than an illusion brought on by his title, “don’t think for a second that you own me, or that I’ll just bend the knee to everything you say.” Protruding his bottom lip, Gamble stares at Katie for a few moments in silence, digesting her claims whilst inspecting her before subtly nodding his head. Gently laying his cigar upon an ashtray, Gamble casually rolls his chair back and climbs to his feet, speaking as he approaches a shelf of books near the opposite end of his quarters. “People don’t get swayed into doing something they don’t like... not anymore” Gamble explains, lightly resting the tip of his finger against the spine of one book after another, moving onto the next until finding the one he searches for, “the people with spines weak enough to be guilted into things that way? Well, they died when the old world did- this world ain’t got the room for them.” “I wasn’t guilted, I was-” Katie attempts to correct, her interjection matched with one of Gamble’s own. “-convinced, yeah I got that. So, that makes you either one of two things” the man remarks, pulling an encyclopaedia out from a stack of others before returning to his workspace, “either you’re one of the weak that didn’t die out- which just means you’ll be dead within the next few days now that you’re somewhere that your kind doesn’t survive in.” Opening the hard cover, Gamble begins flipping through the pages without offering another word, his sudden silence bringing great curiosity over the obviously unarmed lady. “And the other one is?” she inquires, watching an eye roll immediately take toward her out of disgust. “Oh, come on!” the man remarks, lowering his cigar back to the tray just as he’d reclaimed it, “don’t be stupid- you know what the other one is!” Pressing his back into the chair, Gamble rests his arms against each side of the seat before taking a quick drag from the alluring symbol of high class wealth. “The other one is what you are” the man remarks, swiping his hand through the air as he takes his view toward the same bookshelf he’d just come from, already knowing what kind of survivor the young woman is, “you’re someone that wants to be here. You’re someone that wants a home, and you picked the right side to back.” “I didn’t pick a side” Katie again tries to correct, though incapable of making much headway. “You picked a side the moment you stepped off my boat. You picked a side the moment you ran a knife across my arm and still came back the next time I called you” Gamble argues back, his voice frighteningly calm and composed, “feeding me that ‘this is complicated’ bullshit is nonsense. I know why you came here, and trying to convince me otherwise does nothing- for either of us.” Silenced, Katie stares at the man with great intensity, his eyes never once faltering for as long as hers remain placed upon him. “Whether I want to be here or not doesn’t change the fact that- if push comes to shove- I’m not afraid to leave” the woman remarks, calling out the man’s scoff upon the voicing of her defiant soul. “If banishing you from the island’s not a threat, then we’ll just execute you” the man nonchalantly replies, again finding his younger counterpart stumped on a response, his honesty catching her entirely off guard. Amidst the quiet tension that follows their conversation to its point, Gamble takes the opportunity to continue speaking, both acknowledging her defiant will and youthful brazenness. “Katie, if you do what I ask of you- I’ll be as warm and fuzzy as you can expect a man in charge of humanity’s future to be. I can be your best friend or your greatest adversary” Gamble says, a warning he takes pleasure in presenting, “but I have too much on my plate to be told by my subordinates that they’re too good to follow my instructions to a tee.” Looking the man in the eyes, Katie feels a moment of genuine fear strike deep within her, the threats a man capable of following through to the fullest extent hitting her ear like the blast of a shotgun barrel. Her lip quivering as she struggles to speak, the young woman bows her head in an effort to part her eyes from Gamble’s imposing pupils, his voice lifting with the rest of his body the moment her face parts from his own. “As far as we’re concerned, when you’re willing and capable of doing what I ask of you, you’ll live like royalty all the way down to the clothes you wear and cars you drive” Gamble explains, stepping around his desk with the cigar in one hand, the other reaching toward the handle of a nearby refrigerator. Blowing a puff of smoke into the air as he opens the electric cooler, Gamble raises his eyebrow whilst reaching what resides within. “But when you fuck up, like let’s say- allowing a woman to sneak aboard my ship with a knife because you couldn’t do your job?” the man inquires, removing his hand before hurling the retrieved object toward Katie’s feet, “well- you suffer the consequences!” With a gross thud, the severed head of a reanimated face familiar to the young woman rolls along the carpeted floor, its teeth gnawing at air in hopes of reaching the tip of Katie’s boot a metre away. Horrified, Katie leaps back, colliding with the wall as she stares in horror, the effect of Gamble’s indoctrination too great for her to play off. Returning the cigar to its tray, Prince Edward Island’s leader slams his foot against the side of the recently-deceased patrol guard’s head, splattering his brain along the vintage rug. Looking away and trying not to gag, Katie allows Gamble to finish his thought, overcome with a flurry of reactions by the display she proves physically incapable of stomaching. “From my perspective- I see bringing you, the rest of your people, and Astor on as leader to be one giant investment. I’m providing you with my best and expecting you to reward me by giving me the numbers to take Nova Scotia down when they come” Gamble concludes, blowing a small puff of smoke against the side of Katie’s face, the back of her head nearly pressed against the office’s drywall, “so- unless you wanna end up like splatalot down there- just don’t screw up my investment.” | His back resting against a telephone poll, Emilio gazes around a small road surrounded by trees, its end lined with a small stack of sandbags that separate it from an adjacent street heading north and south. Sat atop the low-quality border with her bare arms resting against the denim of the jeans that cover her thighs, Jade looks to the folks she shares the company of, her brothers all waiting closeby just as she does. Wearing a pair of leather gloves, the slot for his pinky purposefully removed on one hand, Jack and Lauren sit close to the McKee family, both wearing a white t-shirt with differing colour shorts. One married couple sat across from the other, Franklin sits on the ground whilst his pregnant wife sits atop his lap, the skirt of the woman’s dress cut off at the knee whilst her husband’s grey sweatpants match with his black v-neck t-shirt. Her legs crossed with the rifle laid upon them, Salem stares into the sky while intermittently glancing in the direction of what remains of her group. The road barely wide enough to fit more than one car at a time, most of the group’s muffled sighs can be heard amongst their clustered gathering, the patient waiting for the arrival of their transportation allowing them to quietly enjoy the cosy surroundings that encompass them. “What’s Nova Scotia like?” Nessie asks aloud, sat beside her brother at the opposite end of the young relatives, only Angela behind them, sat in a lawn chair waiting to pay her friends well wishes. “M- me? You’re talking to-? Oh, you’re talking to me!” Jade confusedly remarks in surprise, glancing at the woman’s direction. Slowly shaking her head, the woman tries to illustrate the best description for what lies ahead for those before her, painting a rather desirable picture. “It’s- uh- it’s big” the woman murmurs, her verbal paintbrushes slowly warming to the canvas she’s been tasked with filling. “It’s not as much Nova Scotia as it is Nova Scotia and New Brunswick” Jade clarifies, bobbing her head from one side to another, both shoulders shrugging, “but they did the same thing we did. They stationed guards on the highways around Moncton, set it up as their capital, and did the same on the highway between Truro and New Glasgow.” “You get a lot of open space and travelled roads until you hit Moncton” Archie interjects, making due with the sum of his parts, “if they’re really destined to be the last pillar of