Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

         When she was younger, she used to look for photos of the world before Outbreak Day. Seek them out, ravenously. Old real estate magazines, architectural books, even just family photos of people who were probably long gone.

         Even in the Boston QZ, everything was run down. Every building had holes in its walls because they either didn’t have the materials, training, or just the wherewithal to repair them. The streets were cracked and potholed. Windows were dirty, carpets were dirty, floors were dirty, everything was fucking filthy because no-one could be bothered to clean like they did before.

         The buildings in photos always looked so pretty. So, so pretty, so clean, the homes warm and lived in, the offices sleek and professional… but also fake, because that just wasn’t the world she lived in. Even with the pictures in front of her, she could hardly imagine it.

         That changed when she came to Jackson. Sure, lots of the pre-Outbreak buildings in Jackson were worn and run down. But they were lovingly maintained. Vintage, or maybe antique, in this new world. And the new buildings? The new buildings were beautiful, clean, handcrafted and made to last. It was like a little, miniature recreation of the Old World, but real. Something she’s found again in Islaborne.

         So now? Now, every building she passes through, she can’t help but inspect. Imagine.

         Imagine how it was, back when people still lived in it. Imagine what it could be, if people decided to fix it up. Mostly a game before she suggested this project, but now it’s something useful.

         Of course, most buildings are beyond repair now. They’re moldy, drafty, half-ruined piles of junk they’ll tear down for materials.

         And those are the ‘okay’ ones.

         Some, like the one she’s in right now, are gonna have to be burned.

         The spores clouding the air are so thick she can hardly see the other end of the room she’s looking at.

         Granted, it’s a big room. She’s not even sure you could call it a ‘room.’ She’s not even sure this is a house. It’s more like… a fancy barn.

         So… she has no idea what you would call the maybe-room-maybe-not-a-room she’s in. She’s pretty sure it was originally made for horses, given half of the adjoining building was dedicated to stables. This room, though, was nothing more than four walls, a roof, and barn doors at either end with dirt across the entire floor.

         Now it’s a nest of cordyceps.

         The whole building was, really, but it’s the worst in here. So bad they couldn’t get either of the doors open, and had to go all the way up and around to the inner balcony overlooking it.

         Seeing it now, she’s pretty sure they won’t be able to get the doors open even from the inside. What parts of the walls she can see are covered in thick layers of fleshy growth, a foot deep or more at some points. Place is like some fucked up hedge garden except instead of bushes, it’s cordyceps.

         She thinks she can see a couple tractors, maybe a trailer, forming half-walls and divisions. Maybe the bodies of some horses? And… fuck, is that a tent? If there were a group of survivors camping out here, and they all turned, that could explain the extra-high concentration.

         “Whatcha think?” asks Avery, coming to stand beside her and look out over the balcony as well. He keeps his voice low, low enough she can barely hear it through his mask and the spores.

         She can just about hear him sniff, though, and the slight rasp of his exerted breath. With his age, and this cold, she’s honestly surprised he’s still chugging along as well as he is. They’ve been pushing themselves pretty hard today.

         But a huge colony like this? That’s a risk she’d rather not take.

         “Could just leave it,” she whispers, stepping out onto the balcony and peering over the side. Jesus, she can barely see the floor through the spores. “I don’t see a way up from here, and the doors seem pretty much welded shut. When the cleaners come by, pretty sure any infected in here will be stuck. They’ll burn up nice.”

         He nods, thumbing the butt of his rifle. “Maybe. But if they don’t…”

         She lets out a quiet sigh.

         Yeah, if they don’t, it could be bad. The Cleaning Crew always have a few guards with them, just in case, but most of their muscle (like them) is with Pest Control, clearing infected. If there’s a bloater in here, it could pretty easily break through the walls, especially once they start burning. Plus, just because she can’t see a way up to the balcony, doesn’t mean a stalker couldn’t.

         “Okay, yeah,” she huffs, shaking her head. “But I’m going alone. You stay here with the rope, old man. Be ready to pull me up if shit goes sideways.”

         Disagreement is plain on even the small sliver of his face she can see, his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing. But they’ve been doing this long enough he knows she can handle herself. And that if he tries to argue, she’ll just pull rank.

         With a sigh and a nod, he grabs the rope from his pack.

         He goes all the way back to the other side of the room they’re in, tying it to a pillar framing some shattered windows. They look out into the stables which they’ve already cleared. Already she can see the air looks cleaner, the spores filtering out of the doors they opened downstairs.

         You don’t really want to light a place on fire when it has a bunch of spores condensed in a confined area. Tommy told her they did that once, clearing out a place near Jackson, and the whole damn building just about blew up. Said it was something like a ‘powder explosion.’ Usually not a worry with spores, since they’re pretty moist, but if you pack enough of them in…

         Another reason to clear out the buildings completely before the cleaners come in. If they air them out, there’s no chance of an explosion, which means less chance of every infected on the entire goddamn peninsula booking it towards them.

         She checks her ammo as he makes sure the rope is secure.

         A full clip, plus one in the chamber, and another clip with six rounds for her Colt, along with a silencer that has maybe four uses left in it. Then a full clip, one in the chamber, another full clip, and a clip with five rounds for her little Ruger. Just four rounds for her S&W big boy, which is super not great.

         She lent Jamie her Bergara again, but she still has one of its rounds rolling around in her pocket, damn it. Swore she double checked. Gonna have to apologize to the kid for leaving him a round short.

         Six normal arrows for her bow, two noise maker arrows, and one explosive arrow.

         Melee wise she’s got her hunting knife and her machete, plus a plank of wood she found that had some nails sticking out. That last one will definitely break after a couple hits, but the more stress she can save her actually good melee weapons from, the better.

         Four shells loaded, plus one in the chamber, plus three more in her pocket, plus two slugs for her Remington. Pretty good.

         And a Molotov cocktail that she can’t use, two smoke bombs that are pretty much useless with how thick the spores are down there, and a single trip mine. Not pretty good.

         But it’s a hell of a lot more than she’s made do with in the past, so with a grunt, she shoulders her pack again and holsters her pistols.

         “Let’s get this show on the road,” she mutters, nodding her thanks as she takes the rope from Avery.

         He gives her a look as she tosses it over the edge of the balcony and steps up to straddle the railing. “Be safe, kid.”

         “Always am.” She shoots him a finger gun for good measure, and he rolls his eyes.

         “I’m gonna be real upset if yer last words to me are a lie.”

         That almost makes her laugh before she stifles it.

         As she slowly climbs down the rope, keeping her head on a swivel for any movement below, she wishes their immunity filtered goddamn spores instead of just making them inert. If it did, she could ditch the mask and hold her hunting knife in her teeth or something. As it is, she’s a sitting duck unless she wants to be choking on the air.

         It’s fine with normal concentrations of spores, leaving just a kind of rotten, earthy taste in the mouth. But with this thick a concentration, they’d be hacking and coughing and spitting the damn stuff out. Not to mention it gets in your nose and makes you wanna sneeze, gets stuck in your eyes… it’s just not fun.

         Despite her worries, she makes it to the ground safely, which crunches slightly beneath her feet despite her best efforts to be silent.

         Looking down, she can see it’s a mix of dirt and old cordyceps growth, just as she thought. Luckily the stuff she stepped on is dead. Bone dry.

         Slowly, silently, she slips her Colt and knife from their holsters. Colt in her left, knife in her right, coming up under her other hand. She has to twitch her fingers a couple times to get her prosthetics to fold right, resisting the urge to curse them out.

         She waits one, two, then thirty full seconds, turning slow circles. Her ears pick out various sounds. The whistling of the wind outside, the occasional bang as it lifts part of the sheet metal roof above and lets it drop again. Even the minute, near-silent creak of Avery shifting on the balcony above.

         No gasps. No clicks. No screeches.

         That’s bad. There’s no way there aren’t infected in here. That means they’re all either dormant, and they’ll wake up the moment she triggers the network… or they know she’s here, and they’re keeping silent intentionally.

         In which case, it would either be entirely stalkers… or a commander.

         Shit.

         A commander is super unlikely given they didn’t hear anything that sounded like one. Plus, this place looks like it’s been locked up for years and years. Not the type of place a commander would be.

         Then again, she’s only really encountered two of the fuckers. Not a huge sample size to pull from.

         Well… no way else to do this than in a sweep, which means starting behind her, at the closest wall. Plus if shit hits the fan, she can just hop back on the rope.

         Probably’ll still die, but… Avery can retrieve her corpse for Rachel. So that’s nice.

         There’s one infected glued to the wall near the inner doors. It’s still alive, she can tell by the minute flexing of its throat as it breathes ever so slightly. She can’t tell if it’s a clicker, it’s so covered in colony cordyceps.

         She debates sticking it with a knife now, but she moves on. If she can take a count of how many infected are in the room before bringing it down on herself, that would be ideal.

         So she slides past, following the wall.

         There’s another in the corner, curled up on the ground, and this one is clearly a clicker. Its head is split all the way open from nose to spine. Another is near it, opposite a small ‘alley’ formed by a nearby tractor, which it’s draped over.

         This one is like the other, so shelled in she can’t tell what stage it is. But its size means whoever it used to be was huge… or it’s a bloater.

         Great.

         And that’s how she goes. She follows the walls, then carves two paths up and down the whole room, treading near-silent all the way.

         In total, there’s thirteen infected, all of them dormant. The maybe-bloater, seven clickers that she could confirm, and then five unknowns. Maybe clickers, maybe stalkers.

         She starts with the maybe-bloater, and she starts loud. While she’s pretty sure this network hasn’t extended past the room, given how they’re all still asleep, that’s sure as hell the extent of her luck. Whether she takes one out quiet or not, the moment one of these fuckers die, they’re all waking up.

         So, she (very, very carefully) loads a slug into her shotgun, places it half an inch from the maybe-bloater’s skull, and pulls the trigger.

         Its head explodes into chunks of cordyceps and grey matter, dead instantly.

         Then there’s a cracking like thunder and a chorus of screeches.

         She pivots on her heel and sticks her blade into the skull of the closest clicker just as it lunges for her, twisting as she pulls it out again. Its body drops like a ragdoll, and she silently backpedals away as the rest hone in.

         Quickly throwing her shotgun over her shoulder, she pulls her Colt once more, head spinning around as she takes stock.

         All the infected sprint for where the maybe-bloater died, flailing wildly and screaming as they try and locate her. All of them are clickers, which means they’re especially erratic. They flail around wildly, trying to compensate for their crude echolocation, which is rendered pretty much useless with how thick the spores are. It’s only by keeping her head on a constant swivel that she manages to silently duck away from them.

         Then she spots one thin infected, crouched low to the ground and looking around, eyes uncovered.

         She pops its head instantly, and then ducks away again as the nearby clickers all sprint towards the muffled sound of the silencer.

         A quick head count puts eight clickers in her sight. Minus the one she killed, that means two of the unknowns were clickers. And minus the stalker…

         Two unknowns left, neither of which she can see. So… stalkers.

         The instant she hears a gasp behind her, she pivots, throws her Colt up, and pulls the trigger.

         The first shot goes a couple inches wide, the stalker flinching away. It’s hanging from a particularly thick vein of cordyceps on the wall above her.

         It screams for just a second, alerting the clickers, before she manages to zero in on its head and pop it.

         One more use, and one she has to assume’ll be loud, cause the rag she used in the silencer was honestly kind of shit.

         This time she isn’t as carefully quick or quiet at ducking away, using the cover of the clicker’s answering calls to muffle the crunch of dirt underneath her feet. It’s nerve wracking trying to watch both where she’s going and her feet, trying not to step on cordyceps patches and alert the network.

         She ducks behind the calcified tent once she’s gained enough distance, doing her best to control her breathing.

         Seven rounds in her Colt. Four rounds of buckshot in her shotgun.

         A creak above her is all the warning she gets before the Stalker tackles her.

         “Motherfucker-!” she grunts, reaching back to shove her left arm in its face. She can hear its teeth clack and crunch against her metal vambrace, then shifting to grind against her gorget.

         She stumbles forward, struggling to bear its sudden weight, before she manages to grab a hold of whatever rags it’s wearing. With a cry, she throws it over her shoulder, and it hits the ground with a thud.

         Immediately, she brings her foot down on its head once, twice, three times, as she grabs the makeshift club from the side of her pack.

         It breaks on the first hit to the bastard’s face, though at least it buries itself so far in its skull it nearly comes out the other side.

         Then she’s running as the eight fucking clickers sprint in her direction.

         “MAYBE START FIRING, AVERY!” she screams as she sprints along the east wall, trying to outrun the clicker closing in ahead of her, moving to cut her off.

         A few shots from her Colt drops it, the first half-loud as expected, the next two fully-loud.

         Then she does her best to quiet down, even as she doesn’t slow down even a bit.

         Just as she hears the clickers coming up behind her, howling, there’s the sound of a rifle from above. In answer is a thud and a gasping croak as one of the clickers is hit, though its enraged scream a second later tells her it’s not down. She imagines he’s firing almost blind from up there.

         But all she needs is some noise.

         Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she flattens herself as close to the wall as she dares.

         The clickers sprint past her, towards the balcony, as another shot rings out. Another thud, and this time she sees one of the clickers go down for good, half its head gone.

         Bastard may be old, but he’d give Tommy in his prime a run for his money in a shooting competition.

         Four rounds in her Colt. No club. Six clickers left.

         She watches the clickers as they screech and moan beneath the balcony. One of them grabs the rope, trying to pull itself up, but its coordination just isn’t there to make it more than halfway before Avery puts a bullet in its head.

         Five clickers left.

         Realistically, she could just wait here for him to pick them off, but she knows he’s running low on ammo.

         She glances to her right, towards the door leading outside.

         They still need to open this place to air it out too.

         With a grin, she quietly speed walks to the door, shrugging her pack half off in the process.

         A minute later, she pulls out her flashlight and points it at the balcony, flashing it three times slowly.

         Quiet.

         The shooting stops, leaving only clicking and screeches to fill the room. She makes her way towards them until she can see the remaining infected through the spores. Three of the clickers remain, pacing anxiously below the balcony, staring up at it blindly.

         Just as one makes to climb the rope again, she nocks the noise-maker arrow in her bow, draws it back, and lets it fly towards the northern door.

         It hits it with a bang and the canister arrowhead bursts, scattering tiny bells and metallic bearings everywhere.

         The racket is more than loud enough to draw the attention of all three clickers, and the one from the rope drops with a howl.

         She neatly steps out of the way as they bolt past her, then slowly drops into a crouch, covering her head.

         A couple seconds later, her trip mine goes off with a deafening boom.

         Half gasping, half laughing, she looks up to see the last dregs of sunlight from the day pouring in through the spores.

         “HOW’D YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS LIKE THAT?!” she calls out, readying her shotgun.

         When there’s no responding screech, she laughs fully, turning to look up at the balcony. She sees Avery there, shaking his head in a disapproving manner, though she knows he’s smiling.

         She flips him off for the hell of it.

         Just as she does, she hears Jamie call out, “Ellie, dad?! You guys okay?!” from outside.

         “Fine!” she calls back, waving him off as she sees him appear in the newly-opened doorway. “Stay out there, kid! Lemme sweep this room one more time, then we can check for supplies!”

         “Got it!” he calls back, and through the spores she can see him do a turn, rifle raised as he does a sweep of the surrounding area.

         Good kid.

         There are no more infected, and she sweeps the area twice more to make sure. All she finds is about half a dozen fruits.

         Damn, what the fuck happened here that more than two dozen people were locked in and infected?

         Once she’s done, she waves Jamie in.

         He comes with rifle in hand, still raised slightly, and both duffel bags over his shoulders.

         “You okay?” he asks, and she nods, turning and reaching back to pull her hood down.

         “Pretty sure, but a stalker tried to ride me like a jockey,” she jokes, backing up towards him. “Mind checking me?”

         “’course,” he says, and she can hear him step up, feel his presence behind her. His hand comes pulls down her hood even further, then the collar of her jacket around her gorget. His touch is inordinately gentle as he peels her hair apart to check her scalp. Sweet boy.

         While they don’t have to worry about turning, it turns out infected aren’t exactly sterile. They’re like goddamn cats. You don’t notice a scratch from them for a few hours and next thing you know you have an infection. The bacterial kind, not the fungal kind.

         After a second, though, he steps away, patting her on the shoulder. “You’re good.”

         She pats him right back, snagging one of the duffel bags in the process. “Thanks, kid.” Then she pivots, and with a grunt, tosses the duffel bag up to the balcony. It lands beside Avery with a soft thud. “Check the rest of the building for supplies, old man! Jamie and I’ll look in here.”

         “Sounds good,” he replies, hauling the rope back up.

         Jamie drops the duffel bag in the middle of the room and immediately goes for the tent, marveling at it for a moment. “Damn. This is the worst colony we’ve seen, huh?”

         “So far,” she hums in response, kicking over what she thinks was once a backpack. Bending down to rip it open, scattering thick, mossy cordyceps everywhere, she finds a bottle of alcohol inside. The medical kind, not the fun kind. “Pretty sure there’ll be worse in Old Mission. Definitely’ll be worse down near Traverse.”

         She can see him nod out of the corner of her eye. It’s slow and careful, as is the way he putters around, trying to look busy with searching for supplies but clearly thinking.

         She lets him think as she upends the bag, coming up with nothing more than a roll of toilet paper. That she leaves where it lies, given the pinkish cordyceps growing all over it. No-one wants cordyceps in their asshole.

         “Think we’ll make it there by the end of winter?” asks Jamie after a few moments, tone forcefully blank. “Old Mission, I mean.”

         His real question is: ‘Do you think we’ll be okay?’

         She answers his fake one instead, accompanying it with a snort. “It’s only a mile from here, kiddo. At the rate we’re going, we’ll have everything down to Old Mission Road cleared by spring.”

         A moment passes in which he nods, tension easing in his shoulders slightly. Then he forces a laugh. “You think so?”

         She nods and ruffles his hood as she steps past him. “Pretty sure. Hell, if we and the Power Island teams keep this up, we’ll probably have a fifth of this place cleared by the time spring rolls around.

         “Think about it,” she says, turning around to point at him. “We give it five, ten years, stick to the plan, and we’ll have this whole fucking peninsula under lock and key. Imagine that. Probably the only survivors in the entire world to have a whole fucking peninsula to ourselves.”

         He snorts, shaking his head. “A sixteen mile long peninsula.”

         “Dude, you know Manhattan Island is only, like… fourteen miles long, right?” She scoffs, throwing her arms. “I’ve been there. You could fit Manhattan and then some in this place. In thirty years, we’re gonna be Apocalypse America’s goddamn capital.”

         That gets him to laugh, and it doesn’t even sound forced. “Yeah, well, let’s hope our luck holds up then.”

         She marches over to him and spins him around by the shoulders with zero hesitation. “Hey, no, Jamie? The progress we’ve made? It’s been, like… two percent luck. Maybe five percent. Alright? The rest is all hard work. Hard work and skill, stuff we should be proud of. Got that?”

         He laughs again, this time in the way teenagers do when they get embarrassed by how sincere an adult is being. Gently, he extricates himself from her grip, nodding. “I get it, Ellie, I get it.”

         “Good,” she says, nodding as she turns and walks away again. Then, with a smirk, she looks over her shoulder at him. “Don’t get cocky, though, kiddo. If you do, the infected here’ll penin-school-ya.”

         His groan is loud enough that she’s pretty sure Avery can hear it, and she cackles.

         They work in resolute silence after that, Jamie very determinedly punishing her for her pun. But that’s fine. It gives her time to think up more puns.

         She finds the answer to her previous question deep inside the tent, a note hidden in someone’s pack.

         If anyone finds this, know we have ascended and gone with God.

         The fallen may appear monstrous, but we have watched them. They do not eat. They do not sleep. They do not tire or feel pain. They work together, unified, to spread their gift. They have shed all weakness, division, and sin.

         They are holy. Their gift is holy.

         We partake in it willingly.

         Jesus fucking christ.

         She leaves that nightmare fuel where she found it.

         Their haul (ignoring fucked up cult suicide stuff) is decent. Some more medical supplies, some cans of chili and oranges, a few boxes of ammo, and they even manage to get a bit of diesel from the tractor. After they hack through about a foot of cordyceps to get at the fuel line, of course.

         When they don’t find Avery outside, they step a few yards away from the building to wait. Clear of the spores, they finally remove their masks, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

         Another upside to clearing the whole peninsula: she’ll not have to worry about wearing a mask on the mainland for months. Maybe even years. And good fucking riddance.

         It’s as she sticks her hands in her pockets to warm them that she remembers the bullet.

         With a small laugh, she holds it out to Jamie between two fingers like a cigarette. “Sorry, by the way. Left you a round short.”

         He takes it from her with a snort. “Not like I needed it. I still have that whole extra clip.”

         Seeing an opportunity, she raises an eyebrow and leans in. “Which leaves you…? How many shots?”

         The face he makes is priceless, a quick blanche before it screws up as he thinks.

         Eventually, the words coming out like plucked teeth, he says, “Twelv-no. No, there were the three runners, then that one clicker, then that stalker I took two shots to hit, not one… and the extra clip has seven rounds in it… so eleven rounds! I have eleven rounds left. Ha!”

         She stares at him for a moment, smirking, before raising her two fingers again pointedly. “Eleven, plus that round I just gave you,” she continues over his groan and eye roll, “plus the round that was in the chamber when we headed out this morning. You have one round chambered right now, four in the magazine, seven in your extra magazine, and one rolling around in your pocket. Thirteen total.”

         “O-Okay, but come on, that’s not fair!” he protests, throwing his hands up in the air. “You can’t just… give me an extra round I wasn’t counting the whole day and then pop quiz me!”

         “And your excuse for forgetting the one in the chamber is…?”

         “I… don’t have one,” he admits, collapsing his puffed out chest with a sigh. “How d’you manage to not only keep track of your own ammo, but mine too?”

         Laughing, she reaches up to pat his cheek gently. “Experience, kiddo. I’m thirty-one. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for more than fifteen years.”

         He nods, slowly, and glances over at her. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re… retirement age?”

         She smacks him over the head. Lightly.

         Of course, that’s the moment Avery decides to finally leave the building.

         “Dad, help, Ellie is bullying me!” Jamie calls out immediately, the little snitch, and she reaches up to smack him again.

         He could easily duck away given he has almost a foot on her. But he takes it, either like a champ or a punk that wants to play the victim.

         Regardless of his intent, Avery just waves him away as he pulls his mask off. “Good, you need some humblin.”

         She snickers at the deeply offended look Jamie shoots his father. “Really? You’re taking her side? What’s the opposite of ‘elder abuse’ because whatever it is, this is it.”

         “How do you even know that term?” she says, squinting at him.

         He folds his arms and shrugs defensively. “I read, sometimes.”

         A part of her wants to ask him what the hell kinds of books he’s been reading that mention ‘elder abuse’ but she decides to let it go. She wants to get this day over with already.

         “All clear?” she asks Avery, already pulling one of the spray paint cans from her pack.

         He nods and sighs, looking back at the building. “All clear. Got a bit of good stuff from the office, some horseshoes for Little Jim to turn into summin useful, but thas ‘bout it. Slim pickins.”

         She shrugs as she rattles the can, striding towards the building. “Jamie and I found some medical supplies and food, so I’d say we came out on top.”

         He doesn’t bother to reply as she steps up to the wall of the building, letting her concentrate on tagging it.

         She sprays one semi-circle of oblong blobs, then an inverted one right below it, all in bright red. A bite mark, and a sign for the Cleaning Crew that this place is good to go up in flames. And that their team is up yet another point.

         That’s nine buildings for the day. Pretty damn good, though she knows as much as they’re hustling, they’re still lagging behind in total. If not for the fact Gerri assigned them the sector with all the forests, they’d probably be miles ahead of the other teams.

         So much time spent slowly creeping through the trees, looking for dozens of overgrown houses, oh so carefully poking through the underbrush for frozen-over pocket colonies…

         It’s early days yet though, especially with the late start. Waiting for the temperature  to drop enough for the infected to start hibernating took so long she’d started getting the jitters from anticipation.

         She’s not the only one. As she’s walking back, Jamie is already looking around, bouncing on his heels. “So, where next?”

         “The lighthouse,” she answers, and he gives her an affronted look.

         “Don’t even start,” huffs his father, forcefully wheeling him around so he’s facing north. “We have an hour of sunlight left, if that. We’re done for the day.”

         Even as he begins marching in the direction, urged on by his father, Jamie looks back to stare at her pleadingly. “Oh come on, Ellie, tell him! We have time for another house or two!”

         “You say that now,” she laughs, shaking her head as she follows, “but next thing you know, there’ll be a bloater, we’ll be busy for hours, and we’ll have to stumble back in the dark to collapse into bed with cold dinner. So respectfully: fuck. That.”

         She thinks it’s the prospect of cold dinner that gets him to acquiesce.

         She swears to god, you can get teenage boys to do anything if you mention food.

         Pulling her radio, she clears her throat before speaking into it. “Bite Mark for Camp Higher, do you read? Over.”

         A pause, a crackle, and then Chuck’s voice. “Read you loud and clear, Bite Mark. What’s the situation? Over.”

         “We’re calling it for the day, headed back to you. How are the other teams? Over.”

         “Roger that, Bite Mark. And you’re the last ones calling it, only other team still out there is Bone Doctor and they’re on their way back already. Was wondering if you’d even be coming home tonight. Over.”

         She snorts. “Don’t you worry, we’ll be home soon. Over.”

         “See you soon then, Bite Mark, and stay safe. Camp Higher, over and clear on your final.”

         She smirks, shaking her head. “Bite Mark, over and out.”

         Yeah, they’ll definitely catch up before spring.

         No way is she letting Bone Doctor beat them at her own game.

Chapter Text

         She stares out the window, at the cold dawn turning the sky icy blue, and she wonders if she’s led all of them to their deaths.

         She had told them. She’d told them, ‘We’re almost there, we just need to push a bit further, we’ll be there before snow’s even on the ground. We’ll find them, and we’ll be safe.’

         And now they’re here, and the only thing they’ve seen is that the entire city, gating off the whole peninsula, is overrun with fucking infected.

         It had taken six of them to lead the horde off the main group, hours to lose them, and then pretty much the whole entire rest of the night to find everyone else again. And they still lost Jan. Genevieve. Christianson.

         Fucking… April.

         And they have seen no-one.

         ‘The Girl with the Bite Mark Tattoo.’

         ‘Spreading immunity.’

         ‘Started in Michigan.’

         ‘A large group on the Old Mission Peninsula.’

         That was what they went off of. That’s what had her bring them here. That’s why she dragged them across the country over the course of a year and a half.

         That’s why they’re in Michigan in winter, with barely any food, a dozen either wounded or sick in some way, and no sign of anyone.

         That’s why they’ve lost twenty-two people. More than half of who they started with. Not all of them dead, but gone all the same.

         They’ll lose more if they don’t find help soon. They’ll either starve, freeze, succumb, or they’ll get killed trying to go back through Traverse City.

         As she stares at the sunrise, she feels hot tears burn their way down her cheeks.

         God, she’s such a fucking idiot. They could have gone anywhere else after Catalina fell, should have gone anywhere else. Hell, back then they had enough people they could have probably started their own settlement.

Especially since maybe everyone who survived would have stayed. Arianna would have, she thinks.

         But those damn rumors. A cure, or a vaccine, or whatever the fuck. Maybe not exactly like how her father imagined it, but it was real. Unless years of rumors were all fucking lies. As pissed as they had made her when she first heard them, after Catalina, it was something.

         It hadn’t just energized her, it energized everyone. Almost every Firefly new and old that had survived latched onto it like her. If they couldn’t beat FEDRA, then maybe they could do the other thing Fireflies were supposed to do: look for a cure. More than that, with how the infected are evolving… the prospect of being immune is one they needed.

         But a cure doesn’t put food in their bellies. It doesn’t keep them warm at night. It doesn’t cure the little boy and his mother that are dying of pneumonia in the room below.

         No. They need help. Real help. And they need it soon.

         The door creaks open behind her.

         She immediately jumps and tries to hurriedly brush away the tears. The last thing their morale needs is to see their leader, their pitiful fuck-up of a leader, crying.

         But when she turns, it’s only Lev.

         Sighing in relief, she slouches against the wall next to the window again.

         He comes to stand by her silently. He looks as exhausted as she feels, and there’s a spot of dried blood just under his jawline. Must have missed it when he cleaned up after he hit his head last night. His face is thin, wane, because she knows that despite how she splits her rations with him, he gives the extra to Maria and Georgie.

         God, he’s such a good kid. Such a good kid. And she’s led him to his fucking death.

         “Marshall says he thinks we should give Maria and Georgie another half an hour to get some more sleep, and then we should head out,” he says quietly. “We’ll push hard for another half an hour, maybe an hour, to get clear of the city before resting.”

         She nods slowly. A good plan. This early in the morning, the infected should all still be dormant from the freeze in the night. But… “Should we leave them behind? Everyone who’s wounded, I mean. It’s secure here, and there’s plenty of furniture to burn. We can leave them the food, and Mark, Gracie, Alice, and Jacques can stay here to protect them. If we find help, we can come back for them.”

         He shoots her a look, a glare. “When we find help. And… no, I don’t think so. We’re still too close to the city. By the time it warms up, the demons will start looking for us. Maybe tomorrow, if we don’t find help by then.”

         She nods, again. All good points.

         But god… god, Maria and Georgie are so fucking weak already. They’re barely conscious most of the time, coughing their lungs out the rest, and if they pass from the cold as they’re moving… she’s pretty sure it would fucking break her. It would break every single fucking one of them.

         But his points are solid. It isn’t safe here, not for long.

         They all need to move.

         “Okay,” she says heavily, trying not to believe she’s sentencing them all to their doom. “Tell everyone to start getting ready to leave. Find as many blankets as Marshall thinks won’t slow him down, and get them ready in the wheelbarrow. It’s going to be a cold day, I can tell.”

         He nods, pats her on the shoulder, and turns away to walk towards the door. Halfway there, though, he pauses, spins around, and rushes back to hug her.

         It nearly chokes her up, and she covers it by squeezing him back as hard as she can.

         “It’ll be okay,” he says softly, into her shoulder. “We’ll find them. Nothing is stopping us.”

         A shuddering breath, and then she squeezes him tighter. “Nothing is stopping us.”

         She repeats the mantra in her mind as she stands in front of the group, as they’re all ready to leave. An attempt to banish any and all doubt from her face.

         Marshall, the mountain of a man, already has his hands on the wheelbarrow. In it, Maria and Georgie are covered in so many blankets she can hardly see them. Davey stands right next to Marshall, pistol in one hand, the other in a sling, keeping vigil over his wife and son. She can see the new bandages are already beginning to turn red, the gaping gunshot wound still seeping blood.

         Cricket wobbles on his crutches, the makeshift splint on his leg redone. His grandparents, Howard and Petunia, steady him from behind. They look tired, and thin. Pale. They’re too old to be journeying this far on foot with so little food and in the snow. She can also see Howard’s ribs haven’t gotten better, only worse, from how dutifully his wife avoids touching his right side.

         Jacques has Claudette on his shoulders, grip on her legs gentle, just below the gouge sliced into her thigh. Alice supports Latonya right next to him, making sure the cut on her sister-in-law’s neck doesn’t reopen. The whole family looks grim, Claudette scared, but both Jacques and Alice still have some fire in their eyes. Alice in particular. She knows that woman may kill her at the end of this if they don’t find help, but that she won’t give up on her family until she’s dead in the ground herself.

         Mark and May flank Nadia, who has little Aisha bundled in her arms. It surprises her, somewhat, that they can handle being near Aisha. She knows parents who have lost children, and most times, just being around other people’s kids brings them almost physical pain. To do it just hours after losing April… she has to imagine it’s spite against this fucking world and a refusal to let it take any more that has them flanking the new mother.

         Both of them look exhausted, eyes still bright red from crying. Or eye, in May’s case, her left one not only wrapped in gauze but padded with scarfs to keep the gouged wound from freezing.

         Aisha looked fine, when she checked on her before Nadia bundled her up, but Nadia herself… despite the extra rations they’ve all been giving her, she looks thin. She hasn’t produced milk today, or yesterday, and she can see the utter terror in her eyes as she holds her daughter. And from how she leans slightly to her left, she can tell the wound in her side is still bothering her.

         Abel and Gracie stand off to the side, not together but not apart. They’re the odd ones out aside from Marshall, in that they didn’t start this journey with family and haven’t lost any. She can tell from how they’re hunched over, though, that they feel all of their losses just as keenly. Gracie keeps to Abel’s right side, covering him and his wounded shoulder.

         Lev stands beside her, half supporting her as she leans on the tree branch she grabbed last night as a makeshift walking stick.

         Marshall. Lev. Mark. Gracie. Petunia. Alice. And Jacques.

         Only seven of them in fighting shape, and all of them varying levels of tired, hungry, and cold. All of them low on ammo.

         That’s all they have to protect nine wounded people, two of them children that can’t walk, a baby that’s not even a year old, and a mother and son so sick they’re barely conscious.

         And all of them counting on her to lead them to help.

         If she hadn’t already learned there’s no real god out there, let alone one that gives a shit about them… this scene, right here, would teach her.

         “Well,” she starts, trying to project her voice as strong, sure, “we’re here. We’re hurt, and we’re tired, and we’re sick, but we are here. We’re alive. And nothing is stopping us.”

         Several of them repeat the phrase, including Lev, and she gives them what she hopes is a smirk instead of a grimace.

         “That’s right,” she continues, nodding along. “Marshall, Lev, and I have already mapped out the route. We’re heading north up the road outside for about a mile before crossing east to get onto Center Road. That’ll give us enough room from the city to take a small break before we continue on. And if we follow Center Road, it’ll take us up the whole peninsula, right down the middle for the entire way.

         “Now, this godforsaken peninsula is only about sixteen miles long and not even three miles at its widest. If we hustle, really hustle, we can be at the end of the damn thing by the time the sun has gone down. And with the route we’re taking, we will find whoever is here. We’ll be able to see any smoke, hear any gunshots… christ, this place is so small they’ll probably find us. If we don’t…”

         A pause, as she tries to steady her voice. “If we don’t, then we’ll find somewhere safe and warm to stay the night. In the morning, those of us who aren’t injured will head out in teams to search the peninsula for any traces of survivors. When they find them, they’ll report back, and we’ll go from there. And like I said, this place isn’t very big. It won’t take long to search, nor will it be hard.”

         She is not nearly as confident as she sounds. But she can’t show it. Can’t sound it. The only thing keeping these people going is the hope they’ll find help here. That it’ll all be worth it.

         And if there isn’t, if they don’t find anyone… then she can deal with their hate, their betrayed looks, for however many days they have left alive. She’ll deserve it.

         When she sees slivers of hope on everyone’s faces, she turns and opens the front door to the house they’re squatting in. “Alright, people. Let’s get this show on the road.”

         It’s absolutely frigid outside, even as well bundled up as every single one of them is. The snow is more like ice, frozen along the top so that with every step comes a loud crunch.

         But as they move, they don’t see any sign of infected. Not any living ones, that is. There’s plenty of dead ones frozen around.

         The loudest of them all is Marshall with the wheelbarrow, but he makes up for it by walking as fast as any of them do without it. She thanks whatever higher power is out there again for keeping him alive this long. Without him… she’s not sure they’d have been able to keep Maria and Georgie with them.

         Their pace is slow.

         Even without the snow, and discounting Maria and Georgie, so many of them are injured that their pace is honestly abysmal. She hobbles along with her walking stick on one side and Lev on her other, desperately trying not to put weight on her left ankle.

         It’s impossible to keep it out of the way entirely, though. The snow is just too high. It would maybe be easier with actual crutches, but Cricket needs them more than her, the poor kid.

         By the time they stop for the rest at Center Road, she feels slightly nauseous from the pain.

         When everyone else is occupied with checking on their friends, their loved ones, Lev kneels beside her. Nearly silent, he whispers, “Can you keep going?”

         She doesn’t even think about it. She nods with a grimace, glaring at him resolutely. “I have to.”

         He doesn’t argue with her about it. Can’t. She knows the last thing he wants is to leave her behind, and the only way he’d get her to stay behind is to argue with her in front of everyone about it. Which he won’t do. He knows the last thing they need right now is division.

         Before they set off again, she forces herself up and does the rounds to check on everyone. And everyone is about as she expects.

         Tired. Hungry. Hurt.

         Nearing hopeless.

         Mark and May worry her the most. They’ve all lost people on this journey, but the look in their eyes… it’s at once both listless and scarily focused.

         It’s the focused part that scares her the most. Losing a mother and their daughter so soon, so close to the finish line, yet still going… it takes either strength, or a death wish.

         “How are you guys holding up?” she asks them from where they’re sat together in silence on the hood of a car.

         She keeps her tone gentle, yet probing, trying to mean at once both how they’re doing in general and how they’re handling today’s first mile so far.

         The look they give her tells her they don’t appreciate the first meaning.

         “Fine,” says May shortly, before gesturing vaguely to the bundle of medical gauze over her right eye. “Trying to keep it warm.”

         Mark nods along, but doesn’t say anything. Nothing to say, she supposes.

         “Okay.” She sucks in a breath as she straightens, leaning heavily on her walking stick. “Let me know if that changes, okay? We can maybe stop and try to find some more insulation for it.”

         They just nod, and she has no choice but to move on.

         The Allards are all huddled together against a large delivery van, sheltering from the wind. She smiles as she sees Latonya and Claudette drawing in the frost covering the side of it.

         “Hey, you guys,” she says as she hobbles up, before smiling at Claudette. “What’re you drawing, kiddo?”

         “A map of the peninsula,” she answers quietly, and now that she’s said it, she can actually… kind of… recognize the blob on the van as the Old Mission Peninsula.

         Latonya smiles at her, the expression closer to a grimace. “She… wanted to help try and figure out where those people may be.”

         It takes a bit of effort for her own smile to not fall from her face.

         Fuck, the kid must be really scared if they can’t even distract her from the situation at hand. Usually Jacques and Latonya would try to get her to think about literally anything else. So she assumes, right now… they’re just trying to give her hope. Or make her feel useful.

         The least she could do is help.

         Stepping a bit closer, she raises her hand to point at the blob with a grin. “Well, if I were them… I’d settle either here, here, or… here.”

         She taps the very top of the peninsula. “According to our map, there’s a lighthouse here. It’s a good, recognizable landmark, and with it right up against the lake here, it’ll make it safe from infected since they can’t swim. And these other two are bays. That’s what you call a part of the coast that curls in on itself like that.”

         She almost asks her if she remembers the one from Catalina before she realizes it would be callous as hell to remind her of the home she lost. So instead, she continues on with her explanation, pleased as Claudette nods along. “They help protect boats from things like storms or waves. Not really a problem here, since this is ultimately a lake, but it also means there’s lots of room to launch ships from. Good for fishing and getting around.

         “And this second one,” she taps the one near the north of the landmass, “has the largest town on the peninsula. Lots of buildings to live in, supplies to scavenge… if we don’t see anyone by tonight, that’s where we’ll start our search in the morning.”

         “Okay,” replies Claudette quietly, peering at the roughly-drawn bay. Then she looks at her with her big brown eyes, lip quivering. “Do you really think we’ll find someone?”

         “I know we will.” She doesn’t let her smile fall or her voice waver. “Heard too many rumors about people up here for them all to be fake.”

         Not true in the slightest. They heard lots of rumors about a big group up here, sure. But while the rumors were focused around the Old Mission Peninsula, they also sometimes mentioned the surrounding area. This ‘big group’ could be anywhere in northern Michigan.

         She chose to head for the peninsula because it seemed like the safest bet. A relatively large area that remained defensible.

         Now, after Traverse City… she’s not so sure.

         There’s also a possibility that even if they do find anyone, they won’t help them.

         It had been brought up to the group when they first set off, and she had argued a group rumored to be spreading immunity had to be at least a little altruistic. Maybe they won’t take them in, but they should at least help them.

         As the months went by, the worry was repeated, and repeated, and repeated, but by less and less people, until it was only her bringing it up. And only with Lev and Marshall, as they planned for the worse. Everyone else… well, she thinks they stopped talking about it because what hope they had couldn’t handle the idea.

         And now, she doesn’t bring it up because they no longer have any choice. It’s either press on, or die.

         Claudette seems reassured, though, as she turns away to start turning the peninsula-blob into what looks like a cat.

         Looking to her father, mother, and aunt, she asks, “What about you guys? You doing okay?”

         Every one of them except Alice nods, who instead shrugs. “Alive. Moving. Keeping our eyes peeled.”

         The final part is accompanied by a narrow eyed glare, and she doesn’t have the will or the energy to do anything but take it.

         If anyone has reason to hate her, it’s Alice. She was one of the few of comparable rank who survived Catalina, and she had been against this journey from the very start. She had tried to talk every single last one of them out of it. Even tried to pull rank with a few people.

         But the prospect of immunity for their daughter was too important for Jacques and Latonya, and where they go, Alice follows.

         A year and a half ago, she thought Alice was being overdramatic. Negative. Maybe not by much, but she did. A part of her, a stupid, stupid fucking part, even thought she was just jealous they looked to her as their new leader instead of her.

         But now… now, she’s certain the woman was right. Even if they do find someone, even multiple someone’s, it’s hard for her to believe it’ll have been worth it.

         So she absorbs her glare, the hate and blame conveyed by it, with grim acceptance. “Thanks. Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”

         “Will do,” says Jacques, sparing her a wane smile. “Thanks, Anderson.”

         “Thank you, Abby,” adds Latonya, reaching out to grip her arm. “And don’t worry. We’ll find someone soon. I’m sure of it.”

         She has a feeling she isn’t saying it for her benefit, but Claudette’s, just like she did. The girl hasn’t cracked a smile in days. Maybe even weeks. She needs all the reassuring she can get.

         Cricket is in a similar mood. He’s sat in the front seat of a wrecked car, repeatedly tapping one of his crutches into the snow. Howard and Petunia stand a few yards away, watching him worriedly.

         “How’s his leg?” she asks in a low voice as she walks up, and immediately they both shake their heads.

         “The same,” sighs Petunia sadly, the words coming out slightly muffled by how she worries her thumbnail between her teeth at the same time. “It just isn’t healing with all this walking.”

         She nods, and her walking stick creaks in her grasp from how tightly she grips it. The implication is unspoken.

         If they can’t let it heal soon, it may never heal right at all.

         And a bum leg, out here, is a death sentence.

         “No matter what, we’ll be stopping for the next few days,” she says quietly, sharing a meaningful look with them. “Either because we’ll have found help, or because we’ll be letting everyone injured rest while the rest search.”

         From the looks on their faces, it’s clear they know as well as she does Cricket needs more than just a few days. But it’s all she has for them, all she can guarantee them right now. If they can’t find help within a few days of searching this peninsula, then they’ll have to cut their losses. Leave, or more likely, die.

         “We know, Abigail,” says Howard kindly, reaching out to pat her shoulder. His wrinkled face has grown even more gaunt over the past few months, losing some of its grandfatherly charm. “Don’t worry, we’ll hang in there. Cricket will too; he’s a strong lad.”

         She gives him a smile, even as she thinks that ‘strong’ isn’t enough right now.

         Still, when she walks up to Cricket, she gives him a grin like everything’s fine. “Still hanging in there, trooper?”

         He doesn’t look up. He just keeps slowly turning the snow by his feet into slush, churning it with his crutch. “Yep.”

         She resists the urge to cluck her tongue. Not a good sign that Cricket isn’t talkative.

         “I meant to ask when it first started, but,” she kicks up a bit with her walking stick, “this your first time seeing snow?”

         “Kinda,” he answers, looking at her with an accompanying shrug. “Always saw some on the mountains in the winter, back in Sacramento, but only on the mountains. And we never went up there.”

         “Well,” she says, hiding a wince as she eases herself down closer to eye level, “what do you say that when we stop somewhere safe, and your leg heals up… I show you how to have a snowball fight? Huh?”

         That finally wrings a smile out of him. “Really?”

         “Yep!” she quickly bats her walking stick against his crutch. “Back in Seattle, my friends and I used to have them with the kids there all the time. Gonna have to go easy on me, though, okay? I was never very good.”

         He smirks, tapping her walking stick back. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

         She snorts, shaking her head as she walks away. “Punk.”

         When she comes to Nadia, it’s to see her trying to nurse Aisha while Abel and Gracie hover protectively. Her spirits lift for a second, until she gets close enough to hear Aisha whimpering, and see Nadia’s nipple is dry as a bone.

         “Still nothing?” she mutters, and Nadia shakes her head. When she looks up, her eyes are misty, and her dark face is pale with fear.

         “I-I am trying, but… i-it simply is not…” With something like a sob, she squeezes her eyes shut and hangs her head.

         Trying not to cry herself, she reaches down to rub her shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. I’m sure it’ll come when you have some more time to rest. Or when she starts crying. I used to know a doctor who worked in pediatrics, and she said that sometimes that’ll trigger it.”

         “A-And any infected nearby,” she adds, shaking her head and pushing her hand away.

         “In which case we’ll handle it,” she tells her resolutely. “Nadia, I swear to you: nothing is going to happen to Aisha. I won’t let it.”

         She doesn’t answer, but the way she shakes tells her all she needs to know: she doesn’t believe her empty promises. And she’s right not to.

         Even if Aisha does cry, and even if it calls down infected, and even if they deal with them… it’s no guarantee Nadia will start lactating. It’s gotten sparser and sparser as the weeks have gone on, despite how many extra rations and how much extra rest they try to give her.

         A part of her thinks it’s stress, but she has no idea. Even if it were, she doesn’t know how they’d fix that.

         Food is simpler for adults and for kids. Even if it’s expired by thirty years, if it’s something dry or something canned, it’s probably safe.

         But if they give Aisha expired baby formula, if they even found it… it could make her sick.

         It could kill her.

         And she has no fucking idea what to do instead.

         Before she can try to reassure her again with empty platitudes, Gracie puts her hand on her shoulder. “Abby. Abel and I wanna talk to you.”

         The look on her face is dead serious, contrasting her youthful freckles and curly blonde hair. Abel looks at her over the shoulder, a grim scowl on his face.

         Nodding, she lets them lead her a few yards away from Nadia.

         “We want to start searching now,” says Abel immediately, speaking quickly and precisely. “Just the two of us. One of us on each coast, working our way up.”

         Before she can tell him he can fuck off, Gracie cuts in. “You guys keep following this road, and when it gets dark, if you haven’t found anybody, find a safe spot to rest near it. We’ll find you once we either find help, or the two of us meet up again at the north edge of the peninsula.”

         “No,” she says as soon as she’s done talking, shaking her head. “No fucking way.”

         “We can’t wait until tomorrow to start scouring this place, chiquita,” says Abel emphatically, gesturing around. “You say it’s small, but you know how things change since Outbreak Day. Our maps could be wrong, or we could run into trouble that’ll slow us down. You know it, I know it, Gracie knows it, ay, Lev and Marshall probably know it too. We needa start looking ASAP.”

         She knows he’s using the nickname purposefully, weaponizing it against her in hopes it’ll soften her stance.

         It does not.

         “Look, even if I were inclined to send people out now, you would not be among them, Luna,” she hisses, jabbing him in the chest. “Your shoulder is fucked, which means your shooting arm is fucked.”

         He nearly starts up again, as does Gracie, but she cuts them off with a glare. “Look, I know you guys want to help, I do. I love you for that. But until we find somewhere safe for the wounded and the kids to stay put, I’m not splitting up the group. If we run into trouble, we need everyone here to help.”

         They both sigh angrily, look away, cluck their tongues. But she can see her logic penetrate as they slowly relax. Or maybe not relax, but wind down.

         God. She really does fucking love them. In her eyes Gracie is still a kid, though she knows the girl herself would dispute that, but Abel is definitely a kid. Both of them are too young to have this kind of weight on their shoulders, yet they’re soldiering on. Trying to take on more, even.

         “I swear, Gracie, if we still need to look tomorrow morning I’ll let you be the first one out the door,” she says, reaching out to pat her head. Then she turns to Abel, socking him in his (good) shoulder. “And you. If you can lift your 1911 in your right hand without it shaking all over the place, I’ll let you go out too. But not until then. Are we clear?”

         They both mumble and shuffle their feet until she gives them a look.

         “Yeah, sure,” huffs Gracie as she tries to hide a smile.

         Able doesn’t bother, smirking at her a little bit. “Crystal.”

         The last people she checks on are Marshall, Davey, Maria, and Georgie.

         To her absolute surprise and delight… Maria is awake.

         Davey is kneeled down by the wheelbarrow, clasping one of her hands in his, talking in low murmurs. When he sees her approaching, he smiles at her, and she can see tears in his eyes.

         He moves aside slightly as she comes up, leaning down to peer at Maria. She’s nearly disappeared into the bundle of pillows and blankets, her son cradled to her chest. He’s dead asleep, breath wheezing loudly in and out of his chest.

         As soon as she sees her, a hazy smile twitches to life on her lips. “Hey, W… W…”

         She can’t finish the nickname before she starts coughing, a violent hacking that she can hear rattling through her whole chest.

         “Hey, Maria,” she says quietly as soon as it’s over, doing her best to smile for her. “How’re you feeling?”

         “Fuckin… crap…” she answers with a grin. After a moment, she raises her head slightly, doing her best to look around. “Where… where are we?”

         “About two miles into Old Mission Peninsula,” she answers, gesturing north with her walking stick. “We’ll be heading even deeper in just a few minutes.”

         Maria nods weakly, and she’s not sure how much sense she’s making of her words. “Oh… that’s good. H-Have… have we found, um… found anyone…?”

         She shakes her head. “Not yet, but we will. Only just started looking. I’m sure we’ll find someone before the day is done.”

         She isn’t. God, she is so far from fucking sure, but she doesn’t want this woman to go back to sleep knowing how utterly screwed they are. If nothing else, she wants her to have at least semi-pleasant fever dreams.

         “Mm,” Maria hums, eyes slipping closed as she nods. “Think so too... peninsula, it’s… good place to… nice land. Lots of water. Has to be… people.”

         She can see her drifting in and out, eyes fluttering, thoughts filtered like radio static through the flu and the pneumonia. But still, she smiles and nods, and reaches down to brush some hair out of her face. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. You are so right.”

         All she can manage is another weak nod, so she steps back, nodding to Davey. He slides back into place, even closer than before, murmuring sweet nothings to his wife.

         When she looks up, Marshall is watching her with a careful, sad look. They don’t need to trade words to know what they’re both thinking.

         Even if they do find help, Maria and Georgie may not survive.

         Their best chance is antibiotics to treat the pneumonia, and then some other drugs to soothe their flu symptoms. But all of those things are rare, only rarer as the years go by. What new medical stock trickles out of the QZ's is in high demand and absurdly expensive as a result.

         And not likely something they’ll have access to, even if they do find help. Those aren’t the sorts of things you waste on strangers unless you’re honest to god fucking saints.

         And there aren’t a lot of saints left in the world.

         She lets them all rest for another fifteen minutes, then another ten as Nadia finally manages to breastfeed Aisha. It isn’t much, going by her own words, but it still lifts all of their spirits a bit.

         The extra rations for her are worth it in that moment. And in every moment of every second of every minute of every hour they walk, as her stomach nearly devours itself in hunger. It’s sharp, shooting pain from both it and her ankle that render her nearly unconscious by the afternoon.

         She keeps moving, though. Walking stick and Lev forward, then hop. Walking stick and Lev forward, then hop.

         Walking stick and Lev forward, then hop.

         By the time the sun starts going down, her vision is blurry. Whether it’s from exhaustion and pain, or hopelessness as they continue with no sign of anyone… she doesn’t know.

         The only saving grace is the lack of infected, but it isn’t a surprise. It’s old, overgrown farmland as far as the eye can see with groupings of forest. Not the kind of landscape infected just roam around in, especially in the winter.

         On the other hand, that’s why none of them try any of the buildings. If there are infected here, then they’re holed up, and they can’t handle any sort of fight right now.

         That’s also why they stay quiet. No-one talks aside from the odd murmur or whisper. All the sound they hear is the crunch of snow beneath their feet, and the whistle of the wind.

         As the day wears on, though, it’s exhaustion that keeps them quiet. So, so quiet.

         Then despair.

         Despair, as they all make the same realization she did hours ago.

         There’s no-one here.

         If there were, they would have heard something. Seen something. Even just evidence of habitation, like tracks in the snow. But there’s nothing. The snow along the road is pristine, untouched. A road that would be well traveled by anyone living here, given its path right down the peninsula and its relatively intact nature.

         There is no-one here.

         She’s led them all to their deaths.

         But she continues leading them on. When they stop for lunch, and eat the rest of their food aside from a few granola bars, she pushes them on. When they stop for the afternoon, and give those granola bars to Nadia, Maria, and the kids, she pushes them on.

         She pushes, and she pushes, and she wonders what’ll happen when they reach the coast.

         What happens when they all have to accept that she’s killed them.

         Maybe Alice’ll kill her. Lev won’t let her, and neither will Marshall, but she would deserve it. Or maybe they’ll all just leave her. Ditch her as their leader.

         She’d also deserve that.

         Just as the sky turns from fiery oranges and reds to purples and blues, and she’s ready to call for them to find somewhere to hunker down for the night… there’s a soft crunch and squelch.

         Both Lev and her stop.

         From where she has her gaze dropped to the ground, she sees the culprit. A cross section Lev’s foot has cut through. Snow on top, then crusty white… and fleshy pink right at the center.

         A second later, she hears muffled screeches off to their right.

         When she looks that way, she sees a farmhouse, half ruined. Around the edges of its front door is clear cordyceps growth, reaching out in veins, the outer layers turned a brittle cream color from the sun. Said veins disappear under the snow as they leave the shadow of the house, but she can see how they stretch in their direction.

         Another screech, and the door starts shaking in its frame.

         “Run,” she croaks near-silently.

         When she looks back at the group, it’s to see them all frozen, staring at the front door.

         Clearing her throat, she bellows, “RUN!”

Chapter Text

         “We’re running low on ammo,” she says, wincing as she loads her very last shot into her revolver. “Told you we should have brought more.”

         Avery snorts, shaking his head. “And I told you we shoulda headed back an hour ago. But no. You let my son talk you into takin’ on a house, a shed, and a garage.”

         She sighs in exasperation, smacking him in the arm. “He had a point. We’re falling behind the other teams.”

         “First of all, winnin’ this stupid competition ain’t more important’n stayin’ alive,” he says sternly, and she rolls her eyes. He doesn’t need to tell her that.

         He sees her eye roll and clears his throat pointedly. “Secondly… if you wanted to win this thing, you shouldn’ta brought along an old man who can bitch better’n he can shoot.”

         She laughs loudly, shoving him away. “Shut the fuck up, you old fucker!”

         “I’m just sayin’,” he continues, throwing his hands up. “I’m old! I got vitamins I need to take! Prune juice to drink! Can’t be runnin’ around out here all hours of the night shootin’ infected dead.”

         It takes all her effort to regain control of herself from where she’s bent over, laughing her head off. Once she does, she straightens, stomach hurting as she pushes him again. “You’re fucking insufferable, man. You can be old when you stop one-tapping clickers around their fungal plates.”

         He snorts again, shaking a finger at her. “I’ve seen you do it too, girl. And do it while you’re in their face, not safe thirty yards away.”

         She shakes her head, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks despite herself. “Just luck for me, old man. ‘m not a deadeye like you. My aim’s still shit. More than ten years without two fingers on my damn hand, you think I’d have gotten used to it by now.”

         “If you aim shit, then everyone else I’ve ever met in my life aims atrocious,” he mutters, side eyeing her with a raised brow. “You’re always tellin’ my boy and yer girl to take pride’n what they do well. Take yer own damn advice, kid.”

         Snorting, she nods without looking up. “Fair point.”

         They stand in companionable silence after that, staring out across the landscape.

         Not for the first time, she thinks this place really will be fucking something once they’re done.

         There’ll be years of cleaning up to do, of course. But even after almost forty years, this place isn’t too bad. Most of the fields are still clear in terms of trees, most of the roads still decent, and hell, a lot of the buildings are decent too. If they were doing this in summer, it’d be like a dream. Walking up and down the vineyards, picking grapes to snack on as they go house to house…

         In the privacy of her own mind, she can admit every tagged bite mark feels damn good to look at.

         It’s a sign that she isn’t just going through the motions. She’s not just surviving. She’s building a better future. For her, for Rachel, for Islaborne.

         In a way, maybe even Dina and JJ and Tommy and Maria. The more land they take back, the more people are safe, the more resources they can produce…

         The closer to something approaching normal they get.

         She doesn’t think things’ll ever go back to the way they were before Outbreak Day. Even if her immunity spreads to every person on the planet, you can’t cure cordyceps. The infected’ll always be infected, and they sure as shit won’t be going down without a fight anytime soon.

         Plus, there’s no way to say it won’t evolve again. It used to be just insects, but now it’s humans. Eventually it might be animals too. Wolves, bears, deer… fish. Birds.

         God, she hopes if there ever are cordyceps-infected birds, it’ll be a thousand years after she’s gone.

         But despite the fact they’ll probably never be rid of cordyceps… if they can get this place under control, safe and secured…

         Well, they may just have a new new normal. One where it’s normal to be safe and secure and have everything you’d ever need.

         Her musings are interrupted by Jamie finally, finally, appearing back around the corner of the house.

         Avery echoes her thoughts, stepping away from the tree they were leaning against and spitting to the side. “Finally! Goddamn, son, were you tryin’ta water the whole dang peninsula?!”

         Jamie shucks his head, blushing. “Look, I just drank a lot of water, okay?”

         “Leave the kid alone, you curmudgeony old fuck,” she laughs, straightening up too.

         He hisses and shakes his head at her, aiming a smack at the back of her head that she ducks away from. “Oh, come off it, Miller, I know you were thinkin’ the same thing!”

         With a grin aimed at Jaime, she skips away. Over her shoulder, she throws back, “Totally was.”

         The kid huffs, and she can hear him flip her off. “Oh fuck off, Ellie.”

         Snickering, she grabs her radio, ready to tell Chuck they’re headed back in.

         Then there’s a gunshot.

         Instead of freezing, like she can hear Jamie do, she pulls her Colt from her holster. “The fuck was that?”

         She scans the horizon with narrowed eyes, not hooking her radio back onto her belt just yet.

         “One of the other fireteams?” asks Jamie, coming to stand up beside her, raising his rifle slightly.

         Avery comes to her other side, looking around with squinted eyes just like her. “Doubt it. Most of’em’re probably headed back already, and even if they weren’t… that shot came from the south.”

         Jaime nods, licking his lips. “One of the Power Island fireteams, then?”

         She snorts, replacing her radio on her belt and instead grabbing her binoculars. “Kid, if one of the Power Island teams is already close enough we can hear them, there’s no way we’re winning those pistols.”

         Raising her binoculars at the same time as both Jaime and Avery raise their scopes to their eyes, she scans the road.

         Immediately, she can see the cause, just as another shot rings out.

         “Holy fuck,” she whispers, watching the group of people running down the road.

         One, two, three, five… fucking one with a wheelbarrow…

         “On the road, six o’clock, survivors,” she says, feeling her mouth go dry as she continues to watch. “Holy shit… holy shit, there must be at least a dozen of them, maybe more. God, look at all those fucking infected… they must have woken up a whole colony.”

         “Sweet jesus,” mutters Avery. Then, in an undertone a moment later. “Ellie, I think they got kids with’em.”

         That has her lowering the binoculars instantly, throwing them back in the pouch on her pack. “Come on, we have to help them! Jaime, you stay here, radio the lighthouse and let them know we have a situation!”

         “What?!” he exclaims immediately, lowering the rifle to stare at her in affront. “No, come on, I can help-!”

         “Son, you stay the fuck back here, damnit!” bellows Avery, spinning around to jab a finger in his chest. “Look, we ain’t a goddamn clue who these people are, and if they turn out bad, you need to be the one to radio the lighthouse!”

         He doesn’t wait for him to reply, instead rushing after her as she sprints towards the group.

         For a moment, she worries the dumbass kid’ll follow them. But then she hears his radio crackle and him say, “This is Bite Mark 3 for Camp Higher, come in! We have eyes on strays fleeing agarics, Bite Mark 1 and Bite Mark 2 are moving to assist! I repeat, this is Bite Mark 3 for Camp Higher, we have eyes on strays fleeing agarics, Bite Mark 1 and Bite Mark 2 are moving to assist! Over!”

         Then she’s too far away to hear him anymore, let alone the reply.

         It doesn’t matter. She keeps sprinting, legs pumping, breath heaving in and out of her chest.

         Kids. God, she thought they might have some, but as they get closer, she knows they do. At least two, and she thinks they even have people in that fucking wheelbarrow, for fuck’s sake!

         They’re not going to outrun the infected.

         She can see it already. They must have gotten a head start, but one of them is limping along with a walking stick in one hand and a kid, a young guy, helping on the other side. Some of their friends start to outpace them, but she can see them slow down, turn, firing, not willing to leave them behind-

         Fuck, there’s so many. She can see at least eight runners, six clickers, a couple stalkers loping around to the sides, throwing snow everywhere as they scamper on all fours.

         She slows just a bit and raises her Colt, taking aim at one of them as it nears a couple that has a young boy held between them. The reason is obvious, crutches bouncing along in the kid’s hands.

         She thanks all her fucking lucky stars her aim is true and the stalker goes down in one hit, just as it crouches down to leap.

         She fires again, and again, and again, aiming for the stalkers first, knowing that even if they hold off the other infected, they’ll circle around, target the stragglers. They drop one by one by one, three down in total plus one she hadn’t seen until she was nearly on top of the survivors.

         They run past her as she slows to a stop, slinging her bow from her shoulder and immediately nocking an arrow as the first of the runners come up.

         The first one, young enough when he turned that he doesn’t come up to her chin, falls with an arrow straight to the heart.

         The next, a woman, crumples as her head snaps back, no doubt Avery’s doing as the crack of a rifle shot rings out behind her.

         Another, head twisting as her arrow goes through it, the one beside him getting so close she can see the whites of his eyes before another of her arrows finds his throat.

         She’s pacing backwards, trying to keep her breath steady, hands calm, as she nocks another arrow. The clickers are closing in now, just behind the rest of the runners, picking up speed as they shake off their hibernation stiffness.

         Another runner down, Avery’s shot going right through its eye, and she drops the one closing in to her right with another arrow.

         Two more are heading straight for her, nearly side by side with a clicker right behind them, and she doesn’t waste the opportunity. She spends a single millisecond feeling along her quiver for an arrow with a waxed end, and she lets it fly as soon as she has it nocked and drawn.

         It slides between the two runners and hits the clicker right below its throat, and she ducks slightly as an explosion rocks the street and viscera goes flying.

         Then she’s leaping back as a runner comes swinging out of the smoke for her.

         On instinct, she ducks again, and she can hear the whistle of Avery’s bullet as it flies overhead. The runner nearly flips over from the force of it as it takes the shot in the chest.

         And then she sees the clickers, too close for another arrow, and too many for what ammo she has loaded.

She could kite them while she reloads, but she can hear the survivors behind her. They’re further back, but not far enough, clearly sticking around to help if they can. She appreciates the gesture, but it is so not what she needs right now.

         If she kites the clickers back, they’ll overtake them in no time, and it’ll turn into a clusterfuck. If she circles around to the right or the left, she may drag one or two off, but the rest will sense how weak these guys are. They’ll peel off to target them.

         With a sigh, she tosses her bow aside, draws her machete, and steps forward.

         The yell she lets out tears at her throat and echoes all along the street.

         The clickers stumble to a stop, shrieking and gasping, their basic intelligence recognizing her confidence as a threat.

         “COME ON!” she roars, flipping the machete over the back of her hand. “COME THE FUCK ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU WANT THEM, YOU GOTTA GET THROUGH ME!”

         They do come.

         Her display only stalls them for a single moment before they recognize the numbers advantage. Five against one. Good odds for them, especially when just one clicker against her would be decent odds.

         She doesn’t back down. Not when there are kids behind her, injured fucking kids.

         One of them drops before it even gets close, a shot put through its skull, right to the side of the fungal plate. It almost makes her snort.

         ‘Old’ her fucking ass.

         The one in front lunges for her, and she dances back and to its left, out of its echolocation cone, flicking her machete out to the side at another one coming up to her right. Its blade goes right through its fingers just before it tries to close them around her coat, and she stumbles back, gasping at the close call.

         Then it’s gone, thrown down the street as a shotgun rings out, and she doesn’t bother looking to see which of the survivors took the shot.

         Another clicker lunges for her, and she dodges to the side again, but this time she steps back in, aiming a quick chop at the back of its neck.

         It’s dead-on, thank fuck, slicing deep between the vertebrae. It drops like a puppet with its strings cut, even as its mouth keeps moving, wordlessly screaming.

         She’s too slow to get away from the one right behind it, swinging at it haphazardly and only succeeding in taking its left hand off. Then it’s on her, right hand grabbing her shoulder, and with a cry she shoves her vambrace into its face.

         The dumb fuck latches onto it, teeth nearly breaking as they clamp around the hardened steel. And yet still, she can feel the impact rattling all the way up to her shoulder.

         With a grunt, she plants a foot in its stomach, shoving it back just enough to swing her arm back for another swing.

         She curses as it hits its fungal plate, nearly getting her machete caught in it before tearing it free. Half the cordyceps growth comes with it that she shakes off with a quirk spin.

