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Season 7 Finale
“Allow us to take a moment to address the nation” Bristol remarks, seated in the chair her superior had occupied each day since the moment he’d assumed secretive office, her right wrist crossed over her left as they both sit atop the desk. “We have made this communication accessible through all public avenues to ensure all that wish to hear this can do so” she explains, a slight grin coming over her face, “this includes those in Nova Scotia who call this island home.” From the comfort of their living room, Clint and Nessie stare at the radio sitting at the centre of their kitchen table, the brother gradually working his way through an aluminium can of beer whilst the sister sits by with her eyes glued to a paper map. From a great distance away, Harvey and Katie appear equally captivated as the strangers they share the near-overflowing conference room with, waiting for the clarification they’ve spent over twenty four hours without. “For the last twenty four hours, Prince Edward Island has been occupied by thousands of residents all looking to voice their disapproval, worries and desires to an entity they’d never before even heard of” the secretary continues, her voice soft and clear, incapable of being misheard through any fault of her own, “we here, inside the capitol building in the ironically-named Charlottetown, not only have heard you, but we implore you to never lose that unified spirit.” From Juliet’s tavern across the strait, Emilio and Courtney join in with the rest of the public trying to enjoy a night on the town and forget the events of the prior night, listening to the live feed that blares through the various mounted stereos. As opposed to whatever records they could opt to instead put over the air, all operable Nova Scotian radio stations choose to carry out the coverage of their once-connected neighbours’ address, filling the compound’s streets with the enemy’s remarks. “Our secrecy of operating the island from within the shadows for the last four years, however, has not been by choice. Instead, it was on the command of Nova Scotia- and more notably on the direct order of Charlotte Walters herself- that we not disclose our presence” Bristol confesses, putting on her most well-delivered tone of regret, “the fear of sparking disdain toward the Nova Scotian government through our own stellar competency was a chance she was not keen on taking.” “Alright, I’m putting it on!” Alicia responds, giving into the request of those on the other end of the phone, stepping out of her son’s bedroom before entering the living room on her own, the man of the house remaining asleep in their bed. Shaking her head from a place of disgruntlement, the mother approaches the chesterfield and reaches for the nearby radio, powering it on with the intent of changing to her preferred station, only to discover the one already on plays her desired feed. “It is because of this direct order that we have gone until tonight without introducing ourselves, expressing the ideologies and principles in which we rule by, and committing ourselves to serving you, the people of Prince Edward Island” the secretary continues, her lips coloured a dark red, teeth appearing as white as clouds through their parted place, “on behalf of the new Prince Edward Island regime, I’d like to take this opportunity to first introduce myself.” Hanging up the phone, Lauren redirects her attention to the radio that sits on the coffee table of the home she shares with her husband, whose arm she settles into and cosies up against. With night beginning to settle in, Jack kicks his right leg over that of his left and stares intently at the device across from him, a squint held through exhausted eyes at the speaker projecting the enemy voice into the confines of their home. “My name is Bristol Saville. I represent the acting leader of Prince Edward Island as the secretary and deputy minister for a head of state that will- as of this moment- officially assume the title of ‘National Sovereign’ to the Nation of Prince Edward” she announces, a pleased smile taking itself to the room’s far left, “I am no more than a woman who’s committed herself to the prosperity of this island- a humble hairdresser who climbed up this government through devotion and loyalty.” With a squint in her eye, Alicia bows her head toward the carpet at the centre of her living room, unsure of why the woman’s name sounds so familiar to her. Trying not to entertain her confusion beyond the point of listening to the broadcast, the woman tries to place a mental marker in her consideration before focus shifts back to the radio, continuing to play the role of spectator to the decrees from those one strait of water away from her home. “Internally, the government that oversees the future of Prince Edward will comprise of various officials speaking on behalf of every sector that this new nation will need to assure self-sufficiency” Bristol carries on, a slight change taken to her posture as she shits further upright, “together, we will ensure that those who call this island home are allowed the continued opportunity to control their own destiny, and are provided for by this government what is beyond their control.” From the small confines of a small residency near central Moncton, Kelsey joins her roommate in staring at the device near the corner of their room, the same feed that fills their quarters with sound being played by the various other radios throughout the building. One after another, rooms of off-duty militant men and women await the words of their rival government, awaiting insight that not even their own leader had dared afford to them. “Our job is not to regulate what you do- or do not do- with your lives, but rather to look after the things that are not of your responsibilities. In addition to this, we only ask that you continue- as you have for years now- to work with us in making Prince Edward a worthy place of calling home” Bristol explains, her smile only deepening the longer that she speaks, “we wish not to use you as pawns in a much larger game, but to earn the your trust in ways that spark pride in calling this home.” “Give me a break” Charlotte mutters, allowing the feed to continue undisturbed as she scrolls through the various logs that fill her computer’s screen, aware of what backlash would await her if the order to silence those across the water were given. Having been laying across her lap for the last few minutes unmoved, the chancellor’s free hand lifts toward the machine at the end of her desk and flips it a middle finger, displaying all that she has to offer the entity behind its transmission. “Furthermore, we would like to inform you now that- if you’ve called Prince Edward home at any time over the last four years- then you are already aware of what our vision for this nation is” Bristol clarifies, trying to reassure those on the other end of her address with whatever can be trusted to alleviate their doubts, “ever since the outbreak began, we have been in charge of policy. Funding for public transportation, renewable tax incentives, and looser small business grants- that was us.” From the comfort of a home hundreds of kilometres away, Angela sits within an empty home near the end of Rawson Road, making a life for herself in the comfort and relative ease that Cumberland offers her. In spite of her distance, the colony-supported radio transmissions nevertheless stretch throughout the northeastern United States, carrying the signal of a breakaway nation to the various communities depending on the continued survival of their superior northern compound. “The comforts, benefits, freedoms and care that you have experienced when calling this island home will continue. The lives that you have led- we assure you- will remain uninterrupted” Bristol confirms, gradually sliding her rolling desk chair further out as she readies herself to exit it, “for those across the strait and in greater Nova Scotia, we assure you that your loved ones, properties and belongings will remain safe and undisturbed, awaiting your return and reunion.” “How long until they call us in?” the eldest McKee sibling inquires, standing around the island of 18 Rawson with his hands pressing against the countertop, eyes taking to the same direction of his brothers. “Don’t even bother asking- I have no idea” Jade replies, her eyes refusing to leave the speaking box that sits halfway between herself and the rest of her family, a look of visible worry and doubt spreading across her face whilst her chin tilts toward her lap. “There is still much to speak of and plenty of questions to answer, but there is only so much in the way of information that we can provide tonight. Rest assured that, in the coming days, we will offer you more and be as open as possible” Bristol remarks, finally unfurling her hands from around each other as she stands from the chair, “but for the meantime, allow me to introduce you all to the figure officially assuming their rightful place atop this nation as acting national sovereign...” With a pause, Charlotte’s eyes strip themselves from the computer’s screen and guide their way toward the radio. Crossing her fingers, Courtney bows her head from the tavern’s counter whilst Emilio lifts his head and pulls in a deep breath in eager anticipation. Collectively unsure of which rumours to believe and dismiss, Katie and Harvey clench their fists to the sound of ruffling through the device, signalling the changing of one figure behind the microphone to the next. “What is it?” Franklin grumbles, wiping at his eyes as his wife hisses for his silence, quickly patting the open seat beside her to direct the man toward it. Holding their breaths, Jack and Lauren collectively await the remarks that will soon write the fate of both their homeland and that of their foes. Unsure of what to expect from their distant communities, the McKee siblings and Angela share the same patience that those up north do, much less writing on the wall for them in Rhode Island. Taking his seat in the newly-unoccupied chair, the island’s official leader folds their hands together at the base of the microphone, officially adopting the public title of national sovereign with a pleased and accomplished grin. Lips apart, the Prince Edward leader prepares himself for their first official address to the nation, his well-known composure and stoic mask finally revealed for the world to witness first hand through the speech of. “Good evening. As your national sovereign, I would like to publicly voice my appreciation for your displays over the last twenty four hours and your attention on this historic evening for us all” the leader proclaims, fixing the glasses that sit on his face to ensure their aligned properly, “my name is Andrew Gamble, and prior to the start of the outbreak, I served as a member of this island’s provincial regiment under premier Wade MacLauchlan.” Pressing her eyelids shut, Charlotte returns her extended middle finger to the rest of her hand as it balls into a fist, angrily slamming at the edge of her desk before coupling together with her right, folding over her lap as she listens into the remainder of the address. “After the first few days and to ensure the continued safety of her Nova Scotian interests, Charlotte Walters approached my regiment with an offer. That offer was to oversee an island-exclusive government in return for sworn devotion to the original New World Order plan” Gamble confesses, a nod carried as he continues to speak, “I made such an agreement in the name that- one day- we the people of Prince Edward Island would be independent of her selfish and unreasonable conquests.” With the two nations and all connected colonies listening in, the national sovereign carries on divulging once-classified and highly-secretive laundry for the public to hear, secretly daring the Nova Scotian government to clean it in front of all eyes. “Ever since I assumed quiet control of Prince Edward, most of our resources have been allocated to ensure our continued self-sufficiency independent of Nova Scotia” the autocrat remarks, “I am pleased to say that we have accomplished this task.” Bitter and frustrated, Charlotte stares at her computer screen for a moment whilst shaking her head, instinctively stepping out of her seat and approaching the far side of her desk, rummaging through a cup full of pens and pencils in search of what resides at the bottom whilst the sovereign speaks. “In the coming weeks, there will be a brief and noticeable cut back on the amount of energy every resident of the island will be allowed to use. This cutback will be temporary, and last for just a short two weeks” Gamble informs, continuing to portray himself as the voice of the people, addressing their concerns and assuring them of continued peace, “after, we will resume life as per usual with no further disruptions and with the interest of this island- and this island exclusively- in mind.” “Not under my watch, you miserable bastard” Charlotte grunts, finally retrieving a push pin from the cup and returning to her side of the desk. “And I do assure you that we will have no further disruptions from that point onward” Gamble continues to speak, his collected tone never wavering for even a moment, “Prince Edward has naval superiority over the Nova Scotian government. Their chancellor has no direct route to this island that can be entirely depended upon.” “We’ll see how well that works out for you soon enough” Charlotte whispers to herself, addressing the sovereign’s claims before tacking a pre-planned route northbound to Newfoundland onto the bulletin board below her wall-mounted clock. “As far as this island is concerned, we have exactly what was desired for all these years. Nova Scotia’s holds no direct influence over our heads any longer, and with that, we have no reason to further involve ourselves in their business” Gamble continues, painting himself in the most preferable light that he possibly can whilst tearing down the Walters administration from afar, “if any altercation between our two nations were to break out from this moment on, it will be on the hands of them.” Angrily sliding her chair into the now-unoccupied desk, Charlotte approaches the front of her office and rips the coat from the nearby rack and turns off the lights, venturing into the larger compound in search of the building’s exit. “With that said, we are far from unreasonable people here. Whilst I am not willing to live under the rule of Nova Scotia, I am willing to work alongside it” Gamble admits, a squint in his eye whilst speaking, “I’d be open to starting with a safe passage of travel.” Frustrated, Charlotte continues marching through the building’s walkways to the sound of her own footsteps, angrily thrusting her arms into the sleeves that flail in with her walk. “There are people stranded on either side of the strait that deserve an opportunity to return to their loved ones and their lives. Who would I be to keep them from that?” Gamble questions, “I have the boats to carry out this chore, and I would be more than happy to offer their services in returning them home.” Though a few faces take toward her as she passes, Charlotte’s departure from the capitol is left undisturbed, granted the permission to carry on without disruption. “Of course, this would all depend on Mrs. Walters and her cooperation, but I’d like to make it known now that I am more than satisfied with reuniting our peoples with their homelands” Gamble proclaims, “as long as Nova Scotia can negotiate in good faith, I would be over the moon to make such a pledge come to life.” Through the building’s front exit, Charlotte steps past the armed security that remains paid to stand watch, keeping the building and their government secure as the chancellor disembarks. “Until then, all that I can do is pledge to provide temporary sanctuary for those that this brief conflict has uprooted and displaced” Gamble replies remorsefully, puckering his lips whilst staring at the surface of his desk, “together, we will ride out these brief growing pains as we come into our own.” Tucking her hands into her pockets, Charlotte approaches the armoured, pitch black S.U.V and makes for its already pre-opened door, her ear caught by a voice calling out from behind her. “I do sincerely apologise- and take full responsibility for- the destruction of the Confederation Bridge yesterday. I regret the pain and trouble it has caused us collectively” Gamble remarks, shaking his head as he looks back to the mic, “but there’s one thing you should know about me above all else...” “Excuse me, Mrs. Walters?” a nervous voice proclaims, earning the rolled eyes and half-hearted reaction of the chancellor, who notices the youth in the call out’s pitch and turns back toward it. “I am a man that will do anything to secure the peace and prosperity of this nation and its people. I will leave no stone unturned, and I will do as needed to ensure its continued prosperity” Gamble promises, “if there is any threat against my nation or my people... it will be dealt with accordingly.” *pop. pop pop.* Stepping back both from fear at what he’d done and from his pistol’s recoil, a young man no older than hid mid-teen’s stares forward with widened eyes, a horror-stricken face carried as shouts emanate throughout the public square. “This is the true, final stand of humanity and its greatest creation... society” Gamble declares, a slight height added to his chin, “the sanctity of its preservation is one that cannot and will not be understated. We, as a collective people, must sustain it.” *pop* Pulling the trigger for a final time, the teenager tilts the firearm’s barrel to just below his chin, spilling blood all over the cobblestone passageway that leads to the capitol building’s entrance, taking the motivations behind his actions alongside himself and to the grave. “The New World Order plot is one that I have devoted my life to in ways that my immediate superiors never always understood” Gamble continues to proclaim, “but it is my home, and I will assure its continued existence.” “Call the police!” the earlier-called driver exclaims, pointing toward the armed militants that hurry forward and barking to them their orders, quickly tearing off his suit jacket and kneeling to the ground. “This devotion stretches beyond the concept of a home free from the suffering that exists beyond our reach. It stretches to you- the people” Gamble vows, another hollow grin paid to the audience through a mic impossible to see through, “you have my eternal promise of indentured servitude.” Staring blankly at the sky whilst her hands cover one of the three places along her abdomen that bullets have pierced, Charlotte bleeds out at the foot of the vehicle whose only intention was to return home. Faintly gagging on the taste of her own blood, the chancellor lays dying at the feet of her driver, worked upon by amateur hands incapable of caring for her in the ways only a doctor could, unable to catch more than a faint breath at a time whilst her compound enters its next phase of life. “That is all for now. You will hear more from me as the days continue, so until then...” Gamble concludes, taking a pause before offering the barrier between himself and the populous that he speaks to, his smile suddenly taking on a fiendish and self-pleasing grin, one that’s accompanied by satisfied eyes and a gratified sigh, “...thank you, and goodnight.” = 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 = “How long until word spreads!?” Courtney exclaims, marching through the sectioned-off of Moncton’s hospital whilst speaking with a doctor, Emilio’s footsteps lagging a few metres behind as he tries to remain mum. “Word’s already getting out, Courtney. Shots were fired at the capitol building- that’s not something people just don’t notice” the chancellor’s paid driver replies, hurrying after the doctor and his superior’s right hand woman. “I’m sorry, but we need to work on a plan to address the public now” a large black man in dark blue camouflage remarks, trailing a few metres behind Emilio as he calls out, hurrying to catch up to the travelling group. “Well go work one out with the next in command then!” Courtney shouts back, her fists clenched whilst continuing to walk onward, the rest of her group- minus the well suited militant all the way in the back- continuing to follow suit. “Charlotte doesn’t have an appointed successor, Courtney!” the tall gentleman near the back calls out, stopping halfway through the hall, “the closest thing we have to a next-in-line is you!” Turning back, the paramotorist stares beyond those that hurry after her, staring back to the man in silence for a moment before glancing back to her business partner, her finger pointing toward him, “Emilio, go with Isaac and prepare a public statement.” “Me?” Emilio inquires, having stopped at the sight of the woman’s turn around, hand pressing against his own chest as he takes a look back to the suited gentleman awaiting further instruction. “Courtney, I really think that you should-” Isaac corrects, hands held out toward her direction before his proclamation is interrupted, refused by the apparent acting chancellor. “If I’m the closest thing that you’ve got to a direct superior, then do as I say until Charlotte wakes up” Courtney rebukes, waving the man off before turning her sights toward Emilio, “whatever you think is the best thing to say- say it. We’ll figure out how to clean up the loose ends later, alright?” “Are you absolutely positive that you want me making a statement on the compound’s behalf?” Emilio questions, wanting to make certain the woman has her wits about her. “I’m not sure of many things right now, Em... But if there’s anything that I am sure of, it’s that I trust you” Courtney reassures, passing the man a nod amidst a brief pause before jutting her chin toward Isaac’s direction, “Isaac- you’re to do exactly as Emilio says. Now, Em’- go. I need this from you right now, alright?” With a noticeable huff of air, the former politician shrugs his shoulders and extends his arms, “alright, I guess” he murmurs before turning away, jogging for Isaac’s side as he prepares to venture off toward higher placement. “Alright, doc- give it to me straight” Courtney remarks, returning to her prior intent of hurrying for the chancellor’s bedside, the nurse following along as the driver, who still stands in a blood-stained white button up, pauses for a moment to collect himself. “Her injuries are severe and there’s no dancing around that. She’s in surgery now and we’re not going to know until after the operation has concluded” the nurse explains, aiding the right hand woman closer toward the chancellor’s dedicated wing of the building. “We’ll have her on life support even after the doctors have closed her up, and we have no clue when she’d come off of that” the medical professional continues, “that’s not even accounting for the possibility that she doesn’t survive.” “But she was alive when she was brought in, right?” Courtney inquires, a nod from the nurse quelling her immediate concerns before the more detailed reply can be voiced. “Well yes. She had a heartbeat and her pulse was faint- but it was there” the woman in scrubs responds, eventually joining the driver and his new immediate superior for the moment in standing beside the operating room window, “and the lines on that monitor across the room indicate she’s not dead yet.” “But even with that, Ms. Golden is the current chancellor, yes?” the driver inquires, watching the confused look on the nurse’s face meet him. “I- um... It seems so from what the tall black guy said back there?” the nurse responds, looking at Courtney for reassurance, only to be met with the side of the woman’s face, the once-paramotorist now finding her superior and dear friend strapped to a table, helpless to fend for herself as machines and scalpels now prevent her from death. | “Alright, that’s not entirely what I was expecting to hear” Katie mutters, walking just two steps ahead of her colleague as they venture through the now bustling decoy workplace in search of more secluded corners. “Gamble’s not one to use scare tactics against the public. If he thinks they’re better off being fed lies, he’ll conjure up whatever feel good tale he needs to keep the peace” Harvey responds, passing a few looks to the various suited figures that they pass together. “Sure, but how can we be positive that he’s not going to go for the throat in Nova Scotia?” Katie inquires, her love interest inspecting the strangers they pass whilst she peers into doorways they carry themselves onward from, “won’t they be looking for any way to bring us back into the fold?” “Of course they will. The only issue for them is that- like Gamble said- we’ve got the boats, we’ve clogged the roads northbound to Newfoundland, and the bridge is gone” Harvey responds, a shrug carried in his suit jacket-laden shoulders whilst his hands swing at each side, “they’ve got no immediate way onto the island and boats don’t just fall out of the sky. It’ll take a year for them to rebuild their fleet to an acceptable standard for an offensive at least.” “And what about Newfoundland?” Katie queries, eventually catching sight of an LED-lit sign hung from one of the metal fixtures along the ceiling, the illuminated text giving them clear guidance toward the temporary residences. “I know we’ve plugged up the roads northbound and they’ll still need a boat to cross the Gulf of St. Lawrence-” she remarks, taking her crush by the hand and leading him around a nearby corner, “but they still don’t need much naval power to just make landfall.” “True, but then it becomes a war of attrition” Harvey responds, feeling the tug at his hand and allowing the woman’s pull to lead him as if his wrist were a leash, “we’d be able to feed more reinforcements onto Newfoundland a lot quicker than they’d be able to send troops over the Gulf.” “Well, they’d still have the option of making landfall on Prince Edward if the Newfoundland route doesn’t appear truly viable” Katie responds, playing the devil’s advocate in the favour of Nova Scotia in order for her partner to flesh out the island’s defence. “Of course they would, but then it’d be an outright bloodbath. At that point, there’d be too many people dead and too much carnage for the journey to be worth it” Harvey retorts, “and without a bridge, what’s the point of reclamation?” “How can you ask that when there was no point in keeping us around to begin with?” Katie questions aloud, passing a glance to the man as they continue strolling, “we were more of a net-negative for their bottom line than anything else.” “Because Nova Scotia’s all about influence. It’s the same reason they wrecked nearly ever refinery throughout the northeast before crafting the colony system” Harvey answers, passing a smile and nod to another man that they collectively walk past, “having Prince Edward Island as a separate entity- with access to massive ships and with a refinery of their own- threatens their ability to support new colonies or hold onto existing ones.” “Then if it’s about influence, only one of two options occurs-” Katie rebukes, stepping up to a closed door and jostling the handle, “-Gamble doesn’t look to start or take colonies and they leave us alone, or he does and Nova Scotia fights to the death to get rid of us.” Refused entry, the woman steps away from the locked door and returns to their journey in search of accepted entry. “Pretty much” Harvey assures, following the woman’s lead and patiently waiting for her to come across a door that’s not locked from within. “So, now the focus turns to whether or not Gamble thinks they’ll make a run at Newfoundland or the island itself” Katie proclaims, finally jostling a doorknob that allows her to push the door inward, allowing her face to be touched by the warmth of a pre-heated room freshly made and ready to be occupied. “Since Gamble will look to establish colonies like Orleans Island for both external support and additional industrial production... yeah” Harvey answers, sliding his jacket off, locking the room’s door, and immediately making for a chair in the corner. “And which do you think we’ll be sent to look after?” Katie wonders aloud, eyes taking toward a mini fridge off to the room’s side, “we just came back from Newfoundland, so I’d imagine we’ll be sent there.” “If we were sent back here, I have high doubts that we’ll be heading back to Newfoundland” Harvey counters, watching the woman sift through a few pre-packaged goods before her knuckles finally graze a set of aluminium cans. “The people he kept up north are probably much better equipped at fighting than either of us are” the once-lawyer explains as his partner retrieves a pair of beers, “to keep that place as secure as possible, Gamble will send only the best up north.” “Well, I’d imagine home soil would be far easier to defend with limited resources than Newfoundland would” Katie responds, thrusting her hip into the fridge’s door before approaching her colleague with one of the beers, handing it off before taking a seat upon his lap, “it’d be interesting to find out just how much he’ll have to send up there going forward just to keep the place running.” “The summer months and warmer weather will certainly help with that” Harvey answers, adjusting himself in his seat to make his lap more comfortable for the woman, “they’ll harvest whatever they can plant- if anything at all- and have shipped to them whatever they can’t.” “I suppose it’ll just be worthwhile as long as-” Katie begins to reply, her train of thought stumped by the sound of a speaker turning on just beyond the boundary of their door, made operable beyond the awareness of those calling the decoy office a temporary sanctuary. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your national sovereign” Gamble remarks, speaking from an off-campus location and through a P.A system connected to the building. “I have been informed that a great number of you have sought shelter from the ongoing protests in our office. So, if I may please have a moment of your time?” the sovereign questions, unable to view whether or not his remarks are being responded to. One after another, the doors to various rooms gently pull open, allowing the inhabitants of each retreat entry to the hallway alongside each other, their ears catching the sound much clearer. “I am en route to the decoy building as I speak. If I may, I would like to invite all of our critical-ranking officers and servants to a brief meeting that can only be had in person” Gamble proclaims, his words catching the ears of both Harvey and Katie, who step into the doorway and stare into the distance of wherever the voice sounds most resounding, “those of you deemed critical ranking officers and servants of interest are in possession of a black, government-issued payment card.” Passing a glance to each other, Harvey and Katie look on with confusion as they await further information, only to receive the most borderline-uninformative proclamation they can picture. “I will be able to say more when I arrive on the premises, but until then I’d appreciate it if you were to all make your way to the intelligence floor” Gamble explains, preparing to depart the mic in favour of sitting through the long journey, “look for those in blue shirts and grey ties for direction.” Voicing his appreciation, the sound of Gamble’s hollow tone falls silent as the hallway begins filling with subdued chatter, distinctive quandaries shared amongst each other that the visiting couple takes no interest in sitting through. “Let’s go” Harvey remarks, taking a sip from his beer as he steps through the door, his partner closing and locking it on her way through with a key in hand, following the man’s lead further into the building she still struggles to understand the layout of. | “Jesus” Emilio whispers to himself, staring out at the windows just beyond the reinforced vehicle he sits in the back of, sharing the rear seats with the cautious and readied Isaac. “This is what happens when the public isn’t kept informed” the bodyguard remarks, watching a sea of faces pass through the windows as the vehicle slowly rolls toward the entrance of the Moncton capitol building, “they come to the feet of the government looking for whatever information they can make sense of.” “Maybe if the whole of you were more competent at keeping them informed ever- they wouldn’t make a habit out of this” Emilio chirps back, getting feisty with the guard tasked with assuring his own safety. “The public is told of what they’re meant to hear. If something that can be spilled will hurt us or them, we keep the cup from tipping over” Isaac responds, staunchly defending the practises of his homeland, “it affords us breathing room and lets them sleep soundly at night. No harm done.” “Your chancellor is currently on the doorstep of death as you say that...” Emilio quickly rebuttals, being met with a silent acknowledgement of accuracy from the man he sits beside amidst the pause he follows with, “...that’s a lot of harm done.” Stepping through the crowd, Emilio and Isaac exit the armoured vehicle and begin stepping through the split in the middle of the populous, making for the capitol’s entrance with one destination in mind. “The best course of action we can take is to be vague and non-direct” Isaac remarks, following the man he’s suddenly been made a subordinate to through the halls of the converted city hall, “we don’t know anything definitely, and pretending like we do will make matters worse.” “You say that as if it can get any worse now that the people are willing to take a gun toward their leader” Emilio replies, hesitant to buy too much into the remarks paid toward him by his armed security detail. “My best advice would be to stray from saying anything concrete. We know little more about the assassin and his motivations than we do about the chancellor’s condition” Isaac explains, “summarise it down by saying the chancellor is in surgery and the assassin is dead.” “Alright, what do you suggest I say about the things Gamble spoke about in his address last night?” Emilio questions aloud, turning halfway down a nondescript corridor to look back at the man in his shadow. “Nothing” Isaac answers honestly, his head pulling back a slight amount before speaking, “you’re not the chancellor. The only reason you’re here is to fill the responsibility of Courtney in making an address to the public. You should not even mention that man.” “I feel like Courtney would argue otherwise” Emilio replies, stepping forward slightly to close the distance between himself and his shadow, “if I remember correctly, she insisted that I say exactly what felt best to say. If I didn’t bring up Gamble when I felt that I should, would you not argue that I’d be disobeying the orders of my acting chancellor?” With a curling lip, Isaac stares at the floor with a grimace for a moment as he goes silent, not yet answering the inquiry of the man he believes has undeservedly usurped him en route to claiming superiority. “I hardly see a reason for why- even if it felt right to address Gamble’s concerns- you should follow through in doing so...” the security detail replies, stopping himself for a moment as he attempts to end his remark, having to bite his tongue and swallow his pride to do so, “...sir.” For a moment, the glorified messenger inspects the disgusted serviceman’s posture, reading the dissatisfaction in his cadence and body language before nodding to himself. Satisfied with the honest answer he’d received, Emilio turns back for the direction he’d initially begun heading, carrying himself further into the capitol building before reaching his intended destination. “Our secretary is just outside in the event that you need guidance in setting up a direct feed to the public” Isaac explains, standing in the doorway with his hands folded behind his back, “I’d imagine you’ve never used a system like this before, so I’ve already sent her to reclaim the equipment from storage.” “I’m partly surprised she didn’t already have it set up after the first wave showed up outside this place” Emilio half-heartedly quips, reaching into his pocket for the buzzing device calling for his attention. “Hello?” he inquires, pressing the cell phone to the side of his head and listening to the background noise of loud footsteps that initially greet him. “Hey, Em’ You haven’t gone on the air yet, have you?” Courtney inquires, calling from the hallways of the closest hospital as she wanders throughout them. “No, I just got into Charlotte’s office” Emilio responds, taking a glance at the man respectfully keeping silent in the office’s doorway, “why? Is there any update on Charlotte?” “No, she’s still in surgery. I just needed to get out of there real quick to make this call” Courtney responds, stepping through a set of double doors and into the outside of the building, finally feeling the satisfaction of fresh air collide with her face, “give me a second so I can call you back, alright?” “Sure” Emilio replies, immediately hearing the other line disconnect from the call as he answers, prompting him to return the small device to his pocket. “Was that Courtney?” Isaac inquires, watching his confused superior nod approvingly toward his direction. “Yeah, she said she was gonna call me back, but she didn’t say when-” the messenger replies, interrupted by the ringing of the chancellor’s phone. “Hello?” Emilio inquires, picking up the handset device and pressing the speaker button, allowing the security detail and friendly secretary that just now enters the room to overhear the call. “Hey, it’s still Courtney” the woman replies, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead as she steps into an adjacent parking garage, the light breeze that rolls over Nova Scotia cooling her sweat-covered face. “Listen. After you left, I came to the realisation that I ought to have a contingency plan in case Charlotte doesn’t pull through here” Courtney confesses, taking the hand away from her face and placing it upon her hip, “whether it be long-term or just temporary, I really shouldn’t be the person that fills in as chancellor.” “You’ve just got nerves, Court’. It’s a big change that you weren’t expecting, but-” Emilio interjects, trying to quell the woman’s doubts before they fully present themselves. “No, it’s not just a change that concerns me. This has nothing to do with nerves or doubts or anything of the sort, alright?” Courtney interrupts for herself, staring out at the sky that refuses to light for another few hours, “for a few hours when nothing’s happening, I can handle just sitting in. But not for this.” Staying silent on the other end of the line, Emilio takes note of the woman’s tone and her delivery of the confession, a deep-rooted part of him recognising her cadence as one of outright sincerity. “Courtney, you alone will not be responsible for every decision that’s to be made in Nova Scotia” Isaac interjects, trying to speak the woman down from the predetermined place in which she’s position herself, enthralled with doubt and refusal, “you’ll have a vast supporting cast to aid-” “Isaac, the only reason I’m even acting as chancellor right now is because I’m close to Charlotte and she’s too stubborn to consider herself anything less than invincible” Courtney rebukes, refusing herself more credit than she believes herself to be due, “even with training wheels on, I’m nowhere close to being ready to take over a community at the starting line of war.” “We don’t necessarily have to be at the start of war, Courtney” Emilio corrects, his subtle redirection of the conversation giving the paramotorist a chance to take a hopeful breath. “Since Charlotte’s not very realistic with her mortality, there’s a fairly decent chance she doesn’t actually make it out alive from this” the messenger doubles down, shaking his head as he stares toward the phone, “if she doesn’t pull through, there’s not much of a reason to keep this stupid war going.” “Sure, but Charlotte’s survived stuff like this before. For crying out loud, you and your group had shot her multiple times and she’s still here to tell the tale” Courtney retorts, staring at the shadow cast along the ground from the spotlight she stands in the glow of, “if we play nice with Gamble and Charlotte comes back to reclaim control, it won’t matter what ground we start building with them... She’ll start fires just to warm her hands.” Bowing his head, Emilio falls quiet yet again as Isaac and the yet-unintroduced secretary watch on, allowing the woman to rummage through her mind for additional speech to provide. “If you want the mantle, go ahead and take it. If you know someone else that can lead Nova Scotia, go ahead and call them” Courtney tacks on, the speaker her voice is carried through re-earning her friend’s gaze, “just do me a favour and- in whatever way that you feel is best- find someone else to be chancellor.” | “It should be the first door on your right” a woman with a blue shirt and delicate smile remarks, pointing down a stretch of hallway so clean that it appears never-before traversed, only two doors lining its walls- both on the right of whomever travels down its length. “Thank you” Katie responds, taking the lead that her colleague follows after, noticing how odd the configuration of the corridor appears to be. To her left, rows of paintings reside beneath fixed lamps raining a cascade of light amongst the various pieces, all serving as decorations amongst an otherwise lifeless, white-painted drywall. Nearly twenty metres down the hallway, a second door from the one that appears closest to the officials resides at the passageway’s opposite end, its exterior guarded by a pair of men with automatic rifles held across their chests. “They don’t look friendly” Katie murmurs, her voice just loud enough for the man behind her to overhear, “if the walls weren’t so shiny and clean, I’d be turning back before I even opened that damned door.” “He’d take notice of our absence” Harvey assures, kicking up his pace until stepping ahead of the woman he now walks in front of, serving as a divider between her and the soldiers opposite them. “The best thing we can do when we get in there is to keep our heads down and not step on toes” the man explains, reaching for the doorknob before pausing, finishing his thought prior to opening the entrance, “blending in with whoever’s inside there is the best play we can make.” “Sure it is” Katie replies with a hint of sarcasm, her playfully dismissive visage quietly called into question by the stare she receives from her acquaintance. “Oh come on, you know just as well as I do that nothing is for certain with Gamble” the woman confesses, letting out a sigh as she awaits the door’s opening, “as obvious as any choice seems, there’s nothing we can be comfortable betting the house on when it comes to that guy.” With a frown, Harvey nods disappointingly before pulling the room’s entrance open, the first to step inside. Appearing more like the immediate pathway through a movie theatre, the dark room the couple enter is lit by only an ascending row of wall-mounted lights, illustrating the late-80’s era patterned carpet that the pair walk along and nothing more. Stuffy and cramped, the walkway the high-ranking officers of the newly-independent island soon find their faces flushed with a shade of light, a large screen at the front of the room presenting nothing but a blank, white canvas. “It’s a movie theatre?” Katie whispers from a place of genuine surprise, staring out at a row of chairs that stretch from one end of the tunnel they’d just ventured through to the other. “Apparently so” Harvey responds, passing a glance to the front of the room before staring up at the end of it, finding an empty stage once used by ushers to gesture the audience’s silencing of phones from. “Come on” he says in a hush, catching the sight of an empty pair of seats in the lower level of seats, guiding the younger woman’s following toward the open space. For a few minutes, the pair keep to themselves, staring into the screen whose blank picture bathes the entire theatre in light or taking in the view of various faces as clueless to what’s unfolding as they are. After a few further minutes, some restless few survivors begin stepping out of their seats and walking over to others, searching for familiar faces from the crowd to converse with. “If Gamble doesn’t hurry soon, he might just lose everyone’s attention” Katie jokes, trying to shed humour upon the impatient souls amongst them and their variety of attempts at mingling with each other. Less than receptive to the amusement of such a quip, Harvey replies with honesty and stoicism, “Gamble knows no such thing...” he rebukes, a cautious reservation beginning to solidify deep within himself, “...he’s either the centre of the attention, or he’s nowhere to be found.” Taken aback by the sudden seriousness within her crush’s tone, Katie stares at the side of the man’s face as he stares forward, gently rubbing the burns on his forearm beyond his rolled-up sleeve, awaiting the presence of the man whose call is responsible for putting it there. Within seconds, the luminous white void on the screen falls into absolute darkness, shaded the tone of grey only a powered-down screen would present as the chatter amongst those in the room falls silent. For a few seconds, the darkness remains uninterrupted, every voice that had quietly been shared amongst each other ceasing entirely as the crowd awaits the arrival of the man they’d been intended to await. “Do you have a gun on you?” Katie whispers, watching the man’s eye take toward her from within its corner, his head shaking in refusal, “no” Harvey responds, eyes taking back to the front of the room as the tension builds. For another two minutes, the room remains dark and void of even the slightest peep, those in attendance being more than well aware that caution is to be taken with any action that is to be taken. In a moment, the pitch black nothingness that comes over the theatre is replaced by the visual of a hillside in the rural area of Prince Edward, a live feed fed onto the screen of twenty five men in uniform kneeling in the middle of the plains with bags over their heads from far away. “Thank you for joining me this evening, ladies and gentlemen” Gamble remarks, entering the video’s frame from the far-left and approaching the centre, “I’d first like to offer my apologies in the event that it was thought I’d be arriving at the decoy office personally.” With a revolver in his hand, the national sovereign speaks into the microphone subtly taped to his bare chest as he casually strolls across the grassy field, his empty right hand resting behind his back. “I understand that there are plenty of you who are fearful of our immediate future as a nation” Gamble explains, continuing to slowly approach the halfway point of the screen with his eyes toward the ground, unaware of what kind of reaction his presentation earns from those he cannot see. “You have good reason to be. It is within our human nature to be sceptical of change. It is well warranted to dread the unknown” the sovereign confesses, stepping past the litany of knelt servicemen that occupy the row he walks along. “I don’t take personally the doubts and misapprehensions you hold, and I’d like that to be made resoundingly evident” he reassures, stopping in his tracks to take a momentary glance at the row of captives, “active opposition, however, is different.” Continuing his measly pace onward, Gamble lets his silence persist amidst the crowded theatre, taking a glance toward the camera he stands before and side-eyeing the screen beside it and an assortment of standing floodlights, the picture displayed mirroring that of what is visible from the confines of the office’s exclusive theatre. “Is he about to kill them?” Katie whispers to the man seated beside her, his silent gaze toward the scene that unfolds refusing her a response. “The men that you see behind me are all guilty of the same crime” the sovereign proclaims, finally standing halfway between the group, thirteen prisoners of war kneeling to his right side whilst twelve kneel to his left. “As high-ranking officials of Prince Edward, those of you watching together are tasked with securing the sanctity and continued operation of its national government” Gamble warns, aiming the revolver’s barrel toward the camera, “that is your top-most duty.” Pressing the palms of her hands into the sides of her chair, Katie stares intently at the screen with the same reserved demeanour as her partner, waiting to see what the national sovereign desires they witness. “I ask you all to lead by example. If you are incapable of doing so in a way that best represents the value of Prince Edward, that will not be tolerated” Gamble declares, extending his non-dominant hand toward the lineup, “neither will active participation in opposing practices.” Returning his extended arm toward that on his dominant side, Gamble unloads all but one of the cylinders from his firearm, spinning it recklessly before violently returning the chambers toward the weapon, allowing fate to decide where the brass jacket resides. “The men behind me acted upon Charlotte Walters’ orders to prevent me from returning to Prince Edward prior to the Confederation Bridge’s demolition” the sovereign proclaims, “they have been found guilty of such opposing practices.” “This is sick” Katie mutters to herself, her words only caught by the ear of the man seated beside her, his wide eyes taking to the side in which she resides and finger lifting toward his parted lips. “Shh” Harvey hisses, trying to quietly urge the woman’s apparent compliance in whatever demonstration is to be held, “you don’t want to be in the same position as those guys out there, do you?” he queries, the question itself getting the man’s point across with ease. “However, human lives are incredibly valuable when you’re at war. And when we’re discussing the lives of enemy-affiliates, that is especially true” Gamble quips, extending his arms toward the camera as he wields the firearm, directing its barrel at the closest head to his left, “as unfortunate as it is, there are some circumstances where it is not strategically-beneficial to extend an adequate form of justice to our enemies of the state.” Quiet and long-withdrawn from the conversations they’d initially spent the lead-up to their sovereign’s arrival, the theatre of high-ranking officials await the display in which their leader is keen on displaying, eager to see the outcome of what appears to be on the verge of unfolding. “Twenty five men and women were caught trying to retreat into Prince Edward for sanctuary after committing such a crime of opposition-” Gamble proclaims, “-four of them will not leave this field.” Nostrils flaring, Katie’s blood boils as she subdues her hatred for this scene, aware of the violent nature concealed behind Gamble’s public persona. Though she’d existed within the same compound as the man prior to tonight, his genuinely blackened soul and power-thirsting disposition brings a vehement sickness over her. Though his true intentions are more than obvious to her, the young woman’s awareness of the sovereign’s malicious truth is unnoticed by the oblivious public. “The twenty one that remain will do work in the fields as slave labour. Some may be found worthwhile to negotiate for on the behalf of Nova Scotia’s leadership, whilst others may spend their dying days providing for the nation of Prince Edward” Gamble confesses, a shrug carrying over himself as he pulls his firearm’s trigger, “either way... they will serve this nation whilst on its soil” he concludes to the lack of a gunshot. “You may ask yourself why I’d keep twenty one around and not the entire field as a whole, and that’s more than understandable to ask” the national sovereign beckons, a smirk carried over his visage as he takes the barrel toward the next captive. Struggling to prevent herself from wincing at the dreaded sight of the man she grows to loathe more with each passing second, Katie prepares herself with each lift of the revolver to see a man’s life end, aware that it is bound to come. “When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.” Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.” | “She’s standing by her friend’s side and waiting to know if she’s going to live or die. She’s clearly not thinking this the whole way through” Isaac argues, standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “She’s never served as chancellor before” the woman seated across from the side of the desk Charlotte once assumed replies, “aside from her friendship with Charlotte, the only reason we’ve deemed her to be a suitable replacement is because she’s the chancellor’s right hand.” “That makes her more well-suited to take over for Charlotte than ninety-five percent of this community” Isaac argues back, speaking aloud as if the claims he makes will be taken for anything more than canon fodder by the man occupying the chancellor’s seat. “It’s not like she asked us to find some scrub and have them take over” the woman battles back, turning to face the armed detail from over her shoulder, “she’s asking us to find someone from that five percent.” “No, she’s asking me to find someone from that five percent” Emilio corrects, leaning back in the wounded chancellor’s seat with arms crossed and eyes on the back of the room. Begrudgingly conceding defeat to the messenger’s temporary superiority, Isaac nods his head and steps the rest of the way toward the desk, lowering himself into the unoccupied seat beside the still-unnamed secretary. “Yes. She’s asking you to find someone from that five percent” Isaac repeats, letting free a lengthy sigh as he dips closer into the chair, hands squeezing at either arm rest, “but in my professional opinion, I think it would be foolish of you to try and find a suitable replacement on your own.” “Why is that?” Emilio inquires, a squint in his face held as he lifts his chin, the brow over his right eye lifting as he stares at the man. “Well, with all due respect, I don’t entirely trust you” Isaac confesses, his honesty not wavering regardless of who sits within the realm of higher authority over himself, “the only reason you’re even sitting in that chair is because I have strict orders from the acting chancellor to do as you tell me.” “And you don’t find it odd that your acting chancellor trusts me and yet you don’t?” Emilio challenges, watching the smile spread from one ear to the other on the accusatory man’s face. “I know Courtney well enough to trust her. I know Charlotte well enough to trust her” Isaac responds, nodding to himself as he couples both hands over his lap, “I don’t just blindly trust people based on other people’s judgement. That doesn’t change for Courtney, and it doesn’t change for you.” Meeting his security detail’s grin with one of his own, Emilio looks into the guard’s face for a moment before looking toward the floor, a nod coming over him as his arms uncross. Sitting with his thoughts, the messenger lets the air go quiet for a moment as the secretary and security detail follow suit, awaiting their immediate superior’s reply with eager anticipation. “I don’t ask for the two of you to trust me. I’m not going to ask that you dismiss your own standards just to appease me, and I won’t even ask for the two of you to like me” Emilio promises, stepping out of his seat and standing before the guests with two fingers pressed against the chancellor’s desk, “but make no mistake about it. Everything that I’m going to say today will be with the best interest of Nova Scotia in mind. This is my home, and my people can’t afford to lose it.” “None of us can afford to lose it” the secretary corrects, politely remaining seated and reserved as she looks into the messenger’s face, his appreciative nod returned toward her. “If this place falls, we’re all falling with it” Emilio declares, reassuring the pair that sit before him of where his motivations lie, “that’s the oath I gave to my group when we got here. This is where we get to live... There’s no running away. If there’s no other- let that be what the three of us can agree on.” *knock, knock, knock* “Can I help you?” Emilio wonders aloud, his sights taking to the front of the room alongside the two visitors, Isaac’s readied stance taken as his hand rests on the grip of his holstered weapon. “I’m sorry, I was expecting to find Courtney here” a man in a dark brown trench coat replies, standing in the doorway with a confused look. “Courtney’s sent me here to address the public” Emilio replies, nodding his head toward the visitor before extending his hand toward an open space off to the desk’s side, “I’m the highest-ranking official you’ll find. What can I help you with?” With a slight frown, Isaac passes a glance toward the messenger whilst keeping his guard raised, ready to open fire at the unexpected guest if needed. “Well, actually nothing” the visitor answers, reaching into his jacket to retrieve a leather-bound wallet from within, gently placing it down before the messenger’s presence, “I was told by my superior to deliver this to the chancellor. But if you’re the closest to such a thing, then I suppose I can leave it with you.” “What is it?” Isaac wonders aloud, easing his posture slightly to allow his mind to open itself for whatever the well-dressed informant has to offer. “The perpetrator’s wallet. It’s got his community identification slip in it too” the man replies, gesturing his hand toward the accessory that the messenger’s eyes already take to the open folds of, “my boss had me do a quick print out of all the stuff in it and then deliver it to you A.S.A.P.” “He was from Prince Edward?” Emilio questions aloud, earning a brief look from Isaac before the armed support’s eyes retake toward the officer’s direction. “It certainly seems so. If I had to put a bet on it, I figure that might’ve been the biggest reason my boss wanted it ran over to you” the visitor responds, watching Emilio immediately place the wallet down and turn his back to those standing in his attendance, “with everything going on over the Strait, I’m sure it’d be of great use.” “It will be. Thank you” Isaac replies, nodding to the detective, who takes the response as his cue to turn around and depart, leaving the office to the three who’d initially occupied it prior to his arrival. “Emilio, do you understand what this means?” the armed soldier questions aloud, walking around the edge of the chancellor’s desk and speaking to the back of his head, unsure of what has caught the messenger’s attention. Staring blankly at the bulletin board, Emilio’s eyes remain stoic and firm, refusing to leave the plotted-out battle map the preceding chancellor had tacked up prior to her attack. “One way or another, Prince Edward Island is directly responsible for Charlotte’s attack!” Isaac proclaims, speaking to the messenger in spite of receiving no initial reply, “I don’t know if Gamble ordered it or not, but if the murderer came from Prince Edward, we can easily place the blame on Gamble!” Silent, Emilio remains fixated on the printed sheet of paper across from his face, unresponsive to the intel he’s being paid as if it were utterly worthless. “For god’s sake, say something!” Isaac proclaims, staring at the side of the distant man’s face, waiting for a reply that he’s forced to wait aeons for. Remaining reserved, the messenger continues to refuse any remark toward the ears of those that stand before him, their eyes locking with each other as if to ask whether something were off. “The fighting’s not going to stop” Emilio suddenly proclaims, a disheartened frown coming upon the face of a man who continues to stare at what he knows the future to be. “I don’t care what Gamble said last night... He’s not stopping this war” the messenger doubles down, stepping away from the battle plans before walking past his armed reinforcement, “no matter what he tells the public to try and save face, he’s going to make sure we end up at war and Nova Scotia gets blamed for it.” “Well of course he is!” Isaac proclaims, throwing his arms out as if that conclusion had already been arrived at long ago, “you didn’t honestly think he was going to just expect us not to retaliate, did you?” Shaking his head whilst staring at the ground, Emilio approaches the door to the room and closes it, looking at those he shares the room with, “I hoped he would’ve been satisfied with being far away enough for us to waste resources trying to get him back” he answers. “The only way for Prince Edward Island to survive long term would be to do the same thing we did- establish settlements, organise trading posts and a supply chain. The whole nine yards” Isaac retorts, watching the messenger stand a few metres away with hands on his hips, “taking the bridge down was just the start. His island is inferior in arms and population and they’ve got no one looking out for them except for themselves. He has to establish whatever he can to survive!” “And that means war is inevitable” Emilio responds, hanging his head as the conclusion settles in, met with silence from the parties that join him, their hush affording the opportunity to sit with his thoughts. “Do we still have access to their electronic infrastructure?” the messenger suddenly inquires, taking a glance at Isaac before redirecting his attention to the nearby secretary, “like, if I wanted to feed a live stream onto their systems over there, could I do that?” “Well, sure- I suppose?” the woman replies, stepping out of her seat slowly whilst pondering the hoops that they’d need to jump through for such a feat to be accomplished. “It’ll become especially difficult the longer they remain their own separate entity, but we could still probably access their emergency network now if we’d like” she reassures, staring at the door she’d need to leave through in order to accomplish such a task, “just get behind the microphone and I’ll-” “No...” Emilio interjects, reaffirming his demeanour as he stands up straight, a hand extended toward the woman before she can walk off, “I want to do it in front of the camera.” Taken by surprise, Isaac’s head pulls back as the woman he stands just a few metres away from shares much a similar shock. “In front of-? Why?” the woman wonders back, watching the confidence come over the messenger as he steps onward with poise, directing himself to the chancellor’s seat. “I have a feeling that Gamble’s going to want to see me behind that desk” Emilio replies, shaking his head with a snarled face, “he’s deceived me, and now seeing my face on the camera, speaking on Nova Scotia’s behalf? It might buy us some time to deceive him back.” | “When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.” Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.” Feeling the sensation of a chill run down her neck, Katie presses her eyelids shut and scrunches her face, pulling in a deep breath through her teeth and holding onto it as she awaits the gunshot she’s got a gut feeling is just around the corner to catch her ear. Whilst the rest of the theatre watches on- Harvey included- awaiting the sight that seems inevitable, a sudden change in programming comes the screen’s way, catching the eyes of all those in attendance. From their homes, the populous of Prince Edward Island watches the interference in their regularly-scheduled programming take shape, shifting their focus from the cartoons, repeated-sitcoms or newscasts to the head of a man they’d never seen before. Pressing her teeth together at the thought of having to stomach the sight of an execution, Katie awaits the resumed speech from the loathed national sovereign before the hushed tone of a woman’s voice catches her ear. “You’re live” the Nova Scotian chancellor’s secretary remarks, her voice prompting the theatre-seated official to open her eyes, only able to see the top of the unfamiliar man’s head for the first few seconds. “Thank you, Irene” the desk-seated gentleman replies, continuing to stare at his lap whilst typing out the briefest text message he can afford to send, still having yet to look directly into the camera for the first time. Her closed eyes having widened out of curiosity, Katie’s attention rests firmly upon the same screen that the rest of her island nation’s own do, the community across the once bridge-connected strait find a much similar fate. “Just one moment, ladies and gentlemen” a familiar-sounding voice remarks, earning a slight-squint from the young woman seated beside Harvey, who now looks toward her with understandable curiosity. “Not yet, sir!” Bristol’s voice calls out, preventing her national sovereign from pulling the trigger on his next potential victim, the man’s eyes taking to her direction upon the call out. Though its distance proves difficult to overcome, Gamble’s eyes make out the picture on the live feed being different from the one he stands before, a squint carried in his gaze as he begrudgingly lifts the barrel from his prisoner’s head. “No...” Katie murmurs, leaning forward in her seat whilst the man beside her remains perplexed, uncertain of what her reaction is meant to portray. “What’s wrong?” Harvey questions aloud, his inquiry brushed off by the woman’s dismissive, hiss-like “shh!” Stepping away from the line of prisoners, Gamble’s feet carry him closer to the monitor his feed had been redirected from, the top of his adversary’s head all that his eyes are afforded as of the moment. “Well done, Em’” Courtney mutters from the comfort of her friend’s hospital room, staring into the wall-mounted television whilst occupying the seat beside Charlotte’s bed, the beeping of the machines just a short distance away presenting the incapacitated chancellor’s stable vital signs. For a second, Courtney’s eyes are claimed elsewhere, the alarm on her brick-like cell phone calling for an answer. “Hello?” the woman replies, watching the man on her television screen lift a phone of his own to the side of his face. “Are you close to a television?” the man on the other end inquires, unable to see the smile that spreads across the paramotorist’s face, her head nodding in approval. After a few seconds, the call comes to an end and grants the messenger the opportunity to redirect his gaze to the one direction it’s been long-overdue a glance toward. “Pardon the interruption, ladies and gentlemen” Emilio proclaims, lifting his face toward the camera lens for the very first time from the seat of Nova Scotia’s highest-ranking chair, addressing the nation who- for all they know- now take their first look at the newest chancellor of the compound. “EMILIO!” Katie exclaims, her voice breaking through the deafening silence that lingers throughout the unfamiliar theatre, every eye taking toward her direction as she leaps from her seat, throwing herself into the back of the chair in front of her. “Son of a bitch” Gamble grumbles, his nostrils flaring as he draws closer to the monitor, only a few metres away from the rest of his crew, who all take part in watching on at this interruption to their feed. For a moment, the gravity of the situation he now finds himself in weighs upon his chest like an anvil, the kind of audience he’d once dreamed of being able to command with the simple snap of his fingers now finally afforded to him long after the desire had waned. Letting his eyes fall to the surface of the desk he’s seated at, Emilio presses both palms against the cold tabletop and stretches his arms wide, trying to process the power that his voice alone now wields. Letting the gravity sink in with him, the man who’d been sent to the capitol to deliver a message of empty reassurance to the people clambering for answers now ensures that he- in that moment- is perhaps the most powerful man on the planet. “This is...” Emilio mutters aloud, pausing to allow further saturation of the scene before him into his mind- one that struggles to comprehend in its entirety just how mighty his hand to wield truly is, “...odd.” In awe, Katie pulls her hand away from the outstretched reach of Harvey’s own, refusing to be lowered from her upright stance, the woman’s dark outline made out for anyone behind herself to see. “I used to think that I wanted this. Before the outbreak began, I was running for Governor of Connecticut. I wanted to be in a position of control like this” Emilio confesses, a sombre tone carried in his half-sorrowful voice, “but now that I’m sitting here- speaking to you all- it’s just otherworldly.” Reserving his doubts and feelings, Isaac keeps his arms crossed whilst standing at the back of the room, unaware that the feed from the chancellor’s office is being fed to a screen just outside the building’s front door, his only clue being the sudden hush that befalls the mob outside their walls. With her lip quivering, a tear runs from Katie’s eye as a smile comes over her face, eyes staring at the visage of a man she’d never expected to see again just over a year ago. “How did they get access to our airwaves?” Gamble inquires, looking to the small huddle of people before the monitor in search of answers. “We’re not sure. We thought all was sorted out, but-” a woman replies, turning to look the national sovereign in the eyes as she speaks, only to be met with the scathing tone of an infuriated autocrat doing his best to conceal the rage that builds behind his fractured mask. “But clearly you didn’t do your due diligence well enough to assure they were protected accordingly” Gamble interjects, his widened eyes speaking to the fury that truly hides within his fragile demeanour. “But I’m not here because of the people’s will. I’m not here because the chancellor has decided to step down, and I’m not here because I’m obligated to” Emilio admits, reaching for the small, bulky leather accessory to the side of his hand, removing an identification slip from within its front-facing pouch. Flipping its face toward the camera lens, the messenger displays the perpetrator’s face and information for the public to see, an embolden address line standing out from the other words. “This is the man that has placed me in this chair tonight- or rather this morning. My apologies, I keep forgetting how late- err, early- it is” Emilio proclaims, slapping the leather binder down whilst keeping the card toward the camera, “I’d like you to take notice of that address right there. That says Prince Edward Island- just in case you can’t see it for yourselves.” With dismissal, Emilio flicks the laminated card across the room and lets it fall aimlessly toward the ground, having no true care for the culprit, his information, or the item itself. “I’m here because the duty calls for someone to step up and be a leader for this community. I’m here because- ultimately- this community has no leader” the messenger remarks, folding his hands atop the table and leaning forward. “Why did he have that card on him?” Gamble calmly inquires, the veins in his neck protruding as he looks for answers from those that remain within his presence. “I thought I made myself abundantly clear after our mishap outside the Nova Scotian border, did I not?” the national sovereign questions aloud, waiting for an answer from the crowd that refuses to present itself, “I thought I’d ordered that no serviceman- working on behalf of Prince Edward- was to carry I.D on them- Did I not?” “This community has no leader as of this moment for one reason. It’s the same reason I want you to remember where that face on the identification slip that I just showed you came from” Emilio carries on, his claims continuing to catch the full attention of his rival sovereign. “Whether on behalf of Andrew Gamble or not, that young man- who you just saw the information for yourself- made an attempt on the life of the Nova Scotian chancellor, Charlotte Walters” Emilio declares, unaware of the twitch that his proclamation presents over his adversary’s glare. Keeping to themselves, Isaac and Irene watch on at the messenger’s continuance, waiting through his pause as he stares at the camera, considering his next words very carefully. Continuing to stand out from the crowd she’d entered with the intention of blending in with, Katie tries her best to focus on the words that are spoken through the screen, a part of her proving incapable of coming down from the joy of being halfway-reunited with her one-time leader. Retaining his composure, Emilio keeps his professional stance intact whilst staring just slightly beside the camera lens, convincing himself to run with the remarks that his instincts are pleading with him to voice. “And now, this community has no leader...” Emilio begins, his remarks focused on by the paramotorist, who continues to share her attention with the beeping of the machines beside the unconscious chancellor, “...because Charlotte Walters is dead.” Momentarily confused, Isaac’s arms fall from their crossing as he briefly glances toward Irene, unsure of where the messenger is taking this address now that it’s strayed from their certainty. Partially surprised by this news, Gamble’s head leans toward one side and directs itself toward the ground, waiting for the further detail he hadn’t anticipated his foes' acknowledgement of whilst Katie looks on with confusion from the theatre, the jarring confession leaving her unsure of how to react. “Yes. Charlotte Walters has died. Just less than an hour ago, we received word from the hospital she was rushed to that she had not made it” Emilio admits, feeding the public as bold-faced of a lie as he accuses the national sovereign of, “and with that, a public assassination was committed on Nova Scotian soil, and it was done in the wake of an unwarranted and illegal assumption of power from a dictatorial regime spearheaded by Andrew Gamble.” “What is he doing!?” Bristol exclaims, unfurling her arms and shouting at the crew standing beside her, looking for answers that only come from the man directly behind her. “He’s trying to pin the blame for her murder on me in an effort to paint me out as a malicious insurrectionist...” Gamble replies calmly, nostrils flaring in spite of his best attempt at subduing the vicious aggression that threatens to burst through his loosening seams, “...and it might work.” “Whether or not Gamble ordered Charlotte’s assassination is beyond the point” Emilio explains, his words slowly beginning to ease concerns the standing supporters just a few metres away had begun the broadcast holding onto. “The fact of the matter is that a young, vulnerable, and very gullible young man- likely stranded on Nova Scotia through the actions of Andrew Gamble- has murdered, in cold blood, the chancellor of society’s final stand” Emilio declares, extending the index finger on his dominant hand before pressing its tip to the desk, “and for that reason, I am declaring that Andrew Gamble- through order or through influence- is directly responsible for Charlotte Walters’ murder.” Though a part of her deep down wishes to act surprised by the discovery, Courtney’s most-certain thoughts pointed to such a conclusion being likely, one that ensured Prince Edward would not be settled without war. “You don’t need to look far, however, to see that his island isn’t one to play as nice as he lets it on to appear” Emilio doubles down, shrugging at the idea of a unified exchange of misplaced refugees, “I have friends on that island that he isn’t allowing to leave on their own.” Furrowing her eyebrows, Katie continues to stare at the screen with a loss for words, unsure of whom the man may be referring to. “Clint Mintz and Vanessa Mintz, a pair of siblings that I’ve known for years now... Well before we got to Nova Scotia” Emilio remarks, only further widening the eyes of the young woman at the theatre’s lower row of seats, “they have a small fishing business. They’ve got their own boat, and the officials in Prince Edward Island won’t let them out of Stewart Cove.” “Stewart Cove” Katie whispers to herself, nodding her head as Harvey finally shows to have had enough with the woman’s standoff with the screen, grabbing her arm and yanking her back into her chair violently. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble!” the man hisses, his face souring as the woman rips her arm from his hand once more, continuing to stare at the face on the screen. “If he really wanted to set up some peaceful partnership, he wouldn’t have forcefully shut down the Confederation Bridge and then blown it into smithereens” Emilio explains, further deepening the dissatisfied expression that covers the national sovereign’s face, “the only reason he’s pretended up to this point like he actually cares about peaceful negotiation is because he was confident that anything he could do would look like it was in good faith when juxtaposed to Charlotte.” Clenching his right hand into a fist, Gamble stares at the monitor as the apparent declaration of war emanates throughout the early-morning sky. “The only issue that Gamble has now is that I’m not Charlotte. In a way, I am so much worse because- as far as Gamble is concerned- there is no big, bad, scary witch for him to paint out as some boogeyman” Emilio declares, a smile appearing through his parted lips, “and it’ll be really hard to make me look bad when the island’s power goes out.” Irate, Gamble remains standing before the camera’s lens, fuming in place whilst his feet are firmly planted into the grass. “Charlotte only didn’t make an announcement the other night because she didn’t want to feed the public lies. It turns out, Gamble took the opposite route and fed you, myself, and everyone else exactly that” Emilio states, shrugging off the incident entirely, “I wonder how long it’ll take our friend across the strait to address the public when our reserves run out?” Letting out a deep breath, Gamble continues to stare at the face on the screen as it draws closer, Emilio’s body standing out from his chair as he stares directly into the lens. From the theatre, Katie remains glued to her seat as her close friend makes the statement of her supposed adversary perfectly clear. From the hospital bed, Courtney continues to look after her friend as the compound she’d established is seemingly ripped out from beneath her- the paramotorist’s smile uncontrollable. “I have been placed in charge of finding a replacement for Charlotte as chancellor, and whilst that process is underway... I will assume that role” Emilio announces, watching Irene lean in to redirect the camera’s lens toward his now-standing posture, “and for the next few days, I will retain that position until the person that I have in mind to take over enters the compound. At that point, I will officially hand control of Nova Scotia and all of her thirteen outlying settlements to her.” Pleased beyond imagination, Katie’s smile refuses to fall aside in spite of the door that opens at the front of the theatre, allowing in a pair of armed guards that stare out into the crowd. “Katie...” Harvey whispers, calling to the woman whose eyes immediately take toward the room’s front, catching attention of the two sets of eyes that soon spot her from within the crowd. Without so much as a word, Katie leaps from her seat and bolts out of the theatre, eyes taking toward the room’s exit as she makes a dash from the soldiers that run after her. “Katie!” Harvey exclaims, firing like a rocket out of his seat just as she does and making the same hurry for the exits as her, trying to outrun the guards seemingly tasked with following through on Gamble’s orders to quell whatever dissidence may arise before it can fester amongst his more devoted followers. “I don’t want a war more than anyone else, but my hand has been forced here. There is a tyrant ordering the execution of Nova Scotian leaders without so much as a care in the world just one body of water away from us, and it will not be tolerated” Emilio commands, his finger pointing into the lens, “I know Gamble’s watching along with the rest of Prince Edward Island, so allow me to make myself clear... We’re coming after you.” Aware that they’ve been left with little other choice, Courtney tightly grasps the ends of the armrests to each side of her chair and calms her breathing, aware that the violence they have already seen is only just the start. With a glance to her side, the woman stares at her bedridden friend and takes another look at her stable vitals, hoping for the best, but dreading what could happen if the chancellor were to awaken from her state and reclaim the power that only now falls beyond her reach. “Plenty of people had no care for Charlotte whatsoever and I don’t blame them. Personally, I wasn’t much of a fan myself. But with that said, an attack on the chancellor is an attack on Nova Scotia, and an attack on Nova Scotia is an attack on all of us.” Emilio concludes, daggers paid to the camera lens as Gamble watches on, feeling the heat of war strike his face in the form of a close-up shot on his rival’s visage. “Andrew Gamble, you have hurt me. You have hurt my people. You have hurt this entire community, and with or without your blatant lies- your days at the helm of that island are numbered...” Emilio warns, picking up the wallet and casually throwing it at the camera lens with perfect accuracy, pausing for a moment as it recalibrates to reclaim its focus upon the new acting chancellor, “...because this doesn’t end until you’re dead.” As quickly as it had taken over the live broadcast, Emilio’s address to his adversarial nation cuts out and delivers every screen to a black void, no picture to fill the space in which he’d occupied and left nothing to follow up. Incensed, Gamble takes a few steps back from the monitor and turns his back to the crew, angrily taking aim with his revolver at an empty field beneath the cover of spotlights. Having intended to fire until a bullet was expended from the barrel of his weapon, the national sovereign discovers an absence of his twenty five captives, the places in which they’d knelt having been abandoned since his attention was stolen by the interrupting feed. “Did they get away!?” a member of the crew calls out, unable to see the face of their autocratic tyrant until he turns toward them. In an undeniable fury, Gamble lifts the barrel of his weapon toward the crew member's head and pulls the trigger, splattering their brains all over the onlooking camera and nearby storm light without the slightest hesitancy. “FIND THEM NOW!” the sovereign screams, the muscles in his face jolting with the orders as the remaining workers still with their lives intact take off in the only direction the prisoners could have fled toward, leaving their leader alone alongside the deceased body. Breathing heavily, the sovereign’s eyes fire themselves wide as he throws his gun into the dark onset of dawn and seethes in his place, hands clenched into fists so furious that they dislocate the middle finger on his left hand. Overcome by rage, Gamble’s face shoots toward the sky as his lips part, screaming a prolonged howl into the lifeless sky as his every intent for the evening proves futile, the circumstances that surround him- this time- having bested him. “Alright, well there was a lot to take from that, but overall... I think that went well?” Isaac wonders aloud, unsure of exactly what to make of the broadcast other than his slightly increased faith in the new chancellor’s handling of the situation. “Good, because I meant every word of it” Emilio confesses, lowering himself into the chair that he’s now placed himself into the rightful possession of, “if there was no way to avoid war, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.” Nodding, Isaac accepts the man’s conclusion before the air is overtaken by the secretary’s voice, her inquiry the only thing worth asking in her mind at the moment. “Would you like me to phone anyone in particular now that it seems you’ve decided on a new chancellor?” Irene asks, watching the man drape both hands over the edge of his armrests and turn the desk chair toward the nearby window, listening into the faint sound of cheering that the bulletproof window affords him. For a second, the temporary leader of Nova Scotia considers the question internally, still partially numb to the control he’d placed himself at the helm of, but mindful enough to keep the same energy and intent he’d used to deliver the address alive and well. “Yeah” Emilio responds, nodding to himself whilst staring at the window, watching the crowd of people band together as a nation unified in what appears to be the name of liberation before turning back to answer, “get me Jade McKee.” == Rise ==
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“Allow us to take a moment to address the nation” Bristol remarks, seated in the chair her superior had occupied each day since the moment he’d assumed secretive office, her right wrist crossed over her left as they both sit atop the desk. “We have made this communication accessible through all public avenues to ensure all that wish to hear this can do so” she explains, a slight grin coming over her face, “this includes those in Nova Scotia who call this island home.”