society, then the last heartbeat of human civilisation runs through Moncton.” Nodding, Archie’s sister looks back to the group, a few squinted eyes and confused looks presented to her. “Moncton’s like a people’s town. Few cars, trains and buses are running, there’s a busy downtown with shops set up inside old ‘hole in the wall’ spots” Jade continues to remark, drawing further east as her recollections persist, “and then it gets quiet. The city turns into old towns- which turn into small neighbourhoods- which become farmland. If there was a life you wanted in the old world- you’ll be able to earn it for yourself in the new one.” Moving his head slightly forward, Emilio sets the rosy imagery painted for him aside, preferring to set his attention upon a more crucial piece of detail. “Why did they cut them in half?” the man queries, allowing the background noise of chirping crickets to accompany his question, “New Brunswick and Nova Scotia- why did they cut them in half?” “For the same reason we cut Cumberland in half at the start- there was just too much open space to look after” Oliver answers quickly, his response not sitting well in the back of Emilio’s mind. Feeling slightly offended at the unimpressive reply he feels is intentional, the bearded man repeats his question, scoffing at Oliver’s notion. “They don’t have to play by the rules. If they wanted guns to look after it, they could just bring them in” the man corrects, waiting for an answer. With a few seconds passing, his eyes pass from Oliver and Isaac toward Archie and Jade, the attempts to form a reasonable return less notable than the glance paid between the elder siblings. Narrowing his eyebrows, Emilio glares in the siblings’ direction, most of his group noticing this expression for precisely what it is, following his lead in raising their suspicion. “Why bother trying to take over land you don’t need?” Oliver begins to answer, his remarks paid to the man without his attention given, his sights set elsewhere. “That’s not necessarily the reason” Jade quips, correcting her younger brother’s explanation whilst looking Emilio in the eyes, a frown worn on her face. “They cut it off because they had an uprising” the woman clarifies, remaining seated atop the sandbag border just beside the Massachusetts state line with her eyes panning around the survivors. “They initially came into Nova Scotia and put the city under lockdown, but a few months into the outbreak- they didn’t have the numbers” Jade recalls, “they had too many people in other compounds and the Nova Scotians revolted.” Rolling her eyes, Salem shakes her head in disappointment, “sounds about right” she murmurs beneath her breath, though her closeness to the remaining survivors makes the remark more than audible. “Yeah, I know it does” Jade replies, sharing a look with the woman before finishing the story, “so they retreated to the 104, cut off Nova Scotia at the highway, and armed the border to the teeth. After about another year or so, they knew one of two things happened.” “They either ran out of food or settled down and started making their own” Jack remarks, finishing the woman’s declaration before the opportunity for herself to do so is presented. “Exactly. When they went in, they realised the lights were still running in Halifax and came back home without a peep” Jade concludes, her head shaking as her shoulders drop, “they decided they’d leave them be and make due with what they’d already built out west. They haven’t talked to each other since.” Sporting visible looks of disappointment, Emilio and his group think quietly to themselves for a moment, the silent introspection beginning just as the distant sound of a running motor emerges from afar. “How many people know about this?” Alicia suddenly wonders aloud, her eyes glancing toward the ground as her lips form a frown, waiting for the woman’s answer before coming to any conclusion. “I’m not around the place long enough to know. If it were an inner circle secret, that wouldn’t surprise me. If it were common knowledge, that also wouldn’t surprise me” Jade answers, the side of her face lit by a pair of headlights as she finishes speaking, “just don’t let anyone know it was us that told you.” As the woman’s answer finishes, Emilio looks to the pregnant woman from a few metres away, noticing her inquisitive expression and recognising what the woman’s mind is navigating through. The vehicle’s brakes screeching as they come to a halt, Nova Scotia’s bus pulls against the settlement’s small border and opens its doors, the compartments and storage pockets filled with the group’s belongings at the aid of the McKee brothers. Standing, Emilio jogs to the expecting couple’s side, taking Alicia’s hand and assisting her off the ground. Lowering his head, Emilio glances toward Cumberland’s leadership whilst subduing his voice into a whisper, his lips a short distance away from the pregnant woman’s ear. “I can see that face” the bearded man whispers, gently pressing his cheek against the woman’s own, “you’re planning something, aren’t you?” Leaning into the pair, Franklin keeps his ear close to listen into the conversation, purposefully pulled closed by Emilio’s hand. “If we keep our cards close to our chest, we can use the Halifax people to our advantage if our backs are against the wall” Alicia answers back, visibly struggling through exhaustion to stand up, “those people still tried to screw us once before. I don’t know who’s in charge now, but if they try what they did a few years ago, we could use the leverage.” “I’ll let the rest know” Franklin whispers back, understanding his place within the dialogue without it needing to be said, his hands wrapping around his wife’s stomach as they pull away from Emilio, wanting to keep suspicion to a minimum. With her hands in each pocket, Angela approaches her once-leader, now-acquaintance with a smile. “At least we both found home” the woman whispers, lifting her arms around the man and giving him a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got our reasons for choosing where we wish to spend our days, but we’re both finding the same thing” Emilio replies, patting the woman on the back as he pulls away, “take care, kid.” “You too” Angela responds, stepping past the man as Jade takes her place, approaching Emilio with a smile on her face, its origins not of happiness or glee, but from taking pleasure in the man and his group reaching the destination they’d been fighting for. “I don’t remember who I thought would or wouldn’t go to Nova Scotia- even if I know it wasn’t all of you- but you were different” the woman recalls, letting free a large exhale as she pats the man’s chest, “I knew you’d go eventually.” Curious, Emilio pulls his head back and nods, “is that so?’ he asks with an intrigued smirk. Casually walking beside the man with each hand in her back pocket, Jade lowers her head as the pair venture toward the last obstacle between Cumberland and Nova Scotia- the bus ride that carries them from one to the next. “You don’t meet a ton of natural leaders out there. When you see them- and I can’t explain why- you just notice it” Jade explains, inching closer to the bus with every step, “I knew the day would come when I’d have to watch you walk off.” Appreciative, Emilio bows his head to hide the grin that comes over his face, nodding as he steps closer to the bus. The air growing quiet between the two, Jade takes a moment to think to herself in silence, conjuring up the words to speak before voicing them aloud. “I know you think John was a good leader. I won’t argue one way or the other, but I know what you think” the woman remarks, watching the smile slowly fade from Emilio’s face in favour of a perceptive expression. “From everything you told me, I can agree that he was a good man. Even if he had his weaknesses, we can agree that his head was in the right place- at least most of the time” Jade explains, still looking into the man’s distant eyes, “but as a leader?” “He got us as far as he did” Emilio quickly interrupts, turning his head to look Jade in the eyes as they reach the sandbags, the McKee siblings stepping aside to allow the conversation to take place privately. “And he did a damn fine job doing so, but I’m still left feeling he didn’t become the leader he wanted to be” Jade interjects just as her friend had, watching him fall silent the moment her voice overwhelms his own. “Think back to New York. He brought the compound down because a civil war brewed out of