         A shot rings outs, one she recognizes as Avery’s, and she knows that’s another down. He wouldn’t let it be anything else.

         That leaves only this one.

         So with a scream, she tackles the clicker as it curls in on itself, stunned at the sudden loss of its fungal plate.

         Straddling it, she reaches for its right arm, wrestling until she gets a grip on it and pries it off to the side. It takes leaning her entire weight in that direction to do it, the clicker’s unnatural strength fighting her every inch.

         Then she brings her machete down onto its face just as it lungs for her with a clicking moan.

         The blade digs into its skull, and she doesn’t wait before pulling it back and throwing it forward again with a cry.

         Then again, and again, and again until it stops fucking moving.

         Gasping, she lets its limp arm drop.

         For a moment, she sits there on top of it, heaving breath in and out of her lungs. Then she looks to her right, to the south down Center Road. She doesn’t see any other infected, nor can she hear them.

         Swallowing thickly, she stands.

         Stumbling over to that first clicker she dropped, still silently gnashing at the snow it fell face first in, she buries her machete in its skull.

         Ripping it free, she pauses there, watching to make sure it’s dead. When it doesn’t move again, she breathes a sigh of relief.

         She wipes her blade clean on its shirt as she casts her gaze around for her bow. When she sees it landed off to the side of the road, she walks over to pick it up, sheathing her machete again.

         Then she goes around collecting her arrows, trying to calm her breathing and let the adrenaline drain from her system. She doesn’t need to be talking to these people hyped up like she’s still ready for a fight. Besides, she’s sure they all need a second to check each other over, make sure they’re all okay. It’s what she would do.

         By the time she’s found all her arrows, she’s caught her breath, and she’s calmed down.

         Shouldering her bow again, she turns to the group of survivors.

         Just as she opens her mouth to speak, her eyes catch on someone in the middle of the group. The one with the walking stick, leaning on a young Asian man with scars along his cheeks.

         A large, feminine frame underneath the heavy winter clothes. Blonde hair, hanging free in a ponytail now that her hood has fallen down. Stormy blue eyes that widen when they meet hers.

         She’s older now. Her face is lined with new scars, and the one Dina gave her along her cheek has faded. One of the new scars traces her jaw, and she thinks it’s from where she cut her in Santa Barbara. Her blonde hair is a shade or two lighter, either from age or the sun, and her jawline seems even stronger because of her slightly sunken cheeks.

         But just like Santa Barbara… she would recognize this woman anywhere. Any time, any place, because for years she has haunted her fucking nightmares.

         Her revolver is in her hand and pointed at her before she realizes it.

         “ABBY?!”

         Everyone immediately screams, shouts, and raises their own guns before tense silence falls.

         Fuck.

         Fuck, fuck, fuck, she needs to keep cool. Stay calm. She knew this was a possibility. Knew it was fucking likely, even.

         Even if she hoped that ‘the Girl with the Bite Mark Tattoo’ was literally anyone else. That this girl had gone the fuck back to Jackson and stayed there after nearly killing her and Lev.

         But the moment she saw the girl run past her, auburn hair streaming in the wind and green eyes burning in the sunset’s light, she knew.

         When she heard her enraged scream, her enraged taunt, the insanity of trying to go toe to toe against clickers with a machete… and winning… she knew.

         She nearly doesn’t keep cool. She nearly pulls her gun with everyone else and pumps her full of holes, the hate in her a physical thing. It clamps onto her bones, clings to her muscles, trying to puppet them towards acts of unimaginable violence against this fucking girl.

         But she hears Claudette whimper worriedly behind her, and she realizes that she can’t afford to hate. Not when the hate is directed at maybe the only chance they have to survive.

         Not when she just saved her life, and the life of everyone she still loves in this world, again.

         “Guns down,” she whispers, croaks, almost not believing her words.

         Lev, his own pistol raised and as stiff as steel beside her, looks at her in alarm. “What?!”

         “Guns down!” she repeats, louder, straightening up. There’s more sounds of dissent, confusion, and she lets out an angry sigh. “GUNS FUCKING DOWN!”

         She roars the words at the top of her lungs, and it shocks them all into silence. Then compliance, as they slowly lower their weapons.

         After a moment, one spent desperately trying to control her heart rate, she turns around. She looks the girl in the eyes, and she tries to drop every ounce of anger and hate from her face.

         It isn’t hard. She just lets the fear she’s felt for months fill her instead. The despair. The hopelessness. Hell, even the hope, the hope that she felt at seeing their saviors. The hope she felt when she saw them running towards them, when she heard the shots ring out, when she saw this… fucking girl run past her like taking on a horde of infected was the only logical thing to do in that moment.

         The hope that not even one of their saviors being this girl can dampen.

         “I’m not here to fight.” Her voice is weak, shuddering despite her best efforts. “We need help. P-Please.”

         A sob catches itself on the last word, and she blinks back tears. Please, please, please…

         She doesn’t care if this girl kills her. So long as she helps these people first, that’s all that matters.

         The girl stares at her, hate and anger warring on her face. But then her eyes glance behind her, and the emotions falter. Crack.

         She can see the moment her eyes catch on Claudette, who she just knows is hiding her face in her father’s neck. Cricket, still held between Howard and Petunia. Aisha, a bundle in her mother’s arms.

         Maria and Georgie, nearly dead in the wheelbarrow.

         The way she holsters her revolver looks almost involuntary, as is the near-silent, “Fuck,” she lets out as she does so.

         But she moves forward, quickly, worry back on her face and stride purposeful.

         “What the fuck happened to you guys?” she asks, the question directed at her, yet it’s accompanied by only a glance. “Where did you come from?”

         “C-Catalina Island,” she stutters, growing impatient as she walks past her, quickly peering at everyone. Taking stock of their injuries and their numbers, no doubt.

         They all stumble backwards from her, still frightened from the stand-off, but the sharp looks she shoots them anchor them in place. “A-And a lot, but it’s a long story, and we need help now.”

         The girl nods without looking at her. She can see her worry her lip as she stands in the middle of them all, though, turning around in circles as she fiddles with her fingers.

         Her partner, the man, clears his throat. He’s moved up from where he had taken a stand down the road, firing shots that were scary accurate. This close, she can see the culprit: a military issue rifle slung over his shoulder.

         Quietly, he says, “Ellie?”

         Ellie.

         That’s her name.

         All these years, she wondered what her name was. She could have found out, could have asked any of the people on Catalina who survived Salt Lake if they remembered it. Could have listened a bit closer when they spoke about her in venomed tones.

         But a part of her didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to attach a name to the monster who helped kill her friends, who hunted her down a year later and threatened Lev. Who nearly killed her twice.

         She didn’t want to bring her up when so many of the people on Catalina had come from the Rattlers. Who talked about the infected girl who helped free them, who slaughtered enough of the Rattlers that they could win the fight, all in her last moments.

         Even when she mentioned she tried to kill her right after, and it didn’t wipe the stars from their eyes like she thought it would, like it should… she didn’t say who she knew that girl was. She let them keep thinking she died that night of cordyceps.

         The girl who, despite it all, saved her. Saved her people. And can maybe save them again now.

         Ellie.

         It’s only when the girl, Ellie, looks at her startled that she realizes she said her name out loud.

         She tries not to think about it, and instead just meets her eyes. “Please.”

         Ellie looks at her like she’s never seen her before. She fiddles with her left middle finger, one of the only ones remaining on her left…

         Why does she have her ring and pinky fingers on that hand back?

         Before she can question it any further, Ellie nods. “I-If we help you… we’ll be taking your weapons when we get to our settlement. And those of you who aren’t badly hurt will be put in our holding cells until we figure out what to do with you. As a precaution. But we’ll get you medical treatment, food, and you’ll be warm.”

         Her voice is almost detached, but her eyes are still locked on hers. She can’t tell whether it’s the situation or her tone that make it feel like she’s dreaming.

         “It’s nothing personal,” adds Ellie, and it almost sounds like she believes it. “Those are just our rules…”

         A moment later, and she gestures vaguely at her. “Sound good?”

         She sighs, starting to feel just a touch impatient. “Anything. Just help us.”

         The girl nods, slowly, and then reaches down to a radio at her belt.

         Raising it to her mouth, she says, “This is Bite Mark 1 for Camp Higher. Do you read? Over.”

         A second later, there’s static, and a man’s voice comes through. “Bite Mark 1, this is Camp Higher, we read you loud and clear. We heard the basics from Bite Mark 3. What’s the situation? Over.”

         A pause, as Ellie just stares at her, before finally ripping her gaze away to look north. “We rescued the group of strays, and we’re bringing them in. We’re about an hour and a half, two hours out as is, and we’ll be heading up Center Road. Send Bone Doctor out on three of the horses with one of the wagons. We’ll take the horses and wagon from them for some of these people to ride, and Bone Doctor can walk back with us.

         “These people are all some combination of hurt, tired, hungry, sick, or cold, so keep dinner on the fire and make sure Camp Nurse is ready for some first aid. Radio Crusade Leader, General Senior, and Holy Dam to give them the heads-up we got strays incoming.”

         She nearly cries with relief. It takes all of her effort not to do so, helped along by pride. Even if she is saving the lives of her people, she’s not going to cry in front of Ellie.

         However, curiosity also helps as Ellie pauses and glances at her before looking back north.

         “Threat level is minimal, so tell them not to worry much. Over.”

         Minimal. Threat level is minimal? Is it because most of them could barely fight even if they wanted to?

         When Ellie glances at her again, she realizes that’s not it.

         She realizes it’s a message to her.

         ‘I want to make things easy for you, so don’t make me regret it.’

         She won’t.

         For the love of god and all that is good and holy in this world, if she helps these people, she will let her kill her.

         The radio crackles again. “Copy that, Bite Mark 1. Bone Doctor are already scrambling to be there ASAP, and I’ll make sure we’re ready for those strays. Camp Higher, over and clear on your final.”

         “Bite Mark 1, over and out,” says Ellie, sounding almost relieved.

         Then she steps away, out in front of them, and turns around. Her expression is no longer worried, or angry, or hateful, or uncertain. It’s firm, resolute. Strong.

         It looks like Joel’s face did, when he first met her in that damn town outside Jackson all those years ago.

         ‘I gotcha!’

         Nausea turns in her stomach, unrelated to her pain or her exhaustion.

         “Okay everybody, listen up!” she calls out, voice loud as she looks at each and every single one of them at least once. “I know what happened just a few seconds ago was scary, and I’m sorry about that! Your leader and I have some history that scared the shit out of me when I recognized her, but that doesn’t matter right now! What matters is that I’m sure as hell not gonna let any of you die!

         “My name is Ellie, and this is Avery, a member of my fireteam! We’ll be taking you north to our forward operating base where we’ll warm you up, get you some basic medical attention, and put some food in your bellies! Then we’ll be loading onto a ferry and heading for our main settlement where you’ll be taken care of, and where you’ll be staying until we decide what to do with you! Like you may have heard, we’re about two hours out from our FOB, but we have some help on the way to hopefully speed us up a bit!

         “What I want you guys to know, right now, is that from this point forward there are no infected!” She almost shouts the damn words. “There are no raiders! It is one hundred percent, completely safe! We know that for a fact! So all I need you folks to do is focus on putting one foot in front of the other! Sound good?!”

         There’s murmurs, some of them in apprehension, some in disbelief. Disbelief she shares.

         It’s not a huge peninsula, but unless she has the map mixed up in her head, there’s at least two miles to the coast from where they are. At least three square miles area-wise.

         How are there no infected, at all, between here and there?

         But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that salvation is just ahead of them. Food, warmth, medical attention… safety.

         “Sounds good,” she croaks first, giving a pointed look to Lev when he stays silent.

         His eyes are locked on Ellie, wary and venomous, but he’s always been pragmatic. He nods after a second, and that’s enough. Everyone else, one by one, makes agreeable sounds or gestures.

         “Good,” says Ellie, nodding to herself before turning to the man next to her. “Go see if you can convince that couple to let you carry that little boy.”

         “Got it,” he says, shouldering his rifle and striding forward and past her.

         To her surprise, Ellie approaches her immediately after. “I’m carrying you.”

         “You are not fucking carrying me,” she hisses with no hesitation, and Lev’s grip on her tightens.

         There’s a lot she would do for help, but letting Ellie carry her when she can walk (pretty much) fine on her own is a step too far.

         Ellie steps forward, though, into both her and Lev’s personal space, dropping her voice. Her tone isn’t quite angry, but it is emphatic, hurried. “Look, even once the horses get here, it’ll be a while to get to our FOB. And then it’ll be hours on the ferry. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but those people you have in that wheelbarrow need medical attention now. We need to go as fast as we can, and your leg is fucked. I’m pretty sure if someone in your group could carry you, they’d already be doing it.”

         She leans in, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Let. Me. Carry. You.”

         Her touch burns like fire and ice. It makes her sick. It makes her nauseous. It makes her feel like she is betraying everyone she ever loved.

         But she’s right.

         “Fine,” she says, almost spitting the word out.

         “No,” says Lev immediately, shaking his head and pushing Ellie away forcefully. Her expression snaps into rage for a split second before she wrestles it under control. “I’ll carry you.”

         She shakes her head, though, gently trying to push him away. “You can’t. I know you can’t. She’s right; if you could, you would be doing it already.”

         He sucks in a breath through his nose, his entire frame shaking. “Abby-!”

         “Lev!” she interrupts, giving him a look. “It’s fine. She’s… fine. Right?”

         She looks to Ellie now, her glare pointed. If it bothers her at all, though, she doesn’t show it. She just nods and looks to Lev. “Right.”

         He glances between the two of them for a second before stepping away with an angry sigh.

         She almost lists to the side before Ellie steps in, holding her again to steady her. When she glares at her, baring her teeth, she just looks back.

         The hate and anger is visible, now, in the depths of her face. But it’s hidden by something cool and professional. Something that stays there as she shrugs her pack off, holding it out to Lev.

         He stares at it, glances at her, and then takes it.

         In the moment after, she looks at her again, raising an eyebrow as if to say, ‘We good?’

         She thinks on it, thinks about what’s at stake, and then nods.

         When she turns and lower down, holding her hands out… she hands her walking stick to Lev, and she climbs onto her back.

         For a moment, as she straightens, she worries she’s going to topple over from the weight. But aside from a grunt, she shows no sign of letting her fall.

         Either she’s lost more weight than she thought she has, or this girl has put on muscle since they last met. Probably both.

         When she looks back over her shoulder, she sees the man has Cricket on his back. His grandparents watch him warily, as does the boy himself, but the man looks understanding of the judgement.

         It’s not a surprise. He looks the same age as Howard and Petunia, with salt and pepper slicked back hair and a goatee. He’s old enough to know how people are, how things are, in this world.

         “Alright people!” calls out Ellie, stepping forward. “We’re moving out!”

         And they are. She grunts a bit with each step at first, and is clearly focusing on her breathing, but she keeps a good pace.

         They all do. With Cricket on that man’s back, they’re moving considerably faster than before.

         It’s when they’re coming up to a small property that another person appears. A man, or maybe a boy judging by the lack of lines on his face, steps out from behind a tree. He looks similar to the older man, enough so that he could maybe be his son or grandson, with the same black hair and grey eyes.

         Two duffel bags are slung over his shoulders, looking about half full each. Were these guys out scavenging?

         He holds another rifle in his grip, a damn nice one, but keeps it pointed to the ground. He eyes them all warily, curiously, but looks to Ellie for direction.

         “Jamie,” she grunts, slowing down to nod at him. “We’re taking these people to St. James. Take my pack from Mr. Murder You With His Eyes and head to the back of the group. Make sure no-one falls behind.”

         Lev stares at her, looking affronted, and she has to struggle not to laugh at how he immediately proves her nickname accurate.

         The kid, Jamie, glances between them. But then he nods, hurrying past as he snags the pack. “Got it, Ellie.”

         That’s the last sound Ellie makes for a while. That’s really the last sound any of them make, even as the minutes drag by in total silence.

         Part of her thinks it’s the presence of strangers that keeps her people silent, but the other part of her thinks it’s the fact they don’t believe Ellie.

         She thinks that because she doesn’t believe her.

         How can there be no infected? They’re everywhere, especially in the winter. That colony they stirred up was proof. While they may not wander around, that’s because they’ve crawled into any dark confined space. Basements, shadowed rooms, holes in the ground. Hell, in this cold, they’ll even pile on top of each other so that just a few can survive the cold.

         There’s no way they’re all gone.

         As if she were reading her thoughts, the girl snorts. In an exasperated tone, she calls out, “You guys can talk if you want, you know. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s safe.”

         Abel immediately pipes up, and she can hear a slight sneer in his voice. “How do you know, though? You literally just saved us from a horde.”

         “Yes,” says Nadia, and looking back she can see her with her head on a swivel, watching the empty fields around them. “Even in rural places such as this, there are always some hiding.”

         “Well, ‘s part of why we’re out here,” says the man suddenly, voice both creaky and gravely. “Just about a week ago, we started our project to clear out the peninsula. Lucky you folks came by when you did, really. Most years, there’s no one here on the mainland in the winter except in the FOB’s. Coulda been days before anyone found you. Only reason you stumbled on those ones back there is cause we hadn’t made it that far south yet, but we woulda gotten there tomorrow.”

         Jesus. Really? If they had come a week earlier, would they have starved out here? Froze, while they searched for whatever FOB’s these people had hidden? Would this girl and her friends have found their fucking bodies?

         Or maybe they would have just died to the infected.

         Then her brain catches up, and before she can voice her thoughts, Lev does it for her. “What do you mean ‘clear out the Peninsula’?”

         “Means what it means, kid,” says Ellie, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “We’re going acre by acre, house by house, building by building clearing out infected. Another set of teams will come up behind us and burn every trace of cordyceps. The plan is that in a few years, we’ll have the whole peninsula clean and then block it off. Boom: twenty-eight square miles of totally safe, cordyceps-free land to settle.”

         The shock renders her speechless, and going by the silence… it’s the same for the rest of her people.

         Twenty-eight square miles… even the largest QZ’s there ever were, were just ten or fifteen square miles. At most. The largest one that’s still operational as far as she knows is the Atlanta QZ, and only because that’s FEDRA’s HQ. The vast majority of QZ’s are five square miles or smaller. Usually smaller.

         The WLF only really had the Soundview Stadium, the Mariner Ballpark, and the surrounding one or two miles totally clear. There were places like the FOB, the hospital, the school, and their mountain base that were also semi-clean, but as she found out in the case of the hospital… not totally clean.

         Fuck, Jackson was huge, and its walled in portion was maybe no bigger than one or two average-sized QZ’s put together.

         The worst part is that she can see it working. You have a handful of teams, maybe two dozen, that are reasonably well-trained, well-equipped, and… if the rumors are right, immune, working in an organized and methodical fashion, then… then it’s feasible.

         Not just feasible, genius.

         Shit, a peninsula like this is the perfect place to try it. You work in from the coasts, from the north, and you make sure your back is safe as you work. Then once you’re done, the water means no infected will be able to cross from the east, north, or west. Raiders too, since boats are a rare commodity this long since Outbreak Day. The land connecting the peninsula to the mainland is no more than a mile and a bit, more than feasible to have a well-manned wall across.

         Shit, this…

         Fuck.

         It took years for her to come to grips with the realization that she wanted the Fireflies to be different. Not just different from how they were, on Catalina, but… different from how they were, before Salt Lake.

         On the way down to Santa Barbara, she didn’t really have any expectations. She just wanted to feel like she belonged again. She wanted to be part of a group that was good, that had higher ambitions than just hoarding land from others or staying alive. She wanted that light in the dark.

         Then, during those long months with the Rattlers, knowing the Fireflies were on Catalina Island…

         She expected something like Jackson. She hoped for something like Jackson. When she wasn’t wondering if she even spoke with Fireflies in the first place or if that was some trap by the Rattlers, that is.

         Despite the horrid memories now associated with the place, from what she saw, from… from how Joel and his brother acted… Jackson seemed like a good place. Something approaching normal in this hellscape apocalypse that isn’t tyrannical like the QZ’s or pretty much a military like the WLF.

         Normal enough for a man she knew was a stone-cold killer, an absolute machine at murder, to get comfortable enough to let his guard down.

         And Catalina Island! It was an island dozens of miles from shore, with a huge amount of space that you could grow practically anything on.

         With the right organization, the right plan, it could have been a haven. If they cleared out what infected were there, started farms, real farms, brought over livestock, set up watchpoints and guard patrols along the shore… it would have been maybe the largest, safest, most secure community she had ever seen, ever heard of. No infected to worry about, no raiders, self-sustaining…

         It was not that. They had gardens, and they fished. They had makeshift plumbing with rain collector barrels, and rudimentary irrigation from the lake and reservoir. Solar panels for power. But it was only ever ‘just enough.’ They did their best to provide for themselves, but the mission to free the QZ’s always came first, so it was never anything more.

         But this…

         “Where’s your people’s settlement?” she asks quietly, right in Ellie’s ear, and she feels the girl shudder.

         No… not girl.

         She doesn’t know how old she was last they met, but she couldn’t have been younger than eighteen. Now, she must be around thirty. Maybe even older.

         Her face is full, but lined around the eyes and her mouth. This close, she can spot some grey hairs mixed in with the auburn ones. Her hair is past her shoulders now, held out of her face by both a short ponytail and a sage bandana. The scar on her eyebrow has faded slightly, but she has several new ones, and her freckles have only grown more vivid.

         When she glances out of the corner of her eye, despite the hate and the anger she sees there, the way it twists her face… it’s less jagged and sharp than it was twelve years ago. Softer.

         Weathered away, maybe, by time and age.

         She looks away, huffing. “We have a few, spread out across the biggest islands on Lake Michigan. All the islands are clear, but we haven’t settled them all. We’ll be taking you to our biggest one, on Beaver Island.”

         A moment later, slightly quieter, she adds, “You guys’ll be safe there.”

         If she says it for her group to hear, then she says it too quietly.

         But she’s pretty sure it’s for her benefit. Another coded message, hidden between the lines.

         ‘You, specifically, will be safe there.’

         If she didn’t know any better, and if the hate in her chest didn’t spit at the idea, she’d think Ellie were trying to reassure her.

         It’s then she hears the clopping of hooves and creaking wheels, and she looks up to see three horses and their riders cantering down the road towards them. Two of the horses, the biggest, are huge workhouses that honestly kind of scare her as they pull a wagon behind them. There may as well not be snow on the ground given how easily they do it. In the wagon are two men and a woman, all dressed for the weather and armed to the teeth.

         They pull to a stop just ahead.

         The one free horse in front has a rider that could rival Marshall in size but with a gut that speaks to having eaten good for many years, and he whistles loudly. “Gee-zus, Miller! You weren’t kiddin’, these people are fucked up!”

         Miller.

         Fucking… Miller.

         Did this bitch really take that bastard Joel’s name?

         Before she can contemplate strangling the woman while she’s on her back, she’s moving forward. “Yep. So get your fat ass off that horse, Johnny. Big girl here is starting to break my back.”

         He laughs roughly, dutifully hopping off. He reminds her of some sort of biker. A grey beard, bald head that’s tattooed to hell and back, arms the size of her head…

         Actually, he kind of looks like…

         She feels her breath catch as memories she’d rather not think of return to her, so powerful she can’t even bother herself to take offense at Ellie’s ‘big girl’ comment.

         She does her best to shake them as she carries her to the wagon, despite her joke about the horse, and determinedly looks anywhere but at ‘Johnny.’

         It’s like trying to pry off leeches, though. She can feel it all, the hot humid air of Santa Barbara, the heat beating down on her.

         The creak of the bed underneath her, the disgusting weight on top of-

         It’s only Lev’s hand on her back, helping steady her as Ellie lowers her to the ground, that clears them.

         “I have you,” he says gently, taking her weight. Then to Ellie with a much sharper tone, “I have her.”

         The woman looks like she wants to say something sharp back. She seemingly bites it down and turns to the rest of the group, though.

         “Okay, you, big guy, help me get those two in the wagon,” she calls out, pointing to Marshall and the wheelbarrow. “Avery, get the kid in there too, along with his folks. You too, miss, climb in.”

         The last bit she addresses to Nadia, who hurriedly nods her thanks before climbing in. Or she tries to, fumbling with the tall step as she tries to keep hold of Aisha.

         The woman in the back of the cart, grizzled with grey hair and sunglasses hooked in her collar, holds her hands out. “Here, ma’am, I got yer babe.”

         Nadia stares at her, wide-eyed, reflexively clutching Aisha to her. When she glances to her for direction, though, she nods.

         If these people were going to hurt them, they would have done it already. Hell, they would have let the infected have them.

         So, looking terrified out of her mind… Nadia holds Aisha out.

         The woman takes her gently, stepping back to make room. Nadia scrambles in, only barely wincing at her side, and takes her back with an almost clawed grip.

         The grey-haired woman just smiles kindly. And for that, she’s glad.

         She doesn’t know any mother who would be okay with handing their baby over to a complete stranger in this world. Especially not after the journey they’ve had. She’s glad these people can understand that.

         For her part, she stays stood beside the wagon, leaning on Lev as everyone loads up.

         The man, Avery she presumes, backs up to the wagon with Cricket on his back. His grandparents climb in before him and then help him in.

         Silently, they nod their thanks to Avery, who just tips his head.

         Ellie gently carries Georgie to the wagon, right behind Marshall with his mother, while Davey hovers nervously. He looks halfway to ripping him out of her grasp despite the bullet hole in his arm.

         She manages to climb in on her own without dropping the boy, and settles him right next to Maria. Both of them are still out of it, though Maria lets out a wet, hacking cough when Ellie pulls away.

         “What do they have?” she asks her when she drops out of the wagon again, looking back to them worriedly. “Do you know?”

         It takes her too long to answer, head spinning from both exhaustion and the fact she’s having a civil conversation with Ellie fucking Miller, so Lev answers for her. “The flu at first, we think, but we’re pretty sure they have pneumonia now too.”

         She winces, playing with her fingers again. “Shit. Fuck. Okay.”

         After a moment, as one of her people climbs out of the back of the wagon, she grabs his arm. “Hey, Henry, you have some of those handkerchiefs on you?”

         “Sure do, boss,” he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a handful. They’re in relatively good condition, brightly colored and intricately patterned. Which is weird, because he does not look the type. His face is covered in stubble, gaunt in a natural sort of way, and both his eyes and teeth are a bit crooked.

         He seems happy to help, though, and Ellie claps him on the back with a smile as she takes two. “Thanks, man.”

         She holds them out to Marshall, who eyes them with a raised brow. When he doesn’t immediately take them, she growls and shakes them. “Fucking tie them around their nose and mouth!” she says, jutting her chin out towards Maria and Georgie. “If they do have pneumonia and the flu, we have to try and minimize the spread.”

         Again, just like Nadia, Marshall looks to her for permission.

         And maybe it’s because she can’t vent her anger at Ellie without risking all of their lives, but she sighs suddenly, straightening up. “Okay, everyone, listen up cause I’m only going to say this once!”

         She ignores their surprised looks as she looks around. “While we maybe got off to a… rocky start, these people are saving our lives. Have saved our lives already, if you’ve forgotten the horde of infected they kicked the shit out of. What they say, goes. Including her.”

         The look Ellie gives her is strange, and it evokes a fucked up mixture of feelings in her that she doesn’t care to examine. But her message gets through, since Marshall sheepishly takes the handkerchiefs, handing one to Davey as he turns around. They both bend down to tie them around Maria and Georgie’s lower faces.

         Ellie, for her part, continues giving her that strange look. Then as she steps past her with something like a grimace, she pats her on the shoulder. “Appreciate it. Now… please get in the fucking wagon.”

         It almost makes her snort.

         Almost.

         She does as she’s told, though, climbing in with Lev’s help. He forgoes a seat, instead offering it to May, who takes it with a grim acceptance.

         Marshall opts for walking, and Ellie places Claudette and Latonya on the remaining horse, handing the reins to Jacques with a nod. His sister flanks him, and she sees her eyeing Ellie with distrust as she walks away.

         Distrust, and recognition.

         God, she hopes they can all at least get fed without any fights starting.

         By now, the sky has started edging from blue to black, so with a sigh, Ellie steps up to the bench of the wagon to open up a small lantern there. Pulling a lighter from her pocket, she flips it open and lights the candle inside before shutting it. She pulls another from beneath the bench, lighting it as well.

         The warm yellow glow they off is almost comforting.

         “Avery, you drive,” she tells the old man, who accepts the order with nothing more than a nod. Then she nods to Abel, gesturing at the bench. “And you, you’re injured. Get up there with him. The rest of you, Jamie, Bone Doctor? Fall in, we’re headed for the Lighthouse. Elizabeth, you take point and radio the lighthouse that we’re on our way. Johnny, you bring up the rear.”

         It takes her own people a moment to fall into place, but Jamie and the other team of Ellie’s people? They snap to attention without nary a pause or word of complaint, the older woman, Elizabeth, swiftly snatching the lantern from Ellie as she jogs to the front of the wagon.

         Seeing them all listen to Ellie is strange in a way. Strange in the same way that seeing not just one, not just two, but four people come to avenge Joel Miller was.

         In her head, Joel was a monster. Is a monster. She still struggles with the idea that he could be loved, so much so people would cross numerous states to avenge him.

         Now, she has another monster in front of her with Ellie. And she not only seems loved, but respected. She clearly occupies some place of authority in this community, and for the life of her, she can’t understand why.

         How can someone who’s killed a pregnant woman, killed dozens upon dozens of innocent people, held a knife to a child’s throat… ever gain respect? Authority? Acceptance?

         She’s sure the answer is because these people just don’t know what she’s done. What she’s capable of.

         Or maybe it’s the fact that, despite the endless hate and anger in her eyes whenever she looks at her… she’s helping her. Helping her people. Offering up her own group’s resources and safety to save them.

         Sword fought fucking clickers with a machete to save them.

         God, her head fucking hurts. At this point, she just wants something to eat and a bed to fall into. Doesn’t even need to be a warm bed. She’ll take a ratty sleeping bag.

         It’s good then that, with all of their wounded and kids on either the wagon or the horse, their pace drastically increases.

         Lev walks alongside the wagon right behind her, while Ellie and the kid, Jamie, walk just a bit ahead of him. Marshall, Mark, and Gracie are on the other side, a meter or two between them, typical formation. Both Alice and Jacques stay by the horse Latonya and Claudette are on, which trails behind.

         Between them and the wagon is the hillbilly-looking guy Henry and the last member of ‘Bone Doctor,’ a Native American man with long braided hair and a pissy expression on his face. He looks about the same age as Lev, maybe a touch older.

         Elizabeth is all the way ahead of the wagon, lighting the way with a sawed-off in her free hand. In the back, behind the Allards' horse, follows Johnny.

         It’s a damn good formation, as much as she hates to admit it. Both Elizabeth and… Johnny seem the most experienced out of Bone Doctor, going by how they hold themselves, while the youngest and most inexperienced, Jamie, shadows the leader, Ellie. There’s guns in the front, the back, and on each side in case of an ambush.

         Which, going by how they talked this place up, is unlikely. But she appreciates the caution.

         They travel in silence for a bit, wherein she can tell all of her people are resting as best they can.

         Then, Henry pipes up.

         “So, where is it you folks came from?”

         She doesn’t bother answering, but quietly, Cricket says, “Catalina Island.”

         God damn it.

         “Oh,” says Henry dumbly, nodding along. Then, with a quizzical look, he asks, “Where’s that?”

         “Off the coast of LA,” says Ellie dully without glancing back.

         His eyes widen dramatically. “Hoo. Damn, y’all traveled a helluva way to get here. Why’s that?”

         This one, Ellie can’t answer, and from the way she peers over her shoulder at her… she clearly hopes she will.

         So, to avoid this idiot pestering any of her people, she slowly grinds out, “We… heard about the immunity.”

         That woman’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and then narrow, as if in suspicion.

         She almost tells her to fuck off. Sue them for being curious about immunity, when it’s the whole reason the Fireflies nearly went totally fucking extinct.

         When she, and her fucking immunity, are the reason her father is dead.

         Ellie seems able to read her thoughts, given how her gaze sharpens into a glare. In an instant, both of them are trying to burn a hole through the other’s head. She can practically hear the creak of the woman’s leather gloves as she tightens the grip on her pistol, can almost see the sparks flying between them.

         The idiot must not find it as obvious as her.

         “Ooooohhhhh,” he drones obliviously, nodding along. “Yep. That’ll done do it. We get some folks coming here for that, but most’re happy to get it from whoever they meet.”

         God, she really hopes he stops talking soon. She doesn’t want to talk about immunity. She doesn’t even want to think about it. Not until she processes the fact Ellie Miller is at the fucking center of it, and all the fucked up implications that has for her entire goddamn life.

         Tiredly, Marshall chimes in this time. “We never met anyone who had immunity. We heard rumors over the radio.”

         Just as Henry opens his mouth again to ask another fucking question, the Native American man shoots him a glare.

         “Enough with the questions,” he says, voice low and deep and smooth. “These people are tired, and they do not need to be entertaining you. Let them rest.”

         Instead of returning his pissy attitude, Henry makes an ‘o’ with his mouth as if the thought they were all exhausted genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. “Right, course, sorry folks. Y’all rest your eyes, we’re almost there.”

         It’s the silence after that finally causes Ellie and her to break their glare-off, which she ends with a huff, turning to look ahead of them. All she can see is a forest framed by bare trees, covered in snow, silvery in the moonlight.

         ‘Almost there’ means ‘fifteen minutes,’ and it’s Cricket who spots it first, at least among their people. He sits up in his seat, almost stands before his grandfather forces him down. “There’s lights!”

         All of them, including her, sit up to get a better look. And indeed there are lights, the yellow glow of more lanterns. They appear to be placed high up in watchtowers, and as they approach she sees that’s exactly what they are.

         A tall wooden wall stretched across the road greets them. It’s constructed of logs held together by metal bands and reinforced by large, thick steel plating. It disappears to the east into the trees, but to the west…

         She gasps a little bit as the trees on their lift give way and reveal the lake. Ice clings to the surface where it meets the coast, covered in snow, but breaks apart further out. In between the chunks, pale moonlight dances off of the water as far as she can see.

         In the distance, maybe seven hundred, eight hundred feet out onto the lake, the wall stops in another watchtower. This one is dark, though she imagines there’s still someone stationed there. A good decision. Not only does it make targeting anyone in said watchtower harder, but it means their eyes will be adjusted to the dark. They’ll have an easier time spotting anything approaching along the coast or from the water.

         The fact the wall extends out into the water is telling of this community’s capabilities. It isn’t easy to build in the water, especially that far out, when she imagines the depth is at least a few meters, maybe more.

         Ellie raises her hand as they approach, calling out in a loud voice, “BITE MARK AND BONE DOCTOR, HEADING IN WITH STRAYS!”

         After a few seconds, a large double-doored gate swings open, and they pass through. She spots a guard in each of the two watchtowers framing it, and then two more closing the gate behind them.

         One of the soldiers pulling the gates open and closed smiles at Ellie as she walks by. “Welcome back, Cap.”

         ‘Cap?’ As in ‘Captain?’

         Shit. If that’s right, then that confirms Ellie isn’t just some grunt. She has authority. Pull, maybe.

         Beyond the gate is yet more forest, which quickly rises up to swallow the coastline again as they follow the curve of the road east.

         In just a few minutes, though, she can see more lights in the distance and hear the sounds of people.

         Then the forest gives way to only a smattering of trees and a gathering of dwellings. Three wooden cabins that she can see, ones that make her think of pictures of old summer camps, and about a dozen tents. Some small, looking personal, while others are larger, clearly meant for multiple people.

         There’s numerous campfires placed around, around which dozens of men and women are gathered, all of them looking much the same as Ellie’s group and Bone Doctor do. Varying levels of grizzled, but happy, and armed to the teeth.

         There’s also quite a few dogs. They all look like mutts, just like the WLF’s, but where theirs had been mostly German Shepherd with some Belgian Malinois, these look like Belgian Malinois mixed much more evenly with some sort of retriever. Their coats are lighter and longer, and their features a bit softer. Going by how many of them are wearing spiked collars and armored vests, though, she assumes they’re trained the same.

         Most of the people, she notices, are wearing outfits similar to Bite Mark and Bone Doctor. Leather jackets or coats, some with strips of metal sewn in, others with pieces of armor laid overtop. Vambraces, breastplates, even gorgets and pauldrons. She has to assume it’s all to protect against the infected.

         Generally, armor like that isn’t much use. Ballistic armor and light metal plating when you’re expecting to fight people is one thing. But when even a scratch can sentence you to death, running is always the better bet against infected. Or killing them before they ever spot you.

Even the lightest armor adds pounds that become intolerably heavy when running from a horde, and metal plating covering you makes it that much more tricky to sneak around. Ergo… armor usually just makes things harder with infected.

         But she supposes when you’re immune, you can afford to take a more aggressive approach. Like the insane woman escorting the wagon right now with the machete.

         So… armor.

         As they all turn at the sound of the wagon, she can see some of the happiness gives way to curiosity. And distrust.

         She tries not to take it personally.

         Someone, a woman even taller than her with a buzzcut, looks over from where she’s sprawled herself across a much shorter woman’s lap.

         “Heyyyyy, Bite Mark!” she calls out happily, sounding tipsy. “You know, with this little distraction, you may never catch us up!”

         The girl she’s sprawled across, and a few of the other people gathered around their campfire, laugh.

         Ellie flips them off with a smirk. “You’re not even top three, Height Range, so stop talking like you’re hot shit!”

         That makes all of ‘Height Range’ laugh even harder, along with most of the people in the camp that hear the exchange.

         When Jamie sees her looking, he slows down a bit to tell her, “There’s a bit of a competition going in the Reclamation Project. The team that clears the most buildings gets their pick of some hunting pistols the scavengers found a few months ago.”

         She nods along, even as she feels something acidic rise up inside her. It bubbles more and more as she listens to the laughter fade.

         At once, she realizes it’s bitterness, brought on by the visible level of camaraderie. It reminds her of how she used to act with her friends back in Salt Lake.

         Something she hasn’t felt since.

         First it was the WLF, where she was either too focused on tracking down Joel to share this sort of thing, or the only sort of ‘competition’ going on was how many Seraphites you could kill. Something she was good at, and maybe took pride in, but even at the time she felt off about turning murder into sport. Now all these years later, and she just feels disgust at the WLF members who played those sorts of games.

         Then, in Catalina… well, it was just grim. They were always scrambling to make progress, any progress at all, in the QZ’s on top of barely surviving out there on the island.

         And sure, maybe killing infected shouldn’t be a game. They were people once. But killing them is doing them a favor. And this ‘Reclamation Project’, what she assumes is their effort to clear out the peninsula?

         Well, fuck… it seems more noble than whatever she did in the WLF or with the Catalina Fireflies. Who cares about a little friendly competition if it motivates them to get it done faster.

         And it doesn’t really matter, but fuck her, she misses that goddamn hunting pistol she found in Seattle. She would love to have something like it back.

         She stews in these thoughts as Avery peels the wagon away from the camp, further up the road, towards what she can now see is a lighthouse. It looks to still be serving its original purpose, the bright light swinging around lazily, but a large radar and antenna have also been attached to the top of the roof.

         “You got it from here, Miller?” calls out Johnny from the back.

         “Yeah, we got this,” she says idly, waving him off without turning around. “Bone Doctor, go rest up. Make the next few days count. Might give you enough of a lead on us to win this thing.”

         There’s a resounding chorus of Bone Doctor cussing her out as she cackles. Even the grim Native American guy cracks a smile.

         Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marshall smiling as well.

         Damn. She hasn’t seen that since before they hit Traverse City.

         Probably just the fact they’re no longer going to starve or freeze to death.

         They slow to a stop right in front of the lighthouse, and as soon as they do, the door to a side building opens. A portly woman with strawberry blonde hair and a ruddy face paces down the steps in a hurry, worry in every inch of her expression. She wears a full body coat with a roughly-dyed red apron.

         “Okay, okay, let’s get these poor souls inside!” she says, two people following behind her. Both look young, not much older than their early twenties, wearing the white full body coat but no red apron. “Hilda, dear, help that woman with her baby, Billy, help that poor girl down off that horse!”

         None of Bite Mark show any response to the woman’s theatrics aside from a poorly hidden smile from Jamie.

         When Ellie steps around the back of the wagon, handing her pack back off to the kid and raising an eyebrow at her, she almost tells her to go fuck herself. It’s a dozen meters, if that, into the building that woman came out of. She can manage that, easy.

         But sitting in the cart for so long must have stiffened up her ankle, because the moment she tries to put any weight on it at all, it nearly buckles underneath her.

         With a grimace, and heat in her cheeks that makes her sick, she lets herself slide off the wagon onto Ellie’s back.

         They’re part of a flurry of activity, one she’s too exhausted to properly track. Or maybe in too much pain. Even though she can tell the woman is being as gentle and slow as she can, every step she takes jolts her ankle, bringing her agony.

         The doctor, or nurse, or whoever she is and her helpers assist most of her people inside, while a few other kids, even younger, head for the horses.

         When Ellie catches her watching them, she says, “A lot of kids who want to work off-island come here to work in the FOB’s for a bit first. Most of them have never spent more than a few days away from the islands, a week at most. So it… helps them get used to being away from home for a while.”

         She can tell she’s saying it not so much because she thinks she wants the information, but more so to distract her from the pain.

         As much as she hates her… the effort is appreciated.

         So much so that she even reciprocates. “How many people do you guys have?”

         “Last census put us at around 2,500 if I remember right,” says Ellie, taking inordinate care to squeeze them through the door without bumping her. “That was last summer.”

         Jesus christ.

         She had once told Lev that the WLF had thousands of members, kind of as a joke. She thinks he believed her at the time, and she hadn’t exactly been lying… but even though Isaac liked to tote them as ‘three thousand strong’ that number was only ever real a few years before she and the others arrived.

         She’s told their absolute peak was 15,000, just after they overthrew FEDRA and all of the remaining population in the QZ was still around. But people died to the infected in the chaos afterwards, starved or succumbed to illness as supplies from the other QZ’s were cut off, hunted down in the WLF’s purges, were killed in riots against them, joined the Seraphites, or just… plain left.

         By the time Isaac started his whole invasion scheme ten years later, it was hard to get an accurate number. Between how many they lost day after day to Seraphites or infected, stretched thin across the whole of Seattle, and the deserters trickling out in a slow but steady pace… honestly, 2,000 was probably a generous estimate. Technically ‘thousands’ plural, but probably not what Lev imagined when she said it.

         Turns out when your leader calls anyone who enters your city a ‘trespasser’ you don’t get many new arrivals. And that was before Isaac started having them treat anyone who wasn’t a WLF member like an invader.

         Or gave the order to shoot any trespasser on sight.

         So with barely a handful of new additions per year, they were declining well before however many died on the island.

         And she knows that despite how well she lived, even 90% down from their absolute peak, they were facing some problems with food and space. Especially with how the Seraphites began targeting their farms and hatcheries. She’s pretty sure the only reason they all fit inside the stadium and ballpark was because at least half of them were deployed across the city at any given time.

         Maybe her community is struggling too, given this project to reclaim the peninsula, but she knows there’s tons of islands on Lake Michigan. Enough so that the combined acreage could probably sustain tens of thousands. Hell, Ellie even confirmed they haven’t settled all of them.

         This sort of project is not only a huge undertaking and resource drain, but a pretty big risk, even if done right. That means they’re probably doing this because they want to, which means…

         They have food, housing, and utilities sorted for around twenty-five-hundred people to live comfortably.

         Hopefully.

         She’s distracted from thoughts of numbers once the heat hits her.

         Even in that house they stayed in last night, burning chairs in the fireplace to stay warm, there was an undeniable chill. Here, though, it’s almost stuffy. It hits her like a brick wall of comfort, and she can’t help but sigh as it helps melt away the cold.

         Then the smell hits her nose. Some of it is medical, antiseptic, as this room is clearly the FOB’s medical area. The walls between it and the lighthouse have seemingly been knocked out, the two buildings connected with new construction.

         Overpowering the medical smells, though, is the smell of food. Meat, veggies, she thinks she even smells black pepper.

         She spots the culprit, a large pot of something bubbling on a wood stove in the main body of the lighthouse.

         Ellie sits her down in a chair in the border between the main lighthouse building and the medical building. As more of her people file in, set down on some medical cots, benches, and other chairs, they spill into the main lighthouse even more.

         The woman leaves her with just a nod, heading for the wood stove where she begins ladling what looks like stew into a bowel. Another kid, this one black with an acne-covered face but sweet eyes, slices bread on a nearby table where numerous utensils and cups are sat.

         For a moment, just a moment, she wonders if she’s died and gone to hell. Some fucked up hell that’ll reveal itself any moment when these apparent saints turn out to be devils. Ellie will turn around and open fire on the last people in the world she still scares about, revealing her as the monster she knows she is.

         That does not happen.

         Instead, Ellie grabs a slice of bread, a tankard of something, and makes her way back to her.

         “Tell your people to eat as quick as they can,” she says, handing the food and drink to her. “Once Pam’s made sure none of you are actively dying, I want to get you all on that ferry ASAP.”

         The stew in her hands is so hot she needs to set the metal bowl on her lap. Despite how it calls to her, she keeps her gaze fixed on Ellie. “You going somewhere?”

         Something flickers in Ellie’s eyes, crossing like a ghost in front of the hate and anger that for some reason appear to only be smoldering now. Too quick and too ephemeral for her to see what it is. “Up to communications. I need to talk with the island myself.”

         She doesn’t wait for her to answer, instead spinning on her heel and heading towards the far side of the lighthouse where she ascends a staircase.

         She stares after her, blinking. For how long, she doesn’t know. Only that when she stops, she realizes Lev has found his way beside her, sitting on the floor.

         Looking down at him, he sees he’s staring into the tankard, a bowl of stew in his lap as well.

         “This is so fucking surreal, isn’t it?” she asks quietly, and he looks up at her. She can see, on his face, that he agrees.

         Instead of doing so verbally, though, he looks back down at the tankard. “I think they gave us juice.”

         Blinking, she looks down into her own tankard, which she sees now isn’t full of water. Frowning, she lifts it to her lips and takes a sip.

         Her eyes blow open as she nearly spits it out in shock.

         “Where the fuck did they get lemonade?!”

         Lev has no answer for her, only the question of what the hell lemonade is. When she explains it’s a drink made from lemon juice, water, and sugar, he seems just as confused as she is.

         Given it tastes like actual lemonade, and not stale lemon-scented cleaner, she assumes they must have made it instead of scavenged it. But… fucking how?

         With the way it sticks to her lips, and a weird but pleasant aftertaste, she thinks they must have used honey to sweeten it instead of sugar. But where did they get the lemons?

         The only reason she even knows what lemonade is supposed to taste like is because her dad made some for her fresh when she was a kid. He traded a rifle for a handful of lemons from some traders. They brought them up from California, or maybe Mexico, she thinks.

         But these people can’t have traded for lemons. It’s the dead of winter, any lemons brought up from the south would have gone bad by the time they got here. The only reason FEDRA can transport theirs year-round is because they still have refrigerated trucks. Plus, even if they did get them, they’d be expensive. Too expensive to waste on some random survivors you literally just took in.

         So that means they must have grown them. Beyond how they got lemon trees, though, she didn’t know you could grow lemons in Michigan. And why lemons? The water, the time, the resources to grow them could be better spent on more productive food.

         As she looks out across the room, at her people having their various injuries treated (and not so subtly checked for signs of infection), and contemplating the sheer level of abundance fresh lemonade indicates, she realizes something.

         They cannot leave.

         Maybe some dark secret will present itself, maybe Ellie will try to kill her again the moment she lets her guard down, but until then… she has to do whatever the hell she can to make sure they stay here.

         Whatever they want from her, whatever job they want her to do, she’ll do it. After the rough living of Catalina Island, the year-long trek across the country, the heartache and loss and pain they’ve suffered…

         She owes it to these people, her people, to do everything she can to secure a place for them here.

         Here, there’s seemingly abundance, community, safety… purpose.

         Hope.

         When Marshall comes to lean against the wall beside her, gnawing on a last little chunk of bread, she can see in his face that he’s thinking the same thing.

         Before she can question it, the woman, Pam she thinks Ellie said her name was, is in front of her.

         “And what’s wrong with you?” she asks, leaning in and reaching up to force her eye open.

         She tries not to bite at her, knowing she’s probably just trying to work as quick as she can. “I’ve got some scratches, but the worst is my ankle. I twisted it pretty bad last night.”

         Pam immediately kneels to begin gently working her boot off, sparing her a sympathetic look as she groans. “And kept walking on it, I’m sure, not that you probably had any choice, poor thing.”

         Once she has her boot, and then her sock, off, she gently rotates her foot this way and that. It looks even worse than it did last night, red and swollen to the point of being painful just to look at.

         “Oh no,” mutters Palm quietly, running her fingers along the side of her ankle, which causes her to bite down on a yelp. “Oh, no, no, no, that’s not good at all. I think you’ve torn the ligament, my dear. This will take weeks to heal.”

         Shit, that is not good. Being crippled for weeks probably won’t help endear her to these people as a valuable asset.

         “What can you do?” she asks, though she already knows there isn’t much that can be done.

         As expected, Pam just tuts. “If you weren’t already chilled to the bone, I would maybe grab some snow to reduce the swelling. As it is, all I can do is wrap it up nice and tight to keep it from moving. Once you get to St. James, they’ll give you a proper splint and something for the pain. Once you’re warm enough, they’ll put something cold on it. Aside from that, you just need to stay off it, my dear.”

         All she can do is nod, too frustrated with herself to speak.

         It’s worse because it had been a stupid mistake that caused it. She’d jumped through a window without looking, albeit to escape some clickers, and landed on the end of a driveway. The slope, and the unexpected height… well, it’s no wonder she tore her fucking ligament. She practically folded her ankle in half. She’s lucky she didn’t break it.

         If she’s down for the count, there’s not much she can do about that. All she can do is try to make sure all of them, every single one of them, is on their best behavior.

         So, trying not to squeal as Pam wraps her ankle tightly in gauze, she calls out, “Everyone, Ellie said she wants to get us on that ferry ASAP! So eat as fast as you can without making yourselves sick.”

         There’s a chorus of affirmation, and she’s glad to see that most people are happy enough to be warm and fed that they don’t mind the rushing.

         She can see several of them are even crying. Howard and Petunia, as Cricket gets the makeshift split on his leg replaced with a real one, Mark and May, as Pam’s helper girl swabs the gash above her eye with antiseptic, and Davey as he…

         When she looks down to see Lev has already finished his food, his gaze wandering the room warily, she nudges him with her hand.

         “Go take over for Davey,” she says quietly, nodding her head towards the man as he tries to get his wife and son to swallow some stew. “Tell him he needs to eat before we leave. He has to keep his strength up, for them.”

         “Okay,” says Lev, standing without complaint and striding over to the family.

         Quietly, in an undertone as she helps her slip her sock back on, Pam says, “You need to eat too, dearie. Keep your strength up. From what I’ve seen, I think most of these people will be just fine. That mother and her boy too, even. If they can make it to town, we have enough antibiotics for the pneumonia, and some remedies to ease their flu symptoms. I have a feeling they’ll pull through. You all seem rather strong.”

         Whether it’s the words themselves or the motherly tone in which she says them, it’s almost enough to make her crack. But she can’t, not yet. Not until she’s sure these people are all safe.

         So, she swallows her tears, nods her thanks, and digs in.

         The stew is good. There’s venison, carrots, potatoes, and even onions. And she doesn’t know how or where, or why they would waste it on them, but somehow she thinks there is salt and pepper in it. The only reasoning she has is that this is the same dinner served to all the soldiers out there.

         The bread is good too. Some sort of hearty whole grain with oats mixed in that’s dark brown and slightly sweet.

         No hard staleness. No faint metallic aftertaste from boiling the food in a can.

         Just something real, and fresh, and delicious.

         Ellie still isn’t back by the time she finishes up, so she leans back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment as she just takes in the heat and the fullness of her stomach.

         Then, in a voice so quiet she barely hears it over the commotion in the room, Marshall says, “I know that woman.”

Chapter Text

         She resists the urge to pace as she listens to Pam list off the various ailments she took stock of.

         Her back itches.

         Her whole body itches, but her back is the worst. It’s like she can still feel that fucking woman clinging to it. The contact made her skin crawl, the whole time, and it hasn’t gone the fuck away.

         Fuck.

         Fuck, what the fuck is she doing?

         This is so fucked. This is so unbelievably fucked.

         What is she doing here? They heard about the immunity thing and came all the way here just for that? All the way from Catalina Island?

         What’s even more fucked is she’s pretty sure the entire rest of her group are Fireflies and family of Fireflies.

         They had heard the Fireflies regrouped in southern California and were stirring up trouble in the San Diego, Tipton, and Sacramento QZ’s. That’s why Abby was even down there in the first place.

         But the rumors over the past year and a half? Purges in the QZ’s on the level of a goddamn inquisition, a full-scale invasion of a Firefly base on Catalina, a manhunt across the coast that wiped them out for good… if they did survive all that, why the fuck would they decide to travel across the entire country right afterwards?

         She knows they have a… thing about cures. She has no idea whether it became more or less important to them after Salt Lake. Probably more, since they’re here.

         Or maybe it just became more important after getting their asses handed to them by FEDRA. Again. Why they thought messing around with those QZ’s was a good idea, she has no idea. Tipton is the one that produces most of FEDRA's fruit, and that means they keep an iron grip on California.

         Then again, maybe that was why they were there. Take control of those QZ’s, you get some bargaining power against the rest.

         God. None of the council are going to fucking like this.

         And that’s besides the point that she knows Abby knows who the fuck she is, beyond their own personal history. She told her, after all. Her immunity isn’t even half as important now as it was back then, but back then, she was ultimately what got so many of the Fireflies killed. Why they disbanded in the first place.

         If she’s holding a grudge about that, if the entire rest of her group is, and she tells them who she is… or they figure it out…

         Fuck.

         It says a lot that she can hardly focus on that. On thoughts of the rest of them being after her, or causing trouble with the rest of the community, or whether or not they have ties to fucking Willard, however unlikely that may be. All the things she should probably be thinking about as a captain.

         But no. All she can think about… is her.

         It takes all her effort not to unravel, not to fall deep into memories. Memories of dark mansions, Joel’s screams, his half-caved-in head, fucking Abby standing there over him, over her, always standing over her, standing over Dina, knife to her throat, gleeful to fucking kill her, itching to do it as she laid there, unable to move, unable to fight, arm fucked, then standing over her at Santa Barbara, edging around her as she cradled her crippled hand, fucking ABBY-!

         She jolts at the touch of Pam’s hand on her shoulder, and the look she gives her makes the woman reel back.

         Blinking, she tries to soften it. “S-Sorry. Just… on edge.”

         The woman tuts, leaning in to look at her. “Whatever for, dear? You didn’t get hurt out there, did you?”

         She gently brushes the woman’s hands away. “No, I’m fine, just… bad memories.”

         “Oh.” Without a physical ailment to remedy, Pam almost deflates. Still seeking to help her, though, she reaches up to pat her cheek. “Well, just try to focus on those people you saved down there. You did a good job.”

         She almost laughs. Almost.

         She also almost vomits.

         ‘Good job.’

         What a fucking joke.

         She saved the woman who tortured Joel to death. Who made her watch. Who killed Jesse, crippled Tommy, and almost killed Dina.

         The woman she blew up her whole fucking life to go and kill, only to let her go at the very last moment. Just to make sure it was literally all for nothing.

         ‘Good job.’

         “All the promises at sundown, I meant them like the rest,” she sings under her breath, her thumb tracing over the wooden prosthetics in her left glove.

         Pam stops at the stairs, just as she’s heading down, and looks back. “What was that, dear?”

         She waves her off. “Nothing, Pam. Go on, I’ve got this from here.”

         The woman smiles, nods, and then continues descending the stairs. In the silence after, she can feel Chuck watching her. Waiting, also, but mostly just watching.

         ‘Ellie… please.’

         She had never heard her say her name until then. It had sounded almost involuntary, too quiet to hear, but the word after… that ‘please’…

         That had sounded painful. Painfully desperate, begging, completely and utterly hopeless.

         Unbidden, the memory of another promise she had made at sundown years ago, just before she left Jackson for the third time and final time. To Dina, to Tommy and Maria, to herself.

         To Joel.

         ‘I want to try to be better.’

         Sighing, she turns to Chuck, holding her hand out for the microphone. When he passes it over, she leans over the desk, pressing the button down.

         “Holy Dam, this is Bite Mark 1. Did you read Camp Nurse’s report loud and clear? Over.”

         A crackle, and then Eleanor’s cool voice. “We did indeed, Bite Mark 1. Needle Cabin is already preparing as we speak; they’ll be ready when you get here. The Talking Heads have also gathered, and they said they want to see you ASAP. Over.”

         Great. She knew they’d call a council meeting, but she was hoping they’d spare her from it for tonight on account of her being these people’s proxy. Let her make her report in the morning. But no.

         Fuck, she can tell this is going to be a long night.

         “Roger that, Holy Dam,” she replies, shutting her eyes to try and stem her growing headache. “We’ll be leaving on Manta Eel in just a couple minutes, so our ETA will be twenty-two-hundred hours. Over.”

         “Understood, Bite Mark 1. Have a safe swim. Over and clear on your final.”

         She almost signs off. After a second of thought, though, she presses her lips together and leans in close to the mic. “Uh, Holy Dam? Could you send someone over to my baby bird? Let her know I’ll be coming home early, but to not wait up for me? Over.”

         Eleanor fumbles with the button on her end, pressing it just a bit too early. She knows this because the end of her laugh is caught before she ices over her tone again. “Roger that, Bite Mark 1. I’ll send someone right now. Will that be all? Over.”

         Fucking poser. She’s tempted to call her out on it, but she bites it down with a smile. It can wait for the next time they meet up. “It will. Bite Mark 1, over and clear on your final.”

         “Understood. Holy Dam, over and out.”

         She waits for a second before she flicks her fingers at Chuck, who turns to the radio to start pushing buttons. When he gives her the thumbs up, she presses the button down again.

         “This is Bite Mark 1 radioing from Camp Higher for General Senior and Crusade Leader from Electric Station. Do you read me? Over.”

         A pause, a crackle, and then Gerri’s voice, sounding as pinched as always. “This is Crusade Leader, reading you loud and clear. I have General Senior beside me.”

         “Evening, Bite Mark 1,” comes Ferdinand’s voice, sounding tired but friendly. Probably tired of putting up with Gerri. “How are the strays? Over.”

         “The strays are fine,” she answers, trying not to think about who exactly is down there right now. “Camp Nurse just sent in her report to Holy Dam, and we should be on our way in a couple of minutes. I was radioing to let you know that, as per protocol, me and the rest of Bite Mark will be accompanying them and staying in Holy Dam until the Talking Heads make a decision. Camp Counselor has already been informed. Over.”

         A long pause, then a click. “I didn’t think you’d be checking out of your project so soon, Bite Mark 1. Over.”

         Fucking Gerri. God, why the fuck did Adela and Marcus put her in charge of the Reclamation?

         “Just for a few days,” she replies, not bothering to hide the distaste in her voice. “I’d recommend you radio ahead to Holy Damn for a replacement fireteam until then, unless you want to go through the trouble of adjusting the sectors. Over.”

         Another, even longer pause, and then Ferdinand’s voice, even more tired and now slightly strained. No doubt Gerri’s face has turned that interesting shade of violet it always does when she pisses her off. “We’ll do that, Bite Mark 1. Will that be all? Over and clear on your final.”

         She tries not to snort. She honestly feels bad for Ferdinand. The only reason Gerri is down there at Power Island is because she’s up here at the lighthouse.

         “Yep,” she says, trying not to sound too pleased with herself. “Have a good night, General Senior. Over and out.”

         The fuzzy feeling of annoying Gerri fills her for only a moment more after the static cuts out.

         Then the headache is back, and she shuts her eyes with a tired sigh.

         She stays there for a moment, eyes shut, tapping the button on the mic. Not enough to press it down, but just to hear it click ever so slightly.

         After a second, she pushes it back towards Chuck.

         He sucks on his teeth, and she can hear his chair squeak as he spins in it idly.

         When she says nothing, he clucks his tongue. “You, uh… okay there, Miller?”

         “Tired,” she answers immediately. “Why?”

         “Well… it’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened,” he says carefully, slowly, like he’s worried he’s going to spook her. “You’ve brought in lots of people before. Lot of them later at night than this. And you’ve never, uh… well, let’s just say I’m a bit worried something may have happened you didn’t tell St. James about. Or Gerri and Ferdinand.”

         That gets her to open her eyes to glare at him threateningly. “Nothing happened.”

         He raises his eyebrows. “Must have been a whole lot of nothing. You look like you wanna fucking… throw yourself off this goddamn tower.”

         “Okay, look-!” she starts loudly before biting down on the, frankly, disproportionate retort.

         Taking a moment to breathe, she steps away from the desk, squeezing her prosthetics.

         “I know two of them, okay?” she grinds out, glaring at him. “And seeing them brings up bad memories. But that’s it.”

         He sucks on his teeth again, nodding slowly. “That… sounds like maybe something you should have let St. James know?”

         She throws her head back and groans, before raising her hands to rub at her eyes. They’re starting to burn from lack of sleep. “I will, man, okay? Just… I wanna make sure everyone on the council keeps their cool, you know? You know how Gary gets with stuff like this. I want him to hear it from me first. Not… through a game of fucking telephone.”

         He throws his hands up in surrender, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just saying, girl. You say ‘bad memories’ and I think ‘problems.’ Not gonna be the only one.”

         She nods along mockingly. “Yeah, uhuh, well, if you keep your fucking mouth shut, there’s not gonna be any problems. Got it? You let me handle this.”

         “Geez, I got it, I got it…” He sighs and waves her off. “Go on, Captain Grumpy. Go get bombarded with ‘bad memories.’”

         “Fuck off, man,” she says with a poorly hidden smile as she makes for the stairs, flipping him off. He returns it with a grin, spinning back around to face the radio.

         She squeezes her eyes shut again as she descends, trying to soothe the ache in her head for just a moment.

         The moment she takes another step, with her vision dark and the knowledge of what’s down there… she freezes. Just out of view of him, and anyone in the room below.

         Breathing heavily, a sense of vertigo assaulting her at the rapid decline, she leans against the wall.

         In… out… in… out…

         She’s not at that fucking mansion. She’s at Mission Point Light. She’s not nineteen. She’s thirty-one. These aren’t the same stairs. Joel’s not down there.

         But Abby is.

         Fuck.

         She squeezes her arms to herself, trying to control her breathing.

         Fuck, this can’t be happening. This hasn’t happened in fucking years, it cannot be happening now. Not now, not here, not when she’s just a few steps away from dealing with her.

         God… god, if she just opens her eyes, she’ll see the lighthouse stairs. She knows she will, she knows, she knows she knows she knows, but she can also feel the cold, hear his screams, hear him calling for her even though he never actually did that, but she can feel the helplessness and guilt at the knowledge that no matter how fast she fucking runs, she can’t, she can’t fucking help him, she can’t save him, she-

         Fuck, she swore she would never let this happen again, she swore. She cannot fall apart like this, not when there’s kids down there depending on there, not when Rachel-

         She lets out a shuddering gasp.

         Right.

         Rachel.

         She’s seen worse than what that bitch down there did to Joel. She’s killed worse people than that bitch, as loathe as she is to give her any credit at all. Butchered monsters a thousand times worse than her. All for Rachel.

         Rachel, who should be eating dinner right now but probably forgot because she’s studying or playing games. Maybe Eleanor’s messenger has already made it there, in which case she’s definitely waiting up for her despite the fact she told her not to.

         There’s still tension winding its way through her shoulders, and the itch across every inch of her skin hasn’t faded, but she feels her breathing even out.

         When she opens her eyes, she’s at Mission Point Light.

         She can walk down some stairs, and save Abby’s life, if it’s for Rachel.

         Hell, she can even act civil with her.

         Her skin hurts.

         It takes her a moment to process what Marshall said. When she does, she freezes.

         Slowly, ever so slowly, she looks up at him. Hoping against hope, she asks, “Pam?”

         He shakes his head. “Ellie.”

         Damn it. Fucking…

         Already knowing the answer, she asks, “From where?”

         “Santa Barbara,” he answers, voice distant, faint, and despite how much she wants him to stop talking, he doesn’t. “The Rattlers. Didn’t realize it until I started thinking about why some woman in Michigan hated you enough to pull a gun on you without hesitation. Then I remembered seeing her face that night, outside the cells.”

         She clenches her fists, tonguing her teeth for a second as she thinks. Then, knowing she can’t keep this a secret from him, she nods. “Yeah. That’s her.”

         He doesn’t say anything more for thirty seconds, then a full minute. Eventually, he says, “And she’s that immune girl that nearly killed the Fireflies for good back in 2034… right? I heard people mentioning an ‘Ellie.’”

         Despite herself, despite the hate she feels for Ellie, she still answers, “No.”

         When he looks at her quizzically, she sighs. “She didn’t… she didn’t do that. I know most of the Fireflies on Catalina who were around back then talk like she did. But it was her… fucked up… whatever he was to her that did. The smuggler that brought her there. As far as I know, from the moment she went into Salt Lake to the moment he took her from there, she was unconscious.”