From the comfort of their living room, Clint and Nessie stare at the radio sitting at the centre of their kitchen table, the brother gradually working his way through an aluminium can of beer whilst the sister sits by with her eyes glued to a paper map. From a great distance away, Harvey and Katie appear equally captivated as the strangers they share the near-overflowing conference room with, waiting for the clarification they’ve spent over twenty four hours without. “For the last twenty four hours, Prince Edward Island has been occupied by thousands of residents all looking to voice their disapproval, worries and desires to an entity they’d never before even heard of” the secretary continues, her voice soft and clear, incapable of being misheard through any fault of her own, “we here, inside the capitol building in the ironically-named Charlottetown, not only have heard you, but we implore you to never lose that unified spirit.” From Juliet’s tavern across the strait, Emilio and Courtney join in with the rest of the public trying to enjoy a night on the town and forget the events of the prior night, listening to the live feed that blares through the various mounted stereos. As opposed to whatever records they could opt to instead put over the air, all operable Nova Scotian radio stations choose to carry out the coverage of their once-connected neighbours’ address, filling the compound’s streets with the enemy’s remarks. “Our secrecy of operating the island from within the shadows for the last four years, however, has not been by choice. Instead, it was on the command of Nova Scotia- and more notably on the direct order of Charlotte Walters herself- that we not disclose our presence” Bristol confesses, putting on her most well-delivered tone of regret, “the fear of sparking disdain toward the Nova Scotian government through our own stellar competency was a chance she was not keen on taking.” “Alright, I’m putting it on!” Alicia responds, giving into the request of those on the other end of the phone, stepping out of her son’s bedroom before entering the living room on her own, the man of the house remaining asleep in their bed. Shaking her head from a place of disgruntlement, the mother approaches the chesterfield and reaches for the nearby radio, powering it on with the intent of changing to her preferred station, only to discover the one already on plays her desired feed. “It is because of this direct order that we have gone until tonight without introducing ourselves, expressing the ideologies and principles in which we rule by, and committing ourselves to serving you, the people of Prince Edward Island” the secretary continues, her lips coloured a dark red, teeth appearing as white as clouds through their parted place, “on behalf of the new Prince Edward Island regime, I’d like to take this opportunity to first introduce myself.” Hanging up the phone, Lauren redirects her attention to the radio that sits on the coffee table of the home she shares with her husband, whose arm she settles into and cosies up against. With night beginning to settle in, Jack kicks his right leg over that of his left and stares intently at the device across from him, a squint held through exhausted eyes at the speaker projecting the enemy voice into the confines of their home. “My name is Bristol Saville. I represent the acting leader of Prince Edward Island as the secretary and deputy minister for a head of state that will- as of this moment- officially assume the title of ‘National Sovereign’ to the Nation of Prince Edward” she announces, a pleased smile taking itself to the room’s far left, “I am no more than a woman who’s committed herself to the prosperity of this island- a humble hairdresser who climbed up this government through devotion and loyalty.” With a squint in her eye, Alicia bows her head toward the carpet at the centre of her living room, unsure of why the woman’s name sounds so familiar to her. Trying not to entertain her confusion beyond the point of listening to the broadcast, the woman tries to place a mental marker in her consideration before focus shifts back to the radio, continuing to play the role of spectator to the decrees from those one strait of water away from her home. “Internally, the government that oversees the future of Prince Edward will comprise of various officials speaking on behalf of every sector that this new nation will need to assure self-sufficiency” Bristol carries on, a slight change taken to her posture as she shits further upright, “together, we will ensure that those who call this island home are allowed the continued opportunity to control their own destiny, and are provided for by this government what is beyond their control.” From the small confines of a small residency near central Moncton, Kelsey joins her roommate in staring at the device near the corner of their room, the same feed that fills their quarters with sound being played by the various other radios throughout the building. One after another, rooms of off-duty militant men and women await the words of their rival government, awaiting insight that not even their own leader had dared afford to them. “Our job is not to regulate what you do- or do not do- with your lives, but rather to look after the things that are not of your responsibilities. In addition to this, we only ask that you continue- as you have for years now- to work with us in making Prince Edward a worthy place of calling home” Bristol explains, her smile only deepening the longer that she speaks, “we wish not to use you as pawns in a much larger game, but to earn the your trust in ways that spark pride in calling this home.” “Give me a break” Charlotte mutters, allowing the feed to continue undisturbed as she scrolls through the various logs that fill her computer’s screen, aware of what backlash would await her if the order to silence those across the water were given. Having been laying across her lap for the last few minutes unmoved, the chancellor’s free hand lifts toward the machine at the end of her desk and flips it a middle finger, displaying all that she has to offer the entity behind its transmission. “Furthermore, we would like to inform you now that- if you’ve called Prince Edward home at any time over the last four years- then you are already aware of what our vision for this nation is” Bristol clarifies, trying to reassure those on the other end of her address with whatever can be trusted to alleviate their doubts, “ever since the outbreak began, we have been in charge of policy. Funding for public transportation, renewable tax incentives, and looser small business grants- that was us.” From the comfort of a home hundreds of kilometres away, Angela sits within an empty home near the end of Rawson Road, making a life for herself in the comfort and relative ease that Cumberland offers her. In spite of her distance, the colony-supported radio transmissions nevertheless stretch throughout the northeastern United States, carrying the signal of a breakaway nation to the various communities depending on the continued survival of their superior northern compound. “The comforts, benefits, freedoms and care that you have experienced when calling this island home will continue. The lives that you have led- we assure you- will remain uninterrupted” Bristol confirms, gradually sliding her rolling desk chair further out as she readies herself to exit it, “for those across the strait and in greater Nova Scotia, we assure you that your loved ones, properties and belongings will remain safe and undisturbed, awaiting your return and reunion.” “How long until they call us in?” the eldest McKee sibling inquires, standing around the island of 18 Rawson with his hands pressing against the countertop, eyes taking to the same direction of his brothers. “Don’t even bother asking- I have no idea” Jade replies, her eyes refusing to leave the speaking box that sits halfway between herself and the rest of her family, a look of visible worry and doubt spreading across her face whilst her chin tilts toward her lap. “There is still much to speak of and plenty of questions to answer, but there is only so much in the way of information that we can provide tonight. Rest assured that, in the coming days, we will offer you more and be as open as possible” Bristol remarks, finally unfurling her hands from around each other as she stands from the chair, “but for the meantime, allow me to introduce you all to the figure officially assuming their rightful place atop this nation as acting national sovereign...” With a pause, Charlotte’s eyes strip themselves from the computer’s screen and guide their way toward the radio. Crossing her fingers, Courtney bows her head from the tavern’s counter whilst Emilio lifts his head and pulls in a deep breath in eager anticipation. Collectively unsure of which rumours to believe and dismiss, Katie and Harvey clench their fists to the sound of ruffling through the device, signalling the changing of one figure behind the microphone to the next. “What is it?” Franklin grumbles, wiping at his eyes as his wife hisses for his silence, quickly patting the open seat beside her to direct the man toward it. Holding their breaths, Jack and Lauren collectively await the remarks that will soon write the fate of both their homeland and that of their foes. Unsure of what to expect from their distant communities, the McKee siblings and Angela share the same patience that those up north do, much less writing on the wall for them in Rhode Island. Taking his seat in the newly-unoccupied chair, the island’s official leader folds their hands together at the base of the microphone, officially adopting the public title of national sovereign with a pleased and accomplished grin. Lips apart, the Prince Edward leader prepares himself for their first official address to the nation, his well-known composure and stoic mask finally revealed for the world to witness first hand through the speech of. “Good evening. As your national sovereign, I would like to publicly voice my appreciation for your displays over the last twenty four hours and your attention on this historic evening for us all” the leader proclaims, fixing the glasses that sit on his face to ensure their aligned properly, “my name is Andrew Gamble, and prior to the start of the outbreak, I served as a member of this island’s provincial regiment under premier Wade MacLauchlan.” Pressing her eyelids shut, Charlotte returns her extended middle finger to the rest of her hand as it balls into a fist, angrily slamming at the edge of her desk before coupling together with her right, folding over her lap as she listens into the remainder of the address. “After the first few days and to ensure the continued safety of her Nova Scotian interests, Charlotte Walters approached my regiment with an offer. That offer was to oversee an island-exclusive government in return for sworn devotion to the original New World Order plan” Gamble confesses, a nod carried as he continues to speak, “I made such an agreement in the name that- one day- we the people of Prince Edward Island would be independent of her selfish and unreasonable conquests.” With the two nations and all connected colonies listening in, the national sovereign carries on divulging once-classified and highly-secretive laundry for the public to hear, secretly daring the Nova Scotian government to clean it in front of all eyes. “Ever since I assumed quiet control of Prince Edward, most of our resources have been allocated to ensure our continued self-sufficiency independent of Nova Scotia” the autocrat remarks, “I am pleased to say that we have accomplished this task.” Bitter and frustrated, Charlotte stares at her computer screen for a moment whilst shaking her head, instinctively stepping out of her seat and approaching the far side of her desk, rummaging through a cup full of pens and pencils in search of what resides at the bottom whilst the sovereign speaks. “In the coming weeks, there will be a brief and noticeable cut back on the amount of energy every resident of the island will be allowed to use. This cutback will be temporary, and last for just a short two weeks” Gamble informs, continuing to portray himself as the voice of the people, addressing their concerns and assuring them of continued peace, “after, we will resume life as per usual with no further disruptions and with the interest of this island- and this island exclusively- in mind.” “Not under my watch, you miserable bastard” Charlotte grunts, finally retrieving a push pin from the cup and returning to her side of the desk. “And I do assure you that we will have no further disruptions from that point onward” Gamble continues to speak, his collected tone never wavering for even a moment, “Prince Edward has naval superiority over the Nova Scotian government. Their chancellor has no direct route to this island that can be entirely depended upon.” “We’ll see how well that works out for you soon enough” Charlotte whispers to herself, addressing the sovereign’s claims before tacking a pre-planned route northbound to Newfoundland onto the bulletin board below her wall-mounted clock. “As far as this island is concerned, we have exactly what was desired for all these years. Nova Scotia’s holds no direct influence over our heads any longer, and with that, we have no reason to further involve ourselves in their business” Gamble continues, painting himself in the most preferable light that he possibly can whilst tearing down the Walters administration from afar, “if any altercation between our two nations were to break out from this moment on, it will be on the hands of them.” Angrily sliding her chair into the now-unoccupied desk, Charlotte approaches the front of her office and rips the coat from the nearby rack and turns off the lights, venturing into the larger compound in search of the building’s exit. “With that said, we are far from unreasonable people here. Whilst I am not willing to live under the rule of Nova Scotia, I am willing to work alongside it” Gamble admits, a squint in his eye whilst speaking, “I’d be open to starting with a safe passage of travel.” Frustrated, Charlotte continues marching through the building’s walkways to the sound of her own footsteps, angrily thrusting her arms into the sleeves that flail in with her walk. “There are people stranded on either side of the strait that deserve an opportunity to return to their loved ones and their lives. Who would I be to keep them from that?” Gamble questions, “I have the boats to carry out this chore, and I would be more than happy to offer their services in returning them home.” Though a few faces take toward her as she passes, Charlotte’s departure from the capitol is left undisturbed, granted the permission to carry on without disruption. “Of course, this would all depend on Mrs. Walters and her cooperation, but I’d like to make it known now that I am more than satisfied with reuniting our peoples with their homelands” Gamble proclaims, “as long as Nova Scotia can negotiate in good faith, I would be over the moon to make such a pledge come to life.” Through the building’s front exit, Charlotte steps past the armed security that remains paid to stand watch, keeping the building and their government secure as the chancellor disembarks. “Until then, all that I can do is pledge to provide temporary sanctuary for those that this brief conflict has uprooted and displaced” Gamble replies remorsefully, puckering his lips whilst staring at the surface of his desk, “together, we will ride out these brief growing pains as we come into our own.” Tucking her hands into her pockets, Charlotte approaches the armoured, pitch black S.U.V and makes for its already pre-opened door, her ear caught by a voice calling out from behind her. “I do sincerely apologise- and take full responsibility for- the destruction of the Confederation Bridge yesterday. I regret the pain and trouble it has caused us collectively” Gamble remarks, shaking his head as he looks back to the mic, “but there’s one thing you should know about me above all else...” “Excuse me, Mrs. Walters?” a nervous voice proclaims, earning the rolled eyes and half-hearted reaction of the chancellor, who notices the youth in the call out’s pitch and turns back toward it. “I am a man that will do anything to secure the peace and prosperity of this nation and its people. I will leave no stone unturned, and I will do as needed to ensure its continued prosperity” Gamble promises, “if there is any threat against my nation or my people... it will be dealt with accordingly.” *pop. pop pop.* Stepping back both from fear at what he’d done and from his pistol’s recoil, a young man no older than hid mid-teen’s stares forward with widened eyes, a horror-stricken face carried as shouts emanate throughout the public square. “This is the true, final stand of humanity and its greatest creation... society” Gamble declares, a slight height added to his chin, “the sanctity of its preservation is one that cannot and will not be understated. We, as a collective people, must sustain it.” *pop* Pulling the trigger for a final time, the teenager tilts the firearm’s barrel to just below his chin, spilling blood all over the cobblestone passageway that leads to the capitol building’s entrance, taking the motivations behind his actions alongside himself and to the grave. “The New World Order plot is one that I have devoted my life to in ways that my immediate superiors never always understood” Gamble continues to proclaim, “but it is my home, and I will assure its continued existence.” “Call the police!” the earlier-called driver exclaims, pointing toward the armed militants that hurry forward and barking to them their orders, quickly tearing off his suit jacket and kneeling to the ground. “This devotion stretches beyond the concept of a home free from the suffering that exists beyond our reach. It stretches to you- the people” Gamble vows, another hollow grin paid to the audience through a mic impossible to see through, “you have my eternal promise of indentured servitude.” Staring blankly at the sky whilst her hands cover one of the three places along her abdomen that bullets have pierced, Charlotte bleeds out at the foot of the vehicle whose only intention was to return home. Faintly gagging on the taste of her own blood, the chancellor lays dying at the feet of her driver, worked upon by amateur hands incapable of caring for her in the ways only a doctor could, unable to catch more than a faint breath at a time whilst her compound enters its next phase of life. “That is all for now. You will hear more from me as the days continue, so until then...” Gamble concludes, taking a pause before offering the barrier between himself and the populous that he speaks to, his smile suddenly taking on a fiendish and self-pleasing grin, one that’s accompanied by satisfied eyes and a gratified sigh, “...thank you, and goodnight.” = 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 = “How long until word spreads!?” Courtney exclaims, marching through the sectioned-off of Moncton’s hospital whilst speaking with a doctor, Emilio’s footsteps lagging a few metres behind as he tries to remain mum. “Word’s already getting out, Courtney. Shots were fired at the capitol building- that’s not something people just don’t notice” the chancellor’s paid driver replies, hurrying after the doctor and his superior’s right hand woman. “I’m sorry, but we need to work on a plan to address the public now” a large black man in dark blue camouflage remarks, trailing a few metres behind Emilio as he calls out, hurrying to catch up to the travelling group. “Well go work one out with the next in command then!” Courtney shouts back, her fists clenched whilst continuing to walk onward, the rest of her group- minus the well suited militant all the way in the back- continuing to follow suit. “Charlotte doesn’t have an appointed successor, Courtney!” the tall gentleman near the back calls out, stopping halfway through the hall, “the closest thing we have to a next-in-line is you!” Turning back, the paramotorist stares beyond those that hurry after her, staring back to the man in silence for a moment before glancing back to her business partner, her finger pointing toward him, “Emilio, go with Isaac and prepare a public statement.” “Me?” Emilio inquires, having stopped at the sight of the woman’s turn around, hand pressing against his own chest as he takes a look back to the suited gentleman awaiting further instruction. “Courtney, I really think that you should-” Isaac corrects, hands held out toward her direction before his proclamation is interrupted, refused by the apparent acting chancellor. “If I’m the closest thing that you’ve got to a direct superior, then do as I say until Charlotte wakes up” Courtney rebukes, waving the man off before turning her sights toward Emilio, “whatever you think is the best thing to say- say it. We’ll figure out how to clean up the loose ends later, alright?” “Are you absolutely positive that you want me making a statement on the compound’s behalf?” Emilio questions, wanting to make certain the woman has her wits about her. “I’m not sure of many things right now, Em... But if there’s anything that I am sure of, it’s that I trust you” Courtney reassures, passing the man a nod amidst a brief pause before jutting her chin toward Isaac’s direction, “Isaac- you’re to do exactly as Emilio says. Now, Em’- go. I need this from you right now, alright?” With a noticeable huff of air, the former politician shrugs his shoulders and extends his arms, “alright, I guess” he murmurs before turning away, jogging for Isaac’s side as he prepares to venture off toward higher placement. “Alright, doc- give it to me straight” Courtney remarks, returning to her prior intent of hurrying for the chancellor’s bedside, the nurse following along as the driver, who still stands in a blood-stained white button up, pauses for a moment to collect himself. “Her injuries are severe and there’s no dancing around that. She’s in surgery now and we’re not going to know until after the operation has concluded” the nurse explains, aiding the right hand woman closer toward the chancellor’s dedicated wing of the building. “We’ll have her on life support even after the doctors have closed her up, and we have no clue when she’d come off of that” the medical professional continues, “that’s not even accounting for the possibility that she doesn’t survive.” “But she was alive when she was brought in, right?” Courtney inquires, a nod from the nurse quelling her immediate concerns before the more detailed reply can be voiced. “Well yes. She had a heartbeat and her pulse was faint- but it was there” the woman in scrubs responds, eventually joining the driver and his new immediate superior for the moment in standing beside the operating room window, “and the lines on that monitor across the room indicate she’s not dead yet.” “But even with that, Ms. Golden is the current chancellor, yes?” the driver inquires, watching the confused look on the nurse’s face meet him. “I- um... It seems so from what the tall black guy said back there?” the nurse responds, looking at Courtney for reassurance, only to be met with the side of the woman’s face, the once-paramotorist now finding her superior and dear friend strapped to a table, helpless to fend for herself as machines and scalpels now prevent her from death. | “Alright, that’s not entirely what I was expecting to hear” Katie mutters, walking just two steps ahead of her colleague as they venture through the now bustling decoy workplace in search of more secluded corners. “Gamble’s not one to use scare tactics against the public. If he thinks they’re better off being fed lies, he’ll conjure up whatever feel good tale he needs to keep the peace” Harvey responds, passing a few looks to the various suited figures that they pass together. “Sure, but how can we be positive that he’s not going to go for the throat in Nova Scotia?” Katie inquires, her love interest inspecting the strangers they pass whilst she peers into doorways they carry themselves onward from, “won’t they be looking for any way to bring us back into the fold?” “Of course they will. The only issue for them is that- like Gamble said- we’ve got the boats, we’ve clogged the roads northbound to Newfoundland, and the bridge is gone” Harvey responds, a shrug carried in his suit jacket-laden shoulders whilst his hands swing at each side, “they’ve got no immediate way onto the island and boats don’t just fall out of the sky. It’ll take a year for them to rebuild their fleet to an acceptable standard for an offensive at least.” “And what about Newfoundland?” Katie queries, eventually catching sight of an LED-lit sign hung from one of the metal fixtures along the ceiling, the illuminated text giving them clear guidance toward the temporary residences. “I know we’ve plugged up the roads northbound and they’ll still need a boat to cross the Gulf of St. Lawrence-” she remarks, taking her crush by the hand and leading him around a nearby corner, “but they still don’t need much naval power to just make landfall.” “True, but then it becomes a war of attrition” Harvey responds, feeling the tug at his hand and allowing the woman’s pull to lead him as if his wrist were a leash, “we’d be able to feed more reinforcements onto Newfoundland a lot quicker than they’d be able to send troops over the Gulf.” “Well, they’d still have the option of making landfall on Prince Edward if the Newfoundland route doesn’t appear truly viable” Katie responds, playing the devil’s advocate in the favour of Nova Scotia in order for her partner to flesh out the island’s defence. “Of course they would, but then it’d be an outright bloodbath. At that point, there’d be too many people dead and too much carnage for the journey to be worth it” Harvey retorts, “and without a bridge, what’s the point of reclamation?” “How can you ask that when there was no point in keeping us around to begin with?” Katie questions aloud, passing a glance to the man as they continue strolling, “we were more of a net-negative for their bottom line than anything else.” “Because Nova Scotia’s all about influence. It’s the same reason they wrecked nearly ever refinery throughout the northeast before crafting the colony system” Harvey answers, passing a smile and nod to another man that they collectively walk past, “having Prince Edward Island as a separate entity- with access to massive ships and with a refinery of their own- threatens their ability to support new colonies or hold onto existing ones.” “Then if it’s about influence, only one of two options occurs-” Katie rebukes, stepping up to a closed door and jostling the handle, “-Gamble doesn’t look to start or take colonies and they leave us alone, or he does and Nova Scotia fights to the death to get rid of us.” Refused entry, the woman steps away from the locked door and returns to their journey in search of accepted entry. “Pretty much” Harvey assures, following the woman’s lead and patiently waiting for her to come across a door that’s not locked from within. “So, now the focus turns to whether or not Gamble thinks they’ll make a run at Newfoundland or the island itself” Katie proclaims, finally jostling a doorknob that allows her to push the door inward, allowing her face to be touched by the warmth of a pre-heated room freshly made and ready to be occupied. “Since Gamble will look to establish colonies like Orleans Island for both external support and additional industrial production... yeah” Harvey answers, sliding his jacket off, locking the room’s door, and immediately making for a chair in the corner. “And which do you think we’ll be sent to look after?” Katie wonders aloud, eyes taking toward a mini fridge off to the room’s side, “we just came back from Newfoundland, so I’d imagine we’ll be sent there.” “If we were sent back here, I have high doubts that we’ll be heading back to Newfoundland” Harvey counters, watching the woman sift through a few pre-packaged goods before her knuckles finally graze a set of aluminium cans. “The people he kept up north are probably much better equipped at fighting than either of us are” the once-lawyer explains as his partner retrieves a pair of beers, “to keep that place as secure as possible, Gamble will send only the best up north.” “Well, I’d imagine home soil would be far easier to defend with limited resources than Newfoundland would” Katie responds, thrusting her hip into the fridge’s door before approaching her colleague with one of the beers, handing it off before taking a seat upon his lap, “it’d be interesting to find out just how much he’ll have to send up there going forward just to keep the place running.” “The summer months and warmer weather will certainly help with that” Harvey answers, adjusting himself in his seat to make his lap more comfortable for the woman, “they’ll harvest whatever they can plant- if anything at all- and have shipped to them whatever they can’t.” “I suppose it’ll just be worthwhile as long as-” Katie begins to reply, her train of thought stumped by the sound of a speaker turning on just beyond the boundary of their door, made operable beyond the awareness of those calling the decoy office a temporary sanctuary. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your national sovereign” Gamble remarks, speaking from an off-campus location and through a P.A system connected to the building. “I have been informed that a great number of you have sought shelter from the ongoing protests in our office. So, if I may please have a moment of your time?” the sovereign questions, unable to view whether or not his remarks are being responded to. One after another, the doors to various rooms gently pull open, allowing the inhabitants of each retreat entry to the hallway alongside each other, their ears catching the sound much clearer. “I am en route to the decoy building as I speak. If I may, I would like to invite all of our critical-ranking officers and servants to a brief meeting that can only be had in person” Gamble proclaims, his words catching the ears of both Harvey and Katie, who step into the doorway and stare into the distance of wherever the voice sounds most resounding, “those of you deemed critical ranking officers and servants of interest are in possession of a black, government-issued payment card.” Passing a glance to each other, Harvey and Katie look on with confusion as they await further information, only to receive the most borderline-uninformative proclamation they can picture. “I will be able to say more when I arrive on the premises, but until then I’d appreciate it if you were to all make your way to the intelligence floor” Gamble explains, preparing to depart the mic in favour of sitting through the long journey, “look for those in blue shirts and grey ties for direction.” Voicing his appreciation, the sound of Gamble’s hollow tone falls silent as the hallway begins filling with subdued chatter, distinctive quandaries shared amongst each other that the visiting couple takes no interest in sitting through. “Let’s go” Harvey remarks, taking a sip from his beer as he steps through the door, his partner closing and locking it on her way through with a key in hand, following the man’s lead further into the building she still struggles to understand the layout of. | “Jesus” Emilio whispers to himself, staring out at the windows just beyond the reinforced vehicle he sits in the back of, sharing the rear seats with the cautious and readied Isaac. “This is what happens when the public isn’t kept informed” the bodyguard remarks, watching a sea of faces pass through the windows as the vehicle slowly rolls toward the entrance of the Moncton capitol building, “they come to the feet of the government looking for whatever information they can make sense of.” “Maybe if the whole of you were more competent at keeping them informed ever- they wouldn’t make a habit out of this” Emilio chirps back, getting feisty with the guard tasked with assuring his own safety. “The public is told of what they’re meant to hear. If something that can be spilled will hurt us or them, we keep the cup from tipping over” Isaac responds, staunchly defending the practises of his homeland, “it affords us breathing room and lets them sleep soundly at night. No harm done.” “Your chancellor is currently on the doorstep of death as you say that...” Emilio quickly rebuttals, being met with a silent acknowledgement of accuracy from the man he sits beside amidst the pause he follows with, “...that’s a lot of harm done.” Stepping through the crowd, Emilio and Isaac exit the armoured vehicle and begin stepping through the split in the middle of the populous, making for the capitol’s entrance with one destination in mind. “The best course of action we can take is to be vague and non-direct” Isaac remarks, following the man he’s suddenly been made a subordinate to through the halls of the converted city hall, “we don’t know anything definitely, and pretending like we do will make matters worse.” “You say that as if it can get any worse now that the people are willing to take a gun toward their leader” Emilio replies, hesitant to buy too much into the remarks paid toward him by his armed security detail. “My best advice would be to stray from saying anything concrete. We know little more about the assassin and his motivations than we do about the chancellor’s condition” Isaac explains, “summarise it down by saying the chancellor is in surgery and the assassin is dead.” “Alright, what do you suggest I say about the things Gamble spoke about in his address last night?” Emilio questions aloud, turning halfway down a nondescript corridor to look back at the man in his shadow. “Nothing” Isaac answers honestly, his head pulling back a slight amount before speaking, “you’re not the chancellor. The only reason you’re here is to fill the responsibility of Courtney in making an address to the public. You should not even mention that man.” “I feel like Courtney would argue otherwise” Emilio replies, stepping forward slightly to close the distance between himself and his shadow, “if I remember correctly, she insisted that I say exactly what felt best to say. If I didn’t bring up Gamble when I felt that I should, would you not argue that I’d be disobeying the orders of my acting chancellor?” With a curling lip, Isaac stares at the floor with a grimace for a moment as he goes silent, not yet answering the inquiry of the man he believes has undeservedly usurped him en route to claiming superiority. “I hardly see a reason for why- even if it felt right to address Gamble’s concerns- you should follow through in doing so...” the security detail replies, stopping himself for a moment as he attempts to end his remark, having to bite his tongue and swallow his pride to do so, “...sir.” For a moment, the glorified messenger inspects the disgusted serviceman’s posture, reading the dissatisfaction in his cadence and body language before nodding to himself. Satisfied with the honest answer he’d received, Emilio turns back for the direction he’d initially begun heading, carrying himself further into the capitol building before reaching his intended destination. “Our secretary is just outside in the event that you need guidance in setting up a direct feed to the public” Isaac explains, standing in the doorway with his hands folded behind his back, “I’d imagine you’ve never used a system like this before, so I’ve already sent her to reclaim the equipment from storage.” “I’m partly surprised she didn’t already have it set up after the first wave showed up outside this place” Emilio half-heartedly quips, reaching into his pocket for the buzzing device calling for his attention. “Hello?” he inquires, pressing the cell phone to the side of his head and listening to the background noise of loud footsteps that initially greet him. “Hey, Em’ You haven’t gone on the air yet, have you?” Courtney inquires, calling from the hallways of the closest hospital as she wanders throughout them. “No, I just got into Charlotte’s office” Emilio responds, taking a glance at the man respectfully keeping silent in the office’s doorway, “why? Is there any update on Charlotte?” “No, she’s still in surgery. I just needed to get out of there real quick to make this call” Courtney responds, stepping through a set of double doors and into the outside of the building, finally feeling the satisfaction of fresh air collide with her face, “give me a second so I can call you back, alright?” “Sure” Emilio replies, immediately hearing the other line disconnect from the call as he answers, prompting him to return the small device to his pocket. “Was that Courtney?” Isaac inquires, watching his confused superior nod approvingly toward his direction. “Yeah, she said she was gonna call me back, but she didn’t say when-” the messenger replies, interrupted by the ringing of the chancellor’s phone. “Hello?” Emilio inquires, picking up the handset device and pressing the speaker button, allowing the security detail and friendly secretary that just now enters the room to overhear the call. “Hey, it’s still Courtney” the woman replies, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead as she steps into an adjacent parking garage, the light breeze that rolls over Nova Scotia cooling her sweat-covered face. “Listen. After you left, I came to the realisation that I ought to have a contingency plan in case Charlotte doesn’t pull through here” Courtney confesses, taking the hand away from her face and placing it upon her hip, “whether it be long-term or just temporary, I really shouldn’t be the person that fills in as chancellor.” “You’ve just got nerves, Court’. It’s a big change that you weren’t expecting, but-” Emilio interjects, trying to quell the woman’s doubts before they fully present themselves. “No, it’s not just a change that concerns me. This has nothing to do with nerves or doubts or anything of the sort, alright?” Courtney interrupts for herself, staring out at the sky that refuses to light for another few hours, “for a few hours when nothing’s happening, I can handle just sitting in. But not for this.” Staying silent on the other end of the line, Emilio takes note of the woman’s tone and her delivery of the confession, a deep-rooted part of him recognising her cadence as one of outright sincerity. “Courtney, you alone will not be responsible for every decision that’s to be made in Nova Scotia” Isaac interjects, trying to speak the woman down from the predetermined place in which she’s position herself, enthralled with doubt and refusal, “you’ll have a vast supporting cast to aid-” “Isaac, the only reason I’m even acting as chancellor right now is because I’m close to Charlotte and she’s too stubborn to consider herself anything less than invincible” Courtney rebukes, refusing herself more credit than she believes herself to be due, “even with training wheels on, I’m nowhere close to being ready to take over a community at the starting line of war.” “We don’t necessarily have to be at the start of war, Courtney” Emilio corrects, his subtle redirection of the conversation giving the paramotorist a chance to take a hopeful breath. “Since Charlotte’s not very realistic with her mortality, there’s a fairly decent chance she doesn’t actually make it out alive from this” the messenger doubles down, shaking his head as he stares toward the phone, “if she doesn’t pull through, there’s not much of a reason to keep this stupid war going.” “Sure, but Charlotte’s survived stuff like this before. For crying out loud, you and your group had shot her multiple times and she’s still here to tell the tale” Courtney retorts, staring at the shadow cast along the ground from the spotlight she stands in the glow of, “if we play nice with Gamble and Charlotte comes back to reclaim control, it won’t matter what ground we start building with them... She’ll start fires just to warm her hands.” Bowing his head, Emilio falls quiet yet again as Isaac and the yet-unintroduced secretary watch on, allowing the woman to rummage through her mind for additional speech to provide. “If you want the mantle, go ahead and take it. If you know someone else that can lead Nova Scotia, go ahead and call them” Courtney tacks on, the speaker her voice is carried through re-earning her friend’s gaze, “just do me a favour and- in whatever way that you feel is best- find someone else to be chancellor.” | “It should be the first door on your right” a woman with a blue shirt and delicate smile remarks, pointing down a stretch of hallway so clean that it appears never-before traversed, only two doors lining its walls- both on the right of whomever travels down its length. “Thank you” Katie responds, taking the lead that her colleague follows after, noticing how odd the configuration of the corridor appears to be. To her left, rows of paintings reside beneath fixed lamps raining a cascade of light amongst the various pieces, all serving as decorations amongst an otherwise lifeless, white-painted drywall. Nearly twenty metres down the hallway, a second door from the one that appears closest to the officials resides at the passageway’s opposite end, its exterior guarded by a pair of men with automatic rifles held across their chests. “They don’t look friendly” Katie murmurs, her voice just loud enough for the man behind her to overhear, “if the walls weren’t so shiny and clean, I’d be turning back before I even opened that damned door.” “He’d take notice of our absence” Harvey assures, kicking up his pace until stepping ahead of the woman he now walks in front of, serving as a divider between her and the soldiers opposite them. “The best thing we can do when we get in there is to keep our heads down and not step on toes” the man explains, reaching for the doorknob before pausing, finishing his thought prior to opening the entrance, “blending in with whoever’s inside there is the best play we can make.” “Sure it is” Katie replies with a hint of sarcasm, her playfully dismissive visage quietly called into question by the stare she receives from her acquaintance. “Oh come on, you know just as well as I do that nothing is for certain with Gamble” the woman confesses, letting out a sigh as she awaits the door’s opening, “as obvious as any choice seems, there’s nothing we can be comfortable betting the house on when it comes to that guy.” With a frown, Harvey nods disappointingly before pulling the room’s entrance open, the first to step inside. Appearing more like the immediate pathway through a movie theatre, the dark room the couple enter is lit by only an ascending row of wall-mounted lights, illustrating the late-80’s era patterned carpet that the pair walk along and nothing more. Stuffy and cramped, the walkway the high-ranking officers of the newly-independent island soon find their faces flushed with a shade of light, a large screen at the front of the room presenting nothing but a blank, white canvas. “It’s a movie theatre?” Katie whispers from a place of genuine surprise, staring out at a row of chairs that stretch from one end of the tunnel they’d just ventured through to the other. “Apparently so” Harvey responds, passing a glance to the front of the room before staring up at the end of it, finding an empty stage once used by ushers to gesture the audience’s silencing of phones from. “Come on” he says in a hush, catching the sight of an empty pair of seats in the lower level of seats, guiding the younger woman’s following toward the open space. For a few minutes, the pair keep to themselves, staring into the screen whose blank picture bathes the entire theatre in light or taking in the view of various faces as clueless to what’s unfolding as they are. After a few further minutes, some restless few survivors begin stepping out of their seats and walking over to others, searching for familiar faces from the crowd to converse with. “If Gamble doesn’t hurry soon, he might just lose everyone’s attention” Katie jokes, trying to shed humour upon the impatient souls amongst them and their variety of attempts at mingling with each other. Less than receptive to the amusement of such a quip, Harvey replies with honesty and stoicism, “Gamble knows no such thing...” he rebukes, a cautious reservation beginning to solidify deep within himself, “...he’s either the centre of the attention, or he’s nowhere to be found.” Taken aback by the sudden seriousness within her crush’s tone, Katie stares at the side of the man’s face as he stares forward, gently rubbing the burns on his forearm beyond his rolled-up sleeve, awaiting the presence of the man whose call is responsible for putting it there. Within seconds, the luminous white void on the screen falls into absolute darkness, shaded the tone of grey only a powered-down screen would present as the chatter amongst those in the room falls silent. For a few seconds, the darkness remains uninterrupted, every voice that had quietly been shared amongst each other ceasing entirely as the crowd awaits the arrival of the man they’d been intended to await. “Do you have a gun on you?” Katie whispers, watching the man’s eye take toward her from within its corner, his head shaking in refusal, “no” Harvey responds, eyes taking back to the front of the room as the tension builds. For another two minutes, the room remains dark and void of even the slightest peep, those in attendance being more than well aware that caution is to be taken with any action that is to be taken. In a moment, the pitch black nothingness that comes over the theatre is replaced by the visual of a hillside in the rural area of Prince Edward, a live feed fed onto the screen of twenty five men in uniform kneeling in the middle of the plains with bags over their heads from far away. “Thank you for joining me this evening, ladies and gentlemen” Gamble remarks, entering the video’s frame from the far-left and approaching the centre, “I’d first like to offer my apologies in the event that it was thought I’d be arriving at the decoy office personally.” With a revolver in his hand, the national sovereign speaks into the microphone subtly taped to his bare chest as he casually strolls across the grassy field, his empty right hand resting behind his back. “I understand that there are plenty of you who are fearful of our immediate future as a nation” Gamble explains, continuing to slowly approach the halfway point of the screen with his eyes toward the ground, unaware of what kind of reaction his presentation earns from those he cannot see. “You have good reason to be. It is within our human nature to be sceptical of change. It is well warranted to dread the unknown” the sovereign confesses, stepping past the litany of knelt servicemen that occupy the row he walks along. “I don’t take personally the doubts and misapprehensions you hold, and I’d like that to be made resoundingly evident” he reassures, stopping in his tracks to take a momentary glance at the row of captives, “active opposition, however, is different.” Continuing his measly pace onward, Gamble lets his silence persist amidst the crowded theatre, taking a glance toward the camera he stands before and side-eyeing the screen beside it and an assortment of standing floodlights, the picture displayed mirroring that of what is visible from the confines of the office’s exclusive theatre. “Is he about to kill them?” Katie whispers to the man seated beside her, his silent gaze toward the scene that unfolds refusing her a response. “The men that you see behind me are all guilty of the same crime” the sovereign proclaims, finally standing halfway between the group, thirteen prisoners of war kneeling to his right side whilst twelve kneel to his left. “As high-ranking officials of Prince Edward, those of you watching together are tasked with securing the sanctity and continued operation of its national government” Gamble warns, aiming the revolver’s barrel toward the camera, “that is your top-most duty.” Pressing the palms of her hands into the sides of her chair, Katie stares intently at the screen with the same reserved demeanour as her partner, waiting to see what the national sovereign desires they witness. “I ask you all to lead by example. If you are incapable of doing so in a way that best represents the value of Prince Edward, that will not be tolerated” Gamble declares, extending his non-dominant hand toward the lineup, “neither will active participation in opposing practices.” Returning his extended arm toward that on his dominant side, Gamble unloads all but one of the cylinders from his firearm, spinning it recklessly before violently returning the chambers toward the weapon, allowing fate to decide where the brass jacket resides. “The men behind me acted upon Charlotte Walters’ orders to prevent me from returning to Prince Edward prior to the Confederation Bridge’s demolition” the sovereign proclaims, “they have been found guilty of such opposing practices.” “This is sick” Katie mutters to herself, her words only caught by the ear of the man seated beside her, his wide eyes taking to the side in which she resides and finger lifting toward his parted lips. “Shh” Harvey hisses, trying to quietly urge the woman’s apparent compliance in whatever demonstration is to be held, “you don’t want to be in the same position as those guys out there, do you?” he queries, the question itself getting the man’s point across with ease. “However, human lives are incredibly valuable when you’re at war. And when we’re discussing the lives of enemy-affiliates, that is especially true” Gamble quips, extending his arms toward the camera as he wields the firearm, directing its barrel at the closest head to his left, “as unfortunate as it is, there are some circumstances where it is not strategically-beneficial to extend an adequate form of justice to our enemies of the state.” Quiet and long-withdrawn from the conversations they’d initially spent the lead-up to their sovereign’s arrival, the theatre of high-ranking officials await the display in which their leader is keen on displaying, eager to see the outcome of what appears to be on the verge of unfolding. “Twenty five men and women were caught trying to retreat into Prince Edward for sanctuary after committing such a crime of opposition-” Gamble proclaims, “-four of them will not leave this field.” Nostrils flaring, Katie’s blood boils as she subdues her hatred for this scene, aware of the violent nature concealed behind Gamble’s public persona. Though she’d existed within the same compound as the man prior to tonight, his genuinely blackened soul and power-thirsting disposition brings a vehement sickness over her. Though his true intentions are more than obvious to her, the young woman’s awareness of the sovereign’s malicious truth is unnoticed by the oblivious public. “The twenty one that remain will do work in the fields as slave labour. Some may be found worthwhile to negotiate for on the behalf of Nova Scotia’s leadership, whilst others may spend their dying days providing for the nation of Prince Edward” Gamble confesses, a shrug carrying over himself as he pulls his firearm’s trigger, “either way... they will serve this nation whilst on its soil” he concludes to the lack of a gunshot. “You may ask yourself why I’d keep twenty one around and not the entire field as a whole, and that’s more than understandable to ask” the national sovereign beckons, a smirk carried over his visage as he takes the barrel toward the next captive. Struggling to prevent herself from wincing at the dreaded sight of the man she grows to loathe more with each passing second, Katie prepares herself with each lift of the revolver to see a man’s life end, aware that it is bound to come. “When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.” Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.” | “She’s standing by her friend’s side and waiting to know if she’s going to live or die. She’s clearly not thinking this the whole way through” Isaac argues, standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “She’s never served as chancellor before” the woman seated across from the side of the desk Charlotte once assumed replies, “aside from her friendship with Charlotte, the only reason we’ve deemed her to be a suitable replacement is because she’s the chancellor’s right hand.” “That makes her more well-suited to take over for Charlotte than ninety-five percent of this community” Isaac argues back, speaking aloud as if the claims he makes will be taken for anything more than canon fodder by the man occupying the chancellor’s seat. “It’s not like she asked us to find some scrub and have them take over” the woman battles back, turning to face the armed detail from over her shoulder, “she’s asking us to find someone from that five percent.” “No, she’s asking me to find someone from that five percent” Emilio corrects, leaning back in the wounded chancellor’s seat with arms crossed and eyes on the back of the room. Begrudgingly conceding defeat to the messenger’s temporary superiority, Isaac nods his head and steps the rest of the way toward the desk, lowering himself into the unoccupied seat beside the still-unnamed secretary. “Yes. She’s asking you to find someone from that five percent” Isaac repeats, letting free a lengthy sigh as he dips closer into the chair, hands squeezing at either arm rest, “but in my professional opinion, I think it would be foolish of you to try and find a suitable replacement on your own.” “Why is that?” Emilio inquires, a squint in his face held as he lifts his chin, the brow over his right eye lifting as he stares at the man. “Well, with all due respect, I don’t entirely trust you” Isaac confesses, his honesty not wavering regardless of who sits within the realm of higher authority over himself, “the only reason you’re even sitting in that chair is because I have strict orders from the acting chancellor to do as you tell me.” “And you don’t find it odd that your acting chancellor trusts me and yet you don’t?” Emilio challenges, watching the smile spread from one ear to the other on the accusatory man’s face. “I know Courtney well enough to trust her. I know Charlotte well enough to trust her” Isaac responds, nodding to himself as he couples both hands over his lap, “I don’t just blindly trust people based on other people’s judgement. That doesn’t change for Courtney, and it doesn’t change for you.” Meeting his security detail’s grin with one of his own, Emilio looks into the guard’s face for a moment before looking toward the floor, a nod coming over him as his arms uncross. Sitting with his thoughts, the messenger lets the air go quiet for a moment as the secretary and security detail follow suit, awaiting their immediate superior’s reply with eager anticipation. “I don’t ask for the two of you to trust me. I’m not going to ask that you dismiss your own standards just to appease me, and I won’t even ask for the two of you to like me” Emilio promises, stepping out of his seat and standing before the guests with two fingers pressed against the chancellor’s desk, “but make no mistake about it. Everything that I’m going to say today will be with the best interest of Nova Scotia in mind. This is my home, and my people can’t afford to lose it.” “None of us can afford to lose it” the secretary corrects, politely remaining seated and reserved as she looks into the messenger’s face, his appreciative nod returned toward her. “If this place falls, we’re all falling with it” Emilio declares, reassuring the pair that sit before him of where his motivations lie, “that’s the oath I gave to my group when we got here. This is where we get to live... There’s no running away. If there’s no other- let that be what the three of us can agree on.” *knock, knock, knock* “Can I help you?” Emilio wonders aloud, his sights taking to the front of the room alongside the two visitors, Isaac’s readied stance taken as his hand rests on the grip of his holstered weapon. “I’m sorry, I was expecting to find Courtney here” a man in a dark brown trench coat replies, standing in the doorway with a confused look. “Courtney’s sent me here to address the public” Emilio replies, nodding his head toward the visitor before extending his hand toward an open space off to the desk’s side, “I’m the highest-ranking official you’ll find. What can I help you with?” With a slight frown, Isaac passes a glance toward the messenger whilst keeping his guard raised, ready to open fire at the unexpected guest if needed. “Well, actually nothing” the visitor answers, reaching into his jacket to retrieve a leather-bound wallet from within, gently placing it down before the messenger’s presence, “I was told by my superior to deliver this to the chancellor. But if you’re the closest to such a thing, then I suppose I can leave it with you.” “What is it?” Isaac wonders aloud, easing his posture slightly to allow his mind to open itself for whatever the well-dressed informant has to offer. “The perpetrator’s wallet. It’s got his community identification slip in it too” the man replies, gesturing his hand toward the accessory that the messenger’s eyes already take to the open folds of, “my boss had me do a quick print out of all the stuff in it and then deliver it to you A.S.A.P.” “He was from Prince Edward?” Emilio questions aloud, earning a brief look from Isaac before the armed support’s eyes retake toward the officer’s direction. “It certainly seems so. If I had to put a bet on it, I figure that might’ve been the biggest reason my boss wanted it ran over to you” the visitor responds, watching Emilio immediately place the wallet down and turn his back to those standing in his attendance, “with everything going on over the Strait, I’m sure it’d be of great use.” “It will be. Thank you” Isaac replies, nodding to the detective, who takes the response as his cue to turn around and depart, leaving the office to the three who’d initially occupied it prior to his arrival. “Emilio, do you understand what this means?” the armed soldier questions aloud, walking around the edge of the chancellor’s desk and speaking to the back of his head, unsure of what has caught the messenger’s attention. Staring blankly at the bulletin board, Emilio’s eyes remain stoic and firm, refusing to leave the plotted-out battle map the preceding chancellor had tacked up prior to her attack. “One way or another, Prince Edward Island is directly responsible for Charlotte’s attack!” Isaac proclaims, speaking to the messenger in spite of receiving no initial reply, “I don’t know if Gamble ordered it or not, but if the murderer came from Prince Edward, we can easily place the blame on Gamble!” Silent, Emilio remains fixated on the printed sheet of paper across from his face, unresponsive to the intel he’s being paid as if it were utterly worthless. “For god’s sake, say something!” Isaac proclaims, staring at the side of the distant man’s face, waiting for a reply that he’s forced to wait aeons for. Remaining reserved, the messenger continues to refuse any remark toward the ears of those that stand before him, their eyes locking with each other as if to ask whether something were off. “The fighting’s not going to stop” Emilio suddenly proclaims, a disheartened frown coming upon the face of a man who continues to stare at what he knows the future to be. “I don’t care what Gamble said last night... He’s not stopping this war” the messenger doubles down, stepping away from the battle plans before walking past his armed reinforcement, “no matter what he tells the public to try and save face, he’s going to make sure we end up at war and Nova Scotia gets blamed for it.” “Well of course he is!” Isaac proclaims, throwing his arms out as if that conclusion had already been arrived at long ago, “you didn’t honestly think he was going to just expect us not to retaliate, did you?” Shaking his head whilst staring at the ground, Emilio approaches the door to the room and closes it, looking at those he shares the room with, “I hoped he would’ve been satisfied with being far away enough for us to waste resources trying to get him back” he answers. “The only way for Prince Edward Island to survive long term would be to do the same thing we did- establish settlements, organise trading posts and a supply chain. The whole nine yards” Isaac retorts, watching the messenger stand a few metres away with hands on his hips, “taking the bridge down was just the start. His island is inferior in arms and population and they’ve got no one looking out for them except for themselves. He has to establish whatever he can to survive!” “And that means war is inevitable” Emilio responds, hanging his head as the conclusion settles in, met with silence from the parties that join him, their hush affording the opportunity to sit with his thoughts. “Do we still have access to their electronic infrastructure?” the messenger suddenly inquires, taking a glance at Isaac before redirecting his attention to the nearby secretary, “like, if I wanted to feed a live stream onto their systems over there, could I do that?” “Well, sure- I suppose?” the woman replies, stepping out of her seat slowly whilst pondering the hoops that they’d need to jump through for such a feat to be accomplished. “It’ll become especially difficult the longer they remain their own separate entity, but we could still probably access their emergency network now if we’d like” she reassures, staring at the door she’d need to leave through in order to accomplish such a task, “just get behind the microphone and I’ll-” “No...” Emilio interjects, reaffirming his demeanour as he stands up straight, a hand extended toward the woman before she can walk off, “I want to do it in front of the camera.” Taken by surprise, Isaac’s head pulls back as the woman he stands just a few metres away from shares much a similar shock. “In front of-? Why?” the woman wonders back, watching the confidence come over the messenger as he steps onward with poise, directing himself to the chancellor’s seat. “I have a feeling that Gamble’s going to want to see me behind that desk” Emilio replies, shaking his head with a snarled face, “he’s deceived me, and now seeing my face on the camera, speaking on Nova Scotia’s behalf? It might buy us some time to deceive him back.” | “When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.” Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.” Feeling the sensation of a chill run down her neck, Katie presses her eyelids shut and scrunches her face, pulling in a deep breath through her teeth and holding onto it as she awaits the gunshot she’s got a gut feeling is just around the corner to catch her ear. Whilst the rest of the theatre watches on- Harvey included- awaiting the sight that seems inevitable, a sudden change in programming comes the screen’s way, catching the eyes of all those in attendance. From their homes, the populous of Prince Edward Island watches the interference in their regularly-scheduled programming take shape, shifting their focus from the cartoons, repeated-sitcoms or newscasts to the head of a man they’d never seen before. Pressing her teeth together at the thought of having to stomach the sight of an execution, Katie awaits the resumed speech from the loathed national sovereign before the hushed tone of a woman’s voice catches her ear. “You’re live” the Nova Scotian chancellor’s secretary remarks, her voice prompting the theatre-seated official to open her eyes, only able to see the top of the unfamiliar man’s head for the first few seconds. “Thank you, Irene” the desk-seated gentleman replies, continuing to stare at his lap whilst typing out the briefest text message he can afford to send, still having yet to look directly into the camera for the first time. Her closed eyes having widened out of curiosity, Katie’s attention rests firmly upon the same screen that the rest of her island nation’s own do, the community across the once bridge-connected strait find a much similar fate. “Just one moment, ladies and gentlemen” a familiar-sounding voice remarks, earning a slight-squint from the young woman seated beside Harvey, who now looks toward her with understandable curiosity. “Not yet, sir!” Bristol’s voice calls out, preventing her national sovereign from pulling the trigger on his next potential victim, the man’s eyes taking to her direction upon the call out. Though its distance proves difficult to overcome, Gamble’s eyes make out the picture on the live feed being different from the one he stands before, a squint carried in his gaze as he begrudgingly lifts the barrel from his prisoner’s head. “No...” Katie murmurs, leaning forward in her seat whilst the man beside her remains perplexed, uncertain of what her reaction is meant to portray. “What’s wrong?” Harvey questions aloud, his inquiry brushed off by the woman’s dismissive, hiss-like “shh!” Stepping away from the line of prisoners, Gamble’s feet carry him closer to the monitor his feed had been redirected from, the top of his adversary’s head all that his eyes are afforded as of the moment. “Well done, Em’” Courtney mutters from the comfort of her friend’s hospital room, staring into the wall-mounted television whilst occupying the seat beside Charlotte’s bed, the beeping of the machines just a short distance away presenting the incapacitated chancellor’s stable vital signs. For a second, Courtney’s eyes are claimed elsewhere, the alarm on her brick-like cell phone calling for an answer. “Hello?” the woman replies, watching the man on her television screen lift a phone of his own to the side of his face. “Are you close to a television?” the man on the other end inquires, unable to see the smile that spreads across the paramotorist’s face, her head nodding in approval. After a few seconds, the call comes to an end and grants the messenger the opportunity to redirect his gaze to the one direction it’s been long-overdue a glance toward. “Pardon the interruption, ladies and gentlemen” Emilio proclaims, lifting his face toward the camera lens for the very first time from the seat of Nova Scotia’s highest-ranking chair, addressing the nation who- for all they know- now take their first look at the newest chancellor of the compound. “EMILIO!” Katie exclaims, her voice breaking through the deafening silence that lingers throughout the unfamiliar theatre, every eye taking toward her direction as she leaps from her seat, throwing herself into the back of the chair in front of her. “Son of a bitch” Gamble grumbles, his nostrils flaring as he draws closer to the monitor, only a few metres away from the rest of his crew, who all take part in watching on at this interruption to their feed. For a moment, the gravity of the situation he now finds himself in weighs upon his chest like an anvil, the kind of audience he’d once dreamed of being able to command with the simple snap of his fingers now finally afforded to him long after the desire had waned. Letting his eyes fall to the surface of the desk he’s seated at, Emilio presses both palms against the cold tabletop and stretches his arms wide, trying to process the power that his voice alone now wields. Letting the gravity sink in with him, the man who’d been sent to the capitol to deliver a message of empty reassurance to the people clambering for answers now ensures that he- in that moment- is perhaps the most powerful man on the planet. “This is...” Emilio mutters aloud, pausing to allow further saturation of the scene before him into his mind- one that struggles to comprehend in its entirety just how mighty his hand to wield truly is, “...odd.” In awe, Katie pulls her hand away from the outstretched reach of Harvey’s own, refusing to be lowered from her upright stance, the woman’s dark outline made out for anyone behind herself to see. “I used to think that I wanted this. Before the outbreak began, I was running for Governor of Connecticut. I wanted to be in a position of control like this” Emilio confesses, a sombre tone carried in his half-sorrowful voice, “but now that I’m sitting here- speaking to you all- it’s just otherworldly.” Reserving his doubts and feelings, Isaac keeps his arms crossed whilst standing at the back of the room, unaware that the feed from the chancellor’s office is being fed to a screen just outside the building’s front door, his only clue being the sudden hush that befalls the mob outside their walls. With her lip quivering, a tear runs from Katie’s eye as a smile comes over her face, eyes staring at the visage of a man she’d never expected to see again just over a year ago. “How did they get access to our airwaves?” Gamble inquires, looking to the small huddle of people before the monitor in search of answers. “We’re not sure. We thought all was sorted out, but-” a woman replies, turning to look the national sovereign in the eyes as she speaks, only to be met with the scathing tone of an infuriated autocrat doing his best to conceal the rage that builds behind his fractured mask. “But clearly you didn’t do your due diligence well enough to assure they were protected accordingly” Gamble interjects, his widened eyes speaking to the fury that truly hides within his fragile demeanour. “But I’m not here because of the people’s will. I’m not here because the chancellor has decided to step down, and I’m not here because I’m obligated to” Emilio admits, reaching for the small, bulky leather accessory to the side of his hand, removing an identification slip from within its front-facing pouch. Flipping its face toward the camera lens, the messenger displays the perpetrator’s face and information for the public to see, an embolden address line standing out from the other words. “This is the man that has placed me in this chair tonight- or rather this morning. My apologies, I keep forgetting how late- err, early- it is” Emilio proclaims, slapping the leather binder down whilst keeping the card toward the camera, “I’d like you to take notice of that address right there. That says Prince Edward Island- just in case you can’t see it for yourselves.” With dismissal, Emilio flicks the laminated card across the room and lets it fall aimlessly toward the ground, having no true care for the culprit, his information, or the item itself. “I’m here because the duty calls for someone to step up and be a leader for this community. I’m here because- ultimately- this community has no leader” the messenger remarks, folding his hands atop the table and leaning forward. “Why did he have that card on him?” Gamble calmly inquires, the veins in his neck protruding as he looks for answers from those that remain within his presence. “I thought I made myself abundantly clear after our mishap outside the Nova Scotian border, did I not?” the national sovereign questions aloud, waiting for an answer from the crowd that refuses to present itself, “I thought I’d ordered that no serviceman- working on behalf of Prince Edward- was to carry I.D on them- Did I not?” “This community has no leader as of this moment for one reason. It’s the same reason I want you to remember where that face on the identification slip that I just showed you came from” Emilio carries on, his claims continuing to catch the full attention of his rival sovereign. “Whether on behalf of Andrew Gamble or not, that young man- who you just saw the information for yourself- made an attempt on the life of the Nova Scotian chancellor, Charlotte Walters” Emilio declares, unaware of the twitch that his proclamation presents over his adversary’s glare. Keeping to themselves, Isaac and Irene watch on at the messenger’s continuance, waiting through his pause as he stares at the camera, considering his next words very carefully. Continuing to stand out from the crowd she’d entered with the intention of blending in with, Katie tries her best to focus on the words that are spoken through the screen, a part of her proving incapable of coming down from the joy of being halfway-reunited with her one-time leader. Retaining his composure, Emilio keeps his professional stance intact whilst staring just slightly beside the camera lens, convincing himself to run with the remarks that his instincts are pleading with him to voice. “And now, this community has no leader...” Emilio begins, his remarks focused on by the paramotorist, who continues to share her attention with the beeping of the machines beside the unconscious chancellor, “...because Charlotte Walters is dead.” Momentarily confused, Isaac’s arms fall from their crossing as he briefly glances toward Irene, unsure of where the messenger is taking this address now that it’s strayed from their certainty. Partially surprised by this news, Gamble’s head leans toward one side and directs itself toward the ground, waiting for the further detail he hadn’t anticipated his foes' acknowledgement of whilst Katie looks on with confusion from the theatre, the jarring confession leaving her unsure of how to react. “Yes. Charlotte Walters has died. Just less than an hour ago, we received word from the hospital she was rushed to that she had not made it” Emilio admits, feeding the public as bold-faced of a lie as he accuses the national sovereign of, “and with that, a public assassination was committed on Nova Scotian soil, and it was done in the wake of an unwarranted and illegal assumption of power from a dictatorial regime spearheaded by Andrew Gamble.” “What is he doing!?” Bristol exclaims, unfurling her arms and shouting at the crew standing beside her, looking for answers that only come from the man directly behind her. “He’s trying to pin the blame for her murder on me in an effort to paint me out as a malicious insurrectionist...” Gamble replies calmly, nostrils flaring in spite of his best attempt at subduing the vicious aggression that threatens to burst through his loosening seams, “...and it might work.” “Whether or not Gamble ordered Charlotte’s assassination is beyond the point” Emilio explains, his words slowly beginning to ease concerns the standing supporters just a few metres away had begun the broadcast holding onto. “The fact of the matter is that a young, vulnerable, and very gullible young man- likely stranded on Nova Scotia through the actions of Andrew Gamble- has murdered, in cold blood, the chancellor of society’s final stand” Emilio declares, extending the index finger on his dominant hand before pressing its tip to the desk, “and for that reason, I am declaring that Andrew Gamble- through order or through influence- is directly responsible for Charlotte Walters’ murder.” Though a part of her deep down wishes to act surprised by the discovery, Courtney’s most-certain thoughts pointed to such a conclusion being likely, one that ensured Prince Edward would not be settled without war. “You don’t need to look far, however, to see that his island isn’t one to play as nice as he lets it on to appear” Emilio doubles down, shrugging at the idea of a unified exchange of misplaced refugees, “I have friends on that island that he isn’t allowing to leave on their own.” Furrowing her eyebrows, Katie continues to stare at the screen with a loss for words, unsure of whom the man may be referring to. “Clint Mintz and Vanessa Mintz, a pair of siblings that I’ve known for years now... Well before we got to Nova Scotia” Emilio remarks, only further widening the eyes of the young woman at the theatre’s lower row of seats, “they have a small fishing business. They’ve got their own boat, and the officials in Prince Edward Island won’t let them out of Stewart Cove.” “Stewart Cove” Katie whispers to herself, nodding her head as Harvey finally shows to have had enough with the woman’s standoff with the screen, grabbing her arm and yanking her back into her chair violently. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble!” the man hisses, his face souring as the woman rips her arm from his hand once more, continuing to stare at the face on the screen. “If he really wanted to set up some peaceful partnership, he wouldn’t have forcefully shut down the Confederation Bridge and then blown it into smithereens” Emilio explains, further deepening the dissatisfied expression that covers the national sovereign’s face, “the only reason he’s pretended up to this point like he actually cares about peaceful negotiation is because he was confident that anything he could do would look like it was in good faith when juxtaposed to Charlotte.” Clenching his right hand into a fist, Gamble stares at the monitor as the apparent declaration of war emanates throughout the early-morning sky. “The only issue that Gamble has now is that I’m not Charlotte. In a way, I am so much worse because- as far as Gamble is concerned- there is no big, bad, scary witch for him to paint out as some boogeyman” Emilio declares, a smile appearing through his parted lips, “and it’ll be really hard to make me look bad when the island’s power goes out.” Irate, Gamble remains standing before the camera’s lens, fuming in place whilst his feet are firmly planted into the grass. “Charlotte only didn’t make an announcement the other night because she didn’t want to feed the public lies. It turns out, Gamble took the opposite route and fed you, myself, and everyone else exactly that” Emilio states, shrugging off the incident entirely, “I wonder how long it’ll take our friend across the strait to address the public when our reserves run out?” Letting out a deep breath, Gamble continues to stare at the face on the screen as it draws closer, Emilio’s body standing out from his chair as he stares directly into the lens. From the theatre, Katie remains glued to her seat as her close friend makes the statement of her supposed adversary perfectly clear. From the hospital bed, Courtney continues to look after her friend as the compound she’d established is seemingly ripped out from beneath her- the paramotorist’s smile uncontrollable. “I have been placed in charge of finding a replacement for Charlotte as chancellor, and whilst that process is underway... I will assume that role” Emilio announces, watching Irene lean in to redirect the camera’s lens toward his now-standing posture, “and for the next few days, I will retain that position until the person that I have in mind to take over enters the compound. At that point, I will officially hand control of Nova Scotia and all of her thirteen outlying settlements to her.” Pleased beyond imagination, Katie’s smile refuses to fall aside in spite of the door that opens at the front of the theatre, allowing in a pair of armed guards that stare out into the crowd. “Katie...” Harvey whispers, calling to the woman whose eyes immediately take toward the room’s front, catching attention of the two sets of eyes that soon spot her from within the crowd. Without so much as a word, Katie leaps from her seat and bolts out of the theatre, eyes taking toward the room’s exit as she makes a dash from the soldiers that run after her. “Katie!” Harvey exclaims, firing like a rocket out of his seat just as she does and making the same hurry for the exits as her, trying to outrun the guards seemingly tasked with following through on Gamble’s orders to quell whatever dissidence may arise before it can fester amongst his more devoted followers. “I don’t want a war more than anyone else, but my hand has been forced here. There is a tyrant ordering the execution of Nova Scotian leaders without so much as a care in the world just one body of water away from us, and it will not be tolerated” Emilio commands, his finger pointing into the lens, “I know Gamble’s watching along with the rest of Prince Edward Island, so allow me to make myself clear... We’re coming after you.” Aware that they’ve been left with little other choice, Courtney tightly grasps the ends of the armrests to each side of her chair and calms her breathing, aware that the violence they have already seen is only just the start. With a glance to her side, the woman stares at her bedridden friend and takes another look at her stable vitals, hoping for the best, but dreading what could happen if the chancellor were to awaken from her state and reclaim the power that only now falls beyond her reach. “Plenty of people had no care for Charlotte whatsoever and I don’t blame them. Personally, I wasn’t much of a fan myself. But with that said, an attack on the chancellor is an attack on Nova Scotia, and an attack on Nova Scotia is an attack on all of us.” Emilio concludes, daggers paid to the camera lens as Gamble watches on, feeling the heat of war strike his face in the form of a close-up shot on his rival’s visage. “Andrew Gamble, you have hurt me. You have hurt my people. You have hurt this entire community, and with or without your blatant lies- your days at the helm of that island are numbered...” Emilio warns, picking up the wallet and casually throwing it at the camera lens with perfect accuracy, pausing for a moment as it recalibrates to reclaim its focus upon the new acting chancellor, “...because this doesn’t end until you’re dead.” As quickly as it had taken over the live broadcast, Emilio’s address to his adversarial nation cuts out and delivers every screen to a black void, no picture to fill the space in which he’d occupied and left nothing to follow up. Incensed, Gamble takes a few steps back from the monitor and turns his back to the crew, angrily taking aim with his revolver at an empty field beneath the cover of spotlights. Having intended to fire until a bullet was expended from the barrel of his weapon, the national sovereign discovers an absence of his twenty five captives, the places in which they’d knelt having been abandoned since his attention was stolen by the interrupting feed. “Did they get away!?” a member of the crew calls out, unable to see the face of their autocratic tyrant until he turns toward them. In an undeniable fury, Gamble lifts the barrel of his weapon toward the crew member's head and pulls the trigger, splattering their brains all over the onlooking camera and nearby storm light without the slightest hesitancy. “FIND THEM NOW!” the sovereign screams, the muscles in his face jolting with the orders as the remaining workers still with their lives intact take off in the only direction the prisoners could have fled toward, leaving their leader alone alongside the deceased body. Breathing heavily, the sovereign’s eyes fire themselves wide as he throws his gun into the dark onset of dawn and seethes in his place, hands clenched into fists so furious that they dislocate the middle finger on his left hand. Overcome by rage, Gamble’s face shoots toward the sky as his lips part, screaming a prolonged howl into the lifeless sky as his every intent for the evening proves futile, the circumstances that surround him- this time- having bested him. “Alright, well there was a lot to take from that, but overall... I think that went well?” Isaac wonders aloud, unsure of exactly what to make of the broadcast other than his slightly increased faith in the new chancellor’s handling of the situation. “Good, because I meant every word of it” Emilio confesses, lowering himself into the chair that he’s now placed himself into the rightful possession of, “if there was no way to avoid war, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.” Nodding, Isaac accepts the man’s conclusion before the air is overtaken by the secretary’s voice, her inquiry the only thing worth asking in her mind at the moment. “Would you like me to phone anyone in particular now that it seems you’ve decided on a new chancellor?” Irene asks, watching the man drape both hands over the edge of his armrests and turn the desk chair toward the nearby window, listening into the faint sound of cheering that the bulletproof window affords him. For a second, the temporary leader of Nova Scotia considers the question internally, still partially numb to the control he’d placed himself at the helm of, but mindful enough to keep the same energy and intent he’d used to deliver the address alive and well. “Yeah” Emilio responds, nodding to himself whilst staring at the window, watching the crowd of people band together as a nation unified in what appears to be the name of liberation before turning back to answer, “get me Jade McKee.” == Rise == In silence and on her own, Courtney stares into the fallen society that surrounds downtown Moncton from behind the building’s cover. From the odd comfort of the perceived safety, the woman’s eyes take to every lit flame and raised fist that stand at the mob’s frontlines, representing the unity of a nation divided at the top but never at the soul. For what they are, the displays of aggression presented by the populace fail to reach the ears of their chancellor, but aren’t invisible.
