S7, E3 | Can't Find Comfort During Peacetime

\ Seven Months Later - 25th February 2023 /

Lifting a large, white bucket off the ground and setting it atop a metal table, a tall man, dressed in a brown coat and a tuque, rests one arm against the top of the container’s lid and seals it shut, the contents within protected from the environment he’s prepared to tread. Through snow-covered sidewalks, the man carries the weighted object- its height half the size of a drum barrel- over his shoulder with one hand whilst his other arm swings at his side.

Hearing the squeal of tires as they approach intersections, the large man turns corners and crosses slosh-coated pedestrian walkways to cross roads as he nears a set of apartments close to the coast. His destination arrived at, the figure- well dressed for the winter conditions he’s navigated through to start his morning- ascends the stairs to the level his apartment resides at, the comfort and warmth of a home within the centre of a healing apocalypse ready to welcome him into an embrace.

“Shh” Alicia whispers, bouncing her infant child gently as its crying begins to cease, hearing the hefty footsteps of her partner take toward their shared kitchen. “I’ve got washed vegetables, powdered milk, and three whole cantaloupes” Franklin remarks, hoisting the container onto the granite countertop as quietly as he can manage, “I’ll head to the mart a few blocks off later on and pick up some diapers and wipes.”

“Oh, no hun- I’ll do it when I get out of work” Alicia retorts, lulling their child back to sleep as her husband gently rips the bucket’s lid off, “you’ve been up for the last day and a half, go get some sleep.” Shaking his head, Franklin refuses the woman’s offer, taking a pair of melons from the doldrum and carrying them to their fridge. “We’ve both spent more time awake out on the road, I’ll be fine” he replies, setting the groceries wherever there’s a place for them.

“I’m having Salem come over in an hour or so. I want you to get some sleep before your shift tonight” Alicia rebukes, the bounce in her arms turning to a gentle sway as her focus turns to keeping the baby asleep. “I barely get enough time with the kid as is, sweetie. I don’t want to waste that time sleeping away the day” Franklin replies, stuffing a group of carrots into one of the side shelves along the fridge’s door, “I’ll be fine tonight. Then I’ll have the next two days off.”

“Just go to sleep for an hour or two” Alicia responds, trying to reason with the man whilst making her best effort at talking him out of pushing past his limits, “you’ve already done so much as is, at least let me try to make your life a little easier.” With a chuckle, the tower of a gentleman finishes putting away the final few sticks of celery before quietly shutting the machine’s door, swiping the tuque off his head before approaching the woman with a smile.

“It’s our baby. I have as much of a responsibility to him as you do” Franklin whispers, leaning in to press his lips upon his wife’s own, their hushed display of love preceding the turn of his eyes toward their offspring. “Hey, Buddy” he whispers, squatting down to let his arms become level with that of his wife’s, slowly letting her pass the child off to him, the sleeves of his black sweater already rolled up to free the child’s small amount of visible skin to make contact with his own.

“Have you got him?” Alicia inquires, pulling her arms away with subtlety to relieve herself of the child, letting his father take over as she prepares to ready herself for her own approaching shift. “Yeah, I’ve got him” Franklin responds, standing back upright as the woman lets a quiet sigh of relief leave her lungs, hand running over her forehead as her body eases, having spent every moment since their kid’s awakening without a moment to sit down and think.

“How’s it going up there in baby world, Bud?” Franklin inquires, staring at the child’s putty-like skull as his wife chuckles with a breathy laugh, her eyes closed as she tries to release the stress her body had taken on. “Are we calling him Buddy or Bud?” Alicia quietly asks aloud, finally opening her eyes as she wipes the sweat from her palm against her baggy sweatpants.

“I’ve been going with both since he was born, and I honestly doubt that’s going to change until he’s old enough to tie his shoes” Franklin jokes, his supporting arms held still as his wife leans against the counter. “I’m just glad we settled on one before he actually got here” the man doubles down, a smile carried on his face as he looks into the infant’s closed eyes, “and thankfully, we gave this precious little lump of human an age that’ll actually age well.”

“I don’t think we’d have earned the kid unless we had” Alicia quips back, joining her husband in a silent chuckle of amusement before their humour settles aside, the quietude of a late-winter day bringing a subtle peace over their apartment, a cosy stuffiness lingering in the air. With a smile on her face and the palms of her hands pressing into the edge of her counter, the mother watches those she loves most in the kitchen’s centre, a mental snapshot taken of a moment worth capturing.

For a few seconds, the warmth radiating off the nearby heater brings a comfort over the winter chill that sneaks through the cracks in their windows, allowing the couple to enjoy the company of each other and take pleasure in the sight of their child. Watched on by the mother, Franklin gently presses his back into the refrigerator, letting it support him as he cradles the infant, as silent as the woman a few paces off to his side is as he takes the time Nova Scotia affords him in a crazy world.

“And to think that four and a half years ago, we’d never even met each other” he soon remarks, lifting his face toward his wife, the smile his child’s presence brings made a permanent fixture upon his face, “and all this time later, I’d die for the two of you without a second thought.” A grin of her own carried as best as the weight of exhaustion will allow her, Alicia gently pushes herself away from the counter and tiredly steps up to her husband, resting the side of her head against his bicep.

“If you’d have told me back then I’d have a husband I adore and a baby I’d love more than anything in the world, I wouldn’t have believed you” Alicia replies, beginning to struggle with even recalling how those days felt now that they’re so far removed, “I’d have thought it was impossible.”

His lumber-like forearms wide and long, Franklin gently settles the baby onto his dominant hand whilst guiding his opposite, stumped-end arm around his wife’s back. “I was trying to be Lieutenant Governor four years ago” the man retorts, hearing his beloved release a hushed laugh, “now I’m working the night shift in the communal kitchen. I’m living in a two bedroom apartment in Nova Scotia and have one less hand than I did then. I don’t think this was what I expected either.”