         She doesn’t like talking about this. She doesn’t like talking about Salt Lake at all.

         She wanted to talk about it, sometimes. With someone other than Lev.

         Over the years, as the old Fireflies learned what she did to Joel, realized it didn’t change the pain they felt at what happened, and convinced themselves it was Ellie’s fault instead… she wanted to tell them that they were wrong. It felt like a fucking betrayal of what she and her friends did to Joel for them to so easily move on from what he did.

         Hell. Some of the people with her, right now, feel that way. Howard and Petunia, Alice… maybe even everyone, despite the fact those three and her are the only old guard left in the group.

         God, maybe it’ll get worse. Maybe they’ll start blaming Ellie, the source of these immunity rumors, for the people they lost getting here. The people they lost on Catalina.

         And surprising herself, as much as she hates her… the thought makes her kind of sick. Not just because it feels wrong for them to blame her for things that aren’t her fault when there’s a dozen real things they could blame her for instead, like being a monster… but because if this causes tension, if this causes problems…

         Then they may be fucked.

         Regardless of whatever past Ellie has with her, with the Fireflies, here? Here, she’s someone. Someone who is respected, someone who people listen to.

         So she reaches over to grab Marshall’s arm, squeezing it hard enough that he looks down at her in surprise.

         Looking up at him, in a low hiss, she says, “You do not say shit about this, okay? I’m sure some of them already suspect, Alice probably does, especially after they heard her last name, but… whatever Ellie did or not do, I heard one of these guys call her ‘cap.’ As in ‘captain.’ She has authority here, maybe even has pull. You can see that, right?”

         He nods.

         “And you understand that no matter what… we have to do everything we can to stay here, right?”

         “Of course, Abigail,” he says, sounding almost offended. His voice is soft and gentle as he reaches over with his free hand to clasp the one she has on his arm. “After all we’ve been through, after all the people we lost… I won’t start causing problems now that we’re here at the finish line. I promise you that.”

         It’s like a weight is lifted off her chest, no matter how light.

         Marshall and Lev. Lev and Marshall. She knows that, no matter how badly she’s fucked up, no matter how what the others do or say, those two will have her back. She’s known that since they set off on this shitty, stupid, desperate journey.

         But damn, is it good to be reminded of that now and again.

         As if summoned by talk of her, like the devil, Ellie appears on the stairs, pacing down them at a pace that honestly seems inadvisable.

         “Okay, everyone!” she calls out as she comes into the medical room, and all attention, both from her group and theirs, snaps to her. “I just finished speaking with the people at our main settlement, St. James, and they’re getting rooms ready for all of you. Finish up what food you can and then bundle up again, because we’ll be heading for the ferry in just a minute or two. It’s a bit of a long walk in the cold, but it’ll be warm on the boat, so please bear with it.”

         They all nod and start scarfing down what food they have left before pulling on what layers they shed in the toasty confines of the lighthouse.

         For her part, she slowly, painfully, slips her shoe back on.

         It’s only when she’s done that she realizes that Ellie is standing right next to her, waiting.

         “Do you just like carrying me, or something?” she says, trying to sound pissy but failing even to her own ears.

         Ellie smirks at her. “I will admit… there is some satisfaction in carrying around Musclezilla herself.”

         Goddamnit, that actually makes her fucking snort. Marshall too, the traitor.

         She knows she’s not going to win this. Marshall needs to carry Maria, that man Avery needs to carry Cricket, that kid from Ellie’s team, Jamie, needs to probably carry Georgie, and out of the remaining, only Ellie is able and willing. Mark is healthy, but he’s just too small, even if he wasn’t already weak from what little rations he’s had recently.

         So, almost petulantly, she throws her hands out.

         Ellie pulls her to her feet with a grunt, and she hates how her touch isn’t nearly as nauseating as it was even just an hour ago.

         In a moment, she’s situated on her back yet again, hating every second of it. And this time…

         This time, she doesn’t have the danger of the wilds, the biting cold, or hunger pangs to distract her.

         Her body feels like it’s pretty much just bone, muscle, and sinew. Even ignoring her armor, it’s almost all sharp points and tough angles that dig into her as she clings to her back. But, between them, there’s a certain softness that lingers and speaks to a (relatively) soft life.

         She smells like a forest. The scent of pine trees and something fruity clings to her, underneath the remnant stench of blood, sweat, and cordyceps. Around the edges, when a slight bounce causes her hair or her ear to brush her nose, there’s even a hint of soap.

         And yet again, as they sidle out the door, Ellie takes great care not to bump her or her bad ankle. Her grip around her legs is just firm enough to be secure, and her steps are slow, measured. There’s an inordinate gentleness in the way she moves with her on her back that honestly freaks her the fuck out.

         She does not like this, any of this, and she wants it to be over as soon as humanly possible.

         Unfortunately, ‘long walk’ is a bit of an understatement. She can see the ferry out in the distance, its lights bright white on the lake.

         Leading to it, off the side and down the beach, is a comically long pier.

         Luckily they’ve built a walkway right to it, and it all seems well made, sturdy and even. But as they leave the warmth of the lighthouse, and the cold creeps in, she can’t help but cluck her tongue as Ellie starts the walk down it.

         “Necessary evil,” she grunts in response to her nonexistent question. “Can’t see it right now cause it’s dark, but pretty much this whole stretch of coast is a meter deep at most. Most of it’s just a foot or two. Had to build all the way out there so the ferry could dock.”

         She snorts, in an unamused and derisive way. For sure. “Couldn’t have set up a FOB somewhere else?”

         “The lighthouse was already built, with a cabin nearby, and was isolated,” replies Ellie evenly. Then, with a tiny shrug that’s not enough to jolt her, adds, “Or that’s what they tell me. This place was built years before I arrived.”

         She nods, glad for that little tidbit. So this place has been around for a while. She may have guessed that, from how weathered that wall and some of those cabins looked. “That why you have a big fuck-off wall when this area is supposedly ‘totally safe’ now?”

         “Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. After a few seconds though, in a deliberately casual tone, she adds, “Well, that and the wolves.”

         She blinks, and then leans forward to look at her face. “Wolves?”

         Ellie nods seriously. “Mhm. And mountain lions.”

         “There are no mountain lions here,” she says emphatically, one hundred percent certain. “There’s not even any mountains.”

         She can see the woman’s lips twitch as she tries not to smile. Little asshole. “Yeah, bit of a misnomer. Oh! We have grizzly bears too.”

         For fuck’s sake, that actually makes her laugh. “Okay, I know for a fact you’re bullshitting me now! There are no grizzly bears anywhere near here! Not even historically!”

         Ellie laughs too, shaking her head.

         All at once, her humor dries up completely as she registers it’s Ellie who’s laughing.

         Ellie, who she’s joking with.

         Ellie, who is making her laugh.

         For a moment, she worries she’s going to vomit that stew and bread back up. She manages to keep it down, luckily, but it’s a close thing.

         It had been the food and warmth of the lighthouse. That was it. It lulled her into a mood far too comfortable, enough to make her almost forget exactly who the hell Ellie Miller is.

         What the fuck would Owen say? Mel? All of them, all the people this fucking… monster killed in cold blood? All her friends?

         What would they say if they saw her being carried piggyback by her, laughing and cracking jokes?

         She doesn’t know how many of them she killed personally, of course. She and Lev stuck around Seattle a bit to look for the rest of her friends. Question WLF members about where they were. Hoping beyond hope at least one of them was still alive.

         Leah, Nick, and Jordan were all found dead. Leah killed by Scars, they thought, but the other two… trespassers.

         Nora technically went missing in the hospital, just after she went there herself, but some female trespasser was spotted in there with her. Dragged her down to the spore-filled lower levels without masks. Both were presumed dead.

         So at the very least… she knows she killed Nora. And she definitely helped kill the others. About the only one she may be innocent of is Leah, but that doesn’t matter.

         She as good as killed all the rest of them.

         And that’s not even counting Manny’s father. Mr. Alvarez. When he found out his son died, he apparently…

         Another casualty. Another life cut short in this fucked up war of theirs.

         Ellie doesn’t notice her sudden sour mood. Or if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

         A part of her wishes she would. The part of her that’s loyal to her friends, that misses them like nothing fucking else, that feels nothing but pain and anger and hate for Ellie… it wants her to mention it, so she has the chance to tell her exactly what the fuck she thinks of her.

         Eventually, the part of her that’s lost twenty-two people to get here prevails. Cool logic tells her exactly what she told Marshall not five minutes ago.

         Do not pick fights. Do not start trouble. Do not cause problems.

         Do not give Ellie Miller a reason to use any sway she has to get them cast out.

         To that end, she distracts herself with examining the lake.

         Looking back to the southeast, she thinks she can see another section of the FOB’s walls stretch out into the water, similar to where they’d entered on the west side. At least that’s what she assumes from the light glow of snow above the water in the distance.

         If she remembers right, that would mean the FOB’s wall is… maybe a mile long and then some?

         Damn. She supposes that confirms, if nothing else, they have the means to build a wall large enough to block off the peninsula.

         On either side of the pier, the water is frozen like it was along the western coastline. As they walk on, though, it fractures into chunks too. At first maintaining a thick enough covering she can’t see any water beneath, but slowly growing sparser and sparser.

         She admits, when thinking of the defensive capabilities of this peninsula, she didn’t think about the possibility of the lake freezing over. They must have already considered that, though. Either it only freezes near the shoreline, or it doesn’t freeze so thick as to safely allow passage.

         It must not, she realizes, if they use boats to get around. While it’s not quite the dead of winter yet, and she can see floats of ice out by the ferry, it’s far from frozen in.

         Maybe in an attempt to get herself back in the headspace of being civil with Miller, she asks, “Have you reinforced the hull of the ferry? To handle the ice?”

         She nods ever so slightly and mumbles, “Little bit. They were built for the lake, before Outbreak Day, so they were pretty much set from the get go. But there’s been more and more ice on the lake each year, so they’ve been reinforced, yeah.”

         “Huh,” she hums, trying not to think about how she can almost feel her words more than hear them at that volume. How the vibrations run through the woman’s chest into hers. “How do you guys find the fuel for them?”

         “With great difficulty,” replies Ellie, and she huffs a laugh in response. “Seriously, though, we have a decent stockpile of diesel, but we don’t really need it.”

         That makes her frown, and she leans forward a bit to look at her face. “Why not?”

         “Ferries are a combination of electric and wind-powered,” she answers, and then chuckles at the shocked look on her face. “One of the founding members is this… fucking old dude. He was, like, a super smart engineer before Outbreak Day. When it happened, FEDRA picked him up and shipped him to the QZ here to do work on converting some of their vehicles to electric. Something about not wanting to have to ship fuel all the way up here or some shit. But then the QZ was overrun, and he made it to the islands with everyone else that survived.”

         She whistles lowly. “That is… insanely lucky.”

         “Tell me about it.” Ellie shakes her head, almost in disbelief. “He set up solar for the settlements and some other projects before he started on the ferries. Took him fucking years, a shit ton of resources, and like three dozen failed prototypes, but… he got them working. They’re not perfect; the batteries are ramshackle as fuck and’ll fail sooner than later, they’re not very fast, they can only make a few trips in a day before having to stop to recharge, and we only have three of them. But for now… we have a way to get around the lake without burning any resources.”

         God, these people are almost a fucking joke.

         With the WLF, she heard it had taken years to gather up their boats, repair the ones that were broken, and then scavenge enough fuel so they could run. And that was with both the flooding necessitating them and Isaac’s fanatic paranoia surrounding the Seraphites’ Island making them a priority. Hell, scavenging fuel was always somewhere high up on the list of shit to do, a constant worry in the back of Isaac's mind. Back on Catalina, their little speed boats could only make trips between the island and the mainland a couple times a month. If that. Any more, and they’d burn through their fuel faster than they could replace it.

         And this woman is here saying that electric ferries that can make a few trips a day aren’t ‘perfect.’

         Saying that having three electric ferries that can make a few trips a day aren’t ‘perfect.’

         Unbidden, the words slipping between her teeth before she can stop them, she says, “You know how fucking spoiled you sound, right?”

         She doesn’t know whether she says it as a joke or to be mean. A part of her hopes she said it to be mean, but she isn’t sure.

         Either way, Ellie just chuckles. “I know. Great, right? You’ll understand in a bit.”

         She already understands. The fucking lemonade made her understand. How much more does Ellie think she needs before she understands?

         The absolute mindfuck this place is, that Ellie is, must reach its breaking point in her head because before she realizes it, she’s asking, “Why the fuck are you being so nice?”

         She doesn’t quite stumble, but she does slow, breathing a noisy sigh through her nose. When she finally speaks, it’s haltingly, as she clearly tries to pick her words carefully. “Cause you have been too, I guess. Don’t really wanna… throw that back in your face. I’m too old to be acting like that.”

         “…how old are you?”

         The question feels oddly intimate, muttered half into her shoulder. Ellie must feel it too given the way she clucks her tongue. Yet still, she answers. “Turned thirty-one back in May.”

         Huh.

         Ellie Miller is thirty-one, and her birthday is in May. She’s four years younger than her, but a spring baby too.

         When she came after her life… she was nineteen, and then twenty the second time.

         “I still fucking hate you, you know.”

         Once again, she doesn’t really mean to say the words. They’re dangerous words to say in this context for numerous reasons, the least of which being Ellie carrying her piggyback next to an icy lake. She could, with ease, toss her in if she felt so inclined.

         She doesn’t, though. She just huffs a quiet laugh that echoes with decade-old bitterness and anger and hurt. “Ditto.”

         “Good,” she says into her hair, nodding half to herself, half to her. “Great. Just… wanted to make sure I hadn’t slipped into some weird, bizarro universe by accident.”

         Ellie snorts, shaking her head. It says all it needs to, which is that she feels the exact same way.

         Isn’t that a mindfuck.

         In the silence after, she stares out across the ferry. It’s dark now, too dark to see much of anything, but she can see the surface of the lake shimmer with moonlight. The silvery reflections of the clouds above. The spots of snow-covered ice floating on its surface.

         Maybe as a peace offering, she murmurs, “This place pretty, in the daytime?”

         “Gorgeous,” Ellie murmurs back, sounding so, so genuine. “In the summer, we organize camping trips out here for the kids. They’ll spend all fucking day in the water.”

         Camping trips for kids… fuck, what she wouldn’t give to see Claudette, Cricket, Georgie, and, eventually Aisha on a camping trip.

         That’s the last they say, and the rest of the walk to the ferry is made in silence that’s somehow, kind of, almost… comfortable.

         The ferry is backed up to the pier, its ramp already down and resting on it. This close, she can also see ‘ITV Steel Mama’ painted on the side in bright pink calligraphy.

         What a name.

         She’s seen ferries before, wrecked in the Seattle harbor. Some of those ones had been enormous, able to hold hundreds of cars and thousands of passengers.

         This one isn’t near the size of those, but it’s still a damn good size, made bigger by the set of masts and sails she knows weren’t there originally. They fan out above and to the sides, currently furled up.

         At the top of the centermost one waves a flag, and in the glow of the lighthouse, she can just about make out the design. A cobalt blue background, with several sets of clasped hands stitched in gold. From what she remembers of the map of the area… they resemble the biggest islands on Lake Michigan.

         The very top deck is open, and she’s sure in its past life it had simple railings along the edge. Now, though, it has large metal barriers with embrasures carved out every few yards. From where she stands, she can even see two different mounted machine guns, each with a shield attached. Curiously, though, they’re different models. These people are well-armed, then, but not uniformly and overwhelmingly so like FEDRA or ramshackle like the Fireflies. More like the WLF, somewhere in-between.

         She can see people standing by the machine guns, dressed in dark gold and navy uniforms with a mix of metal and ballistic body armor. One of them wears a beret, the other a trapper hat, another a cap, all with the same emblem on them as the flag. Different from the soldiers out in the FOB. Some sort of stationed personnel then, probably.

         The ramp onto the ferry opens up onto a loading area that was definitely used for vehicles before Outbreak Day. Upwards of fifty, maybe. Now, though, she imagines it’s mostly used for horses or for cargo.

         Right now, it’s loaded with some open crates that are being secured by crew. As Ellie begins climbing some stairs leading to the upper deck, she can just barely see into them. There’s small piles of canned and dry food, clothes, ammo, electronics, toys, even furniture…

         “Scavenge from the peninsula?” she asks, and Ellie doesn’t even need to glance to see what she’s talking about.

         “Yep,” she grunts as she mounts the last step. “The community picked this whole place pretty clean years before I got here, but this is the final sweep. Anything and everything that could possibly be useful.”

         She nods. Makes sense. If you’re going to the trouble of doing an acre-by-acre sweep for infected, you might as well check for supplies. Plus… easier to take stock of it all now, instead of while trying to settle the damn place later.

         They enter a large cabin on the upper deck, and she once again sighs in relief as the warmth hits her. It isn’t as completely toasty as the lighthouse was, but it’s definitely warm.

         It’s clearly been retrofitted and remodeled. Even ignoring the large wooden pole ran through the center of it, likely a continuation of one of the masts.

         What looks to have once been a bar towards the back is now clearly a mobile medical station. She can see where chairs were ripped out by the windows and replaced with benches. Good for sitting… and at the perfect height so that you can kneel on them while firing out the windows.

         Said windows have been remodeled too. They’ve been fit with hinges and latches to swing open, and they look to be about half the size they once were. The rest of their frames are now taken up by metal plating, half an inch thick and welded in.

         Several crew members look to be stationed there to make use of them in case of an attack. They’re settled on the benches, rifles in hand, watching them all file in with sharp eyes.

         Still, though, there are booth-like chairs surrounding tables in the center of the room that are clearly still meant to hold passengers. Ellie sets her down and helps her into one, and it’s just padded enough to be comfortable.

         It all feels like a perfect little microcosm of her current read on this community. Adapted to this harsh, fucked up world… but not completely stripped of humanity. Not by a long shot.

         Lev sits next to her, and after Marshall has set Maria down across the whole of one of the other booths, he takes the seat across from her. Gracie takes the seat next to him, trading a meaningful glance with her.

         Once they’ve all sat down, Ellie looks them over, brows furrowed as she nods to herself.

         “Okay,” she starts, rocking back and forth on her heels, “doubt any of you will, but for posterity… if you wanna leave now, this is your chance. It’s around four hours to the island, and this ferry won’t be turning around. Once it’s offloaded, it’ll be headed back here too. If you decide you want to leave later, it’ll be a day, maybe two, maybe even three or four until we can get you back here to the mainland. Anyone having second thoughts?”

         No-one speaks up, and when Ellie meets her eyes, she gives her a flat look.

         Like hell any of them are leaving of their own accord.

         A smirk twitches at the woman’s lips for a single moment. “Didn’t think so. Settle in then. If you need water or blankets, let one of the crew know. Bathroom’s down that hall on the right, feel free to use it, and there are life jackets in the drawers underneath your seats in case of an emergency.”

         Then she’s gone, striding down said hall all the way to the end. When she opens the door there, she catches a glimpse of what looks like the bridge before it shuts behind her.

         They all stay silent, looking around as the crew stride around them with purpose.

         Avery and Jamie settle themselves close by on one of the window benches. One of the soldiers sat nearby shuffles over and starts a quiet conversation with Avery, one she can’t quite hear. Though, given the fact they glance over at her and her people, she assumes it’s about them.

         She doesn’t really care. So long as none of them try anything, they can whisper as much as they want.

         Abel appears out of the corner of her vision, and she turns to see him leaning his head back between her and Lev. The look he gives her is steely, but she can see worry beneath it.

         “We sure about this, Abs?” he asks quietly, glancing around at the various crewmates pointedly. “Already kinda deep into it. Last chance we have to turn back, like the lady said.”

         “Do we have a choice?” she asks him, and to her surprise, he nods.

         “Always have a choice, chiquita.” His eyes turn towards the hallway, and the door Ellie went to. “Dunno how I feel about choosing the lady that pulled a gun on you the moment she recognized your ass.”

         “Yeah,” says Gracie, leaning forward with a dark look. “Mind explaining that, by the way?”

         She sees Lev shift, asking her with a glance if she wants him to handle this. A quick movement of her hand tells him to keep quiet, though. If everyone knew her history with Ellie… shit, it would be like throwing a match on a powder keg.

         “You guys don’t need to worry about it,” she tells Gracie. When Abel raises an eyebrow, she glares at him. “I mean it. It’s not going to be a problem.”

         Even in her own head, she thinks, Bullshit.

         It’s definitely going to be a problem. They may be playing nice now, but sooner or later, Ellie will snap. Or she will.

         Neither Gracie or Abel buy it either, both of them looking exasperated.

         “Bullshit, it’s not going to be a problem!” hisses Gracie, leaning even further in and lowering her voice more. “It’s already been a problem! She pulled a fucking gun on you, Abby! Probably would have shot you if the rest of us hadn’t drawn too!”

         “And then she took us to get food and medical treatment!” she hisses back, trying to control the shake in her hands. Fuck, she does not need this to fall apart now. She just needs to hold the group together for just a little bit longer, just the night. Long enough for them to get some medical treatment, some rest, maybe some more food.

         “Could be luring us in,” remarks Abel with a faux-idle casualness. “Moment we can’t run away, bitch might turn on us.”

         She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Or hit him. Or both.

         “That moment was when fucking Bone Doctor showed up and we were outgunned,” she whispers vehemently. “Or when those gates closed behind us at their FOB and we were smack dab in the middle of dozens of their soldiers!”

         He concedes the point with a wince and a raised hand.

         “Look,” she sighs, hanging her head and pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m not gonna lie to you guys and say she and I are best buds now. But at this point, I think it’s clear she isn’t planning to dump our bodies in the lake or whatever it is you’re imagining. For now, at least, we’re united in common fucking cause or something. So just… sit back, shut up, and relax. Enjoy being warm for once, you goddamn ingrates.”

         That gets them to crack a smile, and they all huff tired laughs. Both of them luckily seem to take her words to heart, sliding back in their seats and folding their arms. After a final glance around the room, Gracie even shuts her eyes, tilting her head back.

         Both Marshall and Lev trade meaningful looks with her, Marshall even raising an eyebrow. A clear question unspoken.

         ‘Are you sure about this?’

         Before she can even really ponder that question with any seriousness, the entire ferry lurches and a loud horn sounds.

         They’re moving.

         Out the windows facing south, she can see the lights of the FOB steadily retreat, including the bright white light at the top of the lighthouse. She can hear shouts and crew jogging around outside, pulling ropes, and the soft fwump as the sails are unfurled.

         Too late for second thoughts.

         All at once, the reality of their situation hits her. Namely that she and what remains of the Fireflies are going to be stuck on a boat with Ellie Miller for four hours.

         Christ al-fucking-mighty, what a shit idea this was.

         She nearly laughs at her own joke, wishing it were just her, Lev, and maybe Marshall so she could share it without worrying about sowing doubt. Fuck, she hates being the leader.

         It takes all of five minutes for her to crack, and then she’s patting Lev on the shoulder.

         “Help me up,” she groans, trying not to jostle her ankle as she gets ready to stand. “I want to check on everyone.”

         He gives her a flat look, not moving. “You need to rest, Abby. You’ll make your ankle worse.”

         Rolling her eyes, she switches to trying to shove him out of the seat. “Christ, Lev, it’s twisted, not broken.”

         “I heard that woman,” he responds, catching her hand and intertwining their fingers. “You tore your ligament.”

         Damn. Nosy little…

         “I can help you up, Abigail,” says Marshall, standing with a sigh. He gives Lev a look that is both resigned and exasperated. “You might as well help. The sooner she can see no-one is dying, the sooner she’ll rest.”

         She glares at the both of them. It’s not like she’s some sick kid refusing to stay in bed. Out of all of them who are injured, she’s probably one of the best off, and she’s the leader. She has no excuse for sitting on her ass instead of making sure everyone is okay.

         Lev groans, gives both her and him a nasty look, but ultimately stands as well.

         She has no idea where her walking stick went. It wasn’t very good, but having to rely on having Marshall on one side and Lev on the other to walk doesn’t sit right with her.

         It’s at least better than being carried by Ellie, though.

         Mark and May are the first up, sat across from Abel who seems to have followed Gracie’s lead in trying to get some sleep.

         “Hi, Abby,” says Mark immediately, and she feels her heart sink at how he has his arm curled protectively around his wife. His hand rubs up and down her shoulder gently as she stares off into space, a blank expression on her face.

         “Hi,” she says, swallowing thickly. For a second, she almost asks them how they’re doing before deciding that’s a stupid fucking idea. Instead, she zeroes in on the one thing wrong with them they may be able to fix. “May, did that nurse Pam say anything about your eye?”

         The answer is yes, of course she did. But she wants to give them an out, in case they don’t want to talk about it.

         May’s gaze slides over to her, then back down to the table.

         Mark sucks in a breath, his lip quivering. “She, uh… she said it’s going to have to come out.”

         It’s like a gut punch. The words leave her breathless and reeling, and it takes gripping onto both Marshall and Lev to ground her.

         Marshall speaks for her, shaking his head sadly. “That’s a tough break. I’m sorry, you two.”

         Lev just nods his agreement, but she knows she should say something. Needs to say something.

         “That’s…” Her voice catches, and she squeezes her eyes shut. A moment of that, and then she tries again, voice slightly steadier. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

         “Save it,” mutters May, blinking and looking to her again. Despite her harsh words, there’s nothing in her eyes except resignation and pain. Not even blame. “We knew it was coming. Let’s just be thankful it’ll be happening in a hospital instead of out on the road.”

         The dead tone of her voice kills her inside, but she isn’t wrong. The moment that raider’s thumb dug into her eye… there was only one way it was going to end up. They had been putting off doing anything about it aside from doing their best to keep it sterile, warm, and bandaged, hoping for this exact situation. One where they could have real professionals do it with resources and training.

         Now that it’s facing them down, though… she finds the thought makes her sick.

         Ignoring everything else about losing an eye, her self-esteem, the loss something like that will wreak on her already fragile mental state, the endless adjustments needed in daily life… she’ll be blind on her left side. If this community doesn’t take them in, if it forces them out into the world again, being half blind… it could be a death sentence.

         She’s shocked from her reverie by May continuing talking, albeit quietly, faintly, and while not looking at her. “She said they have glass eyes on hand for this sort of thing. Nothing fancy. Just enough to keep the socket from shrinking or collapsing.”

         Her tone is idle, airy, as if remarking on the color of the booth she’s sitting in.

         All of a sudden, she realizes the woman is in shock. When she looks to Mark, he trades a meaningful look with her, telling her he’s already realized too.

         Listening to her muffled screams last night, her cries, she knew that the death of her mother and daughter had never triggered any shock. Not really. She and her husband had watched it happen, after all, and then been forced to run. No room and no time for denial. Just heart-rending, agonizing grief.

         She has to wonder if this will compound with that.

         Already she’s had a few moments where she’s thought none of this could be real. Either a dream, or some sort of afterlife. And she has not had to process half as much as this woman has in so short a time.

         She’ll crash eventually. Probably sometime tonight, or tomorrow maybe, when she wakes up and realizes none of this was a dream.

         It’s not going to be pretty.

         But she’s not the only one grieving. Mark has a tension woven through his shoulders that looks painful, and his jaw is clenched as he holds his wife. His breath almost heaves in and out, seeming physically taxing.

         She reaches out to grip his shoulder, forcing her face into some semblance of stony determination. “If you guys need anything, if we can do anything… for either of you… don’t hesitate to ask. Alright?”

         He sniffs and nods, and she hates how he immediately tries to put on a brave face for her. “Thank you, Abigail.”

         Damn man has always been proud, but he needs to knock it off sometime soon. The only way he and his wife are going to get through this if they lean on the rest of them, damn it.

         Maybe hypocritical of her to think, given how often Lev gets on her case about shouldering too much, but it’s true.

         She knows she can’t force him to do anything right now, and shouldn’t. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe even later. When it’s clear the both of them have at least started to process everything.

         Something they all need to do, really.

         It’s after they shuffle far enough away that they can’t hear that Lev asks, in an undertone, “Is a glass eye what I think it is?”

         She almost laughs, as does Marshall. “It is,” he answers for her. “There were more advanced prosthetics pre-outbreak, but yes, an eye made from glass is what people used to replace eyes for a long time.”

         Lev nods, frowning. “Do you think the people here make them? Or did they find them?”

         “Hard to say,” she replies, frowning as well as she thinks on that. “They weren’t super common before Outbreak Day, let alone now. They’re probably not something you could even really find by searching optometrist offices or other specialized locations. But on the other hand, making glass isn’t easy, especially something as small and exact as a glass eye.”

         “These people have the resources to retrofit this ferry with sails, though,” says Marshall in a low voice, slowing them to a stop where they're just out of earshot of anyone else. “I don’t know much about sailing or ships, but I know that this isn’t something you could throw together with just scavenge.”

         She sighs and nods. “It’s electric too. Ellie said something about one of the founding members being this engineer FEDRA brought up to a QZ here that collapsed. And that they have three of these things.”

         Both Marshall and Lev’s eyes widen, and they quickly glance around the deck with newfound appreciation.

         “Did the WLF ever have something like this?” Lev asks, and she shakes her head.

         “Depends what you mean,” she replies, sighing as she thinks. “In terms of sheer innovation… maybe the Soundview Stadium. By the time we left, it had farms, solar panels providing power, running filtered water, plumbing, hot water, apartments, rec rooms, a library, classrooms… but really, it was just a renovated building. We did the same with the ballpark, and I know there were some vague plans to do the same with a few of the other buildings in the area like the theatre. Then there were the hatcheries and the farms, but those weren’t really anything special. So aside from power and water at the FOB and some other places like the hospital… we never really managed to build anything else on the level of the stadium.”

         “What about vehicles?” Lev asks curiously. “I know you had the trucks and the boats, but if there was anything else, you never mentioned it.”

         She shakes her head with a grimace. “That’s because there really wasn’t anything else. There was a handful of AV’s leftover from when FEDRA leadership abandoned the QZ, real ones with mounted turrets, but Isaac kept those under lock and key. We didn’t have anyone who could really repair them beyond the surface level stuff, so if they got wrecked… they’d be gone. And the boats were mostly the same, stuff FEDRA left behind and a few we salvaged from the harbor. Stuff we either never needed to repair or only needed minor repairs, like Owen’s sailboat. There was never anything like this.”

         She nods vaguely at the deck and the mast running through it. “From what I heard, Seattle FEDRA had a few larger transport vessels to carry cargo and troops, but when they evacuated… they left on them. And the WLF only ever bothered with what boats we had because of the flooding and your island. Isaac never saw the point in anything else.”

         “From what you’ve said about this Isaac, that isn’t a surprise,” remarks Marshall dryly. He sighs with a small amount of exasperation. “If it couldn’t help kill Seraphites, he didn’t care.”

         “Yeah.” It’s all she can do to nod along, trying not to drown in memories and emotions from Seattle. “That he didn’t.”

         Lev notices her shift in mood immediately, of course. Hell, he can probably tell exactly where her mind is going.

         So he nods towards one of the other sets of booths and tables, the one the Bucketts have commandeered.

         Or, rather, they’ve commandeered half of it. Davey is sat in one side, his wife and son sprawled across it, both their heads in his lap. Across the table sit the Barnes’, Howard and Petunia sandwiching Cricket between them.

         With a grunt and a wince, she takes a step towards them. Lev and Marshall help her get the rest of the way.

         “Hey, you guys,” she says as they come to a stop by the table, looking between both families. Deciding not to beat around the bush, she asks, “What did the doc say, back at the lighthouse?”

         Both Howard and Petunia nod for Davey to go first, and he sucks in a breath, clearly trying to calm himself. When he looks at her, though, she can see some of the terror that’s been in his eyes ever since Maria and Georgie fell sick has faded.

         But a lot is still there.

         “She said that they have antibiotics, at their hospital,” he says shakily. “That they’ll probably start off with a low dosage, b-both to try and conserve them and to… to avoid any sort of toxicity, since most of them are expired, of course. A-And it’ll be combined with things like… goldenseal tinctures and a special diet, to boost their immune systems. Honey and… garlic and fruits and… fish.”

         A pause, and he shakes his head, looking at her almost pleadingly for something reassuring. “T-The antibiotics sound like a godsend, but the rest… I-I don’t know, Abby. Could you maybe try to talk to that woman, E-Ellie? See if she can make them give them more antibiotics?”

         She does her best to not show any outward reaction to him asking her to talk to Ellie. To ask her for things. He has no idea why that’s such a ridiculous request, especially since if he’s been paying any attention at all… they probably looked like they were getting along pretty okay.

         God, the thought makes her sick.

         Pushing down the guilt and hate and rage and nausea, she tries to give him a smile. “Maybe. But I don’t think you have to worry about them trying any sort of… quack stuff. My dad, he said that honey actually does have some antibiotic properties. Something about it being part of the reason why bees make it in the first place. So it’s not crazy to think other stuff could have similar effects. Plus… the stuff about the diet makes sense. I bet none of our immune systems are very strong right now, given the diet of pretty much exclusively expired, processed food.”

         He huffs a laugh, his lips quirking upward for a single moment. Then he looks down at his wife and son, reaching down to brush a sweat-laden lock of hair out of Georgie’s face. “Y-You’re right. I… suppose good food won’t hurt them.”

         “Exactly,” she says, sighing a bit in relief at being able to lift his spirits, even if for only a second. “I mean… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the people here look a lot healthier than most people do nowadays. And that woman, Pam, seemed to know her stuff. Whatever they’re doing, it seems to be working for them. I’m sure that if they don’t see Maria and Georgie improving, they’ll up the antibiotics, and the rest… even if doesn’t exactly help, I doubt it’ll hurt.”

         She doesn’t add that he best not look a gift horse in the mouth. While she knows FEDRA still makes antibiotics, they keep an ironclad grip on where and how. Anything circulating out here is either stolen from them, which is a difficult, dangerous thing to do… or it’s leftover from before Outbreak Day. In which case they’re not only rare, but expired, so if you use too much… they could cause more problems than they solve.

         Not to mention that even the expired ones are one of the hottest commodities in this new world. The fact they’re going to be giving Maria and Georgie any at all is a fucking saintly act of kindness. If they want to supplement it with a good diet and some natural remedies, they’re in no position to complain.

         Davey smiles again at her, and it seems just a touch more solid than the one before. And looking into his eyes… she can see some of his fear has faded yet again.

         Good to know they haven’t completely lost faith in her.

         She gestures at his slinged arm, which she notices has new bandages. “And you?”

         He glances down at his arm as if he’s just now remembered he has a bullet hole in it. “Oh. I-It’s fine, or it will be. That woman changed the bandages and cleaned it. She said they’ll stitch it up at their hospital.”

         “Good, good,” she says, mind already turning to ways to make sure he takes care of himself. That’s for later, though. Until his wife and son are being treated, he’ll barely be able to focus on anything else at all.

         So she looks to Cricket, nodding towards him with a smile. “What about you, kiddo? What’s the word on the leg?”

         He shrugs. “The lady said they’ll x-ray it at their hospital. And then they’ll ‘go from there.’”

         She hides her grimace. She had been hoping for better, more certain news. “Sounds about right. They probably want to make sure it’s healed correctly so far.”

         “And if it hasn’t?” he asks with a raised brow, and she resists the urge to cluck her tongue.

         “If it hasn’t… then I don’t know,” she admits, lowering her eyes to the table, wishing she could see through it to his leg. “It depends on what kind of resources and talent they have on hand. We did our best to set it right, though, and I think we did, so... I wouldn’t worry too much. Alright?”

         He doesn’t quite smile, which she can’t blame him for. In these types of situations, being honest usually comes at the cost of being reassuring. “Alright.”

         She continues staring at him, feeling like something is off. It doesn’t seem to be moroseness keeping him taciturn, at least as far as she can tell. His brow is furrowed slightly, like he’s thinking.

         So she leans forward a bit, lowering her voice ever so slightly and softening it. “Did she say something else, Cricket?”

         He nibbles his lip and glances around, at the crew, before focusing on her. “She said they had video games at the hospital. And that I could play them. But I’ve never ever seen working video games. I asked grandpa and grandma and they said they hadn’t either, not since a few years after Outbreak Day.”

         She can’t help but snort and shake her head. He’s been strong on this journey, but at heart… he’s still a little boy. It's honestly a relief that it's video games he's worrying about.

         “I can’t say whether this hospital will have working video games or not,” she says, grinning at him. “I mean, I don’t think Pam would lie like that, not to a sweet kid like you. But what I can say, definitively, is that there are working video games out there. I knew this one girl, years ago, who had a working PS Vita. She took it with her literally everywhere. You could hardly get her to put the damn thing down.”

         His eyes light up like the goddamn sun, and it is absolutely adorable. “Really?! So you think they might actually have video games?!”

         “I’d go as far to say it’s very likely they do.” She trades a smile with Howard and Petunia, who seem to be doing their best not to laugh. “When we boarded the ferry, I saw they had some scavenged electronics loaded up. They must be doing something with them.”

         “Wow,” he says softly, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “This place is awesome.”

         She resists the urge to tell him not to get too attached, or remind him that them staying here isn’t a sure thing. This is the happiest she’s seen him in weeks, and she wants to let him have this.

         All Howard needs is a look from her before he’s waving her off. “I’m fine. That Pam felt around my ribs and said they didn’t even feel broken. A few fractures, at worst.”

         Petunia eyes him with exasperation, and then turns a sharp gaze to her. “She said he’ll also be getting x-rayed to make sure. And that he has to take it easy for a while.”

         The ‘hmph’ sound her husband makes tells them all they need to know of what he thinks of the idea. Stubborn old man…

         Well. If they do have video games, then maybe she can get Cricket in on it. Have him guilt trip his grandfather into sitting on his ass and playing them with him.

         She hides a smile. That’ll work.

         “And you, Petunia? You’re good?” she asks the older woman, who immediately makes a ‘psh’ sound.

         “Oh, she cleaned a few of my cuts and scrapes and that was it.” She shakes her head, eyebrows raising. “She said she was sorry she couldn’t do more, if you can believe that. Told me that once we make it to their settlement and get escorted to their hospital, someone will have a ‘proper’ look at me. Back on Catalina, what she gave me was a ‘proper look.’”

         She means it lightheartedly, she knows, but she can’t help but wince.

         Another reminder that what they had on Catalina, while nice in lots of ways… it was only ever surviving, really. Not living. Maybe that’s the best most people can strive for these days, but she knows there was better out there. Jackson was her example back then, and this place seems like an even better one.

         All the more reason to take advantage of all this for as long as they can. “Did she say whether someone would be sent to check on anyone not being sent to the hospital? Ellie said something about ‘holding cells.’”

         “She said someone would be sent around,” answers Marshall, who gives her a knowing look. Of course he knew she’d want to know and asked for her. “From what I understand, it’ll probably just be me and Gracie put in the holding cells. Maybe Lev, if they don’t consider ‘adoption’ as ‘family.’ Everyone else will be staying in the hospital.”

         “Abby,” says Lev immediately, a flicker of panic passing over his face. She immediately squeezes his arm.

         “It’ll be fine, Lev,” she says, trying to smile for him. She knows it comes out as little more than a pained twitch of her lips. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

         “And if they don’t?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. She raises hers right back, leaning in.

         “Then I will fucking beg Ellie to tell them you stay with me,” she hisses, glaring him down so he knows she means it. She’ll get on her hands and knees if that’s what the bitch wants. “We won’t be separated, Lev. I promise.”

         The idea that she’d be willing to ask Ellie for help, again, to make sure of it seems to be what convinces him. Probably not because he trusts that woman to help, but because if she’s willing to go that far, it means she’s willing to do a whole lot more.

         Hell, if they don’t let Lev go with her, then she’ll just go with him. Their doctors can treat her in one of their goddamn holding cells.

         Not for the first time, she wonders if their relationship could be called unhealthily codependent. But she figures that when they’ve been through what they have, it’s fair to not want to be split up and separated by a community they don’t know.

         Besides, it’s the apocalypse. Who the fuck cares anymore.

         “I’ll see if I can talk to her about you and Gracie too,” she tells Marshall after a moment, turning back to look at him. “Or whoever is in charge of keeping an eye on us. I don’t like the idea of just the two of you being separated from the rest of us.”

         Immediately he shakes his head, emotion softening the lines in his face. “We’ll be fine, Abigail. I’ll see if we can share the same cell for Gracie’s sake, but you know I’ve been through worse.”

         She does. Sometimes when she looks at him, she still sees the gaunt teen who helped her and Lev survive the Rattlers. His face sunken, brown hair black with grease and grime, just enough muscle on his lanky frame so he could work… but still soft spoken, still gentle, still kind.

         “I know,” she sighs, resisting the urge to sock him in the shoulder since he’s one of the two people keeping her upright at the moment. “Just let me worry, alright? It’s basically my job.”

         It literally is her job, or at least that’s how she sees being a leader.

         He smiles, something exasperated in the curve of it, but he doesn’t dispute her.

         They leave the Bucketts and the Barneses with a firm reminder to shout for them if they need them, and move on to the last booth. The last occupied one, anyways.

         Jacques and Latonya are crammed into one side with Claudette squished between them, similar to Howard and Petunia. Alice is opposite them, sitting half out of the booth with Nadia behind her. In her arms is Aisha; sound asleep, thank god.

         There’s no longer the danger of her cries drawing danger, but they’re still not easy to listen to. Not because they’re loud, though they are, but because these days they’re mostly cries for food. Food they just can’t give her half the time.

         Hopefully that’ll change soon.

         The first thing she does is jerk her chin towards her, asking in a low voice, “How is she? I haven’t heard her make a sound for a while.”

         To her surprise, Nadia smiles at her. It’s small, tentative, flickering at the corners, but still a smile. “She made some noises when we left the lighthouse, but as soon as we came in here, she drifted off again. I think all the walking today tired her out.”

         She smiles back, nodding. “That makes sense. Have you… tried feeding her again, since this morning?”

         The mother shakes her head, looking down at Aisha with a soft, worried look. “No, she has not cried for it again yet. I hope that if she does, with the food they gave us at the lighthouse… I will be able to.”

         After a moment, though, she throws a relieved smile her way. “I am not so worried now, however. That woman, Pam, said they have several wet nurses who will be able to feed her if I cannot.”

         She almost laughs. These people really do have everything.

         Then she has a thought, but when she looks to her right Lev is simply staring at Nadia as happily as she was. As if he can feel her gaze on him, though, he glances at her.

         It takes only a moment for him to read her face and know what she’s thinking.

         “I know what a wet nurse is, Abby,” he says flatly. “Many women served as them in Haven. It was considered an honor.”

         Well. Guess you learn something new every day.

         The fact she’s still learning new things about the Seraphites surprises her. Thirteen years together, and her knowledge of their way of life still has so many blind spots.

         Alice snorts, reaching over to lightly bump his chest with her fist. “Don’t give her a hard time, kid. Wet nurses were pretty much extinct by the time Outbreak Day rolled around. I’m sure there’s plenty of kids out there who have no idea that it’s even possible.”

         “In the QZ’s, maybe,” Jacques chuckles, giving his sister a teasing smirk. “Last I heard, FEDRA was still making baby formula. Out here, though…” He clucks his tongue and looks to Aisha, lowering his voice a bit. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought of it, but I’m not surprised communities like this are bringing them back in style.”

         Latonya huffs, lightly batting him over the top of Claudette’s head. “That’s because you’re a man, honey. You don’t need to think about this stuff.”

         He looks at her unimpressed, nodding along indulgently. “Uhuh? Hey, remind me, which one of us was it that thought to scavenge for a pregnancy test when you started gagging at the smell of sagebrush?”

         She gapes at him, eyes flying up under her bangs. “You did not just bring that up! Wait, what am I saying,” she determinedly turns her gaze away from him, shaking her head, “of course you brought it up. I do not understand how you are still bragging about that all these years later.”

         Despite her words, there’s amusement in her voice and a curve to her lips she can’t quite force down. Especially when both Nadia and Alice snort, trying to hide their laughs.

         Soon enough they’re all giggling, and it’s enough to make her head spin.

         The past few weeks have had them all grim, with poor humor and constant bickering. What laughs and smiles they did manage were fleeting, and they definitely didn’t come from something that could quite easily spiral into a real argument.

         It tells her that she’s not the only one feeling hopeful, really hopeful, right now.

         “What about you, little girl?” she asks once their laughs have died down, leaning towards Claudette a bit. “Did Pam take a look at your leg?”

         “Mhm,” she replies, nodding and sitting up a bit to show her the fresh bandages wrapped around her leg. “She cleaned it and changed it and said the doctors will stitch it up at the hospital.”

         Ouch. She’d been hoping she wouldn’t need stitches, though when she got the cut a few days ago, she’d honestly known she would. They just didn’t have the means or materials to do it safely themselves.

         She tries to put on a brave face for her, though. She keeps her tone slightly teasing as she asks, “You scared?”

         The girl shakes her head, smiling at her. “Nope! Miss Zaman needs stitches too, so we’ll be getting them together!”

         She glances at Nadia, and something soft and knowing passes between them. No doubt Claudette was scared until she told her that, probably back at the lighthouse.

         Yeah. If they can manage to stay here, Aisha’ll be just fine. That woman is going to be a fantastic mother.

         Before any of them can say anymore, there’s a faint bang as a door opens and closes. As if her eyes are physically drawn there, she looks up just in time to see Ellie appear from the hallway.

         She slows at the sight of her, quickly looking her up and down. When their eyes meet again, her gaze is unimpressed and she raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Really? You couldn’t just rest?’

         She doesn’t actually say that, though. She just shakes her head and sighs, striding past all of them with nothing more than a quick once-over to make sure none of them seem to be dying.

         A moment is all she takes to share a quiet word with Avery and Jaime who both nod, and then she’s out the door they all came in. Through the windows she can see her reach into her pocket, pop something into her mouth, and start ascending the stairs to the top deck.

         Just before she disappears from view, she watches as she pulls a leather-bound journal out from inside her coat.

Chapter Text

         She’s drawn Abby before she can even think of what she’s doing.

         It’s not the first time she’s drawn her. She doesn’t do it often, only when the memories weigh too heavily on her, but…

         Sometimes she draws her how she was in the mansion and in Seattle. Tall, arrogant, built like a brick shithouse and a monstrous force of nature. A version of her that brings hateful bile to the back of her throat every time she sees it scribbled in the pages of her journal. Even after all the years between her and what happened, it was still all too easy to call up the anger. The disgust. The bone-deep, seething hate. And the fear.

         Other times it’s how she was in Santa Barbara. Diminished and beaten down, skin peeling, hair chopped to the scalp… this version also brings bile, but it’s accompanied by nausea. Nausea induced by the memory of holding a knife to a child’s throat, and of holding Abby under the water when she didn’t even want to fight in the first place.

         And memories of those hours and hours and hours she spent that night and in the morning looking for her mother’s knife; finger stumps stinging from the sea water, eyes burning with tears. The sickening shame that filled her every second she searched.

         Now…

         Well, now she’s drawn her as she is. Somewhere in-between. Not quite as pitiful as Santa Barbara, but not as proud as Seattle either. Thinner, but still relatively healthy. Hair not quite long enough to braid, but long enough to be pulled back.

         Specifically, that moment when she said her name. That split second image of her face caught somewhere between disbelief and desperation. A plea on her lips.

         She can feel the hate, and the anger, and the fear, but seeing her like this… it’s somewhere deep down. If she wanted it, she’d have to dredge it up.

         She’s sure that once she goes down there again, and has to look her in the face, it’ll all rise to the top before she forces it down again. But for now, in the cold with the background soundscape of fluttering sails, lapping water, and ice clunking against the hull… she can look at her sketch of her, and feel nothing but confusion.

         Why is she here? She had to have known she was the source of the immunity, or at least known it was probably her. Was it just desperation that drove her here? Concern for her people?

         Or is she ultimately here for the same reason she chased her all the way to Santa Barbara twelve years ago? When she threatened that kid and tried to kill her, did it open the same sort of wound she herself left on her in that mansion?

         Is she here with a hope to finish what they started, all those years ago?

         She doesn’t even know who she means by that.

         Did her and Riley set this course when they went to that mall? Was all of this destined to happen the moment that runner’s teeth sank into her skin?

         Or did Marlene start this chain of events? If she had given her to someone other than Joel, someone who would have let them kill her for a cure, would none of this ever have happened?

         And Joel… did he start this, by refusing to let her die? Or did the Fireflies start this, by refusing to give her a choice in the first place? When they decided to treat him like a loose end to be tied up, instead of the only reason they had a shot at a cure at all?

         Abby and her friends could have prevented all of this by just leaving Joel alone.

         She could have prevented all this by realizing revenge isn’t what Joel would have wanted before ever even going to Seattle.

         As she stares down at her sketch of Abby’s face, she realizes it doesn’t really matter.

         She never would have given up on an opportunity to hang out with Riley again. Marlene would have never given up on getting her to Salt Lake. Joel would have never let her die, and the Fireflies would have never let her leave.

         Abby would have never forgiven what Joel did to them, and she would have never forgiven what Abby did to her.

         The steps that brought them here can’t be changed, and even if they could… she wouldn’t want to. Not if it meant giving up Rachel, or never learning she could spread her immunity.

         The thought brings her an odd sense of peace, but only before the cold, lizard-like part of her brain catches up. The part that learned from Joel, and Tommy, and this whole world how to spot threats, analyze risks… and eliminate them.

         It doesn’t matter if she’s content to let sleeping dogs lie at this point. She’s not the only party dancing this fucked up tango. It isn’t just down to her.

         Even if Abby didn’t come here for revenge at all, now that she knows she’s here, will she try and take it? She let her go before, twice, but that was before she tried to kill her a second time.

         She won’t let the council turn these people out into the world again if she can help it. Not even Abby. Even with everything she did to her, she knows there’s worse out there. Things no-one fucking deserves.

         But she also can’t let Abby be more important than her family, or this community, or her life here. Not again. Never again.

         As she chews her pine resin, the fruity flavor already fading as it always does… she realizes she’s going to have to talk to her.

         Not just talk to her, but… talk about their history. The Fireflies. The mansion. Seattle, and Santa Barbara. All of it, and what it means for them now.

         Fuck.

         That’s not going to be fun. It’s going to be a pain in the ass, in fact, and hurt like a bitch. It’s probably going to make her want to kill her all fucking over again.

         The truth of the matter is that she can’t, though. She just can’t, and she won’t.

         How to convey that to the woman without making her try to kill her again, though… that’ll be a bit tricky. Especially since the only real skill she has with words is jokes and singing, and she doesn’t think either of those will go over well with Abby.

         The thought almost makes her snort. The idea of singing a ballad to Abby about how much she doesn’t want to kill her anymore is fucking hilarious. In a dark, sad, kind of painful way.

         Before she realizes it, she’s scrawling out a few rough lyrics.

         Are we allies or enemies?

         This will kill me be the death of me

         This will be the death of me

         This is

         This will be the death of me

         All is fair in war love and war

         But I don't want to can't fight with you anymore

         Yeah… no. That’s basically asking for suicide-by-Abby.

         Maybe they can just agree to pretend the other doesn’t exist, and never speak to each other again. That sounds much easier. Much better.

         Yeah. She’s just going to try and do that. Screw actually talking this shit out.

         Idly, and maybe as an excuse to postpone going back down there, she sketches out the kid. Just a small, rough picture in the corner of the page.

         He’s not a kid anymore, really. Mid-twenties at least. He’s a smidge taller than her now, an inch at most, and about as lanky as she was when she was nineteen. Most of the fat is gone from his face, but how much of that is from baby fat fading and how much is from malnutrition… difficult to tell.

         Just like Abby, there’s new scars on his face. Most of them are still overshadowed by his Scar-scars, but there’s a smattering of burn scars on his cheeks that bisect them now. His hair is a touch longer than Santa Barbara, but only a touch, yet more noticeably unkempt because of it.

         His voice has deepened, but not as much as she thought it would have after twelve years. And maybe he’s just short and slight, but he also isn’t as tall or as broad as she thinks he should be by this point. Maybe they’ve had a rougher time than just this past year then?

         She knows the Fireflies never lived particularly well, especially the groups like Marlene’s that were actually in the trenches against FEDRA. Maybe that was how he and Abby have been living all this time. It would explain the lack of growth on his part. Malnourishment can do that to you. Something to mention to the doctors, maybe…

         She sketches his face in the expression he made when she told them she was carrying Abby. Hate, distrust, a touch of disgust… and underneath it all, fear and worry.

         In that moment, she knew Abby told him what she did. How she held a knife to his throat when he was barely conscious, barely alive.

         The thought hurts, the shame even more so, but she can’t conjure any anger. It’s only fair he knows what she did. Tried to do.

         She writes ‘Lev?’ down beneath the portrait. She thinks that’s what Abby calls him.

         Probably best she include him in the discussion she needs to have with her. The others, she’ll let her handle. The woman seems to be their leader, she can lead them. But Lev was there for Seattle, and while probably not aware of it at the time, Santa Barbara.

         It was a fucked up thing to say, and had no real bearing on the situation, but she wasn’t wrong when she said Abby made him a part of this. When she brought him to that theatre, let him help fight her battle… it wasn’t justification for putting a knife to his throat, never was, never will be, but it means she can’t just shove him to the side and focus on Abby.

         She can’t conjure any hate for him, though, unlike with Abby. Maybe he helped kill Jesse and cripple Tommy, but whatever his reasons, he’s the reason Dina and JJ are alive right now. The reason she is too, really, and living the life she is, not that he really did anything aside from exist.

         What even is he, to Abby? They’re clearly not related, not least of all because she was a Wolf and he was a Scar. But she of all people knows blood doesn’t really matter in this world. Do they see each other as siblings, though? Just friends? She doesn’t think it’s parental, the age gap is too small.

         Or maybe it’s one of those weird relationships this world creates that doesn’t fit neatly into one category.

         God, this situation is fucked up. It feels like navigating one of Rachel’s panic attacks or episodes. A mess of spider silk-thin tripwires around her feet. If she doesn’t step just so…

         Boom.

         And just like in both situations… it’s love for Rachel that’s making her take those steps at all.

         She taps her pencil against the paper, dotting Abby’s face with charcoal.

         After a moment, on the opposite page, she sketches Rachel. Her last memory of her, watching from the pier as she left St. James not even a full week ago.

         Straight mousy brown hair a mess as always, freckles bright against her pale skin in the early morning sun, gap in her teeth front and center as she grinned, hazel eyes flashing… flashing with love, worry, and just a touch of excitement. Her smile was somewhat fixed, forced for her. For both of them, maybe. A promise that they’ll both be okay.

         What would she think if she knew everything? She’s told her the broad strokes, just like Joel once told her. She’s done bad things. Abandoned people who needed her. Killed people who didn’t deserve it. Done worse than kill them, even.

         Would she still look at her the same, if she knew one of those people she killed was a pregnant woman? That she killed a man who she’s pretty sure saved her life at one point? That she beat an unarmed woman to death, to make her horrible last moments even worse? That she left Aunt Dina and JJ to chase the woman who killed his father, when what he really needed was both his mothers?

         Would she still call her ‘mom’ if she knew?

         Beneath her portrait, she scrawls, ‘Would she still love me if she knew?’

         A fear she’ll never share, not with her, not with anyone. Writing it in her journal already feels like it makes it too real. Like she’s jinxing it, wishing it into reality. Saying it out loud would be unbearable.

         A thought passes her by, and she writes one more line.

         ‘Is this how Joel felt?’

         The stairs to the upper deck creak, and she doesn’t look up. She assumes it’s just one of the crew making their rounds.

         Then Avery sits beside her, and she sighs, snapping her journal shut.

         “I’ll read one of those things one day, y’know,” he drawls, flicking his fingers at her journal as she pockets it. “Can’t stop me when you’re dead.”

         She huffs a laugh that feels utterly humorless. “There’s no way you’re outliving me, old man.”

         He nods, slowly. He doesn’t look at her, and instead turns his eyes skyward, to the stars. “I will, if you keep pullin’ stunts like you did today.”

         She sucks her teeth, nodding too. She knew this was coming. Jaime will take her at her word if she says everything is fine. Listen, if she tells him to drop it.

         Avery, though… well, he’s worse than Joel and Tommy ever were at nosing into her business.

         It’s comforting.

         “Yeah.” The word is short and clipped as it falls from her lips, and she takes a breath to steady her voice. “If you’re talking about me pulling a gun on those people… my defense is that it was entirely involuntary.”

         He still doesn’t look at her. “That bad, huh?”

         She scrunches her nose, half shrugging. “Probably worse than what you’re thinking.”

         That causes his eyebrows to shoot up, and he chuckles. “Wow. Seattle?”

         She knows he doesn’t really know what he’s asking. When some Wolves made their way into the community years ago and he asked why they made her nervous… all she’d told him was that she did bad shit in Seattle years ago. She knows that whatever he’s imagining, it can’t live up to what actually happened.

         “Among other things,” she mutters, looking down the deck.

         “They’re Fireflies, right?” he asks, finally glancing at her. His gaze is sharp, searching, trying to cut away the layers of her masks to peer at the truth. “Said they came from Catalina. Is it… whatever the hell happened with that cure business?”

         She really needs to tell him about Joel. She has, of course. She’s told him about Joel, and how he took her in, and raised her, and then died on her. She’s told Islaborne that the Fireflies once tried to make a cure out of her, and it didn’t work out. But she’d never connected the two dots. Not for him, not for anybody except Rachel.

         Hadn’t had to, really. Almost all the ex-Fireflies in Islaborne cut ties with the group years before Salt Lake, and stories of it never seemed to make their way out to the broader world. The only one she thinks knows what really happened is Gerri, hence her hatred of her. But she seems content to try and make her life hell instead of rehashing old history, and she’s been content to do the same.

         Probably will have to tell people now, though. Definitely the council. Definitely Avery.

         Not now, though. Not right now.

         “Think that’s what started it,” she admits, slowly leaning over until their shoulders touch. “But that was just the… catalyst. For a lot of shit, pretty much all of it having nothing to do with them.”

         He nods, leaning into her as well. “The blonde woman, then? Think one of those folks called her Abby. Or Abigail. Looked like you saw a damn ghost moment you laid eyes on her.”

         “Yep,” she says slowly, popping the ‘P.’ A moment of inner turmoil later, she adds, “And the guy with her. Asian one, with the scars. He was involved too.”

         Avery clucks his tongue after a second, tapping a nervous rhythm on his knees. “Tricky situation then, huh?”

         She snorts, leaning into him hard enough to push him over a little bit. “Understatement of the century, old man. But you know me. I’ll handle it. Always do.”

         He recovers with an exaggerated grunt, feigning a wounded look. After a second though, it softens as he reaches over to gently bat the back of her hand with his. “This somethin’ you needa handle on yer own, or can me’n Jamie help? You know we will, if y’ask.”

         “Just…” She grips her prosthetics with a heavy sigh. “Just keep what happened today quiet for now, alright? And… all of… this.”

         She gestures vaguely between them, and he nods understandingly. “I need to explain it to the council myself. I don’t want them jumping to conclusions about these people.”

         “Roger that, girl,” he says, and she’s glad there’s no trace of doubt or indecision on his face. Sometimes she wonders just how far he’d be willing to go for her, and every time she hopes she’ll never find out. “Consider me’n my boy mum.”

         A bit of tension unwinds itself from her shoulders. “Thanks, Avery.”

         He reaches up to pat her arm. “Anytime, Ellie. Anytime.”

         They sit there in silence for a bit, both of them staring up at the stars.

         She heard that pre-Outbreak Day, there was a thing called ‘light pollution.’ Where the lights on the ground were so bright, they blew out the stars.

         Well, she’s sure that it’s still theoretically a thing. But she’s never seen it. Even in Jackson, or St. James, the stars are as clear as day.

         She almost snorts at her own joke. She should find a way to work that into something, it’d kill Hailee.

         As she stares up at the stars, though, she sobers again.

         Light pollution… she can’t imagine it. Not only how it looked, but just living with it. If she couldn’t look up in the sky and see proof that there was more out there, than all the bullshit down here, she’d go insane.

         With a quick smile, she reminds herself it’s not all bullshit. At least not for her, not now.

         “You wanna come over for dinner sometime while we’re here?” she asks Avery, grinning at him when he turns to look at her. “If Rachel’s up for it and we’re not busy, that is. We’ll probably be stuck here until the council make a decision. Might as well make the best of it, right?”

         He nods his agreement, then sighs heavily, scrunching his face up in thought. After a second, he leans in closer, lowering his tone to a conspiratorial volume. “Maybe. What’re you making?”

         She laughs, reaches up, and pushes him away by the face. “Whatever I make, you old fuck, you’re gonna eat. And you’re gonna like it!”

         He laughs as well, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Yes, ma’am. Roger that, ma’am.”

         Bastard.

         After a second, he stands with a loud groan. He stretches, during which she can hear about ten of his vertebrae pop, before offering a hand to her. “Let’s get back in there. Make sure none of ‘em have spontaneously combusted.”

         With a sigh, she takes the offered hand, resisting the urge to groan as well as he helps her stand. She’s too young to be doing that.

         She turns to spit her gum over the side of the ship, and takes just a moment to admire the way the moonlight and stars play off the lake.

         Then she heads for the stairs. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

         She does her best not to wait for Ellie to come back.

         She’s not waiting because she wants to see her. She would be very happy to never see her ever again, thank you very much. But without checking on everyone to distract her, she finds herself anxious at the woman’s absence.

         There’s something about knowing Ellie Miller is nearby, but not having line of sight on her, that’s starting to do her head in.

         In her mind, she just repeats to herself what she told Abel and Gracie. If Ellie were going to do anything, she would have done it by now.

         It’s the bestial part of her heart that doesn’t respond to logic that’s troubling her, though. The part that’s beating like a rabbit’s does when it knows a predator is close.

         And she doesn’t know how to fix it.

         She tries to just get some sleep, but as soon as she even begins to nod off, the door opens again. When she opens her eyes, she sees Ellie walking in followed by Avery.

         Like magnets drawn to each other, their eyes meet, and there’s that same flash of anger and hate across Ellie’s face. Then it’s overcome by something inscrutable, maybe contemplative, before she rips her gaze away.

         At some point, she needs to get a read on this girl. The way she’s been acting goes against literally everything she knows about her.

         Which is, admittedly… not a whole lot. She’s met her three times, and only one of those times didn’t involve her trying to kill her. And she’s pretty sure that’s only because she couldn’t. Because she was held down.

         Yeah.

         Avery heads back for the same bench his son is sat at, but Ellie heads for the one on the opposite side of the room. She tosses her pack down next to it and lays down with a stifled groan, shifting until her arms are cushioning her head. A yawn, and she shuts her eyes.

         On one hand, she’s glad she’s over there. It puts her further away from her.

         On the other hand, it puts her closer to the kids, and that makes her fucking skin itch.

         As if the universe is punishing her, Claudette immediately perks up and calls out, “Miss Ellie?”

         Everyone’s gaze snap towards the little girl, and then to Ellie, who opens her eyes at once and looks over.

         There’s a soft, bemused look on her face as she says, “Yeah, kiddo? Need something?”

         Claudette shakes her head. “Mm-mm. I just saw some of those people at the lighthouse had swords and spears and stuff. Where’d you get them?”

         Ellie snorts, sitting up a bit to look at her properly. “We didn’t get them from anywhere. We made them. There’s blacksmiths at our settlement. People who work with metal to make things.”

         “Ooh!” The little girl looks halfway to standing in her seat before her mother’s hand on her head settles her. “Why?”

         “Well, the first and most important reason is…” She pauses, raising her eyebrows slowly, “because they’re cool as hell.”

         Claudette and Cricket both laugh. The sound lightens her heart, but also pisses her off because Ellie is the cause.

         Can’t this woman just leave her people alone? For once?

         “The second reason is because we can’t make gunpowder, so we can’t make more ammo for our guns,” continues Ellie, voice turning semi-serious in the way adult voices do when they’re earnestly explaining things to children. “We can scavenge and trade for more, but here we like to be able to rely on ourselves, without worrying about resources running out. And once we got our immunity, it suddenly became a whole lot safer to get close to infected. So… we started making decent weapons to hit them with. Swords, axes, spears, maces…”

         She turns to the side, showing the hilt of her machete strapped to her lower back. “Machetes. All kinds of stuff. Plus stuff to protect ourselves like shields and armor.”

         She raises her left arm, showing off the metal vambrace on it.

         She has to admit it’s a good idea. Most melee weapons you can find these days are either so rusted or rotten they’re good for only a few hits before they break. Seeing the way she fought those clickers, the way her machete sliced through their bodies like butter, how that one’s teeth bounced harmlessly off her armor…

         She’ll admit her strategy of punching infected to death is maybe not the safest or smartest. But if she had immunity, good armor, and a reliable melee weapon? Damn, she’d be unstoppable.

         Apparently she’s not the only one feeling a bit excited at the idea of bashing infected heads in with medieval weaponry since both Claudette and Cricket are nearly bouncing in their seats.

         “That’s so cool!” the boy exclaims loudly. Howard and Petunia shush him immediately, though, glancing meaningfully at Aisha. The boy shirks his head, embarrassed for only a moment before he smiles at Ellie again. In a much quieter voice, he asks, “Can I have a sword?!”

         “I want a spear!” adds Claudette, and she can’t help but snort at the way Latonya and Jacques both blanch. Alice, on the other hand, looks almost proud of her niece.