With arms crossed, she leans against the railing to a nearby central staircase and continues to stare at the unrest unfolding around the city, unsure of what such a vehement display of defiance could result in when all is said and done. Though the idea of calling into question what is still to come appears tempting, Courtney’s mind takes to the individuals that she sees from the crowd, barely able to view their faces from the moonlight that switches to the start of a new day in that moment. Picking out a white man with a red beard, glasses, a black sweatshirt and a middle finger raised to the armed supports maintaining the safety of the town hall, the onlooking right hand to the chancellor herself considers what their minds must be ravaging over. Thinking of the family that man may now be separated from, Courtney considers the fact that he’s as entirely unsure of whether or not they will be reunited as she is, and the fears that may motivate his every action. From beside him, a black woman, slightly overweight and dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a blue tank top stands near the front of the crowd in tears, openly weeping to the standing guards tasked with dismissing her just as they would anyone else. Clutched within the palm of her left hand, the woman holds a baby’s onesie that she presses the side of her face into every few seconds, hugging it as if that were all she had left of the child it was meant to be worn by. Just a few metres away, a black man with no hair and dressed in a white t-shirt and sweatpants simply stands near the front of the crowd with the look of defeat, his head lowering as he begins to realise that the men the rest of the mob scream at will provide nothing to answer his doubts. With one hand lifted to his face, the gentleman begins to look behind himself as the weight of the crowd pushes him ever so slightly, nudging him forward despite his hesitancy to waste any more of his time. From within the safety of the bombproof and well-defended city hall, Courtney continues to stare into the wave of people until her mind’s considerations become too heavy for her to do anything but look away out of shame. Her back turned toward the majority of the building, the woman takes recognition of the fact that she too, just like the soldiers at the building’s entrance, stands between the people and answers they search so passionately for, the lone voice that can offer them staying mum. Though most of the activities just beyond the front steps of the compound’s government building are illuminated by the flames of careless fires and streetlamps climbed by unruly residents, Courtney herself stands bathed in the light of the moon above, the only obstructions in the natural source’s way being the various branches of spaced-apart trees. Sorrowful and dejected, the woman’s face turns toward her side where more of the same sight can be seen, angry protestors demonstrating their response to the lack of a leader all held at bay by the well-equipped patrol that props up a selfish regime, one that Courtney has never felt more ashamed of. Hanging her head, Courtney’s eyes take to their corners for a brief moment as her front barely grazes the direction of what rests behind her, a surprising view catching her interest. Behind desks and scattered around the lobby, other government workers follow much the same line of action as the grounded paramotorist herself does, watching the chaos that prevents them from exiting the building with ensured safety and considering the horror within the hearts of those they’d sworn to provide for. Near the back of the lobby, two women sit at different secretary stations and watch the crowd before their eyes eventually take toward Courtney, sharing a brief look of dolefulness with the woman before staring away. Along a leather-cushioned bench near the lobby’s centre, a man with a half-intact business casual ensemble shares a similar guise with the chancellor’s right hand, he too finding himself to be too ashamed for anything more than a hung chin. Within her mind, the woman considers the various other stranded employees all just wishing they could walk through the doors and head home to their families whilst they still can, realising that they are all just as lost as her. With wishes of being able to provide answers, Courtney comes to an acceptance that no one truly has any, and none of those unfamiliar faces and nameless staff members knows in that moment what is still to come. Internally, the right hand wishes someone could walk through the doors and tell the people what no one knows for certain. In an instant, the truth can be afforded to the civilians that face an uphill journey to recovery, the potential for violence and bloodshed to persist in a way that makes the outside world appear as a cakewalk. Even if undesired, the reminder that brutality is still likely around the corner could at least provide something of value to people as aimless as she is. But instead, all that Charlotte Walters’ government can be represented by is a shared ignorance, a mutual uncertainty that neither can say they’re able to see through- at least, that’s what the desired narrative is. Coming to the begrudged acceptance that instead of peace, Courtney will represent an administration willing to sacrifice the intelligence of the people for bloody conflict that there is no true end to in sight. Beneath a clear sky, a crowd occupies the grounds without a purpose to take their eyes toward the heavens, nothing given to them suggesting anything more than vehement disapproval for the dismissive silence they receive is warranted. It’s in this moment that Courtney’s eyes retake to the crowd with a renewed vigour, one that looks into the individual faces of suffering and misery with an irrational drive to end this careless display before anyone has to be stranded in it any longer. “What’s going on here!?” a red-bearded man exclaims from the front of the protestors, screaming for the same assistance as the thousands that fill the streets around him, their yearning all centred upon the representatives of the Charlotte regime. “When will we be allowed to go home!?” the woman with a baby’s onesie cries out, the defeated survivor just a few metres off to her side shaking his head with aggravation, giving up on the display, “fuck this shi-” he grumbles. *pop, pop, pop* Ducking for cover, the majority of the crowd look toward the heavens in search of the sound of sudden gunfire, the barrels of the military’s rifles taking to the sky in much the same quest. “Everyone shut the fuck up and listen!” Courtney cries out from the building’s rooftop through a megaphone, her pistol residing in the opposite hand that soon returns to the level of her hip, an audible hush coming over the mob that falls into an almost immediate silence. “My name is Courtney, and I’m standing here on behalf of Charlotte. I’m not here to feed you lies or give you bullshit, I’m just here to try to give you some peace of mind” she proclaims, the opening line being met with a continued hush, something that she takes as a huge positive. “The bridge to Prince Edward Island went down this evening- or yesterday evening- I’m not sure if it’s past midnight yet or not. But that much we all know” Courtney begins, lifting one leg onto the lip of the building as she speaks, looking out at the various faces slowly making their way farther from the ground and toward her direction. “Clearly, there’s no longer any way to get to the island by car. As is, Nova Scotia is short on boats, so we’re asking you to refrain from crowding the docks in hopes of getting a lucky ticket across the Strait” she explains, trying her best not to step on metaphorical toes with what she says, not wanting to jeopardise any plan her superior may have. “For those of you that live across the bridge or have family there, I’m sorry to be here and tell you this, but there is no clear timeline- as of yet- on when we can get you back there” Courtney confesses, watching the visible dismay come over a large percent of the crowd below. “Even if we were to assure you safe passage over the water, we also can’t be sure that the island is safe” she continues, trying to paint the place in which the survivors are stranded as a safer alternative. “We are not sure whether or not the man responsible for bringing the bridge down is alive or dead. Either way, our lack of access to the bridge leaves us unable to influence the politics of the island” she continues to admit, trying to use what little she can to clarify everything, “for the last number of years, he was an incredibly influential figure over our continued operation of the island. If he in fact made it across before detonation, the island likely at least has stable leadership.” “We want to go home!” a man shouts from the crowd, drawing the interest of the armed military defending the capitol building, most of the unrest they’d been tasked to keep at bay having naturally subsided. “I understand that you want to go home, but I think it’s also important to mention that the island is incredibly unstable as of this moment” Courtney expresses, “in the event this man made it across, his motivations are not with those of the people- but rather with himself.” “Just like Charlotte!” the same disruptor calls out, refusing to allow the paramotorist an easy time at explaining the ordeal to the public. “Charlotte’s not the perfect leader and I’m pretty sure even she would be willing to say just the same. However, even from a bipartisan view, Nova Scotia is far more secure than Prince Edward is at the moment” Courtney defends, “the banking is still operable, the electrical grid is still online, and we’re not running out of fuel any time soon.” Shaking his head with disapproval, the man many stories below remains hush, not wanting to interrupt any further in light of at least being offered semi-reassurance. “Listen, everything that happens from this point forward will not be as smooth as what we’re used to. Circumstances change, and we’re required to change alongside it” the rooftop speaker continues, taking notice of the dying disruption that fills the streets gradually, overpowered by a collective silence. “For the time being, we’re not sure what the people in charge across the bridge are planning. We don’t know if they’ll be plotting an attack or anything similar, but what we do know is that we’re safe here” Courtney proclaims, being met with a semi-tolerance from the outraged masses, “even I haven’t always personally agreed with Charlotte, but let’s not sit around and pretend like we’re not all here because of her foresight. She’s been ahead of the game before, and she will be now.” “We shouldn’t be in this mess to begin with!” a second disruptor calls out from the crowd, this time met with more silence than the first, but agreement with him does hide within what’s unspoken. “We can talk about what should or shouldn’t be the case until we’re blue in the face, but that won’t change what’s happening now” Courtney argues back, extending her hand toward the gathered community, “and while we’re at it, let’s not pretend like we’re powerless here.” Confused, the deviant resident waits for further elaboration alongside the rest of the mob, who all follow a similar suit. “The bridge coming down was the greatest setback Nova Scotia has seen since the dead started flooding the streets, and instead of hiding away like many of us did when that happened- you banded together” the woman declares, voicing her admiration for the compound’s population, “you wanted answers and accountability, and you fucking showed up for it!” Though aware that this part of the speech is more of a good faith showing, the unified residents begrudgingly accept the verbal pat on the back that they’re been offered. “I’ll even level with you. When our old leaders left us in the dust, my family ran. Everyone took off to get what they could and flee where they knew to” Courtney admits, “in the process, I had to kill my own mother after she came back as one of the dead. But I- just like everyone- just took off running.” Quiet and captivated, the crowd allows the woman to continue onward in hopes that the recollection will lead to a point worth hearing out. “Eventually, we found our way to a cabin in the mountains and tried to make due. It was only when a guy- a kid no older than eighteen- found us. Only then did the majority of us start learning how to accept what had happened” Courtney persists, digging deep within her mind to pull the memories from, “before then, we’d just waited for help.” Collectively wondering the same thing, the crowd awaits the same conclusion that the speaker prepares to embark upon, hearing the voice that echoes through the wide end of a megaphone and reverberates throughout the cityscape. “The point is that when all of this first came around, and everything we’d ever known about safety was challenged, we just sat around and waited for our leaders to save us-” the paramotorist proclaims, “but this time around, you didn’t wait. You didn’t make that mistake.” “Because we can’t trust you!” a third dissident barks aloud, this time met with a more vocal agreement by hundreds of his peers. “You shouldn’t! That’s why you’re here! I’m not suggesting you overthrow Charlotte, or myself, or anyone else in this building... But hold us accountable!” Courtney retorts, finally speaking something that resonates fully within the gathered community, taking a stand in favour of their continued existence. “Charlotte knows what she’s doing, and she’s going to get us through all of this- even the worst of it- but you shouldn’t put blind faith in any of us!” the woman continues to declare, offering the civilians an olive branch to use in the event that they’re pushed to it. “The times that are coming may be awful or great- we don’t know either. But you should demand answers from us, or at least demand that we admit when we don’t have them-” Courtney confesses, “-and right now, we don’t.” Unsure of how to react, the majority of the mob responds with silence, subduing the thoughts in their heads in favour of the woman’s further remarks. “I can’t promise the safety of your loved ones on the island. I can’t promise that the life you led when you were there will be there for you when- or if- you ever return home” Courtney utters, the melancholy vows she makes doing little to change the collective focus centred upon her, “I can’t promise anything about the island from here on out.” With a slight hang in her head, the speaker digests the truth behind the statements that she makes, taking a slight sorrow from the uncertainty before trying to set her mind to more promising hopes. “But what I can promise is that all of you will be looked out for by Charlotte, by myself, and by Nova Scotia as our own” she swears, providing the little well-being that she can manage, “I can promise that we will do everything to make sure this place stays standing for you.” Though struggling in their own variety of ways, the collective crowd continues to listen for the words that bounce off the concrete buildings and spacious air that the downtown environment holds home to, projecting the echoing words for kilometres wide. “You may not always like or agree with the way in which we operate, but we will do everything in our power to assure you of the most important thing-” Courtney finally concludes, “-that Nova Scotia will never become rubble and ash.” Mostly displeased and bitter, the residents that occupy Moncton’s square at least take solace in their presence being attended to, buying into the claims made as something more than what they had received up to that point. “No amount of rioting or protesting tonight will change any of that. So please go home and try to be with- or make contact with- those you love” Courtney pleads, ending her proclamations for the evening, “for those with no home, we’re doing what we can to best assist you.” Voicing her appreciation for their continued cooperation, Courtney bids farewell to the protestors that soon divide amongst each other, venturing in various different directions and fanning out in ways that appeared implausible just minutes prior. “Are we really doing what we can to assist them?” Charlotte wonders aloud, her arms crossed and back leaning against the concrete-encased exit to the rooftop-connected stairwell she’d climbed. “I don’t really remember striking deals with hotels and motels to accommodate the influx in unwelcome immigrants, so please jog my mind” the chancellor continues, taking a sarcastic approach to her subordinate’s remarks before feeling the weight of a megaphone being shoved into her chest. “You haven’t- yet” Courtney replies, providing her friend with a sarcastic smirk as she pauses, “but please... go tell them that yourself.” Chuckling, Charlotte lowers her head and begrudgingly accepts possession of the bullhorn, remaining put as Courtney walks past her to begin a descent back into the building. More than willing to let the conversation fade with that remark, the chancellor stares off into the distance of night before the paramotorist’s voice calls back to her, echoed throughout the cramped confines that surround the steps. “By the way, they’re not immigrants. Last I checked, Prince Edward Island was part of the Nova Scotian complex” Courtney quips, listening to another laugh carry itself through the chancellor’s open mouth, “people moving from Arizona to Texas aren’t really considered immigrants, are they?” “Courtney, just keep walking away” Charlotte responds, unfurling her limbs and slowly walking further through the rooftop, a casual stroll carrying her a few metres before the sound of her subordinate’s confrontational footsteps interrupt her peace of mind. “You wanted to keep Prince Edward in check so you could keep Nova Scotia intact, and you were willing to go to the ends of the earth to ensure that” Courtney inquires, stopping at the top of the stairs, “what’s the point of any of that?” “Is there something you need to get off your chest?” Charlotte wonders aloud, looking to the sky with a squint before turning back to face her friend, watching the steady pupils hold firm to her. “Yeah, there is. I’m pissed off that you would see your people out there, know exactly what they wanted, and give them nothing” Courtney answers honestly, stepping forward and closing the distance between them, “that was the most piss-poor effort at leadership I’ve ever seen.” “I told you they wanted lies and fallacies and they wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise. As far as giving them what they wanted, there was no easy solution” Charlotte retorts, waving her hand at the direction her inferior had stood to address the public, “nothing that you just did solves anything. The only difference it made was that there isn’t an angry mob at our doorstep anymore. In the long term, it only ensures they show up at the slightest act that they don’t like.” “Like stripping people of their belongings because they can make homemade ammo and armour?” Courtney counters, watching her superior grin and lower her head, “yeah, don’t think Donnie didn’t call me and give me a head’s up about something that might cause a little bit of an uproar.” “When we’re at war and the cost of living skyrockets, winters get really cold, and people find out about some real sick shit, do you really want them to be able to make guns, ammo, and armour?” Charlotte questions back, a much deeper squint carried in her rancorous visage, “angry people with guns and a reason to give up on life worked real great in America. Come to think of it, isn’t it funny how people don’t open fire on churches and schools when they’re not mad and sick in the fucking head?” “We both know it’s just an excuse to keep people from calling for your head when the going gets tough” Courtney rebukes calmly, only to be reassured by the screaming tone of her chancellor. “You’re damn right it is! One hundred-fucking-percent it is, because I’m the end all-fucking-be all!” Charlotte shouts back, getting in the paramotorist’s face, “and thanks to your resounding speech, any necessity that I take is an open invitation to march on Moncton and set the bitch straight!” “The bitch needs to be set straight” Courtney calmly retorts, immediately earning a heavy shove to the chest from the chancellor, who lets a pause interrupt her voice in order for the physical demonstration to take place. “So set me straight then, Court’. After all, you’re probably higher in the polls than me right now, ain’t ya?” Charlotte dares, stepping forward to again thrust her hands into the paramotorist, “maybe you’ll even put in my place so well- you’ll get to be the chancellor.” “I don’t want to be chancellor” Courtney again replies with composure, staring at the ground as her backward steps stop once more, only to persist yet again with a third shove. “It seems like you really do” Charlotte argues otherwise, nodding to herself before stepping forward for a fourth time, only for the politely outstretched arm of the compound’s right hand to prevent her from drawing any nearer. “Charlotte... stop” Courtney requests, still calm and collected, unwilling to let the interaction turn any closer into an altercation than it already has. “Why? You gonna let me push you all the way back to the stairs?” Charlotte asks, extending her arms after swatting the woman’s extended hand away, opening the space for a fourth shove if she really wanted, “if I really need to be put in my place, well I don’t see anyone else with the balls to do it.” “I’m not gonna fight you, Charlotte” Courtney doubles down, staring at the ground once more whilst standing in place, both she and the chancellor frozen in their respective places. “Well if you’re not gonna fight me, my suggestion would be to do as I said before and keep walking away” Charlotte responds, closing the distance between the pair once more, though without the aggressive pushing, her face instead getting close to the side of her friend’s face. “And the next time I tell you to shut up and let something work itself out, my suggestion would be to do as I fucking tell you to do” Charlotte reaffirms, her voice directed in a whisper to the subordinate’s ear, “I have to keep my eyes open for an enemy I’m not entirely familiar with, and they have control of everything north of Quebec City and outright naval superiority. The last thing that I need is to have a right hand woman- and very dear friend- that I can’t trust.” Feeling the sensation of warm breath touch the side of her face through an increasingly-chilly early morning, Courtney stares into the distance with blank eyes and restrained frustration before turning back, climbing down the stairwell and disappearing back into the capitol building. On her own, Charlotte lets out a hiss-like grunt whilst turning away, taking a brief stroll through the rooftop as she collects her bearings, trying to prepare for the ambivalence that is ahead. = 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 = Running a brush over his teeth, Harvey uses the hotel-supplied essentials to prepare himself for the day that’s ahead, the small tube of toothpaste barely emptied onto the stick he wields against his grin. Fresh out of the shower and continuously having to wipe the foggy mirror with a hand towel, the man goes about his common routine before finishing up, shaving off the stubble from his chin and the sides of his face before finally returning to the nearby bedroom. “You clean up well” Katie remarks, still nude beneath the covers of their bed whilst watching the man walk through the room, his decency only covered by a white towel tied around his waist. “It’s second nature at this point” Harvey responds, approaching the corner of their room occupied by a clumped up pile of clothing, “you learn to make do however you can when you’ve got clients, judges, juries, and other lawyers to fit in with.” “Well you can represent me any day you want” Katie flirts, sitting upright as the man kneels toward the ground, sifting through the clothes to pick out which belong to him. “Don’t go committing any crimes and I won’t need to” the man replies, finally unravelling the towel to slide his legs into the pair of pants he’d first taken a hold of. “I think there are already a good number of people the courts here will have to deal with before me” Katie retorts, climbing out of bed and eventually passing him by on her way to the patio doors. “You’re still naked” Harvey calls aloud, watching the woman pause and turn around with her hand on the sliding doors, not much of a care toward the claim made before her hand opens the path to the balcony. “If you think that’s going to stop me, you’ve got another thing coming” Katie responds, stepping onto the terrace as Harvey shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he continues dressing himself. Too preoccupied below to take notice of the naked woman a few stories above, the Prince Edward protests continue their efforts well into the late morning, the hour having already reached nine on the first day of April for the year, the sky clear with only a few clouds spaced apart. “It sounds like they’re still out there” Harvey proclaims, pulling his pants up the rest of the way and buttoning them in place before kneeling to the ground in search of his shirt. “That’s because they are” Katie mutters back, leaning against the guardrail to watch the flurry of souls continue traversing the streets below, their march both taking them toward the Charlottetown capitol building as well as any other street less occupied and patrolled- the riots continuing anywhere they can. “You’d have to think that they’d be smart enough to realise that all this does is just hold people up, wouldn’t you?” Katie inquires, giving a half-hearted salute to the growing number of people below that take notice of her nudity, “I get that they’re upset, but I’d imagine even the least intelligent down there would understand that shutting everything down would be a horrible idea.” “You’d be surprised at how many people I represented who’d done some of the worst things because they felt like all was lost” Harvey responds, quickly putting on his shirt before coming in search of his socks, “all it takes is the idea that your life has changed for the worst for the true animal inside some people to come out.” “You never said you were a defence attorney” Katie replies with a lifted eyebrow, passing a look back to the man with the sensation of the overhead sun shining off the soft skin of her back, “I don’t know if that makes me like you more or less.” With a shrug, Harvey takes both cotton feet coverings and pulls them on one at a time, “I was a lawyer that made a good amount of money... That last part was usually the only thing women cared about” he confesses. “Hmph” Katie retorts, turning to look back into the room completely as the man begins dipping his feet into the shoes he’d left the house the night prior wearing, “I’d imagine that was the case until you took off your pants, right?” Passing the woman an amused smirk, Harvey rounds the bed and reclaims the phone he’d left on the nightstand, making for the room’s exit. “Leaving so soon?” Katie quips, beginning to retreat into the room as her mate appears keen on leaving, already dressed as if he were heading for another day at the office. “I’m gonna go see if I can find somewhere that’s serving breakfast, then I’m going to see if I can get my hands on a car and a map” Harvey answers, opening the door and stepping one foot through its opening, “then I’ll be back here waiting for you to get ready so we can head off for that fake office Gamble had for us.” Though slightly disappointed that their hotel stay only lasted for one night, Katie nods her head in agreement with the understanding that they’d eventually be thrown out after long enough. “Stay safe” she responds, watching the man reciprocate the salute she’d paid to the onlookers in the street below, the door pulled shut upon the man’s followed-through exit, leaving the woman to make herself comfortable for the remaining hours until his return. | “I’m not sure, Lauren” Jack responds, sitting at their shared dining room table whilst staring at an open book, scrawlings written categorically down its length. “How can you not be sure? All I asked was if you’d found anything we could afford to stop paying” Lauren jokes, hand-drying a ceramic bowl with a white hand towel. “Because I honestly haven’t been putting much thought into anything I’ve been looking at” Jack confesses, covering his face with his hands as he leans back in his seat, listening to his wife’s footsteps draw nearer to the side of the room he occupies. “Well duh. Why do you think I’m drying dishes instead of going grocery shopping or something?” Lauren calls into question, gently setting the clean bowl upon the table, “it’d be impossible for me to focus on something like this.” “Yeah, I shouldn’t have even bothered trying” Jack concedes, letting his hands fall from his visage and reach for the booklet, closing its ends together before getting up to walk away from the table. “Oh for god’s sake, where are you going?” Lauren questions aloud, turning with the man’s direction and watching him vanish around the nearest corner. “For a walk, I guess?” Jack replies, stepping into a dark hallway in search of the couple’s bedroom, “I just want to do something that’ll keep me from losing my mind.” Letting out a deep sigh, Lauren stands at the kitchen’s centre with her hands on her hips as a knock comes from the door at their living room, the power behind it not much threatening, but certainly appearing as if it were urgently desiring an answer. “Who’s that!?” the husband calls out, turning back in the far reaches of the home’s pathway just before returning to their bedroom, watching his wife approach the door with as much certainty of an answer as he holds. “I’m not sure” Lauren calmly replies, a displeased look held toward the entrance as she approaches it, hand extended to take the knob into her hand and pull the doorway inward, granting her the sight of the same man who’d taken their possessions the night prior. “What do you want?” Lauren questions aloud, passing a glance at the man to Donnie’s left and the woman to his right, both figures keeping their faces out of sight from the homeowners. “To have a conversation if at all possible” the man speaking on the compound’s behalf replies, watching Jack round the corner and make his way to the top of the stairs, an immediate eye roll taken toward the government official. “Oh goddamnit. I never liked the government before the world ended, and I still don’t now” Jack quips as he descends the steps, returning to his wife’s side whilst shaking his head, “does Charlotte need my foreskin now or something? Why the hell are you back here again?” “Because I need your weapons” Donnie replies, immediately watching the look of reluctance and defiance come over the couple’s faces. Though he speaks with a straight face, the guise the Nova Scotian official wears soon descends into a smile, a brief laugh paid to the pair before his head too begins to shake, “I’m just kidding. That cracks me up every time” the man remarks, watching Jack angrily roll his eyes and turn away, beginning to climb their stairs once more. Strenuously displeased, Lauren crosses her arms and leans against the doorway, showing the second half of the reaction to the man’s joke, one that gradually lessens the amused reaction the government administrator takes to his own jest. “No, I’m sorry... That was bad timing” Donnie confesses, hanging his head before unfolding a piece of paper that he’d held at his lap, extending it to the woman as her husband pauses his retreat, standing halfway up the stairs. “Charlotte’s sent out this notice to everyone and- just because of your shared history with her- I figured I’d hand deliver this one while I was on this side of town” Donnie explains, watching the woman take ownership over the paper and look toward the writings upon it, a squint carried in her face as Jack returns to her side, looking over the paper for himself. “She wanted to offer all those who’d surrendered their equipment to her a job in resuming their production on behalf of the government. In return, she’d pay them handsomely for aiding in the war efforts” Donnie continues, speaking aloud what the legal speak jotted upon the paper indicates, “the pay probably wouldn’t be what you’d been making before this, but it’s better than nothing at all. When the fighting ceases and the war ends, all of your equipment will be returned to you.” “What makes you think we haven’t already made a stupid amount of credits as is?” Jack queries, allowing his wife to continue reading for herself as he looks up to address the man present at his doorstep. “I don’t and neither does she. I’m sure you’ve made plenty, but this offer is just so you’re at least not out of work” Donnie answers, his reply coming from a place of honesty, “the confiscations were just a matter of precaution. She’s genuinely appreciative of the cooperation.” “I’m sure she’d be appreciative that we didn’t put up more of a fight” Jack responds, leaning against the doorway with one arm whilst tucking the other into his pocket, “she just knows we wouldn’t mind if she dropped dead and likes that we’re less likely to be able to get here there.” “I don’t doubt that at all, but I can only voice what she’s told me herself” Donnie reassures, watching the wife’s head finally remove itself from the sheet of paper, “besides, if you took her up on this offer, it’d keep you from having to do any mandatory enlisting in the event she felt it was necessary to draft people to fight.” “She’ll do anything but put herself on those frontlines, won’t she?” Lauren quips, crossing her arms once more and tucking the paper into the small of her elbow, “fucking shameful.” Begrudgingly inclined to bow his head and conceal his agreement, Donnie pulls in a deep breath before letting out a sigh, his arms extending as he attempts to speak, only for his right hand to accidentally strike the nearby reinforcement in the face. “Oh, shit. Sorry!” the man remarks, turning from the couple briefly to make sure the woman he’d swatted was alright, “you good, Kels’?” the man to Donnie’s left inquires. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just look where you’re swinging that-” the woman answers, gently rubbing at the side of her face as she gestures the man she’d accompanied aside, wanting to take the focus off of herself before her sights catch a momentary glimpse of the couple at the doorway- her hung head having prevented one until now. Cutting herself short, the stricken woman’s eyes widen as the reaction to the accidental strike falls completely out of favour for a look of awe at whom her gaze stumbles upon. With a mutual display of shock, Lauren’s crossed arms slowly loosen themselves from each other before going stiff halfway toward her hips, looking back at the woman whose eyes fixate upon her. “What?” Lauren whispers in disbelief, recognising the face that meets her, the two women being the only ones to react with such surprise as the three men accompanying them stand by with irresolution over the event unfolding. “Do you two know each other or something?” Jack questions, looking at his wife before glancing back to the female reinforcement, having never seen the lady before. Breaking out of her astonished stupor, Lauren looks to her husband for a brief moment before trying to gather herself, “yeah-” she mutters, looking back to the familiar woman who’d she’d long since presumed dead, never having imagined of a potential reunion, “-she’s... she’s Kelsey.” Lowering her hand from the side of her face, Kelsey’s expression resembles the wife’s own to a perfect tee, a loss for words coming over the woman who’d not seen the private citizen since the earliest days of the outbreak. “Kelsey?” Jack replies, wearing a look of his own confusion as he stares back at his wife’s once-significant other, trying to recall the faintest details he’d once been told of, “isn’t that the woman you said Tori killed?” Unable to look away from the apparent government official, Lauren’s lips struggle to press themselves together with how heavy her jaw feels, “apparently not” she murmurs, locking eyes with the woman who now occupies the top-most step of their home. | Though it’s rang multiple times throughout the duration of her stay at the bar, the chime of an overhead bell emanates from the front of Juliet’s tavern and captures Courtney’s attention along with it. “I was almost positive it would be you” the woman mutters with a half-smile on her face, watching an obviously preoccupied Emilio step across the floor and up to the empty seat beside the woman, giving her a pat on the back as he lowers himself. “I’m surprised she kept the bar open” the new arrival remarks, giving an appreciative bow to the chancellor’s right hand woman as he accepts the beer bottle she slides over to him, offering a sip. “Juliet doesn’t close unless bombs are being dropped” Courtney reassures, crossing her arms over the bar counter whilst staring forward, looking through the window between the serving tabletop and the kitchen without a soul to see other than the building’s owner herself. “Exactly how far away are we from that in your well-informed opinion?” Emilio wonders aloud, tipping his head back to take a swig of the beverage he doesn’t much care for, but greatly needs in light of the prior day he’d lived through. “Luckily, neither side of the aisle has explosive to drop” Courtney replies, a brow immediately lifting over her right eye, “to detonate however? I’m not so sure about that one.” Grimacing at the taste he’d only usually likened to cold piss, Emilio passes the drink back to its rightful owner as Juliet steps through the kitchen doors, quickly pouring him a glass of water and flashing a smile. “Thank you” he remarks, watching the woman return him a thumbs up before heading back into the kitchen, swamped with orders as one of the few places of business still open amidst the rioting of the night prior. “How can we be so sure that’s not the next stage of Charlotte’s plan?” Emilio inquires, genuinely curious to the various possibilities that the chancellor has at her disposal. “Because Charlotte has no plan” Courtney confesses, not paying much mind to what she does or doesn’t say, wrapping her hands around the cold glass of her bottle, though holding off on drinking from it for the moment, “she’s got no clue what Gamble’s planning. Honestly, I’m not even sure she thinks he’s still alive.” “He shouldn’t be” Emilio replies, shaking his head as takes a hold of the cup sat before him, “I know it’s not a massive drop to the water, but that thing was still made of enough concrete to pretty much seal the deal.” Nodding to herself, the reaction of agreement fails to match the presentation of uncertainty that the paramotorist replies with, “you’d have to think. Even with that said, I’m holding off any suspicions until we find a body washed up on the coastline.” With the shrug meant to be taken as something akin to ‘suit yourself’, Emilio lifts the glass to his lips and lets the cold water soothe his throat, head bowing as he fails to come up with any response worth continuing the discourse over. “I knew you’d show up here eventually” Courtney mutters, staring at her bottle as her friend’s eyes take toward her, “I figured you’d need me to try and find a way to get the brother and sister back home.” For a moment, Emilio’s eyes wander off to one of the tavern’s corners, unsure of what to say at first before bowing his head, a reaction that his friend takes notice of rather swiftly. “What’s wrong?” Courtney asks, a suddenly serious tone taken to her voice as she watches the man sit with his thoughts, preparing to take another sip of his water before answering the question prior to it, “Salem left last night.” Distancing themselves by taking back to her drink, Courtney’s eyes wrap around the label-less glass bottle as she sits with the information, quietly contemplating what to say. “I’m sorry, Em’. I know she meant a lot to you and your group” the woman settles for, looking at the side of Emilio’s face, his eyes having taken to the wall sitting well beyond the counter they occupy, “for what it’s worth, she’ll be able to handle herself wherever she ends up. She’s one tough son of a bitch.” “The point is that she left because of Charlotte” Emilio calmly rebukes, hands wrapping even more tightly around the cup, “because Charlotte decided that she- for whatever reason she’s deciding to go with- just had to go and start shit with Gamble.” This time with more options to choose from, Courtney looks away yet again and begins processing a reply, unable to offer one before her friend resumes speaking. “I wanna know if she needed to. I understand that tensions were already high, but I want to know if she needed to start shit with Gamble” Emilio proclaims, watching his business partner turn to look at him as he talks, “at some point, was there an off ramp that she could’ve taken that would’ve avoided all of this or were the two sides always destined to collide with each other?” “She always had an option” Courtney quickly reassures, falling quiet again as her friend follows up. “Then why didn’t she take it? If she doesn’t want to tell me, that’s fine and I get it. We’ve literally spent every waking moment since hell froze over on opposite sides of the aisle, but you?” Emilio questions aloud, swaying his head as if struggling to see any reason his friend wouldn’t know more, “but if she’d always had an option, why was this one the thing she chose?” “I don’t know” Courtney swiftly answers, shaking her head in refusal as an apologetic shift takes to her face. “Oh come on, there just can’t be a way that this is just something she needed to keep under lock and key” Emilio replies in disbelief, looking back to the deepest reaches of the tavern’s layout, “there’s got to be a reason. Clint and Nessie are stranded on an island and they’re not picking up their phones, Salem left in the middle of the night, and that can’t be for no reason.” “That’s just who Charlotte is as a person” Courtney replies, still shaking her head remorsefully as the man looks back to her, holding out hope for a better explanation, “she’ll tell you one thing, but she’ll do something that makes it seem like her intentions were always something entirely different. I don’t- I- I don’t really know what to tell you, Em’... I’m sorry.” Struggling to catch his breath as his chest begins to weigh heavy, Emilio passes the woman a dismissive wave and turns away from the counter, yanking at the collar of his shirt as he begins retreating for the building’s entrance. “Emilio, come back please” Courtney calls out, quickly hopping out of her seat to follow after the man, whose every gasp for air makes his jugular veins bulge. With such great force behind each tug, Emilio’s shirt eventually begins to tear down the centre of his pecks, the hairs on his chest exposed to the early springtime air as he makes it through the building’s entrance, leaning against the brick facade its exterior is made of as his friend follows after him. “Hey, just calm down and breathe” Courtney pleads, resting her hand on the man’s shoulder as he keels over, hands pressing against his knees as he faces the ground. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Courtney” Emilio responds, his hasty gasps slowly beginning to control themselves as a steady breeze rolls in, feeling like heaven across his skin that had begun to layer itself in sweat from the hyperventilating. With pause, the paramotorist waits for the man’s composure to find its way back to him, holding off on saying anything more in preference of being there to ensure his wits are regained. For a minute, the pair remain within each other’s company without uttering a word, the consistent and easy breaths Emilio takes affording him the confidence to speak once more. “She needs to go, Courtney” the man confesses, lifting himself up and resting against the brick layout before looking to his friend, her eyes taking a slight confusion to his remark, “as long as she’s in charge of this place, the only thing she’s going to care about is getting that island back in her hands.” Pulling her eyes away, Courtney takes to the chain of small retail shops across the street from their preferred tavern, stepping aside to grant a happily married couple passage into the establishment. “I’m not suggesting anything in specific, and I’m not asking you to do anything, but I am making it a point that she cannot be trusted to do the right thing” Emilio doubles down, reassuring the woman of his intentions, “she’ll sacrifice every last life here just for that big plot of rock and soil.” “It sounds like you are suggesting something in specific” Courtney retorts, looking back at Emilio as if she’d just heard him insult a cripple, “I think you’re making that very clear.” With a nod in his head, the man of renewed air puts his disagreement aside to accept the woman’s discovery, one he isn’t much in favour of arguing against. “Yeah, I’m suggesting that Charlotte needs to be taken out of the chair that calls the shots around here” Emilio responds, looking his business partner in the eyes as she stares at him with a blank expression. “I know she’s your friend and I understand that you’re supposed to report me for saying things like this, but you know all of this as well as I do” he continues to explain, “she’s going to get people killed, she’s going to ruin lives, and she’s going to tear this place apart for nothing.” With persistent silence, Courtney stands like a statue, frozen with her face held toward that of her friend’s visage, her ears latching onto his words whilst the public passes by, trying to continue about their day as if the events of the previous one had never occurred. “I- the rest of my group- we chose to leave Cumberland to come here because we believed that this would finally be a place where we could settle into. A place where the wars were over, and we could finally just breathe” Emilio confesses, “Alicia and Franklin have started a family, Jack and Lauren bought a house, Clint and Nessie got a place on the water... We’ve all made this place our home. And now, we’re thrust right back into the thick of things because Charlotte can’t stomach letting go.” “What exactly do you suggest we do about that then?” Courtney rebukes, finally hearing all that she needs to in order to align herself with one stance or another, “‘cause if cold-blooded murder is on the table, I’ll let you know that I want nothing to do with that.” “There may be times where I consider such a thing out of absolute rage, but never literally” Emilio reassures, shaking his head as he voices an exception, “if she straight up held a gun to the head of anyone I cared about, then yes- I’d kill the bitch. But only then.” “I don’t condone killing her whatsoever, but I also know there’s no way she leaves that chair willingly” Courtney replies, allowing herself to open a convoluted mind to the possibility of replacing the chancellor, “so- other than murder- how exactly do you think it’d be possible to get her out of that chair?” “A protest like the one we had last night ought to do some good for a start” Emilio replies, fully of sound mind now to speak with clarity, “I came through last night when I heard about the riots. Before you came out and saved Charlotte’s ass, I thought there was a good chance the public would oust her from power by the time the sun came up.” “That clearly didn’t work, so what’s your next grand plan?” Courtney quickly replies, hastily attempting to move onto the next proposition before her friend’s behest thwarts the effort. “It didn’t work that time, but who’s to say that Charlotte doesn’t try to do something even further out of left field? Maybe she really tries her hand at something that doesn’t go over well?” Emilio wonders aloud, “what happens when they come back to her front doors and don’t leave?” “There were armed guards outside the building last night. There were also a handful of guys hidden inside of the building to protect the employees” Courtney replies, shaking her head at the notion and dismissing it as naturally as it had been vocalised, “if she wanted to get rid of them, she doesn’t need to look hard to figure out how.” “And opening fire at the protestors is the quickest way to get the public to turn against you” Emilio retorts, shaking his head vehemently at the suggestion, “the second that happened at the old New World Order, the place was already minutes away from being levelled.” “Then I don’t know what to tell you!” Courtney concedes, accidentally shouting at the man before regaining a hold of her collected tone, “there’s no getting Charlotte to step down. You were right about the island, she didn’t- and still doesn’t- need it for this place to stay alive. Yet here she is going after it again, and if you think she’s stubborn about this war- wait until you try to challenge her for that chair.” With his head hung, Emilio ceases the proposals any further and resorts to nodding in agreement, accepting the woman’s position and turning to make for their open stools at the bar, only to turn back with a last second thought. “If you’re not willing to think about ways to get her out of power, that’s fine. Seriously, I’ll accept that and drop it entirely” he confesses, making himself clear, “but if you really care about her as a friend, you’d want to do anything you could to get her out.” “And why is that?” Courtney questions back, crossing her arms as the man turns back, looking at her with one foot already crossing the building’s threshold. “Because for as much as I don’t like that woman, I’m willing to bet that there’s someone that hates her far more than I do” Emilio replies, pointing his finger at the ground as he proceeds to return to their seats, “and I may not be willing to kill the woman, but I’m also willing to bet that there will be someone else that would be.” Aggravated and uncomfortable, Courtney remains stoic in her rigid display of confrontation in spite of the well-hidden concern that the man’s point leaves in her, a genuine argument made that she can’t quite refute. | “She said you died” Lauren remarks, sitting beside her husband on their loveseat whilst looking into the eyes of a woman very much alive in spite of what she’d been told, her once-lover seated on the chair across from them whilst Donnie and the male reinforcement occupy the couch in the middle. “I don’t know why she would say that” Kelsey replies, shaking her head with uncertainty over the divulged information as she looks to the ground, hands folded in her lap. “Well if she didn’t kill you, what the hell happened?” Lauren responds, trying to make sense of the reconsolidation that should’ve been impossible, “the last I saw you was when you ran off out of the apartment. You ran around the corner after the dead swarmed the place and Tori and I leapt from the roof.” “Yeah, I know. That was the last that I saw of you two” Kelsey replies, nodding along with the woman’s recollection of events, “I didn’t know you guys leapt from the roof though, so that’s new.” “Well we did, so now tell me what the hell happened to you after that” Lauren replies, a slight irritation carried in her voice, one rooted within the perception that she’d potentially been deceived. “I’ve spent every day for almost the last five years thinking you used that one bullet on yourself” the wife explains, watching the apologetic expression hit Kelsey’s face like waves strike at a shoreline, “you never came back, and I never got an answer, and I’m asking you for one now.” “I ran off” the female patrolman confesses quickly, looking the woman in the eyes with a deep sense of regret and sadness, staring at her once-partner with a great sympathy. “I never got to the tower. I ducked into an alleyway closeby, lit the fuse and tossed it over to where I’m guessing you found it” the woman explains, sorrowfully retelling the tale to her recollection of events. \ March, Four Years Ago / “Kelsey, where are you!?” Lauren exclaims again, giving no care to the undead. Pushed into a panicked decision, Tori dies out the flare’s flame in the snow, wrapping her hand around the base of the object as she walks after Lauren. “Kels-!” Lauren calls out again, her words hushed the moment her body spins, pulled around by Tori’s grasp. Attempting to speak, Lauren watches Tori lunge at her with the weighted signal flare, every sight of the cold, March night turning to a black nothingness. With a thud, Tori lays into Lauren’s face with the flare, knocking the woman unconscious, every desperate call for Kelsey’s return stopped in an instant. Saving her skin for the moment, Tori tumbles back into the snow, her left side aching from the fall, a new situation having emerged. Hesitant to waste any more time, Tori fights through the pain to pick Lauren up, the unconscious woman draped over Tori’s shoulders. Blazing a path through the snow, Tori grimaces with each extra-weighted step, carrying Lauren over her shoulders out of defiance, refusing to lose anyone else by the time the morning arrives. Within an alleyway only two shoulder-lengths apart, Kelsey watches the faintest sight of a woman fireman-carrying a lady through the heavy snow, tempted to speak, but not enough to convince herself to reveal the nook she’d hidden in. Instead, the woman covers her mouth and ducks low to the ground, avoiding even the slightest movement until the view of both women can be obstructed by the tall residential building to her right-most side. Though she sheds a tear, Kelsey carries on through the thick snow, melting a path for herself onward and away from the sights of the undead. Eventually spilling out onto the main road, the woman meets open space free from most of the undead, those that still linger being far too slow to close the distance between herself and the road onward. \ Present Day, April 2023 / “I don’t even have any reasonable explanation to offer you” Kelsey confesses, shaking her head in the woman’s direction as a tear begins to roll down the same side of her face as it had four years prior, “I just woke up some nights prior and realised that I just wanted to leave. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It was in that moment, when I’d managed to get somewhere secluded and where no one was watching, that I just figured it was then or never, and so- I took it.” With a steady face, Lauren watches the person she’d once cared deeply for with an incredibly different heart than the one that she used to have, a sympathy that had once existed now somewhere far lost on her. “That’s it?” the wife wonders back, almost looking at the woman with a flimsy malice, like she’d been wronged by a person she’d never imagined would do such act against her, “I live all these years thinking I never got to say goodbye to someone I cared about just ‘cause they fucked off?” “Like I said, I don’t have a good rea-” Kelsey begins to reply, falling silent when the woman that asks such a question cuts her off, a finger directed at the entrance to the home she shares with her husband. “Get out” Lauren orders, watching her ex girlfriend’s lips close and head tilt further to one side than the other before reiterating, “get out of our house and don’t ever speak to me again.” “There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t regret it” Kelsey assures, an olive branch that isn’t only refused, but snapped from the rest of the tree entirely. “If I need to tell you to get out again, I’ll make Donnie wish he wasn’t joking about taking our guns earlier” Lauren replies, steady in her place as she steps off of the couch and unholsters her pistol, letting it hang by her side as she confronts the woman, “you’re on private property, and the compound’s laws give me the right to shoot.” “Yes, within reason!” Donnie corrects, anxiously stepping off of the sofa as the pair that had followed him to the home follow suit. “I’m demanding your leaving of my property and that is all the reason that I need” Lauren responds, her husband soon follow his wife’s lead in brandishing his own weapon, keeping it aimed at the ground as Kelsey begrudgingly puts her hands up, surrendering to the woman’s will and showing herself to the front door. After a few seconds, the trio make their full departure before listening to the weighted front door slam shut behind themselves, ushering all the emotion that the married couple could wish to display. “Fuck her” Lauren angrily grumbles, locking the deadbolt before stepping past her husband, climbing the stairs and making for the corridor Jack had yet to fully descend through before their visitors had arrived. | “It looks like we weren’t the only people that had this idea” Katie mutters aloud, watching the gate open to grant herself and her colleague access to the parking lot of a large, scarcely-used office building, most, if not all spots being occupied by an assortment of different vehicles. “Well we’re the only kinds of people that know this place even exists for this purpose, so I’d hope at least a few people would’ve thought to come here” Harvey replies, “this many not so much.” “Why would they all need to be here?” Katie inquires, looking around the asphalt-covered lot in search of soul, but no one driver appears to occupy the space for themselves, “don’t they have homes or families to get to?” “Of course they do, so to answer your question- I’m not so sure” Harvey responds, pulling into the first open space he can find before exiting the vehicle, joining alongside his potential love interest in venturing toward the office’s lobby. Though its use is as a decoy for government officials, the office upon arrival appears as no different from any other, littered with high and low-ranking staff alike speaking to each other as if the building were one they often frequented. Chatting with colleagues and going about their days, the various strangers that the entering couple call co-workers in industry-affiliation only occupy the office well into the evening hours, each waiting for the same thing as the other. “Isn’t this place stocked with stuff like bedrooms and showers and stuff?” Katie wonders aloud, joining her crush as they walk through the various hallways, passing a few unisex bathrooms on their way to larger areas. “Yeah, there’s a communal hall adjacent near the rear elevators. You step through a door and it’s like you’re in a small hotel” Harvey answers, clearly preoccupied with other interests, passing a few glances at those whom their travels take them past before finding a familiar face. “Joey, right?” the well-dressed former lawyer inquires, holding his hand out to the chest of a man he could’ve sworn to have seen before. “Uh, no... Kendrick” the taller black man replies, visibly confused at the man responsible for stopping him, “can I help you with something?” Snapping his fingers with the most-feigned ‘aw shucks’ reaction he can manage, Harvey apologises for the mixup. “I could’ve sworn we’d met before, I’m sorry. I must’ve mixed you up for another guy named Joey, that’s on me” the man confesses, passing a glance at the well-populated halls they travel in different directions of, “that’s beside the point, though... Have my partner and I missed something? I thought this building was normally used as a decoy office?” “Have you not seen what’s going on out there?” Kendrick responds, a passive smirk carried as his face ventures toward the general direction of the building’s exit, “the people have lost their minds and the guys in charge are scrambling downtown. They’ve got an address from leadership scheduled for eight.” “For eight!?” Katie quickly questions aloud, checking the watch on her left wrist, “but that’s in seven minutes!” Shaking his head with a loss for reply, Kendrick confesses his inability to offer anything more concrete, “that’s all I know, man. Just tune in like the rest of us, I guess” he concludes before leaving. With little more information than what he’d entered with, Harvey discretely flips the passing official his middle finger, carrying on with their original stroll as if the interaction never took place. “Did you actually know that guy from somewhere?” Katie questions, taking too much intrigue into the approach her more experienced colleague had spoken with not to salivate over the potential for its abrupt nature. “Of course not! After the first three people didn’t stand out, I just decided to wing it” Harvey replies, smirking to the woman as he rolls up the sleeves to his dress shirt, “I must admit though- he did look like a Kendrick. I should’ve seen it coming.” After a few minutes, the couple make their way to a large conference room almost entirely stuffed with people of various different attires, their eyes collectively taking to the new arrivals for a moment before returning to their collective attention at the large radio near the front of the room. “Anyone know something we don’t?” Harvey questions aloud, staring into the crowd and speaking with confidence that none of inhabitants respond to with their own. One after another, those awaiting the scheduled address shake their head in refusal before trying once more to return for their original intentions. “Let’s just sit down” Katie remarks, taking her colleague by the hand and leading him to a pair of open seats near the side of the room, joining those that they’re surrounded by in staring forward with patience. For another few seconds, the pair inspect those sitting around the room before their ears take to the shifting sound of static from the radio, its momentary outburst succeeded by a calm and still airway, one that sits clear and unobstructed. “To the people of Prince Edward Island, we’d like to thank you for listening in. We’ve heard your concerns and have seen your displays” a feminine voice remarks, speaking calmly to a nation of unrest and in turmoil. “Allow us to take a moment to address the nation.” == Rise == \ Three Hours Earlier /
“Uh... Alright. I’m not- not quite sure what to say here” Salem grumbles, rubbing at her forehead as she settles into her driver’s seat, her opposite hand cradling a silver voice recorder whose tape continues to spin, seconds of valuable spool being spent amidst her pause. “I’m honestly not even sure that I can say anything that hasn’t been said before” she corrects, sitting in the shadow cast by the blue van her sedan is parked alongside, “I just keep finding myself looking at the past.” Clicking her tongue, the woman’s head drifts to the rolled up window beside her, a passing glance taken toward the side mirror, where a pair of headlights continue running at the front of a pickup truck whose driver attempts to make a quick dip into his flat. “No matter how much I try, I can’t escape those first days” she confesses, “with all that we’ve seen and where we’ve gone- hell, where we ended up- I just keep... I keep thinking about those first few days.” The parking lot, surrounded on three sides by large brick walls stretching four stories tall, is most vehicles’ only exposure to light comes from the burning lamp at the wall opposite the lot’s entrance. Its bulb casting a dim light over the closest few cars and trucks near it, the light centres itself between the second and third stories, its glow barely able to illuminate the window to Salem’s living room. “It must’ve been a couple nights or weeks after I met everyone. That night where Alicia caught me trying to walk off... Before we went to Concord” she continues, one foot sitting atop the brake pad whilst the other sits square of the floormat. “I’ve seen so many of you die over the last few years. I’ve seen all the shit we’ve gotten stuck in, and that night- that night- keeps playing on my mind” the muttering proceeds, her words immortalised onto tape for any and all to hear. “Don’t get me wrong, I know why. I guess it’s just never hit me hard enough until now just how much it would sit with me” Salem admits, staring forward with a blank glare, “I think I’m really gonna hate myself in a few years for leaving like this. Hell, I think that hate is already sort of settling in.” Long since she’d left the sedan she’d arrived home with, Salem inevitably makes her way back into the flat she’d called home for so many months, every word that she’d had to offer already pressed onto tape. With an eye on the corner of the room, the woman comes upon a sudden thought that drives her to make it toward the corner of the room, the one in which a box of books sits to be returned to the library they’d been taken from, only for that journey to have never been taken. “But it doesn’t matter how many years have gone by now, I’m still... still not good at saying goodbye” Salem confesses, her past self remaining in the sedan, staring at the characterless brick wall she parks at. “And even if I’m not good at it, there’s just nothing I can do to help it anymore. As much as I love you all, I think I love you too much” she proceeds, staring back at the parked truck through her rear view mirror, “and that love is too great for me to survive saying goodbye.” Leaving the voice recorder on her empty seat, Salem’s future self begins carrying handfuls of books; the initial box being too small to support the weight of down the exterior stairs. One after another, the woman descends and re-ascends the steps, gradually bringing one set of hardcover after another to the asphalt just beside her car’s rear right tire. “Maybe I was never alright with surrendering to life inside the walls. Maybe this is just my excuse for fucking off right as things are about to get bad” Salem’s past soul remarks, eyes continuing to remain on the truck behind her as it’s driver returns, just beginning to process of loading the bed with a variety of his belongings. “I’d be willing to accept that” the woman mutters, only to begin shaking her head in refusal, “but I can’t be here when this world gets you killed.” In a future only minutes after the woman’s recording had ceased, her hands wrap around the sides of the cardboard box that holds what remains of the overdue books, joining her in stepping through the front door. With the faintest glance over the nearest bannister, Salem finds the man whom the truck belongs to, his repetitive entering and exiting of his apartment allows him the chance to continue filling his vehicle with all sorts of tactical and survival gear. With an idea coming to mind, the departing survivor begins making for the first of three different staircases, inevitably holding her foot out for the top-most stair. “I don’t remember who said it, but I remember hearing one of us say that things were still perfect as long as he didn’t have an answer... Kind of like Schroedinger’s cat, y’know?” Salem’s prior self reflects, finally sparking a sorrowed grin, “it’s almost like all of you will still be alive as long as I’m gone. Like no matter where I go, everything here- and everyone in it- will stay just the way it was when I left it so long as I never turn back.” Nodding to herself, Salem tries to fight off a tear before feeling it get the best of her, its warm slide down from the corner of her eye prompting the hand in which the recorder is held to swipe at it. “I don’t feel like I belong in this world. The world as what Nova Scotia is was never my cup of tea. I understand that it’s the future, but it’s not mine” she confesses, the nod turning to a vehement shake, “even if I go- old and frail in my bed- that world will never come back in my lifetime.” Toppling, rolling and spilling down the flight of stairs she’d yet to ascend, the final remaining novels that future Salem carries in the box fall from their cardboard containment, flooding through the bottom of the box too decrepit to support the contents any further. “Goddamnit!” she howls through clenched teeth, angrily discarding the frail container over the lip of the bannister, paying no mind to whatever random plot of asphalt it embarks a descent toward. Returning to ground level, Salem annoyedly carries the books with her to the others she’d stationed beside her vehicle’s rear tire. “Books?” an unfamiliar voice calls out, prompting the woman to turn back, where her eyes find the survivalist standing beside his truck, confused at what he perceives to be her selection of valuables. “I may not know Charlotte like the back of my hand, but I don’t need a reason to look far for the trouble she’s bringing around this place” Salem’s past remarks, confident in the words that she speaks onto tape, “I saw when she took that shot at Gamble. Her heart isn’t in this for the greater good, her heart wants one thing and that’s it... power.” “Yeah... Books. What about it?” Salem’s future-self aggravatedly musters the will to retort, unsure whether or not the judgemental voice in her apparent neighbour’s reflection is intentional. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it” the tenant, abandoning his living space replies, beginning to walk back to his flat before the sound of the woman’s voice prevents him. “It sure as hell sounded like you did” Salem responds, continuing to standby and wait for an answer to her question. Not wanting any more trouble than what he can sense on the horizon, the departing neighbour lowers his shoulders and extends his arms in a show of apology, “they’re just a weird thing to take when skipping town... that’s all” he confesses, turning his eyes away to face the direction of his flat once more, not wanting anything more with the discourse he hadn’t anticipated. “The world is changing. Nova Scotia may be too big for whatever’s about to happen to not be the last, but I wouldn’t put it past the world to get ugly for fun” past-Salem proceeds, watching her neighbour carry a rifle of his own and a large box of ammunition out to the truck bed. Already having been stocked with an unmade tent, various other weapons and additional ammunition, countless prepacked meal kits and other necessities, the vehicle proves to be a survivor’s wet dream. “That look in Charlotte’s eyes told me all that it needed to. She’s not going to stop until she takes that guy’s place back or dies in the process” Salem carries on, eyes still unwavering from their place upon the truck behind her. “She’ll be willing to throw out every last body she has just to keep this place unified, and that includes all of you” she proceeds, offering whatever warning she can to those bound to find the recording, “I can’t be there when that happens.” Kneeling close to the ground, Salem’s future self begins to stack the books into neater, more manageable piles. With a casual stroll up the exterior steps, the woman makes her way back to the flat and nonchalantly marches through the apartment, closing in on the firepit before taking a glance through the nearby window. With a few different containers of gear in his hand, the confrontation-avoiding survivor sets down the belongings in the vehicle’s bed before starting to cover it over. With a squint in her eye, Salem stands close to the vantage point and keeps herself hidden beside the wall, watching as the gentleman she’d never cared to ask the name of approaches her car. Passing a glance around his nearby surroundings, the man checks for onlookers to make sure he’s not being watched, a quick thrust of his foot purposefully knocking the woman’s neatly-stacked novels into each other, forcing them to fall like dominoes as he quickly hurries away to his flat. “I’ve probably said it before, and I don’t know exactly when I started meaning it, but I know for a fact that I’m telling the truth when I say it now-” Salem’s past-self voices, watching as the survivor whose vehicle she’s fixated in walks back for his apartment, “-I fucking love you guys.” As her lip quivers, another tear runs down the side of the sorrowful woman’s face, leaving a trail behind as it runs freely, allowing passage as the effort to hide it evades her. “I guess I should be glad I’m not good at these kinds of things... It keeps me from having to look you all in the eyes and say all of this” she proceeds, trying to muster a laugh, though all that can find its way through her sobering grin is a teeth-heavy groan of mixed emotion, “and even then, one of you would probably jump at the first opportunity you had to talk me out of this.” With a snarl, future Salem steps away from her window and bows her head to the open fireplace, quickly extinguishing the fire not even she easily recalls being without. Confidently and with reassurance, the woman steps through her front door and leaves it open just a crack, the peek of darkness shown through the slit in its opening affording any passers by a glance into the void of nothingness that resides within. Stepping down to ground level once more, the woman’s eyes take to the same car that she marches toward, looking past the fallen books and to the trunk that she lifts with the ease of her finger’s push. Within seconds, Salem’s hands go from empty to occupied, her left pushing the vehicle’s rear shut with a loud enough force to catch ears whilst her right brandishes the rifle she’d gone not a day of this current world without. “I’m sure some of you will think differently. This isn’t a decision that you guys could- or even should- change” Salem’s past remarks, her free hand trying to wipe the waterworks that well from her eyes. “Emilio... You’re an awesome guy. I’ve given you shit in the past, but dude... There are times where I envy the fact that I’m not you” she confesses, allowing herself to break out a chuckle for the tape to overhear, “I can only hope you’re not still refusing yourself credit for all you’ve done.” Clearing her throat, the woman runs her hand through the hair that falls over her shoulder, aware of her need to tie it back. “Clint and Nessie. I know I never had the history with you two or Angela that I had with everyone else, but that doesn’t change how much you’ve meant to me and everyone else too” Salem carries on, gently setting the recorder onto the centre console, “before Cumberland- and especially after everything happened post-Sun City- you’ve been right there for us... Every time.” “Hey!” Salem’s current calls out, brandishing her rifle as she stares into the lit flat that stands across from her, catching the ear of the man whose truck she’d spent the last few minutes scouting out. “Y- yeah?” the fleeing survivor responds, turning back as he begins to step from his common space and into the living room, pausing his return to the running vehicle as he spots the firearm in the woman’s hand. “You got any family?” Salem inquires, passing a glance at the well-loaded truck, more than aware that such a vast collection far exceeds what someone simply fleeing the city would need. “No?” the man responds, staring at the woman curiously as he answers honestly, slowly putting a duffle bag onto the tiled floor of his kitchen whilst looking onward. “To Jack and Lauren, I wish you all the absolute best. I hope this all comes and goes without hurting enough people to call it a travesty” Salem’s past self remarks, pulling her hair back and tying it into a bun, eyes keeping toward the parked truck behind herself. “The two of you have something nice going for yourselves here. Ever since the start, I felt like the two of you needed something to live for” she confesses, turning her head to the side for leverage, “I’m glad you found each other.” Finishing the tie, the woman reclaims her recorder and rests her free hand over the steering wheel, letting it hang there as a smile comes over her face again. “Fuck. This is the hardest part” Salem admits aloud, staring at the ceiling for a moment to collect herself before a chance to continue can be afforded. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Salem’s not-too-distant future self proclaims, watching the man’s hand begin subtly reaching behind himself before brandishing her own rifle. “I’m not so sure about you, but I know how to use my gun” the woman warns, watching the cautious reach her opposing survivor takes come to a momentary stop, “and just as I can assure you that I know how to use my gun, I can assure you that- if I shoot- I won’t miss.” “Franklin, you are one of the smartest, most sincere and toughest bastards I’ve ever met. As much love as I have for Alicia, there’s only one person that got in my good graces before all the others-” Salem’s past self reflects, lowering her voice slightly as she lifts the device closer to her face, “-from those runs with Heather and Cameron to those talks we’d have when we got into Concord... You always just came across like a dude that- even if I didn’t know why- I just knew I could trust.” Forming an ‘O’ with her lips, Salem lets a deep sigh escape as a wave of tranquillity runs through her body, easing her as she sinks further into her seat. “You’re gonna be a great influence on the little one. I’m glad I met most of you after the world ended, ‘cause you kept me grounded in ways most of you never even realised. But Frank, man I wish I knew you before then. You could’ve set me in my place” she admits, “in case I never said it before, sorry for almost shooting you that one time.” *pop* In the near distance, a loud thud hits the ground as Salem’s future self watches on, her rifle lowering from a readied position as the barrel redirects toward the ground. “I told you I wouldn’t miss” she murmurs aloud, letting her shoulders fall for a moment before stepping forward, approaching the flat’s front door, quietly pulling it shut before turning away, “I’m just glad you’ve got no family for me to feel guilty for.” Into the backseat, the woman’s books find themselves coming into a new home, the comfort of a spacious truck proving as their final method of transportation from one location to the next. Laying her rifle alongside the passenger’s chair, Salem strolls around the front of the truck and up to the driver’s side, stepping onto the vehicle’s elevated floor before taking one final glance at the place she’d called home for one last glimpse. “I suppose that brings me to the woman of the hour... Alicia” Salem’s past self remarks, pulling her extended leg away from the brake and onto the seat she occupies, continuing to stare at the bright headlights that flood her sedan’s interior with light, “y’know, when I was a little girl, I never really got along with my classmates. It didn’t matter what level of school it was, I was just never the kind that had the group of friends everyone thinks of when they imagine their youth.” Using her free hand to open her door, Salem begins speaking louder as she lets free another noticeable sigh. “Eventually, I got to that point in my life where I could just cut people off. I’d go radio silent and- since I wasn’t the most remarkable person in their life- they’d just start forgetting about me” the woman conveys, shaking her head as the free hand begins to rest atop her bent knee, “then I started feeling glad I didn’t have those friends. It would’ve made disappearing a lot harder.” With the look of dissatisfaction, Salem’s future self nods her head toward the dark window of her former flat before stepping into her new truck, slowly pulling out of the driveway before directing the vehicle toward the nearest main road. One headlight after another passes her as the adventure she begins to resume many years after she’d initially set out to have it starts taking centre stage. “And now, I feel even more grateful that I never had those friends. I can’t imagine how hard it would’ve been to set out on my own if I had to say goodbye to every last one of them” Salem’s past self continues, blending in with her present all too much as pauses of absolute silence persist from the control of a driver’s seat. “I could never imagine having to do this over and over and over again... It’d drive me nuts” she admits, a smile beginning to form on her face, “I only have to do it once.” To the company of silence, Salem’s departing drive eventually leads her to the one pitstop she’d planned to make before saying her final farewell to the compound, a mostly-empty parking lot eventually holding host to its second vehicle. Just beside a green station wagon, the well-equipped truck rolls to the front of a small and cosy library, where the lone keeper of all hard and soft covers alike just now begins turning off the building’s lights. “I really hope you make it out of all of this alive. I hope all of you do, but Alicia... Fuck. Dude, I love you with all that I’ve got to offer in my heart” Salem expresses, wrapping her free hand around the headrest of her sedan’s driver’s seat. “I’ve seen you overcome addiction. I’ve watched you force yourself into accepting who people are in spite of who you really wanted them to be” she carries on, eyes wandering the brick wall her car is parked at. “Excuse me, ma’am?” the departing woman calls out, catching the ear of the librarian as the older woman steps through the front door, preparing to lock the building down for the rest of the evening. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But, I- uh- I think I have a few books that the person who lived in my flat before I got there may have borrowed from you?” Salem explains, a visually pleasant and well-meaning nature presented, “I was hoping you could help me finally get them back where they belong.” “You brought a baby into this world. You’re the strongest chick, the biggest badass and the toughest mama I have and will ever know” Salem proceeds, finally delivering her sedan’s interior with the fresh air that she needs to keep from falling apart emotionally. “Emilio, Franklin, Clint, Nessie, Jack, Lauren- whoever it is... I hope they all live long and happy lives” she confesses, beginning to grow sorrowful yet again in spite of the fresh air, “but this new world’s gonna need you, Alicia.” “Thank you... Have a great night and be safe!” Salem calls out, waving goodbye to the librarian whom she’d finally finished her previous apartment’s tenant chore with the help of, climbing into her truck with nothing but open road ahead of her. Adjusting the rear view mirror she’d forgotten to fix before leaving her apartment, the driver fastens her seatbelt and stares into an empty backseat- the books returned to their rightful place just as she’s set to. “I know I said I was no good at it, and that I was making this in order to prevent myself from having to... But I felt like I shouldn’t be able to go without at least saying it once” Salem quips, her past self watching the truck’s owner dip back into his flat in search of the next item to load into his bed. “After all that we’ve been through, I couldn’t just walk off into the middle of the night without a word...” she confesses, shaking her head as she puckers her lips, “...not this time.” “On behalf of Nova Scotia, we wish you the safest of travels” the guard overlooking one of Nova Scotia’s few entry points from the outside world remarks, stamping a small booklet with Salem’s image and likeness on it. “Thanks” the woman replies, nodding her head toward the man as the sound of approval from an overhead patrolman fills the air, granting the massive, steel doors to the outside permission to part, allowing the well-stocked survivor to reenter the world she never yearned to leave. “From the bottom of my heart, I want all of you to know that I will love you forever” Salem recalls, some of the final words she’d uttered onto tape for her friends to hear playing on repeat in her mind as she finally ventures beyond the last stand of society’s compound walls. “Maybe the day will come where our paths will cross again. I hope for your sake that it isn’t you being forced back into my world this time around” she’d proceeded, her past self having failed to stop the tears again. Just a kilometre and a half beyond the walls and firmly a no one to the Nova Scotian government once again, Salem parks her truck along a desolate hillside and steps out, taking one final look at the lights through the dark Canadian night. “Until we meet again, know that you will forever have a piece of my heart. I will love you all until the ends of the earth and to my dying breaths” she recalls, a smile coming over her face. “For everything that we’ve seen and for all there is still yet to see” Salem whispers to herself, tucking her hands into her pocket as she embraces the wondrous sights of Nova Scotia for the final time. With a nod, the woman takes in the various lights and whatever other signs of civilisation there are to leave behind, accepting the terms that her departure has made unavoidable by turning back and returning for the driver’s seat, carrying on with her journey elsewhere. \ Three hours later / “For everything that we’ve seen and for all there is still yet to see...” the recorder plays, its tape being spun at the centre of a highly-populated flat, the words it had been used to share now meeting the ears they were intended for, Salem’s final message making its way to where it belongs, “...thank you- and goodbye.” With the click of the machine’s mechanisms, the apartment becomes filled with a lifeless hush just as the recording had started playing alongside, not a soul able to know for certain what there is to say. Looking to each other, the group that remains awaits someone else to carry the mantle of the conversation, equally as unsure and undesiring of the right as all others. Throughout the room, a palpable sickness can be felt, one that touches upon the back of each mind scattered throughout the flat. As if they’d begun to buy into the warnings that have been prepared for them, the group’s eyes soon find themselves pausing their wondrous journey across the room before falling away from all others, their focuses instead being turned to random and unimportant corners of the room that, unlike their friends, don’t inspire grave doubts. “This is useless” Emilio finally breaks the silence to speak, the eyes of the four survivors immediately taking toward him as he steps off the couch, walking to the centre of the room before dragging the chair that sits in it back toward the kitchen. “Salem is completely right. I know exactly what she’s talking about with Charlotte. That look she gave us before shooting at Gamble” he declares, returning to the common area from the adjacent kitchen, “she will never stop.” “What does that mean?” Franklin responds, his arm and a half crossed over his chest as he sits upright, “you can stand here and say Charlotte won’t stop, but how does that change anything that’s about to happen?” “Yeah. Even if Charlotte’s got no end in mind, that doesn’t change the fact that the bridge over the water was just blown up. If that doesn’t signal war, nothing can” Jack replies, gradually pulling his arm out from around his wife’s neck, “we’re already at war. What does Charlotte’s stubbornness change about what’s gonna happen anyway?” “‘Cause this war is going to be a bloody, violent, and relentless one if Charlotte has her way” Emilio replies, pointing his finger at the window near the back of the room. “It’ll only be a matter of time until we’re all drafted to serve in some makeshift army sent on suicide missions that result in nothing. Charlotte won’t accept concessions, she’ll sacrifice one life after another until she has the head of whoever’s taking over for Gamble” he continues, painting out a vicious cycle. “Even when she has that guy’s head, she’ll want the one of whoever comes next. The same with the guy that follows, and so on and so forth” Emilio carries on, almost giving himself more anger than Salem’s departure leaves him with, “everyone will keep dying until she has that island back, but even that won’t be enough. She won’t have a bridge to connect the places, and she won’t have the leverage over whoever’s still alive and preferred the way the island ran themselves instead.” “So it’s just one cycle of perpetual conquering and dissatisfaction?” Alicia inquires, crossing her left leg over her right as the voicing of her question barely finishes before the nearby sound of crying catches her ear. “Go ahead” Emilio murmurs, stepping aside to grant the mother whatever room she needs to venture off toward the tearful Buddy, “but yeah, it’s just one big cycle that repeats itself. The only consistent thing is that people just keep dropping like flies.” “Then what the fuck do you suggest we do about that?” Jack questions aloud, slowly pushing himself off the couch before gradually making it to the halfway point of the room. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Charlotte perhaps less than anyone else here. But even with that said, let’s not sit around and pretend we have much of an option” the man proclaims, throwing his hands out in surrender, “for god’s sake, we’re already stretched as it is. No one here has any say in what comes next.” “But we could” Emilio retorts, his counterpoint immediately called into question by one of the few visitors left to grace the flat with their presence. “Oh yeah? How?” Jack replies, standing just two metres away from the figure of leadership that had guided them to the wartorn compound, “do you suggest we switch sides? Maybe vote her out of power in the next election that I’m totally sure she’ll have... Wink wink. Just what do you suggest we do to fix our little Charlotte issue, Em’?” Though he talks a big game, Emilio’s lips remain pressed together when the time comes to provide an answer, one that he’d know he doesn’t have if he were honest with himself. Remaining in her seat with hands folded, Lauren watches on from her place to the room’s side whilst the flat’s second tenant remains seated at its backside, his arms remaining crossed as he awaits the proposed solution just as all others do. “We kill her” Alicia suddenly responds, turning the nearest corner with the child in her arms, rejoining the conversation and recapturing the centre of attention. Halfway rolling his eyes, Jack’s head leans to one side whilst Emilio hangs his head, more than aware that the only plausible answer is the one that the mother had just proposed. “If that were a viable option, I would’ve done it when she literally gave me the chance” Jack responds, hands finding their way to his hips as his doubts are expressed, “this isn’t like the New World Order where we can take a shot at her and drive the woman out of our camp. She’s got allies here. There’s an entire standing army that takes their orders from her. We may have gotten away with it years ago, but now- well, I shouldn’t need to say anymore about why it no longer is.” “I’m not suggesting we walk up to her, shoot her in the face, and then turn around and tell the military that they take orders from us all of a sudden” Alicia replies, reaching into the vicious recesses of her mind for the inspiration behind such a solution, “we could make it look like an accident. We could make sure she had a strong contingency plan in case she ever bit the dust, and as long as we were satisfied with who the alternative was... We strike.” “We’d become the most wanted fugitives in the entirety of Nova Scotia” Franklin rebukes, stepping off the couch and approaching the room’s centre, joining the two men that already occupy it. “Anyone else could plead innocence, but whomever actually did the act would find themselves on the chopping block... Literally” he concludes, a statement that fails to strike fear within the heart of his wife. “It’d be worth it to make sure our son didn’t grow up in the kind of world his aunt feared that he would” Alicia replies, staring into the quiet face of a baby that’s been lulled to sleep yet again. “No, it wouldn’t be” Emilio responds, watching the mother look him in the eyes upon his refusal, their eyes colliding amidst his pause, “it wouldn’t be because you wouldn’t be the one finishing the job here... I would.” “Emilio, they are emotional and impulsive” Jack replies, failing to see the sense anyone else in the room has of killing the Nova Scotian chancellor, “you on the other hand have no excuse to be falling for the same nonsensical, suicidal rationale that they are.” “Aside from a few speedboats, Charlotte lacks a bridge and boats to get anywhere even remotely close to Prince Edward Island. Even in spite of that, the woman will not rest until she has soldiers stepping on dry land across the strait” Emilio argues back, watching Jack turn away and begin lowering himself back to the open seat beside his wife. “I never said she wasn’t delusional, I just said she’s too important in this compound for any of us to do anything about her” the departing husband responds, rolling his eyes at the idea that he has of potentially being the only sound voice in the room. “She has sway in this place like no one else. For fuck’s sake, she should! She started this whole damn place from the ground up” Jack concludes, kicking one leg over the other as his phone begins to ring, “to us... she’s untouchable.” “And yet, she needs to fall” Alicia mutters aloud, looking into her son’s face as Franklin draws closer, gently resting his shortened nub on the child’s hand whilst his dominant arm softly cradles his wife’s lower back. “Yeah, we’ll be there in an hour or so” Jack remarks, answering the hasty voice on the other end of the line with a slight surprise, concluding the call before helping his wife stand up as they prepare to depart. “That was Donnie. He’s one of the dudes close to Courtney” the man remarks, quickly retreating for the flat’s front door, “Lauren and I need to head back home right now.” “But it’s not safe out there!” Alicia proclaims, keeping her voice low enough as she and her husband turn to face the disembarking couple, the shrug they receive in response being the only thing that they’re given in return. “Guys, you can’t just be leaving like th-!” Emilio remarks aloud, stepping forward with his hand outstretched before the couple brush him off, the warning he tries to offer falling on deaf ears as they quickly step through the entrance and close it behind themselves. “Damnit!” Emilio grunts, punching the air as he spins around, coming face to face with the apartment’s tenants as the final remaining guest. “And then, there were four” Franklin jokes, a frown on his face and a brow raised over his right eye as he looks into his child’s face, a remark that their final visitor fails to react to. Shaking his head, Emilio lets out a grunt as he storms to the apartment’s front door, stepping through it quickly whilst the couple that he departs from shake off the exit, already having accepted the terms of their group’s fractured state by this point. “And then there were three” Alicia murmurs, gently rubbing Buddy’s cheek with her extended index finger, his peaceful face bringing a half-smile over the face of a woman emotionally drained from the loss her night was crafted from the ashes of. = 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 = “Come on- in here!” Harvey calls out, taking Katie by the hand and leading her through a swarm of protestors, heading for the higher ground that a multi-story hotel appears to offer. Keeping their heads low and hurry intact, the pair shield themselves from any projectiles that may pose a threat before dipping into the remains of a window that’s been shattered amidst the destruction this horde of humanity has littered the island’s once-capital city with. “Hey, Harvey... Where the hell are we going!?” Katie calls out, her voice amplified by the mostly-empty lobby that she and the man quickly run through, only a few stragglers left behind, covering themselves behind whatever furniture they can find to avoid the chaos they’d accidentally stumbled into. “Wherever the hell it’s safe” Harvey shouts back, beginning to climb the length of an unpowered escalator in search of the next level, his acquaintance left with little choice but to follow. Down one corridor, around a corner and hurrying into the stretch of another hallway, the pair continue to bolt through the spacious and unoccupied passageways through what would most often be a peaceful and luxurious stay. Though she pays little mind to it, Katie takes a few seconds after every turn to let the oddity of where they traverse sink in, having spent so long outside in a crowded mass of people that the empty and less-travelled halls feel eerie in a strange way. From one floor to the next, the survivors proceed onward with their scurry up the height of the building, each level bringing them a bigger picture of the havoc-strewn city they’ve yet to see for themselves. “For fuck’s sake, are we going to keep climbing forever!?” Katie calls out, having spent the majority of their journey keeping to herself, instead opting to let the man ahead of her inspect their surroundings for himself, a more informed look taken at their unfamiliar environment offered. Coming to a stop at the end of another passageway, Harvey takes a look around the area before following the walls with his eyes, an open door almost immediately capturing his attention. “Over here” the man proclaims, leading the charge to an open room before taking a pause, allowing the woman to step ahead of him as he reaches for the nearest light halfway down the corridor’s length, unscrewing the bulb to entrench the path in darkness and keep unwanted travellers away. Shutting the door on the entrance of her colleague, Katie locks the room off from the outside and presses her back against it, lifting her chin toward the ceiling as she gathers her breath. “What the fuck is going on!?” she bellows aloud, already aware of the answer, but incapable of preventing herself from voicing it aloud, the inquiry coming too naturally to be ignored. “They’re rioting, what does it look like?” Harvey responds, standing at the front of the room with both hands on his hips, collecting himself for a moment before springing further into action. “Word’s getting around like wildfire. The island’s full of people- both from here and from over the bridge- and they’re all finding out about the lockdown at the same time” he continues, stepping up to a set of doors at the opposite end of the room from his friend, “they’re all cut off from the mainland.” “What are you doing?” Katie questions aloud, listening to the sliding doors part ways, granting her colleague entry to the balcony adjacent to the room, the exposure to open air immediately bringing a misplaced worry over the woman. “They can’t get to us from up here. Don’t worry” Harvey responds, stepping onto the terrace with caution before peering over the edge, a follow up that he’d carried on the tip of his tongue immediately falling away from his mind as he stares out below. Trying to catch her breath as best as she can, Katie turns around to double check that she’d locked the door before walking across the room, slowly joining beside the man who already spectates the goings-on of the world from well above. “Wow” Harvey whispers, stepping aside to allow his friend access to the bannister, watching the woman’s hands wrap over it as she takes a gander for herself, “this is an uprising.” Gathered en masse, the residents of Prince Edward Island huddle together in display of their disapproval for the actions of their ruling government. Wielding lit torches, various melee weapons and loaded firearms, the people of the breakaway landmass refuse the qualities of civilisation they’ve been demanded to present, instead opting to present their dissatisfaction for the regime by making a swarm of people too large for any one power to control. “Can you blame them?” Katie asks aloud, every strip of land meant for automobiles, emergency vehicles, and other public transportation now completely filled with a horde of residents vehemently opposed to the ruling class that offers them nothing in the way of information, reassurance, or comfort. “Gamble’s radio-silent and they’ve just now found out that he’s been pulling the strings behind their backs” Katie remarks, shaking her head as the wind begins to pick up, the late hours of an evening beginning to turn into the early hours of a new day. “Some of these people lived there. They have family there, or they have friends, or-” she continues, only to fall silent as the knot in her stomach thwarts any further deep dives into the populous, “-and now they’re stranded here.” Each breath taken heavily and slowly, Harvey wraps his fingers over the railing’s ledge and leans inward, gazing at the spectacle below and recognising it as one that will not let up any time soon. Pulling away, Katie shakes her head with a loss for words and turns back for the unoccupied hotel room, watching the light of a nearby nightstand power out just as her friend’s voice speaks aloud. “The power just went down” Harvey calls out, watching the street lamps in all directions go completely dark, sentencing the angry mob to a lightless and aid-devoid Charlottetown to a poor reception. Picking up in tenacity, the booing and shouts of defiance come over the populated city with thunderous motivation, enraging the crowd into further devoting themselves to the mob mentality that they already march with. Throughout the streets, protestors pick up their displays of violence by lighting the insides of vehicles on fire with the use of their torches, whilst other survivors take whatever weighted objections they can find and hurl it toward anything fragile. “And it’s going to stay down until all of this stops” Katie replies, taking out the tie in her hair to allow each strand to fall freely, covering her shoulders as she kicks off her shoes and takes a seat at the end of the bed. “The longer Gamble and Co. go without addressing the obvious, the worse all of this is going to get” Katie continues, sliding one sock off before beginning on the other, “whoever’s pulling the strings while they figure out how to get this under control is going to make it as uncomfortable for the people down there as they can in hopes that most of them will just fuck off to wherever they came from.” “And since that won’t work, that means they’ll just keep shutting things off until the crowd dissipates” Harvey replies, already able to recognise the direction in which the woman’s claims are heading whilst keeping his eyes glued to the action outside. “And that means that- if we’re only up here to wait out the bullshit going on down there- we’re stuck up here” Katie concludes, stepping off the bed before sliding off her pants, “and if that’s the case, then I’m going to bed.” Scoffing at the notion, Harvey continues to look at what rages on a few stories below whilst shaking his head, turning back to return to the room’s inside, “you really think you’re gonna fall asleep with all that going on out-?” Falling silent, the man’s eyes wander upon the bare legs of his sudden roommate, watching them slip out of the trousers that had covered them up until that moment. “I’m tired and spent the majority of the day on a boat from one island to another. I have a bed, I have a blanket, and I have a pillow” Katie replies, quickly lifting her shirt off before tossing it into a corner of the room and making her way toward one side of the mattress, “Gamble’s fights will not keep me from sleeping.” Having stopped halfway through the patio doors, Harvey watches with widened eyes and his mouth partially open as the woman climbs into bed, taking a momentary glance toward him as she slides beneath the covers. “What?” Katie inquires, paying little mind to the reaction as she lays on her side, a shake in her head offered before it collides with the soft pillow, earning a satisfied release of the woman’s captured breath. “I- uh- nothing” Harvey stutters, shaking his head before dipping his hands into his pockets, letting his eyes fall to the ground as he uncomfortably turns away, setting his attention toward the equally-dark building across the road from them. With a squint, Katie watches the man’s reaction for a few seconds before a sudden thought brings a smirk over her face, a last-second glance toward the pile of her clothes across the room from her solidifying the realisation. “Oh please. For god’s sake, do not tell me you’re getting all rosy-cheeked like a teenage boy at the sight of an almost-naked woman” Katie laughs, sitting upright in bed whilst undoing the clasp of her bra. “I’m not! I just-” Harvey quickly rebukes, fully turning away from the woman whilst pressing the base of his hand against the open patio door, leaning against it as he runs through the various thoughts clouding his mind like a heavy fog, “-I wasn’t expecting that.” “Well you didn’t think I was going to sleep in my regular clothes, did you?” Katie responds, still too amused at the man’s schoolboy-like reaction to not grin, “at least expect me to take off my bra or something!” “Katie, I just wasn’t expecting to see you naked... That’s all” Harvey replies, carrying the smile of a man still pleased with what he’d caught the glimpse of, even though he presents the slightest embarrassment- never having seen the woman in such an exposed state despite their months of shared work. Discarding her bra for the uncomfortable hassle that it truly is, Katie tosses the covers off herself before climbing back out of bed, standing in nothing more than the underwear that she soon slides off just as she did with everything else. “Well, take a good goddamn look, buddy” the woman responds, flinging the lime green coloured panties off to the pile in the corner before extending her arms, leaving nothing to the imagination, “I imagine we’ll be here for a while... so get used to it.” Lifting the knuckle of his thumb to the space between his teeth, Harvey presses down against his skin as he fights the temptation to turn around, ultimately falling victim to his mind’s curiosity. “I don’t mind. I don’t have the body of a supermodel or anything, but I’m confident in what I’ve got. Other people seeing whatever it is that I have isn’t something that phases me” Katie confesses, watching the man turn around and stare wildly at the presentation afforded to him. “I have boobs, a vagina, and a womb. Every woman does, and I am no exception” she continues, gesturing to her body as if it were no different from any other, “I know some people feel differently about nudity, but that’s my opinion of it. I don’t know, maybe I’d feel differently if I was here with someone other than you, but that’s not the situation we’re in.” “Why would you feel differently?” Harvey replies, finding the follow-up odd for the statement that it had stemmed from. “Because it’s you. We’ve spent how many months working together? You already know I’ve got the hots for you. If it were someone I wasn’t into and didn’t trust like you, maybe I’d feel differently about being naked around them” Katie answers, shrugging as she couples her hands behind her back, “but you? I’m cool with it.” “And you feel a specific way being naked around me instead of someone else?” Harvey clarifies, shaking his head with a level of confusion strong enough to share his interest with the woman’s body sparks in him. “Of course I do. If it were someone else, I’d just tell them to deal with it or find somewhere else to sleep” Katie responds, turning away and beginning her march back to the mattress, “with you? Well to put it bluntly, I’d just hope you’d think I was hot. Not much more to it, I guess.” Flustered, Harvey bows his head whilst his roommate steps across the room, climbing back into bed as her nude body falls behind the veil of the comforter once more. “Either way, the shit going on outside isn’t going to die down anytime soon. If you’re not gonna go find another room, you might as well just get as comfortable with it as I am” Katie concludes, pulling back the covers of the opposite side of the mattress to present the man his half, “the invitation’s open.” Though he looks up, the man’s face stares blankly at the open side of the bed, watching the woman lay herself the rest of the way into it on the other end. Ruffled, the pulled-back comforter awaits Harvey’s arrival as he weighs the option, thinking quietly to himself as the offer awaits its answer, Katie’s closing eyes making it evident that she’s fine with whatever choice he makes. | “What the fuck’s going on here!?” Jack shouts, stepping out of the car he parks just beyond the reach of his garage door, slamming his door shut as he marches toward the home he and his wife share with anger coursing through his veins. “Mr. O’Rourke, please calm down” Donnie quickly retorts, extending his hands calmly in a show of good faith as a gesture to prevent the man from marching any further than his makeshift workshop’s entrance. “Calm down? Calm down!?” Jack barks, barely able to hear the steps of his wife’s feet over their gravel-filled parking lot as she catches up to him, “are these your guys!?” “They are, but they’re only-” Donnie begins to reply, stepping in front of the homeowner as he attempts to wander past, angrily attempting to march toward the members of the compound’s army that single-handedly confiscate every piece of equipment from the home’s garage, “-they’re only here on Charlotte’s orders!” Shoving Donnie away, Jack sidesteps the man and approaches the closest guard to him, immediately drawing interest from the guards that stand by in the event of an altercation. “Put my shit down!” the man exclaims, pulling a gun out and taking aim with its barrel toward the three men lugging a hefty pressing machine into the open air. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Donnie immediately orders, waving his hands toward the militants that surround the home in every direction, aware of the hostility that suddenly consumes the confrontation, and eager to prevent it from getting out of hand. “Donnie, tell these scumbags to put our shit back or I’ll blow this guy’s fucking brains out, so help me g-” Jack demands, unable to finish his colourful language-filled tirade before the man he questions interjects. “I know you’re pissed off and you’ve got every right to be, alright!? I’m not gonna try to tell you that you’re overreacting or anything like that, okay!?” Donnie pleads, trying to reason with the man who rightfully reacts with aggression at the sight he’s presented with, “pointing that gun isn’t going to help anyone here. If you lower it and talk with me, I’ll tell them all to stop for the time being.” “I want them to stop period” Jack argues back, speaking to a man sympathetic to his cause, but not delusional enough to go against the orders demanded of him. “I’d like for that too, but unfortunately- none of us can stop this” Donnie replies, continuing to speak to the back of the man’s head whilst the gun remains aimed, “I promise you that they want to be taking your stuff even less than you want them to. But these are Charlotte’s orders and we can't disobey them.” “Bullshit. You can all drop what you’re doing, give me back my shit, and drive off” Jack responds, fighting off his more vicious intentions by lowering the gun and turning to face the only voice that speaks to him, keeping the burning rage within him intact. “It’s that simple” the man argues, letting his pistol hang by his side whilst Donnie gestures for the militants to cease their duties, “but instead, you’re taking my shit. You’re confiscating what I bought. So now... tell me why.” “Because Charlotte’s ordering a full shutdown on all privately-operated businesses manufacturing conflict-based armaments” Donnie immediately replies, shaking his head apologetically, “that includes the confiscation of all privately-owned weaponry and armour-based machinery and utilities effective immediately.” “And why the fuck am I supposed to do what Charlotte wants?” Jack retorts, the feeling of Lauren’s hand gently resting on his chest being the lone force preventing his aggression from boiling over. “The answer is as simple as saying ‘she’s in charge’” Donnie confesses, watching Jack grunt as he turns away, staring off into the open field across the way from his home to keep from letting his frustration escalate any further. “Whether you like it or not- Nova Scotia’s at war. There’s no way of knowing who is or who isn’t a threat to the people in charge” Donnie continues to explain, though the remark isn’t one that’s allowed to exist without pushback. “And what exactly does Charlotte think stripping her citizens of their livelihoods is going to accomplish?” Lauren quips, motioning her hand toward the seizing of their property as proof of her case, “if she didn’t have enemies before, she’s certainly making them now.” “And you’d be an idiot to think that point hasn’t already been made to her” Donnie admits, trying to level with the woman just as he had tried with her husband, “what Charlotte says goes, and it’s been that way ever since the walls went up. Whatever happens moving forward is up to her.” “Do you think that’s a good thing?” Jack retorts, returning to the conversation after a brief departure, trying to gauge the mindset of the man that had tried to justify stripping them of their belongings. “I mean, what are we supposed to do!? This is how we afford to live!” he continues to proclaim, hands outstretched toward the home they’d rightfully earned, “and now what!? That’s taken away from us all because some paranoid freak show doesn’t want her actions coming back to bite her!?” “Wouldn’t you do the same thing?” Donnie inquires, believing himself to have caught the man in a moment of hypocrisy, only for the ease in which he answers to prove such a theory wrong. “No, I wouldn’t! I held a gun at Charlotte’s head right-fucking-here and had the chance to blow her fucking brains out like that!’ Jack shouts, standing in the open garage and snapping his finger, “but I chose not to open a can of worms! I could’ve- and probably should have- killed her like that!” “He’s telling the truth” Lauren quickly reassures, speaking the moment her husband’s initial response finishes before crossing her arms, nodding to Donnie as the man looks back to her. “I can say- with proof- that I wouldn’t do the same thing! I wouldn’t have done the same thing because I wouldn’t have made the mistake she did!” Jack doubles down, returning to the man’s presence, “I knew better. If I’d shot that bitch when I had the chance, do you think I'd have had to suffer the consequences?” “Of course you would’ve” Donnie answers honestly, watching spit fly from the man’s lip as he angrily grunts the same four words. “Of course I would’ve, but that cunt can’t control her fucking temper and gets us into a massive shit show, but we have to be the ones that lose everything because she doesn’t want to face the music” Jack scathingly grumbles, his lip curling and nostrils flaring as he looks the chancellor’s representative in the eyes, “as far as I’m concerned? Fuck her.” Though the words cease between the three, Donnie still shakes his head beneath the wave of tension that comes over the area, unable to offer the kind of apology worthy of the action he’s been tasked with carrying out. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry to both of you” the man responds, watching the husband shake his head in refusal and turn away, walking back home with anger, “this is just the way it has to be.” Nodding to himself, Jack clicks his tongue and begins laughing out of anger, spitting at the ground before taking the barrel of his pistol into the air and opening fire at the night’s sky. One after another, gunshots ring throughout the open area as the militants remain cautious, weapons drawn at the man in the event his trigger is pulled in anyone’s direction. “Y’all hear that!? Y’all hear that gunfire!?” Jack screams aloud, his voice carried toward the direction of the armed men standing by and watching his outburst. “I’m not sure who it’s gonna be, but somebody is gonna get their hands on your chancellor! Yeah, that’s right! This shit!? This shit you’re pulling with me and my shit!? Yeah, some bastards ain’t gonna take that shit lying down!” he announces, making himself heard by all, “get used to that sound... that’s just the way it’s gonna be.” Having emptied his magazine, Jack tosses the firearm onto his lawn and flips off the military that surround his home, defiantly bidding them adieu as he re-enters his home, removing himself from the conflict that drives him into a new level of rage. | “Charlotte!” Courtney shouts, quietly walking through the corridor of a renovated Moncton city hall before peering around the corner and past the open door of the chancellor’s office, finding an absence of anyone other than the woman herself. “What’s up?” Charlotte responds with a casual tone, her feet kicked up onto the side of her desk to the right of her computer monitor, the various documents that she has opened on the screen taking attention that the mob outside the building tries to claim. Taken aback, the visitor stops halfway through the doorway and stares forward, watching the woman’s eyes take from one side of the screen to the next, reading a line of text quietly to herself before proceeding to the next. “What’s up?” Courtney repeats, calling the reply into question after taking a few seconds to digest it, watching the woman’s face finally pull away from the bright screen, taking to her direction. “Yeah... that’s what I asked?” Charlotte reassures, leaning back further in her seat without a care in the world, “what’s up?” Without a word, Courtney walks across the room and stretches her hand toward the nearest window, displaying the chaotic scene unfolding just outside the capitol building. “Do you not see what’s happening out there?” she wonders aloud, hearing the sounds of repressed chanting and aimlessly wandering protestors. “Sure I do” Charlotte responds, watching her friend turn back to look at her whilst reaching for a nearby glass of water, “they’ve been at it for a few hours now. They make it really hard to concentrate.” Though she can decipher the English used by her superior and understand it with perfect clarity, Courtney reacts with an awe and immeasurable loss, similar to how she would act if they weren’t speaking the language, but more akin to a disbelief that such a remark would be uttered. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Courtney retorts, her eyes wide and mouth agape, staring at the woman who squints back to her, almost unsure of why the subdued tone of disgust would be provided to her. “You’ve got thousands of people tearing through the streets because they’ve got no fucking clue what to do now!” the guest remarks, watching the chancellor roll her eyes, “some of these people have lives out on Prince Edward that they can’t get back to now.” “I never wanted Gamble to blow up that bridge” Charlotte replies, dismissing the claim as if it had nothing to do with her. “Do you think that makes it any better?” Courtney quickly rebukes, calling the woman’s defence into question, “do you think that anyone out there should give a damn about whether or not you wanted that bridge coming down? Do you think that changes anything about the situation we’re in now?” “I wasn’t the one that planted explosives around the bridge, and I’m not the one that’s keeping them from going back home” Charlotte responds, still casually resting in her seat as if the night were like any other, “Gamble brought the bridge down, and all of this mess is on his hands.” “You pulled the fucking trigger, Charlotte” Courtney immediately rejoinders, watching the apathetic frown her superior reacts with as a response, “and because of that, this entire compound is in a goddamn uproar.” In silence, the chancellor sits with the remarks that have been offered whilst continuing to stare at her subordinate, remaining quiet in lieu of further proclamations she’s come to anticipate. “Now people are out there. They’re lost and afraid, and they’ve got no clue where the hell to go now” Courtney continues, passing a few looks toward the hostile mob only kept at bay by the armed guards protecting the hall’s interior from the wrath of the residents. “Some of them have lives over there that they can’t get back to. They have family and friends! Hell, two people from Emilio’s group are over there right now!” she proceeds, instantly cut off. “I warned that man to get anyone he cared for over here before things got out of proportion... That’s not on me” Charlotte argues back, her interruption met with an interjection of her subordinate’s own. “No, but everything else is” Courtney replies, a dissatisfied look paid to her from the chancellor’s face, “and right now, you’ve got an entire community that needs answers from someone-” the paramotorist declares, hands finding their way to her hips, “and instead, you’re in here.” “Alright, Court’... What do you suggest that I do?” Charlotte inquires, taking a sip from her glass of water before crossing her arms and leaning further back, “do you want me to walk out and tell them all ‘sorry, but you’re stuck here now. Too bad, so sad, move on’ and move on with life?” “I want you to do your fucking job!” Courtney shouts back, answering the question the second it’s finished being voiced, a sudden pause coming over her as the anger she’d tried to suppress makes its way to the surface. “You’ve thrown this entire place into chaos! And I don’t give a shit why you did it, the only thing I care about is that you fix it!” she proceeds, aggravatedly swatting a book off a table near the far end of the office, “instead, you’re sitting here like you don’t give a shit.” “I don’t give a shit” Charlotte reassures, watching her subordinate fall silent at the admission, one that hadn’t been expected. Pulling her feet off the desk, the chancellor unfurls her arms and steps out of her chair, finally shifting her attitude from one of dismissal to something confrontational, willing to take part in the infuriated discourse her subordinate has proposed. “Do you think I can afford to care about how sad some random guy who happened to be on the wrong side of town at the wrong time is because he can’t get back to feed his cat?” Charlotte interrogates, slowly stepping around her oakwood desk and drawing nearer to her argumentative acquaintance, “in god knows how long, we could have boats rolling into our port cities and purposefully spilling thousands of armed enemies or fast zombies into the compound.” “And whose fault is that?” Courtney quickly wonders back, her voice low to match the proximity her superior now comes from her, almost instantly earning a shouted response for her efforts. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is anymore!” Charlotte barks, both hands flying out at either side, “the point is that Gamble- or whoever's in charge over there- could be minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks away from launching a return attack as suddenly as the one he opened earlier this afternoon.” Returning to her sides, the chancellor’s arms hang loosely before her right hand lifts to point at the window that had captivated her subordinate’s fixations, using it as an illustration to strengthen her point. “Those people out there won’t give a damn about anything that I’d have to say unless it was a bold-faced lie that everything was going to be alright” Charlotte points out, shaking her head in refusal, “but it won’t be. It won’t be because that’s the nature of war.” Remaining stoic in her hush, Courtney continues to look into the eyes of the woman that stands opposite her, trying to retain every word that’s uttered in spite of the incredible revulsion that they provoke within her. “They can loot shit, they can start fires, they can shoot each other- it doesn’t matter” Charlotte concludes, again steadying her point at the crowd-facing window, “they’re all gonna have to come together and fight with each other in Nova Scotia’s name all the same.” Dropping her hand, Charlotte finishes her thought and turns away with satisfaction, walking for her seat on the opposite side of the desk before the voice she leaves behind catches her ear once more. “And why should they exactly?” Courtney inquires, watching the chancellor turn back to glance at her from over a shoulder, “the whole concept of Nova Scotia’s unification is what drove their leader to wage war and destroy their lives. So why fight for that concept?” In silence, Charlotte turns the rest of the way around and stares back at the woman across the room from her, unable to fully divulge the thoughts that circle around her head as a response that ultimately isn’t yet needed. “Or maybe I’m asking the wrong question” Courtney corrects herself, stepping forward to voluntarily close the gap that separates the women, “maybe they should fight for Nova Scotia. Maybe- and I’m just spitballing here- maybe the thing they shouldn’t fight for... is you.” With the slightest redirection of her chin, Charlotte’s confused and slightly irritated expression revolts into one of rage and absolute intolerance, her nostrils flaring and eyes widened. Tensing up, the woman’s body takes a statue-like position where it had stopped off prior to the defiant remark, her eyes unwavering from Courtney’s face, which only further deepens her anger. “Get out” Charlotte calmly responds, stepping away and finishing her retreat to the unoccupied seat at her desk, lowering herself back into it and trying to kick her feet up as if the interaction hadn’t gotten the best of her. Aware that the conversation will no longer find success of any regard, Courtney seethes silently before nodding to herself, turning away and making for the exit whilst the chancellor stares into the monitor that her feet sit beside. For a few seconds, Charlotte sits with her thoughts and does the best at trying to resume her prior duties whilst reaching for her water, lifting it to her lips before pausing. With a twitch in her right eye, the woman’s ears take to the obnoxiously loud gathering just beyond the windows that separate her from the public. In a moment of outrage, the chancellor hurls the glass across the room, watching it shatter against the cement wall, her head tilting back as she tries to regain her composure. == Rise == “Aaahhh!” a man in a t-shirt and bulletproof jacket exclaims, falling to the ground beneath the weight of a full-body tackle. Relentless, the assailant grabs the man’s flailing arms with all its might and tries pinning him down, fighting away the barrel of a rifle that threatens to take aim at its head. “No! No!” the soldier groans, losing the strength to fight off his attacker before slowly watching its face lean in, mouth disappearing from sight before its teeth bite down on his neck.
Kicking and screaming, the soldier’s every last will depletes as blood pools from the wound, his skin being torn away between the jaws of a zombie now fully overwhelming him. The bitter taste of blood coating his lips as his tongue dances across the stripped body tissue, the zombie dips his head down once more and provokes another shriek of pain and terror from the barely-breathing survivor, his blood spewing out like a high pressure fawcett in the final moments of life. One after another, the living fall victim to the wave of uncaged animals the undead appear to act as, lunging after their prey without exhaustion or emotion to stop them, their only care in the mindless state their deteriorated condition leaves them in being the residents that appear to them as nothing more than food. “Do you have a gun?” Salem questions aloud, keeping her head low and presence away from sight as she beckons the question for her friend to answer. “Yeah, I’ve got my pistol. I’ve only got the nine bullets, though” Emilio responds, keeping himself closer to the ground as he peers around the sedan’s rear, trying to get a precise estimation of how many zombies dart across the open area they’re stranded within, but the speed at which they run refuses him a count he’s comfortable with. Grimacing, Salem inspects the field as best she can and watches various swaths collapse from a well-placed gunshot just as quickly as the living topple to an undead offensive. “Damn” she mutters, setting her rifle on the ground for a moment as her hands reach for the vehicle’s trunk, propping it open before rummaging through whatever catches her eye. “Here” the woman remarks, tearing open the top of a toolbox before handing her fellow survivor a Phillip’s head screwdriver. “Salem, that might’ve worked for the biters we’re used to, but I’m not so sure it’ll be that effective against freaks like these” Emilio retorts, watching the woman slam the trunk shut and retrieve her rifle, a shrug coming over her. “Then get back in your car and drive away. If you’re not gonna do that- cover me” Salem replies, climbing onto the vehicle and stepping past the rear window, taking her place atop the vehicle’s roof before setting her eye to the scope of her weapon. “I thought you weren’t interested in a war!?” Emilio responds, throwing his hands out before doing as instructed, moving to one side of the vehicle to keep an eye out for the woman’s potential undead assailants. “No one in the group is safe if this place gets overrun with the dead, Em’!” Salem shouts back, pulling the trigger to spare one of Nova Scotia’s militants a few seconds of reprieve, one that he wastes by almost immediately stepping into the path of a second biter. “What is she doing!?” Courtney calls out, lifting her chin toward the roof of the same car she takes cover behind the door of, calling for an explanation from either the hobbled sniper or her impromptu coverfire. Unable to answer the question, Emilio shrugs as he walks by, continuing to circle the vehicle with his sights kept on the hundreds of undead beasts threatening the safety of their Canadian sanctuary. “How far out are you!?” Charlotte calls into the radio she pulls from her hip, firing a bullet toward the nearest corpse to her before taking another pair of undead out not too far behind. “There are people all over the road, Charlotte! We’re trying our best to get there!” the man on the other end of the line responds, speaking through his radio as he slowly traverses the massive mob of scared residents fleeing for safer pastures, trying to refrain from so much as wounding any of them. “Don’t worry, we’ve got helicopters en route to you now” the man doubles down, hoping to offer some sort of reassurance before his efforts find themselves falling on deaf ears. “No! Send the choppers after Gamble and over the bridge!” Charlotte orders, firing off at another two corpses as she pauses, “I want that son of a bitch gunned down before he can reach the other side! Kamikaze if you must, he cannot make it off that bridge!” “Ma’am, you’ll probably be stranded out there for at least half an hour without air support!” the responding driver leading a second convoy for backup proclaims, his words failing to change the woman’s command. “Send them after Gamble! He cannot make it to the other end!” Charlotte barks once more, firing at another three corpses before attempting for a fourth, only for the squeeze of her trigger to wield an empty response, her magazine expended. Dropping the radio from her hand, Charlotte begins hastily stepping backward as she pulls a second from a clip at her side, trying to buy herself time that disappears with each passing second. Hissing and swiping at the air as he marches toward her, the undead threatening the chancellor’s life draws nearer with every step, her efforts of changing out magazines nowhere close to being finished by the time he’s within arm’s reach. *pop* Within an instant, the chancellor’s close call with fate is ceased by a round expended from a rifle off to her left side, affording her the chance to finish reloading before sending off another two rounds, buying herself a moment to glance back. Carrying on with her duties, Salem pulls her barrel away from the chancellor’s direction and back toward where most of the undead remain, watching a few draw near whilst taking out those she can. Now firmly joining her friends in standing her ground, Courtney wields the rifle she’d stored in the reinforced car’s backseat and serves as coverfire for the wounded sniper. Standing in the open with the chance to catch her breath, Charlotte looks on at the trio a few metres away before her opportunity to gather herself is interrupted by the whirring sound of blades flying past above, directing themselves northbound at the chancellor’s behest. Still serving her duties within the Nova Scotian military, Salem fires round after round into the slowly-decreasing horde whilst Emilio and Courtney step forward, the woman’s barrel shooting off at those closing in on them whilst the man cleans up whatever stragglers survive her onslaught of expended ammunition. “We’ve got birds, sir” the bearded getaway driver remarks, looking in the side mirror to find a swarm of small, black, airborn machines encroaching on their position, closing in quicker than the retreating convoy’s tires can spin. “That’s fine, we expected them to” Gamble responds, bounced in his seat every few metres due to the once poorly-settled concrete the bridge had been renovated with, his hand grasping the safety handle over the door for support, “the plan is to be followed.” Like the sound of a heart beating, the blades above their chopper act like music to the ears of the foremost helicopter’s pilots, their eyes setting upon the convoy not even halfway across the Confederation Bridge by this point. “Which one is he in?” one of the two gunmen in the cabin inquires, poking their heads through the open side of the aircraft without certainty over which one to fire at. Hurrying back the way she’d once dashed from, Charlotte opens fire at the horde still closer to the bridge’s entry point than herself, passing by Donnie and Ethan as they order the troops that are still up and running in specific directions. Lunging at another corpse, Emilio digs his tool through the eye socket of an approaching corpse before kicking it off the weapon, letting its body fall into that of a second corpse, who he stabs in the back of the head to kill for good. Nodding to herself with reassurance that her friend can handle himself, Courtney begins to fully allocate her attention to Salem’s right side, covering what Emilio can’t whilst affording herself the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Charlotte’s retreat towards her. “Fuck it, fire at whichever one you’ve got eyes on” the soldier whose question went unanswered decides, leaning out of the helicopter’s side and opening fire on the armoured vans that tail the makeshift zombie cage trucks. Hearing the sound of gunfire tear up the already uneven terrain his retreat already suffers through, Gamble stares intently at the rear view mirror, watching the fleet of aircraft grow larger with every metre of distance they cover. “Get out of here!” Charlotte shouts, barking her orders to Salem and the survivors that cover her blindsides, refusing them any further opportunity to expose themselves to the horrorshow that’s unfolding, “backup is on the way, get back home!” “You’re the one that opened fire and started all of this. Your panties must be riding straight up that pussy of yours if you think I’m gonna do what you tell me” Salem shouts back, briefly pulling her face from the scope to look the chancellor in her eyes, “go right the fuck to hell.” “Do we shoot back?” the bearded driver wonders aloud, looking to the autocrat beside him for reassurance as the bullets draw nearer. “If I haven’t fired my weapon again, that means you already know the answer to that question” Gamble responds, a slightly irritated expression carried on his face as he looks back, eventually resetting his sights on the far length of the crossing they still have yet to traverse, “they haven’t even gotten in front of us yet.” Fully aware the only thing that will spark his friend’s retreat is a full wipeout of the undead army that they stand as the barrier to Nova Scotia against, Emilio marches further into the field with his weapon in tow, left hand holding the firearm he hopes to go without needing to use. Though she’s confident in the strength of their resistance, Courtney remains put beside the vehicle, beginning to watch the field of undead slowly find themselves pushed back beneath Nova Scotia’s return fire. Swiping through the air, Emilio swings at whatever imposing corpses move, far too comfortable with the act of putting the dead down and moving onto the next to be caught by surprise at the evolution of who he fights. As if playing a game, the once reluctant leader turned standard-holding follower takes the resistance’s lead, fearlessly marching into the corpse-filled territory as if the screwdriver were a padded hammer and the zombies he puts down were moles. One after another, the dead fall victim to the man wielding blind rage as a tool he expels through his pointed metal dagger, their skulls splitting and dark blood spilling as if he were so good at the game that he couldn’t help but break it. Body after body, lost soul after lost soul, weapon of malicious intent after weapon of malicious intent- the field falls to his mighty hand, dominated by the ever-sinking fury of a survivor who’d lost everything in line and is unwilling to let anymore go. Lowering her rifle, Courtney watches the man continue to whip through the field as if he were tending to crops, clearing the way for himself to travel whilst Salem does the same through her scope. Her hurry back to safety having turned into a slow rolling stroll, Charlotte eventually reunites with the closest thing she has to a genuine inner circle in time to watch the man return to his natural state as a survivor, breaking a will the undead army didn’t even climb off the trucks with. Grunting with each swipe, Emilio steps forward like a man possessed, the sweat that falls from his forehead giving a glossy sheen that splatters of blood from the dead he returns to the grave spill upon him, wearing it like a badge of honour. Within minutes, the man’s progression through the field is suddenly halted, his hand pulling back to take on the next undead body that lines up between himself and the protection of the compound his family calls home coming to an abrupt end. With wide eyes, the man holds a thousand yard stare toward the world that stands before him, keeping his hand readied for the swipe that he no longer needs to take. As the sun begins to set and the sky begins to lose its light blue colour, Emilio stares at the entrance to the Confederation Bridge that he’d unassumingly cleared his way to. In his wake, corpses line the asphalt roadway and the well-maintained lawn at each side. As if he can’t believe it himself, the rage he’d operated under dissipates in one quick, energy-draining moment as he turns back, looking into a field that had once been littered with gunfire, but now sits silent amidst a sea of eyes all centred upon him. Letting the screwdriver fall from his hand, Emilio lets a deep breath fire through his lips as he throttles his head back, flipping the loose hairs that had stuck to his bloody, dirty, sweaty face away from his visage. Overhead, the sound of whirring grows louder whilst Gamble eagerly anticipates the outcome of what he knows to be the final march between himself and a forced independence. Eventually, the roadway ahead begins to find itself pelted with ammunition from above as the aircraft pass them by, preparing to get opportunistic ground by cutting the convoy off from returning home. “Why aren’t they firing back!?” a gunman questions from the side of the helicopter, realising that the various ducks into cover that he takes are done without having any bullets to shield himself from. Unable to answer the question with certainty, the more experienced pilot passes a look at the convoy they now pass, uncertain that all is as it appears. Maintaining their pace, Gamble and the bearded driver pay close attention to the metal birds that zip past them in the sky and await for the first appearance of their turn backward. “A little bit longer and we’ll have them where we want them” the tyrant remarks, confidently reaching with his dominant hand into the pocket on his right side, retrieving the same handgun he’d used to signal the retreat and preparing himself to open fire. “This doesn’t feel right” the pilot remarks, shaking his head as he continues to watch the convoy appear as pacifists as they grant the same compound they’re now at war with the ability to beat them home. “So what do we do!?” the question-asking soldier in the cabin responds, continuing to look outward and open fire briefly before swiftly ducking back in, “should we keep firing!?” “Yes, keep firing! Don’t let him suspect anything out of the ordinary!” the pilot responds, nodding to the armed militant before reaching toward his controls, removing a radio from near its base. “All air units prepare to land along the bridge!” he exclaims, earning a look of surprise from the two men firing rounds behind him, as well as the man that occupies the seat beside him. “Charlotte’s orders are to prevent Gamble from making it across the bridge, but we can’t know for sure which vehicle he’s in-” the pilot proceeds, explaining his rationale behind the command, “-so we’re gonna stop all of them.” “Have you lost your fucking mind!? Those fuckers will smash right into us without a second fuckin’ thought!” the copilot retorts, watching his partner pull away from the handheld radio. “If we line up in rows, then smashing into us will just fill the roadway with debris and it’ll be impossible for them to get through” the command-offering controller responds, “we’ll land far enough ahead of them to give ourselves a head start on ditching the things and heading northbound.” “You want us to retreat into enemy territory!?” the soldier in the craft’s cabin shouts aloud, watching the man he calls out to turn back and answer as requested. “Our orders are to stop this convoy. Even if it didn’t feel like something was wrong- this is our best bet to do that” the pilot responds, quickly dismissing any further chances to ask questions as he returns the radio to his lips. “We’ll attempt a landing in half a kilometre, and the rest of you will fall into position and land in a row southward” the helicopter’s speaker remarks, trusting that his orders will be obeyed in full, “from there, we’ll retreat northbound and await Gamble’s next move from there- if he has any.” Listening to the engine roar, Gamble lets his hand slide free from his trench coat and begins slowly lifting the barrel toward the window beside him, tilting it toward the sky before suddenly pausing. “They’re flying away?” the bearded driver questions aloud, watching the swarm of aircraft carry onward as if they had simply been attempting to follow them, but had in no way been interested in the convoy itself. Confused, Gamble squints toward the departing fleet and gradually lowers his firearm from the window, letting it sit upon his lap as he waits to gather a clearer understanding of what’s going on. “Are they aiming for P.E.I?” the driver inquires, passing a glance toward the equally uncertain despot, watching the firearm fall onto his legs without an explanation. Gradually vanishing just as they had appeared in his rear view, the helicopters collectively voyage further down the bridge’s length beyond the point in which the autocrat can spot them. “This is highly unusual” Gamble murmurs to himself, soon lifting his chin the slightest amount before allowing a thought to dawn upon him. Releasing the grasp on his weapon, the tyrant removes a phone from within his getaway vehicle’s glove compartment and quickly dials a number. “I want you to commission a vessel to travel out from the port in favour of the Confederation Bridge” Gamble expresses through the receiver once he hears a voice answer, “inform them that they are to be on the lookout for survivors and warn them of the potential for dangerous obstructions that may be lurking in the waters.” “Thank you, Bristol” he soon concludes, hanging up the phone before discarding it on the floor, his hand wrapping around the grip of his firearm as he reclaims possession of it. After a few seconds of continued travel, the sight of the choppers is reclaimed by the autocrat, who furrows his eyebrows with visible anger as he begins to realise what sort of play the pilots have decided to take. “Slow the vehicle” Gamble remarks calmly, his voice holding a crisp and commanding rigidity to it. Not one to second guess the authoritarian, the bearded driver begins to slowly lay into the brake pad, flashing his vehicle’s red lamps to the van behind it, provoking its ceased progression as well. One after another, the retreating convoy slows their retreat to a complete standstill, the forty combined vehicles all eventually meeting the end of their travels at the same exact point. Disheartened at the flames that had been purposefully set to the buzzards, Gamble opens his passenger’s door and steps onto the bridge for himself, shutting the door on his way before stepping forward, drawing closer to the flaming rows of helicopters that make the road impassable. Following the lead of their superior, the crew that finds themselves thwarted eventually join the man in exiting their vehicles, staring straight at the debris that prevents them from returning home with their families. Taking the sights in for himself, Gamble soon takes his view away from the wrecked helicopters and watches the heavily-suited crew that had left them behind hurry off into the distance with hopes of reaching mainland- though not their own- once more. Nodding to himself, the tyrant’s hand slips back into his jacket to retrieve his weapon before aiming it forward, unsure if his firearm has the range to hit the pilots, but their disruption to his plan prevents him from taking much care of that into consideration. Steadying his face, the man’s finger touches the trigger before instinctively pulling away from it, a second thought popping into his head as he lowers the weapon and checks the magazine loaded into it. “Ah... one bullet” Gamble mutters to himself, returning the cartridge to the reflective, silver weapon that it fits into before scanning the area once more. With a squint in his eye, the tyrant reads his surroundings and takes into account the various concrete protections and supports, those that had been installed before society had fallen and those retrofitted when the bridge was expanded from two lanes to four the previous year. Reinforcements surrounding his every direction, the man at the forefront of his own aimless army nods to himself and hangs his head, turning back to the militia awaiting his further instruction before lifting his finger to his lips. Gesturing for them to keep silent, Gamble returns to them and steps into the huddled sea of humanity awaiting his next order, eventually stepping into the cabin of the truck he’d escaped peril from and calmly taking a seat. Pulling in one deep breath after another, Gamble repeatedly empties and fills his lungs with air, rapidly depleting them before expanding them once more to better condition the plan that he’s concocted at the drop of a whim. Collecting themselves together, the rebellion’s soldiers- the bearded driver included- remain outside of their vehicles with all eyes on the leader that seems as if he were hyperventilating just a short distance away. Suddenly, the autocrat’s lips press shut and remain that way as his hand slips back into the flap of his beige trench coat, the hand that remains outside of it quickly slamming the car door he’d left open shut. Retrieving the detonator, Gamble holds it between his free hand and the one that he soon reclaims possession of his pistol with, pressing his right index finger and thumb to the key that awaits a simple rotation. Looking up, Gamble stares at the flaming debris and continues to hold his breath for another few seconds whilst staring at it. The corners of his mouth stretching into a genuine grin, the tyrant’s lips part briefly again as he quickly thrusts another breath out and pulls one back in, turning the key in its ignition within the same lonesome breath. On mainland Nova Scotia, Emilio soon watches his friends return to his side as he catches his breath, trying to regain his composure now that he’s been broken from the spell he’d slain the dead to protect the living whilst in. Suddenly, the air fills with a rumble that accompanies a distant explosion to his back, one that prompts him to turn around, the crowd in the distance from him to stare in the direction of, and the peers that had been approaching break into a sprint. Barely able to be caught by his naked eye alone, Emilio stares at the clouds of debris that plume out of the bridge’s halfway point, its mushroom-like appearance only growing closer as the explosions persist. “No!” Charlotte cries out, the first to break into a full-blown run as the distant sounds are one she can identify with ease, though they’re an outcome of war she was helpless to prevent. “There’s no way he had time to make it, not driving those trucks” Ethan calls out, uttering the obvious as he and Donnie lag behind, watching the trio of survivors return to the side of Emilio, who they join in watching the ultimate demise of the single connection between the compound and its breakaway territory. Regardless of Gamble’s journey into the next life, Charlotte punches at the air and turns away, realising that his final gesture was to provide her with a ‘screw you’ on the way out. = 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 = Refusing the knocks at her bedroom door, Katie curls up into a ball and sits against her bed’s headboard, staring at the ruffled sheets lying at the foot of her mattress. “Katie, will you answer the door please?” her roommate’s voice calls out, an obvious displeasure able to be taken from his tone of voice, “come on, you’ve been gone for weeks. I didn’t even know if you were coming back for your things, I’d figured you’d moved out!” “Max, please just go away” Katie blurts out, tired of hearing the taps of his knuckles and the sound of his voice calling for her. With the sound of feet stepping in place outside the door, the woman sits with her rifle leant against the side of her bed, eyes staring out the window as her arms interlock around the legs she pulls against her chest. “Did something happen?” Max soon questions aloud, still not taking the hint his roommate couldn’t make more apparent if she tried, “at least tell me where you went or why you were gone for so long.” Rolling her eyes, the woman lifts her chin toward the ceiling and presses her head against the drywall just over the bedpost, watching the sunset just below the horizon as another day comes to a close. Exasperated and timid, Max stares at the floorboards his bare feet rest upon, the light that shines through the bottom of the door at least making it clear that his companion isn’t sitting in the dark. “Blaise, Aude, and I- we were really worried about you” the man continues, still incapable of reading the woman’s lack of an answer for what it’s meant to be perceived as, “if there’s something going on, I’d like to-” Falling silent, Max lets his remark cease as the sudden increase of the woman’s radio from silent to its maximum volume cuts him off, filling the apartment with 80’s-era glam metal the preloaded CD is packed with. Keeping to herself, Katie decides to spell out her interest in speaking with her flatmate through the loud music, preventing him from uttering anything more than what he already has. Thrown into a haze of anger, Max balls his fist and punches the bedroom door’s exterior before turning away, making for the opposite end of the hall just as the phone on his roommate’s dresser begins to vibrate. Having been incapable of hearing the bitter display, Katie hopes for the best in lowering the volume to a more manageable level, pressing the headset to her ear. “Yeah?” she wonders aloud, rolling off her bed and strolling toward her window, offering herself a glance at the homeland she’d spent too long away from, and yet not enough time without. “Katie, you need to get down here now” the man on the other end responds, his hurried tone and breathless speech making it impossible for the woman to figure out who’d called her. “Who is this?” Katie inquires, squinting as she presses her hand against the opposite ear, trying to block out the semi-blaring radio off to the other side of the room. “What do you mean ‘who is this?’- it’s Harvey!” the man replies, standing in the corner of a coffee shop as the lobby fills with an increasing amount of angry and confused civilians all looking to each other for answers, “I’m at the Tim Hortons on Kensington Road- near the racetrack- get here fast.” “Harvey, it’s like nine o’clock at night. Why are you getting coffee so late?” Katie inquires, taking the phone away from one ear before taking it to the other, “and why is it so fucking loud?” Opening his mouth, Harvey immediately prevents himself from speaking before he covers the receiver with the base of his hand, lowering the phone from his ear and making for the coffee shop’s exit, the noise along the busy street not much better with the large crowds that gather. “Gamble went to Nova Scotia a few hours ago. I came down here ‘cause someone told me that they closed the bridge and swaths of cars rolled into Nova Scotia, but now I’m here and it’s gone” Harvey responds, trying to summarise everything he can into a few sentences. “What’s gone?” Katie replies, taking a seat on the side of her bed before picking up the pants she’d shed when returning home a few hours prior, one foot to a leg at a time. “The bridge. By the time I got down here, all that people could talk about was something about the bridge blowing up” Harvey replies, able to speak just loud enough for the woman on the other line to make out more distinctly. “He blew up the bridge?” Katie responds, her right leg having slid through one pant leg whilst her left remains naked, the second half of her body only spared from being nude by a pair of lavender-coloured panties. “I don’t know what else would’ve happened- the whole bridge is gone!” Harvey shouts back, plugging his opposite ear as shouts of anger and distress fill the busy streets that surround him. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of anyone at the capitol building but no one’s answering the phones. I’m pretty sure there’d at least be someone to answer them, but not even Bristol is picking up hers” the man continues, squeezing past people in favour of ducking down a nearby alleyway. “Katie, open up!” Max shouts, banging his fist against her door once again, though this time his call for her has a very different intonation to it. “Hold on for fuck’s sake!” Katie shouts back, having already been informed of too much to take kindly to the man’s persistent badgering of her again. “If there’s no one answering the phones in city hall, then something must be going really wrong” Harvey explains, unable to find sense in the silent treatment he receives, “and not just war.” “Well the bridge being taken down would probably count as something more wrong than war, would it not?” Katie replies, snapping out of her stupor to finish pulling her pants up. “Sure, but I’ve never got a clue one way or another with Gamble. It could be the bridge, it could be something bigger- I’m in the dark until someone answers the phone” Harvey retorts, trying to find quieter ground to reach mid-conversation, “the only thing I know for sure is that we’re cut off from the mainland.” Expending a huff of air from her core, Katie steps across her room and continues the discourse, her free hand reaching for the radio. “Alright, I’m on my way to you. Where are you again?” she questions once more, dialling the volume all the way down to better hear the man. “Timmies on Kensington across the race track, that’s where I’m around” Harvey responds, squeezing past a rubbish bin and spilling out onto the track, “I’m on the track now and it’s at least a little less crowded.” “Alright, I’ll be there in a little bit” Katie responds, dipping her feet into the shoes off to the side of her door before swinging the entrance open, brushing past her roommate without so much as a greeting. “Katie, you can’t leave! There’s-!” Max proclaims, chasing after the woman and taking her by the arm, immediately feeling the reluctant pull she reacts with fight against hsi gesture. “The bridge collapsed and Gamble started war with Nova Scotia- I know” Katie argues back, struggling for a few seconds before finally freeing herself from the man’s grasp, the brief halt he’d forced upon her granting a chance to return to the room for an additional moment. “I’m going downtown with Harvey now that everyone’s in an uproar. Stay here if you don’t wanna get caught in the middle of danger” the woman warns, reclaiming her rifle and resuming her attempted departure. “Who the fuck is Gamble!?” Max proclaims, watching the much smaller woman hurry past him and make a beeline for the front door, “why are you going out there if it isn’t even safe for me?” Rolling her eyes, Katie takes ownership over the knob and stares at the sky for a moment before turning back, her displeased expression paid back to the man who takes her pause as the opportunity to ask the first question that comes to his mind. “What is going on with you?” Max inquires, coming to a stop in the centre of the hallway with the woman firmly in his sights, unable to comprehend her actions for anything more than out of the ordinary, even for the standards she’s set herself into. “I’m going out there because I know a lot more than you do” Katie replies, looking the man in the face as she pulls the door open, finishing her thought as she steps through and shuts it, “- and it’s enough to suggest you trust my advice.” | “I don’t think about it much” Clint responds, one arm leaning over the side of the boat as he sits near the rope of a lowered cage, a beer in his free hand. “I feel like we just spent so much time surrounded by it for me to think about death as anything more than a thing that comes for us eventually” he carries on, watching his sister take a seat just a few centimetres away with a cage of her own to look after. “So you don’t even bother with death?” Nessie wonders aloud, letting her hands fall into her lap whilst her feet kick onto the boat’s side, relaxing beneath the spotlight of their vehicle, which sways just slightly harsher than normal. “I may be willing to help the dead into the grave the rest of the way- and I may have struggled at times- but I haven’t truly lost my faith” Clint reassures, looking toward the heavens as he sips his lager, “I still believe I’ll be called home when he needs me.” Passing an amused sigh through her nose, Nessie shrugs and gives a gentle pull to the rope of her cage, making sure it’s both still attached and unencumbered. “That’s becoming a bolder take by the day” she remarks, letting her hand slide out from the course cable and return to her lap, “it at least did before we got to Cumberland. The world was almost as empty as it was inherently violent. I can’t imagine there are many people still bravely flying the lord’s flag nowadays like yourself.” “Then that’s their loss” Clint swiftly rebuttals, following his sister’s example by tugging at his cage’s cord, “I’ve seen enough in life to know that everyone should have something to believe in. Without that, there’s not much good in getting up in the morning.” Clearing his throat, the fisherman removes the tattered baseball cap from his head and sharpens the bend in its lid, staring at the passing lights of another fishing boat as it travels past nearly a kilometre away. “If people want to do themselves the disservice of going without a stronger power in life to guide them on even when the days get tough- so be their choice” he concludes, fitting the cap back to his head whilst lifting his bottle at his sister, “I’m pleased that it isn’t mine.” Shaking her head whilst hiding a smirk, Nessie watches her brother finish off the last of what is their final beer, allowing him the freedom to roll it to the other side of the ship and clear himself room to conclude their obligations for the day. “As long as you’re not too keen on dying anytime soon- that’s all that I care about” she finally responds, stepping out of her seat to follow the same line of thought, hand already beginning to tug at the crank she sits beside. “I’ll die when the lord deems that it’s my time. What circumstances surround that are out of my hands” Clint reassures, though the claim isn’t one that his sibling takes as kindly as he’d hoped for it to. “You’ll die when you’re sick and frail, tucked up in the covers of your bed with whatever kids you make with whomever it is you find around these parts” Nessie corrects, spinning the wheel that brings their hoped-for catch upon its final descent for the evening. “If that’s what he plans for me, then it certainly is” Clint replies, pressing one foot against the inside of the free-floating vessel whilst holding the other one back for leverage. “No, it will be when you go” Nessie corrects again, not wanting to afford her sibling the freedom of considering anything less as being possible, “I’d be a bad sister if I let you cart off to your disco party with god any moment sooner.” Scoffing with a grin, Clint grunts as he lifts his cage by hand, the manual ascent far behind that of the woman’s own, which has already nearly managed to poke out of the water by now. “I could die of a heart attack in three years gorging myself on all these crabs and lobsters for all you know, why expect something bad will happen?” the man remarks, lifting the question mid-pause, “and what would my dying have to do with what kind of a sister you were?” “We literally just got a phone call from Emilio a few hours ago telling us to be ready in the event that some war broke out. It’s the apocalypse- there’s always something bad that happens” Nessie answers, reaching out to wrap her fingers around the links her near-empty cage consists of, only three crabs and a fish for some odd reason carried within, “and ‘cause I’m your sister. It’s my job to look after you.” Laughing, Clint pauses his retrieval of the undersea chamber he yearns for the reunited sight of to look off at the woman, amused at her remark. “I’m pretty sure the saying is ‘we’re supposed to look out for each other’” he retorts, wrapping the rope around his dominant arm as he prepares to pull once more, “don’t you go stealing all the fun from me now.” “You get what I’m trying to say” Nessie briskly responds, lowering the cage to the boat’s floor before attempting to further clarify her point, the endeavour proving fruitless as she’s interrupted first. “Yeah, I do” Clint replies mid-pause, almost halfway finished with returning his basket to the vessel’s surface, “you’re still holding onto the mindset that you needed to pick up where mom and dad left off. Even all these years later, and there’s still some of you that just can’t let that go.” “That’s n-” Nessie attempts to reply, only to be cut off by the man that interrupts his own furthered attempts at bringing the cage to surface in order to prevent her from refusal. “For the lord’s sake, will you please just admit that’s the truth so I don’t have to stop every five seconds?” Clint amusedly pleads, directing his smile toward the woman still hesitant to do as requested, “the sooner we get this thing to the surface, the sooner we can get tying this thing down over with.” Quickly lessening the combative expression in her face, Nessie appears to concede defeat as she stares off into the distance, able to spot a boat of her own tearing through the waters in return to the mainland. For a brief two minutes, the siblings remain in silence as the woman aids the man in his work, finally reuniting a half-full cage to the surface of a boat that is soon drowned in the flashing colours of red and blue. “Woah, what’s going on!?” Clint exclaims, stepping into his sister as he pushes her behind himself, shielding his face from the flashing lights as the pair notice the patrol boat that had spent the past few seconds gradually making way toward them. His voice not having been loud enough to reach the ears of their pursuers, the brother’s question falls upon deaf ears as their vessel soon comes mere metres away from that of an overtaken police cruiser from the mainland. “Put your hands in the air and do not retaliate” one of the figures neither sibling can see with the flashing lights that obstruct their vision calls out through the receiver of a boat-mounted megaphone. “A guard is going to board your ship and you are not to engage with him unless told” he continues, blaring out the instructions to a pair of survivors unable to speak back without being cut off by the much louder commands, “if he deems you safe, you are to return home immediately.” “We were just heading that way anyway!” Clint exclaims, having gotten the hang of the alleged authority figures’ call out well enough to spot out the pauses in his remarks. “We live in Stratford and set sail out of Rosebank!” Nessie doubles down, her brother’s voice having caught the ear of the patrolling unit effectively enough for the overseeing guards to let her reply, “we’re fishermen! We just didn’t have time to get out on the water until shortly before sunset!” “And if that story checks out, you’ll be allowed to return home without an issue” the bullhorn-wielding guard responds, pulling his vessel up to the side of the sibling’s own to allow one of the men from his small group to begin deboarding. “An incident has taken place at the Confederation Bridge and all residents of both Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island are ordered to return home at once” the public servant continues, “anyone caught disobeying this order can be fined or jailed.” “We had no idea anything was wrong! We’ve been out since about an hour and a half before sunset!” Clint retorts, though speaking in a loud tone, he maintains a good faith effort in calming any potential escalation from taking place. “I’m sure that’s the case, but our orders are to check anyone on the water for their residential status and for any weapons they may have on board” the patrolman responds, “if you’re telling us the truth and cooperate, you’ll be out of here in two minutes.” “Alright, fine! Just be careful on the lip of the boat, ‘cause it’s slippery” Nessie warns, pulling her brother back by the arm to clear room for the boarding guard to step on. Momentarily surrendering their identification cards and confessing to the possession of an automatic rifle stored at the front of the ship, the siblings are soon cleared by the man trusted with surveying the scene efficiently, his quiet nod to the captain of his own boat to carry on with his night. “Get back to Prince Edward Island, dock your boat, and head back home as soon as possible” the servant remarks, satisfied with the findings of his subordinate enough to carry on with his evening, venturing into the bountiful sea he’d still yet to traverse in sight of others fitting the bill of whom he’s meant to seek out. | Squeezing past people whilst keeping her head low, Katie travels through the busy main roads of downtown Charlottetown, trying to maintain her distance from the core of the crowd that amasses with more questions than people to answer them. Furious and wanting to know what the uncertain future holds, the public take out their aggressions by rebelling against the armed reinforcements sent out into a supposed leaderless breakaway state, refusing to abide by the lockdown order. Scared and terrified, the mob continues to topple parked cars onto their sides and roofs whilst others climb pre-greased streetlamps, presenting the same destruction of society that the idea of Nova Scotia was birthed from the flames of at the very beginning. Retaining a semblance of cooperation and peace, Katie avoids the wrath of the disturbed public and heads for the well-lit horse racing track she’d been informed her source of aid would be awaiting relatively near. “Harvey!” Katie exclaims, ducking into a cramped passageway that seems recently rushed through by swaths of civilians without any certainty over the whereabouts of her colleague. Spilling into the well-lit side of the entrance, a lost and cautious survivor enters the swarm of people gathered together to protest the various lighting fixtures that begin to lose power, the armed militants patrolling the streets, and the lack of a response to the collapsed bridge now trapping them here. “Harvey!” she shouts a second time, tripping into a brick wall as the name leaves her lips after being shoved past by a much larger man, the focus on the unruly survivor being to join those within the crowd he’s a part of in displaying his dissatisfaction. Having kept her rifle halfway concealed behind the flap of her jacket, Katie brushes the hostile interaction off with the dismissal needed to move onto greater importances. With each steep, the woman further entrenches herself into the fallout of warfare, surrounded by people as willing to do her harm as they are to anyone else. In spite of the danger that could potentially swarm her at any time, Katie’s hidden grasp on the rifle allows her to carry forward without considering the repercussions, or holding much of a care over them. “Harvey!” the woman exclaims yet again, using the rare sight of someone shorter than her to set her sights into whatever direction they travel, gaining a significantly better understanding of the track’s layout. Taking to the spectator’s benches, Katie’s eyes uncover a platform both nearby and sparsely populated to take toward, her gradual descent through the mob and into more open areas coming with pushes, harsh words and the overall aggression of a human riptide. Ceasing her callouts, Katie hops a small white picket fence before climbing a low metal railing before ascending the steps that others use as vantage points to drink, smoke, and watch the chaos unfold from. Politely waving off the few offers she gets to take a drag off a joint or a sip from a bottle, the woman carries onward to the concrete support one of the roof’s columns is cemented into, the small base that its top consists of proving more than enough to hold her. Grabbing onto whatever metal opening the stanchion affords her to hold, Katie sets her sights on the throng far greater than even she’d expected it to be. In every direction- and continuing to grow- the horde of angry civilians storm the pitch to such an extent that not even its dirt track is clearly visible, every metre that it stretches having been kicked up and trounced over by the restless living. “Jesus” she mutters to herself, letting the barrel of her rifle rest upon the concrete support she’s climbed up to, the air around her cleared of any immediate danger. Taking awe in the kind of rebellion to authority she hadn’t witnessed since the wake of the outbreak, Katie fails to find the words to describe the scene that unfolds as lights in the distance- just past the racecourse- begin to flicker off and on for a few seconds at a time. As fires burn in the distance, other areas of the track appear entirely ravaged by the uproar that makes itself impossible to ignore. Wooden materials used to light the bonfire that the protestors use themselves to protect from being extinguished by the island’s mostly-aimless emergency services, whilst metal poles are used by the citizens to craft makeshift weapons out of, arming themselves to the teeth in an attempt to dissuade the armed patrolmen from interfering with their act of vengeance. Though the chaos is striking, it fails to keep Katie from noticing the sudden tone that blares from the heavy device she’d left the house carrying on her hip. In a brief motion, the woman unclasps the phone and holds it to her ear, not afforded the free hand to conceal the other side of her head from the mutiny she’s one of countless witnesses to. “Katie, where are you!?” Harvey exclaims, shielding every part of his head other than his eyes and right ear from the revolt he stands before, inspecting the track for every last inch that it can provide them a look at. “What!?” Katie shouts back, trying to mimic the hunchback of Notre Dame by tucking her head inward, trying to use her shoulder to cover the exposed side of her face. “Where are you!?” Harvey shouts back, trying to make his voice as loud as possible, though not even he can hear his own voice more than faintly with the uproar that wages on just a few metres below. “Shit dude, I can’t hear you!” Katie responds, peering out at the enraged public as they sway like the waves of a sea, a quick sifting through her mind allowing her to come up with just one solution, “I’m at the far end of the racetrack on top of the cement things those pillars are built into.” Looking toward the general direction, Harvey peers into the distance before he seemingly spots the woman from out of the crowd. Standing by, Katie awaits her colleague’s arrival with hopes that he’d heard her direction, unable to say anything more before the call had abruptly ended. Sitting with her legs dangling over the platform’s edge and the rifle resting across her lap, the woman stares out at the populated field before passing glances back toward lesser frequented areas every few seconds. “Katie!” Harvey calls out, running down the length of the concourse at the top of the spectator’s row, his voice finally catching the woman’s ear for the first time since arriving at the swollen bubble that is Prince Edward Island’s downtown. Hopping off the ledge, Katie climbs the few remaining stairs before running to the open arms of her acquaintance, his embrace quick and hastily moved past, but revelled in for the brief few seconds that it lasted. “Let’s find somewhere a little quieter, alright?” Harvey inquires, placing his hands to either side of the woman’s face and holding it there, the look that such an act allows him to see bringing a momentary bliss over him, one that takes the form of a smile. “Yeah, let’s go” Katie replies, nodding her head with whatever leverage the man’s hands grant her the ability to, taking the lead on the pair’s dip into the rear entrance of an adjacent casino in search of a quiet nook to call sanctuary. | “They’re not letting us off the island- it’s a complete and total lockdown, Em’” Nessie responds, slamming shut the passenger’s side door to her brother’s truck as she travels the remaining length of their shared driveway. “They’ve got boats patrolling the front and back of Warren Cove, and they’re got another unit constantly dipping into Stewart Cove” she continues to speak, “even if we got out of Stewart, there’s still two rows of cruisers we’d have to get past before we even hit the strait.” Slamming his fist against the archway leading between the flat’s living room and kitchen, Emilio pulls his head away from the phone and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to gather his composure in light of the news. “Listen, it’s not safe to go out there now anyway. The only reason we weren’t planning to keep fishing even longer was ‘cause of how strong the current was getting” Nessie reassures, “when the lockdown lifts, we’ll take the boat over and meet you Port Elgin like we agreed.” “Ness’, those boats aren’t going anywhere. Hell, if they do- it’ll just be to put even more boats at the entry to the harbour” Emilio retorts, trying to keep himself in line as the woman- still mostly out of the loop from what’s going on- attempts to think of another solution. “Then we’ll leave the boat here and drive over until everything calms down!” Nessie responds, unable to see the eye roll that the man on the other line reacts with. “Nessie, the bridge collapsed. There’s no driving back at all- ever” Emilio corrects, able to hear the shuffling of the rocks along the siblings’ gravel-paved driveway cease their movement. “The bridge collapsed?” Nessie repeats, her expression shifting whilst her remarks prompt Clint to also cease his return home, turning back with a shocked visage as the woman’s repetition catches his ear, “that’s the ‘incident’ they were talking about!?” “Yes. The bridge went down, and since he definitely didn’t have the time to make it all the way across, Gamble probably went down with it” Emilio responds, returning the commons area as he tries his best to catch the woman up. “Listen Ness’, there’s nothing we can do to help you right now. We’ve got no way over, and you’ve got no way out. You should be fine for now, but for the time being, we’re not so sure there’s anyone actually in charge of the island right now, so it might just be a free-for-all” Emilio explains, trying to ease any concerns that may have yet been unmentioned, “just keep in touch, stay inside where it’s safe, and don’t trust anyone that comes up to you unless it’s one of us- got it?” “Yeah, we’ll- we’ll do- that” Nessie replies, stuttering over her words as she tries to regain her wits, finishing up the brief conversation as quickly as she can so Emilio can return to other duties, “we’ll talk soon.” Hanging up his phone, the caller sets it onto a table aside as he rejoins those that had managed to reconvene in light of the day’s chaos, their respective seats taken. “If you woke the baby, you’re putting him back to sleep” Alicia warns, sitting against her sofa’s armrest with her skull in her hand, index finger and thumb wrapping around her forehead and gently rubbing at her temples. “I’m sorry” Emilio replies, directing himself to a chair near the opposite side of the room that he soon takes a seat upon, staring forward to look at the confused and uncertain faces that sit across from him. “I bet the two of you stand to make a killing out of this at least, no?” he jokes, watching the faintest smirk he receives from Jack speak all that there is to be said about the situation at hand. Though finding the slightest amusement in the comment, Lauren’s mind fails to direct itself past the metaphorical murky waters that the Nova Scotian compound appears submerged in, carrying her optimism with it. “Where’s Salem?” Franklin wonders aloud, his half arm crossing into the fully-folded one that he crosses against his chest, blankly staring forward at the unoccupied chair at the room’s centre, its place having never been moved since Charlotte’s visit for uncertain reasons. “She’s angry and still limping around on a bum wheel. I don’t think we’re seeing her for the rest of the night” Jack responds, aware that he has no clue, but feeling like there’s only one possible answer to that question. “She said she needed to run some errands- whatever that means- and she’d be over in an hour or two” Emilio corrects, closing his eyes as he sinks further into the leathery chair, exhausted from the day and tired of thinking what will succeed it. “I think I’d feel better if she didn’t come over” Lauren responds, squinting at the unoccupied air across the room whilst shaking her head gently, “I don’t quite know what to expect from an angry, one-legged Salem.” “Nothing good” Alicia mutters to herself, though the headache she tries valiantly to wait out prevents her from giving much thought to her voice’s volume. Collectively fatigued, the group remain within the depleted commons area of the only place they’d figured to go, residing within each other’s company just as they always had whenever trouble was afoot. Now, even though there are walls erected to keep out the bad, the group finds themselves falling victim to them- instead, trapped with it. Finally parting her eyelids, Alicia stares at the edge of the older carpet that sits in the centre of her hardwood floor before following its winding pattern onward, retiring to whatever she can think of to forget about the pounding ache that encompasses her head. Eerily quiet, the living room exists in this moment as a simple barrier, a shield that keeps the dangers of the new world’s old dangers away from those that had experienced them enough to recall them like a roadmap. Soon following the trail of blue lines to the unoccupied chair, Alicia’s lids soon close themselves once more, entrenching her in an intentional darkness that she cares not to remove herself from. However, whilst her mind continues to run, a thought that dawns upon the woman prompts her eyes to open once more, reclaiming their focus on the empty seat before following her head in pulling away from the webbed-inside of her palm’s flesh. Pulling back in her seat, the hairs on the back of Alicia’s neck begin to stand as she stares at the chair, not speaking or reacting in any way whilst she does so, but instead opting to inspect it from afar. “Em’, I need to borrow your car” the woman remarks, suddenly pushing herself out of her seat and traipsing across the room, dismissing any question asked toward her other than the one that Emilio raises. “Where are you going?” he wonders aloud, aware that he can’t justify refusing her the departure on the basis of the impending warfare without painting it as more of a threat than he’s let on. “One of the first things that goes caput when a war happens is the banking system, so I’m gonna go take out a little bit of money before everyone else gets the same idea” Alicia responds, stepping past the empty chair before taking two sets of keys from a table beside the door, Emilio’s car keys and her house keys from a bowl the mans’ own sit beside. With the gentle yank of her friend’s keys from the ignition, Alicia ends her brief adventure a few roads away and steps out from behind the wheel. Staring upward, her eyes take to a completely dark window between the first and third story of the apartment complex, one that she’d at least never known to be without the faintest, orange glow of a nearby fire. Reaching the top of the third set of stairs, Alicia makes her way to the second story of her approached apartment complex, walking to the front of the fourth and final set of steps that her intended destination resides beside. “Salem, open u-” she calls aloud, balling her hand into a fist whilst facing her knuckles to the outside of a front door, having intended to knock against it for a reply before realising that it’s already been left slightly ajar. Staring at the knob for a brief second before looking back to the rest of the door, Alicia pauses for a moment before unfurling her fist, extending her fingers whilst pushing her palm outward. Faintly creaking, the apartment’s entrance gently drifts inward, revealing a living space completely entrenched within darkness, not a single flame or source of life to be found. Puzzled and cautious, Alicia slowly moves her hand to the side of the front door’s frame and feels around the wall for a switch, one that takes her a moment to stumble upon, but one that she inevitably discovers. In one moment, the kitchen’s rarely-used overhead light floods the small area in a warm, yellow glow. Along the counter, not a single dish or plate resides, the sink barren of any cutlery or utensil and with a bar of soap alongside the fawcett and its accompanying knobs. Still standing in the open doorway, Alicia finds herself unable to move at first, still looking into the living room that is just barely grazed by the now-lit lamp, the interior still bathed in an uncomfortable shade of black. Letting a breath escape through her nose, the visitor begins embarking upon her short journey into the flat, squinting her eyes as she tries to peer through the cloud of darkness that prevents her from seeing more than just what appears to her. In spite of this obstruction to her view, Alicia easily spots a second set of switches on the wall that divides the commons area from the kitchen, its presence immediately capturing the woman’s attention once discovered. Reaching out, Alicia waits for something to call out for her from within the lightless flat, half-heartedly expecting her friend to speak out from within the bleak nothingness to scare her out of some half-assed attempt at a joke. Touching down upon the glossy set of tiny levers, the apartment’s visitor finds herself still met with an absence of life, her visitation not welcomed or spoken out against in any way. Having never known the common area to be lit by anything other than the fireplace or darkened by anything but the absence of one, Alicia stares at the three sticks for a moment in an effort of figuring out which one grants her a genuine view of the room. Shaking her head at a loss as she comes up empty for a solution, the woman eventually gives into the urge that she has of discovering what lies for her to find, flipping all three switches at once. Just as advertised, the living room sits empty and without the warmth of burning logs to embrace her, the dusty chandelier instead providing her the view of an almost-untouched common space. From one end to the other, the old fashioned parlour finds itself under the watchful eye of its uninvited visitor, sitting undisturbed and unencumbered and remaining as such until the woman’s feet resume their stroll. Inspecting the environment, Alicia takes a single step forward and glances down a lengthy and once equally-dark corridor, parting her lips to call out for the resident she’d expected to find by this moment. “Salem?” she calls aloud with a subtle, indoor voice-like tone, genuinely curious as to whether or not the tenant is present, unable to fully wrap her mind around the idea that she wouldn’t be in spite of how empty and void of residency the apartment seems to be left in the state of. “Salem!” the woman calls out even louder, able to hear the woman’s name bounce off the drywalls at each side of the hallway as they reflect from her lips, taking the form of an echo. Without a reply once more, Alicia turns her eyes away from the unlit passageway and further inspects the living space, eyes taking to an empty corner of the room that feels off for some reason, believing that something once used to inhabit the cramped space once upon a time, but unable to recall just what it was. Stepping over to the corner, Alicia inspects the dust-free space and finds the square imprint of what used to encompass the space, the four lines that make up the non-existent shape composed of a thick layer of dust. Squinting, the woman turns away from the room’s nook and begins walking for the unlit fireplace, passing a glance at the empty chair for a moment before forcing herself to look back at it. Her squint alleviating itself, the woman’s eyes take to the unoccupied cushion of the ottoman-positioned chair, where a lone, silver machine sits abandoned. Confused, Alicia quickly steps up to the studded seat and takes the object into her possession, the mechanisms within rattling as she pulls it close and looks into it. Turning it over, the woman takes notice of the transparent window its front presents, a fully-rewound tape able to be seen through the divider. Looking to the device’s top, Alicia finds a number of different buttons aligning its surface, instinctively turning it over to stare at the bottom of the recorder, where only a single strip of masking tape resides bearing a single word in black letters, scrawled from the felt tip of a permanent marker. “Goodbye, Salem.” == Rise == “You’re with us” a man in a dark coat remarks, pointing to an ever-increasing group of people shuffled off into the corner of the spacious communal area, showing the way to a woman in a corduroy jacket. Bundled together, various members of the large refinery work staff await their turn to be shuffled into one of three groups, some with bags in tow whilst others stare at the figures responsible for handing them their guidance, having remained in the building’s foyer since Gamble’s arrival.
“I guess it’s not going to be as cut and dry as sneaking onto a boat or not” Harvey mutters, a small bag carried at his side with the barest essentials, a similar amount of possessions retained by his younger contemporary. “We could sneak into one group or the other and hope for the best” Katie replies, rotating her sight between the three different groups of people, no one outlier differentiating them from any other, “it’s almost like they’re just randomly assigning people.” “Not everyone here is in Gamble’s inner circle” Harvey quickly retorts, looking around the room at a variety of confused and uncertain faces, all equally unsure of what their futures hold as each other. “Some are more valuable than others, at least I’d hope that’s what’s going on here” he continues, taking in a long breath as he keeps his mind calm, “it’d bode a lot better for us if that were the case.” “How would you know that?” Katie responds, watching Gamble disappear within the sea of people as he steps off the stage, following a small group of people toward a separate exit of the room. “What do you mean?” Harvey wonders back, uncertain over the meaning behind the woman’s remark, “why wouldn’t Gamble want some of the closest people to him coming back to the island?” “That’s not really what I was getting at” Katie responds, waiting for the huddle of people she and her colleague are situated within to continue dispersing, the fates they’re bound to receive coming when the crowd fans out, “I mean how do you even know we’re still in Gamble’s inner circle?” Scoffing at the question, Harvey shakes his head as he replies, “what kind of question is that?” he wonders, panning his hand toward the group of men beckoning workers toward one corner or the others, “of course we’re in Gamble’s inner circle.” “Then why didn’t we know about his surprise drop in? Why don’t we know what’s going on back home?” Katie hastily questions back, watching the people that stand in front of her slowly move toward their allocated sides of the room. “I don’t know, but I don’t think there’s anything we’ve done to fall out of his good graces” Harvey responds, crossing his arms as his patience is tested, eager to get to the front of the line, “besides- if we had, he would’ve let us know in some way.” With the slightest frown, Katie stares up at the side of the man’s face in silence for a moment before looking away, eyes returning to the men situated at the room’s centre, directing labourers with the point of their finger one at a time. With each few passing seconds, another survivor of the outbreak’s aftermath is designated to their respective futures, their faces wearing a variety of looks brought about by where they’re meant to stand. For those tasked with returning home to Prince Edward Island, confusion and eagerness abound, settling into what they know is a long boat ride ahead- though it’s one they planned to take back eventually. For those in the corner of people designated to return to work at the refinery, the confusion is shared with their homeward peers, but the mixture of disappointment is more than easy to find amongst many, the apparent early return home one they seem to have unfortunately missed out on. However, it is those in the corner slated to return home to mainland Nova Scotia that wear clear-cut expressions of worry and concern. On some, the expression of dread and the visual equivalent of a knot in the stomach are worn like a mash whilst others display a caution, one taken toward the people they’d been stationed at the refinery with since disembarking the maiden voyage, and yet they now no longer seem to fully trust. As the number of survivors ahead of them begins to dwindle, the mismatched pairing turned unlikely friends appear to approach their immediate fate, sentenced to either an island backed into a corner amidst what appears to be impending warfare, or an Arctic-like chill throughout the middle of spring ahead of the gunfire the island is sure to watch run through it and inevitably head northbound. “Harvey Collins” the man begins, introducing himself to the armoured figure with a clipboard in hand, the armed guard’s eyes immediately taking the list he carries. “Homeland” the warden replies, stepping aside to point his finger to the corner where those returning to Prince Edward Island are to wait. “Thank you” he responds, stepping forward and immediately turning his back to the group, slowly retreating to the huddled masses with his eyes on the woman he hopes will accompany him there. “Katie Dawson” the woman greets, hands hanging by her side, a small suitcase of her minimal belongings carried in the one at her left. Looking down, the guard clicks his tongue and begins shaking his head, eyes wandering further down the list before reaching its conclusion. Flipping the page, the armed figure begins the process once more, his silence allowing the woman the briefest chance to experience the sound of limbo, the air that surrounds her filled with unintelligible chatter. “Homeland” the man finally responds, stepping aside to grant the survivor a reunion with her superior. Letting free a sigh of relief, the woman hangs her head and lets slip a pleased smile before stepping into the awaiting arms of her mentor, his embrace replacing the nervous wreck she’d almost fallen into with a warm comfort. From the corner of the room, Gamble lets slip a hollow grin as he watches the figures recouple, a nod coming over him before turning away, joining the select few he’d stepped upon the stage alongside in following through with his retreat. = Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards = “Why?” Nessie replies, standing off to the side with one arm crossed over the small of her other’s inner elbow, her free hand pressing a handheld phone with a long antenna to the side of her head. “Because Charlotte thinks it’s the safest option” Emilio replies from the other end, a phone of equally large size pressed between the side of his head and his shoulder, both hands grasping to each side of the steering wheel he’s at the control of. “What does that matter?” Nessie questions, watching her brother lift a pair of metal cages off their dock and into their fishing boat. “I can’t give you an answer that’ll justify leaving your home behind” Emilio responds, pulling into a small parking lot and guiding his vehicle into an open space, its yellow lines cleared over the past few abnormally warm days, “the best I can tell you is that- if shit hits the fan- I’d rather you be here with us instead of across the bridge alone.” “You said the same thing when you called us last night, ‘Em” Nessie replies, watching her brother squat toward the ground to aid another pair of crates into their personal vessel, “we’ve got agreements with the markets over here for every catch we make. That’s our livelihood, and we can’t leave it behind just because two post-apocalyptic politicians decide to argue over whose dick is bigger.” “I know that. Hell, the only reason I’m not begging you to roll back into Nova Scotia A.S.A.P is ‘cause I know you can boat over the strait whenever you want-” Emilio retorts, quickly shifting his car into park and climbing out of the driver’s seat, “-the others don’t have that luxury.” “And they don’t need it either” Nessie responds, leaning into the concrete pole her shared boat is tied to, “Jack and Lauren are in the countryside, and Alicia, Franklin, and Salem live in flats out at Moncton- so they’ll have the same protection Charlotte will get.” “Moncton will still be targeted regardless. If Prince Edward Island attacks, that will be their end goal” Emilio corrects, locking his car before jogging to the apartment complex’s entrance, “and if the attack heads Moncton’s way, the journey Gamble takes from the island will have to tear straight through Scoudouc first.” “What even makes you think this Gamble guy can get across the bridge, let alone Moncton?” Nessie responds, the squint in her eyes displaying just how unconfident she is with the man spoken of as such a legitimate threat, “have you seen this place for more than a few minutes? Nova Scotia’s got more on their military- or regiment, or whatever it’s called- than this island has in total.” “I’ve got no idea what will or won’t happen. I don’t even trust Charlotte entirely” Emilio responds, appreciatively bowing his head to the random woman that holds the door open for him, “but even more than just having talked to him for a minute or two myself- if Charlotte’s afraid of this guy, then however he can be described must not do what he’s capable of justice.” Frowning, Nessie rolls her eyes and stares off at the field sitting on her opposite side, the shortened nails on her right hand scratching at the flesh of her forehead that the hairs on her head cannot hide. “Alright, listen. Clint and I still have to get out on the water today, and we’re just about to head out” she explains, slowly stepping off from the pillar her vessel’s rope is tied around, “but if things get ugly in the next few hours, call me and we’ll dock at Port Elgin instead, alright?” “Sure, that sounds good enough” Emilio responds, marching up the steps that lead to his destination, paying a short goodbye gesture to the woman before hanging up the phone. Clipping the brick-like device to his waistband, the man makes it to the level his ascent was intended to reach, fist already balled before lifting to knock at his preferred door. “One second!” a woman calls out from within, her voice muffled and hurried, the gesture enough to satisfy the man at her front door. For a few seconds, Emilio remains patient beyond the closed entrance, eyes wandering from one side of the cramped corridor he’d ascended to before setting for the next, his ears beginning to fixate on the buzz of a nearby hallway lamp as the footsteps within the flat he stands at begin to near close. “Hey!” Alicia greets, pulling the end of a white tank top over her stomach as if she’d just put it on, stepping aside to allow her unexpected guest entry. “Is Franklin here?” Emilio inquires, letting himself in with hurry to the tenant’s surprise. “Yeah, he’s sleeping- why?” the woman responds, gently closing the door with eyes on the visitor, curious as to his reason for the unplanned drop by. “Because you weren’t answering the phone, so I needed to come out in person” Emilio responds, entering the commons area just as the man he’d asked about steps from the bedroom, his hands rubbing at his tired eyes. “Hey, ‘Em” Franklin remarks, lips parting to widen his mouth, stopping his greeting to yawn whilst stretching out his shoulders, “what’s going on?” he wonders in a monster-like groan. “I’m not sure, but Charlotte’s led me to believe that it won’t be pretty” Emilio replies, standing at the centre of the room before trying to calm his voice down, worrying it could come off as too alarmist. “Is this about the dude she said ran the place across the water?” Franklin queries, having fallen victim to the perception of his friend’s concerned tone. “Gamble, yeah. Charlotte’s pretty sure he’s taken hold over a refinery on another island up north. One she doesn’t have a way of getting to” Emilio replies, watching the couple stand by each other’s side before him. “Apparently she took what I said last week to heart- about letting him try to make it on his own and cleaning up whatever was left after he failed” he continues, trying to sum everything up simply and quickly, “taking that refinery gives him a good chance of never actually failing.” “Well that’s a good thing then, isn’t it?” Alicia responds, taking one step ahead of her husband, “if he’s got a refinery, it means there won’t be a mess to clean up.” “Honey, I think you’re forgetting that we’re talking about Charlotte” Franklin interjects, nudging his wife’s arm with the nub of his shortened one, “him being able to make it on his own would mean that she’d have to act quickly if she wanted to keep him from breaking off successfully.” “And the problem wasn’t Charlotte having to go in and clean up, the problem was Charlotte not having to” Emilio adds on, watching the woman’s head fall, “she doesn’t want him breaking off at all.” “And that means she’s gotta act quick to keep him from doing that, and that means-” Alicia follows through, stopping her remark as her husband takes over, displaying their shared conclusion by finishing her thought, “-she’s acting now.” “Exactly. She said they made an agreement almost a year ago that- by around this time- she’d give him his independence if she didn’t have a certain approval rating amongst the Quebeckers” Emilio continues, beginning to pace around the room as the couple remain cooperative with his train of thought, “I don’t think she’s too keen on taking the chance of not hitting that mark. So, if I had to put my money on it, I’d say she’s probably rallying the troops to take a march on the island as we speak.” “So what the hell does that leave us to do?” Alicia responds, passing a glance in the direction of her child’s room, “I don’t imagine taking a march across the bridge is going to go over too well.” As unsure as the woman is, all Emilio can offer her is an uncertain shrug, head drifting to the shoulder on his right side as he looks off into the distance, eyes falling upon an empty corner of the room as he thinks quietly to himself. “If it’s conventional warfare, they’ll probably be aiming at each other’s jugulars. Charlotte will go after whatever the capital of the other place is, and that Gamble dude will be aiming for here” Franklin responds, using the conversation’s pause to strategise aloud, “I suppose we’d be safe for a while. If Charlotte’s army is the stronger unit, she’ll be able to keep the other guys out of Moncton. If not, it’ll be at least a few weeks before we should start heading for safer ground.” “Yeah, I really doubt Moncton’s gonna be under threat immediately. But if they don’t come in from over the bridge- as unlikely as that is- then I’d head for Jack and Lauren’s place” Emilio reassures, incapable of offering much more optimism than that, “but since they’ll likely come in from over the bridge, I’d imagine our other married friends will give you the warning call to start running for the hills when the fight reaches their neck of the woods.” “Alright, what do we do until then?” Alicia queries, another few glances passed to the room in which her infant son sleeps soundly, completely in the dark to the threat that fills the flat he calls home with palpable worry, “try to ignore gunfire, hope the city doesn’t get taken over, and hope this Gamble guy doesn’t have bombs to start dropping?” “I don’t know, Alicia. That’s how war usually works, but I don’t know what happens when it’s a war between the only actual groups capable of holding a war at all” Emilio responds, trying to ignore the ringing of the phone at his hip as he finishes his thought, “our fight with Sheol or the old New World Order might be the closest thing to this, but I reserve my doubts that this fight would be as quick and simple as those.” Sinking his thumb into the device’s big, green button, Emilio separates himself from the discourse that the married couple now take amongst themselves to answer the line, a passive greeting afforded to the yet unknown survivor on the other end. “You rang? Like, seven times?” Salem remarks, hobbling across the room from her kitchen with a ceramic plate in tow, a few chopped red bell peppers and carrots adorning the platter. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to call you” Emilio replies, unable to speak another word before receiving a sarcastic retort. “Yeah, I figured that- what’s up?” the woman responds, setting her plate on the large arm rest of her fireside chair before taking her seat, waiting for the man’s voice to overpower the pair of detached reflections speaking to each other in his presence. “Wherever you are- stay inside” Emilio begins, entering the kitchen to pull away from the married couple’s discourse and enter a quieter space, “I’m pretty sure Charlotte is about to make a play on the island across the bridge.” With a squint, Salem’s reach for a veggie from her plate halts mid-attempt, the phone she’s placed on speaker falling silent amongst her momentary refusal to reply. “What do you mean she’s making a play for the other island? How do you know that?” the sniper retorts, wanting validation in the warning before considering it with any seriousness. “Because I was there when Charlotte realised the guy in charge of the island- that Gamble dude- probably took over a refinery a few miles north of Prince Edward Island. She doesn’t have the boats to get to it, and he’s probably got people stationed along the only road that leads to a safe launching point” Emilio confesses, his proclamation rendering the woman on the other end of the line incapable of holding even the faintest appetite she’d sat down with. “Did she tell you she was putting people together to take over the island, or are you just guessing?” Salem inquires, taking the device off speaker and pressing it tightly to her ear. “I’m just guessing, but I’m pretty confident that’s the move she’s making” Emilio responds, shaking his head vehemently as the device against his head begins to buzz once more, “either way- it doesn’t matter. Get groceries if you need to, stay inside, and don’t let anyone in unless it’s one of us.” “Are you trying to tell me I’m gonna have Quebecker-cunts knocking at my front door, Emilio?” Salem responds, groaning as she climbs out of her seat, dominant hand reaching for the rifle she’d leant against the wall nearby mid-limp. “No, but I’d prefer you to keep yourself away from danger at all odds possible” Emilio replies, continuing to speak as the phone buzzes again, “I know you said you’d leave if war happened, but now is not the time.” “Where are you right now?” Salem questions, her sock-covered feet slipping into a pair of running shoes stationed nearby her front door. “I’m at Alicia and Franklin’s, but I’ve got someone on the other line- I’ll have to call you back” Emilio answers, listening to the device’s third ring before ending his call with the woman and switching lines. “Don’t bother, I’ll be there in a few minutes” Salem replies, hanging up the phone and setting it upon her kitchen table before ripping a denim jacket off a nearby coat rack, carrying it against her chest as she steps through the front door, ready to reunite with the sole reasons she remains a resident of society’s final stand. “Hello?” Emilio answers, ear pressing back to the phone as the couple whose flat he stands in reenter the room, this time without filling the air with words directed toward each other. “Emilio, stay inside- wherever you are” Courtney chirps, speaking through the window that rushes past the open window of her passenger’s seat, “stay as far away from the bridge as you can, got it?” “Why, what the fuck is going on at the bridge!?” Emilio quickly responds, the concerned tone of voice that he’d tried to artificially dismiss minutes prior unintentionally returning in full force. “Gamble beat us to the punch” Courtney answers, a louder voice than her indoor reflection used to battle against the whipping winds, the view through her windshield affording a clear field that appears littered with vehicles at the end of it, the red and blue lights atop them flashing. “What the hell does that mean?” Emilio responds, unable to see the view that’s afforded to his friend, who joins those of similar rank at the frontlines of conflict threatening to spill over. “Gamble’s crossed onto our side of the bridge with a shit load of trucks and people with guns and armour. I think he took the ‘mandatory inspection’ Charlotte launched as an open door” Courtney replies, squinting to protect her vision from the harsh sunlight, “he’s demanding to talk to her.” “Move out of the way!” men and women in the vehicles that surround Courtney’s exclaim through their bullhorns, ordering regular residents out of the road they attempt to drive down. Gathering together at the news that their lone way onto Prince Edward Island had been forcibly declared unpassable, regular citizens out of the loop with the goings-on of the potential breakaway landmass await word as to why their travels have been refused by figures they know not the powers of. Frustrated and demanding answers, the people begrudgingly step aside for the convoy they’re aware their chancellor has ordered to the scene, blindly hoping that their arrival will spell a resuming of the passage they seek a venture across. “Just make sure you and your friends are somewhere safe as far away from here as possible, alright?” Courtney commands, quickly trying to wrap up their conversation before coming face-to-face with adversarial forces, “I’ve got to go.” “Courtney, wait! What’s-?” Emilio begins to reply, falling silent upon hearing the tone of the other line being dropped, not even afforded the chance to ask the question that sits along his mind. “I thought you were calling Salem?” Alicia inquires, watching her guest quickly reclip the phone to his waistband and hurry for the direction their presence blocks him from. “Salem’s on here way here- don’t leave” Emilio quickly declares, reaching out for the knob of the front door, “something’s going down at the bridge and I need to be there.” “The bridge!? You mean Charlotte’s making her move right now!?” Franklin exclaims, his question preventing the man from fully stepping through the front door. “Courtney said Gamble got the jump on her. I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s at the bridge and he’s demanding to talk to Charlotte” Emilio answers, again attempting to duck out of the front door before his friend’s voice holds him back. “Wait, why the hell are you going there if all of this is going down!?” Alicia calls out, hurrying forward to try and pull their guest back into the home, his reluctance affording him the opening to pull his hand away. “Listen, even if Courtney’s got Charlotte’s convoy to fall back on, I’d still like to be there in case a friend needs me” Emilio responds, vehement in his need to leave, “Salem’s on her way, so the four of you will be safe here. As long as that’s the case, I’ve done my job here.” “So war might be about to break out and your plan is to run down to ground zero with a full head of steam!?” Franklin shouts, almost incapable of fathoming the proposal his longtime friend presents, “are you trying to get yourself killed!?” “Dude, I’ll be fine! The two of you, Salem, and the baby are gonna be fine here. Jack and Lauren have each other up north, and I’ll call the siblings back to make sure they dock at Port Elgin- everyone’s going to be fine” Emilio responds, stepping into the hallway to prevent the couple from interfering with his attempt to depart yet again, “Courtney’s the only one I can’t say the same for. In the small chance she needs me, I wanna be there. So just settle in and keep each other safe, alright?” “Em’!” Franklin calls out, stepping forward to reach for the door his friend quickly shuts and darts away from, already halfway down the nearest set of stairs before the family’s patriarch can even stick his head through the exit, “Emilio!” Though his voice travels throughout the entire building, the man Franklin calls for refuses to thwart his own departure, making for the building’s exit as quickly as he can before practically jumping into his car and pulling out of the lot. Directing his vehicle northbound, Emilio begins the near hour-long journey to the rival government’s meeting point, his backseat hosting the long wooden box his automatic rifle is sealed within, a few preloaded magazines sitting in a container on the floor. | As per usual, traffic flows on the remote end of the Confederation Bridge just as it would any other day, the near-cloudless sky presenting what finally feels like a temperature fitting for the early stages of spring. One after another, vehicles pour into the strait crossing point whilst others take an earlier exit down Abegweit Boulevard, carrying on with their day as if it were any other. Unencumbered, the bridge remains the trade-off from one half of the massive community to the other, the governments they unknowingly leave behind in favour of a new one remaining well hidden as the day carries on as it always does. Heading northbound, the travellers entering Prince Edward Island await the line of vehicles ahead of them to carry forward, checked by the island’s exclusive guards for a brief rundown before granting entry to the adjacent community. All appears fine under the Canadian sun as far as the drivers are concerned, the venture one taken every day for some, whilst others embark upon a journey mostly uncommon to them. All however, view this journey as no different than whichever ones they may or may not have taken before, unaware of the tensions that boil below the surface of what their knowledge is kept from witnessing, completely oblivious to the idea that this journey may be one they cannot return from. In a beige sedan, a man driving alone with long sleeves rolled up to his elbows in light of the warm day begins to conclude his journey onto Prince Edward Island, needing not to continue along the Confederation Bridge’s route, and instead opting to disembark the venture on the earlier Boulevard off-ramp. “I’ve got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a good, good night” blares through the vehicles speakers as the car begins its descent to a side street, intending to inevitably spill out onto Main Street before coming to a screeching halt. “That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night” the radio continues, humming its stereo as its brake is laid into, the man’s eyes widening as he watches a set of box trucks and armoured vans cut him off. “Pull off to the side or you will be hit” a voice exclaims through a bullhorn attached to the top of a van’s windshield, its wheels slowly turning to allow those it comes head-to-head with a chance to obey the instructions provided. Lowering his radio, the sedan’s operator rolls down his window as his vehicle comes to a full stop, his ear held out to listen for a second proclamation. “This is the Regiment of Prince Edward Island- pull off to the side or you will be hit” the first driver in an ever-stretching row of vans repeats, slowly guiding a line of nearly twenty vans and box trucks forward. As ordered, the sedan’s driver pulls his wheel to the left and slowly aligns his car with the side of the road, clearing his space for the apparent armoured convoy to take the northbound side street southbound and back onto the bridge. One after another, the same driver of the first van passes vehicles travelling in the opposite direction, not caring about having held up traffic by venturing down the wrong lane of traffic. On the other side of the bridge- the one correctly travelling southbound- a convoy of just as many trucks and vans ventures toward Nova Scotia all the same, having pulled off Dickie Street to join his fleet on the opposite side. All together, tens of reinforced vehicles close in on the passageway separating them from Nova Scotia, all four total lanes of the trans-Canadian highway are occupied by unassumingly powerful forces, ten drivers per lane. Within minutes, the drivers ordered to embark upon the mainland finally reach the bridge’s conclusion, meeting at the entrance and parking alongside each other, refusing to offer the smallest opening for a potentially unwanted visitor to squeeze through. To a litany of honking and hollering, the vans stand their ground and refuse any further passage to their homeland in the name of their autocrat’s order, the drivers that occupy their wheel shifting the gears into park as they prepare for a long-term occupation. Gathered behind the armoured vehicles, box trucks with holes filling their sides remain well-protected by the frontline, the drivers of those vehicles keeping their finger on an intentionally-repurposed parking brake at their side. Collectively angered, the growing crowd of vehicles held up at the bridge’s entrance begin taking control into their own hands, some pulling off to the side of the road anticipating an ordeal of some uncertain sort to unfold, whilst others play with the idea of ramming their automobiles into the frontlines out of retaliation. From the rear of the vans at the frontline, a swarm of armed guards squeeze through the slots afforded to them by their drivers, standing ground for the display. With their weapons held across their chests, the patrol unit stand in a few single file lines, watching an assortment of casual civilians step out of their vehicles and approach with balled fists. Ahead of all others, a man in a blue flannel shirt spouts vigour at the armed men that stand before him, seeming to have no fear of the repercussions that may ensue from his presentation. From within the armed battalion, a man unlike the others steps forward with a rifle of his own, eyes taking to the blue-shirted man for himself and hearing the hatred spilling from his spit-flying lips. “I’ve got somewhere to be! Move out of the-!” the resident exclaims, veins detailing themselves through the flesh that runs up his neck as he steps forward, unable to finish his thought before eyes widen and all emotions of rage and disgust are sent out of the window. With an emotionless expression, the man who descends from his pack to take a look at the crowd for himself readies his weapon, directing the barrel toward the approaching civilian before pulling the trigger without a moment’s hesitation. His life having flashed before his eye, the blue flannel-adorning gentleman wears gunshots into his chest as if they were an accessory, his anger having faded in the final moments of his life to make room for horror, dread, and outright fear. Sent into a panic, the crowd of once-merciless drivers thwarted from carrying on with their daily activities turn into frightened puppies, running for protection from a dog much larger, tougher, and undisciplined than themselves. Lowering the barrel of his weapon, Gamble stares at the corpse he’d sent collapsing to the ground before lifting his eyes to the dissipating crowd, some vehicles near the back of the congestion immediately turning around and veering off in the way they’d arrived. With his presence made known to those who’d yet to even take notice of his existence, Gamble awaits for word of this display to reach the ears he’d intended for it to reach, aware that a response will be made, and that the quality of life that he’d quietly maintained back at home and allowed to persist on the mainland has now permanently been altered in ways not even he can yet predict. | “Shhh, it’s okay!” Alicia whispers, cradling her precious infant with the softest of touch, the efforts she makes to quell its crying thwarted by the balled fist that pounds against her flat’s front door. “Get that- it’s Salem” the slightly-frazzled mother remarks, guiding her husband to the front of their living room, his heavy feet stepping across the ground as the heavy hand knocks at the same volume for a second time. “Where’s Emilio!?” Salem asks aloud, stepping through the now-open door before stepping into the kitchen, briefly checking for her friend’s figure before turning back for the living room. “He just left a couple minutes ago” Franklin responds, watching his guest’s head immediately dart toward him, her anticipation having not been set on receiving such an answer. “What!? Why!?” the woman quickly replies, grabbing her rifle’s strap with her right hand whilst letting it hang over the same shoulder, “I told him not to go anywhere!” “That’s what I tried to tell him to, but he bolted out the door and there was no way I was catching up to him” Franklin reassures, shrugging off the woman’s remark as she attempts to pass him by, “where are you going!?” “To go after Emilio, what the hell does it look like I’m doing!?” Salem responds, quickly doubling down on her point before any opposition can be voiced, “you didn’t think I’d come over with my rifle for tea time, did you!?” “What the hell is with you idiots going off to get yourselves hurt!?” Franklin shouts, aware that his baby remains enraptured by a flood of tears, but also conceding to the fact that peace will not be had for any of the apartment’s tenants until common sense is restored amongst its visitors. “What do you mean you idiots?” Salem retorts, stepping back as her much larger friend puts himself between her and the exit, “Emilio’s the dumbass that ran off for wherever he went- I’m just the one going off to keep an eye on him.” “It’s not like we agree with Emilio running off, but I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself if push comes to shove!” Alicia claims from the opposite end of the commons room, her hand gently resting against the side of her son’s head. “No, he can’t! And come to think about it- neither can the three of you!” Salem shouts back, watching the eyes on both of her friends widen at the quip, one that the hobbled markswoman cannot take back, and seemingly has no desire to. “All of this is a fucking joke! The apartment, the nine-to-fives, the hot water, the fucking bullshit- it’s all bullshit!” Salem continues to exclaim, her outburst only further sparking tears to stream down the infant’s face. “It’s a facade! It’s all fucking fake! It’s just a goddamn play-thing to keep fuckers like you satisfied so you can act like a meatshield when people like Charlotte wanna make a quick land grab! That’s all it ever is!” she utters, earning silence from the mother and father. Gasping for air as she limps back, Salem stands between the confused married couple she’s known since the outbreak first ravaged their initial world, one they’ve moved on from to such an extent that they’ve brought to light a new life who’d never experienced it. In silence, the sniper pans her eyes between the tower of a man and the exhausted woman seated in the opposite direction, only able to hear the crying baby as all three conscious tenants stare at each other. “That’s not just the case now- it’s always been that way, how the fuck do you think we even got here in the first place!?” Salem continues, constantly looking from one side of the room to the other as she speaks, “we’ve always been puppets to some selfish government, and that will always be the case as long as a world like this one continues to exist!” Pausing again, the sniper’s eyes begin to well up as she looks to each resident, whom remain as silent as she does through her momentary ceases of speech and stay in such a way when the words begin once more. “The only way to not be the pawns to someone more powerful is if you refuse someone that power over you- or you fucking die” Salem continues, speaking the words whilst looking at Franklin before setting her sights on Alicia and concluding, “no exceptions.” Taken aback by the aggressive display they’d figured their close friend was too above to stoop down to, Franklin looks across the room to his wife, who quietly reacts in a similar way. Disheartened at saying what she has, Salem looks away from the couple and sorrowfully stares at the child in Alicia’s arms, watching the mother half-heartedly return to her attempts at subduing the tearful presentation of displeasure. Frowning at the infant, Salem’s eyes soon fall to the ground as her shoulder shrugs off an attempt at comfort from Franklin, who extends his hand before finding himself rejected. “No” the visitor mutters aloud, pulling in a heavy breath before thrusting it from her lungs like the throw of a professional bowler, her head shaking as she turns away, pushing past the one-armed survivor, “I have to go.” Despite her injury, Salem’s determination to carry after her friend’s march into potential battle affords her the strength to beat Franklin’s attempt at persuading her otherwise, the rifle that hangs along the right side of her body smacking against the doorframe upon her departure. Without a word, Alicia tries to lull Buddy to sleep whilst staring forward, unable to truly make out what that brief and high-tensioned interaction was. | With a sour face, Courtney sits back in her lowered passenger’s seat with one foot pressing against the glove compartment, her frown and furrowed eyebrows held toward the line of vehicles standing in the way of her and those actually intending to pass by them. In her right hand, the woman casts a spinning stream of light along the roof just above her, the pink rotating fidget toy she holds between her fingers reflects the sunlight colourfully. Though all she can see at the front of the vehicular lineup are unfamiliar faces armed to the teeth, gadget spinning right hand woman knows full and well who is responsible for the holdup. “Hey, ‘Court?” Ethan wonders aloud, leaning into the half-open passenger’s window in an effort of catching the ear to his immediate superior, “Charlotte is around ten minutes out.” “Thanks, Ethan” Courtney replies, her eyes remaining glued to the obstruction in the roadway, looking past the few allied vehicles that sit in front of her own to remain attentive to the enemy’s every move. With both hands pressing against both legs, Gamble stares forward at the back of the box truck parked right in front of him, the vehicle purposefully positioned facing the way of his independence-seeking island. Eyes steady and remaining open for almost a minute between each blink, the autocrat’s ears take to the calm sound of rustling winds cooling the early spring warmth, decisive pleasure carried within each gust that sails past the tyrant. After a few minutes, the crowd that maintains their distance watches as a car confidently drives through the unusually-empty roadway. Standing off to the side, Nova Scotia’s populous refrain from interfering in the apparent stare down, but fail to bring themselves to leave the area in lieu of what altercation may be bound to break out before their very eyes- the potential devastation too alluring to pass up on the chance of witnessing. “Stop your vehicle!” an armed member of those resisting Gamble’s potential further encroachment demands, the barrel of his weapon held toward the windshield of a lonesome, gradually-slowing blue sedan. Unsure of what’s unfolding behind her car, Courtney peers into the rear-view mirror for a moment, but fails to see what the fuss happens to be about, her passive attention paid to the unimportant arrival. Putting his car in park, Emilio exits the front seat with his hands extended, “I’m only here for Courtney” the man calmly replies, showing his palms to the guard that approaches, “she’s my bartering partner.” Keeping his caution intact, the approaching guard refuses to remove his finger from the trigger he’s ready to pull at a moment’s notice, continuing to silently draw closer to the uninvited visitor. “He’s clean” a man exclaims from a few feet ahead of Courtney’s vehicle, prompting the woman to look toward her direct subordinate, eyes eventually returning to the rear-view mirror for whatever perspective she can muster. “Let him through” Donnie doubles down, watching the armed guard look back for a brief moment before lowering his weapon, stepping aside without uttering a word to grant the man passage. “Emilio’s here” Ethan remarks, aware of his superior’s trouble looking on at what unfolds behind her, informing her of his presence and immediately stepping aside to grant the woman exit from her vehicle. “Courtney, get back in the car” Donnie remarks, stepping away from the frontline of potential warfare before stopping in his tracks, a reassuring hand gesturing toward him from the man he joins the woman’s inner circle alongside. “Em’, what the hell are you doing here!?” Courtney quips aloud, slamming the front door shut as a second lonely vehicle appears just over the hill, her eyes too focused on the friend she’d demanded keep his distance to take much care over. “I don’t care who it is- I’m not leaving any of my friends to take on something like this without me being there” Emilio answers, drawing closer to the semi-disappointed, semi-appreciative acquaintance prepared for the battle to end all others. “I’m pretty sure your own friends would say the same thing about you” Ethan quips from a short few metres away, jutting his chin toward the oncoming vehicle neither of the survivors had paid any mind to, “I’m pretty sure I know who drives that car.” Following a similar line of thought, the patrolmen best-trained to defend their homeland step aside to grant the speeding vehicle access to the scene of interest, the tires on it kicking up the dirt that’s spent the last few months accumulating on the asphalt roadway with no cleaning to look forward to. Nearly burning rubber as its slows to an almost immediate stop, a white sedan parks a few metres ahead of Emilio’s and immediately fires its driver’s side door open, granting Salem freedom from the cramped front seat. “What the hell did I tell you!?” the sniper exclaims, limping out into the open with her friend and his paramotorist colleague in sight, “I swear, as much as I love you and the others, y’all can be some of the biggest idiots mankind has ever offered.” “Why are you here!?” Emilio retorts, stepping away from Courtney’s side to approach his still-wounded friend, an extended arm swatted away with Salem’s left hand whilst the woman’s right slaps her defiant confidant straight across the face. “I asked you the same damn thing” the bad leg-defying freebird spouts back, shaking her head as she stubbornly steps past her pal and joins the Nova Scotian frontline, “since you don’t seem interested in answering, I guess I don’t either.” Letting her firearm fall down the length of her arm and settle itself in her comforting hands, Salem stares at the ground to ensure there’s nothing in her way to trip over, the attention she pays to what resides beneath her rendering her incapable of noticing what happens a short ways across the road. “It’s a rather odd turn of fate to find yourselves fighting for the same woman you’d once taken everything from, now isn’t it?” Gamble utters through the receiver on his megaphone, taking a stand at the very centre of his defiant militia’s imposing facade. Hurrying to the side of both his limping acquaintance and his flight-loving colleague, Emilio joins Ethan and Donnie in composing the closest thing to a government representation the Nova Scotian side has to offer at the moment. “Even in spite of the fact that she’s willing to throw countless lives into the woodchipper just to retain what little control she has over Nova Scotia as is- the two of you still manage to uncover new common ground to stand on” the autocrat carries on, earning the full attention of those standing across a barren strip of asphalt from him. “I suppose I’m in no place to blame you. For as much naval superiority as my island can offer, Nova Scotia still has an abundance of troops that I- well- that I just can’t” Gamble continues, a feigned smile appearing through his thin lips, “if you’re one to err on the safest bet, I do understand why you’d believe those you align with now would fall under that category.” Nostrils flaring, Emilio squints past the burning sun that just begins to spiritually count down the hour or so that remains until sundown, a scathing grimace carried toward the surprisingly-imposing autocrat. Unphased, Courtney wears a similar expression to the one that the wounded markswoman does, though Salem’s visage is rooted within a deep and unapologetic disappointment in how pathetic the supposed awe-striking tyrant appears to be. With a passing glance at the car Courtney had stepped out of, Emilio’s mind wraps itself around a thought he not only can’t rid from his mind, but has no want to in the slightest. Stepping forward, his hands reach onto the floormat his friend’s non-dominant foot had sat upon prior to his arrival and claims the megaphone that awaits its intended use, his proceeding steps carrying him closer to the open road, standing at the centre of the two conflicted halves of the post-apocalyptic community. “What is this about? Is this about power? Is this about getting leverage over someone you don’t like?” Emilio rebukes, calling out the intention of the man representing a nation desiring a long yearned-for rebirth, “help me understand what it is that you want out of this.” With a squint in his eye, Gamble watches the survivor continue to draw nearer, a genuine smirk consuming the corner of his mouth. “Emilio, get back here” Courtney hisses, unable to prevent her friend from putting himself in harm’s way, the desire she is refused seeing the light of prompts her accompanying guards to prepare themselves for the first sign of trouble. Facing the music, the man who’d watched the old world fall and slowly rip everything he’d had in life away over time now enters the open waters of a shark ready to repeat the process in what ashes remained from his prior life. “As far as I’m concerned, Charlotte is willing to throw lives into battle for her own interests- and you’re willing to do the same” Emilio proceeds, returning the megaphone to his lips as he closes in on the halfway point between each enemy line. “At least when we fought Charlotte for our independence, we had the balls to put ourselves in the line of fire for it” the man continues, concluding his advancement at the exactly midway point, “I have a hard time believing you’d do the same.” Aware of the undertone to the proposal the man across from him makes, Gamble lowers his chin and lets out a genuine chuckle, amused at the challenge enough to let a smile of true levity emerge over his chagrin. “Hold your fire until further notice, gentlemen” the autocrat commands, tapping the man at his left with his hand before emerging from within the rebel forces, closing the distance between himself and the closest thing he has to comparison to- the living remnants of the first rebellion. “Is this what you would like, Emilio?” Gamble wonders aloud, extending his arms just as the man across from him recently had, displaying his cooperation with the once-rebel, now-follower. “You could do with me what you will. You’d almost certainly die for it, but you have access to me that only my secretary does” the tyrant carries on, lowering himself to the ground to place the megaphone at his feet, “if you want me to put my life on the line, then right now- you control my fate.” “That’s not what I want” Emilio responds, his reply quickly interrupted by the potentate, who challenges the rebuttal for its honesty. “Is it not? If you can tell me with absolute certainty that’s not what you wanted of me, then that must mean you know what you do want” Gamble rebukes, the conversation one of designed intimacy that only he and the man he’d only spoken to once before this moment are allowed to experience. “So please enlighten me to what you truly want” Gamble pleads, a squint in his eye as he leans in, matching the shortened distance with a lowered voice. “I want to know why you have to resort to this. I want to know why you’d be willing to throw the only thing left of the old world into chaos just for some meaningless freedom that you pretty much have in every way other than writing at this point” Emilio answers, the haste of his reply proving the genuinity behind the inquiry. “What do you think they’re saying?” Salem inquiries, quietly seething at her inability to protect the man that stands within her line of sight though she’s helpless to aid in the need of crisis. “I don’t care what it is, I just hope Charlotte gets here fast” Courtney responds, hiding her distrust of the Prince Edward Island dictator in remarks so scathing it’s hard to decipher between disgust and concern, “I don’t want him up there anymore than you do.” Lifting his chin, Gamble straightens out his posture and passes a glance off at the group of Nova Scotians having initially set out to descend upon his island, their trip one he still vehemently refuses them the chance to take. Thinking to himself, the autocrat keeps his lips pressed together as the man he stands within the reach of refuses to take advantage of the silence, not needing to speak now that his only quest is to listen for his answers. “I suppose you can consider it something akin to future-proofing. I can see the tides that are to come, and I want to make sure they’re broken up before they make landfall, do you understand?” Gamble begins, letting his hands join together at his lap as the wind begins to carry a seaside breeze over those in attendance to the evening’s outcome. “The world that came before this was made unobtainable by the powers that be. I saw them with my own eyes put their own interest ahead of the people’s” the tyrant proceeds, staring at the sky and the newly-appearing clouds, the green grass and the sandy asphalt, and anywhere that Emilio’s eyes aren’t, “and the issue was never that, it was the fact that the people stood by and they took it. They were being taken advantage of, milked dry for everything they had, and did nothing.” Staring at the man with distaste, Emilio continues to prevent himself from interrupting in spite of the great desire to call out the inadequacies within his adversary’s remarks, denying himself the ability to refuse his ears of their retort. “They didn’t do that because they were stupid. No, that was never the case. They were predisposed to believe that the powers that be were just too mighty for them to ever overcome” Gamble continues, his eyes taking to the heavens above. “Of course, now I come along and I look the mighty powers that be in the eye and refuse them the right to think that they are the ones in control” he proceeds, finally returning his pupils to those of the visibly judgemental sights that his disappointingly-oppositional ideological enemy views him with. “You know, I see you. I see that stare, and I know that you are repressing a lot of hateful feelings toward me, but I beg of you to see this situation from my side of view” Gamble chirps, now turning the conversation back to an inspection of the silent figure across from him, reading the body language and unchanging mug his eyes bear witness to, “don’t you see why I would look at Charlotte and her post-apocalyptic fortune-pit for the oppressive power that I know you know it to be?” Still met with the unrelenting silent reaction, Gamble lets the pause settle between himself and his emboldened foe, another gust of wind whipping violently past them. “Ask yourself why Charlotte would’ve wanted to prevent me from exposing myself as the true overseer of Prince Edward Island. If I was such a truly awful figure, why would she not want to clear herself of any involvement?” the autocrat continues, “instead, she takes credit for my authority. She props up my rule as beneficial.” “That changes nothing” Emilio quickly retorts, aware that the man of lesser height and much greater influence will only continue to spin around his every point to endless abandon. “Maybe so, but what it does serve the purpose of is reinforcing my point” Gamble responds, quick to reassure the man standing before him whilst also correcting him in the same breath, “she has no genuine reason to want me gone. She wants me ousted because I pose a threat to her grand plan.” “And what do you think that is?” Emilio responds, wanting whatever clarity he can earn from the figure he learns more about with each passing breath. “To continue to inflict her dominance as the last true society in the world upon whomever she can. Why else would she refuse her colonies the chance to refine their own oil? What other excuse does she have for short-changing Rockford before the community revolted?” Gamble answers, pausing as he lifts a finger. “As a matter of fact, how would I know that she wouldn’t plan on doing the same thing to my island if she had the chance?” the tyrant recommits himself to asking, his head pulling back as he presents more genuine emotion than he’d ever had with those he’s closest to. “If anything, my opposition to her direct influence over Prince Edward Island may be the only thing ensuring our continued prosperity” Gamble continues, “our sovereignty, our way of life, the continuation of Quebecois culture?” “You don’t give a shit about any of that” Emilio replies, immediately earning himself the shake of Gamble’s head, his agreement voiced instantly. “No, you’re right- I do not. But the fact of the matter is, it was Charlotte who pushed the vast majority of the French-speaking population onto the island in the first place” the separatist rebel voices, “if we’re being honest- had it not been for me refusing her the chance, she would’ve turned the island into her world of discards anyway.” “Probably. And as a matter of fact, I agree with most- if not all- of what you’ve said thus far” Emilio responds, finally uttering the most coherent reply he’d offered all day, “but what that doesn’t change is the fact that you could’ve kept Charlotte on her toes from one bridge’s length away until your dying days. Instead, you’re here. You, and your military, and your armoury, and your influence, it’s all here. The two sides at least cooperated until now, and you’re taking that away.” Finally without an immediate response, Gamble composes himself and retains his coupled hands, staring into the face of the man that defies his argument and makes the most genuine attempt at humbling him thus far. “You can call it future proofing, you can call it a predictive measure, you can call it whatever the fuck you want. That does not change what it truly is-” Emilio argues, stepping forward to get his face within centimetres of the autocrat’s own, “-a power grab.” “She’s here” Courtney mutters aloud, looking back at the line of military vehicles that approach from the same direction that her friends had, the car at the very front of the line being the one that takes her attention most notably. Glancing over his shoulder, Emilio joins Gamble in spotting the chancellor’s incoming posse, their momentary gaze fixing upon her before the once-mayor’s continued speech reclaims the focus of the now-authoritarian. “This isn’t something you had to do, this is an outcome you chose” Emilio continues, aware of the limited time he has before the chancellor strips him of this opportunity and corrals him away- eager to take advantage of every last second he’s got left, “people are going to die, you are going to ruin lives. You’re gonna take away mothers and fathers from their children, and you’re going to rid Nova Scotian- and yourselves- into extinction.” Now taking his opportunity to be silent, Gamble looks the man he’d once spoken of from such a position of authority that the common level they now speak from is almost alien to him. “And as much as you can try to pin this on Charlotte, the first move was ultimately made by you” Emilio proceeds, practically able to count down the seconds of time he has remaining once he hears the screeching tires his back is directed toward. “That makes this your war. That means people will die because you ordered it, lives will be changed because you called for it. Whatever happens next- it’s your fault” Emilio concludes, able to barely hear the opening doors of the cavalry that finally arrives, “I don’t see why you bother questioning whose side I’m on, because there’s no one good reason for either of them. You have more boats than she does, fewer people than she does, and just as much of a leg to stand on.” “Emilio!” Charlotte screams, anger wrapping around her like a snake coiling around its prey, the effort she exhausts practically suffocating her just as that same serpent does. In silence, the Nova Scotian chancellor marches past her paramotorist confidant, the woman’s subordinates and the hobbled acquaintance of the only man who draws her ire more than the figure interrupting her civilian’s travel. Seething to himself, Emilio takes two slow steps back before spinning the rest of the way around, his back turned to the breakaway island’s authoritarian just in time to see the disapproving mug of his de facto superior. “You got yourself in my good graces just enough for me to not have your ass locked away in some basement somewhere, do you really wanna throw it away getting in some goddamn spat with a sociopathic asshat?” Charlotte hisses, her voice kept between the pair. Pressing his lips together, Emilio looks into Charlotte’s eyes as the armed reinforcements she’d brought along follow her forward, those that Gamble had allocated to accompany him doing much the same. Without providing so much as a reason, the man’s expression turns into one of trouble as it falls to the ground, eyes following suit whilst the chancellor watches on, noticing the sudden change without reason to provide it. “What’s wrong?” Charlotte wonders aloud, passing a look in the direction of Gamble, a reaction that- without being privy to- surprised the rebellion leader. Trying to piece together an explanation behind the change in visage, the woman’s eyes turn into a deep squint that she soon carries back to the survivor, “what did he say?” she proceeds to ask, still uncertain. As if triggered by a sudden thought, Emilio’s downtrodden expression shifts into one of momentary inquisition, the idea