S6, E4 | To See The World's Rebirth

His elbows pressing into each side of an old chair he sits comfortably upon, Franklin lowers the back of his head against the seat’s long back. “I don’t think there’s a safer option” Clint remarks, hiding the weapons he’d taken with him through Cumberland’s borders in secret, a dirty rag taken to his hammer. “Well, there’s gonna have to be” Jack replies, peering through the blinds that cover a nearby window, his pointer finger pulling the thin dividers away from the glass.

“What do you suppose that is?” Franklin calmly inquires, his right hand wrapping around the metal cap that rests upon his left nub and sits within his lap. “I don’t need to have a place in mind in order to know our current situation isn’t the most ideal” Jack answers, clearing his throat as he steps further toward the group, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he takes a nearby seat at the kitchen table.

“I’d argue differently” Nessie responds, her arms crossed as she sits in a corner of the room, the floor more comfortable to her than the old fashioned furniture that adorns their temporary living space. “The woman has terminal cancer, and this house is connected to the town by a single, one-lane road” Nessie proceeds, remaining sat as her arms uncross, hands instead falling into her lap, “give me a more ideal circumstance than that.”

“One where we’re not wanted fugitives” Jack answers, another sip taken from a mug, a warm mouthful of tea soothing his aches, “one that gets us out of here A.S.A.P.” Letting a deep breath leave through his nose, Franklin propels himself forward, climbing from his chair as he makes for the nearby staircase, not ushering a single word to his group before doing so.

“Where are you going?” Clint wonders aloud, the obvious inquiry raised as Franklin turns back, his right hand resting along the bannister. “To talk to our cancer-ridden old lady” Franklin ripostes, climbing the first few steps before speaking further, “might as well get to know the woman that’ll spend the rest of her life dying on the floor above us, right?”

Not keen on talking the man out of his motivations, Jack sets the group’s precedent, leading the group in allowing Franklin to walk off undisturbed.

The wooden steps covered by an emerald green-coloured carpet, Franklin’s each step presses down on the floorboards, his weight prompting the ground to creek. The corridor he wanders down dark and covered in the wallpaper of a different decade, Franklin’s hand slides along the wall, his eyes taking to the one room whose door resides partially-open, touching the hallway with the slightest amount of light.

The large man’s knuckles tapping softly upon the cracked bedroom door, Franklin peers through the entrance’s opening, an assortment of machines rattling off different mechanical noises greeting him upon arrival. “Yes?” Celia asks aloud, laid in her bed and on her back with the covers pulled up to her neck, both hands wrapping around the sheet’s end.

“I just wanted to check in” Franklin answers, looking to the ground as he slowly enters the room, cautious not to step on anything of importance, “you were kind to us- I figured I’d try to return the favour.” Her head shaking weakly, Celia offers the younger, much larger man the most sincere smile she can present, appreciative of the gesture.

“I don’t think my predicament has changed in the last fourteen hours” Celia responds, her voice frail and gravelly, filled with a rasp as she removes a mask from over her face. “No, I’m sure it didn’t” Franklin replies, his eyes taking to an empty chair in the room’s corner, his feet carrying him toward it as he continues speaking, “but, for as long as you have left, I’d like to at least make that time comfortable.”

Her eyes closing, the woman’s head rests against her pillow as she lowers the mask to her chest, her face lit only by the orange lift of a new dawn through the curtain-covered windows above her bed’s headrest. The air growing silent, Celia takes her eyes from the ceiling above to the man beside her bed, both hands coupled across her chest. “You want to know how long I have left?” the frail woman inquires, watching Franklin’s chin lower and he subtly shakes his head.

“Not if you don’t want me to” the man answers, his elbows pressing into the armrests at each side, “I don’t want to be invasive.” Shaking her head, Celia refuses the answer, correcting Franklin’s reply, “it’s natural to wonder about someone’s expiration date the moment it seems they’re going bad.”

Letting out a confused chuckle, Franklin shakes his head with a smile, his hand wrapping around his nub once more. “That’s an awfully bleak way of looking at death, isn’t it?” the man jokes, sharing a breathy laugh with the home’s owner, her head shaking just as his own had. “It’s natural- that’s all” Celia reassures, her eyes lowering toward Franklin’s lap, “-it’s as natural as my wonder about how you got that.”