         Ellie doesn’t look as overwhelmed as she thought she would, being verbally bombarded by two children. She doesn’t look overwhelmed at all, instead smiling at them with just a hint of reproach. “We’ll see, kids. Only certain off-island workers get them, and there’s a lot of training you need before then. Gotta work hard for the good shtuff!”

         On the last two words she lowers her voice into an idiotic deep gruffness, screwing her face up into an exaggerated scowling grin.

         She has no idea whether it’s the fact they’re no longer cold or hungry (or as hungry as they have been), or because she’s a new person, but both kids giggle at the display.

         “That’s enough questions, kids,” says Petunia after a moment. “Let’s let Miss Ellie get her rest, okay? And you two as well, while we’re at it.”

         They both make sounds of disappointment but dutifully comply, snuggling up to their guardians.

         Ellie, for her part, just chuckles and lays back down again, faintly shaking her head.

         She watches her for a second, trying to square this new image of her with the one she has in her head. It doesn’t really work.

         On one side is Ellie the Murderous Psychopath who slaughters pregnant women and holds knives to the throats of children. On the other is Ellie the Woman Who Is Apparently Good With Kids, that can make two children who have seen hell very recently laugh multiple times.

         It’s almost like she’s a real person who you haven’t seen in twelve years, and not some static monster that eats babies, whispers the traitorous part of her brain that uses logic.

         The part that remembers that she ultimately saved her life and Lev’s life. Who let her go when she had her dead to rights. The same part that remembers her begging for her to spare Joel’s life.

         The part that sounds like Owen.

         She does not like this part of her brain. It makes things complicated.

         Apparently Lev has a similar part to his brain, given the conflicted expression on his face as he stares at the dozing Ellie.

         Maybe they need to have a talk to straighten things out. As the only two people here who really know what Ellie is capable of. Or was capable of.

         Probably is. She of all people knows that sort of violence never really goes away. It forms a part of you that you have to spend your whole life chaining up. An addiction, maybe. One you can always relapse to.

         So, she pats him on the shoulder. “Help me to the bathroom?”

         As soon as he looks over, she can tell he knows what she really wants. He glances back at Ellie once before standing, offering her his arm. “Sure.”

         They don’t bother actually stepping into the bathroom. They just go around the corner, past the door to the bridge, to a small landing. Another door seems to lead out to the bow, while a staircase heads down to the lower levels. Lev leads her a few steps down it before stopping, giving them some amount of privacy.

         He wastes no time leaning her up against the wall and then stepping away to glare at her. “Okay. Tell me the truth, Abby: do you trust her?”

         She doesn’t even have to think about it. Not for longer than a second, anyways. “No. But I’m pretty sure that if she planned to kill us, she wouldn’t go through the effort of saving us first.”

         “She did last time.”

         She sucks in a breath. “Yep. That’s true. That is… very true.”

         She still has no idea why she fucking did that. She clearly came all the way there to kill her, only to save her, only to then try to kill her, only to then let them go. It’s such a stupid series of events that she can’t help but wonder at the girl’s sanity.

         Hell, she had to fight through half the Rattlers to even reach them. And then she found her, had her dead to rights tied up on the pillar like that, and yet she cut her down.

         Was seeing her tied up so pitiful it caused a single moment of empathy? Enough to free her and go all the way to the boats with them, only for her bloodthirst to act up at the last second?

         Still doesn’t explain why she had her dead to rights, yet again, and let her live.

         She still remembers those terrifying seconds held under the water that felt like years. She doesn’t think she will ever forget them.

         Desperately trying to hold her breath, clawing for any purchase on Ellie. Her cuts stinging from the saltwater and her lungs burning from the lack of air. The terror and despair that came over her as she realized with every thrash, she just forced more air out of her lungs and inhaled more water.

         The helplessness as everything went black, and she realized she was going to die, and Lev was going to be all alone.

         And the relief as the hands left her throat, and the knee left her stomach, and she was finally able to surge upwards out of the water.

         Tentatively, as if he’s scared she’ll bite his head off for it, Lev says, “She seems… different. From how she was in Seattle. Does she seem different from how she was in Santa Barbara, to you?”

         God, she does not like talking about this. But they fucking have to. And she has to be fucking honest since lying is not an option with Lev. “Yeah. I… I think she does.”

         She almost wants to point out that neither of them have a great reference point for how Ellie is. While she may be capable of horrid acts of violence, and terrifying anger, she still clearly cared about that pregnant woman who was with her. She clearly cared about Joel, and that Asian guy, and Joel’s brother Tommy.

         So there has to be some sort of heart underneath the murderous rage. Maybe it’s just… risen to prominence.

         The thought makes her sick, because no amount of good deeds will ever scrub the image of Owen and Mel on the floor of the aquarium from her head. But it at least means she seems less likely to slit their throats in their sleep.

         Lev slowly nods, looking down at his feet. He’s clearly thinking a lot, but all he says is, “So…?”

         She sighs, rolling her eyes. “So…”

         After a moment of grinding her teeth, she groans and lowers her face into her hands. “So, I don’t fucking trust her. I can’t. I don’t want to, and if it was up to me, I wouldn’t. But… we can’t go back out there.”

         She looks back at him, giving him the same desperate look she gave Marshall at the lighthouse. “You understand that, right? We cannot go back out there. Not with Maria and Georgie sick, not with how injured the rest of us are, not without food, and ammo, and supplies. Hopefully not ever, if these people let us stay. So we have no choice but to trust her.

         “And…” She makes a flippant gesture towards the room where everyone else, including Ellie, is. “She saved us from those infected. She hasn’t tried to put a bullet in us or stab us in the back yet. Hell, I’m pretty sure she’s carried my fat ass at least a cumulative mile today. If it means we can have a life here, then I will take her helping us today as a sign we can trust her for now. As much as it makes me want to fucking puke…”

         Lev nods again, smiling a bit at her jokes. Then the smile fades, and he glances back in the direction of Ellie with a scowl.

         “What about after?” he asks darkly. “If we stay here… how do we handle her?”

         That is the million dollar question, isn’t it? Working together in a life or death situation is one thing. Living in the same community means they’ll probably be working together at least a few times, most likely without the threat of people dying to keep them in line.

         “I don’t know, Lev,” she sighs, reaching up to rub her forehead. “I seriously don’t. Ideally we tell her that if she tries anything, we’ll make her swallow her teeth, and she stays the fuck out of our way forever. But she’s the one who was part of this community first, and she’s the one who’s a ‘captain.’ However high that puts her on this place’s ladder. That… changes the dynamic, a bit.”

         “We could try… talking to her?” he suggests quietly, his tone only half teasing. “Without any threats?”

         “Fuck off,” she snorts, wishing she could shove him without risking losing her balance and tumbling down these stairs. “Let’s just… try to get through tonight without killing her or her killing us, alright? The rest we can sort out later.”

         “That would be preferable, yes.”

         God, his smirk makes falling down the stairs an appealing risk.

         Before she can tell him where he can stuff it, though, it falls from his face. With a worried look, he glances around before leaning in. “You seem interested in staying here.”

         She blinks at that, and his low, serious tone.

         “What do you mean?” she asks, genuinely confused. After a moment, a sinking suspicion fills her gut. “Do you not want to stay here, Lev?”

         “If it’s as it appears, then yes, of course I do,” he says with a halfhearted shrug. “I just don’t trust that it is. Why are these people being so nice to us? They’ve given us food, fruit juice, medical treatment, and they’re promising more. They’re promising antibiotics. Why? They don’t know us, and we don’t know them.”

         All at once, her suspicion disappears but her heart absolutely sinks.

         When he was younger, when they first met, he seemed wise beyond his years in a lot of ways. In other ways, though, he was naïve. Childishly optimistic. Innocent in a good way, in a way that made her more optimistic. When his guard was down, he believed in the best of people. The fact he went back for his mother was proof of that.

         That part of him dwindled after what happened on the island. Dwindled even further after the Rattlers, and then the years with the Fireflies, and now…

         Fuck. She hopes this journey hasn’t killed that part of him off for good.

         “I mean,” she starts slowly, gingerly, bracing herself so she can lean out and rest her hand on his shoulder, “I won’t say you’re wrong. You’re right, even, we don’t really know them. But…”

         She pauses and then sighs, hanging her head. “This place reminds me of Jackson. Before I… before I killed Joel, he and his brother saved my life. When I brought him back to where my friends and I were staying, his brother offered to take us back to town so we could resupply.”

         The shame that brings bile to the back of her throat goes unexamined. It always has, and it always will. No matter what Joel and his brother did, it doesn’t change the fact Joel deserved what he got. He was a monster. Saving her life didn’t change that. And after helping kill all her friends, Tommy deserved what he got too. Those brothers can rot in hell together.

         Even in her own head, the words feel as brittle as sun-dried bone.

         When she looks to Lev, scared to see disgust in his eyes, there is none. He just seems surprised. Whether it’s because of what she said, or the fact she’s talking about Joel at all, she doesn’t know.

         The most she’s told him about that night up until this point was what Joel did, that she and her friends tracked him down, killed him slow, and Ellie saw. And that was only after the tenth time he (gently) asked her about it.

         “So, what I’m trying to say is…” She continues resolutely, shaking thoughts of Joel and Tommy and Jackson free of her head, “there are still places like that in the world, Lev. Places built by people who just… want to help others.”

         He looks away, thinking, but reaches a hand up to cover hers. She can see his eyes darting this way and that, thoughts racing through his head. Probably minute calculations of risk versus reward.

         “And you think this place is like that?” he asks after a few seconds, looking back to her with nothing but earnest curiosity in his voice. No judgement, though there is a bit of doubt. “You think these people really do just want to help us?”

         “I think it’s possible,” she clarifies, squeezing his shoulder and shaking him a bit with a grin. “I also think we can’t really afford not to find out.”

         “We really can’t,” he admits with a slight nod. Then, with a smirk, “But if these people are cannibals, Abby, I’m telling them to eat you first.”

         She snorts, reaching up to lightly slap his cheek. “Good luck with that, beansprout. They’ll start with you first before you get any thinner.”

         The genuine affront on his face is hilarious. “I am not thin!”

         “Kid, even before we started starving, you were thin.” To make her point, she quickly pokes him in the ribs, laughing as he twists away.

         Before he can retort, probably about how she was starting to get fat, there’s a piercing cry that has them both wincing.

         Aisha.

         They both look to each other, and she knows they have the same thought everyone who isn’t the parent of a screaming infant has when they hear one: run.

         But Nadia is family, which means Aisha is family. So with a groan, she holds her arm out for him. “Let’s go.”

         “At least she waited until we were far away from any demons,” Lev mutters as he helps her up the stairs, and she snorts. There is that silver lining.

         Nadia is already on her feet, bouncing Aisha up and down, whispering calming nonsense to her.

         It is utterly ineffectual. Aisha continues to wail, face screwed up and bright red, kicking her arms and legs.

         Her mother’s face is also a touch red, especially as she looks around. Everyone is watching her. While those from their group are doing so understandingly, as is Avery and Jaime, a few of the crew in the room have annoyed looks on their faces.

         Ellie looks to be dead asleep on the bench, eyes shut peacefully.

         Bitch.

         Just as she and Lev reach her, about to ask what Nadia thinks is wrong, one of the crew near Avery and his son groans loudly.

         “Will you shut that thing up?!” she exclaims, glaring at them. “For god’s sake!”

         Anger surges in her, but before she can tell her to fuck off, Ellie is striding past her.

         She didn’t even hear her get up.

         “You, take a walk, now!” she says, pointing a finger at the woman. Her eyes flash as if they’re lit by fire, yet her voice is like cold steel. “These people don’t need that shit.”

         The woman stands, throwing her arms out to the side. “What?! Cap, you can’t be serious!”

         Ellie stops in place, nostrils flaring. “I’m sorry, did you hear a question mark at the end of my sentence? No? Good, because there wasn’t one. That wasn’t a request, it was an order. You either take a walk, or you spend the rest of the ride in the brig. Choose, now.”

         Despite how much she hates the woman, she can’t help but be impressed. Even some of Isaac’s most hard-ass instructors couldn’t manage a tone that scathing.

         It seemingly gets through to the woman, who makes a hasty salute like she’s grabbing at her heart. “Yes, ma’am.”

         She speedwalks to the door, not even bothering to throw so much as a nasty glare over her shoulder before she’s gone. She can’t tell whether it’s fear or respect of Ellie that makes her walk so fast. Probably fear.

         Aisha is still screaming, and it’s starting to give her a headache.

         Ellie doesn’t seem to even hear it  as she turns and walks to Nadia. She has to raise her voice to be heard over all the crying, though. “I’m sorry about that, miss.”

         The mother shakes her head, though, returning to bouncing Aisha up and down. “No, I am sorry. I-I think she needs to be changed, but… we do not have the supplies. We have been using underwear and padding, but we ran out. We were going to scavenge more today.”

         Fuck, that’s right. Damn it, she should have thought to ask about that before they hopped on a boat for four hours. She doubts the FOB would have had diapers, but maybe they could have spared a few rags.

         Ellie’s eyes widen slightly as if in realization, though, and then she reaches up to rub her temples with a groan. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned. There’s supplies and a changing station in the bathroom. Have you ever used flat cloth diapers before?”

         “Oh…” Nadia gapes at her for a second, clearly dumbstruck. Then she blinks and shakes her head. “N-No, I have not. We had some, on Catalina, but I never learned. Aisha was… unexpected.”

         She very nearly snorts. That’s the understatement of the century. Almost six months out from Catalina, and she pulled out a handful of positive pregnancy tests in front of the whole group. That had been a lovely shitshow of ‘congratulations!’ and ‘what the fuck do we do?!’ to take part in.

         “That’s fine,” says Ellie gently, stepping forward a bit. The expression on her face is reassuring in a very unsettling way, at least to her. “I can show you, if you want. It’s not as hard as it looks. Or… one of your people can show you, if they know how.”

         She looks around at all of them, and no-one comes forward, because none of them know how.

         The parents among them all gave birth to their children and raised them through their infant years in QZ’s, where disposable diapers were still available. Shitty ones, yeah, but still.

         They had cloth ones in the WLF too, but she had never learned how to use them. Never needed to. Manny had tried roping her into learning how since she was going to be an ‘aunt’ but… it didn’t happen. It felt wrong to practice taking care of Owen and Mel’s baby.

         For a moment, she thinks Lev might step forward since there’s no way Seraphites didn’t use cloth diapers. However, he looks just as lost as the rest of them do. She supposes that makes sense. She knows older siblings helped take care of their younger ones in their community, but given he was the younger one… he probably never had a chance. Or was never forced to.

         When none of them speak up, Ellie turns her attention back to Nadia, that same look sliding over her face.

         It makes something in her throat and mouth tense up, as if violently rejecting the word she wants to assign to it.

         ‘Motherly.’

         A scoff nearly escapes her before she chokes it down.

         Absurd. Ellie is the furthest thing from a mother she could ever imagine. Mothers are people like Mel and Nadia, Petunia and Latonya. Maria. Women with a steel fucking core, but who just aren’t built for the sorts of things she knows people like Ellie (and her) are capable of.

         Especially Ellie. Just like the idea of her being given any sort of authority just does not fit right in her head, the idea of her being any sort of caretaker for children doesn’t either.

         She does not care to examine the fact Ellie clearly has been given authority, and so far appears to be quite good with it, because it would annoy the fuck out of her to do so.

         But, as Nadia seems to relax minutely at how Ellie is staring at her, she decides that it doesn’t really matter. If it means they can get Aisha changed, Miller can play the experienced mom all she wants.

         “If it is not too much trouble…” says Nadia hesitantly, a bit of embarrassed pride warring on her face before another wail from Aisha drowns it out. “Then yes, please.”

         “Alright,” replies Ellie, moving forward with a smile, gesturing towards the hall. “Come on.”

         She moves to guide her by the elbow, clearly telegraphing the move and giving Nadia time to pull away. When she doesn’t, though, she lays her hand gently there, her other coming up to her shoulder.

         The way Nadia seems to relax slightly at the comforting touch, and how the embarrassed flush in her cheeks fades slightly, makes her grind her teeth. Not out of some jealousy, but because everything Ellie is starting to give her a headache.

         She was never supposed to see this woman again, and she was definitely not supposed to see her acting like a good person. Like she could be trusted with anyone she loves.

         Unbidden, like a bullet in the head, she hears Mel’s voice.

         ‘He may fall for your little act with these kids, but I don’t.’

         Fuck.

         With a deep, deep sigh, she pulls Lev back in the direction of their booth.

         She needs to lay down.

         She doesn’t lock the door behind them. This woman is clearly a new mother, and terrified to be in a new place surrounded by people she doesn’t know. The last thing she wants to do is lock her in a room with one of them.

         When she strips her gloves off, she doesn’t comment on how the woman’s eyes catch on her missing fingers, eyes widening.

         “So,” she starts, walking forward to gesture at the metal counter set into one of the walls, “these are placed in most public restrooms in our settlements. They always have warm water, liquid soap, washcloths, diapers, and safety pins. Plus two or three waterproof covers, in case of emergency.”

         She points to the metal bin underneath. “Any dirty diapers and rags, you put in there. They’ll be washed and returned by our waste management. And the soap,” she points to the small dispenser, “is safe for babies, so don’t worry. We make it ourselves, but it’s scent free, hypoallergenic, gentle… the washcloths are also soft as we can make them, so don’t worry about that either.”

         The woman nods a bit uncertainly, standing a ways back. With a light laugh, she gestures her forward. “Why don’t you get the little gremlin washed up to start with? Washcloths are in the right drawer. Just a touch of the soap will do.”

         She nods again, stepping forward to the counter and setting her little one down. When she unbundles her from her blanket and starts peeling the layers off her, she can see what she meant. Instead of a diaper, the kid has what looks like a pair of children’s panties with white rags stuffed in them.

         Damn is she ever glad Dina, Tommy, and her got back to Jackson before JJ arrived. She can’t imagine how it would have felt having to make do with a setup like that.

         She watches in silence for a bit, trying not to let memories of JJ as a baby drag her under.

         “What’s your name, by the way?” she asks as the woman is finishing up wiping her down. “I think I caught her name,” she gestures to the baby with a smile, “Aisha, but I didn’t catch yours.”

         “Nadia Zaman,” says the woman, sparing her a small smile. “And you are… Ellie Miller, correct?”

         She holds her gaze when she says her name, watching for any sort of recognition to flicker through them. There isn’t, though. Either this woman doesn’t know who Joel was, or she isn’t making the connection to him.

         Good. They need to get her baby girl changed, and a vendetta would probably slow that down.

         “Mhm,” she says, stepping forward again. Aisha is still crying, but it’s mostly hiccups and whimpers now that she’s clean.

         She slides open the door in the counter, unveiling about two dozen folded white diapers, a small stack of similarly plain pieces of cloth, and a box of safety pins. Next to them is a few waxed canvas covers.

         Stepping aside so Nadia can see, she gestures at the contents. “So, we have two sizes of diapers. Single, and double. Singles are squares, while doubles are rectangles. To start folding a cloth diaper, you have to have a square, and that means you fold doubles once before even starting. This means doubles always have a bit of extra padding and absorbency once they’re all folded up, so parents with heavy wetters usually like them better.

         “But,” she taps the stack of smaller clothes, “we also have these inserts, so you can get a little more precise.”

         A pause, and she glances at Nadia. “Which one do you want to use?”

         “Oh,” says the woman, as if she wasn’t expecting to have her opinion asked for. “I… I do not think Aisha is a heavy wetter, so the single should be fine. Perhaps with an insert?”

         “Roger that,” she says, pulling one of the singles and inserts out. She lays it on the counter next to Aisha, stepping to the side a bit so Nadia can see. “Okay, so… this is how I know to do it, and this is how most people in the community do it.”

         She folds it top to bottom. “Hotdog.”

         She grabs the upper left corner of the diaper, just the side facing up, and pulls it to the opposite corner. “Left to the right, to make a triangle. Then you flip it.”

         After she does so, she grabs the new left side, folding it over itself a couple times. “Final step is to fold it twice. This is what creates most of the padding.

         “You can also do this,” she folds the two wings upwards slightly while looking to Nadia, “if your baby needs a bit of a tighter fit.”

         She doesn’t bother to unfold the wings. Just by looking at Aisha, she can tell she’s a little thin.

         Not Nadia’s fault, or anyone’s fault really, she knows. But it still hurts to look at.

         “I understand,” she says, glancing around the cloth diaper as if trying to memorize a schematic. Then she looks to her with a worried gaze. “And the insert?”

         God, she almost wants to laugh, but she knows Dina and her were the exact same way with JJ. A bit of guilt worms its way into the stomach with the realization she’s probably never thanked Hank and Robin half as much as she should have for their help.

         “That goes on once you’ve got baby all ready to be bundled up,” she says, purposefully glancing down at Aisha who has largely quieted. “Do you want me to show you how to do it, or do you want to try? We can also take the diaper off again afterwards if you want to practice yourself.”

         Nadia’s gaze flickers between her, the diaper, and Aisha several times before something like resolve enters it. “I would like to try first.”

         This time she doesn’t try to stifle her quiet laugh, stepping back. “You got it, mama.”

         The woman gives her a smile as she moves to fill the space. She picks up Aisha, whispering something in a language she doesn’t know to her. It sounds a bit like Hebrew. Arabic, maybe. The baby whimpers but makes something resembling a happy gurgle at finally having her mother’s focus back on her.

         She doesn’t need to be guided on where to set her down on the diaper, but she does hand the insert to her once it’s ready to go in. “Set it right in the middle there. Tuck it under her butt a little so it wraps all the way around.”

         Nadia does so, and then gently folds the middle up and the wings in. She offers her the safety pin as well, which she takes with a grateful smile.

         Once Aisha is all done up, now smiling a little bit and waving her hands, she holds out the waterproof cover. “This is made of waxed canvas. Waterproof, but not very breathable, so in the hotter months you may want to leave it off if you’re at home for the day or something.”

         After a second of thought, hoping she’s sending a blessing out into the universe instead of a jinx, she adds, “And unlike the diapers, which we have tons of, these we don’t. We have enough, but we have to keep track of them. If you end up staying here, you’ll be given two or three of these to have, but accidents happen. That’s why there’s some here.”

         She gives her a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it this time, so don’t worry, but just so you know what to do: if you take one of these from a public bathroom, let someone in charge of the public bathroom know. Here, that’d be one of the crew. They’ll request another one from our stock. The one you take, you just return to our community management offices when you get the chance. Don’t worry about this, one, though, you’d… have been given one anyways while you were here, so let’s just call this us getting ahead. Alright?”

         Nadia nods, slowly taking the cover with a kind of shellshocked gaze. She looks it over for a moment, frowning, before she asks, “Did your community make these yourselves?”

         Trying to ignore the swell of pride in her chest, she nods. “Mhm. The oldest ones were made from scavenged canvas, but we got some flax seeds a few years ago and a smuggling line for paraffin from the QZ’s. Newest ones are made right here from scratch.”

         “Wow,” she replies, wide eyes glancing over to her as she buttons Aisha into the cover. “That is… amazing.”

         Her hands stall at the buttons, as her daughter’s reach down to clumsily pat them. The smile that comes over her face is almost involuntary as she reaches up to brush a finger down her cheek.

         Suddenly, she sucks in a deep breath, taking hold of one of Aisha’s little hands. After a second, she asks, “Do you think we will be able to? S-Stay here, I mean.”

         Despite the thoughts of Abby running through her head, turning her insides to poison, she doesn’t hesitate to say, “If I have anything to say about it, which I do in a way… then yeah. Technically the decision is out of my hands, but I know the people who will make it. I’ll talk to them.”

         She almost says it’s likely they’ll be allowed to stay. If she weren’t here, or if Abby and Lev weren’t here, then it wouldn’t even be much of a discussion. They’re the only things throwing a wrench into their chances.

         She doesn’t want to make promises she doesn’t know for a fact she can keep, though. Maybe it’s selfish of her, but she doesn’t want to let down this poor mother and her baby if things go bad.

         With the way Nadia turns her face away, though, trying to subtly wipe at her eyes, she has a feeling she’s already got her hopes up.

         “Thank you,” she says quietly, sniffing as she looks back to her with a smile. “You do not know how much that means to me, Miss Miller.”

         “Call me Ellie,” she mutters, waving her off as a small wave of bitterness washes over her. “And I think I have an inkling.”

         She knows what it’s like to have to care for a kid out there, in this world. She knows that fear, that sickening, heart-stopping fear… she’s felt it, and she saw how far it pushed Joel.

         How far it pushed her.

         She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

         Deciding to take a risk, hoping to dispel the newly-laid heavy atmosphere, she nods to Aisha. “I can try holding her for a little bit, if you want. So you can practice folding the diaper yourself.”

         Nadia blanches at her for just a second before glancing at Aisha. Then, with a hesitant tremor in her voice, she says, “Okay…”

         She lets her pick up Aisha herself, who immediately whimpers at the weirdo stranger suddenly manhandling her.

         So, dropping her voice to a goofy level of deepness, she grins at her, gently adjusting her so she’s sitting in her arms. “Ooh, c’mere, you little goober. Nice and clean now, huh?”

         Another whimper, a slight twist to her face, as she reaches over her shoulder for Nadia.

         “Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby girl, it’s okay,” she whispers, bouncing her slightly as she twists so she can get a clear view of her mother. “Mama’s right there. She’s not going anywhere. Just needs someone to watch you so she can practice, you little troublemaker.”

         Aisha’s expression relaxes a bit, but there’s still a rising redness in it that tells her some crying is incoming.

         So, with a smile, she reaches her hand up to offer her her finger. “Hey, how about a song? You want a song? Yeah, you want a song.”

         Clearing her throat, she keeps her voice low and breathy, trying not to drown in memories of a sunlit house on a hill and another baby in her arms.

         “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,

         “Go to sleepy, little baby.

         “When you wake,

         “You will have,

         “All the pretty little horses.

         “Blacks and bays,

         “Dapples and grays,

         “Coach and six-a little horses.

         “Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

         “Big finiiiiish~!”

         After a pause in which Aisha just stares at her, wide eyed…

         She blows a raspberry.

         Immediately the baby giggles in response, clapping her hands before blowing a raspberry of her own.

         “There you go, little lady!” she laughs, leaning in to nuzzle her nose with her own. “There’s that smile!”

         A glance at Nadia shows her smiling lovingly at her daughter, a relieved warmth around her eyes. Then she turns to the counter, pulling another diaper out to begin folding it.

         She slowly walks around the bathroom as she does so, bouncing Aisha all the little while. After a second of thought, she grins at her.

         “Okay, topical joke for you,” she starts, the baby just gurgling in response. “What kind of stories do mama boats love telling their baby boats?”

         A blank stare, though that’s probably just Aisha’s face. She’s sure she is completely enthralled.

         “Ferry tales.”

         Nadia giggles loudly before stifling it, and she can’t help but giggle as well. Aisha laughs too. Definitely because she thought the joke was funny, and not because babies tend to laugh when other people laugh. Definitely.

         “Think she inherited your sense of humor,” she tells Nadia, reaching up to offer the baby her finger again. She takes hold of it, immediately bringing it to her mouth, and she lets her.

         She sucks on her finger for only a second before she realizes her hand does not look like every other hand, bringing it up to examine her stumps.

         After a second, she sticks them in her mouth as well.

         “Mouthy one, aren’t you?” she remarks dryly, surprised when Nadia yet again laughs. “You like puns, mama?”

         “They are awful,” replies the woman adamantly, and she can’t help the wide grin that stretches across her face at the words.

         The best kind of people who like puns are the ones who hate that they like puns.

         There’ll be time to torture her later, though, so she just resumes pacing around the room, bouncing Aisha up and down. She whispers nonsense to her all the while, mostly about how adorable she is.

         She really is a cute baby. Very smiley now that she’s clean and the weirdo woman holding her has proven to be mildly entertaining.

         After a minute or two, though, Nadia asks, “Are you a mother, Ellie? You seem experienced.”

         Her grip on Aisha tightens for a second. Just a second. Just as JJ’s happy gurgling echoes through her head.

         “Uh…” She fumbles for a moment before clearing her throat and shaking her head, plastering a smile on. “Yeah, I am. I have a daughter named Rachel. But I took her in when she was nine, this… this doesn’t come from her. I got my crash course in babies when I helped take care of my nephew after he was born.”

         Even all these years later, a traitorous part of her soul still whispers ‘son’ instead. Something she could never bring herself to call him out loud when she had him, and has had no right to since leaving him.

         Nadia is none the wiser to the poisonous guilt bubbling inside her. She just looks at her kindly. “How kind of you. If I may ask… how old is your daughter now? Have you lived here long?”

         “She just turned fourteen,” she replies, glad to talk of the child she still has. She lets memories of Rachel flow through her, the good ones, the warm fluffy feeling drowning everything else out. “I lived here for a little over two years and left before I met her. I always meant to come back, but… then I found her, so we came back together. We’ll have lived here for five years on the 15th.”

         God, she still remembers that thin little girl pointing that gun at her. Too young to understand how anyone with a brain could tell it was so rusted it couldn’t fire. And that the slide wasn’t supposed to be locked back like that.

         “Congratulations,” Nadia almost hums, and she nods her thanks back. A moment passes by in which her hands still, though, and then she glances at her. “And… does she like it here?”

         Her careful tone makes her pause to examine her. But as soon as she sees her expression, the furrowed brows and the lip caught between her lip, she understands.

         With a warm sigh, she steps closer, lowering her voice. “Okay… I get it.”

         Leaning against the counter near her, she turns her focus to Aisha.

         “Yeah, my baby girl loves it here,” she starts slowly, smiling as she traces the years of her daughter in her head. The inches gained, the slow shedding of baby fat, the sharpening of her features…

         “We have a little two-bedroom house in town, just the two of us. She has her own room with this nice wood frame bed, and this huge fluffy blanket she adores. An entire fucking… mountain of stuffed animals. Two years ago, I got her this puppy that grew into a big dumb dog that always curls up at her feet when she goes to sleep. Has his own quit and everything. She named him Mutthias Miller. Mutt for short.

         She tries to imagine how this baby girl in her arms will look in five years time. Ten. Sixteen. She already looks like she has her mother’s regal nose and strong brows. Those’ll probably get even more noticeable by the time she’s old enough to start school, let alone an adult.

         “She has three meals a day, sometimes more. Her favorite food is prime rib. We don’t get it a lot, but when we do, she always wants me to cook it my way. With this mustard seasoning mix, and this reverse sear… she’ll beg me for it for her birthday every time. She has friends that she plays D&D with, and that she goes biking with across the island. In the summer, I’ll take them on camping trips to the lighthouse, and they’ll spend all day in the water.

         “When she turns sixteen, she’ll graduate from school, and she’ll probably start apprenticing with our vet.”

         A laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head at how loudly Rachel had gasped when she found out you could work with animals for a living. “She loves animals. All animals. Big, small, bugs, snakes, lizards, fish, birds, cats and dogs, horses… I get her every animal encyclopedia I can find, every zoology textbook, documentaries on DVD, and she still hasn’t found a single goddamn animal she doesn’t like. She’ll volunteer at the stables and farms just to spend time with them. She’ll go on hikes to birdwatch or catch frogs.”

         She heaves a sigh, still not looking directly at Nadia. In her periphery, though, she’s seen she’s stopped stock still, listening with rapt attention. “Right now, we’re kind of doing an independence test. Or we were supposed to be. I was… well, I was meant to be off-island for about three weeks, the longest I’ve been away from her so far since I took her in. She was gonna be home alone that whole time. But we have family friends who were going to check in on her, and who she knows she can go to for help, and we were going to trade letters every few days.”

         With a short huff, she shrugs. “Gonna have to cut it a bit short now, obviously, but still. I’m proud she agreed to it in the first place. We’ve… we’ve both kind of had trouble being away from each other, so it was a good step.”

         She drifts off, letting the silence hang for a few seconds. Not only so Nadia can take in everything she said, but so that she can calm her heart down a bit. It’s not often she gets to gush about her daughter as thoroughly as this, and the love filling her up is almost fucking painful. In a good way, the best way.

         “There’s been bad days, yeah,” she says quietly, trying to block out the memories of her sobs and screams and those animals fucking jeering on that goddamn street. “Fucking… awful days. This world is still what it is. But… I would say she’s living about as normal a life here as any teenage girl can these days.”

         After another pause, she looks to the other mother, who’s watching her with wide eyes. “So, to answer your question, Nadia… yes. If you stay here, I promise your daughter will grow up happy. So, so fucking happy. She can have a good life here.”

         She looks shell-shocked, but then shirks her head, embarrassed. “I-I am sorry, I did not mean to be so… so obvious. I just…”

         A deep sigh as she stares down at the diaper she’s folded. It looks a bit wonky, but it’s definitely useable.

         “I never wanted to have children, you know.” She shakes out the diaper to begin folding it again, keeping her eyes locked on it. “I was born and raised in the Tipton QZ. The moment you turned twelve, if you did not enlist with FEDRA or if you were not drafted, they assigned you a job. Most of us were sent to the orchards and fields.”

         A pause, her hands stalling as a far away look enters her eyes. “They worked us almost like slaves there. And like slaves, we hardly ever tasted the fruits of our labor.

         “I mean that literally,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “We picked lemons, oranges, bananas, strawberries… we held them in our hands, watched how they gleamed in the sun, smelled them… but the most we ever got back were a few small jars of preserves to last us the year. Only those high up in FEDRA’s hierarchy tasted fresh fruit. If anyone else ever did, it was because they stole some while picking it. If FEDRA found out, they would be thrown in solitary confinement for days.”

         She laughs bitterly, looking to her with spite in her eyes. “Ostensibly, of course. They always came back beaten, and the soldiers always denied anything had been done to them.”

         “I’m sorry,” she replies heavily, eyeing the dark memories in her gaze before looking away. She’s sure she can see them in her own eyes too. “I know how that goes. I grew up in the Boston QZ, in one of their orphanages. Got drafted into their military academy when I was twelve.”

         “When did you leave?” asks Nadia, and she shrugs, the motion causing a spurt of giggles from Aisha.

         “When I was about fourteen.” Deciding to save any details for later, she smiles at her. “A friend of my mom’s paid some stupid asshole to get me out. Take me across the country. Said stupid asshole became my dad and took me in.”

         Nadia laughs lightly, nodding. When she speaks, she’s surprised to hear no bitterness or jealousy in her tone. “How lucky. I lived in Tipton until I was twenty-two years old, and it was miserable. When I turned sixteen, I swore to myself I would never have children. Maybe not ever, but certainly not there. We may have been alive, but there was no meaning. No purpose. We worked to feed people who only ever strove to keep us working. It was a vicious cycle.

         “But then, when I was twenty, I met my…”

         A pause, as her eyes glimmer with tears and she chokes them down. “I met my husband, Danial, when I was nineteen and he twenty-one. We fell in love, and a year after he joined the Fireflies. He wanted to make a better world for me. A year after that, he whisked me away to Catalina.

         “Things were better there, but even then, I…” She heaves a breath, shaking her head as something wistful enters her eyes. “I-I still could not bring myself to want a family. Danial did, but… I did not want to bring a child into a world where their only choices would be to slave away under FEDRA in a QZ, living and dying behind concrete walls, or to scrape some meager living together in a tiny, ramshackle settlement.”

         A quiet hum, and a soft smile finds its way to her face. “I think I only became pregnant a few months after we started our journey here. We were four or five months away from Catalina when I found a box of pregnancy tests. I used them all up, if you can believe that. Hoping they were just… false positives.”

         She reaches over to pinch Aisha’s cheek lightly. “They were very much not, obviously.”

         “Something similar happened to my friend and I,” she admits, and unbidden, the memory of Dina’s face that night in the theatre comes back to her. Vulnerable and worried, at first, and then defensive as she kept pressing her… the way it shuttered instantly with hurt the moment she called her a burden. “It was… fucking terrifying. And we managed to make it back to our settlement before she gave birth. I… I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

         “Well… I can tell you, with much certainty, that it was also ‘fucking terrifying,’” says Nadia with a teasing grin, and they both laugh. “I… I did not know what to do, to tell you the truth. The rest of the group decided to continue traveling to Michigan, with hope we could make it there before I gave birth.

         “For me, though, I… I wanted to turn back, I think,” she admits with something like a guilty look, raising a hand to her brow. “Or perhaps not turn back, but… I simply wished that we could. That I could. I would have given anything to be back on Catalina. I would have been anything to be back in Tipton, even. At least there I could be sure my baby would have food, a roof, and safety. Safety from everything except FEDRA, that is. I even… I considered…”

         The way she shudders and squeezes her eyes shut tells her everything she needs to know.

         She resists the urge to say anything more than, “I understand.”

         Nadia doesn’t ask how or why or even try to clarify if they’re both talking about the same thing. She knows that’s not the sort of thing they’re good to talk about yet.

         So, with a forced smile, she carries on. “The moment I held her in my arms, I was so happy. I was terrified, but I was so, so happy. I was so grateful to have her, yet in that same moment, I knew I wanted everything for her. I wanted her to be safe and happy, to grow up without ever having to worry about food or where her next home would be… and I doubted I could ever do that for her.”

         “You can,” she says immediately, reaching out to grip her shoulder. When their eyes meet, she leans in, trying to turn her gaze to steel. “You have. Trust me, the… the people who run this place are honestly a bunch of fucking softies. They won’t turn you guys away.”

         So much for not making promises. But fuck, if they turn a woman with a newborn away, she doesn’t know if she would want to stay here anymore herself. That’s not the sort of community she joined, not the kind she puts a uniform on and a gun in her hand for.

         And besides. She’s not exactly lying. Most of the council are softies when it comes to stuff like this. There’ll just be a few who’ll look too closely at her history with Abby.

         But fuck them. The two of them are grown ass women, they can sort it out themselves. Without killing each other.

         Probably.

         Nadia either senses her hesitation, or she’s become too jaded to believe promises, because there’s doubt in her face even as she says, “Thank you.”

         Honestly, if she were in her place… she doesn’t know if she’d believe her either. Hope is a dangerous fucking thing in this world. A painful thing. Just when you think you have it, it usually gets ripped away.

         She should know that better than anyone.

         No point in trying to reassure her further, though. Seeing is believing, so she’ll just have to show her.

         When Nadia returns to the diaper to begin folding it once again, she pushes away from the counter, resuming her pacing around the bathroom.

         As she does, though, as she listens to Aisha’s gurgles and watches her face, the tiny minute shifts that betray the surprisingly complex machinations in her little head…

         She has a thought, and before she can think about it further, she’s voicing it. “You know, when I first saw my nephew, right after he was born… first thing out of my mouth was, ‘he looks like a potato.’”

         The scandalized gasp she gets in return is priceless.

         “No! You did not!”

         She laughs loudly, turning to see Nadia staring at her with wide eyes, a hand trying to cover her wide grin. “I did! I one hundred percent did! His mom was right there too, she was so mad. Just got done pushing him out and the first thing I tell her is he looks like a root vegetable. Honestly, I was… I was fucking awestruck, instantly in love, but… my mouth tends to run when I’m not thinking.”

         Case in point: this entire fucking conversation.

         “How long did she stay mad at you for?” Nadia asks, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

         “Not long, actually,” she replies smugly. “Started teasing me about it pretty soon after. I’d walk in the room and she’d turn him towards me and say, ‘look, it’s the woman who thinks you look like a little potato, say hi!’”

         She almost cackles at that, shaking her head.

         Aisha laughs along, looking between the two of them like if she tries hard enough, she can be let in on the joke too. She just reaches up to boop her nose, huffing a quiet laugh when she makes a play for her finger. “Pretty soon, though, it just… became what we called him. ‘Our little potato.’ ‘Our little spud bud.’”

         “That is very sweet.” There’s something warm and fuzzy in Nadia’s voice, but also something a bit sad.

         If she had to guess… it’d be her husband. Danial. Her other half, her baby’s father, who she won’t ever be able to come up with pet names with.

         She doesn't have to ask to know he's dead. If he weren't, he would be here.

         “Mhm,” she hums, trying to breeze past the dark cloud now suddenly hanging in her mind. “Holding your baby girl made me think of it.”

         Immediately Nadia’s eyebrows shoot up challengingly, a teasing smile worming its way onto her face. “Oh? Do you think she looks like a little potato too?”

         She forces down a laugh, instead holding Aisha away from her a bit. Furrowing her brows, she squints at her, as if she were examining some strange animal. “Hm… no. I’m actually thinking… she looks like more a yam-type girl.”

         The sharp bark of laughter from Nadia is worth the painful memories of JJ. Then the woman suddenly gets a genuinely thoughtful look in her eye, sauntering over to peer at Aisha.

         After a moment she nods, lips twitching into a smile.

         “Yam… I like that. My little yam.”

Chapter Text

         The alarm is ringing in her ears. Red lights flash in the hallway, and at the end… the doorway. The Fireflies’ emblem is painted in scarlet right next to it.

         She sprints towards it as always. The weight of a pistol is in her hand.

         When she opens the second door, the end of the operating room opens into the basement of a theatre.

         She stalks forward, towards a woman laid out on the ground.

         She’s lit on one side by a cool white glow, filtered in through frosted over glass. On the other side, she’s lit by bright red fluorescent light, casting stark shadows across her body.

         She’s unconscious. Blood leaks from a wound on her forehead, and her nose. The arrow in her shoulder gleams crimson. All the blood almost blends into her dark skin.

         Her stomach is bare, her shirt riding up to show the heavy bump. The surface of her skin moves slightly. Undulating as the baby inside kicks and squirms.

         She has a golf flub in her hands instead of a pistol now. A pink globule of brain matter is stuck to the head.

         She raises the club above her head, staring at the woman’s face. She stirs for a second, eyelids fluttering.

         “Please stop!”

         Her hands twitch around the club.

         The girl’s voice is desperate, choked with tears.

         “Please don’t do this! She’s pregnant!”

         She tightens her grip.

         “Good.”

         “Please stop, please, PLEASE, NO-!”

         She brings the club down.

         She gasps awake, shooting forward so quick she bangs her ankle into the booth.

         Swallowing a scream, she squeezes her eyes shut again, gritting her teeth as she curls into herself.

         “Abby?” comes Lev’s voice from her right, sounding groggily alert. “Are you okay?”

         She sucks in a slow breath, and the stars slowly disappear from her vision. “Yep. Just… peachy.”

         A lie. She is very much not fucking ‘peachy.’ And it has nothing to do with the debilitating throbbing in her ankle.

         Ellie’s bloodcurdling scream is still rattling around the inside of her head like a hand grenade.

         Fuck.

         The dream isn’t new. It came back with a vengeance after that night at the theatre. Used to be it was Owen and Mel. Manny, Nora, Jordan, Leah, Nick… a revolving cycle of them. Sometimes all of them at once. Sometimes just a few.

         Sometimes Yara. Sometimes Lev.

         Lev was more common when they were with the Rattlers, and afterwards…

         Afterwards, it was always Lev. Lev on the ground on Constance, eyes closed, bound and gagged. On the pole, growing quieter and quieter.

         Lev on that fucking bed, begging her to help.

         And all she could do, every time, is stand frozen in the doorway until she woke up.

         Then, like an idiot, she let more people into her heart on Catalina. Sometimes that helped, as the years went by. Sometimes the dream would end with her finding her dad, proudly smiling and alive. Lev and her fireteam, other times. Marshall, Genevieve, Arianna, Marley…

         After Catalina, it was dead bodies again. Almost never the same ones twice, though Lev usually featured prominently. They lost people so often that it just always kept shifting.

         But that…

         She’s never had the dream like that. Not with that woman, and certainly not with Ellie sobbing in her ears.

         Breathing a shaky sigh, she palms her face.

         Fuck. Seeing that bitch again must be fucking her up even more than she thought it was.

         In a sudden bout of paranoia, she sits up out of her seat just enough to look over to the far side of the room.

         Ellie isn’t where she was when she went to sleep: laying down on one of the benches, one arm over her eyes and the other on her stomach. In fact, she can’t see her anywhere.

         Looking around, most everyone seems to be asleep. It looks like Alice and Davey are the only ones who haven’t slept, though they both look drowsy.

         The crew are awake as well, of course. Two on each side, sitting on the benches, staring out the windows with sharp eyes.

         And that kid, Jaime, she realizes. He’s still beside his father, who’s asleep against his side, but he himself is focused on playing that string game. Cat’s cradle, or whatever.

         Sniffing, rubbing the crust from her eyes, she elbows Lev lightly. “How long was I asleep?”

         “About three hours,” he whispers back, groggily checking his watch.

         “See where Ellie went?” she asks, and he immediately gives her a flat look.

         “No? I was asleep. You woke me up just now.”

         She snorts, reaching up to clumsily bat his face. “Shut up. I had a nightmare.”

         Immediately his unimpressed gaze turns concerned, and he drops his voice even lower. “The nightmare?”

         “Yeah,” she mutters, trying to force down the embarrassed heat in her cheeks. She hates that that fucking dream has haunted her so consistently he knows which one she’s talking about. “’The nightmare.’”

         He nods and then waits, clearly hoping she’ll talk about it. When it becomes clear she isn’t in the mood, though, he just sighs and pats her shoulder.

         She’ll have time to tell him later. Once she’s processed for herself what Ellie being in that dream meant.

         For now, she returns to looking around. Her first thought is Ellie just went to the bathroom, but her pack is gone.

         Unbidden, her eyes catch on Nadia, slumped into the corner of her booth seat. Standing out of her chair slightly again, she can see Aisha is held in her arms, fast asleep as well.

         A scowl finds its way to her face.

         When Ellie had wandered back into the room alongside Nadia, they were talking in low voices, smiling. Aisha had been giggling in her mother’s arms, her bottom half clearly bulkier with a real diaper through the swaddle.

         Nadia herself looked to be in a much happier mood than when she had disappeared into the bathroom with the other woman.

         A good thing, she knows. She tells herself it doesn’t matter if it was Ellie who lightened her spirits, so long as someone did.

         But fuck, had it burned to see Nadia laughing with and talking to her like she was a friend.

         That’s the ugly part of her that’s already lost too many people she loves to Ellie talking, though. Logic tells her that the only people here who really have any reason to hate Ellie are her and Lev. Maybe Alice, since she was friends with Manny, Owen, Mel, and Nora too.

         Before she can convince Lev to help her look for Ellie, to get her back in her line of sight, there’s the sound of a door opening and closing.

         Turning towards it, towards the hallway, she sees Ellie appear. Her hair appears slightly windswept, and her cheeks and nose are red from the cold.

         When she spots her watching, her eyes widen slightly, but then silently she raises her hand.

         Then she raises one finger, two, three…

         The ship’s horn sounds just as it lurches to a stop, before lurching again backwards.

         Suddenly, she realizes the windows aren’t as dark as they were when she went to sleep.

         Everyone startles awake at the sound of the horn, alarm on their faces, though Ellie is quick to talk over their groggy murmuring and muttering.

         “We’re here!” she calls out, striding forward. “Take your time gathering your things, the ferry still has to dock! Once it has, we’re going out the way we came in! There’ll be security personnel on the pier who are going to search you guys for weapons and take them, just as a precaution! You can get them back eventually! Those of you who are injured, or family of the injured, will be taken to the hospital! The rest will be going to our holding cells!”

         There’s a few sounds of affirmation or acknowledgement, but mostly just drowsy nods as her people shake themselves awake.

         For her part, she stands, leaning on the table. Lev quickly rises to let her lean into him, and she laughs, shaking her head. “Come on, take me to the window. I want to see this place.”

         He huffs with forced annoyance, but his speed in granting her request makes clear his own excitement.

         Once they reach the back-facing window, they both let out a gasp.

         In some weird cosmic twist of fate, the same (-ish) words she uttered more than a decade ago at Jackson fall from Lev’s lips.

         “It’s a city.”

         Even this late at night, the whole of the area surrounding the bay glows gold with warm yellow and white lights. And other colors. Red, blue, green… Christmas lights, strung up across buildings, around trees, between light poles.

         It’s beautiful.

         They’re still backing up to the pier, on which she can see a large gathering of uniformed individuals. A small pre-Outbreak building stands to the right of them, but nothing stands out about it such she can discern its purpose.

         The parking lot just past the pier, however, seems to have been turned into some sort of trading hub. Or scavenging hub.

         There’s large pavilions and booths built, with lanes between them leading to both the pier and a small docking bay to its left. In the lanes right now are what looks like a horse-pulled wagon and three ambulances.

         A flagpole is set in the middle of the lot, flying an identical flag to the one on the boat.

         Past the hub is what she assumes is their main street, and then…

         “Welcome to St. James,” says Ellie, and she jumps at her sudden appearance to her left. When she glances at her, she’s relieved to see her eyes are fixed on the city. “Capital of Islaborne.”

         “’Islaborne…?’” she repeats incredulously before she can think better of it, and Ellie glances at her with a slight smirk.

         “’Isle born, borne on islands,’” she says, a certain dull repetition in her tone making it clear this is some sort of motto for their community.

         She huffs something like a laugh, shaking her head as she returns to staring at the city. Stupid name. Stupid motto.

         Better than the WLf’s, though. Definitely more community-oriented.

         The city is much more impressive than its community’s branding, though. There’s numerous pre-Outbreak buildings she can see, but they all seem clustered around the bay. It’s clear the settlement started here, and they built outwards. Pretty much everything beyond the main street looks post-Outbreak.

         A prominent pre-Outbreak building, close to the hub, is two-stories tall and painted white. In blue letters across the front, it reads ‘Islaborne Community Center.’

         As they get closer, though, she can see it’s only partly pre-Outbreak. The front center portion of it seems to be, but it looks to have been expanded out to either side as well as backwards. The additions are of a slightly different construction style with different roofing. They have a few doors of their own, with signs she can’t quite make out. The one in the back is larger than the original portion too, by quite some bit.

         Beyond that, though… she can see what look like a few restaurants, a bar, even a tavern. Behind them rise a few taller buildings, most of them two or three stories.

         One is four floors tall, though, yet clearly not pre-Outbreak. It’s wooden, with some sort of terracotta tiled roof, and balconies. On them she can see pots, chairs, laundry lines…

         Did these people build a fucking apartment building?

         Multiple, for that matter? She can see a few similar buildings in the distance, further into the island as well as to the right and left, though none quite as large. Single family houses, too, most partly obscured by trees and other foliage.

         The main streets seem to have been shoveled, but snow still lays thickly on roofs and trees. Most of the trees are bare, but a few evergreens stand tall and proud.

         She can see numerous solar panels on most of the roofs too. They’re all clear, though whether that’s by hand or from some sort of heating mechanism, she has no idea.

         From here, she can see the yards of some houses. One has what looks like a small greenhouse, another a garden left buried in snow for the winter, a chicken coop… one, in the distance, even looks to have a treehouse.

         “The hospital,” says Ellie quietly, unbidden, pointing off to the northeast across the bay. “That’s where most of you will be staying. And that,” she points to the southeast, to a large compound on the south side of the harbor, “is where a few of you will be staying in holding cells. Which are much comfier than they sound, believe me.”

         The hospital is about the size of the apartment building that shocked her, though its styling is clearly different. There are no balconies, and there’s brick and concrete portions around the base. A large red cross has been attached to the south-facing wall, underlit by a white light.

         The compound seems to be the base of their military, or security, or whatever it is they have. It’s three stories tall, almost entirely brick and concrete, and pushes up close to the beach. From its right half comes a stone wall with spiked metal railing across the top, running further down the beach before turning inwards.

         The side of the building facing the bay opens up into a large set of docks, with about half a dozen boathouses placed over the top. Their doors are all shuttered, though she thinks she can see two or three uniformed individuals patrolling up and down with flashlights. She has to assume they probably have some sort of speed boats or military boats in there. No way all they have are these slow ferries in case of emergency.

         “Where’d you get the materials for it?” she asks as a way of making conversation, the silence as the ferry slowly, slowly docks growing awkward.

         Ellie half shrugs, looking back to the compound as well. “Lots of places. Some of it we make. We have lumber farms and camps, clay digs, limestone quarries… can make a lot of stuff if you know how. Other stuff we scavenge. Turns out that even after forty years, construction supplies are one of the few things people haven’t picked over. And… you know. We know traders, who know smugglers, who know FEDRA’s production lines well enough to skim a bit off the top.”

         She does know. She knew a lot about Tipton’s orchards and farms, and its supply lines to the other QZ’s. Finding ways to disrupt and undermine them had been a big focus on Catalina.

         In the end, she wonders if it was ever worth anything. If it ever could have been. Or if messing with one of the few QZ’s FEDRA considered essential was always going to end with them bringing the hammer down.

         “Almost like the apocalypse never happened,” she mutters, sounding bitter even to herself.

         All Ellie does is snort though, and it comes out slightly mocking. “That’s the idea, isn’t it?”

         Lev glances at her, almost warningly, but she lets it slide.

         She’s not wrong.

         The point of settlements should be to get things back to some semblance of normal. Places like Jackson, like Islaborne, maybe even like those caravans on the west coast… it feels like that should be the goal. Otherwise, why even try? If you’re just going to wallow in the memories of how things were, and how shit the world is now, how are you supposed to ever build anything better?

         On the other hand, it feels like that idea spits on the Fireflies. It’s hard to reconcile her disappointment and dissatisfaction with how things were on Catalina with the fact she still believed in them as a group. Or their motto, at least.

         ‘When you’re lost in the dark, look for the light.’

         Or maybe she doesn’t believe in it at all. Maybe she just wishes she believed in it, like how Owen did or Lev does.

         “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

         She nearly starts at Ellie’s sudden exclamation, leaning away from her as her face twists into an enraged scowl. Lev stares at her wide eyed too, though more like she's a wild animal. His arm curls tighter around her protectively.

         When she follows her gaze, though, all she sees is a… teenager?

         It’s hard to tell from this distance. All she can see is a small figure at the far end of the lot, bundled up in a long coat with her arms squeezed around her. She’s short enough that she assumes she’s not an adult. A dog sits in the snow next to her, a leash leading from her to a harness around its chest.

         A fucking big dog, goddamn. It looks a lot like the ones she saw at the FOB, but it’s at least half a foot taller in the shoulder.

         The fact the kid is holding its leash is kind of funny. She has no doubt if that dog decided to, it could drag that poor child halfway across the island.

         Whoever the kid is, though, Ellie isn’t happy to see them. She whirls around, opening her mouth, but stopping as Jaime and Avery step up to the window beside her. They clearly rushed over when they heard her, and both their eyebrows are raised.

         “Can you fucking believe her?!” she hisses, whipping her head between the two men and the teenager, looking about half a second from jumping through the window.

         “I can, actually,” says Avery, and from his dry tone she can tell he’s trying not to smile. Jaime nods his agreement. “Go on, go wrangle yer girl. I can handle these people, and Jaime can help blondie here down into an ambulance.”

         ‘Yer girl.’

         Her girl?

         Her mind is working so feverishly to decode what the hell he meant by that, she doesn’t even care he called her ‘blondie.’

         A girlfriend, maybe? She’d have to be pretty short instead of just a teenager, but not unbelievably so. And that would certainly classify her as ‘her girl.’

         Ellie wordlessly nods her thanks, power marching past them, out the door, and down the stairs. A couple seconds later, she sees her appear past the edge of the deck, nearly running down the dock.

         “What’s-oh,” says Nadia as she steps up to the window, looking confused for a second before smiling. Smiling in a way that is both sympathetic and exasperated. “That must be her daughter.”

         ‘Daughter.’

         Daughter.

         Daughter?

         “’Daughter?’” she repeats, eyes now locked on the teenager as her mind breaks down.

         Nadia nods, and when she replies, her tone is faintly amused. “Yes, she said she had a daughter around that age. I suppose she came to meet her.”

         Daughter.

         Ellie Miller has a fucking daughter?

         She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. The woman is thirty-one. That’s a very normal age to have a daughter, though from here, the figure looks a bit too old to be hers. Biologically speaking, that is, she knows that doesn’t make her not hers. Lev and her have no blood relation at all, but she’ll beat the shit out of anyone who says he isn’t her brother.

         Elli as a mother, though… it just doesn’t compute in her head. It doesn’t square with the version of her she has in it.

         Then again… she couldn’t square the idea of Joel Miller as a father either.

         Daughter.

         Ellie Miller has a fucking daughter.

         The closer she gets, the clearer it is that Rachel’s whole body is shaking.

         The security team don’t even try to stop her. They see the look in her eyes, they see where she’s headed, and they all make way.

         Good.

         Rachel pulls down her mask as she approaches, a smile on her face. Her nose and cheeks are bright red, and the chattering of her teeth is audible.

         Before she can say anything, she stops in front of her, folding her arms. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you serious with this?”

         The smile is instantly wiped from her daughter’s face, replaced by surprise, affront, and just a little bit of hurt. “What?”

         She forces down the soft, mushy part of her that instantly melts at the hurt. It is not needed right now.

         “What part of ‘do not wait up for me’ did you not understand?” she says, brutally enunciating each syllable. Then she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “A-And for that matter, actually, what part of that made you think you should wait up for me out here, on the pier, in the middle of the night, freezing your ass off?!”

         “I-It’s not the middle of the night, it’s ten o’clock!” The defensive tone to Rachel’s voice makes it clear she knows she’s bullshitting her. “A-And I’m not freezing my ass off, I’m fine!”

         “Uhuh, that right?” She gestures at the whole of her body with a quick point of her finger. “That’s why you’re totally not shaking like a goddamn leaf, yeah?”

         “Yep,” says Rachel stubbornly, giving her a single firm nod. “Exactly.”

         She palms her face with a sigh. “Jesus christ, Rachel.”

         That seems to finally crack her rebellious façade, and she takes a step forward, a bit of embarrassment entering her tone. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?! It’s just that you’ve been gone for, like, a week. I missed you.”

         She sighs again, giving her a flat look. “I have been gone for five days, out of the total twenty-one I was supposed to have been gone.”

         It’s the wrong thing to say. She knows it’s hard for her to let her go off-island, and she knows this time was the hardest so far. It isn’t fair to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal.

         But damn it, she’s still fucking pissed. She should know better than to be standing out here in the middle of the goddamn night, especially in winter.

         The embarrassment on Rachel’s face immediately morphs into hurt, which is itself shuttered a moment later behind anger. “Okay, so… what? You’re mad at me for missing you now?! Good, great, glad to know you care!”

         And without another word, she spins on her heel, walking away.

         Her anger immediately dissipates and she rushes forward, embracing her from behind.

         “Okay, hey, no-no-no, don’t be like that,” she murmurs, rocking them from side to side. She rubs her arms up and down hers, trying to confer some warmth into them. “I missed you too, baby girl. You know I did. But I have these people to deal with right now, plus I need to go talk to the council.”

         She lowers her voice further, and presses a kiss to the back of her hood. She knows she can’t really feel it, but she hopes the message gets through. “I just wanted to do that while knowing you were home in bed, warm and asleep, instead of seeing you out here shivering in the dark. Okay?”

         The seconds tick by, but eventually, Rachel turns around in her arms to hug her back. Speaking into her coat, her words muffled, she says, “I know. I’m sorry, mom. I won’t do it again.”

         A part of her wants to press the issue further, knowing that even if she isn’t hers by blood, they’re both stubborn as hell. She has a feeling this’ll happen again. Probably when she leaves to go back on the Reclamation Project and then comes back.

         But for now, honestly? She’s just happy to hold her daughter in her arms.

         “Thanks, baby girl,” she whispers, returning to gently rocking them side to side again. After a few moments, though, she pulls back with a cheeky smile. “I mean, you even brought Mutt! Lookit him, he’s about to freeze to death, the poor thing.”

         Patently untrue. Mutt is staring up at them with nary a thought behind his eyes, panting happily. He’s planted his ass in the snow and cleared the area of it from how hard he’s wagging his tail.

         “You’re so full of shit,” snorts Rachel, and she shakes her head emphatically.

         “No, I’m being serious, look at him!” Kneeling down, she pinches Mutt’s muzzle, opening and closing it. “’Oh, Rachel, I’m so cold! Why would you do this to me?! We could be at home, curled up in bed, thinking about how funny it is that mom has to run around at ten at night in the winter!’”

         Her stupid voice, rough and deep, gets a giggle out of her daughter. It’s music to her ears, and she stays there on the ground, bathing in it.

         Then she stands, patting Mutt behind the ears. “Okay, being serious now: go home. Go to bed. I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up, and I’ll make us pancakes.”

         Rachel’s eyes immediately light up, and she launches herself into her arms, laughing. “Oh my god, you’re the best!”

         “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she mutters, not able to muster even a pretense of being fed up with her. A thought comes to her, though, and she pats her on the shoulder as she pushes her away. “Hey. You got your gun and your knife?”

         Rachel rolls her eyes and reaches down to lift the bottom of her coat away. Holstered on her hip is Joel’s revolver, and the pommel of her old switchblade sticks out of her pocket.

         A relieved breath escapes her. At least she isn’t dumb enough to be running around at night unarmed. “Good girl.”

         She almost counts the fact she brought Mutt as a point for her too before deciding it doesn’t count. Mutt goes everywhere with her. Even if she forgot he existed, not that she ever would, he’d still be trailing behind her.

         Regardless, Rachel beams at the praise, and she laughs as she pulls her in for another quick hug. “Love you, baby girl.”

         “I love you too, mom!” replies Rachel, squeezing her tight before letting go. Backing away, she whistles shortly at Mutt, patting her leg. “Come on, boy! Let’s go home.”

         She doesn’t even tug on his leash, but he immediately stands, pausing only to drive-by lick her hands before bounding after his sister.

         God, that girl is going to be the death of her.

         She maybe should have scolded her a bit more. This really was a stupid fucking thing for her to do.

         But damn it, she missed her too.

         She almost wants to go with her. Part of it is that she wants to make sure she gets home and stays there.

         Mostly, though, she just wants to spend a little more time with her. Rachel is like a balm for her heart and soul, both of which have been burning up since she first saw Abby.

         Quietly, she sings to herself, “I’m still burning like a tire fire, deep down inside… oh, I’m still burning like a tire fire and I don’t know why…”

         God, she really hopes this doesn’t ruin her music for her again too. Most of her songs had been okay, with the years between what happened and now being enough to soothe the feelings they brought back. Now, with Abby here… feels like a bunch of them may hit too close to home again.

         Not what she should be thinking about, she realizes. Not what she needs to be thinking about.

         A quick glance at her watch shows they’re already inching towards eleven. The council will be getting impatient by now. From here, she can see there are still lights on in the second floor of the community center. No doubt they’ve been watching and waiting for them to arrive, and now that they have, they’ll be expecting her.

         Plus, she needs to do the rounds. Explain to these people how things are going to go from here.

         Talk to Abby and Lev.

         She has a bit of time before that, though. She doubts any of them will be sleeping any time soon. The majority of them have wounds that need to be treated, plus they’ll probably all be wanting showers and more food.

         Enough time to talk to the council, but not enough to walk Rachel back home.

         So with a sigh, she turns back to the crowd on the pier.

         About half of them have been processed by now, and one of the ambulances is gone. When she doesn’t see the sick mother and child, nor the father, she assumes they were the first to go. The rest of the injured are being loaded into the remaining two ambulances.

         Slowly she makes her way over, watching as Nadia climbs into one of the ambulances with Aisha in her arms. She doesn’t see Abby or Lev at first either, but once she makes it around the corner of the ambulances, she sees they’re also inside.

         They’re talking to each other, heads bent together, but when they spot her watching they both straighten up. All she does is trade them a nod, though, waiting until Abby hesitantly returns it before looking away.

         “You guys got this?” she asks Levi, who’s stood a ways back surveying everything with a sharp gaze.

         He glances at her, stony expression not shifting an inch. “We do. You can go ahead, Miller.”

         She’s tempted to remind him there’s nothing in protocol against smiling, but she realizes he was a lost cause a long time ago. At least he isn’t a power-tripping dick.

         So she just nods and turns to Avery and Jaime who are helping tag and load up the various weapons these people have into the wagon. “Once you guys are finished up, you can head on home. I’ll handle things from here.”

         Both of them frown at her, worry creasing their brows in an almost comically similar fashion. Like father, like son.

         “Ya sure?” asks Avery uncertainly. “You know we’d be happy to help.”

         He trades a glance with Jaime, who nods his agreement. There’s even a hint of challenge in his eyes, the little punk, like he’s daring her to turn down their help.

         She almost snorts. “Just swing by my place when you’re done, yeah? Make sure Rachel got home okay.”

         Avery shakes his head, and from the way he grins, she knows he can tell this is the best he’s going to get. “Sure thing, Ellie. Guess this is goodnight, then?”

         “Yep,” she sighs, trying not to sound too fed up. “Council wants their report.”

         “Damn,” says Jaime, nodding along understandingly. Then he flashes her a grin. “Glad they don’t want us. Night, Ellie!”

         Her jaw drops open and she raises her eyebrows, staring at him in shock. When Avery stifles a laugh, she turns the look on him.

         “Okay, next time we head out, Jaime, you don’t get my Bergara,” she says, loving how his smug expression immediately turns to affront. “And Avery, you’re running point. Have a good night, you two fuckin… bozos.”

         She turns on her heel, laughing at how they both sputter after her. Serves them right, the jackasses.

         Man, she should have forced them to tag along just to see the looks on their faces.