popping into his head sparking a change in posture. “How long does it take to restart a refinery?” the man inquires, looking straight ahead at the small group he’d departed from minutes prior, their unsure faces finding him from out of the crowd. “I don’t know. I took over the one up here before it was shut down, why?” Charlotte responds, passing another glance to the man she intends on confronting, “did he say something about the refinery?” Shaking his head, Emilio answers the question with the reaction alone, still not uttering a word as he sifts through the thoughts within his head, as yet unable to fully make out the jumbled mess of information that consistently floods his mind. “This is as much about power to him as it is to you” he finally speaks once more, lifting his chin to look the chancellor in the eyes, “I’m not the one to depend on for bipartisan advice, ‘cause I’d tell you to send him away with what he wants.” “That’s not going to happen” Charlotte assures, aware that the man desires to hear almost anything other than that, but not wanting to present him with any hope for an alternative. “The man has now walked onto my side of the bridge and killed one of my residents. He’s not walking back with a reward for it” the chancellor replies, immediately watching a grin sprout over the face of the man beside her. “You’ve got quite the nerve to be smiling at me after all of this” Charlotte warns, lifting her eyebrows as the armed squadron she enters the conflict alongside finally catches up to her. “Don’t say that as if you care. If you truly cared about who lives or dies in here- aside from a select few- you wouldn’t be so eager to get your hands dirty and magazines expended” Emilio rebukes, looking the woman in the eyes with equal malice and disdain, “the two of you are no better than each other.” Turning away to begin his return to those he aligns with close enough to consider friends, Emilio’s journey back is thwarted by the outstretched hand of the chancellor, who prevents him from leaving on such a bitter note. “Alright, what does that make you then? A saint? A judas?” Charlotte replies, cutting back at the man with the same slice of a verbal knife as he’d swung at her with, “you, John, and the rest of them cared for no one but yourselves in New York and Sheol.” Letting his smile fall into a similar smirk, Emilio hangs his head and nods to himself, allowing the woman to repeat her question without interruption. “If Gamble and I are no better than each other for throwing lives into the blender in the name of a greater fight, then what does that make you?” Charlotte questions, waiting for a few seconds to pass before watching the man look up with his eyes forward, head eventually drifting toward her direction before stopping halfway between. Though his head sits in the space between his chancellor and his closest allies, Emilio’s eyes hold firm on their stare toward the woman beside him, his voice carrying the same confidence as the hold in his gaze. “It makes me mature enough to be honest with myself-” he answers, nodding with satisfaction before taking one step forward, prepared to leave the woman behind to take part in whatever outcome she’s the second perpetrator of, “-and admit that what it made me was wrong.” Without so much as another huff, Emilio retires to the concerned acquaintances that had spent every moment between his departure and return in a nervous wreck over whether or not he’d ever return. “What the hell happened up there?” Courtney questions aloud, able to get the question off just as her friend returns, another strong gust of wind carrying itself over the shoreside scenery. Looking back as her newly-re dyed blonde locks whip with the breeze, Charlotte watches her once-dreaded adversary reunite with those closest to her, able to accept that they fight on the same side begrudgingly. Staring back, Emilio pauses before offering his friend the answer to her question, a furrow coming over his eyebrows as his eyes set themselves upon Salem, who awaits his reply just as the rest do. “As long as the two of them are manning their separate sides, Gamble’s right-” Emilio confesses, nodding to the hobbled woman as her expression shifts for the worst, “-war is inevitable.” Slightly agape, Salem’s mouth holds a sorrowful frown as she stares into Emilio’s face, her attention soon joining those she stands within in redirecting itself toward the combat-ready frontlines, the final metres between them soon stepped upon and passed by. “Let’s cut to the chase. I know you had spies outside the compound’s walls and you know that I had an ulterior motive behind the inspection earlier today” Charlotte begins, opening the line of dialogue with the offer of cutting it short, “what’s this all about, Gamble?” “You know what this is about, Charlotte. You’ve known since the moment you started loosening your stranglehold on Prince Edward Island, and I explicitly told you almost a year ago” Gamble admits, opening the floodgates to whatever may result from this conflict. “Well if this is about the island’s independence, you’re wasting your time... It’s not happening” Charlotte responds, as uninterested in talking as the man across from her is, “it’s put up or shut up time, champ. Show me what you’ve got.” Puckering his lips, Gamble shrugs his shoulders rather animatedly and tucks his hand into the right flap of his beige trench coat. “I assure you it’s not a firearm, but if you insist-” the autocrat replies, nullifying all doubts before dipping his hand behind the obstruction, returning with a makeshift device complete with a retractable antenna and all, a satisfied grin coming over the rebellion leader’s face, “-how about this... I’ve got a bomb!” Not visually standing at attention, Charlotte’s cautious approach is mirrored by those that stand their ground alongside her, the carefully waving hand of the island’s hidden-no-longer leader gesturing them down from their momentary exposure to subdued shock and horror. “Settle down, settle down- I don’t have it on me” Gamble remarks aloud, giving the device a gentle shake before holding it within coupled hands at his lap, “and don’t worry... this isn’t the only trigger.” “What’s your game, Gamble?” Charlotte interjects, watching the curious look she receives for asking it be returned to her, “you’ve got a bomb... great. Go ahead and explain the reason for telling me that I know you have.” With his eyes falling to the ground in front of her as if he’s disappointed the fun was ceased before he could take part in it, Gamble grins wide and nods to himself, a passing glance taken toward the group distantly behind the chancellor. “Well, honestly I came here with a very different plan in mind” the tyrant confesses, returning his line of sight to the woman he opposes to such a vehement degree that it almost brings him genuine pain. “Those box trucks behind the vans just behind me are filled with fresh zombies. They’re the quick kind- the recently-deceased, light-on-their-feet kind” Gamble explains, shrugging as he speaks, “I was going to order my men to open fire if you didn’t agree to let the island break off for good.” Snarling as her nostrils flare, Charlotte sits with her boiling anger as the man across from her takes yet another look at the man who’d preceded her. “But you see, I suppose you ought to be grateful that Emilio has chosen to stand by you, because- and I don’t put this lightly- he’s the only reason I’m willing to compromise” Gamble tacks on, watching the woman pass a look over her shoulder in the man’s general vicinity before looking back to him. “He’s reminded me that these actions I was planning to take made me no better than yourself. Stubborn pond scum too fixated on nabbing power from the clutches of my opposition to see that I’ve blinded myself and become just what I hate about you” Gamble remarks, lifting his chin as he reaches for his tie with a free hand, “our conversation- as brief as you ensured it would be- has allowed me to realise that there is a higher road I shouldn’t restrain myself from trying to take with you.” “And that’s what?” Charlotte questions, her trench-like scowl only deepening, “laying your cards on the table in hoping you can justify whatever it is you’ll do to me if I refuse by arguing that you gave it your best shot?” Shaking his head to respectfully scoff at the notion, Gamble extends his arms out at each side briefly before recoupling his hands, “let’s not pretend like you have much of a choice here. It doesn’t matter if you let the people take arms against me or not- you cannot win.” Bowing her head, Charlotte appears to wear the guise of defeat as she frowns, biting into her bottom lip as she realises the man has her cornered with little room to breathe let alone make work of. “Charlotte, the amount of rebuilding you would have to do to simply make it to the shoreline of Charlottetown would be near immeasurable, why bother kidding yourself?” Gamble questions, lowering his brows to install a more shallow empathy in the woman’s direction, “your dream is a fallacy.” Keeping to herself, Charlotte stares at the ground before looking away, guiding her face toward the people that stand by, waiting for the conflict to either take part or pass like a rainstorm on an otherwise sunny day. “Oh, don’t hang your head like a sad puppy. Have some dignity, woman” Gamble remarks, watching the chancellor’s back turn toward him as she begins stepping away, the display presented to him sparking a subdued, yet noticeable irritation. “Please, just let this be over with and just cut your losses. We’ll leave you to be just as you leave us to be” Gamble proclaims, still trying to lure the woman back into accepting his request. Sucking on her bottom lip, Charlotte shakes her head as she departs from the man, who grows slightly more impatient the longer he’s left with no answer and a refusal of her attention. With a faint squint in one eye, Gamble thinks quietly to himself as he stares at the ground his nemesis had just recently stood upon before kneeling toward it. Sitting with a symphony of thoughts as she steps no less slow than that of the undead horde her community was built to keep out, Charlotte’s retreat grants her the opportunity to be with herself and consider all options on the table, beginning to feel the weight of the few choices she has to sift through. “What would your husband think of you?” Widened on command, Charlotte’s return to the grounds exclusive to Nova Scotia stops immediately, her hairs blowing in the next powerful gust of wind as the words that such a recurring feat of nature carries from one end of the bullhorn to her ears. Pulling his lips away from the megaphone, Gamble looks on at the chancellor’s halted retreat, aware that he’d struck a nerve with the question. “Come to think of it- if she’d had the chance to grow up- what would your daughter have thought of you?” For a few seconds, Charlotte’s only breath comes in the form of a long inhale, the breath that she takes soon escaping from her lungs at twice the speed it was pulled in with. His emotionless and hollow guise resuming its possession of his face, Gamble watches as his adversary stirs with the chord he’d added to her internal symphony, taking pleasure in the same thing that prompts Courtney to stand by in great horror. “Charlotte” the woman to Emilio’s left calls out, just loud enough for the chancellor to hear it in spite of the trance-like pause her retreat takes on, the response she wishes to receive not only evading her, but refusing her. Gritting her teeth, Charlotte’s right hand slowly makes for the grip of the pistol that sits in its holster at her hip, something that whilst he doesn’t notice, Gamble would still take little concern over. “He’s trying to tempt you, Charlotte” Emilio calls out, the wind beginning to pick up in both speed and frequency just as he speaks, allowing his words to only reach the stoic chancellor. Grasping her firearm tightly, the Nova Scotian ruler squeezes on the leather piece from a place of superhuman rage, the bait that’s been put out to lure her in one that a part of her doesn’t mind taking even the slightest bite of. “Emilio was wrong about one thing... I am better than she is” Gamble whispers to himself, the brow over his left eye lifting whilst his right remains unmoved, “I am willing to die for this.” “Don’t” Salem quips, reaching out to take Courtney by the arm the moment she steps forward, intent on bring the chancellor back to solid and unconflicted ground. “She’s going to shoot him!” Charlotte’s right hand woman hisses back, a claim that the wounded sniper is more than well aware of. “And if you drag her away before she does what she’s gonna, she’ll play those same damn words in her head until she drives herself crazy” the limping survivor retorts, “I speak from experience.” With a squint, Courtney looks into Salem’s eyes before pulling her arm free, begrudgingly remaining in her place whilst staring darts at her frozen superior. Alone with her thoughts and a rough minute removed from the beckoning that had caught her like a bad habit, Charlotte stays unmoved, her right foot one step in front of her left, and right arm bent to grant her hand access to her firearm. With her teeth pressing together, the chancellor’s eyes finally blink for the first time since she’d stopped in her tracks, the teeth she’d pressed together like a hydraulic press finally granted relief. With python-like strength, the grasp Charlotte takes on her pistol is alleviated gradually whilst her right leg eases up, granting her the chance to pick her left off the ground and carry on with her departure. “Now what, sir?” a man whispers to his autocratic figurehead, unsure of what the casual and dismissive response they receive is meant to entail. “Just wait for it” Gamble responds confidently, watching Charlotte’s militia retreat after her, assuming that their part in the conflict has come to pass. Finally closing the distance between herself and Courtney, Charlotte returns to familiar ground, but remains two steps away from the small group of her once-foes and acquaintances alike. “Are you alright?” the paramotorist inquires, reaching out to rest her hand on the chancellor’s shoulder, only to find the woman pulling it away, refusing to remain within immediate reach of the survivors. “Hey, Emilio?” Charlotte mutters, looking at the man with her eyebrows raised, the look he pays her affording the chance to persist with her question, “do you remember how you said you were honest with yourself?” With a squint, Emilio looks at the woman in silence for a moment before cautiously nodding his head, earning a more enthusiastic nod from that of the woman across from him. “Good... That’s good...” Charlotte responds, mustering a smile with wide nostrils that soon divulges into the expression of unspeakable hatred, eyes burning with a passion for violence before she can even part her lips to conclude her response, “... ‘cause I’m in the wrong now too.” Within one quick motion, Charlotte rips her weapon from her holster and turns back toward the island’s frontline, taking quick aim with her pistol and pulling the trigger with Gamble in sight. “Fire!” a member of Gamble’s battalion exclaims, ironically one of the last to trade gunshots with their Nova Scotian contemporaries, the silence that had filled the space between each force now being met with more brass jackets hitting the ground than the compound had ever seen since its inception. “Get down!” Courtney exclaims, tackling Charlotte to the ground before dragging her behind the cover of the open passenger’s door she’d initially stepped out from. Taking part in their respective orders, Emilio and Salem follow suit in lunging behind the vehicle as bullets whip through the air, a shared and renewed chorus of screams and cries for help coming over the civilians who’d refused to listen to their instincts and leave when afforded the chance to. “What the hell did you just do!?” Courtney screams, chopping Charlotte’s chest before covering both sides of her face at a new round of enemy fire coming toward their direction. “He’s gonna blow up the bridge and keep us from getting over there anyway, I figured I might as well kill him while I had the chance!” the chancellor shouts back, peeking around the door to read the positions that her adversaries take against her onslaught. “Shit, get in the car now!” Charlotte orders, pushing her friend against the passenger’s seat before hurrying away from cover, offering no more explanation than that six letter command itself. Watching the armoured vans pull away from Prince Edward Island’s frontline, the chancellor sets her sights on protection elsewhere as the first real wave of her adversary’s defence takes its position. Staring with anger at the dead body just a short few metres away from him, one of the resistance’s members prevents himself from firing his weapon anymore than he already has, eyes welling up with the tears of heartbreak as a hand rests on his shoulder. “Your brother was in the wrong place at the wrong time” Gamble remarks, having been spared by the natural wall of Canada’s early spring winds of the bullet that had ripped through the chest of his subordinate, “we have business to take care of.” Nodding, the bearded militant follows Gamble past the row of armoured vans and around the nearest box truck, their journey taking them to different sides of the vehicle, but the same front seat they inevitably share. Removing a pistol from his beige trench coat, the autocrat lifts his barrel into the air and fires three separate times, issuing his signal to those along his line of defence. On cue, the men at the wheel of his swat vans pull out of the way of their second row, opening the ground for the box trucks to back into, their trailer doors facing the warzone they prepare to leave behind. With his firearm still held out the window, Gamble waits for a few seconds for his trucks to get into position, allowing a few bullets to fire off in their direction before shooting into the air just one time. On command, the bearded getaway driver that accompanies his autocratic ruler pulls back on the parking brake off to his seat’s side, exposing the trailer’s interior to the same sunset they prepare to leave Nova Scotia with the memory of. “Oh shit” Courtney murmurs to herself, her eyes widening as she takes a prolonged peak past the passenger’s door, watching the various trailer doors swing up and grant freedom to what’s contained within. “Fuck!” Salem shouts, instinctively taking aim with her rifle whilst leaning against the trunk of their paramotorist friend’s entry vehicle, the sound of terror and awe the residents that remain react with only helping to aid their blood in going cold. “Aarrgghh!” vast swarms of the undead hiss in unison, violently screeching as they’re freed to feast upon the Nova Scotian populous, their feet sprinting across the truck bed and down the ramp triggered to fall once the door had been opened. At once, the undead run from the containment of their box truck homes and take after whatever moves, quickly emptying into the once-safe compound at breakneck speed- affording Gamble’s box truck convoy the clearance to begin racing home. == Rise == Sitting in a rocking chair within the corner of her room, Katie takes a ballpoint pen to the empty papers of her journal, resting the leather bound booklet atop her blanket-covered lap. “It’s beginning to get warmer now that April starts tomorrow, but it’s still ridiculously cold. That applies double since it should at least be above freezing by now” she writes, able to see the ink scrawlings she leaves across the pages through the lone candle burning beside her.
With only a twin bed in the corner opposite Katie’s rocking chair, the dorm she shares with her older business partner exists without a window to look out of. In its place, a single lightbulb sits above the door they keep shut at all times, both preferring to keep it off due to the unwelcoming shade of vibrant white it bathes the room in. Just a few short metres away, a radiator sits near the room’s corner, offering what little warmth it can to defend against the Newfoundland early spring. “Max hasn’t called since the third day we were here. I haven’t talked to Blaise or Aude since I left either” Katie continues to write, documenting whatever thoughts she has in lieu of spending her days cramped within the box she resides in with nothing to do. “I haven’t spoken to Astor since the first week we even got to the island” she proceeds, “from what I was led to believe before we departed for Newfoundland, he’s back on Orleans Island overseeing the skeleton crew Gamble left.” Folding her hands atop her lap, Katie lets her pen sit within her index and middle fingers whilst she stares forward, looking at the made bed she and her roommate leave behind with a smile. “Harvey and I get along well enough though. At this point, I’m not sure I have many other friends beside him” she pens, pausing as she lifts her journal closer to the flame, which begins to burn in a direction far enough away from the papers to leave it in a half-shadow. “We’ve gotten to know each other better. I think he’s a bit thrown off by the age gap, but I’m beginning to think we might both like each other a bit more than we let on” Katie documents, reaching the end of one page before flipping to the next. “He’s a decent guy, doesn’t come on too strong, seems to know who he is and what he wants- which he should being thirty and all-” she proceeds, placing her pen to the paper yet again before her efforts appear thwarted. “May all personnel- both off and on-duty- report to the commons area” a voice remarks through the loudspeaker sitting at the end of the hallway just beyond the door to Katie’s dorm, “again, may all personnel- both off and on-duty- report to the commons area.” With her eyebrows lifted, the woman stares at the end of her room the announcement had resonated from, unable to go without hearing it just as anyone else tucked away within the comfort of their resting area. “Hey, I was just coming to get you” Harvey calls out, watching his roommate stick her head through the hole of a heavy sweater, the added layer joining the pair of pyjamas that she’d put on. “I figured as much, that’s why I left you a note” Katie responds, shaking her head with displeasure as she joins the man in wandering down the hallway’s length, making for the same centre of activity as those that join them, “I was only wearing a tanktop and underwear- it took me a second to get dressed.” “I hear you. I just saw a poor guy scamper through the halls in a towel- he’d just gotten out of the shower” Harvey replies, wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of grey khakis, “at least you’re getting more acclimated to the cold. I wouldn’t have expected you to be lounging around naked all day two weeks ago.” “I bet you wouldn’t have minded that thought” Katie jokes, looking to her side to see the semi-uncomfortable expression her roommate returns to her, trying to pass her a smile and dismiss the quip whilst subduing the odd feeling the remark leaves him with. “Oh, come on. It’d be one thing if you were in your fifties, but a ten year age difference isn’t as big when you’re both adults as a twenty or thirty-year one would be” she doubles down, rolling her eyes. “I’m just not used to dating younger than a year or two- let alone thirteen years younger” Harvey replies, keeping pace with the woman who shrugs at the same notion that leaves him feeling uneasy, “besides, I haven’t dated in general since pre-outbreak. This is all fairly new territory for me.” Nearing the hallways end and already trailing behind the majority of their peers, Katie pulls Harvey off to the side, keeping out of the path those they’re surrounded by continue to traverse. “I may be more than a grade-level younger than you, but I’m a grown woman. I get that you do, but you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking of me as more than just a puppy you have to look after” the woman proclaims within a hushed tone, keeping their privacy intact. “I don’t even know what I feel, Katie. Us swapping kisses over a half-drunk bottle of wine barely qualifies as a romantic gesture let alone an opening to something more, alright?” Harvey retorts, keeping a respectful and welcoming reflection to his voice. “I don’t know what way I feel about you. Am I open to thinking of you romantically? Yes. It is as black and white as that? No” he continues, “if anything, my reluctance has less to do with the age gap and more to do with the world we’re in.” Her face flushed with the same harsh tones of the lightbulb at the end of the hallway they stand within that prompts them to choose candlelight in their dorm, Katie stares into the eyes of her colleague as his sight wanders toward the corridor they’ve yet to travel. “Listen. Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry with whatever the hell they want out of us right now, so let’s not get ourselves in trouble for lagging behind” Harvey concludes, taking the woman softly by each arm. “You’re cool. You hold your own and you’re much easier to get along with than most people I’ve had to lead by the hand on these sorts of missions, so that works in your favour” the man proceeds, shrugging his head toward the direction they’re meant to head toward, “let’s have this conversation later, alright?” Though she’s disappointed to hear of his hesitancy for any reason, Katie accepts the issues at hand their attention is better spent being levied toward. Nodding along with the proposition of the gentleman she’s come to feel affectionately for, the woman steps ahead and begins leading the charge toward the commons area their presence is awaited by. “Well this is unexpected” Harvey soon remarks, having journeyed through the refinery’s inner workings and various passageways to find an awaiting face he would’ve taken hours to guess would drop by if tasked with doing so. “That is an understatement” Katie replies, just barely making it through the tunnel that leads to the larger area before her eyes are taken by a man awaiting the growing crowd from the front of an adjacent stage. Amongst the crowd, various Prince Edward Island residents and loyalists- once-Quebecois and regular survivors just trying to settle into a home- speak within their inner circles, pondering the presence of whom they both do and don’t know. “Who’s that guy?” being asked as frequently within some circles as “why is he here?” is in others, Katie and Harvey join the ever-growing crowd full of speculative residents just as their guest begins to speak. “Good evening. Thank you for entering in a calm, collected, and orderly manner” a woman with an empty smile remarks, her hands coupled together at her lap and blonde hair tied back in a bun, “it’s at this time that I’d like to open the floor for our guest to speak. So, ladies and gentlemen, please be respectful. The floor is all yours, Mr. Gamble.” Stepping back, the woman grants the standing microphone to the hidden overseer of the island’s activities, who takes this moment to seemingly emerge from the shadows for the first time. “Thank you. And thank you- again- to the workers that followed this woman’s directions with such respect and order” Gamble begins, coupling his hands behind his back as he stares out at the collected audience standing before him. “My name is Andrew Gamble. Many years ago, I was a member of Prince Edward Island’s standing regiment. As you know, that changed when the outbreak took hold and we absorbed our ranks into that of Charlotte Walters’ Nova Scotia settlement” the man greets, offering a brief introduction to those unfamiliar to him, “since that day, I have been left quietly representing Mrs. Walters. On her behalf, I have been running the island’s daily activities for the better part of the last five years.” “What the hell is happening?” Harvey whispers to himself, though his voice is just loud enough for his colleague to overhear. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to tell people he was in charge of the island?” Katie questions back, watching the eyes of the man widen as his chin lowers slightly. “Why do you think I’m asking what’s happening?” the man retorts, clarifying his uncertainty over the unprecedented action. “Unlike the assumption many of you had, it was not Charlotte Walters that ordered for the resumed operation of this refinery- but I” Gamble continues, announcing his presence to the confined group unlike what he’d once agreed to. “And unlike what you may have initially thought, this refinery will not be supplying additional power to Nova Scotia” the man continues, a hollow smile coming over his visage, “this refinery will exclusively supply Prince Edward Island with continued fuel and power.” “Why is he saying all of this now?” Katie worriedly questions back, whispering her inquiry to the man that stands just centimetres behind her, “he’s not supposed to tell anyone other than his guards about being in charge!” “Katie, I know that” Harvey responds, lowering his face toward the woman to keep surrounding ears from listening in, “I’m just as clueless about this as you are.” “Furthermore, it is also of my command that half of you will be returning home to Prince Edward Island by the end of the day” Gamble continues, upright posture and confident expression retained throughout the announcement’s duration, “those of you that are not of Quebecois decent, or those of you that live on the Nova Scotian-New Brunswick side of the Confederation Bridge and wish to remain there, will be taken back home by a separate vessel.” With widened eyes, Harvey stares forward to the man speaking onstage whilst his younger colleague remains in the dark as to what’s unfolding, a visible look of distress and worry carried across his face. “Those of you that remain will be joined with added security. Nova Scotia hasn’t taken too kindly to this endeavour, and wishes to continue negotiations over the future of this plant in private” Gamble proceeds, further clarifying his hidden intentions to those in the know of his plot. “Under no circumstance do I want the people that stay here to take worry over the additional security- it is merely an added measure to combat potential forces unassociated with Nova Scotia” Gamble continues, feeding lies to the gullible incapable of discerning them from truth, whilst further opening the metaphorical floor to those aware of the spoken fallacies, “the island will have full control over this refinery whilst negotiations continue, and with that- full responsibility over it.” Listening to the man’s continued speech, Katie is pulled back to the sanctuary of the hallway she and her love interest had ventured down just a short minute prior, the tug at her inner elbow allowing Harvey to lead her toward quieter corners. “We need to get our things together now” the man remarks, keeping his voice low enough for it not to echo down the hallway’s lengths. “What is it!?” Katie proclaims, pulling her arm back to free herself from the grasp of her colleague, watching him stop mid-retreat and turn back for her, “what did you figure out!?” Hissing through parted lips as he holds a finger in front of his face, Harvey urges the woman to quiet herself down, passing a look toward the direction he’d begun walking for to ensure they’re alone for the moment. “That negotiation is bullshit- Nova Scotia’s got nothing to do with this. Saying they want to talk things through is just a nonsense way of saying Nova Scotia found out about this” Harvey retorts, keeping close to the woman he stands within a breath’s reach of, “something’s gone down back home, and now Gamble’s trying to tidy up his loose ends. He’s not announcing himself to the public up here to explain away why he’s here, he’s defying Charlotte’s orders ‘cause things are getting messy.” “What does messy mean?” Katie fights back, lowering her voice to match the same whispered tone as the man she speaks with, “is this messy as in argumentative, or messy as in things are about to get brutal and ugly?” “If I had a million dollars to spend, I’d be putting all of it in the latter category” Harvey responds, passing a glance back toward the huddled crowd a few metres away every few seconds, able to hear the muffled words their not-so-quiet leader continues to address the workers with. “He’s been after independence for as long as he’s been in charge- this is the biggest no-no he’s breaking” the man continues, “if he’s doing this, it’s ‘cause Independence is off the table.” “But I thought that independence going off the table is what would lead him to-” Katie immediately replies, falling silent before finishing her thought upon realising that it’s exactly what’s unfolding before them. “Yeah, he’s getting ready for war” Harvey responds, knowing the line of thought she was heading toward and finishing it for her, “he’s pulling half of us out to strengthen the arms he’s gotta fight with. Whatever happened back at home- things are getting bad ‘cause of it.” “Then why wouldn’t we be safer here?” Katie immediately argues back as her acquaintance begins pulling away, brought back to the sound of her voice. “If he’s upping security, he’ll be defending this place more than anything. At least more than anything other than Charlottetown” she reiterates, watching Harvey shake his head and return toward her, “if we get on that boat- whether we’re told to or not- aren’t we just going back to somewhere that’ll make us fight a war?” “Of course we will- that’s the point” Harvey responds, shaking his head as he waves his hand toward the huddled crowd’s direction, “do you honestly think he’s upping security over here because he thinks Nova Scotia isn’t going to come knocking at the door?” “Then why are we leaving if we have to fight one way or another?” Katie replies, unable to discern one option from the other. “Because at least we’ve got ground to concede back on the island” Harvey responds, shrugging his shoulders whilst passing another look to the huddled masses in their opposite direction, “if we’re outgunned, we can retreat further inland until there’s no more ground to meet. At that point, we can hit the open waters and go elsewhere if we play our cards right.” “As opposed to being pinned down here and getting cornered- or blown up” Katie adds, only further strengthening the point her superior makes. “Exactly” Harvey responds, extending his hand to take the woman’s own into it as he awaits her decision, “are you coming or not?” “Of course I am” Katie responds, immediately swatting the man’s hand away and taking the lead on retreating into the refinery’s depths, breaking out into a casual sprint as they return for their dorm, passing a few straggling residents slow to the call they’ve been asked to answer. = 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 = \ 19 Hours Earlier / Wearing the bags of exhaustion beneath her eyes, Courtney marches through the front door of a recently-reclaimed Moncton City Hall, the new home of the Nova Scotian compound’s government welcoming her from the chilly early-spring darkness. Wearing no more than a winter coat over the pyjamas she’d worn before being summoned from bed, the woman wastes little time in travelling the building’s spacious and near-empty interior with hopes of getting back to sleep as quickly as possible. “I swear, Charlotte- this was the worst night to call me in so early” the woman remarks, entering the tucked-away chamber that her superior calls home, pushing in the door whose frosted glass window reads ‘Chancellor’, “I literally got home from a trade an hour and a half ago.” With her eyes glued to the screen of her computer’s monitor, Charlotte nods in response to her confidant’s entrance, her right hand clicking on the tabs of her mouse as she scrolls through documents. “Yeah, sorry. Business calls” the woman murmurs, the way in which she replies making it obvious that her attention isn’t fully upon her subordinate. “Why are you even here this late? It’s like four in the morning” Courtney wonders aloud, shedding her coat and placing it along the back of an empty chair that sits in the corner of the room, its legs soon carrying it to the front of the chancellor’s desk at her pull. “Because of something that pains me to say more than anything else in the world” Charlotte retorts, finally peeling her eyes away from the screen to look at her once-employee and now-friend, “I think Emilio might have been onto something the other day.” Unsure of why such a visceral reaction would be taken from a harmless providing of credit, Courtney rolls with the remark as she lowers herself into her seat, twirling her hand to gesture her superior’s explanation. “When he said I should grant the place independence if I knew it would fail, it left me trying to figure out whether or not it would” Charlotte clarifies, turning the bulky, mid 90’s-era monitor toward her friend’s end of the desk. “So, for the last few days, I’ve been digging through reports and filings that the island’s been returning over the last few years” the chancellor proceeds, “that’s when I came across this.” Squinting to protect her eyes from the jarring shade of white the computer’s screen hits her face with, Courtney glosses over a paper littered with numbers and numerous words they correlate to. “I’m not an accountant, Charlotte. What am I looking at?” she concedes, accepting defeat to the text she can’t make out any differently from other scrawlings. “It’s a record of the energy consumption the island has reported since we started the system” Charlotte responds, turning the monitor back toward her just slightly, allowing both to view it. “It goes back to December 2018, a few months after the outbreak. We started keeping track of how much energy we could produce and how much we were using” the chancellor proceeds, pointing out each number whilst explaining how it differentiates from the rest. “That represents how many gigawatts of electricity we produce, this represents how many gigawatts of electricity we use” the number-junky continues, her finger pointing emphatically to the third set of numerals, “and this is how many gigawatts of electricity they use.” Leaning in with a squint once more, Courtney tries to make out what she can from the few digits that have now been revealed to her in full, slightly disappointed in still being incapable of understanding them. “I still don’t get it” she confesses, pointing to the row of descending numbers, all of whom appear similar to each other regardless of how far the document stretches, “they all look the same.” “Then yes- you do get it” Charlotte responds, the simple gesture of reassuring the woman’s awareness prompting a more invested response from her subordinate. “Gamble’s been telling me about the measures he’s taking to lessen the amount of electricity the island uses from us for years” the chancellor remarks, running her finger down the same column she’d been reading into prior to her friend’s arrival, “if his measures are working as he says they are, this number should be going down.” “Maybe he hasn’t implemented them yet? By what you’re saying, it sounds like he was implementing measures and not necessarily putting them into use” Courtney replies, a conclusion her superior had already come to. “True, and that makes this number a lot more sensical” Charlotte responds, running her finger down an entirely separate column, “this is how much electricity they’ve been producing since then- the number is still unchanged.” “So what’s the problem? Is it that he’s not running them?” Courtney replies, able to comprehend what’s being said with more clarity now, though she’s still unable to follow the deal so monumental that it required such an early wake up call. “It’s not so much of a problem as it is a sign of what’s going on over there” Charlotte responds, turning the monitor back so it faces her more directly, “he’s pretty strict about how often I can send people over to check on him, so this is what I work with.” Attempting to cross her arms, the desire to wipe at the corners of her tired eyes prompts the relaxing Courtney to take a step back and compose herself, still fighting the mostly-sleepless night she’s embarked upon. “If Emilio’s proposal turns out to be true- and they’re not ready to break off on their own- something like this could help me figure out what they aren’t ready because of” Charlotte concludes, following her friend’s lead of leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms. “Charlotte, you know I only ask this because I wanna know that I didn’t get up so early for no reason-” Courtney remarks, changing the topic of discussion briefly so she can arrive at the reason behind her calling to action, “-why is this worth me not getting sleep tonight?” With a smirk, Charlotte reaches past her computer’s monitor and extends a mug of coffee to her closest ally, one that is begrudgingly taken into the possession of a resident coming to grips with the fact that she will not return to bed anytime soon. “Because these numbers can mean many different things, and all of them work in our favour” the chancellor replies, pausing as the hot beverage changes hands, “some work well, others work brilliantly.” Rolling her hand through the air to once more gesture for her superior to explain further, Courtney follows through on tucking her arms together, letting the coffee sit at the desk’s edge so it can cool as she crosses her left leg over her right. “One thing it can mean is that they’re reporting the wrong numbers. They could be feeding me nonsense that isn’t actually representative of their usage” Charlotte proclaims, “that breaks our agreement and can let me remove Gamble from power.” “And that will lead him to double down and start a war, which means it’s not the option that you want to run with-” Courtney replies, able to see where that option leads, “-next.” “It could also mean that- like you said earlier- they’ve only implemented the measures. And for whatever reason, they either haven’t started operating them or they haven’t fully gotten them ready yet” Charlotte retorts, falling silent to allow her friend to conclude the point on her behalf. “That would mean they either don’t have the alternatives ready yet and can’t actually power the island themselves, or they haven’t started using them and don’t know how reliable they are” Courtney responds, “the first outcome leaves them up shit creek without a paddle and the second means they may actually be able to supply themselves and know that with as much certainty as we do. That means they’re hoping the measures work, and we’re hoping they don’t.” “Precisely. On one hand, they’re screwed and everyone knows it, and on the other- it’s a toss up” Charlotte reassures, nodding her head as she briefly glances back at the computer, “fifty-fifty. Either they do get the equipment running and we’ve screwed ourselves, or they don’t and realise they’re right back up that shit creek you mentioned.” “But that still isn’t good enough. At least, it’s not for you” Courtney replies, now finding the same strategic line of thought as the woman that sits one desk’s length away from her, “because as long as there’s the chance they make it work, that means there’s a chance this blows up in our faces.” “Which leads us to option number three” Charlotte replies, swaying toward her friend with the turn of her chair as she uncrosses her arms, leaning into the forearms that she presses into her end of the desk, “they’re straight up full of shit.” Letting the space between herself and her superior go quiet for a moment, Courtney lets her eyes pull to the side of the room as she shrugs her shoulders, “-which means they’d never make it on their own period.” “Bingo” Charlotte responds, a smile spreading across her face as she pushes her chair outward, standing from its leather cushioning and stepping around her desk. “That means Emilio’s plan would work. If the island really can’t make it on their own, leaving them to try would result in chaos” the chancellor carries on, “of course, we would have to clean up the chaos- but we’d be reclaiming the island as ours again. If they’re full of shit, leaving them stranded would just weed out the weak.” “Yes, but that still doesn’t get to the root of the problem that such a plan now leaves us with” Courtney replies, turning her seat to face the moving woman so she doesn’t have to get up, “you’ve got these reports for a reason. You’re not allowed to go over and make sure for yourself. That means everything that we’ve just talked about does us little good since we can’t tell for sure exactly which one of them is really what’s going on.” “Not exactly” Charlotte corrects, finally meeting a moment in thought where she and her friend cannot align. “In order to make sure that- even if Gamble was feeding me bullshit- the island wasn’t falling into disrepair behind my back, we’ve agreed to a limited amount of compound-wide inspections” the chancellor proceeds, moving her guest’s coffee mug aside to take a seat at the desk’s end, “part of those limited inspections include looking into electrical infrastructure.” Lifting an eyebrow as her sights veer off to the side, Courtney lets her mind wander for a moment in silence before her superior’s continued speech wrangles it back in. “Since I haven’t ordered any in 2023 yet, Prince Edward Island is due for an inspection on behalf of the Nova Scotian government” Charlotte responds, a smirk only continuing to grow in the corner of her mouth, “and that means we’re due a little peek into just how stable these ‘measures’ really are.” | \ 3 Hours Later / Attire unchanged from the usual dress clothes he wears beneath a long, beige trench coat, Gamble walks through the spacious halls of Charlottetown’s government building, hands balled into fists as they swing by his side. Though as empty and shallow as a three foot dip into a pool without an ounce of water in it, the off-putting grin the man normally attempts to present is nowhere to be found, instead replaced with a closed-lip and flared-nostril grimace. Passing by the empty secretary’s desk at the front of the corridor leading to his office, Gamble stares intently at the floor he’s yet to travel, walking as uncomfortably as his presence makes those he’s typically joined by. Though he appears to withhold a bountiful sum of varying angers and irritations, the emotionless overseer of the breakaway-hopeful island steps through the open doorway of his office to a small crowd he has not a single word for. “He’s at the other end of the line waiting for you, sir” Bristol remarks, her hands folded as she stands at the room’s centre, a trio of men occupying the space closeby. Nodding back, Gamble gently pushes his office chair aside and picks up the handset that rests just before the receiver it was picked up from, holding it to his ear as he stands over the desk he most frequently sits at. “Gamble” the man greets, wasting little time in opening the floor to the gentleman calling for his reply. “Sir, we’ve got a squad of Nova Scotians here to do the summer rundown on our infrastructure” the man on the line’s other end responds, unable to see Gamble’s unchanged guise lift from the receiver and take toward an open window at the back of his own office. “I see” the community’s silent dictator responds calmly, the tone in his voice failing to match the subdued expression of typically-hidden rage that festers within the shallow man’s rigid soul. “Let me see the phone” a third man remarks, curling his fingers toward the man at the opposite end of Gamble’s line, gesturing him off the handset. As instructed by his legal superior, the dictator’s caller passes the phone to a smiling man in a black and white windbreaker. “Hey, Grumble. My name’s Ethan, and it seems like your men here have a hard time understanding the definition of ‘mandatory’” the man remarks, chewing a wad of gum that sits between his molars. “Do us all a favour here and help us get this over with as soon as possible-” Ethan continues, as unable to see the expression worn on the face of the man at the other end of the line, “grab a dictionary, read this prick the definition of ‘mandatory’, and tell them to move out of our fucking way. Capisce?” Staring at the sea residing just beyond the open window, Gamble’s face takes an upward turn, the frown replaced with a smile as his eyes grow more warm and welcoming. “Of course, Ethan” the man replies, his voice changing similarly whilst his free hand takes the receiver off the desk, carrying it with him as he steps toward the office’s rear. “Boss?” the man responds, his words hitting Gamble’s ear and prompting an even wider smile. “Go ahead and let Ethan and his subordinates onto the island, please” the dictator commands, turning his sights back for the desk he begins venturing back toward, setting the receiver upon solid ground once more. “Alright, sir” the man replies hesitantly, squinting past the sun that begins rising over the sky both Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island reside beneath, seeing the increasing grin come over a visually pleased Ethan, “come on through.” Of the belief that his part in the conversation has been settled, Gamble takes the handset away from his ear and looks at the receiver, able to make out where the device is meant to be lowered, though he appears hesitant to return it. Keeping to herself, Bristol joins the men that stand behind her in remaining patient, not wanting to interrupt the thought it appears their superior is deep within. Though his smile remains intact, the appearance of Gamble’s face leaves him looking as if he were held prisoner of a trance, once that leaves him incapable of hanging up the phone. “They know our vulnerability” the dictator murmurs beneath his breath, retaining the grin that he just can’t help himself enough to shake free from, his eyes staring intently at the phone’s receiver, “they’re starting to play their hand against ours.” “Sir?” Bristol finally wonders aloud, unable to make out what’s being said across the room from her, but more than capable of understanding that the man she takes orders from is speaking for his ears- and only his ears- to hear. “There would be no need for an advanced inspection unless there was a game to play” Gamble continues to mumble low enough to evade the ears of those watching on, “it’s too soon after last week’s discovery for this to be a coincidence.” “Sir?” Bristol calls out once more, trying- and failing- to reclaim the undivided attention of the autocrat signing off on the slips she requires to claim the credits her survival depends upon. “They’re not coming after me directly for a reason. They know something I don’t want them to” Gamble continues, nostrils flaring once more as his grin begins to lower, the hand that he holds the phone within the grasp of slowly pulling back, “I can’t leave them the inside track.” “Sir?” Bristol questions for yet a third instance, this time taking one step forward as she does so before immediately leaping back, stricken by momentary fear as the sound of a large slam comes over the room. Thrusting the phone back into the receiver with such force that the entire machine splinters into pieces and flies off his desk, Gamble lets his composed mask slip to such a point that it falters completely, showing through a violent display of aggression he seldom exposes for view. Without so much as a shout to accommodate the brutal reaction, Gamble stares at his neat desk and soon wipes away the tiny fragments of plastic his outburst had resulted in before calmly looking back at the people ahead of him. “Other than Bristol, decide amongst yourselves who leads what- I need a crew overseeing the inspections, I want a group on standby with the trucks, and I want two ships en route for the refinery at Newfoundland” the dictator commands. With the clap of his hands, Gamble signals for the three men to leave the room and debate amongst each other who follows through on what. Left with only his secretary standing in his presence, the man returns the empty visage of welcoming pleasure to his face, acting as if the mask were weightless if physical in nature. “Bristol, I’d like for you to do two things for me. Then, I’d like you to go home, do whatever shopping you need to prepare, and then go into lockdown until you’re told otherwise” Gamble proceeds, stepping away from his desk as he fixes his tie, “arrange a car to take me out to Kensington and await a return trip. Then, I’d like you to make sure that the captain of either boat one of them is sending to Newfoundland is aware that he’s not to leave without me on board.” Nodding, Bristol continues to stand at the room’s centre for another two seconds before turning away, still slightly shaken from the man’s sudden and quickly-dismissed show of anger. Now left to his own, Gamble looks back to his desk and stares beyond it, looking to the window that sits behind where his chair is usually situated, allowing him the sight of his island’s coastline, capped off with a majestic view of the Charlottetown Harbour- one he hasn’t planned on seeing the last of just yet. | \ 4 Hours Later / “Thanks, Ethan” Charlotte responds, calmly returning her phone to the receiver in which she’d taken it from, looking to the woman that remains seated in the chair across from her. “Gamble’s men aren’t letting Ethan inspect the supposed ‘measures’ he’s spoken of so frequently” she begins, kicking her feet onto an empty spot on the desk alongside her monitor, “so, they either don’t have it, or there’s something else out of order over there. Either way- they’re hiding something.” Puckering her lips, Courtney turns her sights toward the corner of the office, looking at a filing cabinet topped off with a long-dead potted plant whilst she ponders quietly. Its brown leaves hanging over the lip of the cement pot it sits within, the deceased display of rigidity appears sad and sorrowful, the only life form the room offers other than herself and her superior having spent weeks and months already well within its final resting place. “What’s your move then?” Courtney inquires, lifting the brow over her right eye as she peers across the table, “you gonna call a meeting with Gamble? Maybe hold a conf-” Falling silent, the stationary paramotorist turns her attention to the knocking at their door, the potential conversation they could’ve embarked upon thwarted by the fist calling for an answer. “Come on in” Charlotte mutters aloud, instinctually granting the figure on the other end entrance without much thought, feeling comfortable enough in her domicile to welcome those outside within. “I could hear someone in here talking, so I’m sorry for interrupting” Emilio greets, peering his head around the door and passing the chancellor a glance before setting sights upon his business partner, “you weren’t answering your phone, so I figured you’d be here or at the bar.” “We’re having a private conversation, so if you wouldn’t m-” Charlotte begins, answering on her subordinates behalf before falling silent to her interjection. “We’re pretty busy here right now, Em’. What is it?” Courtney wonders aloud, watching her superior’s eyes roll as she looks back, carrying on with the offer her friend receives. “The trade we’ve been talking about since last week- he’s ready for us tonight” Emilio remarks, the man’s presence dismissed within Charlotte’s mind, though her ears remain fixated on the words he speaks, “he wants to meet us at sundown on the shoreline out on Rosebank.” “Rosebank across the bridge?” Courtney immediately wonders aloud, the same location that she takes interest in having captivated the attention of Nova Scotia’s chancellor. “Yeah, he’s sending a married couple out. They’ll have the-” Emilio begins to respond, pausing to prevent Charlotte’s ears from taking information she’s not meant to be privy to, “-product ready for us to drive back, but they can’t leave the town.” “No” the chancellor interrupts, her eyes firmly placed upon the man that looks at her without much of a reaction, “none of you are to go over that bridge until further notice.” Though the initial response had surprised him, Emilio’s face only takes on a confused expression at the declaration the chancellor utters, a smirk and chuckle coming over him at the thought of being given commands no different than one a parent would give out. “I’m sorry?” Emilio replies, a squint in his eye as Courtney shares the redirection of his sight, both figures now looking back to the figure occupying the community’s highest ranking. “It’s within the best interest of both of you to refrain from crossing that bridge until I say so” Charlotte reiterates, doubling down on the claim that almost prompts her guest to break into a laughing fit, “I’d suggest that you let the rest of your group know that the same applies to them.” “Clint and Nessie have a place out on Stratford, so they already live across the bridge-” Emilio responds, vehemently shaking his head, “-sorry, that’s not gonna fly.” “Then tell them to move if you want them to be safe” Charlotte responds, passing another look toward her subordinate, who leans forward in her chair just slightly with widened eyes. “I’m sorry, what is that supposed to mean?” Emilio rebukes, uncertain over what the chancellor is trying to direct his mind toward. “It means that the safest place for you to be is here- on this side of the bridge” Charlotte responds, doubling down once more, “I’d consider telling the people you love most the same thing if you want what’s best for them.” “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Emilio retorts, beginning to consider their conversation in the flat from days earlier may be relevant once more. “I believe I’m making myself incredibly clear” Charlotte responds, taking her feet off the desk and cementing them to the floor once more, “are you deaf? Have you lost your hearing? Don’t go across the bridge anymore- that’s what I’m telling you.” Stepping forward, Emilio opens his mouth before feeling the soft flesh that makes up his lips return to each other, his step forward prevented by his friend’s outstretched hand. “Em’, please. I’ll go with you tonight, just-” Courtney responds, only to find herself stopped by the sound of her superior’s voice. “No, you won’t” Charlotte interrupts, stepping out of her chair and now standing up from her desk, thwarting her subordinate’s attempt at restraining the guest. “What are you not telling me!?” Emilio exclaims, pushing past Courtney’s hand as he closes the distance between himself and the chancellor’s desk, eyes widened and voice raised a few octaves, “it’s obviously serious enough for you to want Courtney to stay away from, so what’s going on!?” Snarling as her upper lip curls, Charlotte prepares to meet the level of her visitor’s voice, her waist pressing into the edge of her desk that she leans forward into. Though her mouth is agape, the chancellor utters not one word, her response instead taken over by the one figure in the room trying to prevent an outburst. “Things are about to blow up between us and Gamble” Courtney blurts out, watching Emilio look over his shoulder whilst Charlotte joins him in staring forward, their eyes glued to the woman near the office’s front door. “Courtney-” the chancellor mutters, eyebrows furrowing as she’s kept from speaking further, the paramotorist’s reluctance to acknowledge her superior’s interruption preventing it from gaining the centre of attention. “We’re not yet sure what’s going on, but we know Gamble’s doing something sketchy, and one way or another- the other side of the island won’t be safe for us to travel soon enough” Courtney continues, her spilling of the beans on the operation prompting Charlotte to throw herself back into her seat. “Just do me a favour and go get Clint and Nessie- and the rest of your friends if they’re over there- onto this side of the bridge” Courtney concludes, taking her friend’s arms as she steps up to him, forced to look up in order to stare into the taller resident’s face. “I don’t know if they will here, but things are definitely going to get messy on the island” the paramotorist continues, watching the gentle shake of her friend’s head voice his immediate reaction. “Is there about to be a war?” Emilio inquires, his voice soft and calmed, out of the ordinary in comparison to the hostile tone it’s juxtaposed to, “do we have to get ready for-?” “I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’d be best if you kept this between us and the rest of the group” Courtney interrupts to reply, not wanting to let the man get ahead of himself. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’?” Emilio retorts, the shake in his head more vehement as he pulls away from his friend’s reach, now standing as far from here as he does from the chancellor, “how do you know things are gonna get messy across the bridge if you don’t know if we’ll be at war?” “Because there’s a good chance they’re not ready to make it on their own” Charlotte interrupts, answering the man’s question now that her reasons for withholding information are pointless. “We sent people over there a few hours ago to inspect their infrastructure, and without going into too much information, we’ve got a good reason to believe they’re not ready for the independence Gamble’s been talking about” she continues, slouching back in her chair now that the whistle’s been blown. “If he’s asked for independence, then he has to be ready- it makes no sense otherwise” Emilio quickly retorts, scoffing at the gesture presented to him as if it were laughable. “It was probably a smokescreen. He knew I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, but he wagered it anyway” Charlotte responds, shaking her head as she kicks her feet up onto the desk once more. Matching the woman’s dismissive reaction, Emilio shakes his head in refusal of her proposition, voicing his opposition to it without so much as a second thought. “Even if he didn’t expect it, he would’ve had to be prepared for the slightest instance that you would’ve” the survivor responds, looking at the side of the sceptical chancellor’s face, “he didn’t strike me as someone that wouldn’t have come prepared for either outcome.” “Trust me- he didn’t plan for it” Charlotte responds, her face stricken with the sunlight that peeks through the window she looks into, afforded the view of a small family walking the sidestreet just beyond the glass. “He’s always been of the belief that we were inevitably going to split apart, but if he wasn’t prepared for anything- it was me offering him independence in a year’s time” the chancellor continues, her distant tone making it clear that her mind is travelling elsewhere. “Elaborate” Emilio replies, immediately regaining the chancellor’s attention with his proposal, watching her body turn back toward him upon his request, “what do you mean by ‘he always knew you were splitting apart’.” With a squint in her eye, Charlotte passes another glance through her window, only able to see the empty, quiet street the occasional passer-by would venture past. “He suggested we break apart then instead of waiting for a couple of years for it to naturally get there anyway” she replies, her voice supporting the judgemental undertones that are carried through her expression, “he wanted to get ahead of the curve and mutually agree to break apart. So, I offered him independence if I couldn’t gain a specific approval of the Quebecois population within a year.” “And when was that?” Emilio hastily questions, watching the woman’s eyes again wander off to the side, patiently awaiting his answer. “Last summer” the woman responds, unable to shake the dismissive sway of her body as she replies. “So you told him almost a year ago that you’d give him his independence in a year if you didn’t meet a certain benchmark, and you think he isn’t prepared to go out on his own?” the once-gubernatorial candidate replies, the scathing modulation in his response carrying the disbelief in what he’s hearing, “have you taken up residency in stupid town?” “You must’ve lost your mind if you think he expects me to follow through on that deal” Charlotte retorts, now wearing the visage of disgust to the man she turns her chair away from, “even if I followed through, he certainly doesn’t expect me to.” “How the hell is that relevant at all!?” Emilio rebukes, watching the back of the woman’s head face him as the hand of his business partner grazes his arm, “whether or not he expects for this to be amicable changes nothing- waging war with you or being granted his independence doesn’t stop the fact that your resources go away regardless.” Having attempted to persuade her friend from carrying on with his side of a pointless argument, Courtney’s subtle touch soon halts its progression up Emilio’s arm, its rest now leaving it at his elbow. “Maybe Gamble and I don’t think the same, but if I were in his shoes, I’d be making sure I had a way of getting food, water, energy, weaponry and anything else from somewhere other than you” the man continues, turning to his side and finding his colleague’s change in expression. Having initially stepped forward with a sympathetic visage, Courtney now holds her squinted eyes toward the man within her arm’s length, trying to process the point he makes. “He said he had been installing ‘measures’, but he won’t let our guys inspect them” Charlotte retorts, speaking to her guest whilst staring out the window, no longer affording him the benefit of eye contact, “so he’s either full of shit, or whatever he’s doing on the island isn’t good enough.” “Well, if the introduction the guy gave me was any indication, Gamble doesn’t seem like someone that wouldn’t be ready to get cut off from your supply” Emilio replies, incapable of seeing the eyeroll the chancellor reacts to him with. “Maybe I’m still in the dark here. Maybe there’s something you know that I don’t, but what you’re telling me makes no sense” the headstrong survivor concedes, “if he knows what he’s doing and is willing to fight, then he has a plan he’s confident in.” “Or he doesn’t want us interfering with it” Courtney suddenly remarks, staring forward blankly as she speaks, her voice immediately prompting the chancellor to lose her composure. “Alright, I’m sick of the stupid goddamn schtick!” Charlotte exclaims, throwing herself out of her chair and marching around the desk, “it’s one thing for him to start trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, but the second that you start playing along, Courtney- that’s where I draw the line.” “Maybe he’s not wrong!” Courtney proclaims, watching her superior step past her and make for the room’s exit, rolling her eyes and retaining every ounce of refusal she has to offer. “Maybe he knows we could screw with it and he wants us in the dark over it!” the woman continues, her words unable to keep Charlotte from continuing to make for the door, “hiding it from us might be the only way we don’t interfere with it!” Refusing to hear those she leaves behind out, the chancellor’s hand squeezes the doorknob with great force, twisting it in the same motion that she yanks it open. Freed to leave, Charlotte steps through the entrance and begins making for the hallway, one foot already having touched ground beyond the room before a sudden remark prevents the second from following suit. “Or maybe he’s not showing it to you because it’s not there” Emilio states, watching the departing chancellor stop in the door and immediately hang her head, hairs falling in front of her face as the door remains wide open. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlotte murmurs aloud, finally reaching the point in which her annoyance becomes so great that it’s almost humorous. “What does that mean? He’s got some invisible energy source? What, am I dealing with some kind of ghost energy?” the woman mocks, turning back to look at the peers standing in the centre of her office. “How do you think he keeps the lights on? Who do you think powers his electrical grid? How do you think his entire island gets by?” Charlotte continues, leaving the door open as she casually re-enters, drawing closer to her ‘frenemy’ with each step. “Well, where do you get it from?” Emilio instead asks, not needing to wait long for his answer. “Oil” Charlotte hastily replies, tossing her hands out by each side, “we power the grid on our oil. And before you ask, no- he doesn’t have a refinery. The only access to oil he has is through me.” Watching the chancellor stand a few metres away from him with a smug grin on her face, Emilio looks off to the side of the room and scrunches his face, trying to talk himself out of asking a question so simple he’d assume it’d have an easy answer. “So- why can’t he just go get one?” the man wonders aloud, soon reclaiming his line of sight with the chancellor that remains silently stood across from him, not yet providing him with an answer. “I know I didn’t have a direct line with the Canadian government when I was mayor or anything, but I definitely knew the basics of how the world worked-” Emilio continues, using the silence that the chancellor leaves him with to continue speaking, “-but I knew that Canada was pretty rich with oil. Not Saudi Arabia-rich, but well off enough.” “What’s your point?” Charlotte interjects, a much more serious tone taken in her speech than just seconds prior. “Well, I’m sure the refineries you have here weren’t the only ones in all of Canada” Emilio replies, the calm reflection in his voice only assisting in leaving a strange silence over the room, “why couldn’t he have just gone out and taken over one somewhere else?” Parting her lips, Charlotte looks at the man with her mouth agape and yet fails to utter a single word, the moisture on her tongue and gums beginning to dry the longer she stays quiet. “Well, we have a compound in Toronto, so- if he’s really keen on keeping us from interfering with his business- he wouldn’t want us between him and that refinery” Courtney speaks, watching her superior’s eyes take toward her- mouth still agape. Awkwardly quiet, Charlotte looks back to Emilio as her mouth closes, not a word yet to offer as she finally breaks from her statue-like freeze, walking past the pair and back to the comfort of her desk. “Alright, so that would mean he’d have one you couldn’t interfere with. At least, not easily” Emilio replies, watching Charlotte reach into the drawer of her desk without speaking and retrieve a folded piece of paper, standing upright to compare it to a zoomed-in map that’s tacked to a bulletin board behind her seat. “That makes a lot more sense with the boats he’d sent down the St. Lawrence” Courtney replies, watching her superior compare a set of maps no different than each other apart from the locations marked upon them, “it’d mean he’d have room to make a buffer zone from Quebec City all the way north to-” “Newfoundland” Charlotte concludes, capping off her subordinate’s remark with the whispered name of the evasive island just north of the Nova Scotian compound, her mouth agape and eyes wide. “He knows the only boats I have are the ones that he docks at Charlottetown, which means I wouldn’t have the naval power to go after him up there” the chancellor proceeds, stepping back to inspect her findings, “controlling route 138 would keep me off the only road that’d let me make a safe descent on him.” “Are you sure he wouldn’t take the one in Quebec City?” Courtney steps in, pointing to the only other strategic possibility the map affords her. “If Gamble’s had as many years to plan this out as you say, then I’d think he’d have set his sights on something a little safer than one smack-dab in Quebec City” Emilio interjects, prompting both women to look back to him, “that one in Newfoundland looks a lot easier to guard.” “It’d also explain why he’s so willing to let us walk across the bridge and enter his domain whenever we please but outright refuses to even let me think he’d give up my boats” Charlotte adds, looking back to the map with an entirely new perspective. “Well, if he’s got the one in Newfoundland running- how do we stop him?” Courtney responds, accepting the discovery they’d come across, but hesitant to put her optimism in its open-bottom basket. “You can’t. If he is getting oil from Newfoundland, the only way to keep him from getting deliveries would be to capture the boat or the port it sails into” Emilio responds, stepping around the chancellor’s desk to join the woman at the wall-mounted map, “either way- that’s an act of war.” Passing a glance to the side of her once enemy-now fellow Nova Scotian devotee, Charlotte remains quiet as the air follows suit, her eyes inevitably reclaimed by the map all three of the room’s inhabitants stare at. “Yes-” she whispers aloud, lifting her chin slightly as her expression shifts to confidence, a composure she’d allowed to slip just minutes prior have returned to her, “-yes, it would be.” | \ 1 Hour Later / With a pair of goggles sitting over his eyes and digging into the bridge of his nose, a worker takes the edge of a machete to a large device, sharpening the blade and withstanding the rapid sparks that fly from the altered metal. Grimacing with each thrust, the worker finishes on his tool before reaching for the next dull blade, preparing to take its edge to the machine just as he has for many others until his attention is stolen by what unfolds at the floor of the warehouse he occupies. Across the room, a black man with nappy hair fits a wooden handle to the end of a piece of metal and wipes his sweaty brow on the long sleeve of his navy blue shirt. “Psst” a coworker hisses, catching the man’s eye briefly and nudging his chin forward. With a squint and a breath taken in through his nose, the labourer glances to his right side before looking back to his unfinished weapon, only for his eyes to take a second glare toward the figure walking calmly across the floor. In the room’s corner, a man wipes at the sharpened blade of a well-built product, the liquid his cloth is covered in providing the metal with a reflective, glossy finish. On his lonesome, the man continues about his business even as a pair of footsteps tap along the floor in his direction, paying it no mind as he stares at the floor. Setting his rag down, the man’s eyes keep to the concrete foundation of the warehouse before watching the flap of a beige trench coat pass him by. With a squint as strong as any other in the room, the man looks up at the passing figure in silence just as the rest of his colleagues do, following the man toward the loading bay they occupy the area of. With his fists balled, Gamble strolls through the populated workshop and out of the shadows the sunless space affords them, entering the light of an oncoming afternoon. “Mr. Gamble! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to-” a man in a mechanic’s one-piece remarks, stepping out of his office at the rear of the room before being cut off. “Where is your highest-capacity automatic rifle?” Gamble queries, coming to a stop just metres away from the man overseeing his weapon’s manufacturing, hands stiffening at his sides as he awaits an answer. “Sir, we don’t make automatic-” the man in the navy blue onesie begins to reply, again falling silent at the remark of his superior. “I’m aware that you do not manufacture firearms here. I am asking for your highest-capacity automatic rifle” Gamble reiterates, again presenting a content and patient posture to the figure standing across from him, able to read the uncertainty in the visage he’s returned, “I want your personal highest-capacity rifle- bring it to me.” “Sir, my rifle is-” the man in the jumpsuit replies, again only getting to begin his response before falling silent at the behest of his daunted superior. “Bring. It. To. Me” Gamble repeats, uttering not a word more, nor a word less. Lips parted, the mechanic garb-wearing figure stands by idle for a mere moment as he registers what is being asked of him, allowing the surprise of the visit and the oddity of the interaction pass before stepping away in search of his weapon. With business settled on one front, Gamble turns his attention to the group of workers beginning to cluster together in the larger workshop, the brow over his left eye lifting. Almost blinded by the awe of their superior’s presence, the men forget- all at once- that their display of unprofessionalism in grouping together and ceasing their production presents themselves in a bad light, one that the dictator appears to not mind. “No, no- come back” Gamble remarks, watching the plethora of heads that had turned away from him to return to work gaze back upon him, beckoned to the man’s call. “I want all of these weapons- every single one- wrapped, packaged, stored in crates together, and delivered to the capital in Charlottetown” the autocrat commands, his left index finger pointing throughout the room, “when they arrive at the capital, I want every single one of you present alongside them.” Concerned with remaining secluded from the spotlight that is the reach of their superior’s eye, the crowd collectively nod or dismiss a reaction in favour of getting to work, leaving their ruler to continue about his business. For a few additional seconds, Gamble awaits his subordinate’s return whilst staring at the collection of box trucks that remain stationed at the nearby loading dock, his expression remaining unchanged as if he were deep in a distant, unconscious train of thought. “Alright, this is the best that I have with me right now” the jumpsuit-wearing employee remarks, stepping out of his office with a large rifle in tow, a small bag of preloaded magazines carried alongside it, “it’s a Russian AK-10...” Falling silent, the cautious workfloor operator releases his grasp of the weapon the instant that his superior latches onto it, ripping it from the possession of its owner before stepping forward. Without a word, Gamble’s stare descends into one of well-concealed anger as he approaches the vehicles, each one parked just a short few metres away from the bay in which they had once been backed up to, the weapon’s barrel held toward the ground along the dictator’s right side. Without warning or so much as a peep, Gamble lifts the weapon toward the first truck’s side and fires a handful of rounds through the reflective advertisement that plasters its exterior, prompting the sound of screams from within that had not previously been present. Laying off the trigger, the tyrant moves onto the next bay and follows a similar act, firing an assortment of rounds through the human-filled automobile with malicious intent- his distant and subdued-rage visage unchanged. One after another, the despot riddles each truck with bullets until his weapon runs empty, eyes turning back to his jumper-wearing subordinate and mouth shut. Aware of what the stare entails, the weapon’s owner lifts one hand into the air in surrender and tosses the bag he’d yet to release possession of to the foot of his superior, wanting to remain on the side of the man who could very easily render him lifeless within moments. Dropping to one knee, Gamble quickly discards his empty magazine in favour of a new one, resupplying his weapon with ammunition and continuing to litter the vehicles with fatal gunfire. Within minutes, the second magazine- and the final one he requires- is expended upon the last of the trucks, a muffled scream resonating from within just as the other automobiles present. Silent, the various workers tasked with transporting the handcrafted weaponry watch on as their autocrat boss turns back, the barrel of the automatic rifle held toward the air with a calm satisfaction. “You may reclaim this as your own, assist your employees in transporting these weapons to the capitol building, and join them in awaiting further instruction whilst there” Gamble remarks, handing the firearm back to its rightful owner with a tone of voice as unbothered as when he’d entered. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide which fifteen or so men you put at the driver’s seat of those boxes. Whomever they are, however, they can join you all outside the capitol building as well” Gamble proceeds, gently swatting at the flaps of his undirtied beige trench coat as he begins returning for the way he’d arrived, “resume your duties, gentlemen.” Stepping down the long, asphalt-paved parking lot for the running car that had been instructed to wait for his return, Gamble soon enters the backseat and folds his hands upon his lap, using his left hand to guide the seatbelt over his chest and into its buckle. “Where to next, Mr. Gamble?” the driver inquires, looking in the rear view mirror and through the divider between the front and back of his limousine. Passing a glance out the window, Gamble lets out a sigh of delight and returns his typically-shallow smile to its equally-discomforting visage. “Back to Charlottetown- the ports, please” the authoritarian answers, resting back in the leather-covered seat he occupies as the vehicle leaves its stationary park, wheels turning to guide the man back to where his departing vessel awaits. == Rise == “Good evening” Gamble remarks, laying on a passive grin to present his secretary whilst carrying on with his night, the polite and eerily unwelcoming demeanour fading the moment he turns the corner. Wearing a pair of dress shoes to round off his attire- consisting of slacks, a blue button up shirt, and a red tie beneath a beige trenchcoat- the rebellion leader’s each step echoes through the spacious corridor he navigates in search of the room he most frequents.