Eyes wandering toward his severed arm, Franklin frowns before returning his eyes toward the bedridden lady. “I got bit when all of this started” the man answers, rubbing the metal cap as his back presses further into the seat, “some quick-thinking people saved my life. They cut my arm off before the infection could spread.”

Her nod subtle, Celia takes Franklin’s answer for more information than it had been offered with. “Is it as bad as everyone says?” the old woman wonders aloud, elaborating upon her guests’ confused reaction to her inquiry, “the world outside of Cumberland? Is it as bad as everyone says?”

His eyes squinting, Franklin’s head tilts as he considers his reply, neither able to affirm or deny the woman’s preconceptions. “It’s not as bad as it used to be” the man answers, Celia’s eyes keeping upon him as he proceeds, “people are starting to rebuild. It’s slow- but we’ve come back from worse.”

Her lips pressing together, the frail woman provides her visitor with a smile, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “It sounds like the worst part is over” Celia responds, a momentary relief coming over Franklin at her declaration, a truth he’d never truly considered having finally found its way to him.

“I just wish it would’ve happened sooner” the woman adds, a gesture Franklin finds interest in the elaboration of. “My sons were supposed to come home a few months after everything shut down. They decided to stay with their family in California when ‘stand your ground’ was suspended” Celia furthers, turning to Franklin with a downcast expression, “-I haven’t heard from them since.”

Apologetic, the visitor struggles to offer any words before Celia speaks further, keeping him from voicing his good wishes and condolences before the chance is raised to provide them. “There’s an equal part of me that hopes they’re alive as there is a part that hopes they went peacefully” Celia confesses, squeezing the comforter’s end tightly as her toes pop out from beneath the blanket, “I want to reunite with them after I go, but I also hope they can see the world’s rebirth.”

Bowing his head, Franklin nods imperceptibly, his right hand still grasping the metal cap as Celia raises another inquiry, “do you have loved ones out there?” Clearing his heart from the empathy that built within it just as he clears his throat, Franklin gently scratches at his forehead. “I have a woman I love dearly that’s out- somewhere” the man replies, his head slightly tilted to one side, “I have a group that I ran with when everything happened, but she’s my top priority.”

Her face filling with a slight amount of life, Celia uncouples one hand from the blanket and reaches toward Franklin’s arm, resting her palm upon the back of his hand. “If she’s made it as far as you have- through the world you claim it to be- I’m sure she’s still out there” the elderly lady replies, watching Franklin’s expression match the relieved look of delectation that hers does.

= Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards =

“I’m surprised you’re not seasick” Blaise proclaims, lifting a glass of champagne toward his lips as he sits at the wheel of his recreational vessel, traversing the waters of the St. Lawrence as Katie’s hand wraps around the boat’s side. “I climbed the roof of a hospital no more than a few days ago” Katie shouts back, speaking over the waves their cruiser crashes over, “how does me doing anything surprise you at all?”

Shrugging, Blaise slows the boat’s speed as the vessel gradually rolls to a stop, his white t-shirt as bright as his teeth are. “How did you guys manage to buy a boat in the first place?” Katie questions, her jean shorts slid off as she and Aude join Blaise in stripping to their beachwear. “Being efficient at our jobs- the usual way” Blaise responds, tucking his shirt into a small knapsack before retrieving a bottle of sunscreen.

“He means we got it before the world went to shit” Aude reiterates, lathering herself in a light coat of suntan lotion as Katie watches on, accepting Blaise’s offer of the sunscreen bottle. “We bought one of those personal fuel pumps- y’know, the ones that take sugar and make it into fuel?- We bought one of those when gas prices went up” Blaise continues, swiping at his neck with his sun protection as he reclaims the driver’s seat, “little did we know how handy it would be.”

Wiping her hands on the modest, light blue bikini top she wears, Katie appreciatively accepts Aude’s offer of a wine glass as the sun sits overhead, uncovered by clouds of any sort. “Why bother farming so much then?” the youngest woman of the group asks aloud, “you could have this island set with gasoline full-time. Why bother farming if you can make a killing off being the island’s gas pump?”