         The community center is pretty much a ghost town this time of night. Only a few lights are on, casting dim light across the lobby. Jane is the only person in it, sat behind the help desk, who waves at her tiredly as she walks by. She waves back, heading straight for the elevator.

         The ride up is as short and loud as it always is, the car shuddering and clanking every inch. But it doesn’t give out on her, which honestly surprises her. The way her day has been going, she expected it would.

         The second floor is just as deserted as the first was, with only a lone Christmas tree in the corner providing light to the waiting room. However, as she strides down the hallway, a few offices are still lit up, occupants clearly burning the midnight oil. Things are usually busier around the holidays, but no doubt all the salvage they’re pulling in from Old Mission has been cranking everything up to eleven.

         Plus… now they’ve got nineteen strays to handle.

         The double doors to the council chambers are open, but she still stops in the doorway, knocking on one of them.

         The eleven people in the room all look to her, each of them appearing some level of tired. Most of them are sat around the huge table in the middle, but both Adela and Marcus are up at the windows, staring out. Antsy as always.

         In the corner, Anette spins around in her seat to face her complicated communications array, raising a hand to her headphones as she pulls the mic forward. “Mrs. Norwood, Mr. Perrot, Mr. Queen, are you still there?” A pause. “Yes, Captain Miller just arrived. I’m switching you over to the conference system.”

         She reaches out, flicking several switches on her setup, before the mic and speakers on the table both crackle. Turning back around, she calls out, “Mic check from the top, please!”

         “Here,” intones Jocelyn, and her voice sounds absolutely exhausted, even through the speakers.

         Leonard doesn’t sound half as tired. If anything, the bubbly fucking extrovert’s smooth voice is almost excited. “Hello hello, Miss Miller.”

         “Present,” comes Eustace’s creaky voice a moment later, and she can tell he’s even more drained than Jocelyn.

         She’s pretty sure they’re both out in South Manitou scouting out an area for the new spice greenhouse. No doubt they were hoping to be in bed asleep by now.

         “Good to go,” says Anette, flashing them all a thumbs up before pointedly turning back around, no doubt getting ready to receive reports from both the hospital and the Compound.

         Adela immediately nods to her, walking over to the table to take a seat along with Marcus. “Take it away, Miller.”

         “Yes, ma’am,” she replies, deciding it probably wouldn’t hurt to start with a bit of politeness. Especially since she’s pretty sure they’ll be shouting by the end of this.

         “At around seventeen-hundred-hours, my fireteam and I heard gunshots coming from our south. We were at the north edge of VLMR Sector 17, near the intersection of Center and Swaney. When we scouted the area from a distance, we spotted a large group of survivors being chased by a small horde of infected. We saw they had injured, along with children, so Captain Avery Smith and I moved to assist. Trooper Jaime Smith stayed behind to radio Mission Point FOB the situation and observe from a distance.”

         It takes her only a second to recall the makeup of the horde. “There were nine runners, four stalkers, and six clickers that Captain Smith and I eliminated, with some assistance from the survivors. We didn’t sustain any injuries, and neither did any of the survivors, luckily. Of the survivors, there were seven men, eight women, and four children. Nineteen total. From what I could see, they were functionally unarmed with maybe a few bullets to share between all of them. I made the decision to immediately bring them in since only four of the men and three of the women were uninjured, and I called it in over the radio. I also requested fireteam Bone Doctor, three of our horses, and one of our wagons be sent out to meet us, both to speed up our pace and to even the odds if they tried anything. However, we didn’t have any incidents on the way to the FOB or after.

         “Chief Specialist Pam Olson and her team performed basic first aid for the group of survivors, all of whom were fed,” she says, eyeing the way several of them nod in approval. Adela, Marcus, and Huy among them. “I spoke with Lieutenant Ian Levy, and radioed Commander Gerri White and Commander Ferdinand Graner, to alert them that me and the rest of Bite Mark would be accompanying the survivors here. As per protocol.”

         A pause, and then she smiles. “The ride over on the ferry was also without incident, aside from one of the survivor’s baby nearly blowing out her diaper, which she and I took care of. And… my idiot daughter waiting for me out there on the pier.”

         Dropping the respectful, proper act, she raises a finger at Adela and Marcus. “I know you two fuckers were watching this whole time, too! You couldn’t have gone out there and told her to go home?!”

         There’s a round of chuckles as everyone relaxes, both Adela and Marcus throwing offended looks her way.

         “We’re not your daughter’s keepers, Miller,” remarks Adela dryly, raising an eyebrow.

         She nods along mockingly. “Uhuh, yeah, totally. Just the jackasses who swing by to spoil her and make it my problem.”

         Marcus barks a laugh, raising a hand. “Guilty as charged. But honestly: we figured if we told Rachel to beat it, she’d just sneak back around and hide somewhere we couldn’t see her. Decided it’d be better for her to stay put where we could keep an eye on her.”

         The logic is sound, to a point. But she also knows they’re both old fuckers who enjoy sitting around when they can, so she gives him an unimpressed look. “Couldn’t have brought her in here to wait, or…?”

         Both of them chuckle and finally have the decency to look abashed.

         Then Gary clears his throat, his narrow face slightly pinched, and all joy in the room immediately shrivels. “On the topic of the survivors… did any of them say if they were with a group? Where they came from?”

         Oh boy. She was hoping to maybe dance around the topic for a while longer, but alas…

         “Well,” she starts, clearing her throat and trying her best not to look guilty, “I’m pretty sure they’re Fireflies. They said they came from Catalina Island, and I… have some history with two of them. One of whom I’m almost certain was… is a Firefly, again. I guess.”

         There’s immediately a chorus of groans, exclamations of disbelief, and scowls thrown her way.

         “There a reason you left that out on the radio?” comes Jocelyn’s deep, dry tone from the speakers, and a few of the other council members nod their agreement.

         “Because the history is bad enough I pulled a gun on them out of reflex, and I knew if I mentioned that over the radio, all of you would just…” She pauses, floundering with her words as they spark a bout of chaotic hand-wringing from everyone in the room.

         Raising her voice, she continues with, “All of you would have sat here for four hours coming to your own conclusions!”

         Joanne raises an eyebrow at her, gesturing flippantly in her direction. “And what conclusion should we come to, Ellie?! That the sort of history which makes you ‘reflexively’ draw a gun is maybe something we should have known and considered before allowing these people on our island?!”

         “No, you should have come to the conclusion that I’m still alive, all the survivors are still alive, and everything is fine!” She does her best not to raise her voice, knowing it’ll just make things worse, but it’s difficult. “There’s no problem.”

         “You lied by omission, Captain Miller!” exclaims Gary at once, pointing at her. “You flaunted protocol to report any possible risks before bringing survivors into our midst! I would consider that a very serious ‘problem!’”

         The annoying part is he’s right, in a way. It’s a very valid point.

         That’s why she rolls her eyes and flips him off. “Oh with all due respect, fucking bite me, Gary. If I thought there was any chance they were a risk to the community, I wouldn’t have ever even let them on the fucking boat. You know that!”

         He opens his mouth again, probably to say something else annoyingly accurate and logical, Blessing cuts in.

         “I’d like to know exactly which of the survivors you have history with, Ellie, and what that history is,” she says gently. Even with how mouse-like her voice is, the way she leans forward, eyes sharp and fingers steepled, quiets everyone else.

         It also helps that it’s a reasonable request.

         “It’s just two of them, as far as I know,” she replies, folding her arms as she racks her brain. “I know one of them is named Abby, and I think the other is named Lev. Abby is a bit taller than me, well-built, with blonde hair. A few years older than me. Lev is younger, also a bit taller than me, but a guy. Asian. An ex-Scar, as of about thirteen years ago, I think. He was working together with Abby, who was a Wolf at the time, and the last time I saw either of them was down in Santa Barbara, so… I assume neither of them have anything to do with Seattle anymore.”

         “A Wolf and a Scar…” says Leonard through the speakers, and she can just imagine him running his hand along his five o’clock shadow as he thinks. “That’s… unusual.”

         She scoffs, shaking her head. “You’re telling me.”

         They have a couple handfuls of ex-Wolves in the community, as well as a single handful of ex-Scars. Some of the ex-Wolves left Seattle years before she ever got there, but most of them came after. All the ex-Scars did too.

         Whatever sort of invasion the Wolves launched on the Scar’s island went badly, for everyone involved. They each lost hundreds and hundreds of people. More than half of all their fighters, plus no small amount of civilians on the Scars’ side.

         Though with how the WLF blurred the line between soldier and civilian, it could maybe be said they lost some too.

         From what they’ve heard since then, the WLF is pretty much gone. Their leader, Isaac, died on the island and there was no clear chain of command afterwards. All the obvious picks either died on the island too or disappeared. Even when someone rose to the top, and tried to form another truce with the Scars…

         Well. They weren’t having it. With their island still providing a defensible base of operations, and the WLF’s decimated numbers meaning they couldn’t keep tight perimeters, the Scars picked them off using their same old guerilla tactics over the course of months. Years.

         The last ex-Wolves they got said the WLF collapsed and were driven out of Seattle years ago. She imagines by now they’re all gone. Traders stopped going through there around the time she and Dina arrived due to all the fighting, and they haven’t started going again since. No-one else wants to check either.

         Back when she traveled around spreading her immunity, she considered heading there again. Then she realized she actually does like sucking air, and decided against it.

         The ex-Wolves that made it here before the invasion were okay with the idea of ex-Scars joining. The ones that arrived after… not so much, to say the least. Not that the ex-Scars were happy to see them either.

         They worked it out eventually, though she knows there’s still the odd scuffle. Usually when it’s a holiday and there’s too many drinks involved.

         But the idea of two of them working together, especially back then when both groups were still strong and at each other’s throats… well, it’s something she’s never been able to piece together, no matter how many times she thought on it.

         “And your history with the two of them?” asks Adela after a moment, tone sharp and surgical. Trying to slice straight to the heart of the issue.

         Fuck. Maybe she should have rehearsed what she was going to say.

         Scratch that, she definitely should have rehearsed.

         Despite the shame and anxiety and fear now roiling in her stomach, she takes a deep breath, steadying her tone. “I never told you guys the full truth about what happened with me and the Fireflies. I said they tried to make a vaccine out of me, and it didn’t work out. But my dad, Joel? He was the one they kind of hired to get me across the country to them. Once he did, he…”

         She swallows thickly, blinking.

         ‘If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment… I would do it all over again.’

         It’s fine. She’s made peace with what he did.

         “Making a vaccine, the way they wanted to, would have killed me,” she says bluntly, amazed at how there’s only a slight tremor in her voice. Her mind flashes back to that day at Salt Lake, and Joel’s words come to her involuntarily. “So… he stopped them. He killed a lot of them, along with the doctor they were pinning all their hopes on. I’m pretty sure that’s why they disbanded.”

         It’s like ripping a bandage off, except it doesn’t end once she’s said it. The looks of horror and shock on the council’s faces, even on Anette’s face in the corner, are hard to stare at.

         After several long seconds, Bowie raises his hands to his face, hiding it as he groans. “What the fuck, Ellie?”

         “Is this just ‘Ellie Miller confesses to all of her lies’ day?” Joanne grouches, tone only half heated. She can’t tell if it’s because she isn’t that mad, or because she’s just too shocked to fully realize her anger.

         In either case, she narrows her eyes at her. “Don’t make this personal, Joanne. I didn’t tell you guys because it wasn’t relevant, and I didn’t like thinking about it. Still don’t.”

         Whitney sighs angrily, glaring at her. “So you’re only telling us now because you have to?”

         “Yes!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. “Jesus christ, it’s like you guys have completely forgotten how the fuck things work around here! It doesn’t matter what the fuck anyone here did before we arrived unless it causes problems. What Joel did wasn’t going to cause problems, so I didn’t mention it. But it maybe could now, so… I’m telling you.”

         After a second, the other woman huffs a breath, inclining her head and ceding the point.

         “Just… it’s a lot to take in, Ellie,” says Marcus slowly, rubbing his chin. He has a faraway look in his eyes, and she wonders if he’s thinking about his Firefly days. “I mean, you’ve talked about your dad before, and… you never made him sound like he could do something like that.”

         She stares at him for a moment, feeling her throat close.

         It’s true. With most people except Rachel, she’s skirted around the bad parts of Joel, the worst parts. Even with her, she’s kept it to the broad strokes with few details. She didn’t want to tarnish his memory by getting into the nitty gritty of his dark past or what he did to the Fireflies. Didn’t feel the need to.

         Or maybe she just likes thinking about him on that year-long trip to Salt Lake and the two years after in Jackson. When things were good.

         It’s maybe for the same reason that she sighs and drops her gaze, scuffing her shoe against the carpet. “I would do worse for Rachel.”

         No-one in the room argues against that. The ones who have kids nod, their looks softening. Kelley and Blessing’s eyes go far away before they do so, hands minutely tensing. No doubt thinking about what they would do for their own children.

         The ones who don’t have kids don’t say anything. All of them are smart enough to realize that even if they don’t really understand, it’s because they can’t. No-one can until they have a child of their own.

         She always thought parents were exaggerating when they said that. When Joel told her she had no idea what loss was, she thought he was just being a dick. She thought that if you loved someone enough, like how she loved Riley or Dina, or Joel, Tommy, or Maria, it was the same.

         Then she had JJ, and she found Rachel, and she realized it could never even come close.

         There is loss, and then there is losing your everything.

         “You still haven’t explained how this ties in with this woman Abby and this man Lev,” says Eustace, tone even and almost disinterested.

         No doubt he’s keeping all of this at arms length in his head until he has all the info. The man could give Willard a run for his money with how well he can compartmentalize.

         “I’m pretty sure Abby and her friends were Fireflies, back when Joel did what he did,” she answers slowly, trying to make it clear this is mostly speculation on her part. “About four years later, they tracked him down to Jackson and killed him. It started a clusterfuck chain of events that resulted in me and people close to me killing pretty much all of her friends. Then she and that kid Lev killed one of my friends, and almost killed me, my uncle Tommy, and my old girlfriend Dina. They let us go, but… a year later, I tracked Abby down again. Saved her and Lev’s life, then tried to kill her, only to… let her go.”

         At their confused, questioning looks, she sighs, reaching up to rub her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I was a… fucking mess back then.”

         “Now, woe upon me for doubting you, Ellie, but…” Kelley makes an exaggerated grimace, waving a hand back and forth. “It feels like you may be leaving some details out? Just a bit?”

         She snorts, stalking across the room in the opposite direction of him. “Go fuck yourself, Martel. That was the worst period of my entire life. I don’t wanna relive it with a play-by-play.”

         “We understand that,” says Whitney immediately, leaning forward and looking at her emphatically. “We do, trust me. But you also have to understand that we need to know a little more than ‘she killed someone, I killed someone, we tried to kill each other.’”

         “Why?!” she exclaims, whipping around to slam her hands on the table. “It won’t change anything! The details don’t matter. All you need to know is that we slaughtered each other’s friends and family, and yet… for some fucking reason, we both let each other go. She didn’t try to fight me today, and I didn’t try to fight her. Hell, I saved her and her group’s lives! That has to count for something.”

         She doesn’t clarify whether it should count for something with them, the council… or whether it should count for something with Abby. Honestly, she doesn’t even know.

         The ratty part of her brain says, It didn’t count for her with Joel.

         It’s a fair point, and she hates that. But Abby already let her go once. She didn’t try to kill her when she turned her back on her in Santa Barbara either. Surely saving her life can’t make things worse.

         “You know,” says Huy with a slow and careful tone, nodding along, “I always did think a blood feud is exactly what this community needs.”

         His tone is slightly teasing so she snorts, throwing a lazy middle finger his way. “Please. We’ve had them before. Fireflies and FEDRA, Wolves and Scars… Islaborne and Green Flock.”

         A tremor runs around the table at that, darkness flashing in all of their eyes. She can see Adela’s eyes narrow warningly, but she ignores it.

         “I don’t see why this should be any different,” she continues resolutely, staring them all down. “Especially since this isn’t some ideological rivalry or… or a fight for survival. It’s nasty, it’s bloody, and it’s messy as shit, but it’s fucking personal. Shit I’ll work out with them myself.”

         Gary sighs, leaning forward with an accusing finger. “It stops being personal when it starts affecting the law and order of this community, Ellie. You say it’s fine now, but there’s a wide difference between putting grudges aside when it’s necessary to survive… and putting them aside for the rest of your lives while living in close proximity. What happens a month from now? Two, three? A year? When this Abby and Lev get comfortable and forget what’s out there, what’s at stake? The moment she puts a knife in your neck or a bullet in your chest is the moment it stops being personal, and it starts affecting the community.”

         God. She may think he’s kind of annoying, but fuck if he is not great at his job.

         Still, though, he isn’t enough to cow her.

         Completely undeterred, she turns her focus from him back to the whole of the council. “Look, you guys didn’t see her, okay? When I radioed the lighthouse, she looked like she was about to cry. When we got on the ferry, I came out to see her hobbling around, checking on her people. Whatever the fuck she feels about me, it’s clearly not stronger than how much she cares about her group. I don’t think she’s gonna risk them just to fucking… chase a grudge we both left behind more than a decade ago.”

         “A grudge you left behind more than a decade ago,” says Blessing, her sharp words at odds with her airy tone. “You have no idea what she’s thinking.”

         “That’s why I’m going to talk to her,” she replies, trying not to make it sound like she’s calling her an idiot. She’s seen the woman handle a raging bull, and she does not want to be on her bad side. “Tonight, when I do my rounds as their proxy, I’ll talk with her and that kid Lev. Make sure that not only do they understand what’ll happen if they try to start shit, but what’ll happen to their people if they try anything either.”

         “And you think they’ll see reason?” asks Jocelyn, and she has to smirk even though she can’t see it.

         “I think if you saw their condition, you wouldn’t be asking that.” She laughs a bit, shaking her head. “Pretty sure anyone that fucked up would see reason after being treated in our hospital.”

         She gets a few chuckles, and a few smiles, but they’re mostly humorless. All of them tense and subdued by the weighty subject matter and dark mood in the room.

         But there’s no more dissent, even as she waits for it. When it doesn’t come, she breathes a sigh of relief.

         It seems, for now, she’s won out.

         It’s fine if they aren’t fully convinced. Once they get to talk with Abby in person, she’s sure they’ll see reason.

         She saw the way Abby looked at her people. She heard the ‘please’ that fell from her lips.

         They’ll definitely always fucking hate each other. She’s sure that if they do join, once probation is up, they’ll end up trying to beat the shit out of each other at some point. But she’s not gonna risk her and her group by doing anything more.

         She knows because if she were in her position, begging for sanctuary for herself and Rachel from Abby’s community… she wouldn’t try shit either.

         Back when she was nineteen, she thought she’d seen the worst this world had to offer. The worst its people could do to each other. Then she saw Seattle, and then the Rattlers, and then somehow she saw even worse after that.

         It doesn’t matter what the fuck Abby’s done to her.

         No-one deserves some of the shit that’s out there.

         The ambulance ride to the hospital is quick and smooth, if quiet. Despite that, she feels anxiety buzzing its way through her system.

         In the privacy of her own mind, she can admit it’s because Ellie isn’t near. Ironically, without her to provide some point of familiarity (even if negative), she finds herself growing ever more on edge. It would maybe be fine if Avery and Jaime were still around, but they both left as soon as all of them were loaded up.

         To go check on Ellie’s daughter.

         That’s still a railroad spike through her brain she can’t quite think her way around.

         Still, Lev is beside her, and Abel and Nadia are riding in the same ambulance. Their presence keeps her grounded, even if the two armed soldiers in there with them keep them all a bit on edge.

         Two other people dressed in light blue uniforms are there with them, looking each of them over, asking questions and noting down the answers.

         What is your name? “Abigail Anderson.”

         Age? “Thirty-five.”

         Sex? “Female.”

         When was your last period? “About two months ago.”

         Have they been regular? “Kind of. This is the longest it’s been so far.”

         How would you describe your most serious injury? “My left ankle is twisted. One of your medics at the lighthouse, a woman named Pam, said she thought the ligament might be torn.”

         Are you aware of any allergies you may have? “No.”

         Any possible intolerances to medication or food? “No.”

         Describe your last three meals before arriving at the FOB. “A granola bar this morning, another granola bar and some jerky last night, and a can of chili yesterday morning.”

         When was the last time you had water before arriving at the FOB? “Just this afternoon. We’ve been fine on water because of all the snow.”

         The only hiccup comes when they ask Lev the same questions. Particularly the one about sex.

         He flounders for a moment, looking to her in panic.

         A part of her feels bad because she knows he hates acknowledging it. But she also knows that even if they lie, they’ll find out the truth pretty soon. So she just smiles, nodding. “They just want to know for medical reasons, Lev. It doesn’t mean anything.”

         It does. It means quite a bit, especially to him. But it doesn’t matter what’s in his pants or what letter these people note down on their pieces of paper. It won’t change anything.

         So he sighs and shakes his head, muttering, “Female.”

         The person (Nurse? Doctor? EMT?) glances between them before his eyes focus on the short cut of Lev’s hair and the masculine style of his clothes. He makes a small ‘o’ with his mouth for a moment, nodding slightly to himself, before smiling. “Right. Gotcha. Uh… last period?”

         A wince from Lev, and she reaches over to squeeze his hand. “Two weeks ago.”

         “Have they been regular?” the man, EMT she decides, asks. He keeps his tone pleasantly polite and professional.

         Still, Lev’s face twists with distaste, and she can tell he’s just about reaching his limit. “Yes.” The single syllable comes out clipped and short.

         Luckily those are the last of those types of questions, at least for now. The EMT instead switches to having them point out any sorts of scrapes and bruises and other wounds. He marks them all down on a small diagram of a human body on one of the many pages of his clipboard.

         They prioritize her and Nadia, getting only halfway through Abel and Lev’s injuries before the ambulance rolls to a stop.

         The doors open and the EMT’s and soldiers help them all out into a small paved lot.

         Above them rises the hospital, a red and white sign over the entrance declaring it ‘St. James Hospital.’

         The last, closest thing to a hospital she’s seen was Saint Mary’s. Even then, it was a shadow of how it must have been before the outbreak. Half the windows were smashed, most of it was empty, and only a few rooms were ever used for anything medical. Most of the building had been converted into a military base, or what passed for one with the Fireflies.

         The WLF didn’t have hospitals. They had medic stations and medic tents. Even in the stadium, a handful of rooms was what they had dedicated to health and medicine. They may have controlled the hospital, but it was just another, bigger medic station.

         Generally, if you got injured as a Wolf, it was either something you walked off or didn’t walk away from. No real need for anything more complicated than some suturing and disinfection, and the occasional surgery.

         It was the same story with Catalina, whose medical center was outside the area they had fenced in, and the QZ’s, who often had one converted building for all medical needs. One it took months to get an appointment at.

         St. James Hospital is not that.

         St. James Hospital... is an actual hospital.

         It doesn’t look quite like a pre-Outbreak hospital, lacking their clean, sterile architecture. Most of the walls are either brick, concrete, or wood. The floors are a mix of hardwood, linoleum, and tiling that looks more appropriate for a bathroom. It makes for an eclectic mix that somehow avoids looking shambled together, and instead simply makes it clear this place was handcrafted.

         While the materials may not scream ‘hospital,’ the layout certainly does. There’s a receptionist desk in the lobby with benches and seats placed around it. Between them are potted plants and tables holding magazines and books.

         It’s almost entirely empty save for one of this place’s residents sitting in the corner reading a novel. An elderly woman who’s the picture perfect image of a grandma except for the large burn scar across her face. She looks up as they enter, eyebrows raising into her hairline, and she forgoes her book to instead watch them.

         At the back of the lobby she can see several elevators, which shocks her. Whatever architects and engineers they have here must be the real deal. It’s one thing to repair an elevator in an old world building and get it working again. It’s an entirely different thing to transplant one, let alone several, into a new world building. And she has to assume they’re working, because why else would they be here if they weren’t?

         She’s put in a wheelchair as soon as they arrive, along with Cricket, Claudette, Howard, and Nadia, though the last two try to refuse. Maria and Georgie are put on stretchers.

         Then they’re swarmed by medical staff. She’s pretty sure the ones in simple white jumpsuits and aprons are nurses, while the ones with white coats and high gold collars are doctors.

         All of them either start looking over their notes from the EMT’s or ask them more questions as they’re led to the elevators.

         Amongst their conglomerate group are soldiers, at least one for every member of her group. Escorts no doubt, ones she can’t begrudge. Especially since the worst they eye her and her people with is wariness and distrust. There’s no outright hostility in their faces or their body language, and a few of them even look at them kindly.

         They’re all taken to the top floor, after which they’re split up. She, Lev, Abel, the Bucketts, and the Barneses are taken to the right. Mark and May, the Allards, and Nadia and Aisha to the left.

         She keeps her eyes on them for as long as possible, which isn’t very long at all. Not because they go far, but because they don’t. They’re immediately taken into rooms lining the hallway just down from the elevator.

         There’s a slight hold up as they try to put Nadia and Aisha in a room of her own, a moment where she stops, looking to the rest of them worriedly. Mark and May immediately break away, and they let them. A few seconds of conversation is all it takes for them to be put in the same room as Nadia and Aisha.

         That’s good. She doesn’t want any of them to be alone, but especially not those two.

         Lev and her are put in the same room, which she feels overwhelming relief for. She hadn’t thought they’d be separated, not after the soldiers at the pier had simply nodded when she explained he was her adopted brother. But she didn’t know for sure.

         The room is… nice. Simple, but nice. Wooden walls, a curtained window overlooking the bay, and a terracotta floor that’s been glazed to a smooth finish.

         There are two hospital beds, probably scavenged from some old world hospital, with privacy curtains attached to the wall and ceiling around them. A small bedside table sits beside each one. There’s a couple chairs in the corner with a table and two wardrobes. A door off to the side leads to a bathroom, already propped open with the lights on.

         A painting of a fairy is on the wall, for some reason. It’s pretty. And kind of fitting? The only furniture in the room that matches are the hospital beds and the two chairs. Everything else is of a different style than the other. Eclectic decoration is right at home.

         No soldiers follow them in. Instead, two simply remain outside flanking the door. A courtesy she imagines is given to them because they were designated a ‘minimal threat’ by Ellie.

         Two nurses do come in with them and shut the door behind them, both of them women. One is tall with dark skin and wide eyes, while the other is a bit shorter, pale and freckled with blonde hair. They look to be around Lev’s age.

         “So, my name is Hannah, and this is Isabella,” says the blonde one, both of them smiling. “You’re Abigail and Lev, right?”

         “Just call me Abby,” she says while Lev simply nods. She tries to conjure a smile for them, but the exhaustion is honestly starting to hit her. She just wants them to do whatever they need to do and leave them be.

         “Will do,” says Isabella softly, stepping forward. “So, we’re really sorry to just spring this on you guys, but… we’re going to need you to strip. Not only do we need to wash your clothes, we also need to check you over for injuries. Treating most of them can wait until you’ve had a shower, and our water filtering is pretty dang good, but if you have deep cuts, we need to disinfect and cover them up ASAP.”

         Fuck.

         She thought something like this would be coming, but when it didn’t happen at their FOB, she hoped maybe they’d skip it. But no such luck, she supposes.

         It’s not something she begrudges them for, really. In this world, you have to be triply careful about infection of all kinds. While they’re seemingly no longer worried about cordyceps infection, bacterial infection could turn nasty. Quick.

         She sees the same thought process playing itself out on Lev’s face, and the moment when he settles on the same reaction as her: resignation.

         Softly, gently, Hannah says, “You can strip behind the privacy curtains, if you want.”

         She shakes her head, though, wheeling herself over to the bed so she can use it to stand. “It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

         She tries to ignore how her skin crawls as she peels off the layers covering her. Her coat, then the hoodie underneath, then the sweater, her thermal shirt, tank top… bra.

         She doesn’t think about how every muscle and joint in her body locks up for a moment before she starts on her bottom layers.

         It’s stupid, it doesn’t make sense, they just need to know what kind of wounds she’s carrying. And that’s exactly what they do, when they finally peel the last of their filthy clothing off. They gently, respectfully, look her and Lev over, cataloguing their various wounds and comparing them against the notes the EMT took.

         It doesn’t help that they’re women. She’s sure they think it does, and that’s why the two nurses they sent with them are women, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t help Lev, who looks pale and sick in the face as he just stands there, stiff as a board.

         There were women with the Rattlers, not just men, and they were all equally fucked up.

         It’s the fear she hates the most, and the shame. Both of them compound with each other, with themselves.

         The fear makes her feel ashamed, because this isn’t new. This is pretty standard procedure with any sort of group or settlement. A long patrol with the WLF would have ended the same way, and she never had a problem with it. Never had a problem in the group showers or changing in front of her squad when they had no choice.

         Now she does, has for twelve years, and the only person who doesn’t make her feel that way is Lev. It makes her feel weak and broken and ashamed, because even around people like Nadia or Marshall, who she knows would never fucking touch her even if they wanted to... showing more skin than a t-shirt makes her fucking terrified.

         It makes her feel weak.

         And then the shame grows because she knows Lev is the same, and he’s not weak. He's strong, so fucking strong, stronger than her, and fear doesn’t make either of them weak. If anything, he’s stronger than her for doing this with as much grace as he does. Not only did he go through the same thing as her with the Rattlers, but the moment he has no clothes to hide his body, it’s clear he wasn’t born a man. And he hates people knowing that more than anything.

         His strength just brings new fear, though, fear that she’ll be like this forever. If even Lev hasn’t bounced back, how can she? She doesn’t want to feel like this forever. She doesn’t want to feel the need to run or take a swing anytime someone sees her naked or touches her while she is.

         She tries not to think about that. Any of that.

         She fails.

         It doesn’t take them long to examine the two of them, but the whole time they do, that’s all she feels. Shame and fear, fear and shame. A nauseating miasma buzzing beneath her skin that makes it hard to hear what they tell her.

         Nothing at risk of infection, and nothing that needs immediate care. She’s good to take a shower. Once she has, they’ll dress her wounds.

         “Some soap, washcloths, and towels have already been prepared for you guys,” says Hannah quietly, softly, having noticed their reactions a while ago. “There’s also a pair of gowns, but we’ll return your clothes as soon as they’re washed. And… there’s a bench in the shower, Abby, plus a hand bar, but if you need one of us to help you, we can.”

         “No,” she says without hesitation, shaking her head. She resists the urge to cover herself. They’ve already seen every inch of her. So has Lev. “I’ll be fine.”

         She can’t bring herself to thank her for offering, though she probably should.

         Hannah just nods and shrugs, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “Of course. If you need anything, just ring the bell by the door. It’s connected to the nurse’s station, and someone will come running.”

         This time she manages to clear her throat and say, “Thanks.”

         They both simply smile at her before leaving, their clothes in hand. They leave their packs where they set them on the table.

         They’re at least kind enough to close a privacy curtain around the door before exiting. The attempt to preserve their decency is almost comical, but that’s just her bitterness talking.

         She doesn’t think either of them fail to notice the sound of a deadbolt clicking into place after they leave. Another precaution she can’t begrudge them.

         Both Lev and her just sit in silence for a bit, neither of them moving towards the bathroom. She thinks they’re doing the same thing; processing, recombobulating… making sure they aren’t about to fall apart if they move.

         It’s Lev who breaks the silence after who knows how long. When he does, his voice is steady, his gaze kind as he looks to her. “You should take a shower first. We should get them to bind your ankle bound as soon as we can.”

         She doesn’t bother arguing with him. She just nods towards the bathroom door. “Help me in?”

         He stands and walks over without hesitation. “Do you need my help in there?”

         “If there really is a bench and hand bar, then I’ll be fine,” she says, grunting as she stands. Her ankle is starting to stiffen up again.

         Lev doesn’t press the issue and instead silently helps her into the bathroom, then the shower.

         The bathroom itself is nice. Mostly white, though the walls are painted a soft cream. There’s a toilet, a counter with a sink, and as they said, a stack of towels and gowns. Two small bars of soap as well, wrapped in waxed paper, and… two toothbrushes. Wooden ones, with dark bristles. Beside them are two small glass jars with a white-ish powder inside. Probably some sort of toothpaste, she knows the QZ’s use dry ones too.

         Lev grabs one of the soap bars for her along with a washcloth without needing to be asked.

         The shower is divided from the rest of the bathroom by a plastic curtain, and the bench is attached to the wall, already folded down.

         She pulls to a stop just outside it, laughing a bit as she gestures towards the knob. “Can we see if they have hot water before we just throw me in there?”

         Lev laughs too but leans her up against the wall, reaching in to turn the shower on.

         It’s meant to be a joke. The WLF had running hot water, but it was reserved for medic stations. Catalina didn’t, nor did Salt Lake. It’s hard to have running hot water, let alone some you can use willy nilly, when you don’t have a source of gas to power a water heater. In most places, if you want hot water, you have to boil it over a fire.

         Cold water is something you get used to in this world. She doesn’t have a problem with it, and if anything, she’s happy they have running water so she can have an actual shower. It’s just that she’s in Michigan in the dead of winter, so she knows it’s going to be colder than any water she’s ever showered in. She wants a chance to ease herself in.

         That’s what she does, and the water is as freezing as she expected it to be. It’s enough to make her hiss and groan, as if she plunged her hands straight into the lake outside.

         Still though, leaning against the wall next to the shower, she can at least rinse her hands off. Get used to the chill before dunking her body in.

         Lev stands nearby, ready to help her into the shower proper. He snickers a bit at her reaction, and in response, she flicks some water at him.

         At first, she thinks it’s just her getting used to the temperature. Her body adjusting, making her think it’s warmer than it is.

         Then it gets warmer, and she worries it’s going to kill her from hypothermia. She’s heard that when the body gets too cold, you can feel warm for a bit as it pretty much sends heat from your core to every inch of you in a last ditch attempt to keep you alive.

         And then it gets even warmer, and she frowns, pulling her hands out.

         Blinking, she stares at it, and then glances back at Lev. “Can you come feel this for me?”

         He chuckles, stepping back. “Oh no. No, Abby, I am not falling for that.”

         She rolls her eyes, flicking water at him again. “I’m serious, come feel this. I want to know if I’m insane, or if it’s actually getting warmer.”

         That wipes the smile from his face, and he steps forward with a half-suspicious, half-bemused frown.

         Gingerly, he sticks his hand underneath the stream, and his eyes widen.

         “Okay, so I’m not insane,” she whispers, sticking her hand underneath as well. “How in the fuck…?”

         “I thought only QZ’s had running hot water?” he asks quietly, still staring at the shower stream with wide eyes.

         It’s still getting warmer.

         “The WLF did, but it was restricted to medical stations,” she replies, mind running a million miles a minute. “There were electric water heaters before the Outbreak, but they weren’t super common. Almost any water heater you can find runs on natural gas, and only FEDRA still has a reliable supply of that.”

         Lev nods. After a moment, he retracts his hand, inclining his head in a thoughtful fashion. “I suppose if you can make electric boats… you can make electric water heaters.”

         That is a very salient point.

         “Yeah, well…” Slowly, gingerly, she hops towards the shower, and Lev reaches out to help her get close enough she can twist and sit down on the bench. Once she has, she smirks up at him, reaching over to take hold of the curtain. “Pray I don’t use up all the hot water, I guess. Loser.”

         “Abby, if you use up all the hot water, I will strangle you to death the moment you fall asleep tonight.”

         She laughs loudly at how hard he fights a smile saying that, and drags the curtain closed.

         The water doesn’t get hot, per say, even when she twists the knob all the way to the left. Even if they do have electric water heaters, this place isn’t so magical as to make ones that can supply hot water on demand to an entire hospital.

         But it does get warm. And warm is miles better than anything she’s ever had. It’s even better than the hot showers she was able to take in the California QZ’s since this one isn’t coming with a military dictatorship.

         It’s a cliché to say showering makes her feel more human than she has in a long time. But showering with warm water, after the year and a half she’s had?

         It makes her feel like some sort of divine fucking entity.

         The soap stings her cuts, and her ankle makes it a pain to scrub her ass, but by the time she turns the water off, she’s clean and smelling pleasantly floral.

         Lev hands her a towel, and then helps her into a gown, before pushing the wheelchair over so she can collapse into it. As soon as she has, he disappears into the bathroom, and she hears the shower turn on a second later.

         Sitting in the warm afterglow of her shower, she can only imagine how happy he’ll be. His only experience with running water was in the QZ’s, and he had been so disgusted at the conditions people lived in there she didn’t think he was able to enjoy it.

         Now… well, she doesn’t think he’ll have that problem now.

         Hannah and Isabella make their return about five minutes into his shower, carrying a wide array of medical supplies.

         Without having to be asked, even with how nauseous it makes her feel, she strips her medical gown off so they can have at her.

         Before they do, though, Isabella holds out a… gummy?

         When she raises an eyebrow, the woman smiles. “For the pain. CBD.”

         She blinks at her. “You guys grow weed here?”

         “Hemp,” she clarifies with a laugh.

         Hannah looks over from where she’s setting out bandages and cotton padding. “Also weed.”

         “Also weed,” acknowledges Isabella with an indulgent nod. “But the hemp is what we extract the CBD from.”

         She still doesn’t take the gummy, and instead resorts to staring at it warily. After a second, she asks, “This isn’t going to make me high, is it?”

         Another light laugh, this time from Hannah. “Nah. You might feel a teensy bit more relaxed, but that’s about it.”

         She continues to stare at the gummy.

         Then, with a shrug, she takes it and pops it in her mouth. At this point she’ll take anything if it’ll stop the throbbing in her fucking ankle.

         It tastes sweet and fruity.

         Once she’s swallowed the edible, the two girls work quickly dressing her wounds. Even still, it takes a while for them to disinfect all her scrapes and cuts, as well as bandage the worse ones. It’s a painful process, given their disinfectant is isopropyl alcohol, but it’s nothing she hasn’t felt before.

         They’re just about done when Lev opens the door to the bathroom and walks out, still toweling his hair dry. He looks as pleased as she felt, at least before Hannah turns to him while glancing at the medical supplies meaningfully.

         With a resigned sigh, and a grimace, he walks over to one of the beds while shirking his gown half off.

         He isn’t nearly as banged up as she is, thank god, so Hannah’s done with him before Isabella has even finished wrapping her ankle.

         It’s about halfway through said binding of her ankle that the gummy kicks in. She feels herself relax bit by bit, though whether that’s because she’s warm, clean, and bandaged up, or because she’s slightly high… she does not know.

         The pain, though… it does help with the pain. It’s still agony to have Isabella touching her ankle, but once she’s done, the throbbing has noticeably dulled. She can still feel it for sure, but it no longer makes her grit her teeth to move it.

         She lets her help her onto her bed, which is surprisingly soft. Looking over at Lev, he seems to be fighting the urge to fully lay down on his.

         “Do you guys mind if we look through your packs, by the way?” asks Hannah as she begins gathering the various medical supplies. “We can wash them and any clothes we find. We’ll leave the rest of your stuff here.”

         She trades a glance with Lev, and they have the same thought: they can’t think of any good reason to refuse. The only things they really have worth keeping are their various keepsakes, none of which are anything worth stealing.

         Plus, if they try… they’re right there, watching them. Not like they’ll get away with it.

         They don’t try, funnily enough. They empty everything in their packs, except for their clothes, into the wardrobes. Lev’s stuff in the left one, hers in the right. The rest they pack back into them with a promise they’ll bring them right back once everything is clean.

         Then, like a goddamn angel, Hannah asks, “Are you guys hungry, by the way?”

         When both her and Lev eagerly nod, she doesn’t seem surprised.

         They lock the door again once they leave, but that doesn’t surprise her. They’re saintly paragons of kindness, but they aren’t idiots.

         The silence after the two of them are left alone is comfortable. The hospital gowns aren’t some sort of flimsy paper, but instead a soft off-white fabric. While it still leaves her feeling a bit exposed, it’s not as bad as she thought it’d be. Plus it’s warm, and the bed is soft, and she’s clean. It’s hard not to feel comfortable.

         After a few moments, Lev deigns to finally lay down, reclining onto the bed with a quiet groan.

         She snorts. “Comfy?”

         “Very,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut.

         “Still waiting on them to eat us?”

         “Always.”

         That drags a hearty laugh out of her, and she also finally swings her legs up onto her bed. She doesn’t lay down, though, instead scooting back until she can lean sideways against the wall and stare out the window.

         There’s only a single street lined with houses separating the hospital from the beach. Most of them have lights on, Christmas lights, that create a warm multicolor glow.

         Beyond them, the lake. A glittering mass of snow-covered ice and shimmering waves that stretches out to the horizon. On it, she thinks she can see the pearly white forms of two, maybe three more islands.

         The moon is higher out now than it was earlier, its silvery light even brighter. It tints everything a vague blue-ish monochrome that reminds her of vintage stills and oil paintings.

         If it weren’t for the movement of the lake water and the shifting of the trees along the shore… she’d think she was looking at some picturesque moment a pre-Outbreak artist captured in time.

         “It’s beautiful,” she whispers to herself.

         Lev hears, though, and prompts himself up on one elbow to look out the window as well. He hums, a tiny smile creasing his lips. “It is.”

         A pause, and then he adds with a soft, sad smile on his face, “I think Yara would have liked it. This place is kind of like Seattle.”

         She smiles, glancing over at him as she nods. “Bet she would have, yeah.”

         She didn’t really know Yara super well, but Lev’s told her plenty. As happy as his sister was at the prospect of going so far from Seattle, apparently she loved it there. The rain, the water, the forests…

         She wishes she were here to see this. That every single one of them were here to see this.

         Owen would probably make some stupid fucking joke like, ‘Oh my god, Abby, look at all those people happy enough to celebrate Christmas! God, can you imagine it? Not being miserable literally all the time?’

         They sit in silence for a bit, both of them watching the waves of Lake Michigan sparkle in the moonlight.

         Then, hesitantly, Lev says, “How much of the island do you think they’ve cleared of infected?”

         She hums softly. “Ellie said they cleared the whole thing. And every other island on the lake.”

         It takes her a bit too long to realize she said her name without even thinking about it.

         Lev seemingly doesn’t notice, his eyes widening at the revelation the island is clear. “So it’s like Sera’s Isle, then.”

         A snort escapes her. “Yeah. Except, if I’m remembering the map right, this island alone is like… five or six times the size. And an actual island, you know, not a couple neighborhoods cut off from flooding. It’s still not as big as Catalina, but there’s probably enough space here that you could sustain… I don’t know how many people. Four thousand, five thousand, maybe even more.”

         His eyes widen even further. Then faintly, he asks, “Why are they bothering with clearing that peninsula then?”

         “Dunno,” she answers honestly, shrugging. “Tactically… it’s a great place to clear. For how big it is, the fact it’s so narrow means it’d probably be really easy to clear and secure. It would let them build a settlement, multiple settlements, on the mainland while keeping them safe. Plus…”

         A sigh as she shakes her head, looking to him. “Might be a pride thing. You might not get it, since you were born way past Outbreak, but… clearing land of infection can mean a lot to people old enough to remember how things were before. It can feel like they’re… well, reclaiming the world. Hence them calling it a ‘Reclamation Project.’”

         “Huh,” hums Lev, very eloquently, as he returns his gaze to the lake. It takes him a few heartbeats to ask, “What about you? Do you feel like that?”

         She has to think on that, carefully. It brings her back to a time when she was younger, when her father and other Firefly leaders would wax poetically about how the virus hasn’t won. How humanity could still triumph.

         “I guess,” she eventually sighs, reaching up to rub her shoulder. “I dunno. My dad dedicated his whole life to trying to beat cordyceps. All the Fireflies did, really. Maybe it’s not how he envisioned it, but… I think he’d be happy to know there’s people like this still fighting. People who haven’t given up and decided cordyceps won.”

         It takes him a moment to reply. When he does, what he says is, “I guess it’s easy to do that when you’re immune.”

         She feels herself tense up slightly. The reason she doesn’t fully freak out at these people’s immunity being brought up is because it’s Lev doing it.

         “I think they were working on things like the peninsula way before they were immune,” she sighs, hoping to maybe deflect the conversation elsewhere. “Jackson, when I saw it, seemed to be fighting pretty damn hard too.”

         Lev concedes the point with a half shrug. Then, with a look that reveals he’s deliberately pushing her, says, “Do you think they really are immune?”

         Fuck, he’s really going to make her talk about this, isn’t he?

         Trying to keep her pulse under control, she swallows thickly. “Pretty sure. I don’t see why Ellie would lie about it.”

         This time, she definitely thinks about the fact she’s using her name. And despite her best efforts, its syllables roll off her tongue bitter and angry.

         “How do you think they’ve done it?” he asks very, very carefully. His expression is almost painfully blank and neutral.

         Taking a deep breath, she shrugs. “I don’t know. My dad was the only person I’ve known who had the technical knowledge to make a vaccine.”

         At Lev’s questioning look, she sighs, digging her fingers into her arm. “When the outbreak first happened, the government rounded up pretty much every immunologist, pathologist, biologist, and every other -gist in the country. All the ones of note, anyways. Put them in QZ’s and government facilities to research a cure, or a vaccine, or any sort of countermeasure. Then FEDRA took over, the rest of the government collapsed, QZ’s fell…

         “It was a shitshow,” she says in a rush, shaking her head at the idiocy of it all. “Pretty much all of them either died or disappeared. The Fireflies looked for them, and any other qualified scientists and doctors, for years. They only found a handful, and my dad was the only one with any experience with fungal infections. And… Joel fucking killed him. So I don’t know, Lev. Ellie said that apparently one of the engineers FEDRA squirreled away made it here. Maybe one of their scientists did too.”

         A beat passes, then two. Then, with a tone like he’s trying not to set off a clicker, Lev says, “I remember the rumors, Abby. It… it didn’t sound like they’re doing this with a vaccine.”

         All at once, her patience snaps.

         “I know what the rumors were, Lev!” she exclaims, unable to resist raising her voice. “But it can’t be that easy! It just can’t, okay?! If it were, my dad would have figured it out! And since he didn’t, there’s no way Ellie fucking Miller did! It has to be something else!”

         He stares at her as she pants, his eyes wide and his body reeled back slightly.

         All of a sudden, the heat and fight goes out of her, and she slouches over.

         She hides her face with a hand, rubbing it. “I-I’m sorry, Lev, I know… I know you’re just… I’m sorry. I just… it can’t be that simple, okay? My dad spent years, and years, and years trying to make a vaccine. He died trying to make one from Ellie. It… it cannot be as simple as the rumors made it sound. It just can’t. ”

         A pause, a rustle of cloth, and then the bed dips beside her. Lev’s arm snakes its way around her shoulders, a warm and firm presence. “I know. I’m sorry.”

         She lets a shuddering breath and a handful of tears escape her. She doesn’t say anything. Mostly because she doesn’t know exactly what he’s sorry for.

         Sorry for bringing it up? No, he shouldn’t be. Sorry for what happened to her dad? Maybe, and he’d be sweet for it.

         Sorry for what he knows is the truth of the matter? The truth that makes her fucking sick to her stomach to even acknowledge?

         Probably.

         She still doesn’t acknowledge it. Can’t. Until she sees hard fucking proof, right in front of her eyes, she won’t.

         She won’t.

         “If we do stay here,” says Lev slowly, quietly, his hand rubbing small circles on her arm, “do you think we could ask them for a house by the beach?”

         A watery chuckle escapes her, and she shrugs. “W-We definitely can. No promises they’ll have one available, though.”

         He shrugs too. “That’s fine.”

         It definitely is fine, especially since she doesn’t think he really cares at all. He just wants to distract her.

         She lets him. “Realistically, we’ll probably be put into one of those apartment buildings.”

         It takes him a moment for him to hum and shrug again. “That’s fine too. As long as they’re nicer than those ones in the California QZ’s.”

         “Fuck, they better be,” she sighs, shaking her head. “FEDRA barely has an excuse for those deathtraps, these guys certainly don’t.”

         He laughs lightly, leaning into her side. She lets him, bringing a hand up to card her fingers through his hair. It’s getting a bit long, longer than she knows he likes.

         Maybe if they do end up staying here, she can give him a mohawk again. He totally rocked one for a while back on Catalina.

         They stay like that until Hannah and Isabella come back, at which point he quickly extricates himself from her. Not because he’s embarrassed (though he might be, he’s been getting a little touchy about that kind of stuff) but because Isabella has a cushioned prop in her hand as well as an ice pack. Clearly meant for her ankle.

         Hannah, on the other hand, is pushing a cart with two stainless steel lidded trays on it. Along with four glasses, two with water and two with what looks like milk.

         Isabella also has a pair of crutches under her arm that she leans next to her bed with a smile. “So you don’t have to maneuver the wheelchair in and out of the bathroom.”

         Thoughtful. And appreciated. She wouldn’t like the idea of being stuck on her ass even if she were somewhere she knew she was safe, let alone an unfamiliar place like this. Even outside of the bathroom, she’ll vastly prefer the crutches.

         “Also brought you another blanket, so you don’t have to resituate yourself if you get cold,” says Hannah, reaching under the cart to produce a folded white blanket that she sets at the foot of her bed. At the same time, Isabella helps her into a position with her leg elevated on the prop and the ice pack laid over the top.

         It’s a bit uncomfortable, but between the coolness of the pack and the softness of the prop, the pain in her ankle fades to just a faint ache.

         A sigh of relief escapes her as she settles in again, quickly repeated when Hannah holds one of the trays out to her, pulling the cover off.

         The food is only slightly steaming, and the smell of it isn’t quite as potently delicious as the stew from the FOB, but it still makes her mouth water.

         “So, this is grilled chicken, deboned, with wild rice and quinoa,” says Hannah as she hands the other tray to Lev. “Then spinach with green beans, and thimbleberry preserves with sliced bread for desert.”

         Lev raises an eyebrow, glancing at her. “’Thimbleberries?’”

         “Think raspberries, but sweeter,” answers Isabelle easily, setting their drinks on their bedside tables. “We farm them, but there’s also a bunch of wild bushes around.”

         She had assumed they were raspberry preserves, but now that they’ve said it, the small pile of mashed fruit does have a slightly darker color. She had assumed it was simply from a slightly different process to how the QZ’s made their preserves.

         Thimbleberries, huh?

         Shrugging, she grabs one of the slices of bread, dips it in, and takes a bite. She nearly laughs at the sugary fruitiness that coats her tongue. It does taste like raspberry preserves, but somehow even sweeter.

         Amazing.

         “So, before we get out of your hair, a couple things,” says Hannah, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Abby, to give you a heads up, they’ll probably want to take you in for an MRI and an x-ray tomorrow to take a better look at your ankle. They’d do it tonight, but we only have one of each machine here, and they’re kind of busy with that little boy and his grandpa.”

         “Of course,” she replies immediately, waving away her apologetic tone with a smile. “I’d be annoyed if you guys weren’t prioritizing them.”

         Both of the girls laugh, nodding along. Isabella steps forward then, another apologetic look on her face. “Second thing is that someone will be dropping by tonight to give you guys the rundown on what happens from here on out. It might be a while, since you seem like a leader, and they usually leave leaders for last. So… sorry, but don’t go to sleep if you can help it.”

         “We can bring you guys some books to help keep you busy, though!” suggests Hannah immediately, looking almost excited at the prospect. “We don’t have a huge library here, but we make sure to keep a little bit of everything. Tell us what genres you guys like, and we can go take a peeksie.”

         She decides she likes Hannah and Isabella. Hannah in particular. She’s the type of girl that would have annoyed the shit out of her when she was her age, but now just makes her feel old in a good way.

         “I 'ike 'an'asy,” says Lev immediately, voice muffled by a mouthful of chicken, rice, and quinoa. When she snorts, he shoots her a glare.

         Ignoring it, she tells them, “Classics for me. Or crime.”

         Hannah flashes them a finger gun as she wheels the cart backwards and around. “You got it!”

         Isabella stifles a laugh as she follows her fellow nurse, waving at them. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

         A thought hits her then, and she holds out her hand. “Uh, actually, do you guys know how the rest of our people are doing?”

         Both of them stop, glancing at each other in surprise. Isabella steps back towards her with a smile. “Well, we’re only handling a couple of the rooms, so we don’t know how all of you are doing. But given everything out there has been pretty calm, I think they’re all doing the same as you. Showered, treated or being treated, probably getting some food… I know one of the other nurses, Harry, was sent down to the Compound to treat your friends staying there.”

         The Compound… she assumes she means that big headquarters-like building on the south side of the bay. She doubts that’s its actual name. ‘The Compound’ sounds more like some nickname the civilians here have given it.

         Then again, people come up with some weird names in the apocalypse.

         Islaborne, as an example.

         “We know the Bucket’s are being quarantined for now,” continues Hannah, her fellow nurse nodding along. “Just as a precaution. The wife and son woke up long enough to answer some questions. They’ve definitely been given some antibiotics and put on an IV by now. And… I think Jasmine helped the husband wash them and feed them some soup.”

         She pauses, clucking her tongue. “What else, what else… uh… oh, and like I said, that Henderson family are busy down in the lower levels with the x-ray and MRI. They’re probably the only ones who haven’t washed up yet, but I think we saw one of the nurses taking food down there.”

         “Yeah, Mark did,” confirms Isabella, raising a finger to her chin as she thinks. Then she lights up, turning to grin almost conspiratorially at them. “Oh, and that new mother, Nadia, she’s really sweet! She asked if we could take her to where that little girl Claudette was before doing their stitches, since she promised they would get them together. We did, but… you know, don’t mention it to anyone. We guilted the SP’s out there into keeping quiet, but technically you’re all supposed to stay in your rooms for now.”

         “That boy, Abel Luna, too,” adds Hannah with an amused smile. “He asked if he could be moved into the same room as the Barneses' since he was worried about them, but I think he just didn’t want to be alone. So those four are bunking together now too, though he’s alone in the room right now. We did check up on him just a bit ago, and Doctor Ryke was stitching up his shoulder.”

         Scratch that; she loves these girls. They are so sweet.

         Also: SP’s. She assumes they mean the soldiers, and the term makes her think of MP’s. Military police.

         It wouldn’t surprise her if these people rolled their ‘military’ up with their ‘law enforcement.’ She thinks that’s how most settlements do it. There probably wouldn’t be enough guns or people to go around otherwise.

         “That couple, Mark and May, are doing okay.” The words are at odds with the look on Isabella’s face as she speaks. “Her eye was disinfected by one of the other nurses, and I think they’re just waiting on Doctor MacFarlane to come take a look at it.”

         She chews that for a moment, trying to make it taste like anything other than bitter defeat. The closest she gets is being relieved an actual doctor will be examining it as well.

         Unfortunately, it isn’t enough, and she can’t help herself. “The nurse at your FOB said you guys will probably have to take it out.”

         Both of the girls wince. It’s Isabella who steps forward with a nod, tone dropping into something gentle. “Probably, yeah. I’m sorry. I think the only reason they haven’t rushed her into surgery is because you guys did such a good job keeping it clean. There’s still some early signs of infection, but… they have some time to get a few opinions. Figure out how much they can save.”

         “We really are sorry,” Hannah adds, clasping her hands in front of her.

         She waves her off, not trusting herself to speak. In her mind, she just repeats to herself, At least it’s happening in a hospital with doctors. At least it’s happening in a hospital with doctors. At least it’s happening in a hospital with doctors.

         When it becomes clear she isn’t going to reply verbally, the two of them trade another glance. Hesitantly, Isabella says, “Well… I think that’s all the info we have. So unless you guys need anything else, we’ll go try and find those books for you.”

         “Thank you,” Lev says for her, though she does manage to nod.

         Then they’re gone again, the door closing behind them and the lock clicking into place again. In her bitter mood, it almost sounds mocking. A reminder that they don’t quite belong here yet.

         Yet.

         “They seem nice,” says Lev idly, clearly trying to make conversation and pull her out of thoughts of what pieces some of her people will be missing soon. When she doesn’t reply, he resumes digging into the rest of his chicken. “This food is really good.”

         It’s enough, and a huff of a laugh escapes her. Shaking her head, she cuts into her chicken as well. When he squints at her, trying to figure out what was so funny, she says, “Back before the Outbreak, people used to hate hospital food. It was like this whole thing.”

         He considers that for a moment, nodding. Then with a dead serious certainty, “If it was anything like this, pre-Outbreak people were idiots.”

         “You won’t hear me arguing,” she replies with a laugh, popping a bit of chicken in her mouth. “They were so goddamn spoiled.”

         Then, as she tastes the chicken, light and moist and lightly seasoned, she nods. “This food is really good, though.”

         “Right?”

         She’s had quinoa before in the California QZ’s. It was FEDRA’s favorite substitute for rice since you could serve less to people while still keeping them (kind of) full. That quinoa was always mushy, though, almost carelessly mashed.

         This quinoa is light and fluffy, and it pairs well with the wild rice. The spinach and green beans don’t taste quite fresh, but they don’t taste canned or expired either. Frozen, maybe. The milk tastes completely fresh, though.

         The preserves and bread are definitely the best part. Ignoring the lemonade from earlier, the last time she had any sort of fruit was canned peaches a few months ago. And she’d only taken half of a single slice, splitting it with Lev. It had been good, but it had tasted more like syrup than fruit.

         Thimbleberry preserves, though? They taste like fruit. Sweet and tart with an almost honeyed aftertaste.

         She finds herself full just before she’s done with the chicken and bread, but she stuffs it down anyways. May God strike her down if she ever turns down good, fresh food.

         Hannah and Isabella return just after they’re done eating, two books in hand.

         Eragon for Lev, who looks at the blue dragon on the cover with sparkles in his eyes, and The Outsiders for her. She’s already read about a fourth of it years ago but was never able to finish. She’d had it in one of their safehouses outside the Tipton QZ but had to leave it behind when FEDRA raided the place.

         The two nurses take their finished trays and leave with yet another reminder to ring the bell if they need help.

         As she and Lev settle in, books in hand, she doubts they will. She can’t think of anything more they could possibly need.

         Every few pages, she looks up to a clock above the door, watching the time crawl by. Eleven o’clock, eleven-fifteen, eleven-thirty, then midnight. There’s no sound outside the hallway other than the guards talking quietly and the occasional thumps of people walking by.

         Eventually Lev helps her up so they can both wash their teeth. The powder is gritty and not very nice tasting, but they at least threw some mint into the mix to make it bearable. And their teeth do look cleaner once they’re done.

         Then they go back to reading because this person has still not arrived.

         It’s nearing one in the morning, and she’s nearly fallen asleep over her book, when there’s finally a knock on the door.

         For a moment she thinks she imagined it, her brain sluggish and drowsy. Then there’s another knock, slightly more insistent, and she wakes up.

         Lev does too, snapping his book closed as he sits up. Both of them trade a glance before she, hesitantly, calls out, “Come in?”

         The curtain is still drawn around the door, but she hears the lock unlatch and the door swing open.

         Then a voice that sets her teeth on edge says, “You guys can go take a break, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

         The soldiers outside both say something along the lines of “Thanks, Cap!” and she hears their boots stomp away.

         Then, sweeping aside the curtain and kicking the door shut behind her…

         Ellie strides into the room.

         Hesitantly, she raises a hand.

         “Hey.”

Chapter Text

         Ellie looks awkward, not moving from where she’s stood by the door. She also looks exhausted. There are purple bags forming under her eyes and a slouch to her shoulders that wasn’t there earlier.

         Her weapons are still on her, as is her pack. The only thing she seems to have taken off between now and when she last saw her three hours ago are her gloves.

         She’s a bit relieved to see that she is, indeed, still missing the two fingers on her left hand. Not out of any sort of malice, surprisingly, but because it’s good to know she isn’t insane. Or that Ellie’s immunity gives her fucking… regeneration.

         Come to think of it, she had been firing her pistol and bow left handed. Even with what she assumes are prosthetics in her gloves, it’s probably harder for her to keep as strong a grip with her left hand as she did before. Easier to pull a trigger with it instead of control recoil, or draw a bow instead of hold it steady, she supposes.

         There’s new scars there too. A burn one, right below her pinkie and covering above half her hand. She thinks she maybe had a bite mark there in Santa Barbara. Probably self-inflicted to cover it up.

         Then there are ones on each hand around her wrists and the base of her thumbs too. They’re gnarled, just barely over the edge from angry red to pink. She can’t quite discern the cause. Chafing from some sort of restraints, maybe?

         It sparks just a touch of discontent in her chest.

         “Hey…” she replies, equally as hesitantly, as she closes her book and sets it on the bedside table. Carefully, she pushes herself into sitting fully upright, even as she struggles to pull the prop back with her.

         Lev comes to her aid, seemingly glad for the opportunity to put himself between the two of them. Even after helping her adjust her ankle, he takes a seat on her bed instead of returning to his.

         He chooses not to greet Ellie, instead watching her with wary eyes.

         If it bothers Ellie, she doesn’t show it, instead jerking her chin towards the chair and table in the corner. “Mind if I grab a seat? We’ve got some things to talk about.”

         “Yeah.” She doesn’t clarify if it’s permission to grab a seat, and she doesn’t take it as such. Ellie remains standing, one hand on her hip, the other hanging by her side. “The nurses said someone would be by to tell us how things would go from here. We didn’t… really expect it to be you.”

         It’s already harder to act normal and civil with her. Warm, fed, her injuries tended, and with a soft bed underneath her… it is already more difficult to keep her head clear. To remember what kind of world is awaiting her people if she screws this up.

         She just… needs to keep calm. Or if not calm, then restrained. She highly doubts Ellie is expecting her to act like Miss Fucking High Society with her. So long as she doesn’t somehow manage to devolve this into a yelling match, it should be fine.

         Ellie shrugs, looking away. “Yeah, well… usually the person who brings a group in is their proxy for the first day or two. Keeps new faces to a minimum, helps people from being overwhelmed…”

         A pause, a sigh, and she looks back to her. “I’d offer to go get someone else, but we kind of have stuff to talk about. Stuff other than the usual bullshit, I mean.”

         “Our history,” she clarifies with a raised brow, deciding to be blunt. Or as blunt as she dares.

         Ellie gives a jerking nod, looking kind of sick.

         She trades a glance with Lev, who gives her a tiny, minute shrug. Permission, or at least acceptance.

         So with a sigh, she hangs her head, throwing a hand out towards the chairs. “Sure. Fine. Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

         It seems Ellie expected that was as much as she was going to get. The way she sighs and walks over to one of the chairs, picks it up, and drags it over reeks of resignation.

         She places it about a meter away from their beds. Close enough not to be awkward, far enough away to not be even more awkward.

         The way she drops her pack next to it, and then drops herself into it, makes it clear she’d rather be anywhere else than here. Probably her bed most of all. She spends a few moments leaning back, eyes closed, a slow exhale escaping from her nose.

         Without opening her eyes, she holds up a finger. “So, before we start… just to make sure I don’t make myself look like an idiot… you’re Lev, right, kid?”

         Fuck. She hadn’t even thought about that. Until today, she probably had no idea what Lev’s name was.

         She’s not sure whether that makes her holding a knife to his throat worse or better.

         Lev doesn’t seem bothered by it, though. Or at least any more bothered than he already is by having Ellie in the same room as them. Both his nod and his “Yes” are curt and perfunctory.

         She doesn’t reply immediately. She just drops her hand again, eyes still closed, and stays like that for a bit.

         A part of her wonders if she’s legitimately falling asleep just as she finally opens them and leans back forward.

         Her expression is a façade of neutrality. Professionalism. Something. Something cool and calm but fragile, like a pane of glass.

         “Lemme just start off with saying that I’d rather you guys stay than go.”

         Before Ellie can even open her mouth to get another word out, she blurts, “What?! Why?!”

         The look Ellie gives her for already interrupting is scathing. “Do you want to stay?”

         She feels like that’s a trick question, but she also doesn’t want to risk giving a sarcastic answer. With a firm nod, she replies, “Yes?”

         “Are you going to cause problems if you do?” Her tone makes it clear she thinks she’s being stupid.

         In return, she doesn’t bother trying not to scowl. “Of course not.”

         “There you have it.” The way Ellie shrugs conveys that she thinks this settles the whole matter.

         When she continues to glare at her, trying to convey right back how much she considers the matter not settled, she sighs heavily.

         Hanging her head, she says lowly, “There’s worse shit out there than you, Anderson. The sort of shit no-one deserves, but I’m sure you know that already. This place was built to protect people from that sort of shit. That’s why I’m living here. Ergo…”

         A flat expression from underneath her brows, and a flippant gesture of her hands that dances dangerously close to a middle finger. “If you want to stay, I’m sure as fuck not gonna stand in your way.”

         Silence fills the air after the end of her little speech. It’s awkward but also…

         No, it’s just awkward. She refuses to examine the warm hint of some other emotion hovering at the edge of her mental periphery.

         Lev seems to notice it too, glancing at her for direction. It takes her a moment too long to give him an approving nod.

         She needs to get a hold of herself. They aren’t in the clear yet. She has to stop acting pissy with Ellie.

         “Is that your decision to make?” asks Lev quietly, managing to lower his glare into just an angry smolder. “Whether we stay or go?”

         “Kind of,” says Ellie immediately, sounding glad to be back on track. “Technically it’s our community council who makes that call. But our history is the kind of thing they look at really, really fucking close before making that decision.”

         Immediately her heart rate spikes. “Do they know our… ‘history?’”

         The word feels rough rolling off her tongue. It’s entirely too pleasant and inadequate a word to describe the intertwined parts of their pasts.