The humour she takes from the response only deepening her subdued laughter, Alicia presses her forehead into the man’s arm as the air gets quiet again, their words falling out of favour to the peaceful silence they are wrapped within. Though they may be left standing in the middle of a quaint kitchen, spending little time together as they work shifts opposite each other, and have little time to catch even a few minutes of sleep, the couple finds themselves in the oddest place of comfort.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world, though” Franklin responds, interrupting the quiet minute with a continuation of his prior thought, “I’d lose the hand- hell, I’d lose both hands- if it just meant I could keep this.” Hearing their apartment’s front door open, Alicia lets her eyes shut in peace as her own hands move around her husband’s waist, holding him close as her body presses closer into his.

“Sorry for being early. I don’t like hanging around my flat for too long” Salem remarks, rounding the corner with a cardboard box of diapers under one arm, a plastic bag with a few packages of baby wipes carried on the hand of the other. “You’re a lifesaver, Salem” Franklin murmurs quietly, matching their friend’s hushed tone with his own as she gently rests the box on the countertop.

“Yeah, I’m just used to having to shoot someone to remind people of that” Salem replies, shrugging her shoulders as she passes the baby wipe-bag off to the mother, “I’m just glad Mr. Father of the Year over here works the night shift. I’ll always know someone is home here.” Her sleepy voice continuing to present itself, Alicia opens her eyes just briefly as she snuggles closer to the father’s side, “I took two minutes to open the door for you, give me a break” she jokes.

“Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry, I’ll just freeze to death in the hallway next time. It’s no biggie” Salem jokes back, watching her friend’s shoulders bounce as she holds in a giggle. “I’m going to assume he’s still got the same name?” the accomplished sniper wonders aloud, changing the topic as Franklin’s grin looks up at her.

“Buddy William Haven-Carter” the man replies, watching their guest’s purposefully-disgusted and obviously-sarcastic eye roll meet his declaration. “That poor child” Salem jokes, watching the mother gently pull away from her husband and step over to attend to the diaper box sitting nearby, “he’ll grow up never knowing what people actually mean when they say ‘Ey, Buddy- c’mere.’”

“It’s rather bold of you to assume our child will ever cross paths with someone from Boston” Franklin replies, soon taking his newly-freed second arm to support the baby, “and it’s even bolder of you to assume that the same Bostonian would be able to go three words without swearing.”

“I’d imagine the Boston-form of English would be universally understood by that point” Salem jokes, stepping aside to let Alicia walk past with the baby-goods in tow, “they’d slip a ‘fuck’ in there between Buddy and c’mere. I think it’s a rule in their country.” His grin growing as the sight of his child prevents his humour from building to any laugh that can jostle the infant out of his slumber, Franklin gently rubs the nub of his shortened arm over his offspring’s lip, wiping the drool.

After Alicia returns, the three adults and sleeping infant reside in a silent room, the child’s presence almost refusing to allow the world’s notoriously chaotic nature to disturb the peace. Not needing to utter a word, the trio of friends sit within the quiet apartment and let their eyes hold firm on the baby, the source of their shared serenity completely unaware of the horrors survived in order to bring his tiny, miracle self into the world he’s hoped to take part in changing.

Through their shared strife, conflict, and the wars they’d seen together, the three survivors- for perhaps the first time since coming together- feel as though they are one person in a moment difficult to describe. Their eyes colliding, Salem and Alicia smile at each other from opposite sides of the room before the former’s eyes take toward the father, who meets her gaze after a few moments before redirecting it toward his wife, not a syllable spoken within the time.

Through the battles and the breaths of fresh air, the conflicts and the compromises, the chaos and the clarity, the three survivors finally- for what feels like the first time ever- seem to be able to understand each other beyond the need of a word, but rather take a look and no more to hear what’s unsaid. Together, at peace and with pleasure, the family within a family let the environment do the speaking for them, providing warmth, shelter, and hope in a world they’d fought to see such.

“I should start heading out” Alicia finally speaks, interrupting the silence out of necessity and she uncrosses her arms, pulling away from a nearby wall to embark upon an adventure to the adjacent living room. “What time are you working until?” Salem questions, following the woman’s lead whilst the skyscraper of a man slowly carries on in their shadow.

“It’s a twelve hour shift- five to five” Alicia responds, flipping on a light switch to make up for the sun that’s yet to rise, “the world still shies away from nudity- even now. Someone’s gotta make the clothes they cover up with.” Humoured, Salem follows the woman into the next room and watches her take a seat in an even-warmer communal room, watching her slip one foot into a sock at a time beside a set of winter boots.

“I suppose it’s better than having no job” the beloved family friend replies, taking a seat on the side of the couch closest to the flat’s exit. “We can’t all be as lucky as you, Salem” Alicia jokes, rolling the second sock up the length of her shin before slipping both feet into the boots she begins to lace, “no matter where you go, someone’s always gonna need a lady with a steady hand and impeccable aim at the ready.”

With no reply, Salem pulls the corners of her mouth into whatever smile she can craft, trying to conceal her displeasure for the truth behind the remark. “Besides, it’s a relatively comfortable job- especially for me” Alicia continues, finishing the laces on one boot before moving to the other as her husband finally makes it into the room, “I sit down at a machine all day sewing clothes together while listening to jazz on an old record player. It’s not a bad gig.”

“And it pays pretty well for a job that seemed obsolete just a couple of years ago” Franklin replies, taking his shortened arm away from beneath the other and lifting his wife’s winter coat off the nearby rack. “Most jobs were obsolete just a few years ago and pay better than anything did back then” Salem replies, one leg crossed over the other and an arm draped over the side of their couch, “but that’s why neither of you are making what Jack and Lauren are.”