Chuckling, Blaise rests his champagne glass on the boat’s side, his fingers wrapping around its thin neck. “We were already doing both- to an extent- before the world ended anyway” the man remarks, crossing his left leg over his right thigh, “besides, Orleans Island is an agricultural community. Why wouldn’t we farm?”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t, I just figured it’d be easier to fuel the town than make food for it!” Katie swiftly defends herself with a smile, taking humour from the conversation. “If we’re being honest, it probably would be” Blaise ripostes, leaning further in his seat as the ship gently rocks back and forth, “and with the new production requirements, it’s a lot more difficult to argue anything otherwise than it was before.”

Eyebrows narrowing, Katie looks in Blaise’s direction with curiosity, her ears latching onto the prior statement. “What production requirements?” the young woman queries, her head redirected in Aude’s direction as the older woman responds. The glass of wine lowered from her lips, Blaise’s wife places a small pair of sunglasses over her face, “there’s this talk around the island that Astor’s installing new guidelines for the island’s north.”

“Why?” the third wheel quickly inquires, the uncertain expression over her female acquaintance’s face voicing a shared confusion. “Apparently, we’re not producing enough to feed the entire island properly- people are eating more than they used to or something- I don’t know” Aude answers, her silk kimono flailing in the gentle breeze, “the number ‘thirty percent’ keeps getting thrown around. I’m pretty sure it has to do with how much more we have to produce.”

“Thirty percent more?” Katie speedily ripostes, her eyes widening as she glances in Blaise’s direction, “there’s no way we’ve used up enough to warrant everyone planting that big of a crop yield!”

“I could be wrong! I’m just telling you what I heard!” Aude laughs, putting a straw hat on as she shakes her head, “but I agree with you- thirty percent more to cover our consumption rate is outlandish.”

Her awe subtly falling, Katie rests in her seat as the temperature rises, the cool breeze from before now moving along its path as they stand within its wake. Her suspicions growing, Katie pulls the wine glass to her lips once more and takes a sip, staring out at Orleans Island’s coastline with a curious glare

|

Gently descending the staircase from the upper level of her home, Jess keeps her presence silent, her ear raised in the direction of those she shares the home with. Sat on the same side of the table with a deconstructed handgun between them, Heather and Amy share the kitchen space, the older woman accepting a white rag the younger girl presents to her.

“Wait until my signal” Heather murmurs, watching the Callis’ offspring as the young girl stares intently at the disassembled parts that sit before her. From the living room, Jess watches the interaction proceed, silently watching the woman she’s failed to see eye-to-eye with tap the table with two fingers.

As if motivated to break records, Amy’s hand zips from one side of the table to the next, fitting pieces together and sliding them into larger components, gradually turning the pile of mechanical debris into something that loosely resembles a semi-automatic weapon. Falling from Amy’s hand, a spring collides with the floor, rolling further beneath the table and prompting Heather to interject her peace.

“The corpse is coming closer- don’t get flustered” Heather warns, refusing to assist her younger half as the stopwatch continues to tick up. The pieces of the weapon pressed against the table’s surface, Amy fits together the next two pieces with her left hand alone as her right reaches toward the floor, taking the runaway coil between her index and middle fingers before returning it to the tabletop.

Unobstructed, Amy continues to piece her weapon together, eyes momentarily glancing across the room every few seconds as Heather's voice speaks calmly. “He’s drawing nearer- don’t stop now” the older woman whispers, quietly pulling away from her chair before occupying the space ahead of the child, placing one foot in front of the other as she draws closer, mirroring the image of the undead.

With a final few motions, Amy fits the magazine into her weapon and pulls the slide back, directing the barrel of her weapon between Heather’s eyes as her finger rests against the trigger guard. Accustomed to the training they’ve put together, Heather gently swipes her right hand at the weapon the moment it meets her skin, taking precaution in redirecting the aim from her face.

With her left hand, Heather’s thumb presses upon the dial, stopping the time from increasing any additional seconds. “Three minutes, eighteen seconds” Heather grumbles with a smile, watching the gleeful expression emerge upon Amy’s face, “-great job, kiddo!”