the decision he made” the woman corrects, only able to continue speaking as Emilio stares toward her, biting his bottom lip to brace himself for the hard truth he can’t argue against. “In Sheol? He went in looking for revenge, and when he tried to liberate it, the place went tits-up” Jade continues, “and Sun City? He set the wheel in motion for another power vacuum, and that time- it got him killed.” “Alright, what is this?” Emilio asks aloud, watching Jade’s eyes shut as she shakes her head, prepared to interrupt him again in order to answer the question. “It’s me telling you that John wanted to be the glue that held utopia together- not the mallet that crushed it into pieces” the woman replies, again sparking enough interest in her colleague to silence him, “but time after time, all the way up until it got him killed, he tried and failed.” “What’s your point?” Emilio suddenly cuts back, his question sparking a few additional seconds of silence between the pair that only breaks amidst his follow-up, “what does any of this have to do with me?” Looking up, Jade puckers her lips and pulls her head back, removing her hands from behind her back and letting them hang by each side. “I’m saying that you became the leader that he wanted to be” the woman finishes, her voice remaining as composed as both of their voices had been through the discourse, a look of surprise dawning upon Emilio’s face. “You kept Cumberland together when a mallet came down on it. When the time came, you stepped in and held us together” Jade explains, a subdued look of pride appearing upon Emilio’s mein as she continues speaking, “I just wanted to tell you that- from everything you told me back in Providence, and through these months here- you’ve been the leader this group needed ever since day one. I just thought you should know that.” His praises given, Emilio looks Jade in the eyes for a few additional moments in utter silence, not knowing how to respond to her acclaim. “I- um-” the man stammers, taking a moment to take in a deep breath before releasing it with a huff, his shoulders dropping as if they’d finally been relieved of a metaphorical weight, settling on a simple reply worthy of being spoken, “thank you.” Arching the corners of her lips into a smile, Jade nods before extending her hand, her eyes locking onto the man’s own, “it’s been nice knowing you, Emilio.” Still shaken by her endorsement, the man stands in place for a moment before looking to her hand, slowly reaching to shake it as his mind processes her claim. “You too” Emilio replies, letting the gentle exchange pass before turning away, stepping over the wall of sandbags whilst the McKee’s watch, his sights set on the white bus with green and yellow streaks of paint along its side. Pausing for a moment, his hand rests on the side of the bus as his dominant foot presses onto its floor, his head turning back to Angela, Jade and her brothers as they wave goodbye. Mustering a smile, Emilio nods to the small group before climbing the rest of the way onboard, the double doors her steps through closing behind him as he traverses the small corridor. Surrounded by the siblings, and both married couples, Salem leaves one set beside her free for the occupancy of one man. Pulling out from Cumberland’s exit, the bus drags along Paine Road in search of the new world, leaving Emilio to settle into the only open chair. With his hands folded atop his lap, the man presses his back into the seat as the cabin’s lights power down, allowing the group to sleep through the night as their journey into Atlantic Canada ensues. “I’m gonna assume you all know about Halifax?” Emilio whispers, his group assembling together near the bus’ rear. Answered with silent nods in each direction, his face sports a subdued grin as he nods to himself, glancing at the window to Salem’s side. “Good” Emilio whispers, letting out a loud sigh as he leans his head back, both eyes closing as his chin raises toward the ceiling, “I like it when a plan comes together.” == Rise == A frosty glass of beer in his hand, a man with a mountain of scruff growing along his jawline resides within the seat of a picnic table as a growing crowd of rowdy civilians gathers just a few metres away. “You sit here like you know how many pieces of gum are underneath this table- like you’re a usual here” an older black lady remarks, her grey hairs appearing white beneath the absurdly hot sun directly above, “-but I know you ain’t... I know my usuals by name.”
Undisturbed by the woman’s presence, the man’s resting eyes turn with the rest of his face, lifting toward the friendly owner of the mobile bar parked as close to the crowd as his own. “Emilio” the man replies, lifting the brew to his lips once more, offering his answer without any further remark, simply left to watch as the woman sets her tray of dishes along the opposite bench- which she takes a seat upon uninvited. “Do you not know what a razor is, Emilio?” the woman inquires, her eyes reading the man who sits at her outdoor bar in a clean, blue t-shirt and a pair of grey shorts. “I’ve heard of something like that, Ms-” Emilio begins to respond, answering her sarcastic question with a reply of equal value, his eyes trailing toward the nametag on the woman's button-up shirt, “-Ms. Saundra.” Pressing her eyes closer, the woman folds her arms atop the wooden table, leaning forward a slight amount as the crowd just beyond them grows increasingly restless. “You here to shoot the mayor again?” Saundra asks, a curious tone in her voice as she watches Emilio’s teeth appear, his head lowering as he chuckles to himself. “That’s the opposite of what I’m paid to do” the man responds, again lifting the glass bottle to his lips, taking another swig of the beverage he’d purchased. “Then why are you drinking on the job?” Saundra follows up, paying as little mind to the restless residents that pile up not far away. “Because I find that there are few better things to enjoy on a hot day than a cold beer” Emilio replies, again presenting his smile to the bar’s owner, not straying from the conversation’s path as the gathering becomes significantly louder, reacting to the appearance just beyond them. Her eyes trailing toward the top of town hall’s steps, Saundra’s eyebrows rise, “it looks like you’re on the clock- you still gonna sit here?” the woman inquires, watching her patron take a glance toward the building. “I don’t really see what the point is” Emilio answers, exhaustedly turning back to the table before downing another sip, “they’re a bit late on paychecks if you know what I mean?” Her face offering the man a frown, Saundra prepares to leave the table, not much else to offer the man aside from a greeting. “You enjoy your drink then, sir” the woman quips with a hint of sass, reclaiming her bussing tray before returning to her mobile setup. “That’s it?” Emilio calls out, re-earning the woman’s attention as his voice beckons her, “you’re just gonna ask what I do for a living and leave?” His arms waving toward the ground, Archie tries to subdue the collective audience to no avail, his attempts at bringing his people to a silence thwarted before it’d even begun. “You don’t seem as interested in talking as the others do- I’m just gonna assume you’re looking for a place to drink and not be bothered” the woman responds, her genuine tone casually turning into one of judgement and critique, “I don’t trouble myself with drunks.” Squinting, Emilio sets his bottle back to the table before returning his end of the discourse, sparking a slight amount of renewed interest in the woman. “You think I’m a drunk?” the man wonders aloud, the expression he’s given by the storeowner not sparking much confidence, “do I look like a drunk?” Placing her hand on her hip, Saundra’s judgemental visage only deepens, striking a sudden memory of his growing beard within Emilio’s mind. “I’m- I’m not!” the man proclaims, gently sliding the bottle a few centimetres away for a rather pathetic piece of visual proof, “I’m just- I’m-” he continues, glancing into the distance as he looks for the words to answer with, “I’m coping.” Her carping expression settling, Saundra listens to Archie’s request from the unused Cumberland centre before giving into the man’s claims, opting to believe him. Without a word, the woman slides a voucher from her pocket and places it before the empty-handed Emilio, reclaiming her recycled glass bottle in return before emptying it into the patchy lawn she parks upon. “Alcohol is not