         “They do now,” says Ellie simply, leaning back and folding her arms. She lifts one of her shoulders in a casual half shrug.

         Instantly she knows what she means, and it takes all her effort not to shout. “You told them?!”

         The look she gives her is flatter than a piece of paper. “Yeah. I don’t have a problem with you staying here if you behave, but I have a responsibility to this community. Don’t… fucking worry, though, okay? I just gave them the broad strokes. No details.”

         “Uhuh?” she hums, nodding mockingly. “And what were the ‘broad strokes’? In your own words.”

         Ellie exhales sharply through her nose, anger starting to put cracks in her mask of professionalism. “I told them what Joel did in Salt Lake. I told them that you and your friends came and killed him for it. Then me and some of my people killed your friends. You killed one of my people, tried to kill the rest of us, but let us go. Then I tried to kill you again, but let you go.”

         Okay, so when she said ‘broad’ she meant fucking broad. You could get thinner strokes if you had paint rollers for hands.

         But… her mind snags on one detail, and she can’t help but voice it. “Two. I killed two of your people. The Asian guy, and Joel’s brother. Tommy.”

         It’s a bad idea, maybe, to bring up the details of what happened. But if she’s lying for them, she needs to know exactly how. Their stories need to match up.

         The way Ellie blinks at her, though, isn’t angry. It isn’t annoyed. It’s confused.

         Then her eyes light up, and she slowly nods. “Oh… uh… yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know. Um… Tommy fucking survived?”

         It’s her turn to blink at her. “I shot him in the head.”

         “Yeah, I know, I thought he was dead too,” says Ellie, and there’s a bare hint of exasperation in her voice. “You missed, though. Well, you didn’t miss, he’s blind in his right fucking eye. But you only grazed him. He’s still alive.”

         A scoff escapes her before she can help it, and she immediately follows it with a slow shake of her head. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

         She’s surprised when Ellie snorts, and there’s the bitterest trace of humor in it. “Tell me about it.”

         A second passes in which they just stare at each other. Sparks aren’t quite flying, but there’s something dark lurking in the air between them. Some amalgamation of blame, guilt, and hate, though how much of it belongs to each of them, she doesn’t know.

         Lev is the one who breaks the silence. His expression is guarded, but she can see a flicker of worry in the way his eyes dart around before focusing on Ellie. “That woman you were with. The pregnant one. Did she…?”

         The end to his sentence hangs heavy.

         Ellie, though, looks a bit surprised. She stares at him, mouth agape ever so slightly, before starting as if hit with a static shock. “Uh… y-yeah, she’s, uh… she’s fine. Right arm is a little weak, and her shoulder stiffens up when there’s a storm, but… yeah. Yeah, she’s fine. We even got back to our settlement before she gave birth, so they’re, uh… both fine.”

         The wave of relief that floods over her shocks her with its strength. It seems Lev feels it too, especially going by how he sighs and the grip he has on her bedsheets relaxes.

         Almost immediately after, memory of her earlier nightmare follows in its wake.

         Taking a shaky breath, she pushes it down, resolving to think on it later. Or never at all. Whichever comes first.

         “What did your council say, when you told them?” she asks, trying to move the conversation on.

         “A lot of shit,” says Ellie flippantly, rolling her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I told them it wouldn’t cause problems.”

         She scoffs. “Do you really believe that?”

         “I have to,” replies Ellie with complete seriousness, and the look she gives her is steely. “I’m not going to ruin my life because of you again. But just to make sure… I figure we should maybe come up with a fucking game plan.”

         Another glance with Lev, and it’s him who gives her the go ahead this time. So, with a sigh, she leans back and gestures towards her. “Fine. Hit us.”

         “If you end up staying here, we stay the hell out of each others’ ways,” she replies simply. “If we have to be near each other, then we pretend the other doesn’t exist. If we have to work together, then we keep our mouths shut and our hands to ourselves as much as we possibly fucking can. You two don’t associate with me; I don’t associate with you. We may as well not exist to each other, and we leave it at that.”

         A pause, and she holds out her hands. “Sound good?”

         It’s not so much a plan as a set of guidelines, but…

         “Fuck it,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Sounds great to me. Lev?”

         He looks a bit more unsure, glancing between the two of them with pursed lips. He almost certainly knows this won’t be as simple as the two of them are making it out to be. But at this point, he probably also knows that they’re not going to get any deeper into this shit right now than they need to.

         So with a shrug, he says, “Okay.”

         Ellie hums, nodding to herself. Then, she raises a finger. “This goes for all your people too, by the way. I assume they’re Fireflies, but if they have problems with me because of Salt Lake or Seattle, they need to keep it to their goddamn selves.”

         When she opens her mouth to reply, maybe a bit heatedly, Ellie silences her with a glare. “Abby, I am fucking serious. Even if the council approves you guys to stay here, you’ll be on three month probation. If any one of your people causes a big enough problem, they’ll be fucking gone. Even after your probation is up, if one of them tries to pull the sort of shit we pulled all those years ago? Fucking. Gone. Exiled. Maybe even hung, if the council decides they can’t be trusted to roam free.”

         The heat goes from her immediately.

         Fuck. She doesn’t know how these people qualify a ‘big enough problem’ but she doesn’t want to find out either.

         “I’ll talk to them,” she says after a moment, mouth dry. “I’ll make sure they understand.”

         “Good.” Ellie nods, relaxing slightly.

         Awkward silence reigns yet again, and yet again Lev breaks it, this time his face slightly pale. “Ellie… do you guys really hang people here?”

         The look she gives him is almost soft. “Not usually. We try our best not to, but… when they started this whole thing, they didn’t do it at all. Then one day, one of the security personnel murdered a woman. They found him guilty, and he was exiled.”

         Both her voice and her gaze drops. “A couple months later, he came back with some other people. Goddamn raiders. Used his knowledge of the FOB’s to blow right through one. Killed about seventeen people, took five as hostages, and ransomed them for supplies. Security eventually hunted the bastard and his bitch friends down, but…”

         A shrug and a sigh. “Well. Now we hang people.”

         She breathes a sigh out through her nose, hating the way Lev’s expression is twisted with horror.

         They didn’t hang or execute people on Catalina. They never had a reason to, though she supposes if they had caught the rat before everything went down, they would have.

         But she knows the Seraphites hung their own people, not just WLF members, and she knows how Lev felt about it. And not just because he was nearly on the receiving end.

         In truth, she feels the same kind of way. Her father had done his best to teach her about the sanctity of life. How FEDRA’s rampant use of capital punishment wasn’t just morally wrong from the standpoint that the government shouldn’t get to decide who lives and who dies, but because no justice system is perfect.

         Any justice system a society can design will be flawed. Innocent people will slip through the cracks sooner or later. The risk of someone innocent being executed outweighs any satisfaction a guilty person dying would bring. It has to, because otherwise punishing the guilty will become more important than protecting the innocent.

         But after all these years, she knows that to survive in this world, to keep a community safe, you need protocols. Guidelines. Training, orders, routines, schedules, code names, callsigns, communication frequencies…

         Yet on the flipside, knowledge of those things in the hands of someone who wants to hurt the community… it can be more dangerous than any amount of people or weapons. Moreover, you can’t keep people locked up for life. Every single resource is precious, and that means you can’t have dead weight siphoning them away.

         Exile is the obvious other punishment for the worst crimes, but if you exile the wrong person… it could wind up bad. Just like in Ellie’s story.

         She thinks FEDRA and the WLF went way too far, way too often. She thinks in a perfect world, no-one should ever be executed.

         She also knows that in this world, sometimes you have to do horrible things to protect good people.

         Lev seems to come to the same conclusion, given how he nods in understanding. Something bitter remains in his face, though, and she reaches over to hold his hand.

         To her surprise, Ellie puts a small smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it too much, okay kid? We don’t just hang people at the drop of a hat. We have investigations, lawyers, trials, and only the worst of the worst crimes are even eligible for hanging. Murder, rape, treason… the big stuff.”

         Both her and Lev tense at how casually she lists off rape, but if she notices, she says nothing. She doesn’t know whether to be mad or thankful for her obliviousness.

         The other stuff, though, is interesting. Investigations, lawyers, and trials…

         She has no idea how effective they are. She’d have to see them and judge them for herself. But given even the Fireflies didn’t have that sort of thing, even before Salt Lake, she’s content to say something is better than nothing.

         “Is that sort of stuff the other shit we need to talk about?” she asks, once again trying to move the conversation on. She doesn’t let go of Lev’s hand, given his eyes still look slightly far off. “How things work here?”

         Ellie seems thankful for the change in topic. “Part of it, yeah. Details are gonna have to wait until they say you can stay, but I’ll give you the rundown on the basics. Mostly so you can decide whether you want to stay in the first place.”

         A pause, and she waves a hand. “First off, though: what’s going to happen from here on out.

         “Tomorrow, each of you will be questioned,” she says, voice dropping into something that sounds by rote. “I can’t say what you’ll be questioned about, but it’s just some due diligence. If you pass, then you’ll get a few extra privileges like leaving your room or seeing the other members of your group. You’ll also be able to petition for residency, ie, ask to live here.

         “If you do, you’ll be questioned again and asked to provide some additional info about yourselves. Not anything really personal, but just enough to give the community a general idea of your capabilities. Things like your skills, any education you have, areas of expertise… that sort of thing.”

         Her carefully casual tone does little to mask the dark look in her eyes as she glances at her. No doubt she’s thinking of the answers to those questions herself.

         If she’s being honest, ignoring their personal history, her ‘record’ is pretty clean aside from the WLF. She never really took part in Firefly activities back before Salt Lake City, and the Catalina Fireflies did things a bit differently. Less bombings and guerilla attacks, more bolstering resistance and sabotage.

         Her time with the WLF, though… if these people know of that group, and what they did and were, it probably won’t help her case. And since Ellie is here, lying probably won’t be an option.

         A bridge she’ll have to cross when she gets to it.

         “That information, and some of the information from the first round of questioning, will then be spread around the community for people to read,” says Ellie, holding a hand up when both her and Lev’s eyes widen. “We try to run things democratically here. Everyone gets a say. It’s better if it’s an informed say.

         “We’ll give it a few days for people to get their thoughts together, and then we’ll hold a residency hearing for you headed by the council. It’ll be broadcast across the settlements, and anyone who wants to speak, can. That includes your people. The council will ask whatever questions they want to, and then they’ll convene for a bit to discuss it. Then they’ll come back and vote on whether you stay or go. They might vote differently for each member of your group too. If a majority votes you stay, you stay. If not, you go.”

         “Just like that, huh?” she asks sarcastically, even as fear grips her heart at the idea of being forced to leave.

         Ellie sighs, reaching up to rub her face. “No. Not fucking ‘just like that.’ Whether the council votes for you to go, or you decide you want to leave yourselves, you can wait until everyone in the group is healed up. You’ll be given supplies. Food, some medicine, clothing, some tents if you want them, some weapons and ammo… plus info. We’ll give you a map of where we know hordes and dangerous groups are. We’ll even let you know about a few groups who might be willing to take you in. We’re not in the business of sending people out there to just fucking… die.

         “You don’t need to wait if you don’t want to either,” she adds quickly, waving her hand at the window as if inviting them to leave through it. “You can all leave whenever you want. We don’t force people to stay here. If you do end up getting residency, though, and you decide to give it up to leave, you might have to go through all this shit again if you want to come back. Maybe. It’s kind of a case by case basis at that point.”

         A pause, and she looks between the two of them. “Any questions so far?”

         She herself doesn’t have any. She’s a bit preoccupied with the relief that floods her.

         She still wants them to stay there, all of them. She’ll do whatever it takes for that to happen.

         But knowing that even if they can’t stay, they won’t just be shoved out into the world unprepared… it takes some of the weight off her shoulders. The fact they might even point them to other communities nearly makes her cry. If nothing else, being able to leave here with more leads on possible homes would be a godsend.

         Lev’s mind is clearly in a different, but similar, place. There’s a shrewd yet worried look in his eyes as he says, “I assume you’ll drop us somewhere on the mainland if we leave. Will you take us back to that lighthouse FOB?”

         Ellie blanches at him, expression dropping into one of shock and even revulsion. “What?! No, fucking… god no. Hell no. Fuck no. The only way off the Old Mission Peninsula without a boat is through Traverse City, and I have no idea how the hell you managed to get nineteen people through there in the first place. We’ll drop you at one of our other FOB’s, depending on where you’re thinking of heading.”

         “What the fuck is even up with that place anyways?” She leans forward, glaring at her. “It was a decent sized town, but that amount of infected… I’ve never seen that many outside of huge cities like LA or Las Vegas. And it was so quiet too, we barely heard the horde before it was right on top of us.”

         She half shrugs in reply, pursing her lips. “Can’t really tell you exactly why there’s so many. Theory is a lot of them have been there since Outbreak Day. People in northern Michigan, like on the peninsula, went south. People in the south went north. West to east, east west. Just trying to get anywhere else because they thought it’d be better. In the end, they all piled up in Traverse and it turned into a bloodbath.”

         A gusty sigh and an errant shake of her head as she shuts her eyes. “I think the commander in there might have something to do with it, though. Like… some migrating horde wanders in, and instead of wandering back out, it picks them up. Keeps them in place like all the rest. But I can tell you that it’s why they’re all so quiet. We’re still trying to figure out exactly why it keeps them quiet, but it’s definitely the commander doing it.”

         She waits for her to expand and to explain, but the seconds drag by in silence and she doesn’t. When she glances at Lev, she sees he looks just as confused as she does.

         “’Commander’?” he asks quietly, and Ellie looks back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

         “Tall infected, taller than a bloater, but thin? Like a stretched out stalker or clicker? Kind of fucking… croons or sings?” She looks between the two of them, and they both just shrug. She snorts at that. “Goddamn, you really are lucky.”

         She glares at her. “Are you going to explain why, or just continue being cryptic?”

         It’s not entirely a fair remark. An infected that’s taller than a bloater sounds dangerous enough, but she has a feeling that’s not why it’s so dangerous.

         Ellie glares right back at her but quickly relents with a huff. “They’re smart. I know that doesn’t mean much, since all the goddamn infected are getting smarter, but they’re smart. Not quite people-smart, but smart. They can strategize better than even stalkers. Worse: they can control other infected. Organize them. Command them, hence the shitty name.”

         “Bullshit,” she says immediately, smirking at her mockingly. “You know how many times I’ve heard a story like that these past few years? Dozens. It always ends up being some weird looking bloater and a few particularly smart stalkers and clickers. The infected are getting smarter, but not that smart.”

         Ellie glares at her resolutely, though, a grim look on her face. “I’m not gonna try to justify myself to you, Anderson. Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. Just know that if you find a bunch of quiet infected and something fucking singing… stay silent, get away, and start running in the opposite direction the moment you can’t hear it anymore. And if it fucking sees you, then do your best to kill it. You’ll still die, but at least you’ll take it out with you.”

         Her hackles rise at the dismissive, almost lecturing tone of her voice. It doesn’t help that she keeps calling her ‘Anderson.’ She’s sure it’s meant to put distance between them, kill any familiarity, but all it does is remind her of her father. It reminds her of just how much history they share, and how bad that history is.

         It takes a moment of breathing to let the anger go.

         Fine. What does she care if this woman wants to spread ghost stories? It’s not her problem.

         “Whatever,” she scoffs, shaking her head and looking away. “Can we move on?”

         “Gladly,” Ellie sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and lowering her head. After a second, she opens her eyes again quickly, as if realizing something. “Oh, that is one thing I can tell you they’ll want to ask you about: we’ve put up signs around Traverse City warning people away. If you didn’t see any on your way in, that means we either have a blind spot or some bullshit happened to one of them. They’ll want to ask you where you came into the city so we can go take a look.”

         Great, they’re back to actually having a reasonable conversation. More than reasonable, actually, and a small stroke of luck. Maybe helping these people with their fucking signs can endear her group to them a bit.

         She almost smiles at the thought. “Sounds good to me.”

         Ellie does not seem to share her happiness. She just flicks her fingers slightly, as if dismissing the topic as finished.

         Then she adjusts her position on the chair and stretches, clearly settling in for a long speech. “Okay, so: rundown on the community.

         “There aren’t really any ration cards or any sort of real currency here,” she starts, once again falling into a by-rote tone. “Everyone gets the essentials, and enough of them to be comfortable: housing, clothing, food, hygiene products, and medical care. We do our best to make sure everyone has a good amount of furniture and some basic electronics like a TV and some sort of video player too. Dishwashers, washing machines, and dryers too, to cut down on water usage. Most homes have restricted water and power usage, but so long as you’re not being a fucking… idiot, it shouldn’t be a problem.

         “For entertainment, we have libraries in each settlement that have DVD’s, VHS tapes, books, and games you can check out. There’s also music and stuff you can listen to there, plus theatres that have movie nights and… other recreational shit. I’m not going to list it all off. There’s a lot.

         “Anything else you want, you have to put in a request for with the appropriate division. You want a specific book we don’t have? Ask the scavengers to keep an eye out. You want to see if you can get some video game console you found fixed up? Put in a request with engineering. If you end up going off-island, you can keep what you find so long as it’s not on the requisition list. You’re also free to trade, either with other community members or with any traders that come through. It’s up to you what you trade and what for.”

         A pause and a glance between her and Lev. A silent request for any questions.

         When they don’t come up with any, she huffs and continues on.

         “Everyone here who can work in some capacity is expected to except for kids under sixteen. Kids under sixteen go to school Monday through Friday, eight AM to three PM, no exceptions. But they can volunteer for a bit of work at some jobs in their spare time if they want. Or help out their parents at their jobs, if they can. Once they’re sixteen and graduate, they can work most jobs. Stuff like security, though, you have to be eighteen to apply.

         “As for jobs in general,” another quiet sigh, another readjustment, a twist of her neck as she rubs at it, “we try not to force anyone to work a specific job, and we try not to overwork people. Shifts are usually kept to around eight hours a day, four or five days a week. If every division is doing okay in terms of workers, which we are right now, you can choose what you want to do. But some operations, like farming, logging, or salvaging, wind down in certain seasons.

         “We lower the amount of jobs available there when they wind down and increase the others in ones that are winding up, so sometimes you’ll have to switch to another job for a few months. Plus, there’s essential jobs we need to keep a certain number of people working at, like farming or maintenance. If we run low on people working those jobs, someone’ll be randomly selected to transfer over to them.

         “Some jobs that’re physically or emotionally taxing, like quarrying or disabled care, get some privileges to incentivize them. Their requests are usually bumped up a bit, their work shifts can be shorter, they get more meal tickets for restaurants… that sort of thing. Nothing crazy, but enough to make them feel appreciated.

         “And finally, unless it is absolutely one hundred percent totally fucking necessary… we do not force anyone other than security personnel to go off-island. Lots of jobs are off-island only, like hunting or salvaging, but again: you can pretty much choose to take those jobs. If you want to spend your whole life here without ever setting a single pinky toe on the mainland again, you can.”

         Another pause for questions, and this time she has one.

         She has lots, really, most of them surrounding the idea that if someone wanted to, they would never have to set foot on the mainland again. She wants to know if there’s anyone here who has done that. If they’ve gone years, maybe even decades, without seeing infected or raiders.

         The idea feels like genuine insanity.

         But that’s something to try and make sense of later.

         Raising her hand slightly, as if she were a student in class (which it honestly feels like she is), she asks, “What did you mean by ‘meal tickets for restaurants’?”

         Ellie shrugs. “It’s what it sounds like. Everyone gets a meal ticket with a certain number of uses. You can spend them at what restaurants or… other fucking places we have here. We have a bar, a tavern, even a little café here in St. James… basically places you can go for a nice night out so you can feel goddamn normal for once.”

         Despite herself, she’s tempted to laugh at the joke and just barely stops herself. She blames it on the idea of going to a café being so patently ridiculous to her.

         Lev does not stop himself. He chuckles a bit, smiling at Ellie, who returns it with a quirk of her lips.

         “Some jobs you won’t be able to take for a while if you do stay here,” she continues after a second. “Like I said, you’ll be on three month probation. That means no off-island jobs. No security jobs. No communication jobs. No JID jobs, which is Justice and Integrity Division jobs. The people who handle crimes and anything else shady. But if you survive your probation, you’ll be free to apply for them.”

         “Probation,” she says immediately, jerking her chin at her. “Can you explain that a bit more?”

         “Probation is a test in the case of new arrivals,” replies Ellie simply. “You can also be put on probation as a punishment, but the exact rules vary around. In your case, we’ll keep a close eye on you, and if you break any of our rules or laws, you’ll be judged harsher for it. Small stuff means your probation will be extended at the very least. And major stuff, like I said but just to re-fucking-iterate… can mean you’re exiled. Small shit can stack up to that too; we won’t just extend your probation indefinitely. The specifics of our rules and laws’ll be explained to you if the council decides you get to stay, and once your probation is up, you’ll be expected to take a test on them. And pass.”

         She nods slowly. That’s a fair deal. If they can’t behave themselves under scrutiny, how the hell can they be trusted to behave normally? Moreover, knowing what’s expected of them in order to live here is more than reasonable.

         “Are there any other restrictions?” asks Lev.

         She clicks her tongue, turning her eyes to the ceiling as she thinks. “A couple. You not only can’t take off-island jobs, but you can’t go off-island either. You won’t be able to use any sort of personal or inter-island radio. And we keep a close eye on weapons anyways, but you won’t be allowed any aside from a knife while on probation.”

         “And what’s the weapon situation like normally?” She knows that’s something that varies community by community. With the Fireflies, people were allowed to carry weapons on a case by case basis. With the WLF, you only had access to them while on duty. In the QZ’s… FEDRA soldiers and FEDRA soldiers only.

         “Melee weapons like knives or bats are fine,” replies Ellie, an understanding look in her eye at the question. She probably knows better than most how it can feel to be disarmed when you’ve spent so long fighting to survive. “Everything else is restricted to ages thirteen and up, and you have to take safety classes and pass a test to get them.

         “We’re a bit more lax with crossbows and bows, but the only firearms you’re allowed to just own and carry around are semi-automatic pistols, revolvers, pump and break action shotguns, and bolt action rifles. You’re allowed only a certain amount of ammo, and if you’re not using the gun, it stays unloaded and locked up with its ammo. You can still technically own other weapons, but everything else is restricted to active duty security personnel and kept in the armories.”

         Somewhere between the WLF and the Fireflies then. A bit strict, at least compared to the freedom of the outside world, but fair. More than fair.

         Lev finally lets go of her hand, leaning forward to peer at Ellie a bit closer. “Is that where our weapons are? Your armories?”

         “The one here in St. James, yeah,” she confirms with a nod. “If you stay, pass probation, and then pass the safety test, you can have them back. Or just keep them there. If you want, you can even sign them up to be used by security.”

         Well now there’s a good idea. It lets people technically keep their weapons, but it also means they won’t just sit around gathering dust when they could be used.

         Of course if they do stay here, she knows she’ll probably join up with their security, so it’s all the same to her.

         Before she realizes it, Lev has a worried look on his face and is opening his mouth.

         “Do you have any jobs where you’re forced to be a wife or husband? Or anything like that?”

         She hides a wince, even as Ellie’s face becomes an almost exaggerated pantomime of confusion and shock. Her mouth drops open, her brows furrow, and she squints at him as if he just spoke a foreign language.

         Knowing what she knows, she understands the question. And while she’s told him that fucking… arranged marriages went out of style with normal people decades and decades before the Outbreak, the truth is that there’s lots of fucked up people out there. Fucked up people who create fucked up communities that do fucked up things.

         Examples being: FEDRA, the WLF, the Seraphites (the fucked up society that formed after Sera’s death, not the one before, as he remains adamant about), the fucking Rattlers, that weird goddamn cult they saw back in Missouri.

         Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…

         Ellie, though, clearly thinks he’s having some sort of manic episode. “No…? What the fuck kind of question even is that? Why would we… why would we ever do that?”

         Lev’s cheeks immediately flush and he looks away, clenching his fists in his hospital gown.

         Reaching over to pat him on the shoulder, she gives the other woman a sharp look. With it, she tries to silently convey that he’s asking for a reason. A good reason.

         She seems to get the message given how she sighs and clenches her own hands, as if trying to physically hold onto her patience. “Okay, sorry… no. To answer your question, no. No, we do not have anything like that. The closest would be volunteering to adopt one of the orphans, but, you know… that’s volunteering. We don’t even really do official marriages here. You can marry whoever the fuck you want, however you want, as long as you’re eighteen. The only thing the community really cares about is knowing your family unit and where you live, so we know the amount of supplies to send and where. Who to contact in case of an emergency. Where your shit goes if you die. That sort of thing.”

         Immediately Lev breathes a very quiet, very small sigh of relief.

         Oddly enough, Ellie’s eyes narrow at that, as if she’s just been given the piece of a puzzle. She glances at her over the top of Lev’s head, and all she can do is shake her own minutely.

         Lev’s past is his business and his business alone. Certainly not fucking Ellie Miller’s.

         She seems to get the message, rolling her eyes slightly.

         “Pretty sure that’s everything,” she says in a huff, already making as if to stand up. “Unless you guys have any more questions… I’d love to get home.”

         She breathes her own sigh of relief at that. Not only does she not have any questions, she’d love for this woman to fucking leave. There’s about a million things she needs to process, a million things to think about, and most importantly… a game plan to come up with. They all need to stay here, so she needs to try and figure out the best way to convince this community to let them.

         “What about the immunity?”

         Her heart nearly stops, and her eyes snap over to Lev’s to glare at him.

         He just gives her an apologetic shrug.

         It does little to calm her.

         Something in her that sounds suspiciously like Mel tells her it’s the only logical thing to do. They came all the way here in search of this fabled immunity. It would be stupid to let what is assumedly its source, or part of its source, go without at least asking.

         The rest of her really does not want to fucking talk about this, and doubly so not with Ellie goddamn fucking Miller.

         Said woman seems to notice her sudden mood shift from the wary glance she shoots her, but it’s apparently not enough to ward her off. She settles into her chair again, looking back to Lev. “Oh… right. Well, one of the nurses will probably come by tomorrow to give it to you. They may wait a bit with some of your friends. Probably…”

         A pause as she squeezes her eyes shut, thinking. “Maria Buckett, Georgie Buckett, and… May Henderson. The first two because they’re sick, and May because they already have her fasting to prep for surgery tomorrow. We try not to spread immunity to people in those sorts of conditions. We’re ninety-nine-percent sure it would be safe, but… the docs’d rather not risk it if they don’t have to.”

         A part of her feels some sort of way at the update on May’s condition.

         Then Lev shoots her another apologetic look, one with ‘I’m doing this for your own good’ baked in, and opens his mouth again.

         “How will it be done?” he asks, and a thread of her patience snaps.

         “Yeah,” she says, her voice sounding fragile even to her own ears. “Is it a shot, or a pill, or… something else?”

         It’s a desperate last cry for her sanity. It’s fueled by the memories of the countless sleepless nights her father spent, for years upon years, trying to synthesize a vaccine. A cure. Any sort of deterrent at all against cordyceps.

         “No?” says Ellie very, very slowly, looking at her strangely. “One of the nurses will probably just do a mouth swab.”

         Fuck.

         Fuck, fuck, fuck-

         She feels herself spiraling, and she is wholly unable to stop it. “A-As in, like… a topical ointment? In the mouth?”

         The strange look intensifies, and she sees her tense up, moving to sit up straighter. “No…? No, just… they’ll swab their mouth, and then swab yours. Done. Though, you, uh… probably don’t need it since I… you know. Bit you. In Seattle.”

         Her feet are swung over the side of her bed, the throbbing in her ankle a footnote in her mind, before she realizes it.

         “Bullshit,” she hisses out, glaring at her, feeling rage roar in her chest at her fucking audacity. “It can’t be that simple.”

         It can’t be. She refuses to believe it.

         The rumors about it had been bad enough on their own. They had infuriated her, killed her, filled her with shame and rage and guilt and despair and hate and grief. And knowing Ellie Miller is involved, maybe even at the heart of it… it’s too much.

         Not to mention the fact that if she’s telling the truth, if she’s right…

         She has been immune for thirteen years.

         “It is.” Ellie’s voice is like a sledgehammer against her head and heart, a blunt strike that leaves her reeling. “As far as we can tell, I was infected with a unique strand of cordyceps, and-”

         “You mean as far as we could tell!” she exclaims, jabbing a finger into her own chest.

         She doesn’t need to ask who she means, instead just glaring at her silently. After a second, she slowly nods. “Yeah. Sure. I went back to Salt Lake City a few years after what happened. Read a lot of the notes your doctors made. It didn’t make much sense at the time, but shit happened, and I found out my strain behaves just like the normal strain. Minus the fucking… turning you into a zombie part.”

         “Oh, good!” She barks out a short, sharp laugh that hurts. “I’m so glad we could help! Maybe if your dad didn’t fucking kill us, we would have found out a lot sooner!”

         She knows she’s made a mistake with how wide Ellie’s eyes blow open. Her lips part of their own accord, her teeth flashing almost silver in the light as she bares them, her fists tightening in her jacket so hard they turn white.

         For a moment, she thinks she’s going to hit her.

         Then she lets out a slow, shuddering breath, relaxing bit by bit.

         She almost does the same, a bit of relief piercing the veil of her anger at the fact she just narrowly avoided a fight.

         Then Ellie scoffs, rolls her eyes, and turns away. “Yeah, well… maybe if your dumbass doctors weren’t chomping at the bit to murder a little girl, they’d still be alive.”

         Blood roars in her ears, and she swings for her with one of her crutches.

         “ABBY!”

         Lev’s yell registers in her head before she even realizes what happened.

         It takes a second for everything else to filter in.

         She’s on her hands and knees… elbows, actually, she thinks. Couldn’t catch herself with her hands.

         She’s staring at orange terracotta flooring.

         The pain hits her. A throbbing in the side of her head, deep in her teeth and jaw. Then a burning line along her cheek, just as she realizes there’s blood dripping from her onto the floor.

         Another second passes, maybe more, as she sways there. Squinting at the growing puddle of blood.

         Then everything comes rushing in, and she realizes what happened.

         She hit her.

         Abby hit her with her fucking crutch.

         That bitch… hit her.

         Red floods her vision, and on instinct, she lashes out with her foot backwards. A victorious growl escapes her when it earns her a howl from Abby, the bottom of her boot digging into her bad ankle.

         Scrambling away and to her feet, she raises her fists just in time for the other woman to hit her, charging her. Her face is red and twisted with rage, so much rage she barely even limps on her ankle as she runs.

         The bitch’s grabs the front of her jacket, hands snaking their way around her guard.

         Before Abby can do anything else, though, she falls.

         She grabs her hands, holds them in place, and pulls while falling backwards.

         Her weight and force carry the other woman over her, and her back hits the floor hard, but she rolls into it, bringing Abby down to slam into the floor shoulders first. Momentum lifts her up and over, and she ends up straddling her chest.

         Immediately, she launches a fist into her face, glad when it connects clean with her left eye.

         Half blind, Abby lashes out with her right fist, but she twists away, bringing her left arm up and around to lock it in place against her side. At the same time, she tries to hop forward and bring her knee onto her left arm to pin it as well.

         Abby jerks it out of the way just in time, though, and with a roar grabs her again, using her split second of being off balance to throw her off and to the side.

         She pulls her with her, still keeping a grip on her right arm, but that just means they land in a heap. All it takes is a single moment where she’s on top for Abby to leverage her right arm free and wrestle her into place.

         When she takes hold of her left arm, both of her own wrapping around it, she knows exactly what the fuck she’s trying to do.

         Not this time you stupid cunt, she thinks, and twists with a scream until she’s right side up and able to grab her with her free hand. In an instant she hauls herself up and yanks her left arm down, freeing it and launching her head into Abby’s nose at the same time.

         She reels backwards, raising a hand reflexively as blood spurts like a fountain from her face, and she follows her.

         A clumsy punch connects with her jaw but she pushes herself through it, scrambling over her until she’s on top.

         She launches a punch of her own, but it hits nothing but meaty fucking forearm as Abby raises her arms to block.

         With a growl, she reaches down to try and pry them away from her face. Her nails dig into her skin, carving bright red lines.

         Then something hits her like a cannonball from the side, and she’s sent sprawling across the floor.

         It takes only a second or two of wrestling limbs before she’s on top, knees pinning Lev’s arms to the ground, and one fist reeled back.

         For a single moment, she almost hits him. Part of it is her training, drilled into her bones over countless hours. Cumulative months probably.

         If someone tackles her, get on top and start hitting.

         The other part is anger, pure and simple, because this fucking kid is interfering again.

         Something stops her, though, just long enough to get a look at his face. It’s pale, drawn, and he’s staring up at her with something like shock in his eyes along with terror, guilt, resignation…

         Her arm is lowering even before Abby screams, “NO!”

         She stares down at him for a second, heaving air in and out of her lungs, before she sniffs.

         Feeling like the world’s dumbest fucking fool, she climbs off of him and stands. She almost sways in place, her head spinning. And not just because she was hit in the head really, really hard.

         At the same time, there’s a click and the door swings open, the two SP’s that had been guarding the room before filing in, rifles raised.

         Guess they’re back from their break.

         They look around, doing a quick sweep of the room, mouths falling open at the scene.

         Abby, face covered in blood and a couple welts, still half on the ground. On the other side of the room, Lev is still sprawled where she left him, pretty much untouched. Both of them with shocked looks on their face that are slowly morphing into fear.

         Then her, blood pissing from her cheek because of course it is, and no doubt a growing welt on her jaw. Clumsy hits or not, Abby’s gained most of the muscle she had in Seattle back. The force she can put into those fists is no fucking joke.

         She can see the moment the SP’s come to their own conclusions, a mix of familiarity, respect, and protocol leading them there. They each swing their rifles down and stalk forward, heading for each of the room’s occupants.

         “You guys fucked up!” the one on the right with a scowl, reaching down to haul Abby up by the scruff of her hospital gown. “Cap, radio command these idiots’ new threat level. I’m thinking medium at least, maybe even-”

         “Stand down.”

         Both of the SP’s freeze and look over to her, clear confusion on their faces. It’s mirrored on Abby and Lev’s.

         “What?” says the other SP, a woman who has Lev by the arms. She thinks her name is… Clark. Clarkson. Last name, at least.

         “Stand down,” she repeats dully, shutting her eyes as the adrenaline starts to wear off. Her whole head is starting to throb. “I started it. This is my fault. So let them go. Their threat level stays minimal.”

         Her mind is a mess that she herself can barely parse. Her words come out stilted and clumsy, sentences short and halting.

         She really hopes she doesn’t have a fucking concussion.

         Neither of the SP’s move as she stumbles over to retrieve her pack, slid halfway across the room in the fight. They just stare at her, glancing at Abby and Lev as if maybe they would know what’s going through her head.

         “Uh…” says the guy SP, something approaching a resolute frown twisting at his lips. “Captain Miller, I really think we should-”

         “Are you going to make me repeat myself?” she asks quietly, turning ever so slightly to face him head on. “You have your orders, SP. Stand. Down. There’s no problem here.”

         Another glance, this time between the two of them, before they reluctantly let go of Abby and Lev. They take several slow steps away, as if they expect them to suddenly lunge and attack.

         She jerks her chin at the door. With another shared glance, they both head towards it.

         “I’ll send a nurse in to take a look at the two of you,” she says to Abby and Lev quietly, already turning her back on them.

         It’s all she can manage to say at the moment. Her mind just defaulting to appropriate procedure and professionalism.

         She’s out the door before either of them can reply, and she locks it behind her.

         “Their threat level stays minimal,” she tells the SP’s again, making it clear in her tone that this isn’t up for discussion. “I’ll say it one more time: I started it. I’ll talk to fucking Church about it tomorrow morning, but if anyone, and I mean anyone, tries to change any of their threat levels… tell them no, and to come take it up with me.”

         A pause, and she glares at them both through narrowed eyes. “Is that clear?”

         “Crystal, ma’am,” replies Maybe-Clarkson, deliberately not looking at her. Her partner does the same.

         With a sigh, she waves a hand at them as she walks away. “At ease.”

         It doesn’t take long to flag down one of the nurses and explain the situation. She started a fight, Abigail Anderson and Lev Anderson both need medical attention, go give it to them now.

         Of course, one of the nurses immediately forces her to sit down herself so he can poke and prod at her. She lets him, accepting his ministrations with gloomy silence.

         She feels hollowed out inside.

         She shouldn’t have fucking even tried to explain. That was her first fucking mistake. She could see that Abby was fucking spiraling, so she should have just… left it the fuck alone. Told her she could ask one of the nurses if she was really that curious.

         A part of her was expecting it. A few of her friends had seemed similarly angry when the topic of immunity came up. Alice Allard and her brother, and Howard and Petunia Barnes. Alice in particular was clearly trying to murder her with her eyes the whole time she was debriefing her family.

         No doubt they’re old guard Firefly like Abby. Unlike her, though, they apparently didn’t care enough about revenge to come after Joel. Or maybe they were just too slow.

         Who knows. Doesn’t matter. She knew, anticipated, that Abby might have a bad reaction to the immunity thing. She should have just left as soon as it looked like she was getting to worked up.

         And for god’s sake, she definitely shouldn’t have fucking…

         God.

         It takes all of her effort not to cry, and not just because the nurse is hitting her split cheek with a styptic pencil.

         It wasn’t fucking fair. What she said, it wasn’t fucking fair. She knew it was as soon as she thought of it, as she was saying it, and she still went ahead with it anyway.

         She’d said it purely to get a rise out of her, to hurt her, because her mentioning what Joel did… it was like twisting a knife in her heart. She wasn’t prepared for it, but that’s no excuse.

         It doesn’t matter if the Fireflies doctors had waited one hour, one day, one month, or a hundred goddamn fucking years. Joel would have never, never, let them take her from him. The same way she would never let someone take Rachel from her, for any reason.

         The how’s, the why’s, the who’s… it never mattered to him. It was fucking shitty to throw it in Abby’s face like that, like it was her people’s own fault Joel killed them.

         And maybe, in a way, it was. Maybe if they actually had waited a bit, done more testing, they would have found out they never needed to kill her to make a cure. But she has no idea what their goddamn situation was. What they were thinking.

         Maybe FEDRA was onto them. Maybe raiders were closing in. Maybe the Fireflies were on the brink of collapse.

         A million and one possible reasons for why they were seemingly rushing things.

         Fuck, that was so shitty of her.

         Sitting there, stewing in her guilt and shame while getting her wounds patched up, makes her feel like a little kid. It makes her feel like she’s back in FEDRA’s academy. Just a stupid little girl who can’t keep her head on straight and her mouth shut for her life.

         Hell, it… it makes her feel like she’s back in fucking Seattle. Back to that night at the farm, with Dina, acting like a complete fucking idiot and talking like a complete jackass.

         Like she’s goddamn slipping away, and she has no idea how to slow down. Spiraling away, losing control, reacting and lashing out at the slightest…

         More than anything, she shouldn’t have let the fight even start. As soon as Abby hit her, she should have just stood up and left the room. That would have been the smart thing to do, and not just because picking a fist fight with Abby Anderson is a stupid fucking idea.

         She’s not a fucking kid. She’s an adult. Adults are in control of themselves, adults don’t get into fights, adults remember they have a child at home who needs them alive and whole. Not some pummeled fucking mess that nearly got her arm broken.

         She barely registers what the nurse says when he’s done.

         Nothing broken, no concussion, no stitches needed, you’re good to go.

         Muttering her thanks, she stands and immediately heads for the elevators.

         She says nothing to anybody, does not look at anybody, and does not slow down as she all but runs out of the hospital.

         Fuck.

         Fuck, she needs to fucking calm down.

         The frigid air helps. It hurts her teeth and lungs as she gulps it down, and the pain grounds her.

         Her fingers, uncovered, pluck at invisible strings as she storms away from the hospital. She plays a silent arpeggio in her head, her fingers plucking chords, starting low and climbing, climbing, climbing, before dropping, dropping, dropping…

         She’d told the council there would be no problems. She told them there would be no problems, and she told herself.

         She told herself over and over and over again: no problems. There was not going to be any problems, because there can’t be.

         There can’t be problems, because Rachel needs her. She needs her whole and healthy and of sound fucking mind, not devolving into a goddamn child throwing around playground insults and punches.

         Up, up, up, down, down, down, up, up, up, down, down, down… in, out, in, out…

         She’s back home before she knows it, but she doesn’t go in.

         She marches up and down the road in front of their fence, plucking cords and taking slow, heaving breaths until her hands stop shaking and her skin stops hurting. Until the racing thoughts in her head and the cloying memories are drowned out by guitar chords dancing through her mind.

         Up, down, in, out.

         What can she do?

         For now, nothing. Adela has definitely already gone home and is asleep. If she tried to wake her up to talk about this now, it would just make her look like a guilty child. It would piss her off too, and she needs her calm. They both need to be calm.

         Realistically, it isn’t as bad as it could be.

         Yes, it is pretty fucking bad. Ordinarily, a new arrival starting a fight before they even get questioned would mean a jump of two or three threat levels at least. Maybe even an automatic denial to stay.

         But… they didn’t start the fight. She did by running her stupid mouth. And more importantly, they ended the fight themselves. By the time the SP’s got in there, there was no need to break it up. That showcases at least some self control.

         Plus, Abby is probably the worst off, especially if she broke her nose. That’ll help too, along with the fact she’s barely even hurt herself.

         That’ll count for something. She knows it will. She can talk Adela down, and from there… the rest of the council should fall in line too. Maybe not all of them, but enough of them so that this shouldn’t really change things.

         And then…

         Bile, a quivering breath, then guitar to silence the reactionary anger.

         An apology. She needs to apologize to both Abby and Lev. Make it clear in no uncertain terms she fucked up.

         It doesn’t matter how just the thought of apologizing to Abby fucking Anderson makes her feel. Rachel comes first, and Rachel needs her agreement with them to stand. She can’t let this little incident ruin their plan to ignore the hell out of each other.

         She needs to nip this in the bud before it can blossom into even more resentment. Newer, fresher resentment.

         Not now. Tomorrow. Right after she gets done talking with Adela.

         Up… down… in… out…

         That’s all she can do, and it all has to wait until tomorrow.

         The thoughts in her mind finally quiet, and she lets out a shuddering gasp as the tension goes out of her.

         Her body still buzzes ever so slightly with nervous energy, though. A faint electrical quiver that keeps her breath and hands shaking just a touch.

         So with another deep breath, she keeps pacing. She carves a furrow through the snow, all the way to the gravel, until her breath evens out and her hands still. Or at least stop shaking with remnants of fight or flight. Her whole body is shaking from the cold at that point, and her fingers have turned bright red.

         It’s only once she’s sure she’s completely calm that she hops their fence with a groan, jogging up to their door.

         A sigh of relief escapes her as she steps inside and shuts it behind her, both the warmth of the house and the relief of being home enveloping her. She lets out another as she finally takes her boots off, dropping them next to Rachel’s.

         In their living room, the glow of an almost-dead fire in the hearth and the glimmering lights of their Christmas tree greet her. With a huffed laugh, she strides over to the tree and taps the button on the cord with her foot, shutting it off. She really needs to find one of the ones with a timer.

         Rachel’s door is cracked as always, and she creeps past it into her own bedroom, shucking her pack off onto the bed.

         She very nearly just follows it. She’s exhausted, and she hurts, so she honestly just wants to go to fucking sleep.

         But she’s also starving, and more than anything else… she wants to see her daughter.

         As soon as she gently nudges the door open and steps into Rachel’s bedroom, Mutt lifts his head from where he’s curled at the foot of her bed. Once he sees it’s just her, though, he drops back down with something that sounds suspiciously close to a huff.

         Smiling, she walks over and bends down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. His irritation at being woken up immediately disappears, and he leans into her hand, tail beginning to beat a happy rhythm against his quilt.

         She stops before he can get too excited. Already Rachel is writhing slightly at the thumping near her feet.

         As always, she’s nearly lost in the mounds of blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows. Even as she walks over and kneels down right near the head of the bed, all she can see of her is a mess of mousy brown hair.

         Stifling a laugh, she reaches out, brushing it out of her face lock by lock. Slowly her face is uncovered, and each time her icy fingers brush her face, it scrunches. It takes harder and harder not to laugh with each little twist of her nose.

         Eventually, though, her face is visible. With a quiet sigh, she slowly leans forward, folding her arms on the edge of the bed and leaning her head on them.

         And then she just… stays there. Watching her baby girl’s face.

         Something in her guts twists and turns ice cold at the sight. She looks so peaceful, and the moonlight turns her already pale skin corpse-like. It’s hard for it not to bring her worst fears to the forefront of her mind, the nightmares that keep her up at night.

         Then she’ll make a noise, or shift, and they’ll be banished.

         She’s okay.

         Rachel’s okay.

         They’re both okay.

         She fucked up, sure. But the only thing that matters, Rachel being safe and happy… that’s not ruined. Threatened, maybe, but only slightly.

         She can fix this. She knows she can. She has to.

         Not only just for them and their life here.

         Nadia and Aisha. A mother with a gash in her side and her functionally-newborn baby. Both of them pretty much defenseless.

         Howard, Petunia, and Cricket. Grandparents and their grandson, with about three broken bones between them.

         Alice, Jacques, Latonya, and Claudette. Aunt, father, mother, and daughter. Two deep lacerations.

         Davey, Maria, and Georgie. Parents and their child, two of them nearly dead from the flu and pneumonia.

         Mark and May. Husband and wife, and who she knows have lost something irreplaceable by the look in their eyes. Three eyes, because May’s left is ruined and will be gone by tomorrow afternoon.

         Marshall, Gracie, and Abel. The three odd ones out in that they have no family. Gracie and Abel who are pretty much still just kids, the second with a bullet hole in him to add salt in the wound.

         Abby and Lev. One of them with her ankle nearly broken, and the other… an escapee of a cult turned Firefly, and too young to have to be out there surviving in this world.

         All of them with haunted looks in their eyes, ghosts in their faces, that no amount of rage or relief can conceal.

         The sight of which, every time, conjures memories of Rachel’s own face.

         Her face, those two weeks they pushed hard to Jackson after what happened.

         Her face, the month they stayed there.

         Her face, the two months back to Islaborne.

         Her face, the entire fucking year after.

         Her face in the dark, quiet moments when she slips back to that fucking street… when crowds swarm around her, or the summer sun hits just a bit too much of her skin, or someone grabs her the wrong way…

         Her face the nights she wakes up screaming, and she has to hold her for her to go back to sleep.

         And every time, every single goddamn time, an overwhelming, all-encompassing, near-transcendental rage fills her. Her hands ache with the phantom pain of a broken thumb and ripped open wrists. Her mouth burns with the ghost sensation of blood on her tongue and skin between her teeth. 

         In this moment, the anger burns so incandescent it becomes transient , the sheer memory of it spilling out of her onto Abby and her people until all she wants to do is stick her knife in the throat of whoever hurt them and saw their jugular in two.

         It’s probably (definitely) unhealthy to project onto them like that, but she accepted a long time ago that anger is just a part of who she is. She can’t cut it out of herself no more than Joel could cut out being a father, or she can cut out being a mother.

         Some things are just… a part of you. Some you’re born with. Some you’re given. Some you take.

         Anger is all three for her, a raging inferno burning away in the depths of her person. A bonfire lit when she was born which has only been stacked higher, higher, and higher ever since.

         She’ll never be able to snuff it out, so she just has to… funnel it. Focus it.

         And right now, she has to focus it on the fact that it’s wrong to send a group of people that vulnerable back out there. Into the fucked up world she fights tooth and nail to keep from the shores of these islands.

         It doesn’t matter if one of them is Abby. Maybe it’s even good. A test to see if she really can put everything that happened behind her, if she finally fulfilled her promise to be better.

         A test she’s maybe not doing so hot at right now, but she honestly expected something like this. She’s sure Abby did too. There’s no way they were ever going to meet again without it eventually boiling over.

         So, maybe, hopefully… this was just them getting it out of their systems.

         Yeah. Yeah, she likes that. She vented her anger, and now she can focus it in the right places. The helpful places. The places that make Rachel proud of her.

         ‘Hey baby girl, I beat the shit out of one of the new arrivals who had a busted ankle, but that was just to get it out of my system!’

         She nearly snorts, stifling it in her sleeve.

         Maybe not.

         But what’s done is done. All she can do now is just… move on.

         She knows it’s easy for her to say that now because she’s looking at Rachel. It’s easy to be good and kind and clear-headed when she’s with her. She’s the stone pillar that grounds her and holds her up. In the morning, when she has to leave without her by her side, it’ll get harder.

         But she’s done harder things for her. And if she’s being honest… acting like a fucking adult is one of the more common ones.

         It’s with that thought that she realizes what else she needs to do.

         She needs to tell her what she did. In Seattle, and then Santa Barbara. Avery and Jaime too.

         If Abby told her group what she did, then she can’t just stick her head in the sand. At one point, it’ll get out. It’ll probably hurt a lot, and no-one will be able to look at her the same way again, but she can handle it.

         But Avery and Jaime? Rachel?

         They need to hear it from her.

         Not tonight, though. Probably not tomorrow. But soon, very soon.

         With a near-silent sigh, she rises to her feet again before bending over. Her lips brush Rachel’s temple, and she squirms slightly in her sleep even as her expression relaxes.

         “I love you, baby girl,” she whispers under her breath before pressing yet another kiss to her forehead.

         Then, silent as a mouse, she creeps out of the room.

         She leaves the door cracked behind her, just how she knows she likes.

Chapter Text

         Rachel manages to remain dead to the world while she gets up, starts a fire in the hearth, and mixes up the pancake batter. It’s only once she’s actually started cooking that she hears her door creak open.

         Mutt appears first, bounding down the hall and into the kitchen, sliding to a stop against the back door. He hits it with a comical whump like every morning, and she chuckles as she walks over to let him out.

         Her daughter drags herself in a full five seconds later, collapsing into one of the chairs at the dining table. She then pillows her head in her arms with a groaning yawn.

         “Morning, baby girl,” she says with a smirk.

         “Morning, mom,” she replies, voice muffled by her pajamas. After a moment, she turns her head to the side, sighing as she breathes in. “Mmmmm. Smells good.”

         “Thanks.” She flips the pancakes on the griddle before stepping over to the pantry, opening it up. “We still have a bit of maple syrup, some honey, and some of that strawberry compote I made last weekend. Which do you want?”

         Another quiet sigh, and she glances over to see her eyes are still closed. Probably halfway to falling back asleep. “Is there enough of the compote to share?”

         She laughs, already pulling it out. “Yep.”

         “Let’s just do that then.” Her decisive tone is utterly undercut by how the last word transitions into another yawn. “I’m feeling generous today.”

         She raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to open her eyes and see, but gives it up after a few seconds. “Hm. Thank you, baby.”

         “You’re welcome.”

         A snort escapes her, and she shakes her head as she returns to the pancakes. This girl…

         Comfortable silence fills the kitchen over the sound of pancake batter sizzling.

         Then Rachel gets bored and stands from her chair, sauntering over to the stereo.

         “Something calm, please,” she calls out, snickering when she sets down the first CD she chose with a disgusted noise. “I want a quiet morning.”

         She can hear her say “Boring…” under her breath but lets it slide.

         It takes considerably longer for her to find another CD compared to the first one, but she gets it eventually. Then as soon as she plops it in, she bends over the stereo, buttons clicking as she seeks out a particular song since she is physically fucking incapable of just letting an album play.

         When finally she steps away, she gets a few seconds of echoey percussion before the electric guitars kick in.

         She listens for a moment, pausing in the act of cracking eggs.

         “Awake he said sleep no more,

         “You’re dreaming, I’m gonna show you the door,

         “Come on and let me show the way.”

         She shrugs and starts tapping her toe to the beat. “Good enough.”

         Not what she would call ‘calm’ exactly. It definitely isn’t what she had in mind. But this is probably the calmest fucking song Rachel listens to, so she’ll take what she can get.

         It helps that it’s a damn good song.

         Mutt starts pawing at the door as the lyrics trail off into instrumentals, and when she opens it, she has to stick out a foot to stop him from bounding in.

         “Shake,” she says firmly, staring him down.

         He just stares back up at her for a moment, eyes blank like marbles, before dutifully shaking snow and beads of water from his fur.

         Laughing, she steps aside and lets him in. “Good boy.”

         Sparing only a second to lick her knee, he rushes Rachel who is busy swaying in place near the stereo. He nearly bowls her over and she lets out a squawk, holding onto the banister for dear life.

         “Mutt!” she growls, glaring at him for all of one second before dropping and squishing his face. She sneers as she ruffles his fur. “Ugh, you’re all wet. You know you can go to the bathroom without playing in the snow, yeah?”

         “Did you just ask him if he knew something?” She smirks at the two of them from her place by the stove.

         Rachel laughs, kissing him on the forehead before standing. “Sorry, you’re right, stupid question.”

         She hops over to the fridge to start preparing his breakfast without being asked, and she spares a moment to bump her hip with a smile. “Thanks, baby girl.”

         “’course, mom,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as a pleased flush touches her ears.

         Then she finally turns her left side to her, and she nearly drops the container of dog chow with a gasp.

         “Oh my god, mom!” she exclaims, quickly setting aside the container to rush over to her. “What the fuck happened?!”

         Rachel hisses as she gently turns her face her way, examining the mottled red spread across the whole left side. There’s already a few touches of purple at the edges, and she’s sure by tonight she’ll look a real mess.

         Then she taps the cut on her cheek, held closed by a couple butterfly bandages, and she bats her clumsy little mitts away with a wince. “Careful!”

         “Sorry, sorry!” she exclaims in reply, backing up a bit. She continues to frown worriedly at her, though, eyes tracing the developing bruises. “Seriously, though, what happened? You look like a bloater took a swing at you.”

         She snorts at the thought. Honestly, she would pay money to see a boxing match between Abby and a bloater. And not because she’d think Abby would lose.

         “Just… a scuffle,” she replies idly, doing her best to make it sound totally normal and casual when it very much isn’t.

         Rachel sees right through her, and her eyes blow wide as she forces her to a stop with her hands on her shoulders. “Was it one of those strays?! Did they attack you?!”

         Yes, she thinks, because it’s technically the truth. But the truth wouldn’t help here, so she just laughs and reaches up to squish her cheeks together. “No, no, baby girl, calm down! I’m fine. It’s fine. I just… have some history with one of the new arrivals. Ran my mouth when I shouldn’t have, and said something dumb. It’s fine.”

         She glares at her for a second, scowling, which is absolutely adorable with her squished cheeks. Then she backs away, brushing her hands off. “That’s dumb. You think they’d have just let it go. I mean, it’s not like you saved their life or anything.”

         A snort as she shakes her head, watching as she goes back to feeding Mutt. “I said something really dumb.”

         Rachel laughs quietly, looking back over her shoulder at her. “Did you at least win?”

         She raises an eyebrow at her, and her face immediately falls.

         “Uhuh, uhuh, yeah, yeah, I know,” she rattles off sarcastically, half sticking her tongue out at her. “’The only way to win a fight is to walk away.’ But did you walk away because you wanted to, or because you, you know-”

         She mimes cutting her throat, making a gagging sound.

         “-the other guy?” she finishes, something childish yet haughty in her eyes as she stares at her expectantly. Awaiting confirmation her mother, yet again, emerged from a fight victorious.

         This girl…

         She gives her a flat look before pointing at the dog bowl. With a huff, her daughter rolls her eyes and turns back to spooning food into it.

         After returning to flipping pancakes, though, it takes all of thirty seconds for her to say, “I did have her on the ropes.”

         Rachel barks a laugh, nodding. “Knew it.”

         If she’s being honest, she doubts it’s the truth. She may have had the upper hand for a bit, but she caught Abby off-guard. She’s pretty sure the other woman expected her to be like she was back in Seattle, underfed and untrained in hand-to-hand. The twisted ankle probably helped too, along with the fact she was exhausted and weak.

         Despite all that, she thinks if Lev hadn’t interfered, it’d have been up to Abby to stop the fight. Regardless of how close they are in experience and training now, Abby has several inches on her and many more pounds of muscle. That’ll always count for more in a brawl. A couple more minutes, and it would have probably ended up like it had in the theatre. Or with her pulling a weapon.

         Another reason why picking a fight with her was a stupid fucking idea.

         But enough of that. She’s home and her daughter’s here. As far as she’s concerned, right now that’s all she needs to be focusing on.

         “How’s school been?” she asks as she tosses a few sausages into a skillet. She also grabs some chopped green onions, mushrooms, and spinach from the cutting board, tossing them in with the eggs. “You have that history project, right? Presentation on… the global response to CBI, I think?”

         “Mhm,” Rachel hums, setting the bowl down for Mutt and kneeling to pet him as he eats. “It’s going good. Miranda, Leland, and I decided to do ours on how people culled monkeys in zoos and stuff when it was confirmed they could be infected.”

         She huffs, bemused. “Did you and them decide that, or did you decide that because it was the only way you could make it about animals?”

         “I plead the fifth.”

         “The fifth died forty years ago.”

         “O-Okay, but come on!” she exclaims, shooting to her feet and throwing her hands into the air. “It’s so fucked up they did that! Monkeys and apes could get infected, but they couldn’t turn! They were as safe as they were before cordyceps! A-And, if you think about it, it wasn’t even their fault they were here in the first place! We brought them over here, and then when we decided we didn’t want them anymore… we killed them!”

         She flips the sausages and scrambles the eggs as she listens to Rachel pant, pursing her lips as she nods.

         “Yeah, okay, that is pretty fucked up,” she admits, grinning when she hears her celebratory exclamation. She continues on firmly, raising her voice. “In their defense, though… just because monkeys and apes couldn’t turn, it didn’t mean they were safe. You remember how your grandpa and I went to the University of Eastern Colorado?”

         “When you were looking for the Fireflies, yeah,” says Rachel, hopping over to lean against the counter next to her.

         “Well, they were doing experiments on monkeys there,” she says, trying not to laugh at the way her eyes light up. “Infecting them with cordyceps. Or… finding ones that were already infected, I dunno. All I know is that some guy tried to let them free, one of them bit him, and he got infected. Killed himself before he could turn.”

         Rachel’s eyebrows raise. “Wow.”

         A pause, and then-

         “Did you see any?!”

         That does make her laugh, and she reaches out to flick her forehead. “Yes, you little gremlin. Three of them.”

         “What kind?!” she exclaims, undeterred by the flick, almost crowding her at the stove.

         “I don’t know!” she exclaims back, laughing again as she maneuvers her away. “I saw them for, like… two seconds. They were small. Brown. Had their little bare asses hanging out.”

         She gives her an unimpressed look, folding her arms. “You know that, like, narrows it down not at all?”

         “Well, sorry!” She plucks a bit of pancake off the griddle and holds it out to her as a peace offering, which she takes with an exaggerated huff. “I wasn’t an expert zoologist like you are when I was your age.”

         “Were you an expert at anything?”

         “Keep going.”

         Rachel abruptly turns on her heel, striding away innocently. She’s surprised when she doesn’t go the extra mile and whistle.

         Then she turns back around, smile on her face. “Did you find any buttons while you were out there?”

         “Oh, fuck, right,” she says, shaking her head as she remembers. “Uh… yeah, they’re in the front pocket of my pack. Go grab them and then wash up, breakfast is almost ready.”

         She immediately disappears down the hallway, and Mutt almost abandons his breakfast to go after her. The siren song of food is apparently too strong, however, as he goes back to eating. Albeit while worriedly glancing back down the hall.

         After a couple seconds, Rachel’s happy squeal rings out, and she feels her heart swell.

         “Those little red ones are going to be perfect for Zoggle’s eyes!” she declares as soon as she sits back down at the table.

         She chuckles as she spoons eggs onto her plate. “You’ve named him then?”

         “Yeah,” she replies, reaching for the platter of sausage. She piles about four onto her plate, and she takes one back with a raised eyebrow. She shrugs apologetically before once again trying to take more than half the pancakes. “I wanted something more serious, but I accidentally made his tail too big, so then he needed something silly.”

         “Who is this one for again?” she asks, finally sitting down once she’s made sure her daughter hasn’t stolen a majority of the food.

         “Zachary.” Rachel’s eyes go sad for a moment as she picks at a piece of egg. “He said his mom had a scorpion tattoo, so…”

         Her hands still in the act of slicing a pancake, and she looks up to her with a soft smile. After a moment, she reaches across the table to pat her cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

         She knocks her hand away with a huff, but there’s a pleased flush to her cheeks.

         “What’re you doing today?” she asks after a second, clearly trying to move the conversation onto something she finds less embarrassing. “You’re not on the rotation, right?”

         She shakes her head. “Not as far as I know, but I need to go talk with Adela and some of the new arrivals. They’ll probably also want me to check their interrogation responses, but I don’t know if that’ll be today. I should be able to pick out lies in a few areas for some of them.”

         Rachel does absolutely nothing to hide her disappointment. “Dang. I was hoping you could maybe, possibly… check me out of school? So we could hang out?”

         The puppy dog eyes she gives her are adorable and potent, but ultimately ineffective. “It’s Friday, baby. Power through it. We’ll spend the day together tomorrow, I promise.”

         She continues hitting her with the daughter eyes before giving it up with a groan. “Fine. Can we at least get in some guitar practice tonight? I’ve been practicing The Man Who Sold The World, but I still can’t get the opening to sound right.”

         Immediately, she holds out her hand. “Lemme see your hand.”

         Rachel offers her hand up, and she leans across the table to peer at her thumb, running a finger over it. “Mm… yeah, you’ve let the nails get a bit too long. The strings are taking too long to slide off them. That’s why it doesn’t sound right. File them down a bit today, and we’ll practice after dinner.”

         “Knew it was something stupid like that,” her daughter mutters in response, glaring at her fingernails as if blaming them for growing. Then she sighs, smiling at her. “Thanks, mom.”

         “Anytime, baby girl.”

         Silence falls as they both focus on eating. The stereo moves on to another song, this one more typical of her daughter’s music taste. Bouncing beat, rock-y, bit strange… but now that she has some food in her, she’s woken up more. She taps her foot along to it, soaking in the growing warmth from the hearth.

         In her head, she goes over the info she can verify for the JID guys about Abby and Lev. For Abby, it’s her being a member of the Fireflies prior to Salt Lake (extremely likely), her being in Seattle and a member of the WLF (confirmed), and her being in Santa Barbara (confirmed).

         For Lev, it’s being in Seattle and a member of the Seraphites (confirmed), and then being in Santa Barbara (confirmed).

         Not a lot really, unless Abby wants to mention her short jaunt to fucking Jackson. But it’s pretty much all confirmed by her beyond a reasonable doubt. It should help to try and sniff out any lies she might tell, though she doubts she’ll try.

         If she’s being honest, she’s not really interested in the two of them. It’s the others she’s interested in, particularly the Barneses and the Allards.

         She’s pretty sure Howard, Petunia, and at least Alice are old guard Fireflies. Ones who would have known about her and what happened in Salt Lake. They have to, given the anger and suspicion in their eyes, unless she did something other than Salt Lake to piss them off. Maybe they knew Abby’s friends too, and she told them what happened in Seattle.

         Whatever it is, she wants to confirm if they were Fireflies before and/or during Salt Lake. Clock them in particular as possible problems.

         She hopes they’re content to just hate her passive aggressively like Gerri. She can handle another Gerri.

         Marshall Walk is another one she needs to look into. The way he looked at her as she was talking to him… it was almost like he knew her. It wasn’t like the others, though. He didn’t seem to have any negative feelings towards her, not even the distrust others like Gracie and Abel were showing her.

         If anything, the look in his eyes was almost happy.

         Weirdo.

         For the life of her, she can’t imagine where the fuck they would have met. His face isn’t terribly memorable, but the bastard is at least 6’6. She would have remembered meeting a dude who is more than a foot taller than her. Especially if he came from Catalina.

         That one trip to Santa Barbara was her last visit to the west coast. The furthest west she’s been since then was the second trip to Salt Lake City. Or maybe the Grand Canyon, that may have carried her a bit further.

         Whatever.

         The point is, she has not stepped even one foot into Washington, Oregon, Nevada, or California in twelve years. She didn’t want to even chance running into fucking Abby again.

         She almost laughs to herself.

         That worked out great for her, didn’t it? In the end she came to her, and now her life is at risk of blowing up again. For a third time.

         A breath to calm herself, and she reaches up to gently finger the cut on her cheek.

         Nope, bad Ellie. Stop catastrophizing.

         Her life will be fine. Once the council votes, that’s the end of Abby for her. Stay or go, she’ll no longer be forced to so much as acknowledge her.

         But before that…

         It takes her a second to realize Rachel said something.

         “Sorry,” she says, looking up to see her giving her one very unimpressed frown. “What was that, baby girl?”

         “I asked if Avery and Jaime are back too.” Her tone is one of long-term, irreversible, terrible suffering, each syllable enunciated with extreme care.

         She picks a bit of sausage off her plate and flicks it at her.

         “Yes, they are,” she says loudly and firmly as her daughter yelps, trying to bat the projectile away. “I was actually meaning to ask if you would be okay with them coming over for dinner while we’re back home. Figured we might as well take advantage.”

         “Of course!” Her tone implies it’s obvious, but she can catch the hint in her smile that she appreciates being asked. “Tomorrow night! Let’s do spaghetti!”

         Oh god, fucking… spaghetti. She was hoping for something easy.