“Jack and Lauren don’t work for anyone other than Jack and Lauren” Alicia replies, stepping off the couch and graciously accepting the coat she’s handed by her husband, “they make their credits and that’s it.”

“We work for employers that pay just as much with product as they do with credits” Franklin retorts quietly, shrugging in the direction of the kitchen, “it’s why I get paid a few credits less than people that don’t walk away with that bucket of groceries I just stuck in the fridge.” Nodding as she bounces the foot draped over her leg, Salem looks up at the man with a lowered voice as she sinks further into the couch, not expecting to get off of it for quite some time.

“My point has nothing to do with the cost, it’s the employment’s value” Salem replies, redirecting the conversation from one unintended path to what’s desired, “I know Jack and Lauren aren’t given a basket of food every day, but do you really think they’d be making fifty thousand credits every month or so making chainmail sets in the old world?”

“They’d be working at a snail’s pace and making a couple hundred a month at best- if that” Alicia corrects, all three of the apartment’s inhabitants maintaining the whisper in their voice. “Exactly. But because they bought a shitload of chain rings, and because there’s a practical use for the armour now- they can” Salem proceeds, “and in the meantime, the siblings make due with fishing, Emilio and Courtney make due in the underground market, and I guard the border wall.”

“Fly high, free bird” Franklin jokes, watching the amused grin come over one side of Salem’s face before leaning in to kiss his wife, “and you just make sure to come home in one piece.” Responding with no less than a wink, Alicia sets her sights on the infant within her husband’s arms, gently taking the child’s hand with her fingers and holding it, “I’ll see you in a little bit, Bud”

“Where’s my goodbye?” Salem jokes, extending her arms out as if to feign surprise and betrayal, shaking her head with disappointment as the woman approaches. Leaning in and wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck to hug her, Alicia kisses her friend on the cheek and pats the top of her head, the few gentle taps prompting an eye roll to come over the renowned sniper.

“Now honey, hand Salem the baby and go take a nap” Alicia quips, pointing her finger in the man’s direction before guiding it toward their generous visitor, “and you- make sure he takes a nap.” With two fingers to her forehead, the appreciated nanny salutes the departing woman and keeps herself quiet, letting Franklin softly wave the sleeping infant’s hand toward his exiting mother until the door closes.

“Alright you big lug- go to bed” Salem remarks, immediately shaping her arms in a way the baby can tolerate whilst sleeping, previous leg cross still held as the man sighs, leaning down to hand the child off to his temporary caregiver. “Just wake me up when the sun rises, won’t you?” Franklin requests, the casual and dismissive nod he receives being all that’s necessary to convince him to truth her with the task.

Nodding to himself, Franklin departs the living room and begins pulling his sweatshirt off, leaving his child in the caring arms of his rather rugged aunt-by-selection. “‘Sup, Bud” Salem murmurs, softening her hold on the baby so her arms act more like a cradle than a table the infant is laid upon, “I’m sure this will probably change with time, but for a kid with a black dad and a white mom, you are much whiter than I was expecting you to be.”

Not responding, the infant remains what it is- a child- that Salem voices her unresponded-to thoughts aloud for. “While I’m being honest, I might as well let you know that you also surprise me with how cooperative you are” the woman confesses, her shoulder-length hair freed from the ponytail it’s often been tied into over recent months, “hopefully you’ll still be that cooperative when your mom and dad let me teach you how to shoot a rifle.”

Smiling at her own joke since no one else will, Salem lifts her head and stares at the wall opposite her, no company to speak with and no second party to share her thoughts with- at least, none that will respond to her. Her teeth beginning to fall behind her lips once again, the woman’s amused gaze becomes more distant and blank as the seconds pass, a discontent held within her steady pupils.

“I spend a lot of my days like this” she voices, eyes soon pulling to the side and affording her the unobstructed view of a dark sky still hours away from dawn, the only sight she’s afforded being the lights of nearby residential towers between the flat she occupies and the heavens she resides beneath. “If I’m being honest, I spend most of my time like... Well, like this” Salem admits, speaking to the only person she can take solace in knowing doesn’t understand what she’s saying.

“Alone. I spend most of my time alone as if, I don’t know-” she confesses, the discontent expression on her face beginning to lower into one of disappointment, “-as if I’m never actually home.” The baby resting in her arms as her arms rest upon her lap, Salem continues to stare out at the world beyond the window, able to see the faintest few white flakes of snow as they pass the transparent divider, watching them fall to earth just as everything does.

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

“I don’t like being out there without it at all” Katie replies, walking through the hallway her apartment resides near the end of, a guest following closely behind. “It was still just three days” Harvey quips, half of a smile held on his face as he follows the woman to her flat, listening to the keys jingle in her hands as she searches for the one that goes to her apartment’s front door, “I’m sure that was like a lifetime for you, but I don’t think a rifle is something you can crave.”

“It’s not something I crave as much as it is something that I don’t like being without” Katie replies, finally coming across the key she’d searched for, “and that applies double when I’m without it for three days on a boat floating down the St. Lawrence.” With a hand halfway tucked into his pocket, Harvey watches the woman twist the tiny piece of metal in the deadbolt lock before peering down the direction they’d come from.

“You had been asking for a few weeks if you’d ever get to go back down to Orleans Island” he retorts, watching the woman open the door and step through before following suit, “ask, and ask, and ask, and you shall rece-” 

Falling silent, Harvey enters the apartment in a suit and finds the living room occupied, his partner’s rigid freeze mid-step preventing him from walking any further. “Where the hell have you been?” Max inquires, sitting in a chair opposite the couch that Blaise and Aude occupy, an eyebrow lifted at his roommate for a moment before his confusion becomes held firmly upon the man in the suit that accompanies her, “and who is that?”

