S7, E8 | We'll Still do Bad

“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.

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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.

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“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 ==