Overjoyed, Amy wraps her arms around her parental figure and throws her weight forward, embracing Heather in a moment of pure delight. “That was impressive” Jess remarks, stepping through the arch that separates the kitchen from the living room, her congratulations offered with a somewhat disappointed tone, “Heather’s taught you well.”

Bowing her head, Amy pulls away from Heather and turns her attention toward Jess, still presenting a happy visage, though it’s appearance seems less genuine. “Thanks, mom” the young girl replies, returning her put-together weapon to the table as she couples her hands at her waist.

Her face falling, Jess nods as she sighs, swiping her darkening strands of hair away from her pale face. “Honey, can I talk with Heather for a minute?” the woman wonders aloud, waiting a few moments before Amy wanders off in silence, the room left to the adults’ disposal.

Reclaiming Amy’s weapon from the table, Heather watches Jess approach, taking the seat she had occupied seconds before as Heather casually pulls away. Coupling her hands atop the wooden table, Jess stares at the wall ahead, her mouth slightly ajar as Heather awaits her speech.

“I’m sorry for being such a jerk” Jess murmurs, focusing her sights upon the armed lady a few metres away from her, the look of shame she wears more than apparent. Lowering her guard from the defensive state she’d entered the conversation with, Heather remains quiet, allowing Amy’s mother to continue offering the apology it seems she’s eager to provide.

“You’ve done more to make sure Amy has a fighting chance than I did, and I let my jealousy get in the way of seeing that” Jess proceeds, licking the inside of her dry mouth, “you kept my little girl safe when I couldn’t- I shouldn’t be blaming you for anything.”

Her chin lowering, Heather folds her shirt over the firearm’s barrel, attempting to respond before Jess departs, keeping Heather from interjecting her own thoughts. “I’m heading out- I just wanted to apologise” Jess remarks, leaving the chair before stepping into the living room, the suddenness their conversation had come and passed with leaving Heather at a loss for words.

Stepping through the front door, Jess begins walking for the street’s end, a luminous stoplight at her destination drawing closer with each step. In a moment, her distraught face begins to fall, replaced with a look of intent, her certainty in knowing what she’s after presented in full.

|

“What else are we gonna do!?” Jack queries, pacing through the living room with a dart in his hand, a drag taken with each response he receives, “we’re surrounded by enemies in a sea that wants to drown us!”

“We could surrender!” Clint abruptly responds, his head held in the hand he props against the kitchen table as Jack pulls another drag, “explain our side and offer to draw Rocky in!” His head shaking, Franklin removes the metal cap from his arm, leaving it on the floor beside him as his rebuttal is made. “There’s no guaranteeing they won’t shoot us on sight- and we have no clue that Rocky’s even still alive out there” the man ripostes, “we have to look at surrender as a death sentence.”

“We have the munitions to offer!” the situation’s staunch critic remarks, his sister stepping away from his side in favour of fetching another drink from the kitchen. “And Rockford’s in this mess because Nova Scotia- nor Cumberland- value munitions too highly” Franklin counters, immediately finding his point argued against. “With what’s going on right now- their tune might have changed a little bit!” Clint responds, the back-and-forth debate stifled where it’s left.

“Enough! Neither of you are right because there is no right!” Jack proclaims, waving his hands through the air as the conversation dies down, “any move we make- from this moment or any that comes next- is based on blind faith.”

“Is that blind faith gonna lead us somewhere other than this house?” Nessie interjects, her question raised as she’s mid-pour on a pot of coffee, “-’cause it’s just as likely that they’ve got people patrolling twenty four-seven as anything you’ve said so far.” Going quiet, the room leaves the lost foursome in silence, defeated by their circumstance as all schemes prove futile.

“Then we need to figure out something” Jack cuts in, taking another drag from his dart as he makes for the backdoor, his hand reaching for the knob just as his attention, as well as the remainder of his group’s, take toward the front door.

Without a word from the other side, a loud, firm knock slams against the front door of the small, out-of-the-way home. “What do we-?” Clint begins to ask, the group’s whispered hush for him to stay quiet doing the audible work that Nessie’s hand pressing against her brother’s mouth does physically.