Mouth agape, Katie stares at the group in the living room without a response, her eyes eventually coming upon the flat’s distant wall. Unsure of how to react, Harvey keeps his mouth shut and waits for the woman to reply, the brief second she spends in silence turning into multiple, the longer she goes without offering an answer only making the odd interaction increasingly off-putting.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” the man replies, taking over for the woman as he steps past the woman frozen stiff in the doorway, his hand extended to the man proposing the inquiry. “I’m Harvey, Katie’s-” he confesses, the introduction falling short when he blanks on an answer, uncertain over what his colleague had or had not said, “-boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Blaise quips, the first of the group to speak, his eyebrows furrowed as the man’s hand pulls out from that of the roommate, “aren’t you like- ten years older than her?” Softening up to the surprise of the collection gathered within her living room, Katie begins to thaw from the freeze the shock had sent her into, gathering her bearings as the courage to speak returns to her.

“We’re just testing the waters” Katie responds, trying to cut the conversation between the two sides of her world as short as possible, “I’ve got to go get my rifle, and then we’ll both be out of your hair.” Standing upright from the forward-lean position he’d taken to reach Max’s level, Harvey tucks his hand back into his pocket as the woman departs, leaving him to the mercy of her peers.

“Are you going to answer the question?” Aude inquires, sitting beside her husband with a glass of wine in hand, waiting as the rest of the room does in receiving a reply. “Uh, no- I’m not ten years older than her” Harvey replies, bobbing his head in a nod before a follow up question is raised. “How much older are you?” Max asks, doubling down on Blaise’s original question with his arms crossed, the query coming off more like an interrogation than anything else.

“Ah, I uh-” Harvey responds, turning his body quickly toward his acquaintance’s direction, clearly put off by the grill-like oven he’d been placed into, “thirteen years.” His face sour as if tasting a bad candy, Max lifts his chin slightly whilst the woman in the nearby corridor scrambles to retrieve her weapon as quickly as possible. “We met at a bar a few weeks ago” the suited agent of the island’s interest remarks, trying to cover his skin as best as he can, “she seemed cool enough.”

“Cool enough to what? Fuck like a rabbit?” Max inquires, eyebrows lifting higher than Blaise’s can furrow, unable to receive an answer before the sound of his roommate’s skull crashing against one of the closet’s screwed-in shelves resonates through the room. “Ow!” Katie grunts, powering through the pain to free her partner from the clearly uncomfortable situation she’d unintentionally walked him into, “I’m alright!”

“Good” Max replies, not wearing the expression of a man who cared one way or the other, “we wouldn’t want you to be helpless around company, would we?” Rolling her eyes, Katie frees her rifle and tucks a box of ammunition into the bag she wears at her side. “Je suis assez vieux pour baiser qui je veux comme un lapin, Max” the young woman mutters aloud, making sure the closet she speaks into can’t muffle her voice, “Tu as encore plus de chance qu'il ne parle pas français.”

“Yeah, I still can’t speak French that well either, Katie” Max retorts, an audible dislike carried in the tone of his voice, though Blaise’s extended hand gestures that he’ll break it down for him when in the clear. “I’m sure our friends will let you know” Katie replies, pulling herself free from the mid-hallway storage space in a hurry, “et pour info, parle de moi comme si j'étais un gamin, et je le ferai dans la chambre la prochaine fois. Allez-y et décomposez celui-là pour lui, vous deux.”

Throwing the rifle over her shoulder, Katie takes her business partner by the hand and leads him through the door as Max’s angry expression begins to shift whilst he turns to Blaise, clearly lost in translation. Slamming the door shut upon her exit, the young woman begins marching the way they’d come before realising her acquaintance refuses to follow along, instead remaining standing just beyond her apartment’s front door.

“I thought your roommates were never home at this time of day?” Harvey inquires, begging his question and slowly catching up to his partner the moment he sees her turn back to look for him. “Yeah, well today must’ve clearly been an exception” Katie responds, bobbing her head in the direction they’ve still yet to re-travel, “now can we go?”

With an amused smirk on his face, Harvey stays quiet for the moment as his second hand tucks into his pocket, “one more thing” he replies, watching the woman stop halfway down the hall and wait for him to catch up. Letting his eyes follow the pattern of the rug he walks the length of, the suited gentleman closes in on Katie and turns his smirk into a smile, shrugging as he provides her with a verbal answer on his way passing her.

“I can speak French” Harvey confesses, able to see the woman’s cheeks begin to blush as he passes her, continuing to walk forward as he doubles down on his claim, “et pour info, je préfère le faire sous la douche.”

|

“Ugh, where are they?” a man dressed in all black inquires, passing the question off to his friend, who leans against a wall off to the side with a lit dart between his fingers. “Can’t you have some patience, man?” the smoker responds, his body the only one caught beneath the light of an overhead bulb whilst his friend lingers half within it and the shadows.

“I told you these guys are reliable” the cigarette-puffing resident persists, stepping up to his friend with both arms extended outward, “would it pain you to just trust me the slightest bit?” Shaking his head as he rolls his eyes, the clean-lunged citizen turns away from his partner and casually strolls to the other side of the alley, what he lacks in a verbal response being made up for in his physical demonstration.

“I have a hard time trusting people I’ve never met before” the first man replies, turning back to face his friend whilst speaking, “that applies double when it’s people we’re trying to barter underground in the middle of the night!” Pulling a drag, the second man shakes his head and stares toward the sky as his hands fall to each side, the smoke leaving through his lips as a set of wheels audibly squeal to a stop in the near distance. 