the remedy for pain, Emilio” Saundra ripostes, lowering the bottle into her bin of dirty dishes before preparing to walk away. “Well- what do you suggest?” the man calls out, watching the woman proceed to step back to her trailer as she briefly spins to answer. “You move on and forget about it, darlin’” Saundra replies, setting the tray on her serving window before climbing aboard, “you make due with what happened, you make your peace, and you move forward.” Left to his own devices at the closure of the truck’s window, Emilio keeps to himself for a moment before lifting his hands to each eye, wiping off the sweat that beads down his head. “I know you have questions- but I can’t answer them if you won't let me!” Archie remarks, trying to gain a foothold within the public to no use, his sister’s frail condition only making his appearance as the town’s leader more curious. Letting out a deep breath, Emilio turns to face the crowd, looking to their backs for the most part as the McKee siblings stand by, trying to provide themselves with a chance of controlling their administration’s image. “How did you let this happen!?” an unassuming member of the crowd screams at the top of their lungs, his comment drawing the grizzled, bear-sporting man at the barside for just a moment. “You’re failing us! Why!?” a woman shouts from further within the group, also drawing the survivor’s attention momentarily. “You shouldn’t be in power if you can’t protect us!” a second woman cries, her claims capturing Emilio’s attention more, the roaring remarks latching onto the man’s ear just as Saundra’s had- only for them to persist, “you’ve destroyed Cumberland!” His lips pressing together just as his teeth clench, Emilio’s nostrils begin to flare, the man’s anger shooting through the metaphorical roof as his eyes take to her direction. Seething without much in the way of options, the man’s hands ball into a fist as he leaves the bench, staring directly into the outraged group of civilians with blood rushing to his ears. As if a switch had been flipped, Emilio leaves his table, stepping through the small gatherings of people clumped together within the wider mob, brushing shoulders with whomever stands in his way without as much as an apology to provide them with. “Hey, watch the fuck out!” a random resident exclaims, firing his words in Emilio’s direction without receiving as much as a glare in return, ignored entirely and taking the response without grace. “Hey, did you hear me, tough guy!?” the man shouts once more, reaching for Emilio’s shoulder before pulling him around, his fist thrown in the larger man’s face. Side-stepping the attack, the bearded man lets the rather scrawny and pale resident’s hand fly by his face, delivering only a hard knee to the man’s gut amidst his follow through in return, its impact the only thing needed to bring the adrenaline-fueled occupant to his knees. Making his way through the frontline, Emilio climbs the steps to town hall, his approach toward the McKee’s and security’s refusal to respond drawing an interest from the still-shouting mob. “Emilio, what are you-?” Archie wonders aloud, looking the man in the eyes as his hand reaches into the waistband of his athletic shorts, retrieving the handgun he’d used to put Annie down. Turning to face the populous, Emilio aims his weapon toward the sky and pulls the trigger, immediately bringing the horde to a silence, their hands covering their ears as they crouch toward the ground in an effort to find safety. As screams briefly flood the sky, the drowning sounds of shouting and wailing cease soon thereafter, replaced with the controlled chaos’ utter quiet. As a few seconds pass, the man’s eyes look upon those that kneel before him before taking toward the sky, looking to a small building near the street’s end. “Does everyone see that school at the light? The one with the bell tower at the end of the road?” Emilio questions aloud, aiming his firearm toward the building’s roof as the residents turn their sights toward its exterior, the single pull of his trigger firing a bullet at his chosen target. With little delay, Emilio’s brass jacket collides with the clearly-visible bell, sending a loud and commanding ring through Cumberland’s most populated street on command, any watch worn by the mob’s members reading the time of forty-seven minutes past eleven. “If I can hit that tower from here- I can hit any one of you like that” the man remarks, snapping his fingers as the weapon lowers to his side, “I don’t play by Cumberland’s rules- so if any of you interrupt me, the next one’s for you.” “Emilio!” Archie hisses beneath his breath, trying to reclaim his position as the conference’s speaker, though the man with the firearm chooses not to allow him the honour. “Like I told you the other day- there’s no old Cumberland anymore” Emilio answers, his voice low enough so only the eldest of the McKee brothers can hear him, “so shut up, stand back, and let me show you how it’s done.” Mouth agape, Archie looks into the man’s eyes for a few moments before stepping back, releasing control of Cumberland’s direction to the bearded survivor, believing his sister’s call would be much the same. Watching the change in power commence, Emilio assumes his control- if only temporary- over Cumberland by returning his sights to the town’s people, his words delivered directly from the back of his mind. “God, it feels like I’m right back where I started- out on a hot day, in the middle of New England, talking to my constituents like they’ve got no clue what’s going on” the man exclaims, following his roots to the source from which they’d originated, “the only difference now is- well, you honestly don’t have any clue how good you have it.” Tilting his head, Emilio returns the firearm to his waistband as he continues to speak, taking a seat upon the second-highest step on town hall’s premises, the McKee brothers standing shoulder-to-shoulder just a few metres behind him. “The last time I did something like this, there was a global catastrophe occuring. People were getting sick, emergency services were falling- it was hell” the man proceeds, all eyes held firmly upon himself, “I had no clue how bad things were about to get.” A sigh of relief leaving his lungs as he lowers himself to the ground, Emilio waves off a man from Jade’s inner circle as he approaches with a megaphone, not feeling himself in need of his support. “But you- all of you- you never saw what it was like out there. You never lost people to this world- or to the people in it” he continues, extending his left leg further ahead of his right, which his elbow rests atop. “You didn’t lose friends like I did- at least most of you haven’t. You didn’t lose limbs like my people did. You didn’t lose the love of your life like I did- you’ve had it easy” Emilio furthers, his view spanning the entire length of the focused gathering, “and that changed recently. You found out what kind of world surrounds you. Yeah, newsflash- all of the trouble you think you’ve got now with the McKee’s- with Cumberland?- it’s all just a hiccup in here, but out there!? It’s permanent.” Scowling, Emilio lowers his eyes to the side as he holds back the vigour he’d taken over the years to his past, the droplets of sweat that run down his face colliding with the hot concrete he sits atop. “You live in a world where- if we were anywhere else- I could shoot you in the face, rob you for all that you have, and no one would do a damn thing- it’d be just another Friday” he says as his head shakes, “but it’s not because of four people- three of whom stand behind me now.” Running his tongue along the inside of his mouth, Emilio spits the taste of beer off his lips before continuing to speak, his hand pressing against the ground as he pushes himself up. “I’ve been around long enough to see places like these- where people try to live in peace- fall because the people thought they’d could’ve found something better” the man recalls, “the New World Order, Sheol, Sun City- you name it- their people all thought the same, and their people all ended up dead.” Retrieving his piece from the waistband he’d left it in, Emilio points to the crowd with the barrel of his weapon aimed at the ground, prepared to fire if needed. “I’m moving forward. I’m learning from the lessons that better people than myself tried to teach me, and I’m making sure what happened in those places doesn’t happen here” the once-politician, now turned leader remarks, “so- with that said- who wants to take their chances out on the road?” To absolute silence, the crowd keeps each hand to their sides, refusing to present Emilio with even the slightest sight of a fingertip. Nodding, the man turns to look Archie in the eye for a brief moment, his sights soon returning to the group he descends the steps toward. “Then my job is done here” Emilio proclaims, taking one stair at a time with the weapon in tow, “now shut up, stand back, and do what you’re told.” Parting like the sea, Cumberland’s residents make way for Emilio as he returns to Saundra’s trailer, not a single word to offer the man as they watch his every move. Returning his weapon to its holster, the man slides the woman’s voucher from his pocket and slaps it upon the counter, her hand readied with a chilled beer to hand him. “It’s time to move forward” Emilio murmurs, taking Saundra up on her advice as he graciously accepts the beverage, walking away from town hall in search for the next bus home. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “What about Caleb?” Jack wonders aloud, setting a cooler of beers in the centre of the relaxed group as he drifts the idea toward the expecting father. “I don’t know if I- a black man built like a defensive end- can get away with calling my kid ‘Caleb’” Franklin retorts, chuckling as he reaches near the counter argument’s end. “You’re right- especially if it’s a girl, which it will be” Alicia chirps, the only soul within the gathering to not hold a crisp lager. “Be careful! If you say that with such confidence, it’ll come out with a penis!” Clint proclaims, setting an empty bottle of liquor to the cooler’s side before reaching for a second, “and if it does come out with a penis, I like the name ‘Bob’.” Her head hanging, Alicia’s reaction matches that of nearly every other member of the survivors, only Salem and Franklin responding differently. “As in Robert, or you just want us to name our kid Bob?” the tall survivor wonders aloud, Clint’s nod at the latter-most option providing him with a follow-up, “so, you want us to name our child Bob? And you want us to be okay with that?” “It’s a simple name that harkens back to simpler times- I think it’s sweet” Clint replies, lightening his voice as he matches a regal reflection near his point’s conclusion. “Sugar’s sweet too, should we throw that one in the suggestion pile?” Salem mocks back, earning laughter from those she shares the room with- the man her jab was made toward included. “What about Nick?” Lauren asks aloud, throwing out a few additional names as her phone begins to ring, “or maybe Victor? Or Travis? Or Lee?” Or Lou?” “You’re supposed to be on my side!” Alicia shouts with a laugh, trying to reach for Lauren’s arm as the woman walks past her, “I can’t be the only one trying to come up with girl names!” “I’m trying my best, Alicia!” Clint jokes, raising both hands toward the woman, his shoulders shrugging, “-if you’re looking for more girl names, Bob is still on the table!” Rolling her eyes, the expecting mother quiets down as her husband takes a drink, the room falling quiet for the moment it takes Lauren to answer the call. “This is Lauren” the woman greets, immediately met with a flustered voice on the opposite end, its haste and lack of composure instantly catching the recipient by surprise. “Hold on, calm down!” Lauren remarks, pulling her head back as she presses the phone closer to her ear, the request for a moment of reprieve drawing Jack from his seat. “Grace, take a deep breath and repeat everything” the woman pleads, releasing possession of the phone to her husband the moment his hand grazes the headset, unable to make sense of anything said. “This is Jack, do me a favour and-” the man speaks, taking his head away from the phone just as quickly as it had been raised to his ear, his narrowed eyes looking at the machine with confusion. “She hung up” Jack remarks, looking at the headset for a few more seconds before returning it to the receiver, a look into his wife’s eyes given for guidance. “Is she in trouble?” Angela calls out from the back of the room, sat along the windowsill with a beer in her hand, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail. “I don’t know. I couldn’t understand anything she said, I just know what her voice sounds like” Lauren replies, shaking her head before letting a puff of air leave her lungs, her feet carrying her around Jack and toward the front door. Signing both his wife’s name and his own to a list at the bus’ front, Jack disembarks the vehicle in a hurry, racing to catch up with the woman ahead as she dashes through the quiet streets of a high-profile, residential neighbourhood. “Where’s her house!?” the man barks ahead, uncertain of his surroundings just as his wife is unsure of her friend’s predicament. As his question meets her ears, Lauren answers by veering off the well-kept sidewalk in favour of a stone-laden walkway, its sizeable length leading to a home her husband can only compare to a fortress. “This is her house!?” Jack shouts aloud, still receiving no verbal response from his wife, who now slams her fist into the locked door that prevents her from entering. “Grace! Open up!” Lauren exclaims, repeatedly slamming her balled fist against the entrance as a pair of footsteps hurry to answer their guest from within. Just as he reaches the halfway point of the path from the front lawn to the home, Jack watches the large door slide open just a crack, its width just enough for both his wife and himself to slip through. Pulling her friend into an embrace, Grace wraps her arms around Lauren’s back as she tries to relieve herself of the panic that’s consumed her voice. Not thinking much of it, Lauren’s kind response of reciprocating the gesture assumes control, her frenzied scramble to tend to her friend’s aid having forced her away from the inspective nature her husband still retains. “What the hell happened to you!?” Jack exclaims, needing little more than the sunlight that peers through the open door of Donnie’s mansion to find himself horrified. Covered in a deep layer of crimson, Grace’s hands pull away from Lauren as she takes a step back, allowing Jack’s wife to take a look at the same discovery he’d uncovered. Reaching for the blood-stained lightswitch, Jack sheds light on the previously-dark foyer, its sleek panel stained with the same colour as Grace’s hands. Upon the illumination of the spacious room, the scene’s details become quite clear, an unmistakable truth left for the newly-reunited couple to bear. Gone are the days of clean walls and a spotless floor, their immaculate upkeep replaced by splatters of red and a pool of blood not far from where Grace stands. Stricken into silence, Lauren is left to stare at her surroundings in awe as Jack eyes a trail near the home’s depths, his hand reaching for his wife’s wrist to guide her within his protection. “I didn’t know what else to do!” Grace proclaims, tears running down her gore-covered face, following the couple further into her home with her hands crossed against her chest. “Jesus- fuck!” Jack shouts, averting his wife’s eyes as he turns his head, the hand he tries to shield Lauren’s vision knocked away at her demand. Swiping her love’s hand aside, Lauren gazes upon the grizzly sight near the back of the kitchen, her grimace appearing as Grace continues to speak. “He said he didn’t want me staying here anymore, and I-” the assumed culprit recalls, struggling to speak much further with any composure, “-I just flipped!” “Yeah, I’d sure as hell say so!” Jack proclaims with great judgement, watching his wife casually approach Donnie’s body, his eyes wide and lifeless, his torso stabbed too many times for the woman to count. “I couldn’t help it! He never said he wasn’t happy! I-” Grace remarks, grasping for straws to make her actions appear semi-reasonable before the man behind her interrupts. “Lauren, we need to go now!” Jack grunts, taking Grace’s adrenaline-backed escalation as cover to subtly reach into an already-open drawer to his side. “Don’t! I need your help!” the killer pleads, sharing glances between both of her accomplices in hope that she can encourage them to fix the mistake she’d made. “I can’t go to jail for this! I never wanted to hurt him!” Grace states, yet to be made aware of Jack’s rummage through her counter, procuring a screwdriver from within its compartment. “Grace, I don’t know what you want us to do!” Lauren finally responds, addressing the woman’s terrified