“I need the owner of the house to answer now” a man with a deep, intimidating voice exclaims, again slamming his fist into the front door. “I don’t think the door’s locked!” Jack whispers, listening to a set of footsteps gently press into the floorboards just overhead as his eyes widen. Her teeth pressing together, Nessie shoves her brother into the kitchen and hurries for the front door, her feet tapping along the squeaking floorboards as she races for the door.

“This is your last warning!” the declarative man remarks, his hand twisting the doorknob with the intention of letting himself in, prompting Nessie to hurry her efforts.

Extending her hand and parting her fingers, Nessie quietly flips the deadbolt’s lock as their guest attempts to push the hardwood entrance inward, thwarted by the fragile, old lock that keeps him from entering. With an equal swiftness, Nessie dashes through the living room, joining the rest of her group in the kitchen as Celia’s motorised chair descends the steps.

With a hiss, Jack catches Nessie by the arm as she rounds the corner, dragging her back into the living room as he throws himself into one of the seats. “The others went to pick up meds on the other side of town- they’ll be back in an hour- got it?” Jack whispers, providing Nessie with her alibi as he covers his leg with a blanket, “don’t face the front door!”

Their stories clear, Nessie gracefully nods toward Jack as Celia nears the staircase’s bottom, shouting as a foot is put toward the outside of her door. “Take my door and I’ll take your life!” the frail woman exclaims, able to notice Franklin and Clint’s absence in spite of her annoyance-caused proclamation.

Their orders offered, the men on the other side of the door cease their break-in, waiting for the old lady to safely reach the door and greet those on the other side. Slightly trembling as she opens the door its full length, Celia peers toward the damaged exterior of her entrance, an angered stare directed toward the youngest of the patrolmen that stand before her.

“Ma’am, you’re supposed to-” the inexperienced officer remarks, showing the homeowner little empathy for his actions. Without a reason not to, Celia turns her hand toward the attempted intruder and slaps him across the mouth, cutting his remark short as his head turns to the side, eyes widened in disbelief. “Did your mother never teach you to knock!?” Celia furiously shouts, placing the end of her cane toward the chest of the young guard, pushing him back in favour of his more composed partner.

“Explain yourself!” Celia demands, taking her eyes away from the pale man with the handprint on his cheek toward the respectful black man that stands patiently behind. “We’re just following procedure, ma’am- we’re sorry about your door” the officer explains, taking the frail patient’s silence as room to continue speaking, “another settlement invaded two nights ago- we’re going through neighbourhoods and making sure none of our residents are in danger.”

“Yes, I could gather that by the sirens and radio reports- why does this concern me?” Celia inquires, her right hand pressing against the doorframe as her left presses into the cane at her side. “Because there was a single car accident a few streets away that night, and we’ve positively identified the vehicle as belonging to the invading settlement” the guard ripostes, too focused on clearly stating his business to notice the subtle change in Celia’s facial expression.

“Fuck” Jack whispers beneath his breath, sliding the screwdriver from its place in his belt loop, prepared for the attack that may come next. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” the guard proceeds to wonder aloud, leaving the group, both the duo in hiding and the duo in the open, unable to do anything other than listen into the conversation’s conclusion.

“A car accident you say?” Celia wonders aloud, peering off into the distance of Cumberland’s night as her lips pucker, “boy- I hope no one was hurt!” His head pulling back, the questioning officer stares at the woman with confusion. “Ma’am, these people invaded us in the middle of the night- they’re not good people” the man curiously replies, watching Celia’s head tilt.

“Who’s that to say? Perhaps they’re decent people that you happen not to have a reason to like!” Celia counters, her remarks only further confusing the guard at bay, “even if so, there’s no reason to wish harm on anyone- good or bad- they’ll always meet the fate they deserve.”

His mouth opening, the officer finds the power of speech to be evading him, the task he’d been left with taken over by his less-preferred partner. “Will you please answer his question?” the first patrolman interrupts, returning the inquiry to the forefront of their shared focus, Celia’s ire-filled eyes finding him with ease. Her lips puckered, Celia’s eyes take toward the distance once more, her mind trying to locate her response as those she shares a home with eagerly await her reply.

