S6, E11 | Nova Scotia

​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.

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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.

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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.

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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 ==