“Told ‘ya” the smoker quips, taking pleasure in being proven good on his word as he joins his friend in facing the alley’s end, watching a pair of shoes make contact with the asphalt recently wetted by a now-passed rainstorm. “How do you know they have our shit?” his friend replies, still sceptical of the figures that meet at the vehicle’s trunk, having stepped out of the backseat to retrieve a briefcase equally cast in a shadow as they are.

“Because this isn’t the first deal I’ve done with them, and this isn’t the riskiest thing I’ve bartered” the negotiation’s strongest ally replies, lifting up a carton of cigarettes with half of its plastic ripped. “Cigs are worth just as much as credits are if you find someone that needs them bad enough” he continues explaining, looking at the side of his friend’s face whilst the other man’s eyes freeze upon the approaching figures, “they may not need them, but they’ll know who does.”

Spending the next few seconds in silence, the men dressed in dark clothing and willing to wait through a muggy evening in Nova Scotia watch their trading partners close in, their persons becoming more visible the closer they draw to a nearby building’s light. “Are you gonna introduce us to your friend, Mickey?” a woman inquires, joining alongside her acquaintance as he carries the load for her.

“Both of you- this is Dave” Mickey replies, pulling another drag off his dart before gesturing his hand toward the man beside him, “Dave- these two are Emilio and Courtney.” Finally drawing close enough to see the pair, the sceptical resident nods toward the man and woman lingering before his eyes. “You smoking our darts, Mick?” Emilio wonders aloud, lifting the briefcase into both hands and unlatching its two sides, opening it to reveal six bottles of pills amongst other small goods.

“Here’s the credit for it” Mick replies, putting the cigarette between his lips whilst reaching into his pocket, a mere ten credit bill handed to his business partner, “and these are all branded?” Accepting the bill, Emilio nods his head and tucks the credit into his pocket whilst his friend responds, “these things didn’t even make it to shelves. We got our guy to slip us a few bottles right out of the factory” Courtney answers, watching a satisfied lift of the eyebrow react to her.

“What did I tell you, Dave?” Mickey chirps, turning to look at his friend before extending the ten-pack of darts to Courtney, graciously accepting the briefcase that now finds a home in his hands. “How do I know these people won’t snitch on us?” Dave replies, looking at his friend whilst those they share the alley with look up with confusion, a brief glance at each other making their loss clear.

“Why would we need to snitch on you?” Emilio inquires, looking at the sceptical man without certainty over what’s being gotten at, “you didn’t steal these things, did you?”

“No, no!” Dave replies, waving his hands to match the tone in his voice, almost insulted by the question, “why would we have stolen them?” Parting his lips, Emilio finds himself falling silent as the response he was set to give is voiced by more familiar acquaintances. “Because none of this is illegal. Nova Scotia regulates the credits, but some people prefer this route- goods and services for goods and services” Mickey explains, “it’s only illegal when the goods were obtained by theft.”

“I’m gonna take it he’s new here?” Courtney wonders aloud, an eyebrow raised as her thumbs slip into the belt-less loops of her jeans, glance set upon their shared acquaintance. “Just rolled in a few weeks ago. He’s been trying to get settled in and wanted to know the easiest way to get by” Mickey explains, casually tucking a hand into his pocket whilst the other waves through the air as he speaks, “they don’t really have a currency out in Waterboro.”

“Yikes, he’s in from Maine?” Courtney laughs, hearing the breathy chuckle Emilio responds with whilst looking back, shaking her head as her eyes wave through the air, “he doesn’t have the stick up his ass right now, does he?”

“We’re not prudes like everyone makes us out to be” Dave retorts, defending his home community before passing a look to his acquaintance. “I’ve been trying to tell him that working for pay and carrying on is fine, but he’s not gonna have much room for upward mobility” Mickey explains, what he remarks sparking an agreeable nod over the bartering partners, “half the compound runs on credits, half run on bartering. Make nice with people, figure out what they want, and do business.”

“It’s an easy way to keep Nova Scotia from getting their nose into your business too far” Emilio doubles down, speaking to the younger man of semi-sceptical nature, “we had recessions in the old world. If we had a bigger ‘barter culture’ back then, we might’ve recovered economically a lot sooner.”

“How would I know what things are worth more than others?” Dave questions back, beginning to put aside his doubts in the people he speaks with, instead looking for insight. “Everything has a price to someone. I probably can’t buy a gun off you with this carton of darts, but I could find someone else that would make that deal” Emilio responds, a shrug in his shoulders as he hands the ten-pack to his colleague, “some things are more universally valuable than others, but everything’s got a price.”

“What are you, kid? Eighteen?” Courtney quickly adds, receiving her answer in only a nod, “you’ve got a clean slate here. Just make good on your deals, and people won’t shy away from doing business with you. You’ll find a good handful that’ll trade just about anything for the same thing, so just be sure to keep a good supply of whatever that is and you’ll have a nice little trading buddy to depend on for when you really need something.”

“Is that why you two trade together?” Dave wonders aloud, trying to ease his way into the world his friend is trying to present him the ropes of. “Em here used to be a politician. Aside from being a good, dependable friend- he’s got his way of appearing presentable” Courtney chirps, turning to look at the smile that widens on her friend’s face.

“Is this your brother? Or maybe a cousin?” the highly-regarded friend of Courtney’s inquires, turning to look at the shake of Mickey’s head, “oh, you’re still too young to have a kid this old. Come on, spill the beans. Is he your nephew or something?”

“Nah, man. I appreciate you thinking so highly of me, though” Mickey jokes, sharing a chuckle with the man standing across from him, “no, he’s a good friend’s nephew. He got really good at crafting bullets when he got into Waterboro. Eventually he got here.”