“I heard a gaggle of people that night- at least I think I did- it was difficult to discern while the sirens were going” Celia answers, her head shaking as her eyes reconnect with the guards on her front step, “but aside from that- no- I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

Annoyed, the first officer attempts to respond, his rebuttal interrupted as his more-likeable colleague replies. “That’s all we needed to know, ma’am- we’re sorry to have bothered you” the young officer replies, pulling his coworker aside as Celia shuts the door, anxiously returning the divide between herself and the guards at the front. In the same breath as the entrance shuts, the frail woman locks both the knob and the door itself, taking a moment to herself as the group emerges from hiding.

Pressing her palm against the wooden frame, Celia rests for a moment as she collects her breath, her face hanging as the group comes together, Jack’s feigned injury no longer on his mind. “Are you alright, Mrs. Good?” Franklin softly inquires, calling out with a sympathetic tone. Recalled to the gathering at hand, Celia turns to face those that seek sanctuary from her, playing off the information she’d been offered.

“I’m fine, thank you” Celia answers, groggily carrying herself toward the seat at the bottom of the steps, visibly exhausted from the task. His caring nature driving him toward the woman’s aid, Franklin sprints across the room and gently leads the elderly woman the rest of the way, offering to ascend the steps with her.

“The hospitals should be clear by tomorrow night for that leg of yours” Celia remarks, clearly motioning toward an uninjured Jack, whose cigarette catches her eye, “I’d appreciate you taking the phag outside when you light it, though.”

Swallowing the build up of spit in his mouth, Jack responds with a stuttered nod, “yes ma’am” he replies, quickly grinding the dart’s tip out as per request. Satisfied with the man’s response, Celia lets her chair carry the rest of the way up the stairs, Franklin’s shoulders shrugging in his group’s direction as he walks off to aid the woman’s return to bed.

“That went better than I was anticipating” Nessie remarks, letting a deep sigh of relief leave her lungs. “Yeah, don’t let it take too much time from you-” Clint responds, reclaiming his seat beside the kitchen’s table, “-she just gave us twenty four hours to come up with a plan that won’t get us killed.”

Digesting the situation that’d just unfolded, Jack gives his head a shake, returning himself to the moment as he retakes his seat, discarding the dart in his empty tea cup. “No. She gave us a clue of how to get out of this” Jack replies, clearing his mind of the close call as his attention redirects toward the task at hand, “if people here are willing to see the good in us, there might be a chance to talk ourselves out of this.”

“Woah- hold on!” Clint responds, interrupting Jack before the path his thoughts threaten to take is travelled too far, “not everyone in this place is gonna be as willing to forgive and forget as the woman that doesn’t have to live long enough to see the outcome.”

“Even with that- they’re still looking” Nessie ripostes, throwing her support behind Jack in hopes it leads somewhere promising, “if it’s taken them two days to address an overturned car, they’re clearly too busy with more pressing matters.”

“You’re reading too far into this” Clint swiftly retorts, his rebuttal made as quickly as Jack’s is offered right back. “We don’t have much of a choice, do we!?” Jack challenges, looking Clint in the eyes with a look of concern, “if we’re gonna get caught- and that’s probably how this is gonna end- we’re gonna need to hope we can talk our way out of things.”

Frowning, Clint turns his head away, hands placed on his hips as he approaches the other side of the room, Franklin’s footsteps leading down the staircase. “One way or another, we’re leaving tomorrow night” Jack explains, not hesitating to put his foot down on the decision made, “we can either walk through that door with a plan or without one, but either way, our choice has already been made for us.”

Eyes panning around the room, Jack waits for an objection, Franklin’s calm and unopposed demeanour already voicing his thoughts. Shaking her head, Nessie refuses to speak against Jack’s remark as Clint becomes the focus of the group’s attention. With a sigh, Clint presents his hands toward the drag-smelling man, refusing to argue his point any further.

Gathered upon the same page, the group simmers down from their conflicting pedestals, allowing Jack to lower himself back into the chair at the group’s centre. “With that said- let’s set our sights back on the thing that matters” Jack concludes, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, his feet intertwined with each other as they lock at the ankles, the man’s eyes panning across the room one more time, “what’s our plan?”

== Rise ==