pleas, “there’s blood everywhere! There’s a murder weapon, a whole story to craft- a fucking body on the kitchen floor!” “Please!” Grace again begs, understanding of the improbable circumstances that surround their chances of a clean cover up, though unable to do anything other than hope she can undo her blunder. “Lauren, we’re this close to Nova Scotia- we can’t risk getting caught with this!” Jack pleads, his first two fingers holding barely a few atoms apart from each other as his attempt to reason with his wife is made. “I don’t think we have much of a choice, Jack!” Lauren snaps back, her eyes widened as she looks to her husband’s direction, “I’m covered in blood, our names are on the bus log, I’m sure someone will have seen us pounding on the door!” “Then we turn her in!” Jack proclaims back, grasping the tool in his right hand with a willingness to kill the now-quiet Grace, who subdues herself in hopes that her plea will win out. Opening her mouth, Lauren finds herself void of much to respond with, her stare into Jack’s eyes drifting toward Grace’s vulnerable, scared face. “Lauren, I know she’s your friend- but we can’t be letting that get in the way of the group” Jack furthers, reclaiming his wife’s attention as her head drifts toward him. As her lips press back together, Lauren’s face begins to ease, an apologetic look given to Grace as she steps away from the body, returning to her husband’s side. The sour expression returning, Grace’s eyes briefly take on a betrayed look of awe before following her face toward a red hatch on a nearby wall. Offering nothing more than the glance, Lauren and Jack hurry back for the front door until the woman they leave behind shouts for their return, the sound of a loaded gun emanating from where they’d departed. “Don’t move another inch!” Grace orders, an enraged tone carried within her voice as the couple spins around, finding her hand wrapped around the grip of a six-cylinder revolver. “You open that door an inch and I’ll shoot!” she warns, her previous act of providing the couple with a choice falling aside when the situation becomes dire, the threat of taking the pair down with her the only resort left. Already holding the exit’s handle within his grasp, Jack’s haste to leave stops immediately, aware that another wrong move may prove costly. “Grace, what the hell are you doing!?” Lauren worriedly calls out, feeling her husband’s posture shift as his hand falls from the door, obeying the instructions he’s been given. Stepping around his wife, Jack stands directly between the firearm and Lauren, his left hand reaching into his back pocket before joining the right- being held in surrender. | “We’ll rotate” Gamble remarks, seated in his on-board office with his arm laid atop the side of his chair, the scar his skin wears courtesy of Katie, “a few thousand of my people will come to the island in the spring, then another couple thousand will take the winter.” “And how do you plan on fulfilling your promises?” Astor queries, seated upward in the chair across from the desk of the vessel’s captain, his chin somewhat low to the ground. “Free food, free housing, health benefits, arable land for our private use? You’ve got a hefty offer you’re leaving on the table” the leader of Orleans Island remarks, “I know that’s in return for our service to your cause, but that’s still a lot to offer without Nova Scotia’s backing.” “And if we can control the 138, we’ll have access to upper Quebec before they do” Gamble quickly replies, the tip of his finger pressing into the hardwood of his desktop, “access to upper Quebec means access to the Gulf, which means access to Newfoundland and Anticosti, and that means we’ll own everything south of Greenland.” Rolling his eyes, Astor stares off toward the room’s corner as his mind encircles a greater question. “What does having any of that mean if we’re still outnumbered nearly two-to-one?” the naturally gentle man inquires, a question that sprouts a smile upon Gamble’s face. “It means everything. Not only will there still be people in Newfoundland, but we’ll own the North Atlantic!” the captain remarks, “and if they’ll wanna overwhelm us, they’ll need to cross the water to do it!” Beckoned for at the tapping of his office’s door frame, Gamble surrenders his attention to the young woman that obstructs the flow of light from the cramped corridor to his workspace. “Should I trust you’ve been thoroughly processed?” the man inquires, locking eyes with Katie as she ventures through the watertight entrance, nodding in Astor’s direction before answering the man’s worries. “You shouldn’t trust anything with that rag-tag crew of yours” the young woman defiantly ripostes, her empty hands folded atop her lap as she stands in the room’s centre. “Well, I have a reason to expect an upgrade in the quality of their performance-” Gamble responds, gradually spinning his chair in the woman’s direction, his conversation with the leader of Orleans Island set on hold, “-after all, that’s sort of what you expect when you behead the last person that screwed up, isn’t it?” Immediately squinting as she offers the man a mean mug, Katie refuses to dwell on the man’s claim, disregarding it entirely as better things capture her attention. “You called me here for a reason, so you’re either about to punish me for that scar on your arm, or tell me I’m not welcome on your island” the young woman proclaims, scratching her chin before relocating her coupled hands around her back. “Neither” Gamble replies almost gleefully, adjusting his button-up shirt as he leaves his chair, rounding the desk to get a better look at the woman, “Actually, I called you in here to tell you how happy I was when I heard that you agreed to leave with us.” Her squint intensifying, Katie’s hands remain furled behind her back, the short distance between herself and Gamble maintained with periodic steps back. “Like I’ve told you before, I value the willingness you have to get your hands dirty” the man furthers, taking a seat at the edge of his desk as Astor looks on quietly, his glances split between his close acquaintance and the man he’s chosen to do business with. “I just wanted to tell you that in person- y’know, without all the hostilities we shared last time” Gamble explains, holding his hand out to request the woman do the same, shaking on their quiet agreement to co-exist within the same province. Sceptical, Katie reads Gamble’s expression before subtly moving her chin toward Astor, the words she softly speaks aimed in his direction. “Le connard sait-il parler notre langue ?” the young woman murmurs, watching Astor’s brows raise in curiosity from the corner of her eyes. “Je, euh- je ne suis pas sûr. Je ne le crois pas” the man remarks, somewhat uncomfortable in the question presented, earning a brief smile for his efforts. “C'est bon” Katie replies, reaching her right hand through the air to accept Gamble’s offer, their palms colliding in mutual agreement, “C'est très bien.” | “Seriously, I appreciate it” Emilio reassures, walking alongside Archie through the entrance of ‘18 Rawson’. “What you did for us this morning was more than enough to warrant us lending Jack the truck” the eldest McKee brother responds, their stroll casually taking them through the kitchen and toward the patio. “I didn’t do anything for you that I shouldn’t have done in the past” Emilio answers, not wishing to provide the man with a misplaced sense of blind faith, “Cumberland’s better off with you in charge than someone else. Nothing I said this morning was anything less than the honest truth.” “And your honesty is appreciated” a third voice remarks from the outside, greeting Emilio the moment his curious eyes take toward the patio furniture. With a smirk, the bearded leader of Cumberland’s closest confidants steps through the rear doors to lock eyes with a familiar face, able to match the voice to its visage with minimal effort. “You made a quick recovery” Emilio quips, assisting Archie in tending to his wounded sister, Jade’s chest covered in two spots with large bandages. “Yeah well, what can I say? I’m a stubborn bitch” the woman groans as she returns to her feet, long black locks of hair tied into a ponytail behind her head, “I’m not letting anyone keep me out of work and shoot me in the tit.” Freeing a laugh, Emilio returns a pair of crutches to Cumberland’s mayor, her arms draped over each one to support the rest of her body, which is mostly too weak to afford her with. “Thank you” the woman