“What happened to the friend? They still out in Waterboro?” Emilio replies, genuinely curious at first, only to find a rather disheartened look come over the younger man’s face amidst the pause he’s initially returned. “No, actually- she died” Mickey replies, flicking the dead end of his dart off before returning it to his lips, speaking as he puffs, “shit hit the fan after Sun City fell. They got across the sound, but she got bit somewhere in New Hampshire. Passed a ways out from Waterboro.”

“You were in Sun City?” Emilio queries almost immediately, head turning to allow his eyes a better look at the younger man close by. “Only for a little while. We got in a few months before the riots started” Dave responds, speaking as if the community’s downfall were just an unfortunate turn of events instead of the easily-avoidable disaster it was, “Seth never came back. No one was in charge and a lot of people just disappeared. Then people started shooting and we left.”

“That sounds awful” Courtney responds, an apologetic sympathy carried in the eyes that she holds on the survivor ahead, “I’m sorry that happened to you.” Tilting his head to the side for a brief moment, Dave lets his eyes fall to the ground as droplets of water begin falling from the heavens once more, “I guess it all worked out in the end. People had been telling us the camp was going to fall even when we first got in” he explains, “I never thought we were gonna be there long anyway.”

Lips pressing together, Courtney fails to offer much in the way of a reply, knowing just as her colleague does that nothing will change the loss he’d been forced to suffer through. “This place is functional. It’s well guarded and well provided for. Nova Scotia’s far more than just another experiment like Sun City” Mickey remarks, digging the discontent out of his negotiating partners with a more hopeful tone, “at least there’s a future for him here that there wasn’t out there.”

Lifting his eyebrows briefly, Emilio nods along with the man’s words without much in the way of hopeful verbiage to offer, paying the man an affable smile whilst the rain continues to fall. Eventually having wound up in the backseat of their shared vehicle, the bartering partners remain silent, Courtney’s eyes keeping on the window she sits closest to, watching the raindrops glide across the glass whilst her colleague stares forward with his hands coupled in his lap.

“Hey, driver- can you stop about three blocks up ahead?” Emilio calls out, leaning forward slightly to better catch their chauffeur's ear. “Are you good?” Courtney wonders aloud, watching the man ready himself to depart in favour of his requested destination. “Yeah, I think I just need to get some air, y’know? Walk a little bit” the man replies, feeling the weight of the car thrust gradually as the vehicle slows to a stop.

“Out there in the pouring rain? In Prince Edward Island? Are you sure?” Courtney replies, dismissing her friend’s understanding nod at first, “you do realise almost everyone here exclusively speaks French, right?” Continuing to bob his head with acceptance over what he’s being informed of, Emilio pulls the handle to his door whilst the tires come to a full stop.

“I have some friends that live around here. I’ll stay with them for the night when I’m done, I just-” he remarks, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts as his first foot makes contact with the ground outside, “-I just need some time to myself.” Lifting her eyebrows in defeat, Courtney shrugs her shoulders and sits back into her seat, accepting the man’s conclusion and granting him the freedom to follow through on what he desires.

With his hands in the pocket of his jacket, Emilio watches the car drive off without him inside, taking solace in the serenity that comes with his seclusion. The cold air making it impossible to see more than a few centimetres ahead without a foggy cloud of breath blocking his sight, the man begins walking through the dark, late-February night.

|

“Sure, but it’s not like the pay is that much better” Lauren responds, having to speak a little louder than her usual tone, battling for audible supremacy with a nearby speaker system, “unless it’s really worthwhile, I don’t get working the night shift.” With a smirk in the corner of her mouth, Salem lifts a bottled beer to her lips and takes a swig, letting the glass bottom reconnect with the table with a satisfied sigh.

“If you’re gonna go outside the walls, you might as well do it when everything is quiet” she replies, staring at the bottle’s label knowing full-well that it doesn’t read the brand name of the liquor she puts down, “you can’t really do that when everyone is out and about.”

“You mean the quiet part, right?” Jack wonders aloud, wanting to be sure his train of thought was following the correct tracks. “Yeah. It’s a lot quieter at night after most people have gone to sleep” Salem responds, nodding in the man’s direction as she inspects the bottle’s label once more, “I’m pretty sure most of the night life is closer to the compound’s centre. The outskirts are where all the guard stations are. Unless you’re on duty, you’re probably asleep somewhere farther out.”

“And you like it that way?” Lauren queries, one foot pressing against the table’s supporting stand, its cylindrical concrete self cemented into the floor, “isn’t it a little eerie when it’s both quiet and pitch black?”

“It’s not like we don’t have spotlights” Salem corrects, shrugging as she sits more upright upon her stool, “but the weird feeling- just being out there alone at night- is kind of oddly peaceful.” Holding their own beliefs in that conclusion, Jack and Lauren choose to reserve it deep within themselves, allowing the woman to stare blankly at the bottle she continues eying as if it’d murdered her family.

“I miss being out there. I don’t know what it is, but I just never feel entirely satisfied being stuck inside these walls all the time” Salem quips, the natural fondness she has for the freedom of the chaotic and unsorted world having never truly died, “couple that with the fact that she is in charge of this place, and I’ve got my reasons to be sceptical too.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on that woman” Jack remarks, his redirection of the conversation one that quietly pleases the highly-regarded sniper, who finally looks away from her drink to set her sights upon the man to her right. “I can live with having to accept that she’s in charge of this place as long as there are long gaps in between when I have to see her or hear her name” he persists, “but what she did to Tyler, or what she did to Janice- that will never sit right with me.”