         The look in Rachel’s eyes is just too pure and hopeful, though. This time, the daughter gaze works, and she hangs her head with a sigh. “If you don’t keep me busy the entire day… then sure. Otherwise we’re just doing chicken.”

         She nearly squeals in happiness, a bright grin on her face. “Deal! I’ll even help you with the sausage!”

         “Oh good. Thanks for offering, it saves me the trouble of making you.”

         This time it’s Rachel who throws a bit of food, and instead of being a nice, dry piece of sausage… it is a strawberry compote-covered piece of pancake. One that lands right on her collar.

         She makes her do the dishes.

         Not just because she now has a stain on her uniform, but because it’s going on eight. The sky is starting to lighten, the morning sun peeking ever so slightly over the horizon. If she doesn’t get her ass in gear, Adela is going to send someone to get her. That would not be a great look.

         “Be safe, baby girl,” she says as she zips up her coat.

         All she gets in reply is a series of grumbles from the kitchen.

         She laughs and she peeks her head around the entrance way to smile at her. “Love you!”

         Her daughter looks up from the sink, trying resolutely to keep a frown on her face. She fails as Mutt hops up from where he had laid down at her feet to bound towards her.

         She chuckles and kneels down to pet him and receive his goodbye kisses. When she looks back up, Rachel is smiling at her. “Love you too, mom. See you tonight.”

         “See you tonight,” she says, standing up and giving Mutt one last scratch behind the ears before heading for the door.

         As soon as she steps out of the front door, she’s assaulted by the absolutely freezing morning. It’s so frigid that it stings the cut on her cheek.

         With a shiver, she pulls her scarf up and gets moving.

         She really hopes Abby’s group got used to the cold on the trip up here. She can’t imagine a single island more Catalina’s polar opposite. If they want to live here, they’ll have to get used to freezing their tits and dicks off.

         As she walks, though, and the sky turns to fire above her, the clouds become a dizzying multicolored array of oranges and golds and reds and purples and pinks… as the snow reflects it all around her, glowing in the dawn… she decides there’s nowhere she’d rather be, just as she has every day for the past five years.

         She misses Jackson sometimes. Not just the people there, but the land. The rolling plains, the swells of the hills, and the jagged snowcapped mountains…

         It was like the earth itself seemed intent on rising up to defy the sky across the horizon.

         She misses that, the same feeling she gets when she looks up at the stars. The feeling of being so, so small amidst the largeness of the world.

         But there’s a similar sort of feeling to be found here. When she gets out on the lake, finds a wide open plain, or climbs the right tree… she can see where the sky swallows the land in every direction. That huge, open stretch of blue makes her feel small too.

         Plus, Rachel is safer here than she could be anywhere else in the world.

         Jackson is safe, she knows. The high walls with electrified fencing, the manned towers every ten meters, the floodlights burning bright from six PM to six AM… anything would be hard pressed to get inside.

         But there’s nothing that settles her mind quite like twenty miles of open, meticulously watched water between her daughter and the closest infected or raider.

         Then a bright red leather jacket and a dark navy puffer turn the corner ahead of her, and she smiles as she remembers the other reason why she will never, ever leave.

         “Good morning, Miss Miller!” calls out Leland, waving her down. Miranda next to him just gives her something like a shrug, keeping her chin and hands tucked inside her leather jacket.

         “Morning, you two.” She jerks her head over her shoulder towards their house. “I left Rachel to do some dishes. If she’s not done, tell her I said she can just leave them to soak, I’ll take care of them when I get home.”

         “Will do,” says Miranda, voice muffled by about three scarfs and a leather collar. Poor little Floridian. Just not built for the cold.

         “Thanks,” she says, smiling as she ruffles both their heads as they pass by each other. “Have a good day at school.”

         Leland spins on his heel and pulls down his mask to give her a polite smile. “We will! Have a good day at work, Miss Miller!”

         She flashes him a thumbs up, holding back a laugh when Miranda mutters something to him about being a suck-up.

         Those kids… even if this place wasn’t beautiful, even if she didn’t love it here and Rachel wasn’t the safest here she could possibly be, she’d find it hard to leave the people.

         In Jackson, people were mostly kind. Mostly polite. Mostly neighborly. But the air of the outside world, the feeling of danger and suspicion, it always managed to just creep over the walls. A near imperceptible menace that you could feel whenever it got just a bit too quiet.

         Here though, the people are even kinder. Even more polite. Even more community oriented. Even more normal.

         Maybe it’s the maternal instincts JJ awakened in her, but she feels a protectiveness towards every Islander. More than she did every Jacksonite. Pretty much everyone in Jackson had some experience with what was out there, either because they escaped it or because they helped defend against it.

         There’s so many Islanders who don’t. People who were born and raised here and have never even stepped foot on the mainland. She wasn’t lying to Abby and Lev about that.

         She feels a responsibility to those people to protect them. To put the brutality and violence inside her towards keeping them safe.

         If Rachel wasn’t safe here anymore, she’d pack them up and leave. If Rachel said she wanted to move to Jackson, she’d radio Tommy and Maria and tell them to get a house ready.

         But she’d still feel sorry about leaving this community, these people, behind in a way she never did with Jackson.

         Minus the obvious exceptions, of course. She’ll never stop missing her little potato.

         As she comes out onto Main Street, and the bay opens up in front of her, she also acknowledges that those twenty miles of water make for a damn good view.

         The sheets of ice and lapping waves both reflect the sky above, glittering like opals so brightly as to nearly sting her eyes. She turns away from them and lets their light paint her side as she strides south towards the Compound.

         As she walks, a few people spot her and smile and wave. She smiles and waves back, but doesn’t slow down. She keeps her pace steady, making it clear she doesn’t have time to stop and chat.

         She blames this odd bout of wistfulness and homesickness for Jackson on Abby. Her being here is just bringing her mind all the way back there.

         That might not be such a bad thing, though. Maybe if Rachel is finally feeling up for it, they can try for another vacation out there this summer. Letters, pictures, and radio calls are nice, but she wants to see her little potato in person. She wants to see all of them in person.

         She also needs to have a talk with this ‘Archer and Bailee.’ Spend a bit of time with them. She’s sure Tommy and Maria chose well, but she’d feel better if she could vet them herself. She may be an Islander now, but enough of Jackson still runs in her blood that she wants to make sure it’s well cared for.

         Plus… four of the most important people in the world will probably soon be relying on them. Six, counting Hank and Robin. She’ll sleep better at night once she can give them her seal of approval.

         And besides… even if they stay the hell out of each other’s ways like planned, she’s sure six months of sharing an island with Abby will rub her nerves so raw she’ll need a break.

         It would be good for Rachel too. If she never feels ready to leave the borders of Islaborne again, then so be it. But she’d feel better knowing she could without suffering a panic attack.

         Maybe she can try and find some zoos along the route. Or other places like the Badlands National Park. Little milestones to divvy the journey up into less intimidating stretches and give her things she can look forward to along the way.

         She’s walking into the Compound’s lobby before she knows it.

         Greg is the only one sat at the receptionist desk, and when he looks up and sees her, his expression immediately falls.

         Resigned, she points vaguely upwards. “She in?”

         “Yeah,” he says gingerly. “Said to watch for you. Head on up.”

         “Thanks, man,” she replies, patting him on the back as she walks around the desk.

         She takes the stairs two at a time, reaching the third and final floor at a blistering pace.

         The way the SP’s she passes by look at her makes it clear word of what happened has already made the rounds. Half of them look curious, while the other half look worried for her. It almost makes her laugh.

         It’ll be fine.

         Adela’s office door is open at the very end of the hall, but she still pauses outside, knocking on the frame.

         She looks up from where she’s sat behind her desk, some report or another laid out in front of her.

         The look in her eyes is indecipherable. Purposefully veiled.

         She beckons her in with a jerk of her chin, and she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

         “I was wondering if you would come see me of your own accord,” Adela rumbles, turning her eyes back to the report before tossing it across her desk with a sound of disgust.

         All it takes is a glance for her to see it’s a report of what happened last night. Not a great start.

         “Why?” she asks, dropping into one of the chairs heavily. “Did you really think I’d try and keep it from you?”

         She palms her face by way of reply, groaning. After a moment, she glares out at her from between her fingers. “I don’t know, Ellie. Can you blame me if my faith in you has been shaken?”

         The urge to find a biting and sarcastic retort is strong, as it always is. But she tamps it down, instead opting for something less defensive.

         “No,” she sighs, looking away as Adela’s glare intensifies. “I’ll admit that I lost my cool.”

         Immediately she brings a hand down, loudly tapping the report with a nail. “Is that you confirming you were the one who instigated the fight?”

         “Yep.” She gives her a steely look, leaning back in her seat. “I ran my mouth when I shouldn’t have.”

         “For Christ’s sake-!” Adela exclaims at once, shooting up from her seat to march away. She gets all the way to the window of her office before whirling back around, anger and exasperation making her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “You trying to spin this as your fault is not helping! You get that, right?”

         She stands as well, throwing her hand out. “I’m not spinning shit! I said something fucking stupid, and I got hit for it!”

         “In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t have such a thing as ‘fighting words’ here, Miller!” yells Adela back, looking about half a second from tearing her hair out. “Especially not for new arrivals that have been here all of four hours!”

         Barking a sarcastic laugh, she spins around, pacing away. “Oh come off it, Church! It may not be on the books, but we both know that when someone runs their mouth, really fucking runs their mouth, and gets smacked, we let it slide!”

         She slams her hands down on the desk with a bang. “Sometimes, and only when it’s our own people!”

         “You’d be hard fucking pressed to find two of ‘our people’ with half the history Abby and I have!” she shoots back, feeling about half a second away from flipping her off. “You should be singing from the goddamn rooftops how we’re saints for leaving it where we fucking did!”

         “You’re acting like I’m not on your side here!” Adela finally exclaims, brows furrowing together. “I am on your side! I don’t care what the fuck you said, she- look at your face, Ellie! You’re lucky she didn’t break anything!”

         She grits her teeth instead of replying, biting down on an angry retort.

         She’s right. She’s not giving her shit because she’s mad at her.

         Well, she probably is, at least partially. But she knows that despite how tight a ship Adela tries to run, their relationship will always come before any sort of hierarchy. This isn’t her reprimanding an SP, this is her trying to figure out what the fuck her friend is thinking.

         It’s a shame she barely has a clue herself.

         Still, she can’t back down from this.

         Sighing, she tries to ease the scowl from her face. “I’m not backing down on this, Adela. I started the fight.”

         Her eye twitches, and she looks half a second away from digging gouges into her desk with her nails. But as the seconds crawl by, she relaxes as she realizes she’s serious.

         “Okay,” she says faux-lightly, shrugging. “That means you should be put on probation for a week then, right?”

         She shrugs back. “That’d be by the book. A little strict given no-one got seriously hurt, but… technically by the book.”

         “You know this devil-may-care attitude isn’t endearing yourself to me, right?”

         “Dude, come on.” She gives up the carefree act, and rolls her eyes as she walks back to the desk. “We both know you’re not gonna throw the book at me. A couple punches got thrown, and we broke it up ourselves before any other SP’s had to step in. If it were anyone else, you and I both know damn well they wouldn’t have even been questioned.”

         “I’ll reiterate that this isn’t about what happened so much as who it happened with.” Adela carefully enunciates each syllable, punctuates each word with her hand on her desk. “You’re one story, Ellie. But I assume you got done giving that Abby the rundown on how things are gonna work from here on out?”

         Reluctantly, she nods.

         “Then she should have known the dumbest fucking thing she could have done is attack someone,” she concludes with a grim look. “Even ignoring how this makes you and the promises you made to the council look… you can see how this might reflect badly on this…”

         She glances down at the report.

         “’Abigail Anderson.’ Right?”

         “I can,” she admits slowly, turning her eyes to her feet. Her right hand finds the fingers of her left, nails digging into their pads. “But again: I started the fight. I’m just asking you to take that into account.”

         Adela sighs loudly, hanging her head.

         “Okay, but come on!” she exclaims, rushing forward to lean across her desk. “A scuffle isn’t a problem. That dickhead Billy gets into fights every few weeks and no-one is talking about tossing him out.”

         A twitch of a smile at her lips. “Billy’s a kid.”

         She pfffts, waving her hand through the air. “Billy’s twenty-two. He’s a grown ass man. At least old enough to not be throwing punches over girls anymore.”

         “You’re right,” Adela admits, nodding along. Just as she starts to do the same, she cuts her down with a sharp look. “And you’re a grown ass woman who, since you first arrived here with that little girl of yours, have kept an ice-cold head on your shoulders. So forgive me, but ignoring your ‘friend’ for a second: I’m more worried about you, Ellie.”

         The earnestness in her tone makes her pause, and she continues on ahead, holding a hand out to her. “You tell the council one thing, then a couple hours later you’re doing the exact opposite. Even if you hadn’t made any promises, this sort of behavior from you, supposedly talking shit, starting fights… it does not sound like the Ellie I know. The Ellie we know. And this Anderson hasn’t even been here for a full twenty-four hours.

         “Even if you could convince the entire council to overlook her behavior, which I highly doubt you can,” she continues on relentlessly, “you’re gonna be hard-pressed to get them to overlook yours. The effect she’s seemingly having on you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

         She doesn’t answer immediately. She turns her gaze away, thinking, making sure she really does.

         And she does, she fucking does, better than Adela knows.

         She hasn’t forgotten what Abby did to her. What her sheer existence drove her to, the almost neurotic hurt and rage it filled her with.

         But she also hasn’t forgotten her promise. And letting Abby and Lev, maybe their whole group, get driven out back into the wilds just so she doesn’t have to deal with her… in a way, it’d be like letting her control her again. It’d be abandoning every principle she holds dear just to quiet the voices in her head that woman makes so, so fucking loud.

         “I understand,” she says finally, squaring her shoulders as she meets Adela’s eyes again. “That’s why I’m still asking you to let this go. Last night was a fluke. We were both tired, and we weren’t thinking straight, and… I think we were still both trying to process the fact we were meeting again. But before what happened, happened, we did come to an… agreement. One that should keep any more problems from cropping up.

         “I’ll talk to her one more time today,” she adds, holding up a finger as Adela opens her mouth to reply. “One more time. Right after this, I’ll head over to the hospital, apologize for what happened, and then that is it. Whether you all vote for her and her group to stay or to go, it doesn’t matter. Unless we have to, we’ll pretend the other doesn’t exist. Problem solved.”

         Adela shakes her head, anger and exasperation warring on her face, causing it to spasm before she suddenly turns away. She paces over to the window, folding her arms as she stares out for a second.

         Then she turns back to her, brows furrowed and mouth open as if to unleash a scathing retort.

         Instead, after a second she clamps her mouth shut, sighs, and looks away again.

         She knows she’s won once she leans her head forward, letting it hit the window with a thunk.

         “Most of the council won’t see it that way,” she says dully, voice muffled against the glass.

         “Fuck them,” she declares flippantly. “Once the hearing comes around, I’ll make them see it that way.”

         A snort. “There’s the Ellie I know. Won’t take ‘no’ for a goddamn answer.”

         She falls silent again, and the seconds tick by. Eventually, she straightens up with a groan, turning back to look at her with a slightly reddened forehead.

         “Fine,” she says lightly, accompanying it with a shrug. “Fine. Have it your way. You can try to convince us come the hearing.”

         “And Abby and Lev’s threat level?” she asks, trying not to laugh when Adela lets out a long-suffering sigh.

         “It’ll stay minimal,” she admits, sounding defeated.

         She walks around the desk to put a hand on her shoulder though, smiling up at her. “Thanks, Adela.”

         “Don’t thank me yet,” she laughs, knocking her hand away. “Why you fight tooth and nail to pile headaches onto yourself, I’ll never know.”

         “Yeah, well…” She turns and walks away, pausing to look over her shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Maybe I’m just a masochist.”

         Another laugh, and she shakes her head, waving her away. “Now that I believe.”

         She’s almost to the door before she speaks again.

         “Ellie? One more thing.”

         Her sharp tone makes her pause, and she looks back to see her staring at her with her arms folded. Her gaze is flinty and cold.

         It isn’t Adela she’s speaking to anymore. It’s Head of Security Church.

         “Yes, ma’am?” she says, turning around and folding her arms behind her back.

         “This is me giving you a pass for last night. You wanna say you were tired, and seeing that woman probably had you all off kilter? Fine, be my guest.

         “But from here on out?” Her voice lowers, and she steps forward to lean both hands on her desk, face darkening. “You need to get your head on straight. You need to look at this whole thing with an objective, unbiased eye, and you need to act like it. I don’t care if you think this can be some sort of fucked up penance for whatever your fucked up history with that woman is. Good or bad, you can’t let your personal feelings influence your judgement about this. If not because you swore an oath to act in the best interest of this community and protect it, then for Rachel. She needs you at your best. Everyone here does.

         “Do I make myself clear?” she finishes with a raised brow.

         She does her best not to shiver. “Yes, ma’am.”

         “Dismissed.”

         She wakes in the morning with a start and a yell caught in her throat. In her head…

         In her head, her dream is already fading. All she can hold onto is people screaming, people she knows, and her slamming herself against a door. Over and over again without it ever opening.

         As she sighs and leans back in her bed, she’s honestly thankful most of it slipped away. She remembers entirely too many of her nightmares already.

         The cause of this one is no mystery. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, and she spent them tossing and turning, so stressed she felt nauseous. Already she can feel the ache in her jaw from grinding her teeth as she slept.

         The hospital room is still nearly pitch black too, with only the glow of the hallway and the streetlamps outside providing light. When she makes out the time on the clock, she sees it’s just a bit after six.

         Barely four hours of sleep with how exhausted she was? Yeah. She’s stressed.

         When she glances over at Lev, it’s to see him still asleep. He’s curled up with his fists clenched in the blankets and dragging them up under his chin. His brow is furrowed, though not twitching in the way that tells her he’s having a nightmare.

         It’s a relief he isn't awake, sort of. They hadn’t talked last night after Ellie left except to say goodnight. She couldn’t bring herself to, and he had been too angry. Worried too, but mostly angry.

         She can’t blame him.

         If the idea of attacking Ellie had been brought up to her before she did it, she would have said it was an obviously stupid thing to do. The stupidest thing to do, maybe.

         She has respect. Authority. People clearly like her.

         But then those soldiers came in, and the way they had instantly moved to… to arrest them, detain them, whatever…

         ‘You guys fucked up!’

         The soldier had spat the words at her, but not mockingly. It was clear neither he nor his partner were taking pleasure in handling them roughly. They seemingly felt no happiness at the prospect they’d be treated harsher. The anger in their eyes went beyond simple tribalism.

         Then Isabella and Hannah walked in afterwards, and she realized the soldier had been understating it.

         There was no warmth in their gazes. No excessive gentleness in their movements as they examined her and Lev and tended to their injuries. No attempt at small talk or anything reassuring.

         In their eyes and their faces, there was only a cold sort of anger, tinted by fear and… and betrayal.

         She should have put it together as soon as she saw Ellie was here. As soon as she saw the only immune person she has ever even heard of here, among a community of people known for their immunity, she should have known.

         She thought Ellie was somebody here. And she is. But she is ‘somebody’ with Islaborne in the same way her father was ‘somebody’ with the Fireflies. Maybe more so.

         Even ignoring everything else she may have done for these people in the time she’s lived with them, from what Ellie said, it’s clear she’s the source of their immunity. That…

         The sort of love and trust that could inspire, she cannot even begin to imagine.

         So to put it simply: she’s pretty sure she attacked this community’s personal fucking Jerry Anderson.

         In the span of a single two, maybe three minute fight, she may have irreparably fucked their chances of ever being allowed to stay here. A place that feels and looks like a goddamn paradise, that they lost twenty-two people trying to get to. So many people gave their lives to get them here, fucking Genevieve died right at the goddamn finish line just a day away from rescue, and now she’s maybe pissed her and everyone else’s sacrifices away.

         She would be worried if Lev wasn’t pissed at her. She’s pissed at herself. Beyond pissed, fucking enraged. It brings tears to her eyes that are just as much anger as they are grief, and she has to choke down on sobs as she buries her face in her hands.

         The moment they started talking about immunity, she should have just shut her mouth and sat back. She should have let Lev deal with it. But no.

         No, she had to throw a fit. She had to run her mouth and have the last word, and then when Ellie snapped back, take a swing at her. Not even just a swing. A punch would be one thing.

         She doesn’t even remember grabbing the crutch is the thing. All she remembers is realizing she was implying her father was a ‘dumbass’ who wanted to ‘murder a little girl’ and then the impact of the crutch against her face running up her arm. A split second decision to try and do the most damage she possibly could, as quickly as she could.

         In the moment right after, as Ellie tumbled to the ground and Lev yelled, there had been just a single flash of clarity.

         Then the bitch kicked her right in her twisted ankle, and the pain tore the clarity apart.

         She should have stopped right there too, when Ellie got up and stood her ground. That fact should have let her know the fight wouldn’t go how she wanted it to go. She wasn’t trying to run like in Seattle or put distance between them.

         She wasn’t scared of her.

         That should have been a giant red flag to fucking stop.

         Her shoulders still hurt. And her jaw. And her nose. Her fucking arms where she had clawed some skin off.

         The woman clearly didn’t spend the last twelve years just working out. She’s had hand-to-hand training. Good training.

         She groans quietly in the same breath as she sighs, trying to brush her tears away.

         So many moments to stop. So many bright red flags and blaring sirens telling her to just fucking stop, god damn it.

         That’s the story of her life, though.

         An ocean of red, painted in bloody bodies and blaring alarms, telling her to stop running down that fucking hallway.

         Losing Owen, the sight of Jackson, Mel being pregnant, the horrific weather and infected that swarmed her… a dozen little cosmic signs to turn back and forget Joel Miller.

         Rumors, caravans skirting around the city, symbols of snakes and notes about ‘Rattlers’ screaming at her to take Lev and get the fuck out of Santa Barbara.

         Decreased FEDRA activity, odd patrols, strange encoded transmissions, and just a buzzing of something wrong in the air on Catalina.

         She’s never been good at reading the universe’s messages to her. Or letting things go. Or practicing any modicum of reasoning at all, really.

         And now it may have just cost her people a spot in one of the best communities she has ever seen.

         Her hands clench, tightening into a grip around her face. Her nails dig into her skin, and it provides just enough of a physical anchor for her to slow her sobs.

         No. Not yet. It hasn’t cost them a spot quite yet.

         If nothing else, maybe she can spin this in a way that’ll only get her kicked out. If she can convince them it was her fault, and her fault alone, maybe they’ll let everyone else stay. She can go somewhere else. Once she’s healed up, she can survive out there easily. Maybe even easier without having to worry about keeping a huge group of people warm, fed, and safe.

         As soon as she really sinks her teeth into the idea, though, she lets it go. There’s a rotten, ashy taste on her tongue from it, because she knows Lev and Marshall would never let her go alone.

         Most of the others would. Most of them have children who they need to put first, and she understands that. She wants that. But Lev and Marshall, maybe even Gracie and Abel… no. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. Even if this place’s council clears them to stay, so long as she has to leave, they’ll follow her right back across that lake.

         She could maybe handle Marshall, Gracie, and Abel doing that. But not Lev.

         For the love of everything good and holy in this world, she wants Lev to have this. A home where he can string up fucking Christmas lights, take hot showers, and have fresh jam in the morning. A community that he can help in productive ways like clearing infected or protecting from raiders, instead of as a wife or part of a doomed crusade against FEDRA.

         No. No, she needs to find a way to recover from this completely.

         That means apologizing to Ellie, and the thought makes her want to hit something.

         Fuck, she shouldn’t have done it. It was a dumb fucking thing to do.

         But it’s a full night later, and she still shakes with rage thinking back on what she said.

         Her father didn’t want to kill Ellie. He hated the idea. She could see how conflicted he was about it. But that didn’t matter. It was the right thing to do in order to save the entire fucking world. It was the sacrifice needed to bring humanity back from the brink.

         What’s one life in the face of millions? There was no choice to be made, no conflict to resolve, and no debate to be had. It was the right thing to do.

         And despite his hesitation, she knows he would have done the same thing if it were her who was immune. He would have, she knows he would have, he would have, he-

         If it were Lev on the operating table, would you have let it happen?

         She nearly screams at Owen’s voice in her head, and instead pitches her pillow across the room.

         What if’s don’t matter. What’s done is done. It was Ellie who was immune, her father who was going to save the world, and Joel Miller who killed him. Period. End of story.

         He wasn’t dumb either. He just knew what was at stake, how many people were dying every single second from cordyceps. He knew how FEDRA and raiders picked at them from every side, slowly eating away at their forces and supplies. If he had waited, not only would more people have died in the meanwhile, by the time he got close… it may have been too late.

         The time it would have taken to synthesize even a single prototype vaccine and test it would have taken months, maybe even years. The time it would have taken to make one that worked, was safe, and that they could mass produce and distribute? Astronomical.

         Every second counted.

         It doesn’t matter that in the nearly forty years since Outbreak Day, Ellie is the only naturally immune person she has ever even heard of. It doesn’t matter that her dad was going to kill her so soon after getting her.

         It doesn’t matter that apparently Ellie can pass her immunity around easier than the goddamn flu.

         Her father had his reasons. He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t sadistic. He just wanted to help people, and he knew the best way to do it.

         So fucking what if all it takes is a bit of spit to give someone immunity? She bets these people don’t have the knowledge or the capability to test long term storage of fucking spit. How are they going to get this to people in other countries, across the oceans, if the bastards even want to in the first place?

         If the Fireflies could have transported vials of vaccine, they could have transported just one person to begin spreading immunity.

         What about clinical trials? What if people with a certain genetic whatever can’t get immunity this way? Or what if, once it’s passed along enough, it mutates again? What if it creates a strain that even Ellie’s super special cordyceps can’t protect you from?

         If the Fireflies didn’t even want to wait a day for one girl to wake up, why would they have waited years for hundreds of clinical trials?

         Her dad knew best. He did. He was the only one she’s ever heard of who knew anything about fungal infections. He studied cordyceps for years, upwards of two decades. He knew what he was doing.

         If he knew what he was doing, why didn’t he even try to test if Ellie’s strain could be spread like normal cordyceps?

         Another sob rips its way free of her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stem the renewed tide of tears.

         He knew what he was doing. He was doing the right thing. He just wanted to help people. All of them did. Marlene, Leah’s mom, Nick’s sister, Alice and Jacques’ parents… they just wanted to make the world a better place.

         And Joel Miller fucking killed all of them for it.

         If someone told you they were killing Lev to make the world a better place, would you let them live?

         She almost throws up. Almost. It gets all the way to the back of her teeth before she clamps her lips closed and swallows it back down.

         This isn’t what she should be thinking about. She should be thinking about how she’s going to fix her fuck up.

         That thought brings her back to the realization she needs to apologize to Ellie, and she nearly screams again.

         She hates this. She’s spent the past twelve years pretty much not thinking about Joel Miller and his cargo-turned-daughter and what they did. Twelve years where she could remember her father as her father, her friends as her friends, and the memories they made together when they were alive and happy.

         Not as corpses, and the endless pain the Miller brood have brought her.

         Now it’s like she’s back on the boat ride from Seattle to Santa Barbara. Turning over everything that ever happened with those two monsters in her head again and again and again. Except now she doesn’t have hundreds of miles between her and Ellie to help forget. Now, the brightest future for her involves coexisting with her in the same fucking community for the rest of their lives.

         As she laid in bed last night, a small part of her hoped that when she woke up, it would be the day before. It hoped that she and everyone else would be back in that house they were squatting in.

         It’s the worst part of her. The most horrific, ugliest part that only wants to hurt the people that hurt her. The part that doesn’t care how safe and happy her people will be here, if it means kowtowing to Ellie fucking Miller. Groveling at her feet, even though she’s the one that ran her mouth about shit she doesn’t fucking understand, the stupid bitch.

         She just needs to not think about it. Any of it. Or herself.

         She just needs to think of Lev. Cricket. Claudette. Georgie. Aisha.

         Marshall, Gracie, Abel, Howard, Petunia, Alice, Jacques, Latonya, Davey, Maria, Nadia, Mark, and May.

         She runs the names through her head like a mantra, or a prayer. A recitation that reminds her that it doesn’t matter what she feels or thinks. There are people depending on her, people she loves, who need her to be their leader.

         They need Abigail Anderson, Catalina Firefly. A woman who can compartmentalize and swallow her pride.

         They don’t need Abby, fucked up failure of a daughter and friend. She can wait for some quiet night to break down in private.

         Just as she calms her breathing, resolving to try and get a bit more sleep so she isn’t running on fumes the entire day… there’s a knock at the door.

         Lev is immediately awake, sitting up to whip his gaze around the room, albeit blearily. When he sees she’s already awake, his eyes narrow slightly, as if trying to make sense of it. Then they widen, no doubt at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes.

         The knock sounds again. “Abigail and Lev Anderson? I’m Justice and Integrity Division Investigator Abigail Casas. I’m here to question you about the incident that occurred late last night between 1 and 2 AM.”

         Fuck. She had been hoping for a little time to get her thoughts in order.

         She can tell Lev is feeling the panic too by the way his eyes widen before he quickly rubs them clear of crust and attempts to straighten his hair.

         Sighing, she reaches over to the switch to flick the lights on. There’s no real way to avoid looking like they just rolled out of bed, especially since she’s pretty sure that’s the point. They want to catch them off-guard and probe them for answers before they can even properly wake up, let alone get their stories straight.

         Of course, she takes just a second to try and wipe away the last of her tears and clear her throat. Looking like she just woke up is one thing. Making it obvious she had been crying is another.

         “Come in,” she calls out, giving Lev an apologetic look when his panic doubles.

         He quickly schools his expression it as the investigator walks in, though. He manages to paste an impressively calm look on his face, and it’s only slightly hampered by his bedhead cowlick.

         Investigator Casas is a short woman with dark skin and hair that’s cut into a bob. She’s dressed in heavy winter gear, and there’s a satchel hanging from her shoulder.

         She pauses just inside the door, eyes dropping to the pillow lying on the floor right beside it.

         A hint of warmth enters her cheeks at the way she looks up at them, raising an eyebrow, before bending down to pick it up.

         Striding forward, she lazily tosses it back onto her bed as she makes her way to the table. She grabs one of the chairs and drags it over to the center of the room, and the legs scrape noisily against the floor the whole way.

         She says nothing as she sits down in it and opens her satchel, pulling out a clipboard and a pen. It’s only once she has it positioned on her knee that she looks up to them.

         “Let me just start by saying I don’t really care whether you answer my questions, or whether you tell the truth,” she tells them bluntly, tone overwhelmingly disinterested. Her gaze is like ice as she stares them down. “Ellie Miller, ever since she returned to the community five years ago with her daughter, has had a spotless record. The closest she has ever come to fighting with another community member is verbal altercations and threats. She had no problems with any of your friends. Then she comes in here, and suddenly she’s involved in a physical altercation with the two of you.

         “As far as I and everyone out there is concerned, you started it. You’re a problem. You’re not fit to stay. Either of you.”

         The way those words roll off her tongue is so casually callous that it takes her breath away. From how Casas looks at her, like she’s a safe she’s trying to crack open, she realizes that's the intention. “If you want to give me the runaround and feed me bullshit, fine. We’ll get the truth from Miller, and we’ll write you off as uncooperative and a danger to the community. You’ll never even be given the chance to petition for residency. But if you cooperate with me, and answer all of my questions truthfully to the best of your ability… it’ll sure as hell look a lot better, no matter what the truth actually is.”

         She leans back in her seat, folding her arms.

         “What’ll it be?”

         It’s a good strategy. This woman knows she and her community hold all the power here. This isn’t like the Old World where they can expect some ‘innocent until proven guilty’ privilege. These people can and will throw them out on a whim, wiping their hands clean in the process.

         They set the terms, and she knows it. By making that clear, she can set the pace of this interrogation. The tone.

         The tone here being, ‘Act like you have a brain, and we’ll treat you like you do.’

         Lev clearly gets it too. His calm expression descends into something stormy, scars on his cheeks wrinkling as he scowls, but there’s resignation in his eyes.

         She feels it too, and she sighs, hanging her head. “You won’t get anything but the truth from us. Ask away.”

         “Describe your relationship with Ellie Miller,” says Casas immediately, dropping her gaze to her clipboard and picking up a pen. Without looking, she points to her. “You first, then the boy.”

         She sees Lev’s face twitch out of the corner of her eye at being called ‘boy’ but that’s it. Not a surprise. He can keep his cool miles better than her.

         It takes her a second to think of the best way to answer the question without rambling on about blood feuds and revenge. Eventually she settles on, “Violent. We’ve killed people important to the other in the past, and we’ve tried to kill each other. But last night we agreed to leave all that behind and stay out of each other’s way. Or attempt to, I guess.”

         The last sentence is a weak attempt at softening the rest of her description. Casas doesn’t even need to do anything to make it clear that, if that were really true, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.

         Lev doesn’t mince his words, staring the investigator down with a dark look. “Ellie Miller once helped save my life when I was fourteen years old before putting a knife to my throat while I was unconscious. She saved my life again yesterday. So I try not to think about her aside from wondering if she’s going to try to kill me or someone close to me again.”

         That causes Casas to glance up at him, just for a split second, gaze unreadable.

         Then she drops it back down to the clipboard, quickly scribbling something down. After a few seconds, she points at her with the pen again. “You. Describe the sequence of events from around 12:45 AM last night when Ellie Miller entered this room, to around 1:30 AM when Security Personnel Clark and Richardson entered the room.”

         Here we go, she thinks, taking a deep breath.

         “Ellie entered the room and said we had things to talk about,” she says, trying to stomp any traces of emotion out of her voice. She needs to sound cool. Calm. Collected. Honest. “Our shared history, and the way things work here. We got through both those things without anything happening. Like I said, we agreed that if Lev and I end up staying here, we pretty much pretend the other doesn’t exist.

         “After that, she just… told us about how we’d be questioned on our pasts, and how we could petition to stay. She told us the basics of how your community works and what would be expected of us. We also talked about Traverse City a bit, since our group came through there and… that it was clearly a bad fucking idea.”

         It’s a pitiful attempt at a joke, one that doesn’t even get a hint of acknowledgement from Casas. All she does is continue scribbling on her clipboard as she talks.

         That sucks. She was hoping to maybe lighten the mood a bit before jumping into the fucked up part of the night.

         With a sigh, and a subtle clenching of her fists in her sheets to hide how her hands are shaking, she continues on. “She was about to go when Lev… he asked her about your guys’ immunity.”

         Her voice catches as her mind stalls. The petty, childish, hateful part of her wants to throw Ellie under the bus. It almost seems true in a way. If she hadn’t ran her mouth like a brat, talking about things she doesn’t understand, the fight would have never happened.

         But she can’t ignore the fact it was her throwing a fit that started the whole thing. More than that, Ellie’s assuredly going to try and paint herself as the fucking victim. And she won’t have to twist much at all to make it seem that way.

         No. No, the best way forward is to not only tell the truth, but take responsibility.

         Even if it does make her want to scream her fucking head off and punch a hole in the wall.

         “I didn’t handle what she said well,” she admits heavily, squeezing her eyes shut. She fails to keep her voice entirely calm as she speaks, and a tremor persists with each syllable. “Years ago, when she and I were teenagers… the Fireflies tried making a vaccine out of her. My dad was the doctor who was supposed to do it. Her dad, a smuggler named Joel Miller, stopped him because it would have killed her. He…”

         A shuddering breath as her eyes burn, stemmed only by Lev reaching over to hold her shoulder.

         “H-He killed my dad, and so many Fireflies that we were forced to disband,” she finishes, shaking her head. “Hearing about… about your immunity, and how you’re doing it… I guess it was too much. I basically had a fit and started running my mouth. When she talked back, I… I snapped and hit her with my crutch. The fight spiraled from there. It only stopped when Lev tackled her off of me, and she managed to get on top of him. I don’t know why, but she broke it up right there. That’s when your soldiers came in.”

         “Security personnel,” corrects Casas quietly and idly.

         Her tone isn’t as callous and cold as it was before, though. It’s definitely not warm, but there’s a softness there that wasn’t present before. Another interrogation tactic, she’s sure. Rewarding honesty and cooperation with friendliness.

         She looks up at Lev, raising an eyebrow. “Do you dispute that series of events?”

         He shakes his head mutely, and she nods, looking back down.

         “Can you describe to me what Miller said to you that caused you to hit her?” she asks, meeting her eyes. Even her gaze isn’t quite so icy now. “And what you said or did that caused her to say it? To the best of your recollection.”

         “Um…” She stalls only because she hadn’t expected the question. The words are, as of now, still pretty much burned into her head. “I said, ‘Oh, good, I’m so glad we could help. Maybe if your dad didn’t fucking kill us, we would have found out a lot sooner.’ Meaning… I was talking about the fact she can… she can spread her immunity.”

         Fuck, that’s the first time she’s said it out loud. It brings a fresh new wave of despair and anger washing over her, and she’s forced to reach up and grab Lev’s hand to ride it out.

         After a few seconds, during which she simply breathes, she finishes in a rush. “She replied, ‘Yeah, well, maybe if your dumbass doctors weren’t chomping at the bit to murder a little girl, they’d still be alive.’ That’s when I hit her.”

         Laying it all out like that, it sounds both worse and better. Worse, because without all the context of who her dad was and what he was trying to do… it makes Joel sound almost justified. It makes her sound incredibly petty and immature.

         But also better, because repeating Ellie’s words out loud… it stokes the anger in her a little. It reminds her that while it may have been a dumb fucking idea in this scenario to hit her, no matter the reason, she did deserve it.

         “Does that sound correct to the best of your recollection, Lev?” asks Casas, voice yet again even softer as she looks to him.

         He eyes her warily, distrust plain in his gaze. But he gives a stiff nod. “Yes.”

         She nods back, yet again dropping her gaze to the clipboard with a sigh. She taps her pen against it once, twice, three times, five times, then ten, all the while clearly thinking.

         “Just to confirm: you all stopped fighting before the SP’s entered the room?” she asks suddenly, glancing between the both of them.

         “Yes,” says Lev of his own accord. “She had already gotten off of me by the time we even heard the door being unlocked.”

         “Hm…” hums Casas, writing yet another note down. She stares at her clipboard for several moments more before nodding and sighing. “I think that’s all I need.”

         She stands, grabbing her satchel but leaving the chair where it is. The look she gives the two of them is almost understanding. “You’ll be questioned later today with the rest of your group. It will be the normal set of questions we ask new arrivals. Once we process those questions, and interview Miller about last night’s incident as well, you’ll be told whether you can petition for residency.”

         She pauses, creating a clear moment for them to ask any questions of their own.

         A glance at Lev tells her he has none, so she takes a breath, squaring her shoulders. She meets Casas’ eyes dead on and tries to instill an honest sort of firmness in her tone. “I just want to say I take full responsibility for what happened last night. Not only should I have not let talk of immunity affect me so badly, I shouldn’t have struck Ellie no matter what she said. Moreover, the only thing Lev did was try and protect me. I just want to make that clear. It’s fair if this affects my chances at staying here, but I’m hoping that it won’t affect his or the rest of our group’s.”

         She was almost going to say ‘I’m asking’ instead of ‘I’m hoping’ before realizing she’s in no position to ask anything of these people. Not only have they already given all of them more than could be expected in this world, it would just make her sound needy. Desperate.

         She needs to make it clear she isn’t taking responsibility to make herself and her people look better (though she kind of is). She’s doing it because it’s the right thing to do (which it kind of is).

         If she didn’t know any better, she would say a smile almost twitches at Casas’ lips. “We’ll keep that in mind, Miss Anderson. Good day.”

         Then with a purposeful stride, she leaves.

         As the door shuts and locks behind her, the chair she left in the middle of the room looks almost like a warning. A promise and a reminder that there will be more questions.

         But still, the suffocating, tense atmosphere that had filled the room starts to dissipate. She feels herself relaxing, and she leans back in her bed with a groan.

         “Well,” she says heavily, raising a hand to cover her eyes, “that didn’t go as poorly as it probably could have.”

         When Lev doesn’t reply, she looks over to see him sitting on his bed, arms folded, head turned resolutely away from her.

         She sighs, staring at his back and feeling a forlorn feeling rising up in her chest. “Still mad at me, huh?”

         He doesn’t reply for so long that she thinks he’s giving her the silent treatment.

         Finally, though, in a quiet voice while still not turning around, he replies, “Yes. But I’m also mad at myself. I shouldn’t have asked Ellie about the immunity like that.”

         Immediately she rises, crossing the gap between their beds with a single hop on her good leg. She drops down heavily beside him, and he does nothing except scooch away a bit.

         She lets him. As much as she wants to hug him, the last thing she should be doing right now is forcing anything on him.

         “It wasn’t your fault,” she says simply, hugging herself for lack of anything better to do with her hands. “I was the one acting like a… I don’t even fucking know. A kid having a fit.”

         Lev shakes his head though, glancing over his shoulder at her. “It clearly upset you. I thought if I just got it over with quickly, you’d be fine. But I should have waited. I should have talked with her about it in private.”

         “Hey, no, seriously? Stop it.” Risking it, she bops his back with a light punch, earning a small smile. She returns it, and takes it as permission to scooch herself a bit closer. “It was my issue. I should have handled it better than starting a catfight.”

         Lev snorts, looking away.

         A beat passes, and in an undertone he adds, “Especially since she was beating you.”

         Immediately she reaches out and slings an arm around his shoulders from the front, dragging him back into her chest. Her other hand comes up to grind her knuckles into his head.

         “Okay, you little shit, listen here!” she exclaims, laughing as he desperately tries to escape. “She caught me by surprise and my ankle was fucked, but I was still making a comeback when you tackled her off of me! I don’t care how much training she’s had, on her best day I’d still beat her ass seven ways from Sunday!”

         His giggles are interrupted with groans as he desperately tries to fend off her noogie. It’s only once he starts tapping her arm and saying “Fine, fine, you win, you win!” that she lets him go.

         She watches him try and fix his hair with a fond smile. If he’s willing to joke around with her, it means he can’t be too mad.

         Still…

         “Honestly, though, Lev?” she says softly, and he pauses in the act of trying to get his bangs in order. When he looks back to her, she tries to make the gaze he meets reassuring. “It was probably bound to happen sooner or later. One of us would have said or done something to set the other off. I would have preferred later, for obvious reasons, but…”

         She shrugs, wincing as she looks away. “It can’t be helped now. Well, maybe it can. If I see her again, I’ll apologize. For all the good it’ll do. Either way… I’m hoping last night was just us getting it out of our goddamn systems. Or something.”

         He nods along, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows. He quickly accepts her reasoning with an inclination of his head, though, and his expression softens.

         Then, with a mischievous twist of his lips, he says, “At the very least, the two of you got some blood out of your systems.”

         It’s such a Lev joke to make that she instantly cracks up, reaching over to shove him lightly. “You’re such a dork.”

         He isn’t wrong, though. While her nose wasn’t quite broken, luckily, it was pissing blood. That cut on Ellie’s cheek was doing the same. Superficial injuries, maybe, but when the nurses were wiping it all up last night, it looked like someone had slaughtered a small animal.

         As if summoned by thought, there’s a quick knock at the door before it unlocks and swings open. Two nurses enter, one pushing a cart of food, the other carrying a small platter of medical supplies.

         They’re not Hannah and Isabella. These two are men, both tall, both well-toned, and both with walled off looks on their faces.

         She and Lev clock the change at the same time.

         Whether Hannah and Isabella are simply not on shift, or were reassigned… it can’t be a coincidence the two new nurses assigned to them look much more able to defend themselves.

         “I’m Travis, and this is Randy,” says the taller of the two. His hair is a bright copper color and there’s a beauty mark at the corner of his left eye. Randy is blonde, hair tied back in a braid like she used to wear, with cool blue eyes. “Do you mind if we change your bandages before you eat?”

         Neither her and Lev object, and the two of them work quickly and efficiently. Like Hannah and Isabella last night, they make no excessive effort to be gentle, but they’re clearly not trying to cause them undue pain either.

         In all honesty, neither her and Lev need any particular care. The only bandages they’re changing are the ones covering various shallow cuts and scrapes across their body, and the ones holding her ankle in place. Luckily none of them require them to strip, at least not fully. All they have to do is pull their hospital gowns one way or the other, and shirk them off a shoulder once or twice.

         To her relief, they offer her another gummy for the pain. The last had worn off last night, just before they settled down to sleep, and the returning throb of pain had made it even more difficult to fall asleep. She had wanted to see if there was a way to call a nurse back and ask for another, but… well, she decided she had caused them enough headaches.

         “You’ll be taken downstairs sometime around noon to have this x-rayed,” says Randy as he rewraps her ankle. “We’re hoping to get it done before JID comes to question you and your group.”

         “Sounds good to me,” is what she says in reply, because there’s not much she can say otherwise. The last thing they need is for her to be anything but agreeable right now.

         Travis and Randy don’t stay long. As soon as their wounds are treated, they beat a hasty retreat, leaving them to their breakfasts.

         Their breakfast is two fried eggs with smatterings of salt and pepper, oatmeal with what she thinks is brown sugar mixed in, breakfast hash with peppers, spinach, and what she thinks is broccoli thrown in, and half an apple each. Plus glasses of milk and water.

         She knows logically that FEDRA raided the government’s seed stores and is cultivating most things in one QZ or another, while also keeping their own seed stores. She knows that if you pay the right smugglers the right amount, they can get you pretty much anything you want, including those seeds. She knows that with the amount of space this community has and the right setups, you can grow most of those seeds.

         What she doesn’t know, and doesn’t understand, is why they are wasting the literal fruits of all that labor on them. Especially after what she did.

         It’s enough to once again banish any doubt from her mind about the fact they need to stay here.

         Hell, it’s enough to make the idea of apologizing to Ellie downright palatable. It turns out that when the only fresh food you’ve had for a year is game meat, foraged berries, and vegetables left so long in the ground they’ve almost gone bad… fresh peppers and apples make shame go down smooth.

         They both finish their meals around eight, and Travis comes within a minute of her ringing the bell between their beds to take the trays away.

         They’re left to their own devices after that. They both go to the bathroom, wash up a bit, brush their teeth, and then settle back down in bed to read. There isn’t much else for them to do aside from wait for someone to come get them.

         That isn’t what happens.

         When there’s a knock at the door just before nine o’clock, she thinks it’s the nurses there to take her down for an x-ray.

         Instead of the door unlocking and opening, though, an infuriatingly familiar voice calls out, “Abby, Lev? It’s me, Ellie. Can we… talk?”

         She feels her heart nearly leap into her throat, and the crinkling of Lev’s book is audible from how hard he suddenly grips it.

         They trade a panicked glance; neither of them were expecting to see Ellie so soon. She certainly wasn’t, and now that she’s here she has no idea if she’s ready to see her.

         She was hoping for a bit of time to rehearse what she was going to say. Think over every word very, very carefully.

         But now that she’s here, they can’t turn her away. Can they? That would send the wrong message, she thinks. The fact Ellie is even asking to come in seems like a sure sign she isn’t here with bad intentions. If they turn her away and she talks about it, that could make them look petty. Uncooperative. Resentful, even.

         So they can’t, and that means she just has to wing it.

         Fucking… fantastic.

         She looks at Lev, asking for permission with her eyes. His panicked expression becomes even more panicked for a second before she furrows her brow pointedly. He holds her gaze for a moment, two, before sighing and shaking his head.

         The message is clear: he thinks this is a bad idea.

         But like she just went over in her head earlier this morning, she isn’t very good at listening to reason.

         “Come in!” she calls out, trying to make her voice sound welcoming. She fails.

         Ellie enters anyway, and…

         Jesus. She did a worse number on her than she thought. The whole left side of her face is red, in the early stages of bruising, and the cut on her cheek is larger than she remembered it being.

         Her thoughts must show on her face because Ellie chuckles humorlessly, subconsciously turning the left side of her face away a bit. “Don’t worry; I’ve had worse.”

         She knows she's had worse. She, personally, has done worse to her. Tried to do worse last night and would have, like a fucking psycho, if Ellie hadn’t wriggled her way out of her hold.

         At the time it had pissed her off. Now she just feels thankful, because she imagines this would all be going very differently if she had succeeded in trying to break her arm.

         Just as she opens her mouth to ramble out an apology, Ellie opens her mouth first.

         “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

         It shocks both her and Lev into motionless silence, which the woman must take for some sort of confusion. Which it is. She adds, unhelpfully, “For last night. I shouldn’t have said what I said. Not only was it… stupidly un-fucking-productive, but it wasn’t fair. Not even true, really. So… sorry.”

         What the fuck is even happening right now?

         Part of what throws her off is that Ellie is in uniform. The same navy and dark gold uniform she saw some of the soldiers on the ferry wearing, sans any armor. She even has a dark blue winter coat that hangs down to her feet, and gone is the green bandana and short ponytail. Instead, her hair falls free around her shoulders, held out of her face by the beret on her head.

         There’s a purplish stain on her collar.

         It’s like she’s looking at some alternate timeline Ellie, except she isn’t, because she’s still missing two fingers on her left hand.

         The other part is that she just… she has no idea what she’s talking about.

         She was in the wrong. She was clearly in the wrong. She started the fight, both verbally and physically. All Ellie did before she started laying into her was answer some reasonable questions from Lev.

         “What are you even talking about?” she says before she can think about it, feeling something dangerously close to a sneer come over her face. “I… I was the one who freaked for no reason and then hit you. Why are you apologizing?”

         Ellie stares at her, nose wrinkling slightly. Once again, her fingers find each other, nails digging in and around the pads of the opposing hand.

         “I didn’t react well either, when I found out about the whole… ‘spreading my immunity’ thing.” The way she says it, almost-quiet and halting, makes it clear this is a moment of vulnerability for her. It’s quickly shuttered away by a scowl, though it doesn’t seem directed at anything in particular. “I should have realized you might not take it well either. It was my job to make sure none of you guys freaked the fuck out, and I… obviously fucking failed. So, again: I’m sorry.”

         It’s enough to make her head spin. Oddly enough, it’s because Ellie sounds… mature.

         She never thought of her as being capable of being ‘mature.’ She was the teenage girl who spent a day at Salt Lake and inadvertently left a trail of destruction in her wake. She was the slightly older teenage girl who chased her across three states to kill all of her friends because they brought justice to a monster she happened to know. She was the young woman who chased her across four states again a year later because she just couldn’t let it go.

         ‘Mature’ was never in her descriptors of Ellie. Not until now.

         In a strange moment of clarity, it inspires her.

         “I-I’m sorry too,” she says in a rush, almost gasping the words out. When Ellie’s eyebrows raise in surprise, she continues talking before she can interrupt her. Scared that if she does, she won’t be able to start again. “We… we made an agreement not to talk about our history, and not even an hour later, I went back on it. I should have kept my cool, and I… I really should not have hit you. So I’m sorry about last night. Too. I’m sorry too.”

         Fuck, why is she so bad at talking?

         There’s more she should probably, maybe, say. The right thing would be to mention how it was especially fucked up to do all of that since Ellie had just gotten done with saving her and her people’s lives. But that’s a step too far, even in this weird, addled mental state she’s found herself in where apologies come easy for once.

         Ellie seems unsure what to do with her little speech. She nods, slowly, like she’s some strange alien she’s trying in vain to communicate with.

         “Okay…” is what she finally says after a painfully long pause. “That’s… like I said, I’ve had worse, so… it’s fine? Thank you, I guess?”

         ‘I guess.’ She guesses. As if she hadn’t spent most of this morning agonizing over even the idea of apologizing to her.

         The anger is weirdly easy to snuff out. She’s not even sure whether it’s logic or exhaustion that lets her do it. Logic, because letting herself get angry is a dumbfuck idea, or exhaustion, because she really does not want to fight with Ellie again.

         “Yeah,” she replies awkwardly, digging her nails into her forearm. “Thank you too… I guess.”

         It’s not really meant to be a joke, but Ellie still huffs a short breath through her nose. A weak excuse for a laugh, yet it’s something. Something positive.

         “Cool,” she says, the word falling from her lips with a strange sort of gravitas. She stands there awkwardly, lips pursed, before nodding vaguely to her. “Our agreement from last night is back on, then? I ignore you, you ignore me, and we sing our shitty little version of kumbaya as far from each other as humanly possible?”

         She laughs. She honest to god laughs. Just for a second, but she does. Lev too.

         “Yeah,” she says, feeling something like a weight come off her chest. “Sure.”

         Ellie chuckles, and a relieved smile flits its way across her lips. “Great. Let’s start now.”

         Then before either of them can say anything else, she’s gone, rushing out the door like the devil himself is on her heels. It doesn’t look or feel like a retreat, though. More like a goodbye. A final one.

         She knows it isn’t really. She’s sure she’ll see her again in the next few days. Whatever this ‘residency hearing’ is going to be like, she’s pretty sure she’ll be there for some reason or another. Maybe to answer a few questions. Maybe just to annoy her. Her life would be just too simple otherwise.

         Even after that, if they get to say, she’s sure she’ll eventually see her again by chance.

         The thought doesn’t bother her as much as it probably should. Maybe it’s just the high of possibly making progress towards staying here, but she thinks she can handle seeing Ellie Miller every once in a while. Especially if the place she sees her is here, in this privileged earthly fucking paradise.

         As long as she doesn’t have to talk to her.

         Suddenly Lev chuckles, and when she turns to look at him, he’s shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Congratulations, Abby. I think you just made peace with Ellie Miller.”

         She tosses her pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up, you little goober.”

Chapter Text

         It takes them all day to question Abby’s whole group, then most of the night to look over the responses. To Rachel’s (and her) disappointment, she’s called into the Compound the next morning.

         Determined to get this over as quickly as possible, she immediately says, “I want to see all of their responses.”

         The SP’s that met her in the conference room with just three folders give her curious looks, but one of them goes to fetch the rest of the files.

         She goes through Abby and Lev’s first, and there’s nothing surprising in them. Aside from the last year and a half she spent traveling up here, the two of them have been Catalina Fireflies ever since they parted ways in Santa Barbara.

         She confirms what she can. Abby, prior to Seattle, was most likely a Firefly as she stated during questioning. She was in Seattle thirteen years ago working for the WLF, while Lev was a Seraphite. Then she was in Santa Barbara twelve years ago and captured by the Rattlers while looking for the Fireflies regrouping there.

         It’s not much, but it’s due diligence more than anything. The questioning itself is designed to weed out any lies or inconsistencies, of which there aren’t really any.

         The only thing they get is typical stuff that can be attributed to imperfect memories. Exact routes they traveled, exact dates they did such and so, etcetera, etcetera. But in this case, all the main beats match up.

         She takes note of the fact that most of them say they entered Traverse City along South Garfield Avenue. They apparently switched over to it from I-31 before ever entering the city, hoping it would take them straight through to Center Road.

         That obviously didn’t happen, but… it explains why they missed the signs. The roundabout route they had to take to avoid some smaller hordes on the outskirts took them right between two sets of warnings.

         They’ll put some up along that route, but she needs to talk to Adela and Marcus about sending teams further out. This isn’t the first time a group of strays has slipped through before, and putting up more signs around the city isn’t going to stop that. It’s too inefficient with just how many roads feed into the place.

         They need to put up warnings along all the interstates, miles out from the city, to catch people before they ever even get close.

         A worry for later, though. Right now, she picks up the third and final file they already had laid out for her.

         Marshall Walk.

         “He was in Santa Barbara twelve years ago too,” says the SP that remained in the room with her, a newer recruit named Harper, and she quickly flips to the page with the information. “You never mentioned knowing him, but we thought it was interesting.”

         Immediately, she gets her answer to the questions she had about him.

         “He acted like he recognized me, but I didn’t recognize him,” she tells Harper, flipping the file around so he can see. “He was captured by the Rattlers too. I made contact with some of the slaves other than Abby and Lev, but only for a second. Probably memorable for them, but… not for me.”

         Harper nods, forming a little ‘o’ with his mouth. “That would do it.”

         She just nods back, turning the file back around to read the finer details. According to him, he was there for roughly six more months than Abby and Lev. Almost a full year.

         Nausea churns her stomach.

         No matter how hard she tries to remember, she can’t. She can’t remember anyone that looked like him.

         She can’t remember any of them.

         The only faces she remembers from that day are those two Rattlers that nearly captured her, the one that nearly killed her in their fucking keep, and Abby and Lev. The other Rattlers blurring is… fine. It’s expected. She’s killed so many people at this point that they have to, or she’d go insane.

         But the prisoners, those slaves?

         It had been an accident more than anything else. The Rattlers were in her way, and she just happened to push one close enough that they could free themselves. They had barely fucking… registered with her.

         If she hadn’t pushed that woman into the cage…

         She likes to think she would have freed them herself. But a part of her, a part she is so fucking ashamed of…

         A part of her thinks she would have made them bargain for it. Made them tell her where Abby was in exchange for the key, if she even bothered with them at all.

         And yet for them, it was so memorable that this guy Marshall remembers her well enough to recognize her twelve years after the fact.

         Fuck.

         Thankfully, she doesn’t have long to dwell on her shame. The door to the conference room swings open and the other SP that met her, an older woman named Robin she’s worked with a few times, comes in.

         Her arms are laden with the rest of the group’s files, and she quickly takes half of them with muttered thanks.

         It doesn’t take long to peruse them. She’s only really looking at responses going back seventeen years and before, and only for specific details therein.

         As she suspected… she finds four.

         Howard Barnes. Firefly from 2019 to 2034.

         Petunia Barnes. Firefly from 2017 to 2034.

         They were both stationed at the Fireflies’ headquarters on Treasure Island before they disbanded, after which they moved to the Sacramento QZ with their son. They continued to live there for the next fourteen years, rejoining the Fireflies ten years in and moving to Catalina Island four years after.

         Alice Allard. Firefly from 2029 to 2034. Both her parents were also Fireflies.

         Jacques Allard. While he only officially became a Firefly in 2039, he lived in the Salt Lake City outpost with his sister and parents.

         During the incident with Joel Miller, their mother and father were killed. After the Fireflies disbanded, the two of them returned to their parents’ hometown of Shreveport, Louisiana over the course of a year. There, they survived alone for the next three years before journeying to Catalina Island to rejoin the Fireflies.

         It was Alice who mentioned Joel. Given the venom in her eyes every time she’s looked at her, she can hazard a guess why.

         Three and a half old guard Fireflies.

         Four people who probably hate her fucking guts.

         She sighs, running a hand through her hair. She really hopes Abby can wrangle her people.

         It’s kind of a shame really. She actually likes Nadia a bit, and not just because her baby is super cute. But as if the fact that she’s one of Abby’s people weren’t enough, she’s close to quite a few other people who hate her. Things like that tend to make friendships pretty awkward.

         What am I doing, what am I doing, what the fuck am I doing~? she sings to herself in her head, feeling like she’s going insane.

         It’s like she’s stumbled across a rose bush and dug her hands in. And instead of letting go, she’s trying to find a better grip.

         God, maybe she really is a masochist.

         Which reminds her…

         “Thanks, you guys,” she tells the SP’s, and both of them nod in reply. “This is exactly what I was looking for. You know if Adela is in? I need to go tell her about this.”

         She doesn’t tell them what ‘this’ is, and they don’t ask. If they needed to know, they’d know.

         “I think so, cap,” says Robin, nodding her head vaguely upwards. “Pretty sure she’s actually waiting on these too.”

         She immediately sweeps all the files up into her arms. “I’ll take them up to her, then. You guys go take it easy.”

         Robin smiles her thanks, but the younger one, Terry, grins his. He’s still that age where he’s eager to slack off on the job instead of getting bored when he has nothing to do.

         She shakes her head fondly as she strides from the room. Ah, youth.

         Well, maybe not youth. Since she was a teenager, she’s hated sitting on her ass. Might be that ADHD thing Joel once jokingly swore she had. She knows plenty of adults who love to slack off on the job too.

         To her surprise, Marcus is there when she knocks on Adela’s door. It takes her a moment to realize why, and once she does, she simply says, “Traverse?”

         They both nod, and Marcus replies, “Traverse.”

         Sighing, she walks forward, setting the stack of files on Adela’s desk. “Well, I can tell you right now they came in along South Garfield Avenue. They got onto it from the I-31 way before they ever even hit the city, since they hoped it would take them all the way down to the end of the peninsula.”

         She digs out the map they had compiled from all the routes Abby’s group had sketched, holding it out to the two of them.

         “Right between the signs.” Marcus shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Damn.”

         “Yeah.” She lets the word fall from her lips simple and harsh, leaning back against Adela’s desk as the owner peers at the map. “We need to send a squad to put signs way further out. Miles out, along all the major roads. I know you guys are all worried about that leading the wrong people to us, but…”

         She considers what she’s about to say. It’s a thought that’s been niggling at the back of her mind for a while, one she wanted to leave for later. Later, when things weren’t quite so tense between her and the council. But they’re already talking about this anyways, so whatever.

         “This is going to get worse,” she says, and when they look at her questioningly, she taps the folders. “People coming to us, I mean. Abby and her group came all the way from California. Granted, they didn’t really have much of a fucking choice, but… they heard about our immunity all the way out there. They heard about Islaborne. No details, but… they heard.

         “Other people are going to come too,” she continues, staring the both of them down. “They’re going to come along the major roads. Some of them are probably going to head for Traverse City. Some of them are going to slip through like Abby’s group did if we don’t put up earlier warning signs. Even ignoring the fucking… moral implications, it’s basically just serving up new infected to that commander. And every single body’ll count when we try to clear it out.”

         The two of them stare at her, glance at each other, and then sigh in unison. Marcus waves the map at her in a put-upon way. “We’ll bring it up with the council after we get these new arrivals sorted.”

         That’s the best she’s going to get, she knows. While most off-island stuff is left up to Marcus and Adela, as it should be… stuff that could lead people to them is always a council matter. They haven’t kept this community as safe as it has been by broadcasting their existence to the world.

         So with a sigh, she digs her nails into her palm. “About that…”

         “Oh god, here we fucking go,” mutters Adela, already walking past her to start peeling through the files.

         She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Marshall Walk knows me. Abby and Lev were being held by these slavers when I last saw them, and so was he. I don’t remember him, but I… freed a lot of those fuckers’ captives, so I dunno. I think he remembers me.”

         Marcus hums in amusement, sauntering over much more casually to pick up a file as well. “What I’m hearing is that you have some positive history with one of these people?”

         That gets him a snort and a light smack on the shoulder. “Yeah, sure, what-the-fuck-ever. Doesn’t really even things out. Pretty sure I have bad history with at least three of the others, not counting Abby or Lev.”

         Adela immediately whips around to glare at her. “Are you fucking kidding me, Miller?!”

         “This one isn’t my fault!” she exclaims in reply, throwing her hands up. “Howard and Petunia Barnes, Alice and Jacques Allard. They were all Fireflies, or related to them in Jacques’ case, when my dad… you know. Fucking killed like eight hundred Fireflies in one night. The Allard siblings were even in Salt Lake. Given how they looked at me when I gave them the rundown… they might be holding a grudge.”

         Neither of them are impressed by her sad attempts at jokes. 

         “Are they warranted grudges?” Marcus asks, and she barks out a bitter laugh.

         “Fuck no!” She pushes away from the desk, pacing away angrily. A sigh escapes her, slipping out and betraying her inner turmoil. “Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted the Fireflies to make a cure out of me, and I was unconscious through the whole shitshow in Salt Lake, so… no, I guess. But if not for me, it wouldn’t have happened either. So maybe, yes.”

         “No, then,” says Adela immediately. She uses her ‘I am talking casually because I want to impress upon you that as far as I am concerned, I am speaking observable facts’ tone. “Unless you asked your dad to do what he did, there ain’t shit these people can reasonably pin on you. Think they’ll still try?”

         A shrug. “No idea. But I told Abby what would happen if they tried to pull the same shit we pulled with each other. She seemed to understand she needs to keep them in line.”

         “And do you think she can?” Marcus’ tone is as sharp and purposeful as always, no emotion swaying it one way or the other. Just insight trying to cut straight through to the heart of the matter. “Especially if they stay? You know how group dynamics can break down once people settle in here. How they should break down, honestly. You think she can keep a hold on her people when they stop being ‘her people’ and become just ‘her friends’?”

         It takes her a second to think on that.

         If she’s being honest, she doesn’t really know.

         But…

         The mansion is a bit of a blur. She remembers a lot, but most of it is muffled. Blurry. Spliced with Joel’s body which she seemingly couldn’t help but keep looking at.

         But she remembers the way Abby had been looking at her, at the very end. She’s remembered it ever since that night, even if at one point it was just because she couldn’t forget.

         It was conflicted, maybe. Sad, if she wants to be generous. But there was no malice. No murderous intent. No grim resolve.

         She thinks Owen is maybe one of the reasons she didn’t die there. She’s pretty sure she stepped between her and their fuckhead friends that wanted to kill her. It’s one of the reasons that she maybe feels the worst guilt over his death.

         But she also remembers, she thinks she remembers… that it wasn’t until Abby turned and looked at her, that that asshole Nick lowered his gun.

         “I don’t know about after, when they all get settled in,” she says finally, looking back to Adela and Marcus, “but for now? Yeah. Maybe. Pretty sure she’s their leader, so I think she could. I’m sure she’ll try. We’ll have to see.”

         It’s not really her actual reasoning, but it is part of it. It seems to be enough for the two of them.

         Adela still looks unhappy. “Anything else you want to mention?”