His glasses level, hairline recently evened, and straight-lipped presentation neatly retained, the unemotional man carries himself through the metres that remain between himself and his office before stepping through the door to folks he’d anticipated finding upon his arrival. “Who is responsible for giving up your cover?” Gamble immediately inquires, shedding his long coat before folding it over the arm he holds against his chest, letting the article of clothing fall upon his clean desk. “The man responsible was amongst those killed, sir” a man speaks aloud from within a line of residents, all without the weapons they’d carried when within the forest. “I was informed the woman managed to snag his wallet, is that correct?” Gamble retorts, stepping around his hardwood desk before claiming the chair he usually occupies during the hours of daylight. “That is correct, sir” the same man replies, aware that he’s amongst the few willing to carry the guards’ end of the conversation. “And how long ago- exactly- did she manage to take ownership of that wallet?” Gamble questions once more, folding his hands atop his folded coat before taking his eyes toward the direction of the only man willing to reply to him without hesitation. “Fifteen hours ago, sir” the unarmed resident- dressed no differently than his peers and owning as easy of a face to forget as them at that- replies immediately. “How many were killed in this ambush?” Gamble wonders aloud, continuing to survey his due-diligence as he looks to the man that speaks back to him, stoic visage unchanged from any other interaction he’d taken part in. “Approximately eight in total, sir. All eight casualties were on our side” the man replies, experiencing the first pause from the island’s silent overseer since his entry. Without a word to offer at first, Gamble’s eyes take to one side of the line his unarmed subordinates stand in before slowly making their way to the other, unimpressed with anyone other than the figure responding to him. “That leaves me to imagine that word has gotten back to Nova Scotian higher-ups by now” Gamble murmurs to himself, soon taking his eyes toward the desk that his hands calmly sit upon. “A flank of people from the island taking fire at the compound’s guards stationed just past the cove out near New Glasgow- that’s tough to explain away” he continues to whisper to himself, reading through the situation at hand with eyes held upon his pressed-together palms. Puckering his lips before his head takes toward a nearby window, Gamble restrains the words that he speaks aloud to the confines of his head, running through his thoughts away from the various ears that surround the room. “You, go get my secretary. Thank you” the subdued leader of the breakaway island remarks to the lone soul speaking to him, remaining hushed as he reaches into the desk drawer just beside his right knee. As instructed, the surviving soldier- whose clothes are soggy and damp from the long journey back to the safety of his home island- nods and departs for the hallway. Without issue, the man closes the door gently on his way out before making for the direction in which he’d come, eyes taking to his right side where he knows the desk will be. After a few seconds, the man finally reaches his destination, coming to a stop in the middle of the open area before parting his lips. “Mr. Gam-” the man begins to speak aloud, having waited for the woman to turn toward his direction before the sound of numerous gunshots in the distance force him to fall silent. With wide eyes, the soldier ducks for cover before the first three bullets are finished firing, his posture steadying as the follow shots allow him to realise that the gunfire does not pose a threat to him. After eleven bullets are finished pounding against the marble walls of the Charlottetown capital building, the soldier stares down the hallway which he’d just traversed in shock, unsure of what horrors could possibly await down a second venture of them. “Thank you for letting me know, I’ll be with him shortly” the polite woman responds calmly, a pleasurable smile paid to the man tasked with calling her to attention whilst the awestruck soldier looks as if he’d just escaped assured death. As if nothing out of place in the slightest had occurred, the woman steps out of her seat and carries a small number of folders in her arms, letting them rest comfortably on her inner elbow before sliding her chair in. “You have a good night, sir” she remarks, nodding to the frozen-stiff soldier before jutting her chin toward the opposite end of the building she prepares to embark upon journeying into, breaking her composed character so as to instruct the man to leave whilst he’s still able to. Just as those of her employer had, the secretary’s shoes tap along the floor on her way toward the office near the corridor’s conclusion, the calm air unchanged throughout the duration of her casual stroll. With ease, the woman turns the knob of- and pushes in- the door she finally comes upon, entering an office covered in blood and the corpses of those who’d failed the leader of the rebellion they’d been called to serve upon quietly. “I have contacts within the strategies department, the internal resources department, the artillery subsection of Mt. Stewart, and the list of residents stationed in Newfoundland as of last week” the woman remarks, laying the folders onto the folded jacket her superior has yet to sit opposite. Changing an empty magazine for a full one, Gamble returns his submachine gun to the desk’s drawer before calmly lowering himself back into his seat, yet to wipe the freshly-splattered blood from his cheek. “Thank you, Bristol” Gamble replies, reclaiming the glasses he’d calmly set just beside his jacket and calmly returning them to his face, the streak of blood beginning to run down his skin. Bowing her head, the woman turns back and exits the room as calmly and with as much grace as she had entered it, dismissing the scene of tragedy and chaos that is contained within it before calmly shutting the door, returning to her desk as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Leaning into the hardwood table, Gamble takes the first folder into his possession and opens its front, reading from a list of names that run down the length of the first page within it. Taking his hand toward a nearby telephone, the man claims possession of the handset and dials the number of the figure he wishes to speak to, pressing the piece to his ear whilst staring ahead blankly, eyes falling upon his blood-covered wall as he calmly awaits an answer. = 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 = With her arms crossed, Salem sits at one end of the three-seat couch whilst Franklin occupies the other, his shortened arm resting on the discouraged shoulder of his wife whilst his full-length limb sits on the nearby armrest, Alicia occupying the chesterfield’s centre. On a two-seat couch to the left of the relatively-new father, Jack sits with his arm wrapped around his wife, Lauren’s body pressing into his side as they remain quiet, simply staring at the woman sitting at the room’s front. Seated on the floor with his back pressing against the coffee table at the room’s centre, Emilio drapes one hand over his bent knee whilst his business partner stands a few metres off to Charlotte’s side. Keeping as quiet as the loveseat-occupying married couple, Clint and Nessie stand beside each other with their arms crossed just as Salem’s do, their backs pressed against the drywall that separates the flat’s kitchen from its communal space. “And that’s it” Charlotte concludes, sitting in a chair she’d taken from the kitchen before every set of eyes she is the guest of, “that’s who Gamble is, how he knows you, and what he wants from me.” Closing her eyes tightly, Alicia lets her head hang whilst her lips pucker, too aggravated to respond with the thoughts her husband soon puts into words. “We didn’t come here for another war” Franklin replies, leaning forward in his seat just slightly as he speaks to the compound’s overseer, “we have a family here. For god’s sake, we left the last place we called home- before Rockford- because we didn’t want to fight anymore.” Feigning a smile, Charlotte’s head drops at the man’s remark, no more satisfied with having to argue against his claims than she is with acknowledging their accuracy. “Are you under the impression that I want this anymore than you do? The only reason I’m in this position is because of a power-hungry sociopath” she responds, the metaphorical bind her hands are tied in made evident, “there’s no point in trying to keep society thriving if the end goal is just more violence.” “Why even put him in charge on that island in the first place?” Clint wonders from the side of the room, feeling as if the point had been left unaddressed, “there’s no way I’m the only one that feels like we’re missing some rather important context.” “It was the only way we could secure our border over the bridge. Gamble and some others resisted the premier- the guy in charge of the island before everything went down- and disobeyed his orders to keep the peace” Charlotte responds, shaking her head as she leans back in her seat, “the same shit storm that ran through Connecticut swept through here about three days earlier. Levi had to settle something on my behalf since I was in New York looking for John.” “Who’s Levi?” Alicia responds, an uncertain eyebrow raised as the name evades her, though the emotion it threatens to take hold of within the community’s leader is well-subdued. “Levi was my husband. He’s the person I was going to put in charge of New York instead of John, but I changed my mind when I realised we wouldn’t finish the Toronto compound in time” Charlotte responds, clearing her throat before continuing, “he let Gamble run a phantom government and now we’re here.” “This seems like a pretty easy fix then” Lauren responds, one knee arched upward as her foot rests on the edge of the couch she and her husband occupy, “if he wants to breakaway, why not just let him break off? He’s clearly not going to back down from this, so why waste lives and ammo fighting a war that doesn’t need to be fought?” “Do you realise how much I’ve lost trying to keep this place alive? Do you even realise how improbable it was to make a place like this work in the first place?” Charlotte rebukes, hands coupling together between the parted legs she soon leans forward toward. “The most powerful force in human history- the United States- it died” she continues, speaking to a silent room, “every other nation- dead. Every leader- dead. The most well-trained troops on the face of the planet- dead.” Falling to a hush, Charlotte prevents herself from speaking further, instead choosing to let her tongue press against a chapped bottom lip whilst her eyes survey the souls of the room that surround her. One after another, the same civilians that had once been her greatest adversaries now listen into the information some of her most highly-trusted acquaintances don’t even know in full, the wicked twist of fate and the heavy irony that surrounds that truth only beginning to settle within her. “The collapse was slow and it was avoidable, but not even the greatest powers within recorded human history could stop the descent...” Charlotte proceeds, her voice lowering just enough for it to come across more emphatic than what she’d uttered in the responses that precede it, “...but I did.” As if beckoned for by a result having long-since been anticipated, a pair of hands begin to pat together at the declaration made, the two palms colliding slowly, one after another, applauding in mockery the claims bestowed upon the group that they’re heralded toward. “Congratulations” Salem sarcastically responds, leaning forward in her seat whilst the remainder of her group turn their focus toward her, centring her upon their conscience as they await her further remarks. “I mean, implying you’re the only one that accomplished such a task also implies places like Cumberland and Rockford weren’t at least operable when shit hit the fan, but why commend people like Jade and Rocky when we can all kneel to the mighty Charlotte” Salem scolds, watching the compound’s leader hang her head. “Even if we do just go along with that song of bullshit you’d sung for us, let’s ask why the hell it matters now” she proceeds, watching the woman whose seat is taken at the room’s centre look back to her with patience. “You may have kept Nova Scotia running, but now it’s on the verge of splitting in two, bloody halves. So, why are we expected to believe it’s better off being held together, huh?” Salem carries on, a clear vigour in her tone, “because you’re too proud to let it go?” “Salem-” Courtney attempts to interrupt, only to fall as silent as her superior does in the refusal the woman shows her, Salem’s finger pointing toward her as the wounded sniper definitely steps off the chesterfield. “No. I don’t want to hear from you, Courtney. I want to know why this woman- right here- is willing to let people die just so she doesn’t have to let go of her toy” she responds, spiritually biting at the woman’s interjection, “I want to know why you can’t just let them go.” “They have to share an open bridge with each other- that’s a good start” Emilio responds, surprising the rest of his group by speaking on his once-nemesis’ behalf. His head having spent much of the expected conflict hung, the interrupting survivor looks across the room toward his peers and shrugs his head, accepting that he must speak what they might be displeased to hear. “In addition to a banking system, fuel reserves, weaponry, businesses, access to different patches of land and water- so on and so forth-” Emilio proceeds, sitting upright in his chair as both Salem and Charlotte look toward him with differing dissatisfaction, “-there’s one bridge between them. They both hate each other, and what right now serves as an invaluable way to trade goods from one place to the other could very easily become a really bloody bottleneck.” “And yet somehow, I don’t believe that’s what her reasoning is at all” Salem responds, again carrying her line of sight back to the compound’s leader once more. With a frown, Charlotte steps out of her seat and stands alongside the hobbled survivor shaking her down, her composure loosening the more time she spends in the apartment, but still strong enough to support her in the argument she’s well aware is about to be engaged. “I don’t even know that I can avoid war anymore. Allow me to remind you of what I just said ten minutes ago- Gamble had spies outside of our walls” Charlotte clarifies, watching the face on whom stands before her begin to slowly dishearten, “even though war isn’t one of the outcomes of that deal he and I agreed to- he’s still preparing for it.” “I don’t blame him” Jack retorts, crafting a break in the discourse to supplant his own thoughts, “we’d figured we would’ve run you off for good back in New York, but there you were in the woods quietly getting ready for another run at us.” “And now my brother’s dead, so clearly that didn’t end so well for me, did it?” Charlotte rebukes, only for another voice to catch her ear. “Why would anyone expect that to stop you from trying again?” Clint inquires, his arms crossed and chin directed toward the ground whilst his voice takes over for his sister, whom he knows wishes to stay out of the conversation, “you lost your entire family- blood and marital- keeping this thing together. If I were Gamble, I’d wonder what you had to lose.” “I’m not saying he doesn’t have a reason to, I’m saying that he is” Charlotte corrects, not shy from admitting her understanding, “if I were in his shoes, I’d be readying myself for the exact same thing.” “Her point is that Gamble’s already committed himself to planning for a war” Courtney interrupts, her voice’s arrival more accepted this time around. “He’s got spies outside the walls, and for all we know- he’s probably got half a dozen things already in place to put up a fight” she proceeds, using her status as a more accepted face than that of her superior’s to make an effort of reasoning with the civilians, “we can’t afford to sit on our hands and wait for the war to come to us.” “Assuming these people were outside of the walls on his orders, why can’t we make the claim that they fired on Nova Scotian personnel and do away with him?” Alicia wonders aloud, her eyes looking toward Courtney to symbolise her hopes that the paramotorist would be the one to answer. “Sure. But then we’d be opening a power vacuum on Prince Edward Island” Charlotte replies instead, “martyrdom is the same reason we haven’t just tried to kill him and be done with it.” Though options and alternatives were thrown around one after the other, the room soon falls quiet, the various bodies that inhabit it all fail to produce a sound. Within an instant, the discouraged and wavered spirits of the compound’s citizens soon make themselves known through their sheer silence, one that only comes to an end when the voice of their trusted successor to power speaks aloud. “They would fail, right?” Emilio inquires, watching Charlotte’s eyes take toward his direction just like all others, “if you let them break free and they carried on with their business, how long would it be until they failed? Until everything fell apart?” Unsure of what the man is trying to get at, Alicia and Franklin turn their sights toward the pair of elites within their flat’s centre, both Jack and Lauren following a similar pathway, though their eyes take toward the ground the women occupy. “I’m not sure. He says they’re self-sufficient, but that’s about all I know” Charlotte responds, her voice less defensive of her intentions, and now more exhausted with the consistent explanations she’s forced to give, “why?” “Because you could win that war without having to fire a single shot” Emilio replies, his remarks soon reclaiming the eyesight of the two couples within the home’s interior. “If you let them go out on their own and they couldn’t hack it, they’d fall into disrepair and have no one to blame aside from Gamble” he reiterates, clarifying his point whilst the room listens on, “all you’d need to do is keep the ship tidy and neat until that happens. Then, you can swoop in and offer to reunify.” “We’d still have to go in and clean up the mess Gamble and his lackeys would make” Courtney responds, taking the reins for her superior, who continues to sit with her thoughts, “and if things get as bad in there as they are outside the walls, there’s not much we can do to quarter off the bridge.” “We’d also lose nearly half of our ports, and Charlottetown is a pretty important one to lose completely” Charlotte adds, still looking to the floor as her thoughts now voice themselves aloud, “and with that, we’d pretty much be giving up our entire fleet of war boats and the shipping boats we still have docked there.” Allowing his point to fall on the doorsteps of death it had appeared to ascend, Emilio lets his head hang without an alternative to provide, beginning to see the writing on the wall his group had begun to read whilst he extended hope that the words would not have to be made out. Equally hushed, Charlotte continues to stare at the floor whilst her thoughts return to her mind, surveyed and inspected from start to end, front and back, before falling from her tongue’s tip once more. “It might work” she murmurs, prompting the group’s eyes to join their leaders’ in taking toward her, awaiting more than just the three syllables to voice themselves. | Calmly and without trouble over the scene that surrounds her, Bristol carries herself down the corridor she frequents almost as often as her superior does, bowing her head politely at the various workers she walks past. “Good morning” she remarks to all that she finds travelling in the opposite direction of herself, each worker pulling a body-stuffed cart away from the office she finds herself closing in on, a piece of paper carried in the palms of her fingers. “Good morning, Mr. Gamble” she remarks, entering an office whose every window is opened and every inch is being scrubbed with such harsh chemicals even the cleaners feel the need to dawn hazmat suits. “Oof” Bristol grumbles as her second hand frees itself from the paper to cover her face, the first hand extending the message to the desk her superior sits at, “that’s a rather strong odour, isn’t it?” “My apologies, Bristol” Gamble responds, taking his hands away from the keyboard in which his fingers dance across to retrieve a face mask from beside him, “I had underestimated the fumes.” With appreciation, the woman claims the mask for herself and delivers the message she’d been tasked with waiting for, “it’s not an issue, Mr. Gamble” Bristol replies, bowing her head as she holds the covering to her face, “would you like me to send a response?” Standing by as she watches the island’s lawmaker read the message she’d handed him, Bristol waits for the unchanged, emotionless visage to shift in one way or the other, a reply to her question all that she desires. “No need- he’s gotten my instructions with resounding clarity” Gamble responds with the same empty, joyless grin he’s become known for sporting, “I will ask for you to call a car for my pickup, if you don’t mind. I have some business to attend to in Kensington.” Within an hour, Gamble occupies the backseat of an old town car, watching various fields and ponds pass by as if he were in the middle of nowhere. Dressed in his same suit and tie with a beige trench coat over each shoulder, the man folds his hands in his lap whilst he sits to the right-most side of the vehicle, staring out the window at the dreary scenery he’s surrounded by, the start of a rainstorm just beginning to make its way over Prince Edward Island. “That front has already been taken care of. The crew stationed in Newfoundland is already aware of the need for heightened parameters” Gamble responds, walking alongside a man dressed in a mechanic’s jumper through the floor of a bustling warehouse. “I’d imagine that’s the easy part, right?” the unnamed man in the dirty jumper and hat that’s ripped and torn in various places replies, “the plant up north being not as big and all, y’know?” Remaining quiet, Gamble’s head is held toward the ground in which he walks, keeping track of every step before his eyes peer toward the sound of repetitive thumping. “How many in total?” he wonders aloud, prompting the filth-covered gentleman he walks alongside to direct his focus toward the same scene spoken of. “Around a hundred and fifty- probably just a little more” he replies, removing his ragged baseball cap whilst his superior stops in the middle of their walk, fully turning his body toward the nearby loading bay. “They were all put under about a half hour ago. With about twenty per truck, I’d say they’ll all be up and walking in five hours or so” the dirty man proceeds, explaining the scene of unconscious human bodies being tossed into the back of box trucks as if no different from products. “They’ll all starve to death within three weeks or so, but in all likelihood- one will come back and tear into all the others” the warehouse overseer remarks, “that should take a week or so. If we’re gonna use the zombies as weapons, I’d say you’ve got about two weeks after that to work with if you still want them running.” “And you’re sure about these- running types- correct?” Gamble wonders aloud, turning his eyes to the man that accompanies him throughout the fortified, out-of-the-way warehouse. “They’re real rare now that it’s been so long since the outbreak, but I’ve seen them myself. Zombies- fresh from the crypt- running like they’re olympic sprinters” the accommodating labourer responds, “not all dead people come back like that, but some retain enough muscle for the first few weeks or so.” Taking his eyes back to the warehouse floor, Gamble’s face shows the faintest hint of emotion, a subdued look of awestruck pleasure coming over his usually-stiff and rigid visage. Slowly nodding to himself, the island’s quiet peacekeeper pulls himself away from the short balcony he stands at and begins resuming the patrol he and his subordinate had originally embarked upon, carrying on with his duties whilst the preparation for warfare carries on. | “Come on in” Salem remarks, limping aside to grant her friend entry to the flat she calls home, one hand resting against the lip of the counter she uses for support. “Thanks” Emilio mutters, closing the entrance on his way inside whilst the woman he visits begins hobbling toward a chair across from the apartment’s fireplace. “So, it’s been a few days. How’re you feeling?” the visitor inquiries, watching the hobbled woman step along the hardwood floor cautiously, her weight mostly placed in the healthy leg, which prompts the floorboards to creak. “It’s been four days. I’ve still got a bullet hole in my leg, and I don’t think much else matters than that” Salem replies, finally reaching the chair she’d intended to take a seat upon before waving off the cane in which her friend tries to offer her. “I’m not gonna bring myself to depend on that” the survivor rebukes, discouraging the assistance of anyone or anything in her time of recovery, “I’ve been saddled with worse than a gimpy leg over my life- I’ll be fine.” Allowing the woman to refuse the aid he makes an attempt at offering, Emilio returns the walking stick to the side of the room as he listens to his acquaintance’s weight collapse into the chair with a satisfying sigh. “Ah” Salem hisses aloud, arms sinking into the comfortable armrests whilst her mouth sits agape, held toward the ceiling that her closed-eyes take toward also. “Comfortable?” Emilio jokes, watching the woman’s left hand lift from her side whilst the rest of her posture is unchanged, the middle finger on it extended toward the sarcastic man who replies with a chuckle. “I’m very comfortable. If it weren’t for the leg, I’d be in paradise” Salem responds, eventually coming around to sinking into the chair like a normal person, head held toward the ottoman that her fellow survivor takes a seat upon. “I always thought people like Edgar Allen Poe lived in places like this” Emilio remarks, taking a gaze around the apartment he’s very rarely visited, rows of books that line a variety of shelves just behind the seat his friend occupies. “Cuddled up by the fire with a book in hand. Of course, that didn’t make sense since he wrote books, not necessarily that he read them-” the man corrects, peering toward the open flames and the small pile of books seated on a table beside the chair. “Thanks for comparing to Edgar Allen Poe of all people” Salem sarcastically quips, watching her friend bow his head with a smirk, “I don’t know much about the dude, but I’m pretty sure he was a freak- and not in a good way.” “Oh, he was. He definitely was” Emilio replies, another pan of his sights across the room preventing him from speaking further, “but this is the kind of place I always associated with that dark and dreary atmosphere.” “Ah yes, that’s me!” Salem enthusiastically jokes, propping herself upright further until both her and her guest are at eye-level, “Salem Ailwood- dark and dreary.” Concealing the same laughter that he shares with the flat’s tenant, Emilio bows his head whilst the room grows quiet, their laughter the only thing having prevented the crackling fire from setting an ambient tone over the pair. As their voices stop, the two survivors can’t help but silently stare at each other, almost as if they were waiting for the same attempt at filling the void that silence replenishes as the other does. “Can I ask you a question?” Emilio soon wonders aloud, aware that his friend will not take him up on speaking through the pause, instead opting to take the mantle for himself. “I’ve got nowhere else to be, so why not?” Salem responds, an eyebrow raised as her back begins falling further into the cushion support of her seat, eyes firmly cemented upon a man amidst his pause. Yet to outright open the floor to his inquiry, Emilio looks off to a corner of the room cluttered with books stacked well above the lip of a box labelled ‘return to library’, pondering his thoughts before voicing them aloud. “Why do you read so much?” he finally inquires, a brief smile coming over his face as if the question had been one he’d only just conjured, uncertain over whatever else to ask. “I mean, you practically live in a library in and of itself, so I’ve gotta ask why” Emilio clarifies, hands spreading out at both sides to illustrate the scale in which the hardcover novels fill the room, “I’m sure some of them were here when you moved in, but I can’t imagine all of them were.” Though her teeth don’t show through it, Salem’s lips part briefly to form a smile, the corners of her mouth stretching upward. “Actually they were. The guy that lived here before me died a few months before we moved in. That’s why I don’t have some massive bill for that pile in the corner there” she responds, pointing to the library box in the room’s side, “but I read them ‘cause they’re here. I mean, what else am I supposed to do around here? I work, I come home, I sleep.” “And you read” Emilio adds, pointing at the woman who soon points back to him, nodding in agreement to his clarification. “That I do. Indeed, I read a lot” Salem replies, lifting her injured leg onto her friend’s lap in lieu of the stool he occupies as a chair of his own, “I put on a pot of coffee or tea, I sit by the fire, and when I have nothing to do- which happens for a few hours every day- I read a book.” “But why?” Emilio replies, shaking his head with genuine curiosity, not seeing the necessity or even understanding the desire, “I know they were here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to read them.” “No, of course it doesn’t. I’m Salem- I don’t need to do anything” the woman responds, a smile worn on her face before it falls toward the ground, looking at the healthy leg that still sits atop the floor. “So why start?” Emilio again inquires, unable to see the correlation that his initial question- though not originally having been planned to ask- leaves him eager to make out, “why pick up that first book and start reading? Why care to pick up another one, or the one after that?” Though her charming grin remains partially intact, Salem’s lowered chin indicates a different answer than what her deceptive visage implies. With her eyes taking toward the outstretched leg that she rests atop Emilio’s leg, the woman’s demeanour begins taking a turn for something sour, less amused with the witty back and forth she’d engaged within to present a more disheartened expression. “Because it kept me from running off on the rest of you” Salem confesses, finally lifting her head as she speaks, eyes finding those of her close friend whilst she does. Clearly doing what she can to hide the grief this admission leaves her with, the freedom-yearning survivor lets her back sink further into her seat whilst her eyes take toward the sky, Emilio’s patience remaining intact as he leaves her the room to process what she soon puts into words. With a squint, Salem stares at the various dots her late 80’s-era popcorn ceiling is dotted with, running over them with her eyes before speaking aloud. “When I was younger, and right after I got my driver’s licence, I bought a ragged, old van and took it out on the road” she begins, a smirk beginning to resume its hold over the corner of her mouth, “the gas was cheap and I didn’t really need to know where I was going. I just started driving until I got tired of eating the cheap shit I’d find.” With his hands folded, Emilio listens to the woman through each pause she takes, allowing the popping noises of the fireplace his back is turned toward to serve as white noise to the momentary one-sided conversation. “My parents started getting really pissed at me after a while. Especially after I stopped going to classes in my first semester” Salem continues, almost amusing herself enough to laugh, “so, eventually I decided to just start driving around full time.” Lowering her chin until eye-level with the man across from her, Salem looks at the lack of judgement in her friend’s face and takes more comfort in seeing it than she could from anything his words would be able to provide. “I haven’t seen them in years. They never called and neither did I” she carries on, diving deeper into the verbal rabbit hole she’s revealing the inner workings of to the surface, “after some time, I got my pilot’s licence so I could afford a little place like this and gas.” Preparing to continue with her remarks, Salem takes a moment for a second thought, her eyes trailing away from her silent friend and following the outstretched arm she directs toward a half-empty bottle of scotch. “Eventually, I bought a little field for myself and stuck a trailer on it. I didn’t have to pay rent and could just disappear into the middle of the woods for a few days at a time” she speaks further, unscrewing the bottle’s cap, “it was fine for what it was- which wasn’t much.” Taking a swig, the woman lifts her arm toward her mouth and extends the bottle to Emilio, who takes her up on the offer and begins drinking whilst she speaks. “I eventually found a guy to sell me a chopper for cheap, stopped doing those little ten-person travel tours my employer had me working, and started doing carry jobs for some of the locals” Salem proceeds, waiting for the man to return the liquor bottle to its rightful arms for a second sip. “So that’s what you were doing when the old world fell? Odd jobs?” Emilio wonders aloud, finally breaking his silence as his face sours, not in reaction to the woman’s remarks, but to the bitter taste of the booze that coats the inside of his mouth. “It paid well and I could work my own hours. Besides, I was living in rural Pennsylvania at the time- gas was cheap” Salem retorts, her smirk growing, “do a few odd jobs, hit the road for a few months at a time- rinse, wash, repeat.” “And exactly when do you get to the part where you save my ass out in Connecticut?” Emilio questions, a squint in his right eye as he begrudgingly gives into the woman’s hidden request that he drink once more, the bottle extended toward him for a second time. “I’d tell you to be patient, but we’re sort of already at that part” Salem replies, licking the liquor residue that coats her lips, “since the outbreak began about two weeks or so before it got bad, I was probably just outside Buffalo.” “Fuck Buffalo” Emilio immediately interjects, wincing as he lowers the bottle from his lips, reacting to a second swig that’s somehow worse than the one that preceded it. “Patriots fan?” Salem queries, reclaiming the bottle as her answer is first offered in the form of a vehement head shake. “Do I look like upscale, Windsor Locks trash to you!?” Emilio rebukes, the squint in his eyes now carried more from the offence he takes than the taste he’s left with, “Go Jets.” “I don’t know how good they were supposed to be. My football knowledge comes from that dude’s DVR back in Cumberland” Salem replies, shaking her head as she takes sip number three, “I remember a dude telling me the Patriots were Satan when I was up there, so I figured the two applied.” “They’re all in the same division. Buffalo Bills, the Patriots, and the Jets” Emilio responds, again hesitating as the scotch bottle is handed to him yet again, “they’re our division rivals- so are the Dolphins. But with that said, I’ve got less of a problem with them than I do the Pats and Brady.” “Yeah, I wonder what happened to that guy when everything fell apart” Salem replies, familiar with the man in question in spite of her inexperience with football. “I don’t care about what happened to him. I’m just pissed this shit hit when the season was about to start” Emilio responds, scrunching his face again with the third sip taken, “Sam Darnold was gonna be something special, man.” “I still have no clue what you’re talking about, but anyway-” Salem interjects, pausing to take her fourth sip before continuing with her recollection, trading the bottle back to her acquaintance. “I was in Buffalo when the first dead guy came back and made the news. I figured it was too risky going back to Pennsylvania once people started running through the shops scavenging what they could and hitting the road” she continues, “so heading for where Sikorsky was headed in seemed like a plan.” “And that’s when our paths crossed in Waterbury?” Emilio responds, swearing off any further drinking with his fourth and final swig, returning the bottle for the flat’s tenant to serve herself as she pleases. “Well, it wasn’t smooth sailing there, but yeah” Salem answers, taking her fifth swig before returning the cap to the bottle’s top, gently placing it back to the floor beside her chair, “I ran with Alicia and Franklin for a bit and we met up with you guys at the New World Order.” With a nod and caught up to speed, Emilio’s eyes trail back toward the pile of books in the corner awaiting a return trip to the library that will never come. “So it’s not just a new thing, huh?” he wonders aloud, watching the sigh-heavy grin and shake of Salem’s head respond to him, “you’ve just always been a free spirit, I suppose.” As the air that fills her chest now leaves in one, big breath, Salem’s shoulders fall and her body relaxes further into the cushioned chair, her head swaying from one side to the other. “I’ve never really been tied down. It’s a miracle that I’ve actually gotten as attached to you all as I have. I’ve only ever really been on my own- even when I was young” she admits, her head lowering whilst paused, thinking to herself for a moment before voicing her thoughts aloud. “But that’s not why I’m tempted to leave now” Salem confesses, looking back to the face of a man awaiting context, a luxury that not even she always accepts internally at times. “It was different at the New World Order. I was only fond of Alicia and Franklin at that point. With Sheol, I just wanted to feel like I belonged. With Sun City, I’d just wanted what was best for all of us” she proceeds, “by the time we got to Cumberland, I felt like the rest of you were finally somewhere safe.” Pressing his arms into the top of his thighs, Emilio leans in as the effects of his dinner- no more than a few swigs of scotch and an apple from earlier in the day- begin to weigh on him slightly. “It’s different now with Charlotte telling us about this stuff with the people over the bridge. It’s like there’s something bigger than anything we’ve seen before right around the corner” Salem explains, the sound of worry in her voice, “but this time, I care about the people that could get hurt.” Letting his body loosen, Emilio’s eyebrows refrain from their slightly-furrowed state as he pulls his body upward slightly, unable to say much to relinquish the woman from her trepid state. “I don’t feel comfortable here and I’m never really going to. But I didn’t feel comfortable in Cumberland either, and I toughed it out there” Salem proceeds, watching her friend’s eyes take to the other end of the room, “but I don’t really wanna imagine what it’d be like to see-” Hearing the woman prevent herself from speaking further, Emilio’s eyes- which had spent the last few seconds looking toward a sea of various street lamps and the lit windows of a nearby apartment building- take back toward the hesitant woman with haste. Looking at the ground beside her, Salem remains put with parted lips, unsure of exactly how she’s trying to phrase the thought she can’t fully flesh out within her head. “I don’t wanna see this battle hurt more people than it already has, I guess” Salem confesses, still refraining from looking her friend in the eyes. “When we lost John, it hurt. When we lost Jess, and Amy, and Heather- that hurt too” she confesses, clearing her throat before keeping silent for another second, using the time to finally reclaim eye contact with the man across from her, “but I don’t know that I’ll be able to survive watching anyone else that I care about die.” Left feeling like his core is knotting upon itself, Emilio parts his lips before bowing his head, unsure of how to respond to a claim that strikes him as deeply as the one his dear friend has shared with him does. “I’m afraid of how it’ll feel if I had to see you die. Or Jack and Lauren, or the siblings, or-” Salem proceeds, falling silent yet again as she reaches a thought that horrifies her to imagine, “well, with the kid being around now, seeing Alicia or Franklin die would ruin me.” “We shouldn’t think like that. It may be as possible as anything else we’ve seen, but we’ve fought through worse” Emilio refutes, a claim the woman can’t help but prevent him from clarifying further. “We say that a lot, but I don’t think that’s true this time” Salem argues, defending her stance with ease as her friend fails to find much ground to debate her with, “any other time and we could’ve just stopped the violence by staying out of it. This time, it isn’t even our war- it’s theirs.” “And we’ve beaten both of them combined before” Emilio replies, believing in his defence as much as the woman does, taking it with a grain of salt in a mountain of sand. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re just pawns in this one. We may know- and have proven ourselves to- Charlotte a lot more than the others, but we’re not the ones playing chess this time” Salem retorts, listening to the air she shares with the man grow silent, “we’re no safer than anyone else.” Though his mouth remains slightly agape, Emilio has no intention of speaking further, all that’s needed to be said having filled the air long ago. Instead, the man’s eyes place themselves on an unimportant corner of the room where two bookshelves meet, looking away from the woman whose presence prompts him to consider the same horrifying thoughts that Salem herself dreads imagining. “I love you guys. All of you. Every one of you reminded me of what it felt like to be cared about and how to care for people” she continues, not wanting to leave anything less in the line of thought. “But I can’t take losing anyone else here. I’m willing to be as uncomfortable as possible in this bland, boring society so long as no one I care about is in danger-” Salem concludes, a stoic confidence carried within her relaxed demeanour, “-but if this place falls into chaos... I’m out.” The woman’s stance making it impossible to construe as anything different than her peace, Emilio remains seated whilst the apartment’s tenant steps out of her chair, already having gotten her stubborn refusal for assistance well-established in her guest’s eyes. “I know you’re a pathetic lightweight, so you can sleep in my chair. There’s a pull-out couch in the study if that’s more your style” Salem proclaims on her way to bed, “I don’t want you walking the streets tipsy.” Aware of the lessened sensation of sobriety and yet retaining his sound mind, Emilio watches the woman walk off and nods toward her, keeping to himself so much as a ‘thank you’ he knows she’d dismiss as little more than the decency it would be intended as. To his own devices, the man finds himself alone in the living room with a fire to keep him company, the desire to step away from the ottoman he’s seated upon incapable of being found with the heavy discourse that weighs on his mind. == Rise == “It’s cold” Salem remarks, watching her cloudy breaths flutter through the air with every breath she takes whilst her eyes fixate on the snow-covered leaves of the nearby treeline. “It’s winter, that’s kind of the point” a man replies, wielding a rifle similar to his acquaintance whilst wearing a heavy coat and thick toque, his pale face stained by rosy red cheeks.