“It shouldn’t” Salem reassures, slowly spinning the bottle atop the table by the rim with her index finger and thumb, “we all have our issues with Charlotte, but there’s no point in getting too worked up over something we’ll never change.” His finger lifting into the air, Jack opposes that notion, “not necessarily” he remarks, using the silence that follows his friend’s explanation as an opening to voice his desired dissent, “it’s not like we haven’t pushed her out of power before.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t take too much of a recollection to remember how poorly that worked out” Lauren replies, her slightly-defensive husband debating her point. “I’m not saying we should, I’m saying we could” Jack corrects, pausing the lift of his drink toward his lips as his eyes pass between the two women within his company, “but our days of overthrowing regimes are over. The whole point is just trying to build some future we can look forward to. One worth living in.”

Her bottle lifting into the air, Lauren salutes her boyfriend’s proclamation with silence, watching the gesture he returns match her own. Smiling, she takes to the rim of her beverage just as her other half does, drinking to the words uttered whilst their friend remains silent, staring at the label on her bottle’s exterior. With the nail on her middle finger, Salem peels at the edge of the plastic-like branding, the thought that’s held in her head soon voiced aloud for her peers to overhear.

“What if there isn’t one?” she inquires, looking up from the glass container in her hand to find both eyes falling over her, finding a woman not backing down from the question she offers in search of an answer. “What if you care so much about people that you’re willing to pretend to want the same thing as them?” Salem clarifies, doubling down on her quandary, “what if you’d never be happy doing the same thing they’re doing, but you also can’t live without them?”

The sip he’d taken now put down, Jack sets his glass bottle back on the table whilst his wife remains stoic, her beer held at chest-level as he eyes remain glued to their pal. “I guess it would depend on who’s asking” the man responds, his other half’s eyes now taking toward him whilst he attempts to reply, “if this is just a general question, my answer would be one thing. If this is a specific person we’re talking about, it’d be an entirely different thing.”

“Why does the answer have to depend on the person?” Salem retorts, not seeming to care much over concealing the inspiration behind the question that seems to dampen the entire discourse, “why can’t there just be a ‘one size fits all’ answer.”

“Because a random person isn’t someone that I- or anyone from our group- would have that fond of an attachment to” Jack answers, aware of the pause that comes over the table before he can proceed with his thought, “depending on the person, though- we might be as uninterested in losing her as she is of losing us.”

Keeping to herself as the conversation reaches another pause, Lauren takes her gaze toward the woman sitting to her right, watching the eyes of the puzzled figure retake to the bottle she soon places upon the table. Looking at the hardwood finish of the countertop, Salem keeps her lips pressed together and refuses to speak further, preferring to keep to herself for the time being as she collects her thoughts.

“I think I’m gonna head home for the night” she soon confesses, stepping off of her stool as the couple’s silence persists, “I don’t get many chances to sleep through the night. I might as well take them when they come up, right?” Aware of the woman’s discomfort, Jack concedes his side of the argument and nods, trying to feign a friendly chuckle and smile, “yeah, you’re probably right” he retorts, watching the woman’s coat fly through the air before it hugs her body.

Having made it back to her flat in one piece, Salem sits in an old chair with her right leg propped atop a matching ottoman, her left arm tucked behind her head as her pale face glows in the flames of her fireplace. Without the obstruction of any sound to distract her from the tranquillity she finds in the concept of a thoughtless existence, the woman’s peace of mind remains intact as an unopened book sits on her left thigh, her right one occupied by the resting hand not supporting her skull.

*knock knock knock*

Alerted to the presence at her door, Salem’s head takes toward the entrance’s direction and lets free a sigh, clicking her tongue before begrudgingly lifting herself from the comfort of her seat and the warmth of the fire. “Hey” Alicia remarks, watching her friend’s face appear from behind the door that swings open, granting her entry the apartment’s tenant hadn’t been expecting.

“What’s up?” Salem wonders aloud, slightly confused and surprised by her acquaintance’s appearance, though more than welcoming enough to immediately make for the kitchen. “Not much. Franklin left a little while ago to get to work, so I decided to swing by” Alicia responds, carrying the small lump of human she’d birthed within the comfort of a tiny, warm coat.

“Oh, I see” Salem responds with an amused chuckle, reaching for a pair of whiskey glasses and a nearby bottle of rum, “Jack and Lauren must’ve called you.” With a shrug, Alicia approaches a bookshelf in the cosy living room and looks into a picture frame, the stock photo of a woman holding her baby high into the air having never been removed from the elegant border.

“I told them not to worry too much, but they wouldn’t let me off the phone until I agreed to come over” Alicia replies, hearing the liquor pour into the glasses from the next room over with a grin, “so, in the event that they ask you, just tell them that I got on my hands and knees and begged you to reconsider your choices.”

“Noted” Salem answers, accepting the proposition before returning to her friend with a glass in each hand, the one in her non-dominant palm extended to her guest. “The place is a lot nicer than it was when you first moved in” Alicia chirps, bowing her head to the woman as she takes her drink, clinking the rim against her friend’s own before gesturing toward the wider room, “aside from the stock photograph, you’ve turned this place into Salem’s Den quite well, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, were people really expecting me to just live in a place that was- aside from the bathroom- painted pink?” Salem inquires, shaking her head in refusal before taking a sip of her beverage, “this town would’ve been lit on fire before I’d agree to that.” Amused, Alicia watches her pal approach the fireside chair and remove the closed book from it, freeing it for her visitor to occupy whilst taking a seat on the ottoman.

“Irritating you is the last thing a thriving community needs for itself. We don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to these places” she doubles down, gently lowering herself into the open chair so as not to disturb the sleeping infant, “provoking our secret weapon isn’t the best long-term planning strategy.”

Humoured, Salem nods along with the joke before taking another sip of her beverage, remaining quiet whilst letting the discourse take whatever direction it’s naturally set to veer toward. “You’ve been settling in well enough around here though, right?” Alicia inquires, watching the woman’s eyes lift toward her as she ponders aloud, “Jack and Lauren make some stuff sound so doomsday-ish.”

