S6, E9 | Whatever It Takes

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.

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“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.”

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“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.”

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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 ==