“I know that, jackass” Salem replies, her denim coat unzipped and the break of her black jeans tucked into her heavy boots, which sit within five inches of snow. “Why mention that it’s cold then?” the woman’s unassuming colleague retorts, uncertain of the complaint’s point, “or, at least, why mention it to me? I can’t change the weather.” “I’m just complaining for the sake of it, dude” Salem replies, rolling her eyes as her side leans against the remnants of a rundown sedan, its paint-chipped body covered in a mountain of fluffy, wintery mix. “We’ve got another five hours on this shift, do you really think I wanna spend it all in silence?” she persists, the lack of an answer she receives prompting her to think quietly amongst herself, “well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind it.” “I’ve never taken you to be the social type” the warm-clothed survivor accompanying the woman on her guard duties responds, sitting on a level of a nearby scaffold, its metal supports rusted and individual platforms dirty and wet. “That’s ‘cause I’m not” Salem replies, the first two fingers on her left hand tapping against her weapon’s trigger guard, “sometimes I’d just prefer not to be alone with my thoughts, that’s all.” “Would I be in danger if you were?” the man asks back, trying to make light of the rather gloomy comment with a half-hearted attempt at humour, only for his efforts to go unnoticed. “No, probably not” Salem responds, passing a look at him for a moment before reuniting her line of sight with the forest ahead, lips pressing shut to keep quiet so as not to disturb the man a few yards off behind her. With a squint in her eye, the woman’s attention sets upon the undisturbed woodlands, her ears catching the distant calls of crows hiding within it whilst her skin is kissed by the frigid winds that ruffle through the leaves. “I left something out there the other day- while I was out with Rob- and I’m gonna go check on it really quick” Salem remarks, a gentle push off the vehicle allowing her to begin stepping through the snow that sits between herself and the forest. “You’re not supposed to leave the post” the man she prepares to leave behind, even if for only a moment, responds. “We’re not supposed to do a lot of different things that everyone ends up doing, man” Salem replies, squawking over her shoulder as she ventures further into the terrain typically deemed off limits, “just sit tight and I’ll be back in a few.” “What did you leave out there?” the man quickly wonders back, watching the woman stop in her tracks and roll her eyes, turning toward her colleague with a dismissive gleam in her eyes. “So now you wanna chat?” Salem retorts, not allowing the man an opportunity to answer the question she’d asked sarcastically, “just sit tight and I’ll be back in a second or two. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” Though he doesn’t like the concept of being split up against the compound’s orders, the pale-skinned, rifle-wielding guard stationed atop the modest scaffolding has little choice but to oblige to the desires voiced by the free-spirited survivor he watches wander into the frost-bitten abyss. Within minutes, the headstrong woman finds herself deep within the woodlands, her back held toward the way she’d entered from not long ago. Each step that crunches upon a layer of untouched snow prompting birds hidden within the snow-covered branches above to fly off for safer pastures, Salem carries on with her descent into the relentlessly frost-bitten unknown, terrain she’d never once travelled now surveyed and experienced without a pair of arms to fall into. Keeping a tight hold of her weapon, the woman’s progression carries onward, the passing gusts of wind that get caught on the open flaps of her coat threatening to halt her at every instance. Defiant and unwilling to compromise with the elements, Salem continues to brave the unfamiliar ground and conditions so unforgiving that they appear motivated, looking farther into the chasm that lies ahead, its fluff-hidden path lit only by the dawn of a new day just beginning to come upon Nova Scotia. Without a second soul to speak to or another friend to call for in the need of help, Salem’s each step carries her into deeper grounds, the path beginning to dip in spite of the snow appearing to rise another inch at each passing metre. Impossible to differentiate from the crisp chill of the arctic, Nova Scotia’s air surrounds the woman and bites at every last shred of exposed flesh, refusing to grant her a comfortable travel onward. Her cold fingers grasping her rifle tighter, Salem watches a pile of snow fall from atop a branch that had become too weak to prop up what had compiled atop it, snapping free and hanging by the tree it’d come from as the snow creates a cloud on its way toward the ground. Her ears catching little more than the sound of winds violently whipping past her, the wandering trooper carries onward, the snow’s level reaches her thighs, rising up them like the frost-bitten hands of a poor romantic. Though they sit barren of the leaves they present in warmer seasons, the trees that stand before the sniper’s vision are so abundant and undisturbed that they block anything within the near distance. The boundaries of the woodlands that Salem’s eyes cannot see because of the cold fog that prevents her sights from laying upon distant views covered in the second layer of forest that litter the field ahead of her. As her groyne now hovers over the snow, a reluctant Salem accepts the terms of reality that occupy the forefront of her mind, the snow ahead of her having become too deep to safely traverse. Her body cold and hands shaking, the woman presses her teeth together and starts hissing the hottest breaths she can conjure, trying to warm her lips as she turns back, coming to grips with the fact that her travels have ended well before she’d wished for them to. With his eye pressed to the top of his own rifle, a man perched in a nearby tree watches the defeated Nova Scotian turn back for home, a sigh of relief carried through his mouth. “She’s turning back” he remarks, keeping his voice just low enough for the man in a nearby branch to hear, his weapon having already lowered from their potential discoverer. “Good” the second man replies, tightening the hold his winter cap has, its warm materials hugging his head snug, shielding him from the frosty teeth the winter air bites at him with. Retreating, Salem slowly digs her feet out of the snow repeatedly, carrying herself to higher ground with a half-smirk on her face. Lips chapped and strands of her hair having been soaked by the snow and frozen into ice by the late-seasonal air, she proceeds back before coming to a momentary pause. “Man, what the hell were you thinking? Snapping that branch like that, what’s wrong with you!?” one of the treetop men remarks, presenting the question to his contemporary with the tone of a disheartened father, “don’t you know how fucked we would’ve been if you’d blown our cover?” “Of course I do. What else did you expect me to do?” the second man replies, the toque he’s meant to wear atop his head instead laid upon his bent knee, which soon feels the graze of his rifle’s barrel. “I didn’t have a line of sight or a good shot on her from behind this damn trunk” man number two continues, shaking his head as his eyes take toward his side, “if I didn’t move, we wouldn’t have had eyes on-” Ducking at the sound of a gunshot ringing through the air, the toque-wearing survivor shields his face for a moment before feeling the weight of the tree he stands within decrease. Eyes passing to the side, the survivor watches his friend’s feet plummet to the ground below, joining his body in collapsing into the puffy, white snow face-up. With widened eyes, the living survivor uncovers his face and looks at the ground below, staring into the whites of his friend’s eyes as the wintery mix he lays buried within begins to run red from the blood that escapes a bullet wound in the back of his head. Realising what’s come of his friend and soon to come of himself, the living survivor jumps to the side at the sound of a second gunshot, hearing the bullet barely miss him before he quickly loses balance. Losing possession of his firearm, the cold-acclimated survivor reaches for whatever branches his eyes can find to no avail, the fall back to earth unimpeded by his desperate efforts. Standing in the middle of ankle-deep snow, Salem watches the defenceless man crater through the air and disappear within the mountain of snow she’s aware is too deep for her to venture through. Passing a glance over her shoulder, Salem’s eyes wander in the direction of her Nova Scotian home before the sound of a third gunshot- this time one in which she did not fire- whirls through the air violently. Gritting her teeth, the woman holds her rifle to the side as a litany of additional bullets are fired off, all aiming for her direction from various directions. With her back turned to the pair of men she’d fired at, Salem hurries for whatever cover she can find, only able to depend on her movement within the moment, trying to ensure she’s too difficult of a target to hit. Knowing the bullets to have stolen enough of the attention off of himself, the living treetop survivor slowly digs out of the hole his body’s weight had formed in an effort to return to fresh air. Flailing his arms around, the man’s efforts soon drag him to the snow’s surface, finding enough to push himself upward and catch the briefest sight of his attacker fleeing in the opposite direction. “Fuck!” Salem grunts, her right knee slamming into the snow as the bullet that rips through her left calf muscle prevents her from continuing to put up a chase. Shielding her head, the woman removes one arm from beside her face and uses it to reclaim her rifle, firing a shot off at random in the direction of the nearest bullet. Still amidst his struggle to fully return to the snow’s surface, the snow-covered survivor crawls to the body of his colleague, frozen hands rummaging the corpse in search of what he whimpers for. “Wallet! Wallet! I need your wallet!” he hisses repeatedly, reaching into the man’s pocket whilst pleading for the leather-bound belonging, hoping the man would be alive just enough to point him in the direction of it. “Ah!” a random shooter in the distance grunts, prompting the wallet-seeking survivor to look up, watching a body plummet from the same tree that a second body collapses from soon after. “I need your wallet! Where’s your fucking wallet!?” he shouts again, his teeth clattering together as he scrambles with all that he can muster, his fingers too cold to properly move as they’re desired to, beginning to pick up the urgency at the sight of return fire. “Salem!” a voice calls out from the forest’s entrance, a set of fast-moving lights trailing not too far behind himself. “Get help! Now!” the woman screams back, throwing herself behind the cover of a small rock, laying on her back so as to conceal herself as best as she can. Covered from one side, Salem peers into the distance of the forest as blood pours from her leg excessively, aware that reinforcements are on their way as she takes aim at whatever seems out of place. “Where’s your fucking wallet!?” the living survivor pleads, fumbling around the winter coat his deceased partner wears, unable to get his fingers to cooperate with his intentions, the many zippers that line the hefty clothing unable to be undone. Firing off another shot, Salem forces another one of the ambushing survivors to fall from their tree, their weapon plummeting into the snow alongside them, but away from immediate reach. The nearing sound of motors roaring behind her, the wounded guard at Nova Scotia’s defence calls out orders to those arriving at her aid, “I’ve got people on my left! They’re in the trees!” she exclaims, keeping her aim toward her right side. “Let’s get you out of here!” one of the men on a snowmobile calls out, stopping the winter vehicle whilst his colleague carries on, driving into the open with an automatic rifle and peppering the sound of gunfire with bullets of his own. “No!” Salem exclaims, pushing the man that tries to aid her upward away before hurrying back the way she’d initially journeyed, her rifle taking aim at the man struggling to move. Pressing his teeth together with great force, the fallen survivor, whose palms are too cold to process the materials they touch, stares back at the woman he’d initially been fired at by, the hurry she takes toward him not impeding her ability to reach for the rifle at her side. “No!” he exclaims, still too deep within the snow to scurry away, defenceless from the rifle whose barrel takes toward him, “no!” With the pull of her trigger, Salem fires a round through the survivor’s head and kills the toque-wearing survivor, his misery ended, and yet his search is continued. As if the fluffy mixture were water, the rifle-wielding woman tosses her firearm to the side and dives into the snow that had originally been too deep for her to traverse, digging through the soft slush in an effort of reaching the corpses she’d laid to rest. “Salem, what are you doing!?” the man she’d been stationed at the wall’s front alongside exclaims, firing into the distance as the gunshots begin centring back upon the already-wounded survivor. Without response, Salem digs through the snow to clear herself a path, refusing to let up until she’d reached the bodies’ final resting places. Whilst his depleting crew fire at both the stubbornly defiant Salem and those that had come to her aid, one man holds his fire and steadies his aim, wanting to make his shot count. Narrowing his line of sight, the man lets his finger softly rest against the trigger as his barrel takes aim at the persistent woman with a wound in her calf, her head fully within his sights and aim. Keeping his hold on the weapon steady, the gunman holds his fire and ensures his barrel travels with her every move, waiting until he’s confident enough in his ability to not miss before trying anything. Finally within reach of the corpses, Salem’s struggle through the snow comes to a stop, and her head’s violent and unpredictable movements cease in favour of steadying, allowing her eyes to follow the hand of the second man she’d hit with a perfect headshot. Stiffening his finger, the man whose aim the woman unknowingly finds herself caught within touches the trigger as a shot bellows throughout the forest, no different from the abundance of others that had spent the last few minutes scaring every bird away from the area. Passing a glance to the side as her hand falls upon the pocket of the first corpse’s coat, Salem watches a body plummet from a tree head-first, a trail of blood falling after him alongside the weapon his hands release. Ducking below a small hill formed within the snow alongside her, Salem unzips the first corpse’s coat pocket and retrieves the wallet his acquaintance had spent so long struggling to find. Turning back, the woman uses the room within the snow she’d been buried within to pull her arm back and send the leather-bound accessory flying through the air, her commendable accuracy allowing the piece to fall at the feet of her fellow fortress-overseer. “Take that and go!” Salem exclaims, still using the adrenaline of the moment to let her mind forget about the wound that spills a trail of blood in her path, willing to die beyond the same walls she’d so eagerly yearned to be set free of. Reaching down for the wallet, the cover-ducking man tucks it into his back pocket as a third snowmobile hurries past him, venturing for the direction of the woman who soon reclaims her rifle. Aware of the woman’s history, the third man refuses to grant the altercation’s source a choice of where her final moments are spent, instead taking the woman by the throat and dragging her onto the vehicle. “Let go of me!” Salem grunts, trying to squirm free of her fellow Nova Scotian’s grasp as the ground beneath her begins to move, her body carried in his arms as he directs the vehicle back toward the compound. “I’ve got the wallet, don’t worry!” the woman’s partner barks, wanting to leave her little room to hesitate, departing the scene of chaos as she’s dragged back toward the community. Barely able to hear the man’s reassurance, Salem’s struggle begins to relent, and she slowly begins to accept the assistance of those who’d hurried out to her side. As the adrenaline begins to wane, the woman’s teeth begin to press together at the pain in her leg, the rest of her body beginning to wear her soreness. = 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 = Squinting her eyes whilst seated at a desk, Lauren twists a thin piece of metal around a long bar she’s fitted into a drill, winding it into a screw whilst her husband finishes doing the same nearby. Keeping to themselves, the married couple carry on with their individual efforts in silence, sitting beneath their respective desk lamps whilst embracing the warmth that emanates from a pair of space heaters they’re within the pathway of. One after another, they twist thin rods of metal around a bar and slide them off with ease, letting the newly-crafted coils sit off to the side with a pile of equally-spun, soon-to-be links of chain. Passing a glance off to a nearby piece of paper, Jack’s eyes take toward the pile of loops he’d made and begins organising them into groups of ten, eventually counting his way up to eighty seven. “You wouldn’t waste so much time counting the things if you’d just organise them from the start” Lauren remarks, a smirk held in her face as she eyes the man sitting a few metres off to her right. With an amused look of sarcastic displeasure, Jack pulls his sights away from the next bar he’d intended to coil and lets his hands fall to the desk he sits at, eyes fully setting upon the woman he’d committed himself to with the binding power of a wedding ring. “And how many bars have you spun?” Jack questions aloud, watching the woman’s hand gently pat the table once for every row of coils she’d produced. After a few seconds, Lauren confidently turns toward her husband with a smile that soon fades, her eyes retaking to the twisted pieces of metal that she forces herself to recount, uncertain as to whether or not her initial tally had been correct. “And now you see how far-” Jack replies, his efforts thwarted as he’s kept from finishing his retort by the sound of a knock at the closed garage door. With his eyebrows furrowed, the man steps out from behind his desk and reclaims the firearm he’d left resting beside him, holstering it on his waist whilst his wife quietly removes her own from the drawer of the desk she occupies. “You’ve reached the home of Jack O’Rourke and Lauren O’Rourke, who and how may I help?” the man greets, placing the side of his head against the cold entrance’s metal surface. Always hesitant, the couple run through their usual process, the husband speaking to those on the outside whilst his wife sneaks toward a stepladder off to the side, allowing her to climb a set of levels high enough to see the parties on the other side through a set of narrow windows. “Your boss” a familiar woman’s voice replies from the other side, putting a reluctance over the hesitant face of Jack, whose eyes take toward his ascending wife for clarity. With widened eyelids, Lauren looks at the person standing in the cold, Canadian weather awaiting a reply, having arrived with a group of four armoured cars. Only able to see the top of their visitor’s head, the newly-recoloured blonde hairs give the woman a sneaking suspicion that their visitor is the undesired kind. “I think it’s Charlotte” Lauren whispers as quietly as she can, though her hiss-like tone is incapable of escaping the ears of the compound’s leader. “Bingo” Charlotte doubles down from the other end of the garage, her knuckles tapping against its exterior for a second time as she requests entry, “hurry up and open this thing- it’s cold out.” As if momentarily blinded by a rage that discourages common sense, Jack’s hand instinctively reaches for the weapon on his hip whilst his wife closes in, quickly approaching his side. “What do you wanna do?” she murmurs in so low of a voice that she’d barely done more than move her lips, unable to receive an answer from the man for the first few seconds. “Open the door” Charlotte interjects, having pressed the side of her head against the makeshift-workshop’s entrance and listened in through the thin materials. “I’m in charge of this place, so I’ll find another way inside if you really force me to” she doubles down, unzipping the winter coat that’s thin in comparison to those other residents would wear, and shedding it as if she weren’t just used to the bitter chill in the air, but were fond of it. Biting his tongue, Jack aids his wife in pulling the entrance open, throwing it upward once raised high enough and looking into the face of a woman whose sight makes his blood boil- even in the frigid temperatures he now exposes their home to. “But yeah, this was definitely the option you and your honey would’ve preferred” Charlotte remarks, continuing the line of speech the garage’s opening had interrupted, “it’s a good thing you chose it.” “What do you want?” Lauren wonders aloud, aware that her husband’s paralysation of reason has rendered him incapable of having the conversation she now must bear, watching as the woman steps into their shared workshop. “Well, I’d like for it to be summertime again. It’d be nice not to spend so much energy sending people out to clear the streets and dig cars out of mini-Mt. Everist’s” Charlotte replies, letting her t-shirt-laiden arms hang by each side, “but you two can’t control that.” Standing in the workshop’s centre, the compound’s leader stares at the married couple with a smile, inspecting each of their visage’s without letting up on her purposefully-shallow expression of pleasure. Looking into the eyes of Lauren, the visitor finds a concerned woman who can’t help but worry that this interaction will only lead to strife, though the fear that she holds is hidden behind a thick layer of feigned confidence, one used in the hope that it’ll prevent the anxiety from discovery. Nodding at the woman, Charlotte’s eyes take to her unlawfully-wedded, his expression nothing less than the polar opposite of his perceived better half. His face holding back an anger that he knows is inappropriate for the circumstance, Jack’s eyes contain a mask of rage that had never been fully allowed to slip or be set aside, the bitter hatred he has for the presence of the woman across from him as clear as day, and unlike that of his wife, isn’t even cared enough to be stowed away. “I heard that the two of you had quite the setup over here” Charlotte remarks, nodding to herself before turning around, her back shown to those whose company she resides within. “I had a member of my guardsmen- a rather high-ranking one, at that- come to me with this suit of chainmail armour he’d purchased from the two of you” she continues, surveying the scene she stands within, fully aware of the kind of people she’s turned away from, “he’d mentioned something interesting to me.” “What is that?” Lauren wonders aloud, watching the woman briefly glimpse back toward her amidst a pause, clearly eager to end this visitation as quickly as she can. Feeling the haste in the woman’s remark, Charlotte stares off at the garage’s depths before her eyes stumble upon a coffee maker in the back of the room. “Does that thing work?” she wonders aloud, pointing in the direction of a jumbled mess of items, different machines and belongings stored off to the side and out of the way, “does that coffee maker work?” “No, it’s broken” Lauren replies, her response prompting the Nova Scotian leader to squint her eyes and smirk. “So, have you just not gotten around to unplugging it?” Charlotte wonders aloud, an eyebrow raised as she begins walking toward the room’s back, each step she takes proving too great of bait for Jack’s expression to not sour over. “Stop” Lauren interrupts, prompting the woman to cease the steps she’d taken toward the machine, even closer to the room’s actual centre than she’d initially been standing within. Aware of her husband’s best attempt at keeping from exploding with a violent temper in the name of revenge, the home’s more ‘of sound mind’ resident voices her own displeasure for the visitation. “Please explain why you’re here and leave” Lauren requests, making her desire to see the Nova Scotian ruler’s departure clear and well-stated, “we don’t appreciate you showing up unannounced. We don’t appreciate you being here any longer than you’ve already been, and we’d like you to leave. So, please tell us what you came here to say and go back to wherever you came from.” With an eyebrow raised, Charlotte looks at the woman who’d spoken to her with such eloquence before taking her eyes toward the man standing beside her. His temper clearly kept at bay for the moment, Jack notices the humoured expression begin to conceal itself well upon his guest’s face, though it's apparent enough for him to notice. “Is that what you’d like?” Charlotte wonders back, looking at the visibly-angry man with a smile in the corner of her face before an unwelcome voice begins to answer her. “Yes, that’s what we’d-” Lauren replies, only for the subject of her response to shake her head and lift a finger in her direction, knowingly contributing to the tensions that stir within the cold garage. “Not you. If I was asking you, I would’ve looked at you” Charlotte reiterates, refusing the woman’s response before redirecting her gaze toward the man she knows to be too spiteful to answer with niceties, “no, I want to hear what Mr. Lauren Salcedo has to say.” Nostrils flaring, Jack stares into the woman’s eyes as she begins to traipse across the ground once more, walking slowly for the direction of himself and his wife. “After all, I’m here to talk business. The gentleman here is half of that same business I’m here to talk about, so what fun can we have if his wife is doing all the talking?” Charlotte doubles down, closing the gap between herself and the fiery husband, a wag of her chin paid toward him, “I’m sure he can speak for himself.” Lips pressed together as they had been since the workshop was opened for the fresh air of the cold, winter afternoon, Jack stares at the woman that soon stops approaching him, only a few metres truly parting their bodies. Ever the antagonist, Charlotte winks at the man whose composed guise begins rapidly slipping, acting as an added source of heat to assist already-boiling water in not only falling over the edge, but clearing it entirely. With the vein in his forehead appearing within his skin, Jack reaches to his hip and frees the pistol from within his own holster, taking the barrel between the eyes of Nova Scotia’s leader. Retrieving their own rifles one after another, the convoy their leader had arrived with take immediate aim at the man holding their commander at gunpoint, though this act fails to intimidate the woman it’s meant to strike fear within, as Charlotte’s smile only deepens, her expression flushed with glee. | “Don’t feel sorry” Courtney remarks, shrugging as she lifts a bottled beer to her lips, a smile worn as she pauses to finish her thought, “I’ve used the ‘I’ve got friends in high places card’ plenty of times. It’s almost a right of passage at this point.” Lifting his eyebrows, Emilio looks back to the plate sitting in front of him, his right hand returning the glass of water to the side of his plate, which allows an as-of-yet untouched burger to tempt the man’s eyes and pallet. “Yeah sure, ‘right of passage’ my ass” Juliet retorts, sitting an unopened beer bottle beside the one Courtney had already nearly finished, which itself sits beside the bottle opener the bartender had left for her patron to use, “how else do you think she gets bottles while everyone else gets their beer in a glass?” “I’m not even sure how you managed to snag glass beer bottles, let alone have any to give her” Emilio replies, shaking his head as he looks at the burger his hands soon claim, “but Juliet, I’ve learned over the last few months to never doubt you. So, however you went about acquiring them, I’m just going to trust that you made sure there were no witnesses.” Nudging the man’s shoulder with her balled fist, the bartender gives him a wink and begins marching back toward the kitchen. “Ever the flirt, Emilio. Yes, you are!” Juliet sarcastically remarks, dipping into the back to man the grill once more as the man she speaks to give her a quick salute. For the next few seconds, the only sounds that come over the counter-sitting pair of colleagues are the noises of a louder dining room than the one that had been present when they’d first met. One side of the room now lined with various billiards tables, dartboards, a ping pong table and a set of foam throwing axe boards, the other is saddled with various booths and tables, of which all are occupied by at least two people. “So what else did you do with your night?” Courtney wonders aloud, taking another sip of her beer whilst Emilio chews his second bite of the burger, “we didn’t see each other after we split up yesterday. What’d you do after you got back to the warehouse?” Shaking his head as he waves his hand dismissively, Emilio refuses any notion of having spent his evening any other way than he usually does. “Same thing, different day. That’s all” he answers, taking a napkin from the holder that reflects the sunlight that shines through the clouds, falling upon the snow-covered streets of society’s last stand, “I went home, I put on a Beatles record, kicked my feet up and fell asleep in my recliner.” Snapping her fingers as her arm zips through the air with a purposefully-animated display of disappointment, Courtney sets her beer down with the opposite hand and playfully picks on her friend’s lack of social life. “I was hoping for some raunchy tale of you falling in love with some dude from the bar- one that’s not this one- and needing to follow your heart or some fairytale bullshit like that” she jokes, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb, “or saving a kid from a burning building.” “No. No kids in burning buildings, no cats stuck in trees, and no gay love found in some back alley tavern” Emilio replies, dismissing the woman’s claims as the amusing fallacies they are, “I saw one weirdo right after you left, drove away and carried on with my night.” “That man probably has a heart that would break if he found out you called him a weirdo” Courtney jokes once more, this time earning a noticeable laugh from her friend, forcing him to pause amidst his efforts of taking another bite from his meal. “That guy didn’t seem like he had a soul, let alone a heart” Emilio rebukes, smiling at the woman as he finishes his thought, following it by sinking his teeth into the patty once more, “plus he’s the opposite of who I’d associate myself with.” “Really? That bad?” Courtney responds, a squint carried in her face as she watches the man gorge himself on the cheese and bacon-covered patty, “in this world? Nah, I don’t believe it.” Shrugging, Emilio lets his doubling-down posture do all the speaking his full mouth cannot, setting the burger down once more before running a paper napkin over the grease-coated corners of his mouth. “When people blabber on about sparking a revolution, you tend to just wave them off and carry on with your day” Emilio replies, listening to the guttural laugh that leaves his acquaintance as she reaches for her beer yet again. “I mean, it definitely threw me off that he knew about my friends and I, but it’s not something I’m foreign to” he proceeds, continuing to speak whilst Courtney leaves him the floor, “the revolution talk is something I’m foreign to, but being recognised isn’t.” “Well you used to be in politics, right? It makes sense that he’d know who you were” Courtney replies, unsure of the point behind the others, “the rest of your group weren’t politicians though, right?” “Franklin was my running mate. My husband was in public a lot when I was mayor, but he wasn’t really involved in the legislation aspect that much” Emilio replies, tossing a french fry into his mouth, “but the others weren’t. Alicia and Lauren were in school, I’m pretty sure Salem was a pilot, Jack worked in a warehouse, and I’ve still got no real idea what the hell Clint and Nessie did before we met.” Though the pieces don’t add up, Courtney dismisses the man just as Emilio does, remaining mute on the topic in spite of holding a litany of questions her friend lacks the ability to answer. “It’s crazy, though. I thought Charlotte had said the people in here were never told about John and us. At least, I could’ve sworn that’s what she said” the burger-enjoying resident continues, finally speaking aloud something that prompts his acquaintance to squint her eyes, “I guess not.” “What do you mean?” Courtney wonders aloud, unsure of whether or not she’s on the same line of thought as her colleague is, “I don’t know that anyone here knows it was you and the others that took down the place in New York. For fucks sake, it took me, like, a year before Charlotte even told me.” “Well, why did this guy know who we were?” Emilio responds, the dismissive and nonchalant attitude he’d spent nearly the last full day treating the interaction with beginning to subside. “I don’t know, how the hell am I supposed to know?” Courtney retorts, defending her insight- or lack thereof- into the discourse she’s only now being informed of, “did you get this guy's name or what he wanted from you?” “Yeah, it was Andrew something” Emilio responds, looking off to the side as his hands press to each side of his forehead, unaware of the widening eyes his friend reacts with as he searches for the name sitting on his tongue’s tip, “Gamble! It was Andrew Gamble.” Her lips just barely parted, Courtney looks into the face of the man that soon turns toward her, taking immediate notice of the shock that comes over her awestruck visage. Silent, Emilio stares at the indescribable expression that holds toward him, only able to read the motivations of fear and dread in her eyes. “And I’m going to assume you already know who he is and there’s something very wrong with him?” Emilio doubles down, trying to use whatever light-hearted enthusiasm he can muster to ease the woman from the stiff and rigid presentation she’d responded to him with. “Don’t ever talk to that man again” Courtney replies, instantly breaking from her apparent code of silence the moment her friend’s remark comes to a halt, an obvious sincerity held behind her words. “Well, I think I made it rather clear that I wasn’t planning to” Emilio replies, still holding the youthful pep within his words, trying to mellow the space shared between himself and his friend, “he gave me the creeps anyway. Seems like a dude that doesn’t socialise.” Falling silent the moment his wrists are taken into the grasp of his business partner’s hands, Emilio looks into the woman’s eyes and awaits her remarks, aware that there is something on her mind she wishes to speak, though she’s yet to fully flesh them out and into words. “I’ll try to explain what I can at some other time, but right now I need you to tell me exactly what he said to you” Courtney declares, her voice kept to a minimum as her stare grows even more intense, “leave nothing out.” | “Drop the weapon!” a man at the front of the convoy commands, his weapon aimed at the back of whom holds the woman’s fate within the reach of his trigger. “No, sir. I’m afraid there’s no need for that” Charlotte retorts, refusing the efforts of her subordinates in spite of the barrel that she spends what could be her final moments staring past, looking into the concentrated eyes of the man whose finger resides within mere centimetres from ending her life. “Mrs. Walters, I’m-” the commander of the ruler’s private security rebukes, kept from speaking any further by the hand that extends past the side of the man holding her at gunpoint. “You’re paid by me to serve whatever purpose it is that I wish for you to. As far as I’m concerned, that includes speaking when spoken to” Charlotte interjects, her passing glance toward the security detail soon returning to the man standing across from her, “I command that you- all of you- lower your weapons.” Reluctant, the man tasked with providing for the Nova Scotian ruler’s every command is forced between a rock and a hard place, the woman he’s sworn to protect now demanding that he do just the opposite. “If you really wanna be given the chance to do this, you might as well let me make sure they give you some room for error” Charlotte whispers aloud, allowing the man who tempts her fate to hear as she steps past, approaching the crew she’s commanded to step down. “If you open fire on what you cannot see, you run the risk of shooting me dead” Charlotte proclaims, stepping to the workshop’s front and reaching for the garage door, “so you are all to hold your fire until this door is opened back up. When it is, you are to remain holding your fire until I tell you otherwise. If anybody fires a shot before then- I’ll have you hanged.” Leaving her troops no other option, Charlotte forcefully pulls the door down of her own volition, sealing herself within the chainmail workshop she’d only intended to visit for a short time. “Why did you do that?” Lauren wonders aloud, asking the question to the same woman that expected nothing less than that being the opening inquiry. Locking the garage’s entrance into place, Charlotte casually strolls back to the spot in which she’d initially stood, allowing herself to be held at gunpoint with a nonchalant smile on her face. “Reason number one is as follows- because I could” the Nova Scotian figurehead replies, letting her arms sway freely by each side, refusing to present either survivor with the faintest sight of hostility, “reason number two is as follows- because we can’t actually talk business until we settle this.” “There’s nothing to settle. You know what you did” Jack replies, watching the grin on the face of the woman he has every reason to kill only increase with his remarks. “Correct. I do know what I did. I took a group of my guards to a warehouse because I needed to know where to find John” Charlotte responds, only beginning her recollection, “John didn’t have any current address on his military records, so I went to his wife’s workplace and found it through her. You lot were there too.” “You tried to kill Tyler. You tried to kill all of us” Jack responds, his claim left unrefuted by the woman he torments with his firearm, “I don’t know why John let you go, but I should’ve never given him the chance.” Tucking her hands into the pockets on her camo pants, Charlotte nods along with all of her aggressor’s comments, allowing them to be voiced and left to linger, aware of the undertones provided by the fact that she’s still yet to be sentenced to death. “Yup. I did all of that” the woman responds, shrugging her shoulders as she shakes her head, passing a look toward Lauren, who splits her sights between the man she loves and the leader she fears he’s about to take unrecoverable action against. “I didn’t pull the trigger, but my men certainly put two-face on the verge of death. I nearly killed the lot of you, and yeah- it caught me by surprise that the Cowboy just sent me on my way” Charlotte responds, again shrugging, “so kill me.” With wide eyes, Lauren’s stare darts toward the Nova Scotian leader whilst her husband’s remain unchanged, his anger-filled visage keeping as steady as the hand he aims the gun with. “I’m a menace to society, you practically said it there yourself. You and John and the others were all so much better off without me. You lot kept that place running in tip top shape” Charlotte doubles down, the sarcasm in her voice beginning to grow obvious, “and clearly this place won’t be affected by my death.” “Yes it would” Lauren interrupts, watching the compound’s leader glare in her direction, “yes, Jack- it definitely would.” “Of course it would. The economy would crash, there’d be a power vacuum left in my wake, and the things under the surface that aren’t so pretty would bubble to the top and make a big fucking mess. Hell, this place would probably crumble within two weeks, but at least Jack would have gotten his revenge” Charlotte replies, the words she speaks implying this entire altercation is as ridiculous as the words she utters, “that’s what’s important, isn’t it Jack? You and your revenge.” “This isn’t about me. It’s about what you did- about who you hurt” Jack reiterates, clearly speaking from a place within his mind that’s rooted itself within a deep and well-guarded vendetta. “Of course it is. This has nothing to do with you. This is all about Tyler, and Janice, and Reggie, and Shauna. This is about them” Charlotte retorts, her voice carrying the most obvious hint of sarcasm yet, “and getting revenge for them is way more important than looking after Lauren, right?” Keeping his mouth shut, Jack stares at the woman he’s waited years to hold in this position whilst his wife watches on in equal silent, waiting for the discourse to subside however it will, unable to truly influence it without being talked down by either party. “All of those people are dead. They’re really fucking dead. They’re so dead that they’re yesterday’s news” Charlotte pokes, “but getting revenge for them is worth ruining Nova Scotia. It’s worth sending the missus out into the cold.” “Jack, please” Lauren murmurs aloud, not feeling the need to say anything more than that, believing that her husband can fill in the blanks that she leaves for him to inspect. “Yes, Jack. Please tell Lauren how important it is that you put a bullet in my head. Tell her how it’ll bring your friends back from the dead and finally make right on what I’d done to them” Charlotte replies, reaching for a stool she soon takes a seat upon, unphased by the situation she’s surrounded by. “You deserve to die. You don’t know what we had to go through out there. You don’t realise what it was like in those first few weeks” Jack rebukes, his steady arm wearing the veins presented from his tight grip on the weapon. “It was a miracle that Tyler made it at all. All of those sleepless nights worrying he’d stop breathing. All of those days where I thought it was my fault for what happened” he continues, “what you did to Janice, what you did to John, it was-” “It was unforgivable. Yeah, I agree. That’s why I’ve never asked for forgiveness. And not for nothing, but I couldn’t fucking care less whether or not you gave it to me” Charlotte replies, still as carefree as the second she’d stepped foot in the workshop, “but I’ve said it since before you lot took New York down, and I’ll say it until I’m dead- which could be at any second thanks to you- I was right. John was wrong, I was right, and people had to die en masse to prove that.” Letting the air settle, Charlotte pauses for a moment before hanging her head, letting her index and middle fingers press together and rub against the side of her head. “But let’s not pretend like you and your friend haven’t already done worse by now” she proceeds, having allowed her past to be dug into, and now taking the opportunity to do much the same, “it wasn’t just the people in New York that your actions got killed, it was the people in Sheol, and the people in Sun City.” “No one’s perfect” Jack replies, aware of how poor that defence is, but admitting within himself that he has no better. “So why is it that I am the one standing trial here?” Charlotte quickly retorts, not allowing the off-hand and lazy excuse go unnoticed, “don’t even bother answering that question. The answer is a lot simpler than anything you could answer it with. I’m standing trial because this is all about how you never got the chance to take me out yourself.” Aware of how little his last poorly-attempted reply was, Jack chooses to remain silent this time around, instead opting to let the woman continue speaking whilst holding his weapon upon her. “Janice and John would’ve loved this shot, but they’re not alive to actually take it like you are. That’s why this is happening. The only way this ends is by you killing me right here, or you finally getting the chance to choose to put the gun down. There’s no third option.” Whilst his teeth press together, Jack looks into Charlotte’s unimpressed eyes whilst his ears catch the various voices beyond the locked garage door chatter amongst each other, all as uncertain over what’s unfolding as part of himself is. “On one hand, you can shoot me and the guys outside that door will do with you whatever it is they’ll do with you” the woman continues, able to make a sophisticated guess over how that option will play out. “I’ll die and they’ll probably arrest you. You’ll be hanged, but Lauren will probably be allowed to walk free. You’ll get to say a goodbye before they pull the floor out from beneath you- literally- and she’ll watch you die. How romantic” Charlotte chirps, carrying on, “then, Nova Scotia will fall into disrepair, a man who you don’t need to know about will sever communications from Prince Edward Island, and the people will rise and revolt. This will all fall into the hands of chaos.” “But there’s another option” Lauren interjects, again finding herself cut off by the remarks that the Nova Scotian overseer doubles down on, speaking into detail just as she had with the prior point. “Yes. You can choose to put that gun down, move on with your life and stop keeping yourself up at night with regret over not killing me when you had the chance” Charlotte concludes, crossing her arms in anticipation, “you can move on, care for your wife, and live out your days satisfied.” “For the love of god, Jack. Please put the gun down” Lauren remarks, her pleas made as the talkie on Charlotte’s hip begins to fill the air, an unfamiliar voice to them calling for her immediate response. “We’ve seen worse than what she’s done to us. The least she can do is keep this place running so we don’t have to fight for every meal all over again. And she can’t do that when she’s dead” Jack’s voice of reason proceeds, “make her pay us back by having to keep this place running.” “That’s one way of looking at it, but sure- it applies all the same” Charlotte confesses, shrugging her shoulders as she reaches for the talkie, responding to the voice on the other end as Jack turns his attention toward his wife. With weighted eyes, the man drowns out the voice of the Nova Scotian forewoman, allowing her to address the woman calling for her immediate action whilst sitting with his thoughts. “It’s time to let go of the past” Lauren admits, disheartened at having to talk her husband down from the moment he’d been anticipating for all too long, but aware of what needs to be agreed upon. “If Tyler or Janice were here, they’d tell you to put the gun down. They’d hate having to do it, but they’d still tell you to” Jack’s other half concludes, taking her husband’s free hand into her own and squeezing it tight. “Call Courtney and let her know as well. I’ll try to make it out there as soon as I’m done here” Charlotte remarks, already having prepared to walk out of the garage unscathed. “Jack, I’ve got somewhere else to be urgently, but I already know you’re not going to shoot me” the confident woman remarks, watching the grimace she’s reacted to with present itself upon the man’s face, “I’ll have someone else come up and work with you on what I was going to propose, but you’ve gotta make your call now.” Scowling, Jack looks the busy woman in the eyes and lets out a sigh, focusing on the touch of his wife’s warm palm pressing into his own, his mind eased from the cliff he’d prepared to leap over the edge of within her comfort. Lowering the gun, the small business’ patriarch turns the lock on the garage and kneels down, pulling the entrance open to grant the woman her exit, “go. Get out” he concludes, pointing in the direction of her awaiting convoy. With no more than a nod, Charlotte bows her head and steps off the stool, reupholstering her talkie before stepping out of the workshop, refusing to speak another word to the man she knows was lured into the decision he’d made, but had the literal chance to lower the gun for himself. | “You’re sure he was from Prince Edward Island?” Charlotte responds, shaking her head as she passes another look toward the laminated identification card within her grasp. “It’s got the same confirmation stamp we had all residents staying put get during that first year. He’s from over the bridge” Courtney doubles down, hands reaching for both sides of her waist. “So what the fuck was he doing outside the front walls?” Charlotte whispers, though the haste in her voice accidentally makes it loud enough for the nearby hospital patient to overhear. “The better question is why he and the rest were perched up in trees” Salem rebukes, stepping past the leader’s armed security detail with a limp, her calf muscle bandaged, stitched, and treated for infection all within the same day. “Well, if you’re so inclined to get in my business and we’re going to go down that route, why were you out there in the first place?” Charlotte replies, genuinely curious as to the woman’s motivations, “the kid you were with said you’d heard something in the forest, but I know he’s covering for your ass. There’s no way you heard something that far into the woods, and I know damn well you’re the kind to just wander off into nowhere looking for trouble.” “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered” Salem mocks, pressing her arm into the hallway’s corner so as to take the weight off her bad leg whilst a caring voice calls out from a few metres behind her. “Salem, you need to get off that leg” Emilio remarks, finally rounding the same corner that his friend had approached, having not realised his business partner and compound leader were within an arm's reach. “You obnoxious cunts never fail to amaze me. What, do you fuckers travel in packs or something!? Jesus!” Charlotte quips, rolling her eyes and spinning around as her right hand woman takes over. “Guys, I’m sorry but we really need to talk in private right now” Courtney remarks, her passive request for privacy refused and ignored by the wounded woman who limps for the intel carried within the hands of the community’s overseer. “I took a bullet to get that card for you. It was important to the other guy I shot- for whatever reason- and I think I’ve earned the right to know why” Salem explains, brushing off the hand Emilio tries to rest upon her shoulder, “and I think, since I’m pretty sure you know what I’m more than willing to do, you lack the guts to tell me otherwise to my face.” “Salem, you- as a survivor- frighten me greatly. I’ve never denied that, I never will deny that, and will always consider you to be a different breed of confusing, complicated, and badass human altogether” Charlotte replies, not shying away from offering the woman the credit she’s due, “but regardless of what you do and don’t want, there are some things that you and your friends are just not meant to learn about. It’s not even just a ‘you guys’ thing, that applies for the general public.” “Actually, I’m not sure we can keep it a secret anymore” Courtney interjects, watching her superior glance toward her with the look of confusion, “at least, I don’t think we can keep it secret from them anymore.” Covering her face with her hand, Charlotte sits with the woman’s remark in spite of not being offered a reason, trusting her close confidant enough to take her at her word. “Gamble introduced himself to Emilio last night. And before you say anything, Emilio only told me about it about two hours ago” Courtney explains, watching Charlotte’s eyes widen as they fall upon her once more, the leader’s gaze soon redirecting itself toward the man in question before her eyelids press together yet again. “He didn’t spill the beans on much, but he made it clear that something was going to happen- and you weren’t going to win” Courtney explains, pressing her teeth together and grimacing as the Nova Scotian leader turns around, slowly walking away with her head lowered. “We both know he’s aware of them and what they did in New York, but if we don’t tell them about Gamble now, he’s gonna get to them sooner or later” the bartering paramotorist declares, “we’ve gotta beat him to the punch.” “Who the fuck is Gamble and what does he have to do with the wallet I pulled off the dead guy?” Salem wonders aloud, wanting to know whatever she can in return for the wound she’d taken in Nova Scotia’s name. “He’s the guy that sent those fuckers into the woods. I don’t know what they were doing there, but they were there on his orders” Charlotte confesses, letting out a sigh as she comes to grips with what her hand has been forced into, “he’s in charge of a rebellion group out in PEI.” “There’s only one?” Salem suddenly wonders aloud, paying the compound’s leader an off-hand jab before bowing her head, humorously apologising before falling silent. “Yes, there’s only one. At least- that we know of” Charlotte replies, turning back with her arms crossed and reapproaching Courtney, allowing the truth behind what she’s now forced into to settle, “but, if I’m going to tell either of you anything more, I guess I’ll have to tell all of you.” “The others are at Alicia and Franklin’s flat. We were supposed to meet them for dinner until Salem- well, y’know” Emilio responds, watching Courtney’s head nod before falling toward the ground, “I just talked to them a few minutes ago. They’re still there.” “Then let’s not waste anymore time. I already hate this as is” Charlotte replies, beginning the retreat for the convoy that had taken her to the hospital whose halls they now occupy for the time being, “Fly-girl, governor, and pirate leg- let’s go.” Stepping through the corridors without a second thought, Charlotte leaves the trio behind to watch her depart, not one of them confident that they’re to just blindly follow her. Without much of an alternative to lean toward, Courtney leads the charge in following after her superior whilst Emilio aids Salem onward, her rifle kept in tow as they continue through the nearest set of doors, joining the leader of the community in her reluctant march toward the home of those she has little care for. == Rise == Stepping into the commons area with two cups of coffee and wrapped in a heavier winter coat than most department stores would be willing to sell, Harvey approaches a lonely cafeteria-like table near the back of the room, his right eyebrow raised. “Chilly?” he wonders aloud, extending one of the coffees to the woman heavier-dressed than he is, her mitten-covered hands coupling together to graciously accept the piping hot beverage.
“Very” Katie replies, watching her friend round the table and take a seat opposite her, a smile worn in the corner of his face. “Why don’t you look more cold? You are cold, right?” she inquires, watching the casual facade her acquaintance walks with at an almost-loss for words. “It’s chilly, but I’m not- that” Harvey retorts, pointing at the comforter-like coat draped over the small-in-comparison shoulders of his colleague, “you look like you robbed a Burlington Coat Factory.” “Because it’s cold!” Katie proclaims, popping the beverage’s lid off to revel in the warmth of lifting steam, “didn’t you say we were close to Greenland or something?” Squinting, Harvey stares off at the ceiling for a moment as he ponders a reply, eyes taking to the exposed ventilation units left uncovered by anything even as small and light as cardboard tiles. “We’re closer to southern Newfoundland, so we’d have to cross the rest of it northbound and then cross the Labrador Sea” he soon concludes, shrugging with a nod, “but yes, then we’d be in Greenland.” Shaking her head, Katie begrudgingly pulls one mitten off before taking her drink into that hand, the smallest sip taken without the slightest bit of care over the burn it gives the roof of her mouth. “All I want is to go home” Katie replies, shaking her head whilst bouncing her leg, eagerly anticipating her reunion with temperatures far warmer to the polar-like conditions she’s come into. “Unless we’re amongst the unfortunate few that have to stay here, we’ll get that wish when this place is back online” Harvey responds, crossing one leg over the other whilst resting his arms against the table’s top, “Gamble wants this place operational- not fortified. Count our lucky stars for that.” “Gamble wants a lot of things that Gamble doesn’t seem to get” Katie quips, a conclusion that her friend can’t bring himself to agree with. “He wanted nationhood and got the closest thing to it, he wants this plant online, he wanted to use the soil on that island you and your friends used to live on-” Harvey rebukes, shaking his head as his bottom lip protrudes outward, “-independence is the only thing he hasn’t gotten as far as I can see it... And even that is arguable.” Wearing a dismissive frown, Katie presses her eyelids shut and hangs her head toward the drink, letting the heat hit her face whilst the air around her remains cold. Trying to find a state of peace that can bring her comfort from the winter chill, the woman’s mind goes quiet, her thoughts dumbing into nothingness as the willingness to picture herself anywhere but within the northeastern tip of Canada fades, replaced by a dark emptiness as frosty as the wind chill outside. “Falling asleep on me?” Harvey wonders aloud, his words hitting the woman’s ears before earning a delayed shake of her head, not a verbal response to be returned to him. Nodding to himself, the man takes the silent front being put on as an excuse to sit with his own thoughts, keeping them to himself as he uses the speech-less quietude between himself and his partner to stare at the nearby window, seeing little more than the accumulation of snow that had fallen over the last three days. In the distance, metal trays make contact with an expansive wooden countertop, sliding down its length little by little and being coated in one clump of food after another. In other corners, fellow members of the independence-seeking island gather around tables talking with each other whilst others sit on their lonesome, reading a book beside the shelf they’d likely borrowed it from. “Why did it take so long to get up here?” Katie inquires, her voice bringing an end to their shared silence. “What was that?” Harvey questions back, unsure of what’s being asked as he searches for context. “The refinery. You said it mattered a great deal to Gamble and that he’s been after controlling it for a while now” the woman doubles down, shrugging her shoulders beneath the bundles she’s covered in, “why did it take him so long to get up here and start putting it back online?” His expression shifting as if he’s been provided enough clarity to answer, Harvey steps out of his seat, growing more acclimated to the frostbite-esque weather enough to pull his coat’s zipper down. “Well, for a start, it takes a while to get here. He wanted to make sure the port was clear enough to drop people off by boat instead of taking the roads deep into Quebec” Harvey begins, approaching a nearby bookshelf and retrieving the first green-coloured hardcover he lays eyes on. “After that, we needed to clear all routes from both the south and the west, to actually get to this place” he proceeds, taking a glance at the cover of “In Defence of Witches” with intrigue, “and finally, it’s always felt like he was hoping to be cut off from Nova Scotia by then. The less red tape to cut through- the better.” “It didn’t interest Nova Scotia to have another refinery consolidated within their possessions?” Katie retorts, unsure of what sense such a case makes, “that doesn’t make much sense.” “Neither does letting Gamble have it” Harvey rebukes, returning the book to the shelf before pulling free a copy of “Losing the Battle, Winning the War” with a smirk, “Nova Scotia would’ve known what Gamble’s play was the second they started hearing about activity in Newfoundland.” “And he thinks they won’t hear about it now?” the cold woman replies, watching her friend’s shoulders shrug as he returns the book to its assortment of friends. “I’m sure he knows they’ll get word of this eventually” Harvey assures, finally pulling free a soft-cover copy of “Till We Become Monsters” and nodding, “what his play is here- I have no idea. I’m not sure what he knows or what he doesn’t. I- just like you- am here because I was told to be here.” Reclaiming his seat opposite the bundled-up survivor, Harvey places his book onto the table’s surface and retakes his beverage, lifting it to his lips before beginning to read the first page. “That’s it? You’re not even gonna try to convince me that you love it out here?” Katie wonders, finding it odd that the man wouldn’t amusingly try to convince her of a blatant lie. “It may be cold on the island, but it’s at least tolerable” Harvey responds, shaking his head as he briefly glances toward the girl’s direction, “the weather up here is more akin to a bad joke gone even worse than planned.” “And yet you’re here. You’re dressed in the same kind of stuff you’d wear going out on the island, and you’re reading a book in some glorified cafeteria” Katie remarks, watching the man with a squint in her eye as a fellow resident walks by with a steaming tray of mashed potatoes and string beans. “I’m a man. In case you’re too young to remember chivalry, it’s us that are expected to give up our jackets when it’s cold outside” Harvey replies, looking back down to his novel’s opening line, “why do you think Ms. Wilcox invented the car heater?” “Ms Who?” Katie replies, watching the man take a brief sabbatical from answering her questions in order to lift his hot drink for a sip. “Margaret Wilcox- she invented the heating system in cars?” Harvey responds, an eyebrow raised in the direction of the lady opposite him. “Why would you expect me to know that?” the woman questions, peering past the pile of warmth she’s the centrepiece of. “Well, I’d always just assumed you were all about ‘girl power’ and such before the old world got turned upside down” Harvey replies, flipping back to his read’s table of contents for a brief second, “you can’t really champion women honestly without knowing what they’ve accomplished, now can you?” “If anything, I’m more concerned with how you knew who invented the vehicular heating system than anything women have done” Katie answers honestly, watching her friend chuckle with amusement. “We all had our own lives in the old world, Katie. Does that surprise you?” Harvey retorts, shaking his head as he closes the book’s cover, his index finger placed on the page he’d attempted to begin reading, “I liked to learn before I spent a few good months slaughtering those undead freaks.” “What did you do?” Katie wonders aloud, brushing off the man’s following comment before watching his silent glance fall upon her, again looking for further context, “what was your job before everything happened?” “I was a lawyer” the man quickly replies, gently pulling his book closer to the drink he reaches for another sip of, “why does that matter?” “It doesn’t” Katie replies with equal haste, smelling the scent of gravy that wafts off the tray another survivor passes her with, “it’s just nice to know what people used to be.” Dismissive of the claim, Harvey juts his chin to the side and reopens his book, eyes taking to the opening page whilst his colleague stares at him, not having anything on her mind so much as she is just preferring to keep her gaze upon her welcomed company, beginning to warm in the face of the great northern chill. = 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 = “Come on in” Emilio chirps, stepping aside with the door to his friend’s apartment open, watching Clint and Nessie drag a heavy ice chest into the kitchen. “Jesus, guys! When you said you were bringing over crab legs, I thought you meant a bag of them!” Alicia declares, climbing out of her seat near the back of the living room whilst her husband steps out of a nearby bedroom, their child’s diaper and clothes changed. “Oh relax, this isn’t all for you” the siblings reply, lowering the massive container onto the ground just before the open fridge, one bag after another taken off the mountain of ice within and placed into the largest shelf. “This was probably our best catch all year” Clint remarks, taking one bag from his sister after another and loading it into the apartment’s cooling unit, “the entire goddamn boat was listing nearly forty-five degrees with how heavy the damn net was.” Letting the flat’s tenants step past him whilst shielding his bottled water from any accidental bumping, Emilio stands near the corner of the room watching one claw-wrapped creature after another be stuffed into the cold box at the back of the room. “How many credits do these things sell for?” he wonders aloud, watching the religious fisherman continue claiming one future-dinner after another from his sister before finding room within the chilled compartments. “Around one hundred to one hundred and fifty, I guess?” Clint replies, stuffing hundreds of credits-worth of crab into the apartment’s rather compact refrigerator. “I guess we’re lucky you like us so much, huh?” Franklin jokes, earning a side-eye from his wife, who’s resigned herself to accepting the future feast being unloaded into their cooler. “You sure are, haha!” Nessie replies, continuing to hand her brother one restrained crab after another whilst knelt beside their ice-filled chest. “Are you sure you’re alright with just giving us all of this for free?” Franklin soon wonders aloud, partially feeling guilty for accepting a gift as lofty and expensive as the ones being stuffed into his fridge. “Dude, I’m pretty sure we caught a few hundred thousand credits-worth of these things in one trip” Clint responds, assuring the man he’s to have no guilt over the luxury he’s been appreciatively afforded, “this is just a drop in the bucket- and we’re more than happy to leave it for you.” Left with little other choice, Franklin continues to hold his infant son whilst the siblings direct the conversation elsewhere. “Speaking of credits- you have enough of the bartering life yet, Emilio?” Clint inquires, flashing the man a smirk before stuffing the final crab into the nearest chilled drawer. “Not in the slightest” the man replies, shrugging his shoulders as he prepares to sip from his plastic bottle, “Courtney and I have a run across the bridge in an hour or so.” “Out on P.E.I?” Alicia questions back, looking at the man from over her shoulder just as her husband does. “Yep. I’m not sure what Courtney’s got us slated to pick up, but whatever it is will be worth the sixty-four packages of double-A batteries we’re exchanging for it” Emilio replies, nodding as his claim catches the ear of the woman across the room from him. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the scepticism toward the banks, but I don’t understand why so many people choose bartering over the credit system” Nessie responds, the uncertainty visible in her face. “Because the bank can fail, the compound can fail, the credits can go down in value- so on and so forth” Emilio replies, swallowing his water before continuing, “people want to fuck, drink, smoke, and get high. Drugs, cigs, liquor, and condoms will never not be valuable.” “I can’t say I disagree” Clint responds, locking the cooler’s lid shut to keep the ice within from melting any quicker than it’s already prepared to, “but then again, our boat makes it impossible for bartering to be more valuable to us than the credits.” “No one size fits all- to each their own” Emilio replies, lifting his water bottle into the air whilst Clint accepts a glass bottle from Alicia, saluting his friend from across the room all the same before popping the cap off and taking a swig. With night now having fallen and the journey across the Confederation Bridge completed, Emilio joins his business partner in retrieving a set of briefcases from the trunk of their shared sedan. “I’m just saying this is an odd place to meet for a trade” he remarks, defending his position whilst slamming the vehicle’s trunk shut, “if you’re trading for a boat, it makes sense to meet at a pier. Trading a car? A parking lot makes sense. But trading for a trailer? Why meet in an old warehouse?” “How am I supposed to know why our partners choose the locations they choose?” Courtney retorts, unsure over why the question asked is being directed toward her. “Sure, that would make sense if not for that small oversight of these aren’t our partners” Emilio responds, calmly offering the woman a hint of sarcasm amusing enough to bring about a chuckle, “we don’t know them from any random schmuck on the side of the street.” “We know the people that know them” Courtney replies, taking the lead of the pair whilst her colleague carries the pair of leather-bound briefcases in tow. “One way or another, we don’t really need to care about where we’re meeting them as long as they have what we want” she continues, stepping through the decrepit building’s entrance with her acquaintance closely behind, “we need more storage space and we need better transportation for the big shit. This trailer will help immensely.” “Of course it will. I can understand that as much as I’d hope you’d be able to understand my scepticism” Emilio rebukes, stepping through the entrance just after the woman, not breaking a sweat over the heavy cases he carries at each side. “I understand, but I’m not going to be moved by it” Courtney jokes, a look over her shoulder paid to the man in her shadow, “when you barter as frequently as we do- and with as high-value things as we do- you’re bound to have quite a rolodex.” “Let me guess- this is just adding a new business card to it?” Emilio interjects, already able to pick out where the woman that stops ahead of him is preparing to go with her end of the discourse. “Exactly” Courtney replies with a smile, turning back to look at the man before carrying on with her journey further into the rundown building’s interior, preparing for the individuals they’re bound to meet within minutes. Extending her arm, Courtney pushes the heavy entrance open and stops in the doorway, eyes widened at the sight of a large group of people gathered within. Surprised for a moment, the woman pauses in the entrance before stepping further inside, a cautious yet guard-lowered Emilio following her lead. “Well we weren’t expecting you for another half hour or so” she mutters aloud, a slight squint in her eye as her colleague follows closely behind, “and we didn’t expect so many of you either.” “Yeah, we left the trailer in the lot a few streets over” an older man replies, his hair still holding a faded brown colour to it, though his face wears the wrinkles of a man in her early-fifties at best. “The streets down below are a little too crowded to leave such a big hunk of junk just laying around” he continues, stepping away from a small gaggle of his peers to approach the woman, a set of keys carried in his hand, “besides, the only decent place for us to park was that parking garage.” “We’re not too familiar with this place, but it was the easiest spot to exchange the trailer” a second man replies, the youth in his eyes making it clear that he’s at least a decade younger than the first man. “Y’all have got the batteries, right?” the first man inquires, watching Emilio step forward and place each briefcase on the ground, one by each side as he picks himself up. “And all sixty four are there, right?” the younger man inquires, watching the nod Emilio gives him reply with the answer the woman voices aloud. “All seven hundred and sixty eight, yeah” Courtney replies, watching the nod on the first man respond to her as he lowers himself to the ground, reaching for the handles on each case. “Uh-uh-uh. Not so fast” Emilio interrupts, stepping out in front of the cases with his hand outward, gently pressing into the older man’s chest and preventing him from getting any lower. “You’ve got the man power to keep us to our deal, so we want a little bit of security first” he remarks, not allowing even the faintest contact of either man’s hands with the property they’ve yet to exchange, “give us the keys and we’ll leave you with the cases.” “I just wanted to take a look inside. Y’know, make sure it’s all there?” the first man responds, watching Emilio’s foot gently swing forward before swiping in the opposite direction, his heel kicking the case with a loud thud. As if containing more weight than a rack of dumbbells, the briefcase barely reacts at first before slowly falling backward, landing onto the dirt-covered cement ground with a loud impact. “We were recommended to you by the same people that recommended you to us” Emilio replies, not allowing the man the peak inside he was hoping for, “we’re good for our word.” Though she’d entered the building with high hopes and the dismissive optimism of a seasoned negotiator, Courtney’s suspicions begin to outweigh her open-mindedness, making room for the same scepticism she’d made an attempt at speaking out of her colleague’s system. “Easy partner, I don’t see why we have to be so hostile here” the first man replies, lifting both hands up in a show of surrender before slowly offering one toward the man across from him, “I’m David.” Taking a look down at the man’s hand, Emilio takes the hand hanging by his right side and gently presses the man’s hand into a fist, casually guiding it back to his person. “I’m Emilio. And just like my partner Courtney, we were told there’d be two of you” he responds, not offering the man any niceties, but making certain to pay him the respect of remaining civil. “We’re the only two negotiating here” the second man replies, a little less pleasant to interact with than his older contemporary, though still following the decent and courteous example presented to him. “I see five gentlemen standing behind you, and-” Emilio begins to respond, peering over his shoulder just as Courtney does at the sound of the entrance they’d stepped through being shut by an eighth man they’d yet to notice. “-and a sixth standing behind us” he corrects himself, turning back to look David in the eyes, a gentle shake of his head, “you’ve clearly got someone watching all the exits. So, hand me the keys, and I’ll stand right here whilst you inspect your batteries.” Though David still wears a grin, it’s significantly lowered from where it had been upon the gracious front he’d attempted to erect. Growing more anxious by each passing second, Courtney slowly reaches her left hand behind her back, trying to keep from making any sudden moves in front of the people that now present her with an ominous display. Though he’s caught onto the malicious intentions their bartering partners appear to present, Emilio refuses to show an ounce of relent. With his head hung, David extends his hand toward his younger acquaintance, preventing him from stepping forward any further than he already has. “EJ- don’t” the man warns, the sudden step forward prompting Courtney’s ever-sneaking hand to move the rest of the way toward her concealed weapon. “Don’t think about it, girl” the man responsible for closing their entrance warns, pulling his own weapon from the waistband of his pants and holding the barrel of it toward the woman. “Hold your fire, big guy” David exclaims, his hand held outward toward the man behind the pair he’s meant to barter with, watching Courtney turn around to face the man with a gun drawn at her, yet to release her own firearm from the hem of her pants. “Everyone should be holding their fire right now” Emilio rebukes, not an ounce of concern held within the vibrato of his voice, his expression unchanged as it lingers on the man across from him. What you should do is try not to make an enemy out of- perhaps- the most trusted barterers on the market” Emilio warns, looking David in the eye and refusing to break the visual contact, “screw us out of that trailer and this will be the last good-faith negotiation you ever take part in, if you can even call it that at this point.” “Emilio, settle down” Courtney remarks, trying to ease the man from the position of power he doesn’t have, and yet still attempts to utilise. “It’s fine, Courtney. As a matter of fact, I think David and I can handle this mano-a-mano” Emilio replies, looking to the same side that the man across from him does, finding a surprised and vehemently-refusing woman looking back at him. “No-the-fuck the two of you don’t” Courtney retorts, her hand still holding the grip of her pistol within her clenched palm, a passing glance taken at the men she’s supposedly meant to trust with business from here on out before looking at the man with the weapon held at her. “The last thing I need is for someone to get hurt here. I’m unarmed, and I’ve got no one other than Courtney in my corner here” Emilio replies, trying to make yet another negotiation with his adversary. “This negotiation isn’t settled yet. As far as I’m concerned, it’d be better if the bunch of you allowed this woman to leave unharmed so we can finish up in here” Emilio continues, looking David in the eyes as his acquaintance stares at him with an open mouth. Left in disbelief at the man’s attempt at persuading the men to grant her permission to depart, Courtney fails to come up with words of refusal she wishes to speak, the silence left in her pauses allowing their untrustworthy foes to think. Passing a glance to the younger man behind himself, David eyes the other unnamed men standing behind him before puckering his lips, pleased with the defence they’ve erected in the event this offer doesn’t turn out as advertised. “Big guy, let the lady leave” he concludes, the response only widening the look of shock that spreads across Courtney’s face. “I’ve got this covered from here, Court’” Emilio immediately reassures, looking to his side to find the woman’s face, “I promise.” Unable to express the conflicted feeling suppressed within her, Courtney continues to stare at the man before briefly looking back at the guard holding his weapon on her as he steps aside, eyes soon taking back to the man she struggles to justify leaving behind. “Seriously... Go” Emilio reiterates, watching the woman gingerly step forward to accept the offer, begrudgingly moving onward to the safety she knows her partner has yet to be guaranteed, “if this gets ugly, you’re better off out there than you are in here.” “How heroic” EJ quips from afar, earning a passing glare from the man he and his group have ambushed with the allure of what they seemingly refuse to offer up. Without much to argue against the proposition, Courtney disheartedly ventures back the way she came, stepping through the door that soon closes on her way out, leaving her friend behind to deal with the situation she’d mistakenly led him into. “I’m gonna take it this isn’t your first rodeo with a threat?” David remarks, an eyebrow raised as he stares at the man whose face contorts into a betrayed, yet confident visage. “Oh, this isn’t my first rodeo-” Emilio replies, unswayed by the closing in of the man’s group, watching them surround him slowly without offering the slightest glimpse of fear, “-but you’re not a threat.” | “The quality is fantastic” a man remarks, holding a set of chainmail pants in front of himself as he stands before an open garage door, the view afforded allows a passing glance at one of Nova Scotia’s many open fields. “That’s because it’s made by hand” Jack replies, wiping his hands off on a rag that he tosses over his shoulder, stepping away from the side of his wife as she counts the paper credits exchanged to her, “well, that and we actually like making this stuff.” “How did you learn to do it?” the pleased patron replies, laying the carefully-crafted chainmail piece with an assortment of others he’d purchased all the same, “I thought this was one of those things that people forgot how to do when the mediaeval times were over?” “It’s not that difficult to take tiny steel rings and fit them into each other, y’know” Lauren retorts from behind the desk she counts the paper credits at, “if anything, it’s getting the steel rings that are challenging.” “I’d imagine so. I’d imagine whatever steel we have would be put into swords and shields and stuff like that” the customer replies, shaking his head before placing his hands upon his hips. “There’s still enough of this stuff for us to keep making this gear, but it gets harder to find as time moves on” Jack retorts honestly, “the price is just gonna continue to go up the harder this stuff is to find. Couple that together with the fact that it’s just us here and, well, it's pretty time consuming.” “The five hundred thousand credit price for a full suit makes a lot more sense then” the man replies, lifting his eyebrows as his eyes take to the open plains just a hop, skip, and jump from the makeshift factory. “Indeed. Luckily, Nova Scotia’s not real-keen on having the biggest and baddest in military-grade bullshit, so we don’t have an entire army to suit” Jack replies, crossing his arms as he joins alongside his satisfied patron, “we’re very happy with our little setup as is.” “I’d imagine” the man replies, listening to his business partner’s wife step out of the seat she’d counted the credits from, a box and a set of plastic bags soon taken into her possession. “Alright, Mr. Ethan. All the credits are there and your suit is complete” Lauren remarks, taking each piece of the chainmail set into her hands and carefully slipping them into individual bags, “thank you for your business.” “Hey, if anyone should be thanking anyone, I should be thanking you” Ethan responds, shaking his head with gratitude as he takes a second bag from the pile the woman had brought over, carefully helping her slip chainmail pieces into individual packaging. “I’ve had a few close calls out there. It may not be bulletproof, but with how sparse those things are becoming- it doesn’t need to be” he continues, sealing his bag shut before moving onto the next one, “you’re helping keep me safe.” “That’s the business we’re in” Jack replies, taking the final chainmail piece into his possession before delicately laying it in another bag, laying it atop the pile of others that reside within the cardboard box their customer is prepared to leave with. Passing a few smiles and nods to each other, the trio prepare to end their exchange with Ethan’s departure, his feet carrying him to the cusp of the garage’s exit before stopping suddenly, a thought coming over his mind that draws him backward. “You would be happy with more, right?” Ethan suddenly inquires, watching the couple’s heads pull away from each other to tend toward his remark, though they’re unable to fully understand what’s being asked of them. “I’m sorry?” Lauren inquires, looking for context their pleased and supportive patron is happy to provide. “This setup is nice and cosy. You’ve got a lot going for you here, and making half a million credits making one piece every, what- Two or three months? That’s great” Ethan explains, crediting the couple with their work whilst providing them the potential fruits of more, “but you’d be happy to do more than that, right? I mean, you’d need a bigger place than this and a bigger workforce, but- you’d be happy to do more, right?” Their eyes inevitably redirecting themselves toward each other, the married couple making a suitable living from the comfort of their home’s storage unit silently stare at each other as if the idea had never been floated between them before. “With a bigger place and actual employee’s- yeah. We’d be open to making more” Lauren replies, taking charge of offering a response before her husband tags along with it, “why do you ask?” Jack inquires. “Oh, no reason. I mean, you guys were suggested to me through a friend. I can imagine I’m not the only one that works outside the compound. Maybe I’m one of the few that actually know about you guys?” Ethan confesses, a shrug in his shoulder accompanying his words, “I’m sure they’d be real interested in the stuff you make here if they did.” “Well as long as they can pony up the credits, we’ll make these pieces for anyone willing to have enough patience” Lauren quickly responds, sensing something deeper than just an empty inquiry just as her husband does. “Our armour isn’t low quality. Doing this shit right takes time, so as long as they’re willing to wait for it to be done right-” Jack adds on, pausing to look at his wife for a moment before setting his eyes upon the customer once more, “-we’re open for business.” Nodding to himself, Ethan smiles to the small business owners and follows through with his departure, carrying his boxed-up suit of armour to the same truck he soon hops behind the wheel of. As nightfall comes over Nova Scotia, the man’s truck ends up finding itself parked in the front lot of the converted city hall his highest-ranking superiors reside within. With a box under his right arm, Ethan rolls through the echo-heavy halls of the once-museum and ventures past one security guard after another, slowly making his way higher upon the chain of command before finding himself outside the office of the leader herself. “Mrs. Walters will see you now” the woman seated behind the nearby desk proclaims, holding the base of her palm to the receiver of the phone she holds, granting the suit-bearing man permission to step forward. “I’ve heard that you have something for-” Charlotte begins to remark, coupling her hands together atop her desk before finding herself cut off by the box being dropped before her, interrupting the woman’s remarks before she even has the opportunity to finish, “-me.” “I’m Ethan Parker. I work with Courtney” the man remarks, greeting the leader of society’s last pillar as she removes the cheaters from over her eyes. “Yeah, I know who you are” Charlotte replies, nodding her head with the least-enthused expression on her face, “do you honestly think I wouldn’t know who’s in the inner circle of my right-hand woman?” “Yes” Ethan replies with both conviction and speed, not wasting a moment in opening the once-taped flaps of the cardboard box he’s let fall before the woman’s eyes. “If this is a bomb, can I at least pour myself a drink before you set it off?” Charlotte half-heartedly remarks, her right eyebrow raised as she tries to poke fun at the interaction, “if I’m going to die, I’d prefer not to do it while sober.” “It’s even better than a bomb” Ethan replies, opening the flimsy container before tilting its contents out, letting the bagged pieces fall upon the woman’s unmoved coupled hands. Confused, the woman lifts the first item, a plastic-wrapped chainmail chestplate, before her eyes and squints, unsure of what she’s supposed to be looking at. “Is this some post-apocalyptic fashion style?” Charlotte wonders aloud, settling for making a joke once realising she has not the first clue of what she’s looking at. “No, but I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it was something tacky from one of those old department stores” Ethan responds, matching his superior’s humour with his own. “Ethan, everything at those old department stores were tacky” Charlotte replies, gently letting the packaged goods she stares at fall back to the desk they were emptied upon, “that still doesn’t answer what this is.” “It’s a set of chainmail armour I just paid half a million credits for” Ethan replies, immediately watching the woman seated behind her desk look up with raised eyebrows. “Chainmail?” Charlotte responds, watching her answer emanate within the grin and nod of the man she asks the question to, “as in the chainmail armour those knights used to use in the olden days?” Again nodding, Ethan is left to watch the woman quickly inspect the rest of the pieces in his set before her back presses into the office chair she occupies. Coupling her hands together- this time on top of the bagged pieces of armour- Charlotte looks up at the man with equal intrigue as equal loss. “Why are you showing me this?” the Nova Scotian leader inquires, puzzled by the presentation and uncertain over what she’s meant to take from it. “Because most of the people in Courtney’s inner circle know about the tensions between you and Gamble. We know the hope is to avoid a war, but hope isn’t something we can just blindly count on” Ethan explains, the deepening squint in the leader’s eyes further presenting her intrigue, “so, in the event things fall through, we have this.” Extending his open hands toward the packaged pieces of armour laid at his superior’s behest, Ethan proposes his solution to the concept of conflict. “Not only is this thing going to protect your army from the undead, but it’ll stop knives, daggers, and swords the guys across the bridge will have to use when they run out of ammo” he continues, trying to strengthen a case he believes is nearly-impenetrable. “Assuming they’ll run low on ammo is as optimistic as hoping that we won’t” Charlotte replies, sitting back in her seat before reclaiming the wrapped chainmail chestplate as she leans to one side. “Even in the event of war, the other colonies can only do so much. Gamble doesn’t just have ammo reserves upon ammo reserves, but he has our ships and heavy artillery” she proceeds, tossing the armour back to her desk once more, “this is just an obstacle to them.” “Just tell me you’ll look into it” Ethan replies, watching the woman’s eyes look up at him as he pleads his case, “it’s better to be safe than it is to be sorry. In the event they do happen to run low on whatever it is they’ve got stocked up, you’ll be glad you had this.” Looking up at the man, Charlotte stares at the face of her subordinate-by-connection before letting out a sigh, sinking further into her seat before coupling her hands in her lap, “who made it?” “This couple out in Scoudouc” Ethan responds, watching the woman’s distant eyes squint at the name of the town, “Jack and Lauren O’Rourke.” in an instant, the nearly pressed-together eyelids of the compound’s leader shoot open, parting at once before rolling toward the distant corner of her office, accompanying a laugh she can’t help but let free from within her core. “Oh THAT’S FUCKING GOLD!” Charlotte exclaims, pushing herself into the comfort of her seat before firing out of it with equal annoyance as awe. “Of course it’s Jack and Lauren- of course it is” she mutters aloud, lowering her shaking head as her hands find her hips, “just take your armour and leave so I can get ready to go pay those fuckers a visit.” “Don’t you need me to give you their address?” Ethan inquires, unsure of the reason behind the wide-eyed stare she responds to him with. “I know where to find them” Charlotte retorts, turning her face back toward the window near the far end of her room with an amused grin she can’t bring herself to conceal. | “I am trying to keep things from getting ugly, you know?” David remarks, bringing into question his adversary’s prior remark, “the big guy behind you only drew his gun ‘cause your girl did. The rest of us have a piece on us, we’re just choosing not to use it.” “And I’m choosing to give you a chance not to make the biggest mistake of your life” Emilio retorts, continuing to speak as if he were in any position of authority in this conversation. “As long as we’re remaining civil, I’ll play along with this dance you seem to wanna take part in” David responds, waving his hand in a circle as if to offer the floor for the man across from him to go on, “enlighten me to what I’m not seeing. Because, from my perspective, there’s nothing off about you.” “Meaning?” Emilio replies, laying the groundwork for the man to provide context. “Meaning anything! You don’t strike me as a killer. I’ve never met you before in my life, but I’ll give you this- you’ve got a rock-solid poker face” David replies, shrugging his shoulders as his hands dig into his pockets, sitting there with little reason to believe they’d be better off out of them, “but that’s what I mean. There’s nothing special about you that makes this seem like a mistake on my part.” “Of course there’s not- it’s her that’s special” Emilio replies, pulling his head back as if the man he’s speaking to is of a lower level than him intellectually, “why do you think I wanted her out of the room?” “And who is she supposed to be?” EJ retorts, waving his hand toward the direction of the recently-departed survivor their trading partner speaks so highly of. “She’s Charlotte’s right hand” Emilio replies both quickly and honestly, watching the eyes of both men standing in front of him squint with his words, “Courtney Golden. She’s the chick you always see flying through the sky when the clouds aren’t out. And if anything happens to me here, word of that will go all the way to the top.” “You’re lying” David responds, letting out a chuckle before feeling the weight of a hand crash against the side of his face. “Did that slap feel like it was delivered by the hand of a man who isn’t completely untouchable?” Emilio hastily wonders aloud, letting his bright-red palm lower back to his side as the men that surround him prepare to ready their weapons, though they struggle to justify doing so without the word of their apparent leader. “Face it, I know who I’ve got in my corner. And I know that if any of you cocksuckers chose to unload a bullet into me, you’ll be the most wanted group of fugitives in a very, very difficult world to hide in” Emilio proceeds, taking one step closer to the man whose face he’d just struck with incredible might, “so what I would do- if I were you- is hand me the keys to my trailer, take these briefcases with you while I’m still allowing you to, and fuck off.” Holding the side of his face whilst fuming, David lets his eyes steady upon those of the confident man across from him, unsure of how to react to what’s been said. Watched on by EJ, the man takes a passing look at those that surround his bartering colleague as he tries to gather his bearings, called into making a decision in that moment. “How the hell did you manage that?” Courtney inquires, climbing into the front seat of the trailer she’s been handed the keys to, speaking to the partner that stands back upon solid ground. “I know I say it a lot, but I used to be a politician. Bartering for things and using my power- whether I had it or not- to get what I want was the name of the game” Emilio responds, tucking a hand into his pocket whilst the other hangs by his side, “I was very good at it.” “I can see that” Courtney replies, patting the driver’s side door to the big rig she prepares to take the controlling seat of, a nod passed to the man standing at the base of it, “well done, partner.” Tipping his non-existent cap, Emilio flashes the woman a smile and turns his back to her, his hand lifting up to wave at her, “drive safely, Madam Flight” he retorts, spinning the keys to the car they’d arrived in on his non-dominant hand. Driving further into Prince Edward Island, Courtney’s big rig travels in the opposite direction as the way in which her acquaintance walks, his smile stretching from one ear to the other, though both catch the voice that calls out for him. “Emilio Vasquez?” a masculine voice calls out, prompting the man’s smile to begin lowering and alert to begin raising. “Who’s asking?” the key-holding man simply intending to return home and prepare himself for bed replies, genuinely unsure of who stands beside his vehicle awaiting his presence. “Oh, forgive me. Sometimes the days are so long that I forget to react to people with manners” the well-dressed stranger replies, his ironed suit and straightened tie shielded from a brief gust of wind by the equally-evened suit jacket flaps, “my name is Andrew- Andrew Gamble.” His guard lifted, Emilio watches the man extended an offered handshake without providing an equal retort, his eyes simply staring at the open-fingered palm awaiting the warmth of his own. “Forgive me, but I just dealt with some people that have left me a little sceptical of friendly fronts” the unsure civilian remarks, watching the man return his hand to his side. “Of course. I understand” Gamble remarks, waiting for the curious man to address his presence as he knows he’s intrigued to do so. “Is there something I can help you with?” Emilio inquires, not needing an invitation in order to question the motivations of who stands before him, “I don’t carry credits on me. So, even though you don’t look like you’re homeless, I can’t help you out if you’re looking for a meal.” “I’m not looking for a handout, Mr. Vasquez. In any matter, I’m not even looking for your help” Gamble proceeds, his stable body standing in front of the once-gubernatorial candidate with unwavering confidence taking the form of a questionable mystique. “I am- however- offering you the opportunity to greatly consider who you’re in bed with” the island’s silent overseer remarks, concealing his identity whilst providing the subject standing within his presence with a thought to chew on. “You may not know who I am, but I know- quite well- who you are” the man continues, his steady voice retaining its calm portrayal and poised cadence, “I know all there is to know about you. Just like I know all there is to know about Alicia, Franklin, Jack, Lauren, and all the rest.” Pressing his eyelids closer together, Emilio inspects the posture of the man presenting himself as some omnipotent guardian, aware that something more than just an uncomfortable demeanour is around the corner. “I also know about those that aren’t here. I know about Janice and Meghan, Troy and Cameron, the Callis family-” Gamble carries on, his eyelids narrowing in the least-noticeable manner that- against all odds- Emilio picks up on, “-Katie as well.” His head pulling up and chin lowering, the man beginning to feel as if he’d been backed into a corner watches the figure of near-equal height yet increasingly-imposing stature step closer. “Mr. Vasquez, I know a lot about you and your inner circle. I know what the lot of you are capable of, and I know what the lot of you are worth” Gamble proceeds, the distance between himself and the man he stands within the line of sight to rendered little more than a few centimetres, “and because of that, I know what kind of people it’d be within your best interest to join alongside, and those people are not in Nova Scotia.” “And you’re supposed to know that because? Because of what? You mention a few people from my past and present and- what? You expect that to rattle me?” Emilio replies, finally meeting the domineering presentation of the island’s quiet keeper with overdue scepticism. “My intentions here are not to rattle you. I have no interest in implying you should keep your eyes open” Gamble responds, making his business clear, “I just want you to be on the right side of history when the chips are down.” “I’m not interested in picking sides. If you know so much about my past, you know I’ve already lost enough people to be done with the bloodshed” Emilio replies, his chin lifting and eyes meeting a level slightly higher than those of the man opposite him. “I know that, but unfortunately, that is what this is all going to come to within due time” Gamble replies, speaking ill of the high hopes his company retains, “the day may come where you no longer must fight, but it is not here yet.” “Are you trying to imply that you’re going to wage war with Nova Scotia?” Emilio inquires, a half-smirk worn in the corner of his mouth very briefly, soon falling away with the reply he receives. “Yes, indeed I do” Gamble answers, the tone of his voice not once missing a beat, “and when that day comes, Nova Scotia will burn. I come to you with this information because I want the people that burned it the first time there when it goes up for a second time.” “And why do all of that? Why destroy the last thing the old world still has to offer?” Emilio wonders aloud, not seeing the point in the devastation spoken so highly of. With a straight face, Gamble looks at his adversary and begins to smile, the teeth beginning to emerge from behind his lips. “Power” he answers in a whisper-like voice, one that prompts Emilio to lean his head, trying to take the man standing before him seriously, “power that I will not be the sole beneficiary of.” Clicking his tongue as his mouth opens, Emilio presses his bottom lip between his teeth and nods to himself, looking off to the side before stepping away in favour of the driver’s seat. Without offering an answer, the man closest to Charlotte’s right-hand woman steps behind the wheel and turns the keys in the ignition, starting the engine of the vehicle whose door he closes behind himself. Silent, Gamble licks the inside of his bottom lip and steps up to the vehicle’s door, looking at Emilio through the window without a word to offer, receiving the same response from the driver. Without a second glance, the man behind the wheel presses his foot to the gas and drives off, leaving behind the man speaking with equal vagueness and certainty. Left behind as dirt is kicked up from the asphalt, Gamble watches the car speed off into the Prince Edward Island night whilst remaining with the same posture he’d held throughout the conversation’s duration. Lifting his chin, the man adjusts his tie as the brake lights of Emilio’s car disappear in the distance, joining him in turning the first corner that leads back home. With the slightest smirk, the island’s underground revolutionary walks off- his business taken care of. == Rise == |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
June 2025
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