“Why? What did they- and their infinite wisdom- say?” Salem hastily queries, watching her friend dismissively jostle her head at each side. “Nothing like that from what I can remember, but I wasn’t really focusing on all the filler. Franklin was just heading out so, y’know- I was just trying to get to the point” the new mother answers, her shoulders low and relaxed, “but it sounded like they were insinuating you weren’t happy here. Like you didn’t feel like you belonged.”

“I see” Salem answers, lowering her face toward the ground yet again, nodding to the implication before raising the drink back toward her lips, “a lot of that Sheol-era stuff, huh?”

“Pretty much” Alicia reassures, kicking one leg over the other as her friend takes yet another sip, already further into her drink than the tired mother is, “it’s not true though, is it? You’re making due here?” The question raised, Salem looks up to find her pal’s eyes looking at her, mouth closed and waiting for her ears to receive the answer.

“You guys are my family. You’ve been my family for years now. You and Franklin- and the kiddo- especially” Salem responds, wearing the best dismissive smile she can think to conjure up, “there isn’t one bit of me that feels like I don’t belong with you guys.” Wiping her bottom lip with the tip of her thumb, the flat’s sole resident listens to the crackling fire amidst a brief silence, her digit stained with the run droplet she’d wiped away.

“What about here?” Alicia wonders aloud, watching the woman’s eyes collide with her once more, taking note of the specifics she was paid and refusing to let the unspoken remain so, “do you feel like you belong here? In Nova Scotia?” Opening her mouth to match her parted eyelids, Salem soon breaks into a smile as she looks to the ground again, the distanced eye contact not allowed to persist at the reemergence of the mother’s voice.

“Look at me” Alicia commands, prompting her fireside fellow to follow through with just an order, waiting for her guest to proceed with her question, “do you feel like you belong in Nova Scotia?”

Quiet and still, Salem stares into her friend’s eyes without a response to offer, the question raised by the one woman closer to her than any other refused the answer it was voiced to receive. “Salem-” Alicia begins to speak, her lips parted to proceed with her words before they close yet again, kept from speaking as the woman across from her finally breaks the momentary spell of silence.

“No, I don’t” Salem confesses, her voice less friendly and more declarative, a calm tone carried with the assertive voice and confident remarks paid by the freedom-craving civilian. “I didn’t feel like I belonged in Sun City, and I’ve felt the same way about Cumberland and about here” she continues, shaking her head as her eyes reconnect with the distance walls she’d covered up with endless rows of bookshelves, “I love you, and Franklin, and everyone else. I just don’t love this.”

“And by this, you mean Nova Scotia” Alicia replies, wanting to make certain she understands the implications within her friends’ remarks. “I mean society. I mean all of this law and order stuff. I’m not- I’m not- I’m not a citizen. I never was in the old world and I’m definitely not now” Salem admits, her heart poured out in the restrained way only she can manage, “the only time I’d ever actually felt like I was somewhere I belonged was when I was out there.”

“Exactly how long do you expect there to be an out there to yearn for?” Alicia inquires, shrugging as she glances off at the nearest window, “Nova Scotia exists. The day is bound to come when everything out there either gets claimed by them, or someone else that managed to rebuild what we used to have in some new, weird way.”

“That day isn’t going to come for a long time” Salem corrects, lifting the glass back to her lips as she replies, “the old world died five years ago and only now is there a compound thriving. The day the globe is resettled by other communities big enough to span every last bit of land will come long after I’m gone.”

“Yeah, and if you were to go back out there today, that day could very well come tomorrow. Or it could come the day after that, or the week after, or that month after, so on and so forth” Alicia interjects, her own point interrupted by the woman across from her before it could truly get going. “Don’t worry- I’m not leaving” Salem cuts in, pulling the drink from her lips as she steps off the footrest being used as a seat, “there’s a difference in what I want and what I’m actually going to do.”

“That doesn’t really make matters better, does it?” Alicia questions, pushing herself out of the chair as she holds her child tight, “now you’re just sentencing a life where you’re perpetually unhappy.” Walking for the kitchen and placing her glass down for a refill, Salem presses her palms against the countertop and looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep her aggravation from rising as the baby begins to awaken from its nap, its crying beginning to start up.

“What do you suppose I do then, Alicia?” Salem wonders aloud, unscrewing the cap to her liquor bottle before pouring herself another glass, “one isn’t sustainable, and the other one isn’t very bearable. So, exactly which way of living is less unhappy than the other?” Shushing the child down as best she can, Alicia tries to compose her thoughts whilst her friend watches on, waiting for the infant to be dealt with in order to receive her reply.

“I bought diapers and a changing table in case you or Franklin needed to bring the kid over here. They’re in the bathroom down the hall- second door on the right” Salem remarks, her lower back pressing into the counter as she takes yet another drink. “Thank you” Alicia responds, putting the conversation on pause before directing herself down the nearby corridor, hurrying to care for the crying child as her friend hangs back, sitting with her thoughts of equal discontent.

Before long, the silence that fills her kitchen lulls Salem into an anxious state of perplexity, wanting to think of anything other than the conversation just paused. From one room to the other, the uneasy and slightly-buzzed woman makes her way back into the living room and rests a hand on her chair, illuminated by the same glow of the fireplace that lights her own face.

Eyes taking to the rising flames, the woman presses her lips shut and breathes through her nose, trying to calm herself from the tension that had quietly consumed her. The crackle and pop of the firewood being burned within the concrete confines its been set ablaze within calming her, Salem stands with an empty mind and relegates any thought to some corner of her mind, wishing to remain in this blank void she’d curated internally, finding more comfort in it than elsewhere.

== Rise ==