mutters beneath her breath, taking a moment to relax as she turns her body toward a man she’s grown to consider a friend, her eyes looking into his. “Arch’ was serious, by the way- you did more than enough to earn the truck for a few hours” Jade explains, refusing to allow Emilio the satisfaction of refusing such praise. “They replayed the recording over the radio a few hours ago, and you better believe I heard every word” the woman persists, getting comfort with standing as she maintains eye contact, trying her best to put her appreciation into words, “it was very moving of you.” His head bowing, Emilio lets the woman’s praise sink in for a moment, considering the remarks made about his display before attempting to respond, only thwarted upon Jade’s follow-up. “Apparently, it was pretty moving to the people too” the woman adds, striking silence into her friend once more, “notifs went out telling them that workplaces were returning to business tomorrow. We’re moving forward and leaving that chaos in the past, and they seem fine with it.” Again smiling, though this time out of the corner of his mouth, Emilio bows his head for a second time, attempting to speak before halted yet again, though, not by words this time. “I’m glad you-” the man begins, raising his eyes to the woman before falling silent, her hand extending a leather pouch toward him without warning, leaving for his hand to claim from her. “Wh- what is this?” the bearded survivor inquires, slowly accepting what’s presented to him before glancing inside, his answer given the moment his fingers part the sack’s opening. “It’s my way of saying ‘now you’re done’” Jade remarks, watching Emilio’s eyes widen as he looks to her, having already peered into the wallet to discover its contents, “-and that, if you’re gonna lose people fighting from now on, it won’t be for me.” “These-” Emilio whispers, unable to shake the look of surprise that’s entrenched his face, forced to glance back toward the pouch in his possession periodically, “these are-.” “A deal’s a deal” Jade interjects, a smile worn on her face as Emilio’s eyes freeze upon her own, a lone tear falling from his right eye. “Congratulations, Em’” the woman assures, giving him a nod of approval as she releases a sigh, satisfied with the response, “you’re going to Nova Scotia.” | Peering into the rear view mirror every few seconds, Jack keeps the McKee’s truck on its course as the day turns to night, his view of Lauren in the backseat with a rolled up carpet gradually worsening with the loss of light. Gritting his teeth, Jack passes a few glares toward the armed woman in the passenger’s seat, his view of Grace’s face obstructed by the gun barrel that stands between their eyes. “Keep your finger off that trigger” Jack warns, not taking kindly to the visual threat aimed at his temple, “the last thing I need is to go over a bump and have my brains splattered all over Archie’s new upholstery.” “Stop talking” Grace answers back, scowling at the man behind the wheel as she glances toward the seat behind him, looking at Lauren out of the corner of her eye. “I wouldn’t have had to do this if you would’ve just helped me” the woman clarifies, not receiving anything more than a disgusted look from the husband and wife, “you made me do this.” “Did we make you kill your fuck buddy too?” Jack qualms, his left wrist draped over the steering wheel as he shifts the vehicle into third gear. “Shut up” Grace grunts, keeping the barrel aimed toward the man’s head, aware that his cooperation lasts for as long as her threat does. “Donnie made his decision, and I made mine” she whimpers, pressing herself against the door as the terrain grows rough, her weapon lowering toward Jack’s side so as to prevent herself from accidentally firing. “Donnie made his decision a long time ago, Grace” Lauren speaks out, bracing against her own side of the car as the truck drives over uneven patches of dirt, their tires having pulled off the well-paved asphalt in favour of their destination in the deep woods. “You wouldn’t know, Lauren” Grace quips back, wrapping the fingers on her left hand against her seat’s headrest, “you spent the whole time you’ve been here treating people like shit. You couldn’t see the good in someone if you tried.” “I saw enough good in you to run out of my house and come over because you were in tears on the phone” Lauren swiftly argues back, watching the truck’s headlights shine upon a familiar place, “-and what did I get in return? You dragged me into the mess you made.” As her nostrils flare, Grace braces for the mild halt to the truck’s acceleration, their drive through the night ending at the place that spiritually brought them together. Swiping hair from her eyes with her free hand, the gun woman glances toward the disposal plant she and Lauren had endured long hours overseeing, her attention returning to the victims she threatens the lives of. “I’m-” Grace murmurs, her lip quivering as she looks back to her once-coworker, the gun still aimed at Jack’s side as her head shakes, “-I’m not a bad person.” With a scowl, Lauren lifts her head back, keeping her eyes on the still-petrified woman in the front seat. “Maybe not” Lauren sighs beneath her breath, clicking her tongue as she pushes the backdoor open, maintaining eye contact with Grace as she begins to disembark, “but you’re a pretty shitty friend.” Following his wife’s lead, Jack exits the vehicle after applying the parking brake, Grace’s door the third and final to shut as the couple drags Donnie’s heavily-punctured corpse onto the ground. “Don’t make me do anything more than I already have” Grace proclaims, keeping her weapon aimed as she unseals the door to the incinerator for the first time since the day it’d closed for maintenance, “you go in, you dump his body, set off the machine, and you come back out.” “What’s your plan after that, huh?” Lauren quickly wonders aloud, waved off by her husband, who carries Donnie’s full weight in his arms. “That’s none of your business” Grace answers with little hesitation, keeping the weapon aimed as Lauren approaches a breaker box. “Well, if you’re dragging us this far, you might as well tell us it’ll be worth it!” Jack’s wife calls back, flipping a few switches with the expectation of lighting the tunnel they prepare to enter, her efforts futile. “What’s wrong?” Grace calls out, noticing Lauren’s confused expression the moment she turns to look at the large, open door. “The lights aren’t coming on” the second hostage responds, waiting for her once-friend to peer into the darkness before glancing toward her husband, giving him a subtle wink before looking back to the configuration of switches. Keeping a few switches off, Lauren quietly restores power to the incinerator itself, her shoulders shrugging. “I don’t think the lights are coming on” Lauren remarks, watching the distraught murderer retrieve a small flashlight from her pocket. “We don’t need lights- just in the incinerator” Grace determines, nodding her head toward the menacing corridor as her eyes take back toward the couple, “if the thing wont work, we’ll dump the body and play ignorant.” Hiding a defeated look, Lauren bows her head in Jack’s direction, directing him to continue as instructed in hope of a better opportunity arriving shortly. Letting a faint whistle leave his lips as he sets Donnie upon a mattress-deprived gurney, Jack keeps himself between Lauren and Grace, quietly switching off from pushing the mobile bed at his wife’s behest. “How are we supposed to trust that you won't kill us after we dump his body?” Jack inquires, looking Grace in the eyes as best he can as he raises his hands in surrender, the woman’s flashlight aimed at the ground as she walks backward, keeping her sights on those at her command. “Because you’re accessories to murder now” Grace responds, rounding a corner as it approaches, still paying no mind to length of tunnel they’ve yet to travel, “you’ve got too much to lose turning me in.” “How much good will that do when Donnie doesn’t show up to work next week?” Lauren inquires from behind the mobile flat top, aided by Jack’s hand as they turn the corner ahead, having struggled to move Donnie’s weight in a turn. “I’ll say that I haven’t seen him. I’ll say he’d been out into the late hours every night” Grace replies, grasping for whatever she can to spin a formidable tale, “maybe I’ll get knocked up by some guy at a bar and meet up with you in Nova Scotia.” Scowling, Lauren turns away from her coworker as Jack takes the reins of the conversation, a lighter tone carried in his voice. “I would’ve liked to know you before all of this happened” the man remarks, his wife firing a confused look at the back of his head as Grace’s tensions seem to ease, “I’m struggling to accept that this had to happened- because it didn’t- but that shouldn’t cloud everything I’m seeing you as now.” “What do you mean?” the woman with a reluctant trigger finger queries, taking kindly to the presentation Jack has gifted her, a small smirk concealed behind her lips as she catches up with her husband’s motivations. “Honestly, you seem like a piece of shit right now” the man ripostes, earning a momentary look of dissatisfaction from his fate’s keeper, only to watch it melt away as he concludes his thought, “but I’m sure that- if I’d gotten to know you sooner- I wouldn’t see you that way.” “You’re wrong. Your wife does and she knew me plenty” Grace argues back, appreciative of the kind thought, though sceptical of its accuracy. “No I don’t!” Lauren chirps back, following Jack’s line of attack perfectly, refuting the idea the distressed woman had silently conjured, using it as leverage, “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, I think you’re scared and acting irrationally! It’s not you I have a problem with, it’s what you’re doing to us.” “You said I was a shitty friend” Grace argues back, trying to make a point that she soon watches fall flat. “Yeah, you’re a shitty friend for trying to drag us down after we cared enough to jump to your aid!” Lauren proclaims, sighing as her tone lowers a few decibels, her head shaking as she tries to be kind, “but there’s a difference between being a shitty friend and being an evil person!” “I’m not evil!” Grace ripostes, defending herself to little avail, the couple she defends herself against making the same claim. “That’s what we’re saying!” Lauren proclaims, watching Grace lower the firearm a very small amount, though just enough for her husband to take notice of. Slowly reaching to his back pocket, Jack wraps his fingers around his screwdriver as he takes a short step further ahead of the gurney, inching closer to Grace as her defences lower. “What’s done is done. No matter what, we have to help you get rid of this body regardless” Lauren explains, watching Jack take another step further ahead, his weapon sliding the rest of the way from his pocket as he draws closer, “but what happens after that? That’s your choice to make.” Attempting to speak, Grace’s retreat down the tunnel grows slower, her eyes filling with regret as the gun falls a few further centimetres lower, prompting Jack to take another step closer. “I just did what I had to do- it wasn’t personal” Grace explains, again letting her weapon fall a little lower, her trust slowly rebuilding, “and if it can-” “Aarrgghh!” the echoing sound of groans flood through the corridor, cutting Grace off abruptly as she stumbles backward. Its hand wrapped around her ankle, a small and fragile corpse trips the gun woman as she walks back, leaving her to crash into the ground as a second zombie latches its teeth around her neck. Startled, both Jack and Lauren leap back as their distraught captor fires blindly through the tunnel, only a few bullets colliding with the corridor before the clip empties entirely. Thrashing on the ground for safety, Grace screams in agony as her flesh is ripped from the side of her head, the guttural cries of pain left unheard by the married couple just a few metres away, the blast from her weapon rendering Jack and Lauren incapable of hearing. “Ahh- Fuck!” Lauren groans, pressing her hands to each side of her head as Jack fights his way through the pain, watching the flashlight slip from Grace’s possession and roll toward his feet. Given his sight, Jack readies his screwdriver for a counterattack, watching Grace’s leg and face become a buffet for a pair of withered young bodies. With a scowl, Jack drops to his knees and drives his Phillip’s head through the back of one skull before taking his time with the other, leisurely crawling to him before matching the effort. The threat neutralised, Jack crawls across the ground in search of the tunnel’s opposite side, where he presses his back against the wall and shields his face from the corridor, his head pounding from the headache that ensues. “Lauren!” Jack calls out, screaming his wife’s name out of necessity, waiting for the moment he can hear himself utter the first syllable before moving forward. As an indescribable amount of time passes, Jack feels a warm hand tap against his arm, prompting him to unbury his face from the small of his arm. Suffering from much the same, Lauren wastes no time in trying to communicate, instead sitting by her husband's side as they lean against each other for comfort. “I think I can hear again” the man murmurs, his pouty bottom lip held outward as his coupled hands dangle between his spread legs, the chaos having slowly subsided. “I think I’m good too” Lauren responds, moving her jaw from one side to another as the ache lingers in her teeth. Gently retrieving the flashlight from her husband’s hand, she musters the courage to return to Grace’s side, the woman amidst a great deal of suffering as her fatal wounds are made easy to see. “Oh fuck” Lauren whimpers, shining the light on the faces of those responsible for attacking Grace, the dying woman’s eyes watering as she looks to whom she believes to be her friend. “Grace...” she murmurs further, recognising the faces of two boys Cumberland had perceived to be missing many weeks prior, their bodies bone-thin from what can only be described as apparent malnourishment, “Grace... you fucked up.” “I’m- I’m- I’m o- I’m okay” the chewed-up woman whispers, trying to muster enough strength to reach out for Lauren’s aid, though unable to move elbows off the ground. “Help me up” she continues to sigh, seeing the apologetic expression in Lauren’s face, though not detoured from mustering the best smile she can make in her dying hours, “help me up?” Puckering her lips, Lauren shakes her head as Jack’s footsteps shuffle close, his response taking a different approach. “Dump the other bodies in the incinerator now” the man orders, taking Grace by the hands and pulling her to both feet, allowing the woman to lean on him as they close in on the burning pit, waiting for Lauren to finish the job. “They can patch me up at the hospital” Grace whimpers, trying to nod as Lauren dumps Donnie’s body into the pit, hurrying back to tend to the dead she left behind. “I’m sure they will” Jack reassuringly says, putting a smile on the woman’s face as his wife drags the deceased children back. “You’ll drive me there, right?” Grace appreciatively asks, watching Lauren drop the bodies into the pit before Jack turns to look her in the eyes. “No” the man callously responds, leading her away from his side before drawing her closer to the pit, “no we will not.” Gently pushing his hand forward, Jack shoves Grace off the ledge and into a pile of corpses, their bones brittle and flesh melted away by flame. Following her husband’s lead, a disgust-fueled Lauren approaches the incinerator’s controls and presses her fist against a big, red button. “What are you doing!?” Grace fearfully whimpers with whatever strength she has left, watching the doors to her final resting place begin to seal shut. Going quiet, Jack and Lauren refuse to answer the woman’s inquiry, instead choosing to watch the massive, metal doors draw to a close from beside each other. As the gears cease their loud turning, the doors meet at their halfway point, colliding together as a brief moment of silence comes over the tunnel. “No chances” Jack whispers, immediately listening to the heaters kick on from behind safety, the instantaneous screams of death that emerge from the other side giving a literal claim to the sense. Forcing herself to listen to the consequences of her decision, Lauren puckers her lips and shakes her head, the fingers on her left hand interlocking with those on Jack’s right. “No...” she answers, turning to look her husband in the eyes as her right hand caresses the side of his face, refusing to rehash old wounds when faced with new ones, “...Whatever it takes.” Disappointed in how the events had to play out, Jack takes Lauren into his arms as the screaming stops, accepting what had to be done and his willingness to see it through. == Rise == |
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