         She snorts, a bit bitterly, and heads for the door. “From what I know of them, Abby and Lev’s answers check out.”

         All she gets in response is a huff that sounds angry and amused.

         She hurries back through the Compound, taking the stairs two at a time, and as soon as she bursts out into the lobby, Rachel leaps up from her seat.

         “Done?!” she exclaims hopefully, and Mutt stands as well with an excited little boof at her tone.

         She grins at her, nodding. “Done.”

         Her daughter throws her hands up in the air, hopping in place. “Whoo! Come on, let’s go to the stables, I wanna take a ride!”

         Laughing, she lets her grab both her hands and pull her along. Mutt, like the dummy he is, tries to worm his way between them.

         She tries to banish all thoughts of Abby and her group and Joel and Salt Lake and the council from her mind. She’s done her due diligence as an Islander and security captain.

         More bullshit will come down the pipe, especially once the residency hearing takes place, but for now?

         For now, she’s going to spend the day with her daughter.

         The very moment they’re cleared to leave their room, she asks if they can check on the rest of their people, and she runs their plan by the SP in charge of their guards. With just a reminder that they have to have an escort, they’re given the green light.

         So she and Lev shuck on their (newly cleaned and therefore heavenly feeling) clothes before heading right next door to the Bucketts. She moves at record pace on her new crutches.

         They’re stopped at the door and asked to put masks on, just in case, which they do gladly.

         The moment the door opens, she nearly falls to her knees in relief.

         Both Maria and Georgie are awake.

         They’re propped up in beds flanking the window, and another has been pushed in to rest right next to Maria’s. Davey is sat in a chair between them, dressed in his normal clothing and with a smile on his face. His arm is in a new sling, one much cleaner, and the bandages covering it are pearly white.

         All three look up as they enter, and Maria’s eyes light up immediately. “Heeeeey, WWE… beansprout. How’re you two doing?”

         She snorts, shaking her head as she crosses the room in all but a handful of leaps. “How are we doing?! How are you and Georgie doing?!” She glances between them, unable to wipe the shit eating grin from her face and not caring to try. “Last time we saw you, you were…”

         She trails off, making her point clear. The last time they saw the two of them, they were barely able to stay conscious. Now?

         Well, they still don’t look great. She’s pretty sure it’s the layers of pillows keeping them both upright, and they’re both pale and clammy. Maria’s voice is weak and hoarse, too. The smell of antiseptic and sickness, feverish sweat, hangs heavy in the air.

         But they are still so much better.

         “Psh.” Maria makes a floppy gesture with her hand that she thinks is meant to be flippant. “We’re fine. On the mend, the doctors say. Just… just gotta take it easy.”

         She raises an elbow to let out a hacking cough into it. It sounds only slightly less taxing than the ones she heard just two days ago, but that’s still a big improvement.

         Georgie nods in that sleepy, hazy way sick little kids do. “The nurses brought us books. Daddy’s been reading to us.”

         It’s a bit of a non-sequitur, but that’s to be expected. Georgie’s mind often leapt from topic to topic to topic in seconds even before the fever.

         The urge to go over and give him a hug is strong, but they’re under strict orders for no contact.

         “Yes, they have been…” Davey says, pausing to huff an astounded sort of breath and shake his head, “They have been very accommodating.”

         Lev snorts, and she almost copies him. ‘Accommodating.’

         You could call cordyceps a ‘slight inconvenience’ and it would be a smaller understatement.

         “Yep,” drawls Maria, blinking at her like a lazy cat. “Heard this is… quite the place you’ve found for us, Abigail. Davey makes it sound like… Shangri-fuckin-La.”

         It’s like a buck of cold water over her head, and she jerks her head up and down in a vague facsimile of a nod. “Yeah. That’s, uh… actually why Lev and I are here. Well, we wanted to check on you anyways, but… apparently we all passed that round of questioning.”

         “Yes, they told us just a bit ago,” says Davey, and the smile on his face becomes fleeting as well. “They said that meant we can apply for residency.”

         “We wanted to get everyone together to talk about that,” says Lev, and she’s thankful he’s here so she doesn’t have the chance to dance around it. “There’s some… special circumstances we wanted to discuss with everyone as a group. Everyone that can attend, that is.”

         He nods to both Maria and Georgie. “They’ll most likely want the two of you to stay put, to keep the flu from spreading, and we wouldn’t want you to have to move either. But Davey, if you want to join, you can. We’re going to be holding it around three o’clock this afternoon in Abby and I’s room.”

         All it takes is one glance between Davey and his wife for her to light reach up and tweak his nose. “We’ll be fine, honey… best we all start coming up with a plan. You can… you can fill us in after.”

         He seems unconvinced. After a second, though, he nods and looks to them. “If I can convince one of the nurses to sit with them, then… m-maybe. Sure.”

         She knows that’s the best they’re going to get, and it doesn’t bother her. He can’t be faulted for putting his family first. Besides, it’s not the end of the world. Worse comes to worst, they can just come over here afterwards and tell them what happened.

         Hopefully it’ll go as well and as simply as she’s hoping it will.

         “Got one question right now, though… maybe you can answer,” says Maria quietly, forcing down a cough.

         She shrugs and smiles. “Hit us.”

         “The immunity thing… it real?” If she notices the sudden tension winding its way through her body, she doesn’t show it. She just keeps talking, voice and gaze both a little hazy. “They said they gave it to my Davey, but… all that nurse did was put a swab around in her mouth, then in his. Nothing…. more’n an indirect kiss, WWE!”

         She laughs, and Davey steadies her as it causes her to devolve into a coughing fit. Once it’s over, she leans back again, gesturing at her weakly. “They said his blood test came back positive, but… just… seems hard to believe, don’t it? You believe it?”

         It’s easier to keep her cool now than it was with Ellie. Or even Lev. The cold douse of reality her fight had splashed over her is probably the cause.

         Or maybe it’s the fact they did the same with her. They did the same with her, and…

         “Yes,” she says unconsciously, the word coming out short and stilted. When Davey and Maria both raise eyebrows at her, though, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes a calming breath. Then another, and another, and another.

         Once her heart has stopped racing, she starts talking again. “This is one of the things I was going to talk with the group about in the meeting, but… the woman who saved us is named Ellie Miller. She was the immune girl Joel Miller brought to Salt Lake. I… met her, about five years after that. Thirteen years ago.

         “When these people gave Lev and I their immunity, and did the blood test…” Another calming breath as she feels the rage, the grief, the shame, run through her again. “They said the cordyceps concentration in me looked like someone that had been immune for years. I’m nearly certain Ellie gave me it when we met thirteen years ago. Obviously I haven’t… fucking tested that, since I never knew, but I’m almost positive this is the real deal.”

         Davey, Maria, and Georgie all blink at her, processing that information. Lev watches her with a careful eye, and just the slightest tilt to one of his eyebrows. No doubt he’s impressed with her just… awe-inspiring restraint. She can talk about the immunity without losing her shit. Next thing they’ll know she may even be able to talk about it with Ellie.

         What a world.

         Georgie sniffs. “Did you kiss her?”

         She chokes on her spit.

         Lev does too, and they hold onto each other as they descend into coughing fits. Both of them stare at the little boy in utter shock and bewilderment.

         Maria cackles so loud it almost sounds like a shriek, though it lasts only a moment before she begins hacking her lungs up.

         “Georgie!” admonishes Davey immediately, reaching over to gently pinch his cheek. “Why would you say that?”

         His son blinks at him like he thinks the reason is obvious. When his father just looks back, he heaves a quiet little sigh. “The nurse lady said you get it through spit’n… and Abby said she didn’t know she got it. So I thought maybe they kissed back then.”

         “We did not,” she exclaims, leveling a shaking finger at him, “kiss!”

         Another slow blink. “How’d you get immune, then?”

         She almost blurts out that Ellie bit her, but that would lead to some very sticky questions she’s hoping she won’t have to answer today. Or tomorrow. Or at any point for the rest of her miserable life. Plus, in this context… she really doesn’t want to give Maria that type of ammunition.

         Lev snorts as she flounders, and she very nearly punches him.

         “D-Doesn’t matter!” she finally settles on, shaking her head at Georgie. “It was thirteen years ago. Ancient history.”

         He sniffles again, and sits up a bit straighter. “She could still like you.”

         She spins on her heel. “Okay, we’re leaving! See you later, Davey! Maria, Georgie, get better!”

         Even Davey chuckles now, and Maria cackles yet again, though much quieter.

         “Shut up,” she grumbles to Lev as soon as the door shuts behind them, tearing the mask from her face and tossing it in the small bin set to the side. She doesn’t wait for him to do the same, crutches barely touching the floor as she speeds to the next room. “Shut. Up.”

         He fails to hold back another snort, and their dual SP escort glance at each other questioningly.

         Did they fucking kiss… she knows he had no idea what he was talking about, but she still feels her blood boil. Ellie Miller is the literal last person in the world she even wants to think about in the same vein as kissing. Psychotic bitch.

         Even in her head, the insult lacks the same level of vitriol she could have managed just a week ago.

         She can’t really bring herself to care. The woman has earned a bit less hatred from her at this point. Even she can admit that.

         But just a bit, and no more.

         She knocks on the door to Abel and the Barneses’ room a bit harder than necessary, and has to take a deep breath before calling out, “It’s Abby and Lev. You guys mind if we come in?”

         There’s a muffled exclamation, several rapid thumps, and then the door flies open and she’s suddenly accosted.

         She tenses up for a single moment, fight or flight activating, before she realizes it’s just Abel.

         “Hey, man,” she chuckles, doing her best to return his one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you too.”

         “Been going insane here, chiquita.” He sighs, squeezing her tightly one more time before releasing her. Then he spots Lev behind her and lurches forward to grab him as well, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “You too, hermano. Was this close to coming to find you two myself.”

         Lev shoves him away with a good-natured smile. “Please, stay in one place. The last thing we need is you running around and getting into trouble.”

         Able feigns a wounded look, stumbling back with his good hand over his heart. “Oh, that’s cold, man, ice cold! I see this place hasn’t softened you up at all, eh?”

         Before Lev can fire back, from behind him Howard suddenly calls out, “Stop heckling them at the door, Abel, and let’em in!”

         Smiling in a marginally abashed way, Abel backs up and to the side, waving them in.

         Their room is far more crowded than even the Bucketts, what with four beds crammed into it. It’s also more lived in, however, with none of the occupants being bedridden. Lots of their belongings are scattered around, and Cricket is sitting on one of the beds with what looks like a game of cards spread out in front of him.

         Of course, he immediately hops up, swinging forward on a crutch towards her. She does the same, laughing as she meets him in the middle to (gently) sweep him up into a hug.

         “Hey, you little punk,” she sighs, swinging him around in a small circle, mindful of his leg. “How’s the leg?”

         “Fracture!” he chirps happily as she sets him down. He sticks it out slightly to show her the clean white bandages and metal plates making up a proper splint. His bright smile falters a touch in the next second, though. “They said it may’ve healed a bit wrong so far, but not enough to try and fix it.”

         Her own smile dims, but she reaches down to ruffle his hair. “Yeah, that kind of stuff is risky. But hey! It’s healing properly now, right? I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

         He considers his leg for another moment before nodding, half to himself and half to her, and returning to grinning at her.

         Lev’s hand snakes out from around her to tweak his ear. “I see you’ve regained some of your energy.”

         Cricket slaps his hand away, scowling to hide a smile. Before he can reply, though, both Howard and Petunia are there.

         She and Lev embrace them, one after the other.

         “Ribs are fine,” says Howard before she can even ask. At her flat look, he chuckles and waves her off. “They gave me one of those edibles. Can barely feel it.”

         When she and Lev glance at his wife, each of them raising an eyebrow, the woman actually shrugs, seeming unconcerned. “He’s overstating it, but yes. So far he seems to be doing very well.”

         She breathes a sigh of relief, nodding. “That’s great, you two.”

         Then she tenses up as Petunia raises a single, sharp eyebrow. “And you, Abigail? I assume your ankle is healing quite nicely, given your gallivanting around?”

         “Yes, ma’am,” she replies, only half-joking with the term of respect.

         She reaches up to pat her cheek in a teasing manner. “Good.”

         Howard chuckles, and when she shoots him a glare, he only chuckles louder.

         “What about you, son?” he says to Lev, who shirks his head.

         “I’m fine.” He shrugs when the man just gives him a stern look. “I was barely hurt. I’m fine.”

         Sighing and shaking her head, she decides to rescue him and cuts in. “Lev and I are going around checking on everybody, and inviting everyone to a meeting. We want to talk about this whole situation with everyone around three o’clock, our room.”

         “We’ve already got permission,” adds Lev.

         “Well, that works for us,” says Howard, trading a glance with Petunia who nods. “Not like we got much exciting going on. But we were thinking of heading down to this… ‘playroom’ some of the nurses told us about. Apparently that’s where they keep the video games.”

         Like some sort of sleeper agent with an activation phrase, Cricket’s head whips around from where he’d ambled back over to the card game with Abel. There’s an almost ecstatic smile spreading over his face. “Are we finally going?!”

         His grandfather snorts loudly. “Still waiting for that doc to come check up on us, son. But soon.”

         Cricket pouts and sighs, returning to the cards. Abel snorts loudly and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Keep your pants on, kid. Those games ain’t going nowhere.”

         The younger boy looks at him flatly, and then flicks a card in his face. Only to yelp as the teen then lunges for him, dragging him into a noogie.

         The weight in her chest lifts, softened by a warm fuzzy feeling.

         It’s such a drastic difference from a few days ago. A bit different from Georgie in that it isn’t physical, at least not fully, but mental.

         Cricket’s happy. He’s playing around. He’s excited for the day.

         As if they can read her thoughts, both Howard and Petunia step up beside her to watch as Lev ambles over to rescue their grandson.

         “He’s really hoping we can stay here,” says Petunia lowly, a soft yet bitter smile curling her lips. There’s a furrow to her brows that speaks to hidden worry.

         She huffs a humorless, short laugh. “Aren’t we all?”

         Howard’s laugh rumbles in his chest. “Pet and I sure are. But I guess we’ll see at the meeting, eh?”

         His tone is lighthearted, jesting, but she still tenses up a bit.

         She has a feeling they will see if they’re really all on the same page about staying. Maybe even sooner, given their next stop is…

         A quiet sigh, before she clears her throat. “Lev, come on. It’s time we get a move on.”

         He looks up from where he’s got Abel and Cricket separated from each other, one of their collars in each hand. She laughs quietly at the sight. Children, all three of them.

         Lev releases both of them, and disappointment flashes across each of their faces. But then they smile as he pats them both on the shoulder. “See you guys later.”

         “Yeah.” She hobbles over to embrace Cricket and Abel once more. “You can tell us what sorts of video games these guys have here.”

         Cricket flashes her a happy little salute, and she chuckles.

         Their happy mood, both Lev’s and hers, fades as they approach the next room. She’d already given him fair warning about what they can maybe expect.

         It’s… better than she thought it would be, at least.

         Latonya and Claudette are cuddled up on one of the beds by the window, with Jacques sitting right beside them, a book open in his lap. Alice is on the bed across from them, lounging back lazily.

         Their room is a bit claustrophobic like Abel and the Barneses’ with four beds squashed into it. But there’s still a lighthearted mood hanging in the air, even if Alice’s face immediately darkens as they step inside.

         None of them stand to rush and greet them, but that’s no big deal. Or at least she hopes it isn’t.

         She tries for humor, grinning at all four of them. “Well, aren’t you guys just all cozy?”

         To her relief, even Alice spares her an indulgent twitch of her lips. The rest of her family grin.

         “There’s the Andersons,” chuckles Latonya, and her grin turns to a smirk as she raises a brow. “We were wondering how long it’d be before you swung by.”

         Lev huffs a quiet laugh. “We would have been here sooner, but we checked on the Bucketts, and then Abel and the Barneses, first.”

         That gets a stronger reaction out of Alice, who sits up straighter. “And how’re they? Maria and Georgie especially. They doing better?”

         “Way better.” Another astonished laugh escapes her as she comes to lean against her bed. “They were both sitting up. Lucid. Maria was cracking jokes, even.”

         “Georgie’s mind was running almost as fast as before, too,” adds Lev, and his lips are quirked with just the… barest fucking hint of a teasing smirk. She has to resist the urge to smack him for it.

         None of the Allards notice the exchange, instead trading astonished smiles.

         “Well, we’ll definitely have to go see’em then,” laughs Jacques, and his family nod along.

         Claudette scooches forward a bit, sitting up. “Is Cricket okay?”

         The soft, worried look in her big doe eyes is almost too much to bear. What a sweet girl.

         “Cricket’s fine, kiddo,” she says, reaching out to pat her head. Then, to her parents and aunt, “Everyone is, so far, but you can see most of them later today. We’re going to be holding a meeting in Lev and I’s room, around three o’clock. We want to make sure everyone is on the same page about this place.”

         Interest sparks to life in Alice’s eyes, quickly followed by something almost predatory. Hunting and searching, a quick series of calculations that leaves her pupils flickering in place. She knows, immediately, that she’s searching for an ulterior motive.

         She decides to spare her the effort. “We have a little bit more information than I think everyone else got. Just want to share it around.”

         It’s not exactly a lie. She’s pretty sure some of the bits Ellie let slip, like the fact all the islands are clear or that the ferries are electric, are things she probably didn’t tell the rest of the group. While stuff like that may not seem relevant as to whether they should stay or go, it should paint a clearer picture of this group’s capabilities for everyone. That can maybe sway some opinions.

         The owner of one of those opinions she hopes to sway, Alice, narrows her eyes and leans forward slightly.

         No doubt she can tell she isn’t being entirely truthful about her reasoning for calling the meeting. Hell, she probably knows she wants to talk about Ellie. Either that, or she’s planning to bring it up herself. Probably both.

         For a moment, it seems like she’ll bring it up right now. Then Lev speaks, and her eyes snap to him instead.

         “I’m sure at least a few of us have picked up other information so far too.” He shrugs lightheartedly, and she can’t quite tell if he was picking up on Alice’s intensity. She wouldn’t doubt it, though, and if so then this is probably his attempt to defuse. “Besides… it will give most of us the opportunity to touch base with each other for the first time since we arrived.”

         Intentional or not, it does the job of winding Alice down. The scalpel-like gaze she’d been examining with fades, and she says, “I’d like to lay eyes on Nadia and Aisha again. You seen them yet?”

         She shakes her head in reply, glad to move on to safer areas of conversation. “No, them and the Hendersons are our last stop. Then it’s off to wherever they’re keeping Marshall and Gracie.”

         Latonya raises an eyebrow. “They’re lettin’ y’all leave the hospital?”

         “Did they say you guys couldn’t?” asks Lev, brows furrowing. In response to his confusion, she only shrugs.

         Alice is the one who answers, cutting in with an almost-biting tone. “They said we could visit ‘the other members of our group.’ We assumed that just meant everyone here in the hospital.”

         “Oh,” she says, “well… they confirmed Lev and I could go visit Marshall and Gracie when we asked. You guys might want to check too, but they didn’t mention it being a… leader privilege, or whatever. I think so long as we’re escorted by their soldiers and don’t wander anywhere weird, we can all move around a bit.”

         Jacques sighs wistfully. “Might take them up on that, then. We were gonna wait a bit to go see anyone, but if we can go outside… wouldn’t mind getting up off my ass a bit sooner.”

         His wife and sister chuckle, as does she. With a sigh, she stands, bumping her fist against his shoulder. “Well, if you wait until the meeting, we can report back on just how fucking cold it is out there, huh?”

         That gets full laughter, and even Claudette giggles. In response, she shakes her head and hides a rueful smile. Bastards.

         “The Barneses were actually talking about going down to some ‘playroom’ here in the hospital later on,” says Lev, stepping forward to help her to her feet. He trades a knowing smile with Claudette. “Cricket wants to try those video games they apparently have.”

         It’s exactly the right thing to say, and the little girl’s eyes light up. She immediately grabs both her mother and father’s arms, thrusting her lower lip out. “Can we go with them too?! Please?! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?!”

         All three of her guardians shoot annoyed glares Lev’s way, and he feigns a look of innocent surprise in response. She snorts and nudges him in the ribs. Under her breath, she mutters, “Troublemaker.”

         “I prefer ‘morale booster,’” he shoots back, and it takes quite a bit of self-restraint to not crack up.

         It’s clear neither Jacques, nor Latonya, nor Alice agree with that assessment. She’s pretty sure that if there weren’t a nine-year-old girl here as a witness, they’d have all leapt up to strangle him to death.

         Deciding to save him, she flashes an apologetic smile to the family of four. “I think that’s our cue to head out. We’ll see you guys at three?”

         She receives several affirmative grumbles in response as the adults turn to the issue of trying to calm Claudette’s sudden, overwhelming enthusiasm.

         “That was mean,” she tells Lev as they leave, turning towards their fourth and final stop on this floor.

         He just shrugs. “They should try to enjoy this place while they can. If it turns out we can’t stay, then we should at least make some nice memories.”

         A part of her wants to blow the sentiment off as pessimism, but she knows it’s really just pragmatism. If she’s being honest, she even agrees.

         If they do have to leave, it’ll probably be a while until they get the chance to experience things like fresh jam and video games again. And there’s no guarantee they ever even will. It’d be stupid to not take advantage.

         Still… she could really do with some optimism at the moment, so she lightly noogies him with a frown. “Hey. It’ll be fine. Have some faith.”

         His lips twitch, but that’s all she gets. A dark sort of disbelief still lies in his eyes; a refusal to take anything good at face value.

         She knows there isn’t anything she can do to convince him, so she just smiles sadly, dragging him close.

         Pressing a quick kiss to his head, she playfully shoves him away again. “Yeah, well, guess that goes for us too, huh? We should try that playroom. I don’t think you’ve ever played a video game.”

         He tries to force his grin into some sort of grimace, but utterly fails. A bashful red comes to his cheeks as he tries to wave her off. “Are you sure it isn’t because you want to play?”

         She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, no, I hate video games. Total waste of time.”

         He eyes her for a second, mouth pressed into a flat line.

         “You’re bad at them, aren’t you?”

         “Shut up.”

         Even their SP escort snickers along with him, and she desperately tries to force down the warm flush in her ears and cheeks. In a desperate bid to defend herself, she says, “I’m not ‘bad’ at video games. I just… don’t care enough to put in the time and effort needed to get proficient at them. That’s all.”

         That just makes them laugh harder, and her face goes from warm to burning up. She rapidly knocks on the door to the Hendersons and the Zamans’ hospital room, calling out loudly, “Hey, it’s Abby and Lev! Can we come in?!”

         There’s a couple seconds of silence in which she seethes before Nadia calls out, “Yes!”

         She opens the door with a huff, stepping in.

         Lev, she can handle making fun of her. He’s a little shit at the best of times; she’s used to it.

         These SP’s, though… she does not enjoy random strangers laughing at her expense.

         Then she sees the state of the room, and she remembers there are worse things than being laughed at.

         It’s clean. Three beds and a crib placed neatly, with very little out of place. A few books and possessions strewn around. A pile of extra diapers on the table.

         But it is quiet.

         May is lying in her bed on her side, face blank as she stares at Aisha who rests beside her. She’s offered up a single finger to the baby, who is viciously gumming it.

         A thick wad of gauze covers her left eye, held in place by layers of white bandaging.

         She gives no sign she even heard them enter.

         Mark isn’t much better. He sits beside his wife, one hand rubbing circles into her back. He looks up when they enter, eyes red and beset by dark bags, before he turns his gaze back to May and Aisha.

         Nadia, on the other hand… she looks both worse and better than last they saw her. Like Mark, her eyes are bloodshot with heavy bags, though not quite as severe. However, the deep lines stress has etched into her face have faded slightly.

         She manages a smile for them as they enter, even setting aside a book to stand and come hug them.

         “Abigail!” she exclaims softly, wrapping her arms around her neck. Before she can even reply, she quickly releases her to snatch up hold of Lev next. “Lev! It is so good to see you!”

         “It’s good to see you too,” she replies, huffing bemusedly at her enthusiasm. Then she turns her gaze to the rest of the room’s inhabitants, raising a hand in an awkward and uncertain wave. “Hi, Mark… May. How, uh…?”

         She trails off, the words dying in her mouth. Mark spares her another glance, with a stiff nod to accompany, but that’s it. May doesn’t react at all.

         It’s difficult to think of what the fuck to say. How are they? Clearly bad. Are they okay? Definitely not. What’s wrong? Pretty much everything, especially for them.

         So, instead of fumbling with her meagre ability for words, she walks over to take a seat opposite Mark on Nadia’s bed. Silently, she holds out one of her hands, palm up.

         He looks from it, to her, then over his shoulder to his wife.

         He breathes slightly deeper, and reaches out to take hold of her hand.

         Words finally come to her, and she keeps her voice low, soothing. Or as soothing as her voice can be. “How did the surgery go? Any… any problems?”

         “No,” he says shortly, simply, his own voice hoarse but full. “They said that it should be healed enough for a prosthetic in about seven, eight weeks.”

         Shit. That’s not great. Ellie said they wouldn’t throw them out of here while they’re injured, but she has no idea what they consider ‘healed.’ If this council votes they can’t stay, then will May have to walk out of her without even a glass eye?

         Something to consider, but not something she’s brave enough to bring up. At least not right now. A glance at both Lev and Nadia standing nearby with uneasy, furrowed brows tells her she’s not the only one thinking along those lines.

         Taking a deep breath, she squeezes his hand. “And… beyond that, how are you two… I mean…”

         Her breath catches in her throat unexpectedly, and she feels her eyes begin to burn. Her mouth had run ahead of her thoughts; dragging them to memories she can’t stand yet can’t tear her mind away from.

         Before she can stop herself, she takes a shuddering breath, trying to steel her nerves. A glance at Nadia only brings to mind more ghosts, more family she led to their deaths.

         Slowly, but speeding up as her thoughts spiral, she says, “I-I’m sorry. About… i-if I hadn’t had us come here, o-or if I… i-if I turned us back earlier, then-”

         The grip on her hand goes from almost limp to painfully tight in an instant. When she raises her gaze to meet Mark’s, though, he isn’t looking at her. His eyes are locked on the floor between them.

         There’s anger, in the way his eyes are narrowed. Pain, in the taut, thin line of his lips.

         Behind him, May stills completely, her shoulders going rigid in their set. To her left, in her periphery, she can see Nadia raise her arms to hug herself. She can even hear as a soft gasp escapes her.

         She prepares herself for their vitriol, their hate. It’s what she’s been expecting, what she knows she deserves.

         Instead, Mark almost shrugs. “None of us had anything, after Catalina. You offered us a purpose. We followed. We made it here.”

         A pause, and his mouth twitches into something like a grimace at the same instant his eyes mist over. When he blinks, though, both disappear. “It wasn’t worth it. But all of us made calls, every step of the way. And nothing we do can change that.”

         The utter lack of condemnation in his voice takes a dagger to her heart. She gasps, then gasps again, hanging her head as she feels the first of the tears fall from her eyes. One makes it into her mouth, and the taste of salt on her tongue is almost mocking.

         It’s resignation he’s feeling, she thinks, and it kills her. Sobbing she could handle, anger, denial even, but resignation…

         A weight settles beside her, and a warm arm finds its way around her shoulder. “It is not your fault, Abigail. I-It is none of our faults. We all did the best we could.”

         God, that’s somehow worse. The grief in Nadia’s voice, locked behind warm comfort. The shuddering tremor betraying the tears she’s holding back.

         This is wrong. She shouldn’t be the one being comforted. Compared to what they’ve lost, what she’s going through is nothing. Nothing.

         Unable to stop herself, she says again, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry-!”

         “Apologies won’t change anything, even if we wanted them,” replies Mark bluntly, and she takes a breath that rattles her chest, looking up to meet his eyes. They’re blank, almost like a doll’s. Emotionless marbles set in his face.

         The hurt that his words strike in her is sobering. Even as she feels more guilt stir at them, she feels her tears quickly dry.

         That’s right. She can’t sit here crying and spitting out useless apologies. She needs to work on making sure their loss wasn’t for nothing.

         She swallows thickly and raises a hand to quickly swipe at her face and eyes. Sniffling, she takes several breaths to steady herself.

         As she does, she sees Lev watching her, stood just a few feet away. His eyes are narrowed slightly, purposefully, and his lips are pursed. A question… no, a request. For permission.

         She jerkily nods, and he squares his shoulders.

         “Abby and I are holding a meeting in our room, at three o’clock,” he says, voice carefully dancing the line between gentle and firm. “We want to talk with everyone about our current situation. You’re all free to join us, if you want and if you can.”

         Nadia’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ in surprise before she clamps it shut, looking to Mark. Her eyes dart from him to May behind; it’s clear she’s reluctant to go without them.

         It’s hard to tell if Mark realizes this. He stares at Lev for a moment, eyes blank, before looking at her. When she nods after a moment, unsure of what else to do, he lets his gaze drop.

         He heaves a heavy but near-silent sigh. “Darling, if I went… would that be okay?”

         Her response comes after many long seconds, and it’s in the form of her shoulders raising and lowering by less than a centimeter. The bare minimum of a shrug, if even that.

         It’s seemingly enough for her husband, though, who leans back to slowly press a kiss to her head.

         He goes to straighten up, but seemingly changes his mind halfway through, instead shifting further down to lay beside her.

         “I’ll be there,” he tells her simply, sparing her a single glance before shutting his eyes.

         The shame and guilt and regret bubbling inside her nearly makes her gag.

         Her first instinct is to think it was a mistake to ask them. They shouldn’t be pestering these two to come to fucking meetings.

         Her second instinct tells her that it would have been even worse to try and exclude them. Even if it was with good intentions, the last thing they need is to feel alone. Or unwanted.

         She’s glad when Nadia speaks up of her own accord, the arm around her shoulders squeezing her close once again. “I will be there as well. It will be nice to stretch my legs.”

         The delicate phrasing borders on comical. While she’s sure being alone would have been harder, sharing a room with the grieving couple can’t be easy either. Even if they don’t mean to be, and it’s understandable, she’s sure they haven’t been great company. No doubt what she really wants is to talk with anyone else.

         She takes a deep breath, pressing her nails into her arm.

         Alright. That’s enough moping.

         Gently, she shakes off Nadia’s arm and does her best to smile. “You been doing okay, Nadia? Have you been able to breastfeed Aisha?”

         The other woman’s relief at the change in subject is almost palpable. As it is, lines fade from her face and her teeth shine as she smiles back at her. “Yes, yes I have! I have been feeling… well, much better, I suppose. Aisha is as well, although I think my little yam is quite ready to get out of this room for a change.”

         Little yam… that’s new. And cute.

         Said little yam has abandoned consuming May’s fingers and is now gently patting her face and pulling her hair. The woman lets her, showing no reaction other than the gentle movement of her own hand against the baby’s side. It strokes up and down, slow and with no more pressure than you would use to pet a kitten.

         It’s hard not to gnaw at her lip as she watches the interaction.

         She knows she’s the last person anyone should ask for advice on how to handle grief. But she has to wonder if having Aisha nearby is helping or hurting the two parents. Surely she must be reminding them of April, but beyond that… she has no idea.

         Is it good for them, to see that there’s still good and innocence in the world? They had been two of the most excited in the group when Nadia had announced she was pregnant. Even more so when the baby finally arrived. Is Aisha bringing them that same joy now, even if only a touch of it?

         Or is she just a reminder of what they’ve lost? They had clearly volunteered to stay with her, but… that was a couple days ago. There’s no doubt in her mind that being locked in this room with her has been hard on them. But is it the manageable sort of hard, or the sort of hard that’s slowly breaking them down, bit by bit?

         She has no idea. She’s not qualified to handle this; none of them are. Like most people in this world, they’re just winging it while trying to survive.

         Silver linings, though… at least Nadia and Aisha are doing better.

         “That’s awesome,” she tells her, glad when she can conjure up a real grin for her. “That’s… god, you don’t know how much of a relief that is!”

         A laugh bubbles up out of her, and she’s surprised when it feels real. Yes, this it, exactly what she needs. She just needs to focus on the positives. That’s what Owen would do.

         “I think I do know, funnily enough,” replies Nadia with a cheeky grin, laughing with her. In response, she shirks her head, properly abashed, but the woman waves her off. “But yes, while I know we are not quite yet home free… I am feeling much, much more hopeful than I have in… well, quite a while.”

         Her mouth pops open a bit in shock. Just a few days ago, Nadia had been one of the most hopeless of them all. It’s hard not to take the contrast between then and now as a good sign for the future.

         “Yeah.” She pulls her grin back on. “So am I.”

         It’s Lev who reminds her they’re kind of on a schedule. With a quick clearing of his throat, he says, “We should probably get going, Abby. We still need to go see Marshall and Gracie.”

         When she looks to him, though, she can see in the set of his shoulders that it isn’t really about the time. His eyes flicker to Mark and May in an involuntary sort of way.

         Realizing the problem, she immediately stands. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll see you guys later?”

         Mark and Nadia nod, the former without opening his eyes and the latter with a sad, understanding smile.

         She nods thankfully as she heads for the door, Lev several steps ahead of her.

         As soon as they’re out in the hall, he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

         “You good?” she asks, eyeing him as the tension slowly releases from his shoulders.

         He nods, and she’s glad when the motion is smooth and natural instead of forced. “I’m fine. I just…”

         She shakes her head, reaching out to rub his shoulder. “I get it.”

         She does get it. While she’s had to get much, much better about it after becoming a leader, she knows Lev still struggles with it. Being around that level of… grief. Mourning. She’s sure it brings him all the way back to Seattle and thoughts of Yara and his mother.

         It doesn’t help that it’s different now than it was on the road. While it should maybe be easier to be happier here, it’s much harder to keep busy. On the road, there was always something to do. Some task to be done or plan to consider, for everyone.

         Here, they’re pretty much left to stew in their thoughts and feelings. As the days pass by, those thoughts and feelings are slowly but surely shifting from just how fucking lucky they are to have met Ellie on that goddamn peninsula… and towards their tragedies and hardships.

         For right now, though, they do have a purpose.

         With a sigh, she turns to their SP escort. “Once we grab our coats and stuff, can you take us to where our other two people are being held?”

         The two soldiers glance at each other before the older one gives her a nod. “Sure. Not far.”

         Eloquent. Then again, she wasn’t really asking for directions. If Ellie was telling the truth, Marshall and Gracie are in that compound on the other side of the bay. She was mostly just making sure they wouldn’t give them any grief about heading there.

         As soon as she thinks that, she feels her motivation quickly and suddenly start to evaporate.

         Right.

         Marshall and Gracie are on the other side of the bay…

         She tries to tell herself that it won’t be that bad. They’re rested, well fed, with clean clothes, and they’ll be walking semi-maintained roads.

         Then they walk out of the door to the hospital, and she remembers that they’re on a fucking Lake Michigan island. In the middle of winter. It is somehow even colder here than it was on the mainland.

         She grumbles even as she leads the charge south. Lev sticks close to her, seemingly at the ready to catch her if she slips or falls. Ordinarily that level of babying would annoy her, but with half these roads being icy mud, it’s probably a good idea.

         As they walk, she realizes this isn’t all that bad either.

         They hadn’t gotten a good look at this place when they arrived. That first peak as the ferry had docked was decent, but then they’d been piled into an ambulance and driven through the town at 10 PM. And their hospital room’s window faced out to the north, across the lake. Pretty, but not really conducive to seeing how this place looks in the daytime.

         Now, she can see it’s busy. As busy as the stadium or Avalon was on their good days, maybe even more so. At any given junction in the road, there’s at least a few people walking up and down it. There’s some people riding horses, or horse-drawn wagons. One tractor passes them by hauling a canvas-covered trailer.

         A lot of people watch them as they pass by. The gazes range from interested, disinterested, cautious, suspicious, unwelcoming… but no-one says anything to them. A handful exchange greetings or nods with their SP escort, but not them.

         That’s fine. She honestly prefers it that way.

         “There’s a lot of kids,” says Lev as they come within sight of the dock they arrived at originally.

         When she follows his gaze, it’s to see a teen leaning against the side of a building, a much younger child leaning against them in turn. They’re both eating something, something hot enough to steam in the chill air, and they both have red hair. Siblings enjoying a treat, she thinks.

         As she glances around, now taking note of the (relatively) many younger people, she has to nod. “There are. I… think it’s Saturday? They’re probably off from school.”

         Off from school… what a surreal thing to say. At least out here in a settlement.

         The QZ’s have schools. Two types and no more. Shitty ones you go to until you’re twelve to learn enough for you to be useful to FEDRA… and military academies you attend until you’re sixteen if you want to become a bootlicking FEDRA goon. Or if you’re forced to become one.

         Outside of that, all she’s known are classrooms and classes. They had classrooms and classes in Salt Lake and Avalon. The WLF had classrooms and classes in the stadium. She remembers Lev saying they had similar things on Sera’s Isle, though she can’t remember him ever calling them classes… ‘lessons’ and something or other, she thinks.

         But none of that is school.

         Of course, she’s never been to school herself, so what does she know? But at least with the Fireflies and the WLF, their education systems had been far from what she’s read about Old World schools being like.

         With the Fireflies, they were kind of impromptu, roughly planned things. They were held when someone smart enough to teach could be spared, and the lessons were mostly self contained. This is how you add. This is how you subtract. These are the types of infected. This is how rain works.

         The sort of stuff that could be packed into a single day, since no-one was ever sure when the next one would take place.

         With the WLF… well.

         Isaac was never known for being soft, unbiased, or particularly honest, and he pretty much controlled the curriculum. The foundational classes were solid, of course, he wasn’t an idiot or evil. But as far as she knows, they were closer to a military academy than a proper school once you were any older than thirteen. And the history they taught was… colorful once they reached the 2000’s.

         Maybe that’s how school is here too. But Ellie specifically said school. School until sixteen years old, Monday through Friday, eight AM to three PM.

         That sounds a lot like the Old World schools she’s read about. Or at least it sounds more like it than anything else she’s seen in this shitty world so far.

         She shakes the speculating thoughts off. Whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than what she’s seen before.

         Instead, she focuses on the actual buildings and infrastructure they’re passing.

         She takes note of what look like sirens or speakers on every other utility pole. No doubt they’re for broadcasting alarms or announcements.

         The trading hub by the dock is actually occupied now, though only a few stands and with only a handful of goods. It looks like just some residents trying to pawn away stuff they don’t need anymore, which is pretty normal.

         The pre-Outbreak building by it has a sign labeling it the ‘Beaver Island Entrance Control.’ Through the windows, she can see an assortment of people, including SP’s. No doubt anyone arriving or leaving either checks in or is somehow recorded there. It’s the sensible thing to do, keeping track of the flow of people. Someone probably noted them down there when they arrived.

         On their right is the St. James Community Center, even more impressive in the daylight, and almost buzzing with activity. Every few seconds at least one person enters or exits from one of the doors.

         There’s also numerous other buildings that she can now see are also administration. Outside Relations Division Headquarters, Center for Resource Distribution, St. James Post Office, Scavenge Request Office…

         “Feel like I’ve maybe said this before, but…” she mutters to Lev, leaning a bit closer to him, “these people are organized. Even more than the WLF were.”

         The WLF were organized, yeah, but in a militaristic sort of way. So long as people could follow orders and shit got done, everything else was up in the air. Aside from the essentials, you were pretty much on your own beyond what you could organize or find yourself.

         It wasn’t bad, per say, especially since what Isaac considered ‘the essentials’ was actually pretty generous. But this place seems to have gone quite a bit further in providing structural amenities. Like mail.

         His eyebrows raise at that, and he looks at the buildings with a new appreciation. “I suppose when you have 2,500 people spread out across several islands, you need greater organization.”

         It’s a very salient point, and she nods along. “Can’t even imagine how much a pain it is to keep track of everything. Must suck to be the one managing it all.”

         Lev snorts, but then his eyes narrow. “Multiple someone’s, I think. Ellie mentioned a ‘community council.’”

         Oh shit, she had forgotten about that. “That… would make sense. Compartmentalization and all that. Or whatever.”

         “I think you mean ‘delegation.’” He smirks at her, and she knows he doesn’t ‘think.’ Smug little shit.

         She roughly elbows him, rolling her eyes. “Oh, fucking bite me. You know what I meant.”

         As they continue down the road, the buildings slowly become less administration and more…

         She doesn’t know. Her first thought is ‘annoying’ but that’s because she’s starting to get annoyed at how nice this place is.

         There’s a bar, or what looks like one, called Marcy’s Tap. A much larger building called the Witch Tavern. Down one of the roads they pass, she thinks she spots a sign that has ‘BBQ’ on it. She can’t help but scowl as they pass them all by, given the scent of food which hangs in the air. It’s faint, but it’s enough to make out roasting meat, baked pastry, toasted bread, the spice of peppers and the tang of fruit…

         Agony.

         There’s a donation center set up in what was probably a pre-Outbreak store. A motel converted into ‘St. James Visitor’s Lodging.’ Probably for traders and other, already vetted travelers. Or people visiting from their other settlements.

         A fucking museum. Islaborne Community Museum.

         Despite how the sheer concept of that irks her… she can’t deny an urge to visit it if they get the chance. If for nothing else than some information gathering about this place.

         Definitely not because she likes museums. Nope.

         The buildings slowly give way to houses by the time they reach the end of the road, though there’s also several places of worship. A church, a mosque, a synagogue…

         “Right, then left,” intones one of the SP’s trailing behind them dully. “You can follow that road all the way down to the Compound.”

         Her urge is to snort derisively. She can still see the place’s docks from where they are, they don’t need fucking directions. Besides, the road they’re on turns right; it’s the only way to go.

         Instead, she nods stiffly and says, “Got it.”

         The first rule of having an armed escort is to not piss off your armed escort. Such as by being snarky.

         She blinks as they make the turn and a large building comes into view at the end of it, on the other side of a junction. It’s almost the size of the Community Center, maybe even larger. Strange considering it looks entirely pre-Outbreak and very well maintained. It’s clearly in use, but if it was intact enough to be used, why is it not the Community Center?

         When they come to the road crossing in front of it, she spots a sign placed out front.

         She slows almost to a stop as she reads it.

         ‘St. James School.’

         Lev reads it as well, but he seemingly makes no more note of it than that. When he notices her slowing, though, he looks back at her with a raised brow. “Abby?”

         She blinks, nods to herself, and rushes a bit to catch up.

         Then she slows as she glances at the school again, tracing its shape, and her gaze lands on a strip of open space between it and a neighboring house. Through it, she can see a playground.

         Small, beaten up, aged aside from several spots of newer construction… but it’s a playground. There’s almost a dozen kids rampaging their way through it. A few on the swings, a few winding their way through the jungle gym like little monkeys, and a few throwing snowballs at each other.

         Shaking her head at Lev’s further questioning look, she rushes again to catch up. “Sorry, I just… I’ve never seen an actual school, you know? One that’s functioning, I mean.”

         There’s a snort from behind, and she looks over her shoulder at their escort. At her sharp gaze, the younger one wipes a smirk from his face and straightens up.

         “I assume it’s functioning?” she asks him, mostly as a punishment for seemingly making fun of her.

         It’s the older one who answers, looking unimpressed with her posturing.

         “Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.” He pauses, then lightly elbows his fellow soldier. “Forgive him. Born and raised here. Doesn’t realize how lucky we are.”

         She frowns at his stilted way of talking, and the fact it’s the most words he’s said since she met him this morning. Despite that, she can appreciate the attempt at mediating.

         As a thank you, all she does is give him a nod, huff at the younger one, and turn back around.

         Lev watches her for a couple more seconds before she huffs at him as well, pointedly picking up her pace. He easily matches it, and the show of energy eases the concern from his gaze.

         She supposes that she’s confirmed that when Ellie said school, she meant school.

         Wonders of wonders this place is, she shouldn’t be all that surprised.

         Turns out you can get a lot done when you’re safe on an island and are also not trying to wage war against every-fucking-thing else. Who knew?

         From there on, though, there’s no other further revelations. They enter what looks and feels like a neighborhood, houses lining each side of the street. They’re all pretty varied with an almost-even split of Old World and New World, leaning Old World. It looks like they were all pretty spread out before the outbreak, and then when these people got here, they started shoving more houses in where they could.

         No doubt an attempt to conserve space. Smart.

         That said, they aren’t quite packed in either. There’s enough room for each to have front and side yards, some sectioned off with fences, others running unobstructed into its neighbor’s. The yards themselves remind her of Avalon a bit, in that they’re pretty eclectic in their decoration.

         There’s an assortment of pretty mundane lawn ornaments, but there’s also just… strange things. Statues and carvings, mannequins, vases, glass baubles, dream catchers, Halloween decorations, restaurant menus, street signs, a stoplight…

         Things she knows, from looking at old pictures and reading, that pre-Outbreak people probably wouldn’t have put in their front yards year-round. Or at all, in some cases. But in the New World, with its general lack of social norms and especially around permanent housing… well, people just tend to throw up whatever they think looks neat.

         More power to them, honestly. It certainly makes a place feel more lived in.

         They come upon the Compound both sooner and later than she expected.

         Sooner because they find its concrete wall, running along the road, pretty quickly.

         Later because they have to trail it for about five fucking minutes before they find an entrance.

         They pass one entrance, but it’s not what they’re looking for. It’s a simple metal door and a large gate, both shut tight. The sign above reads ‘St. James Firefighting Department; KEEP CLEAR OF GATE AT ALL TIMES’ with the letters stamped into the metal.

         There’s some mild interest to be had that it’s in the same compound as, seemingly, their military headquarters. A touch of curiosity at exactly how many ‘divisions’ they have and what each one does exactly. But that’s it. By the time they’ve gone another dozen yards, she’s already bored again, hopping along on her crutches.

         When they finally do reach the entrance they need, it’s pretty underwhelming. A large archway with its gate pulled open, flanked by two SP’s with rifles. She’s not surprised when they stare at her and Lev with uncomfortably interested gazes; guard duty is boring as shit.

         She takes note that the gate doors are heavily reinforced. No doubt this place is intended as a fortress in case of an emergency.

         The sign above this entrance is identical to the one from before, though all this one reads is, ‘Islaborne Security Division Headquarters.’

         Apt.

         The archway immediately opens up onto a gravel road that leads straight to the large brick-and-concrete building ahead. It splits off at several points as well.

         To the left, it leads to half a dozen different garage doors, two of which are open. Inside are what look like humvees, hoisted up and with mechanics poring over them. There’s bright flashes and buzzes as someone welds closed a tear in the armor of one.

         To the right, it leads to a set of metal double doors set into an extension of the wall surrounding the whole compound. Over the top, she can see what look like plywood structures and can hear… paintball guns? Airsoft guns? One of the two. A training area, probably.

         The building itself is relatively nice. Nothing fancy, but the brickwork is competently laid. The rows of windows on the second and third floors gleam in the afternoon sun.

         The entrance to it is three sets of double doors. Each of them is a rich brown with brass kick plates and wrought iron handles. They’re heavy enough that Lev has to hold them open for her.

         Inside, it could just barely be called warm. After half an hour of walking in the frigid air through snowy slush and icy puddles though, it’s positively steaming. Even their escort seems to take a moment to relax now that they’re out of the cold.

         The room they’re in is clearly a lobby, large and spacious. It’s tiled in cream and sage, and the floor gleams with small puddles of muddy water the Berber roll mats at the doors couldn’t quite catch. The inner walls are all wood in a variety of colors, and their finishes are dented and scratched in numerous places. To either side of the doorway are several sets of tables with benches and chairs, and their few occupants are unremarkable.

         In the middle of the room is a wide receptionist’s desk with three SP’s sitting behind it. One older woman with greying brown hair and a hawkish nose, one a younger woman with coppery hair and freckles, and the last is a portly goateed man who looks half muscle, half fat.

         Behind them is a set of staircases leading up and then splitting off to either side. Their landings on the second floor are open, but so is the entire floor above; a ringed mezzanine overlooking the lobby. The staircase leading further up to the third floor, however, has its destination obscured by the ceiling.

         To the left and right are windowless walls set with a metal door each. The one on the left has no sign designating where it leads, but the right has a simple bronze plate designating it the St. James Detention Center.

         Despite the fact that’s probably where their friends are, she heads for the receptionist desk anyways. Better to not just go wandering around.

         She chooses the guy, as he looks the most affable, his name tag designating him ‘Greg.’

         “Hi,” she says simply, hobbling up. When he raises his eyes to her, they widen slightly in surprise. “We’re from the, uh… group that arrived a few days ago, I guess? We were hoping to speak to Marshall Walk and Gracie Levitt.”

         He glances between her and Lev once before raising a finger, gesturing to the right. “Just through there. They should let you in no problem.”

         “Thanks,” she replies, flashing him a stiff smile before turning and heading towards the door to the Detention Center.

         He just hums an acknowledgment, but she feels his eyes on her back up the whole time until the door swings shut behind them.

         Thinking about it… there is a not insignificant chance most people here know who Lev and her are. And what happened with Ellie. She imagines those kinds of incidents spread like wildfire in this place, given it seems to functionally be a military base or a garrison. She knows from experience that no-one spreads rumors faster than soldiers who have been standing guard or pushing pencils for hours.

         Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.

         Despite her sudden misgivings, nothing happens. The door leads to a similar but much smaller lobby-like area, with doors leading off to the left, the right, and behind the desk occupying half the space. There’s two occupants, both of them SP’s. One is sat behind the desk, while the other is in a chair by the left door, a shotgun laid across his lap.

         Neither of them do more than raise an eyebrow when she explains who they are and who they’re here to see. The woman behind the desk just stands, grabbing a ring of keys, and leads them through the left door.

         It opens to a long hallway that is completely featureless save for five identical doors and what look like two or three cells at the far end. The doors themselves are fit with hefty locks and barred windows.

         There’s another SP as well, also in a chair, also with a shotgun, who stands to follow them down as the woman leads them to the far left. She assumes it’s because of procedure or something, given they already have an escort of two. Still a little overkill, in her opinion.

         She takes them to the very first holding cell and unlocks it with little preamble. Stepping aside to let them in, she says, “Knock on the door when you’re done. Don’t do anything stupid.”

         “Roger that,” she mutters in reply, striding into the cell. Lev follows her in, and the door immediately swings shut behind them, clanking as the lock slides back into place.

         The cell is… not what she was expecting.

         She was expecting a concrete room with metal slabs for beds.

         Instead, it’s more like a… very well fortified cabin room. The walls and ceiling are wooden, though the floor is indeed concrete. Attached to the right wall actually are metal slabs, but they have what look like decent mattresses and pillows on them.

         To the left is a shower, toilet, and toilet, all three stainless steel, but functional looking and clean. A vent just above the door is blowing warm air, and there’s even a window on the far wall. While metal bars cover both the inside and outside of it, it has a decent view of the bay.

         Both Gracie and Marshall look up curiously from where they’re playing checkers on the bottom bunk, and they instantly light up when they see them.

         For a moment, the sight of both of them sends a pang through her heart.

         The shower doesn’t even have a plastic curtain, and the toilet is equally out in the open. It pretty much confirms the only reason Gracie was willing to stay in the same room with Marshall is so she wouldn’t be alone.

         Marshall would never, ever do anything to her, of course. Not in a million years. He’s strangled people to death for that sort of thing. But the lack of privacy is sure to be grating at them already, both of them.

         As they leap up and rush them, though, it seems to at least be pushed to the back of their minds.

         “Oh my god, we were going to visit you guys later today!” is the first thing Gracie says, sweeping her up in a hug before quickly darting to do the same with Lev. “Guy outside said to wait for late afternoon since it’s apparently still fucking freezing out there.”

         She laughs as Marshall also accosts her, his huge form nearly lifting her off her feet. “Yeah, he wasn’t wrong. It’s definitely colder than the mainland.”

         Both of them shiver involuntarily at that. She honestly can’t blame them. Mainland Michigan was already the coldest place most of them had ever been, and the trek through it had been horrid.

         “Manageable, though?” asks Marshall, however, a playful hopefulness in his voice. Ever the optimist.

         “When you know you’re heading somewhere warm?” she shoots back, sarcastic as she slaps him on the arm. “Yeah. ‘Manageable.’”

         God, she’s not looking forward to the walk back.

         Lev steps past her, into the center of the cell, and he makes a small show of looking around. “This place is cozier than I imagined it would be.”

         Gracie laughs sharply, nodding as she returns to the bunk and throws herself onto it. “Yeah, we were pretty surprised too. Hell, take the bars off, give me a few curtains, and toss his fat ass out, and I actually wouldn’t mind staying here permanently.”

         She gestures vaguely to Marshall, who gestures back with a middle finger.

         He catches the checker she throws at him, and she lets out a petty huff as she flops onto her back.

         “They have been very accommodating, all things considered,” he says, spinning the checker over the backs of his fingers. He meets her eyes, a semi-serious smile on his face. “Three meals a day, each one pretty good, and they’ve provided entertainment. As you can see.”

         He flicks the checker up into the air, and she smirks as she catches it. “Yeah, it’s been about the same at the hospital. Everyone’s doing pretty well, though…”

         Heaving a sigh, she tosses the checker away and leans on one of her crutches. Biting her lip hard, the sting helping to steady her, she turns so she can look at both of them at once. “They had to take Maria’s eye out.”

         “Fuck!” exclaims Gracie immediately, reaching up to palm her face. “Fuck! That… ugh!”

         With a grunt, she punches the wall a single time.

         Marshall just hisses out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them again, his expression is as calm as ever. “We knew it was coming. Is she at least healing well?”

         “As far as we know,” says Lev with a shrug, and the tense tilt to his lips pulls at his cheeks, making his face look slightly drawn. “Nadia is staying in the same room as them, and neither she nor Mark mentioned any trouble. It’s early days yet, though. We’ll have to see if any complications arise.”

         The taller man nods with a quiet sigh, reaching up to thumb his chin. Then, with a hopeful lilt to his voice, he asks, “But you said everyone is doing pretty well?”

         “Yep.” She pops the ‘p’ to try and inject some levity into the atmosphere, glad to move on to lighter conversation. “Maria and Georgie were even lucid when we swung by. She was cracking jokes and everything.”

         Lev clucks his tongue very, very quietly. “And Georgie was almost back to his old self too.”

         She resists the urge to shoot him a glare, knowing she’d see a stupid little smirk on his stupid little face if she did.

         He is never going to let her live that down.

         Gracie seems to pick up on what Lev is implying, and she chuckles, sitting up again. “Give it a couple months after he’s all better. We’ll be fucking praying for pneumonia to make him mute again.”

         It’s a dark joke, but it makes them all laugh. The funniest part is she’s probably not wrong.

         They all love him, but she has never met a kid more capable of saying the most awkward things than Georgie.

         Case in point: asking if Ellie fucking kissed her.

         She still cannot believe that is where his mind went.

         Fucking unbelievable, she swears to god…

         Before she can start properly stewing in her mortification, Marshall folds his arms, leaning in. “Jokes aside… I get the sense you two didn’t come here just to give us an update on the others.”

         If it were anyone other than him, she’d be annoyed at being read so easily. Instead, she just sighs and resists the urge to reach up and rub her forehead.

         For the fifth time today, she gets her spiel ready.

         “We were actually hoping to get everyone together for a meeting…”

Chapter Text

         “NO, NO, GET BACK HERE! STOP IT! MUTT!”

         She laughs as Rachel nearly throws herself off Windswept, running after Mutt as he heads straight for the frozen lake. No doubt he can hear the amusement in his sister’s tone and knows he’s safe to press his luck.

         He gets a few yards out onto the ice before she finally stamps her foot. “MUTT, I AM SERIOUS, GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!”

         All the humor is gone from her voice, and as expected, he immediately turns and barrels his way back towards her. He almost slides to a stop in front of her, planting his ass in the snow. The way he looks up at her makes it clear that, as far as he’s concerned, he’s never done anything wrong in his entire life.

         As her daughter glares down at him, she nearly laughs her head off.

         After a second, she drops to her knees with a sigh, squishing his face. “Why do you always, always, do that?!”

         “I-I’m telling you,” she coughs, trying to regain control of her breathing, “it’s the snow! He’s a fucking sleeper agent. He sees a pristine patch of snow, and it activates some neuron in his brain that tells him to trample through it.”

         Rachel sighs as she looks out across Font Lake, completely frozen over and a perfect expanse of white. Except for, now, a small stretch of doggy prints.

         “You might be right,” she says quietly, scowling back down at her dumb dog.

         With a grunt, she stands, making for one of the boulders at the shore edge. She sweeps the snow on top off and sits down. Immediately Mutt walks over to place his head in her lap, and she reaches down to start scratching behind his ears.

         Smiling softly, she hops off of Harley. She gets the sense they’ll be chilling out here for a while.

         She doesn’t bother tying up either of the horses. They know not to wander too far, and even trail after her as she walks over.

         As soon as she takes a seat, Rachel leans into her side, wrapping an arm around hers. The gesture sets off warning bells in her head.

         “You okay?” she asks quietly, reaching up to hold one of her hands.

         When Rachel just shrugs a bit, she bites back a sigh. Hazarding a guess, she says, “If it’s about Mutt running out onto the lake, I wouldn’t worry too much. He’d have to go pretty far out for the ice to break, and he’s not that stupid.”

         Her lips twitch upwards, but that’s all she gets.

         Genuinely concerned now, she holds back another sigh as she tries thinking back on the morning. She had been so excited to spend the day with her, so she assumed it was something that popped up on the ride out here, but… has she maybe been feeling down the whole day and been masking it?

         She finds it hard to believe. The only time her daughter ever hesitates to talk about something with her is when it comes up in public. And that’s only sometimes. Other than that, she’s an open book, at least with her.

         Or she’d like to think so. Maybe she’s been-

         “W-What…?”

         The single word comes grinding out from between Rachel’s lips like it’s a stone she’s trying to cough up. Immediately after, she sighs and clings even tighter to her arm, burying her face in the sleeve.

         Before she can ask what the hell is wrong, she mumbles out, into her coat, “W-What really happened with those strays?”

         She blinks down at her, surprised and confused in equal measure.

         That is… not what she thought she was going to say.

         “Uh… how do you mean?” she asks slowly, and she reaches up to pat her head.

         Rachel finally looks up at her, and the crumpled expression on her face makes her heart break. Her eyes seem especially big in her face, blue-green and brown glimmering with the beginnings of tears.

         “Did they really attack you because you said something stupid?” There’s a fragile desperation in her voice, bordering on accusing, and she sucks in a breath.

         “What?” She extricates her arm from her grip, shifting slightly to look at her dead-on and hold her by the shoulders. “I said they did, didn’t I?”

         She nods shakily. “Y-Yeah, but I… I dunno, I just thought…”

         Another sigh as she looks away, biting her lip.

         She doesn’t hesitate to take her into her arms, and she’s glad when she hugs her back. “Baby girl, you know I’d never lie to you. What brought this on?”

         Rachel huffs into her coat, shaking her head. “I… w-while I was waiting for you, in the Compound, I heard… I heard some of the SP’s talking. That group you brought in… they’re Fireflies, right?”

         Her heart drops like a stone into her shoes.

         Shit. Fucking-

         “Yeah…?” She tries to keep herself calm, tone even, as she rubs small circles into her back. “What about them?”

         “I just…” Her daughter pushes away from her, reaching up to swipe at her eyes. “I just remembered what you said about… how they wanted to make a cure from you, a-and grandpa stopped them, a-and then they… they came after him.

         “So I just got worried that they were here to try a-and…” She pauses to take a shuddering breath, and she can hear the fear in it. “And use you again, I guess? Or… t-try to take you away?”

         Immediately she reaches up to cup her face, and she leans in to look her dead in the eyes. “No. And even if they were, I would have buried them out there. Not brought them back here.”

         She chuckles a bit, grinning along with her. After a moment, though, she’s back to frowning, eyes darting away. “How can you be sure, though?”

         Shitting… fuck.

         She hadn’t wanted to talk about this yet. Even if only out of pure cowardice, she had wanted to wait another day or two. She definitely didn’t want to have it sprung on her like this; it rearing its head in the middle of what was supposed to be their day, ruining it.

         But what she wants even less is that terror in Rachel’s eyes. That fear of losing her is one she shouldn’t have, ever.

         On the other hand… is she ready to see disgust there instead? Hate, maybe?

         Apparently she’s been thinking too hard, because Rachel blinks at her, reaching up to hold her arm. “Mom?”

         As she looks into her eyes, she comes to a realization.

         She’s not Joel.

         She loves Joel. He was her dad, even if they never said it out loud. She’s made peace with what he did and what happened.

         But she isn’t him, and she’s not going to lie to her daughter. She’s toed the line already, keeping the details of her history from her, but if she shuts her out now…

         Besides. The alternative is to leave her stewing in her fear. And as horrible as what happened between her, Abby, and the Fireflies was… it’ll at least make it clear there’s no way they ever came here seeking her out. Especially not to make some cure again.

         She scoots back on the boulder, letting go of Rachel, and instead folding her hands in her lap. That lasts for all of a second before she’s fidgeting, digging her nails under each other.

         “I…” She squeezes her eyes shut, taking a deep breath as she tries to wrestle the anxiety churning her stomach. “Rachel… I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About… those new arrivals. And my history with them.”

         Her eyes widen, her own anxiety taking over, and she quickly shakes her head. “It isn’t-! Nothing’s… there’s nothing wrong, I guess. I’ve already handled it. There’s just… there are things I want you to know, about me, from me. Instead of from the fucking… rumor mill.”

         She tries for a smile, huffing a laugh, but lets it peter out when it gets no reaction other than a furrow of her brows.

         Deciding to just bite the bullet, she looks out towards the lake.

         “I… I’ve never lied to you, baby girl. Never. But I have… I’ve kept some shit from you, because it’s ugly and it-” She sighs, hanging her head. “It’s fucked up, and I hate thinking about it. A-And it never… you know, it never mattered. But now that those new arrivals here, and they’re probably going to be staying… there’s a chance you’d hear it no matter what. So like I said, I want you to hear it from me.”

         She’s almost startled at the touch of Rachel’s hand on hers, and when she looks up, it’s to see her watching her intently. There’s still hints of fear in her face, in the drawn line of her lips. But there’s curiosity there too — interest.

         Understanding.

         So, taking hold of her hand, she says, “You know that your grandpa took me to the Fireflies, and they wanted to make a cure out of me. But it would have killed me, so… he stopped them. But… the Fireflies had a doctor, back when they tried to make a cure out of me. Some… fucking guy who knew about mycology and epidemiology, or whatever. One of a kind. They were pinning all their hopes on him. And the way Joel stopped them was…”

         Her eyes burn, and she huts them, breathing deeply through her nose. “H-He killed them. A lot of them. Dozens and dozens, including some of the leadership, and… a-and that doctor. As far as he and the Fireflies were concerned, he had basically fucking… shot humanity’s last hope in the head. And on top of that, he… he took me away. He pretty much destroyed their whole fucking purpose. That’s why they disbanded.”

         “Jesus Christ,” mutters Rachel, staring at her with wide eyes.

         No doubt she’s thinking of her history lessons. The ones about the start of the outbreak. The rush to find a vaccine or a cure. How FEDRA rounded up scientists and doctors, then lost them. And with them, near-irreplaceable skills and knowledge.

         “Yeah,” she says heavily, reaching up to brush at her eyes. “You can… y-you can understand why some of them… came after him.”

         She’s told her bits and pieces of this already. Her cutting off Joel, then deciding to try again, only for him to… Tommy’s flight to Seattle to hunt down his killers, and Dina and her following after him. Then Jesse following after them.

         Tommy killed people. She killed people, and did some really fucked up shit. Jesse died. The rest of them all got fucking maimed. Then they went back to Jackson.

         That’s it.

         “There were eight of them,” she says, unable to raise her voice any louder than a whisper. “Jordan… Leah… Manny… Nick… Nora… Owen… Mel… Abby.”

         She forces bile down, along with memories of that fucking golf club. “Abby was the one who killed him. I wanted them all dead, but… I wanted Abby dead the most. And I didn’t stop until I found her. We were supposed to just be there to find Tommy and bring him back, a-and… and that’s mostly why Dina was there, but she was also there for me, and to get Abby and her friends too, but… I… the truth is, I was only there for fucking them.

         “Tommy killed Nick.” She leaves it there, deciding to spare her uncle’s image in his grandniece’s eyes. “Dina and I found Jordan. I killed him, and a letter on his body led us to Leah. She’d been killed by Scars. After that, we fucking… there were Wolves, and infected, and just a bunch of bullshit. We ended up at this old theatre and hid out there. That’s when Dina told me she was pregnant, and I, uh… I did not handle it well.”

         A watery laugh escapes her, and she sniffles. “I was just… so angry. I wanted Abby and her friends dead so bad, but I knew… I knew Dina being pregnant changed things. Hell, the fucking… the Scars and the Wolves changed things. It was obvious we should have headed back. We should have just found Tommy, a-and then we should have fucking left. But I also knew there was no fucking way I was leaving with Abby still sucking air in that goddamn city. I told myself it was too late to turn back, but it was a lie.

         “We got a lead on Tommy the next day, by listening in on the radio.” She sighs at the memory, and she winces at the deluge of feelings that day brings to mind. The poisonous creep of rage. “I… all I could think was, ‘If I find him, he can help me hunt Abby and her friends down.’ But it turned out to be Jesse, and then I just… I thought ‘Good, now he can protect Dina’ instead. E-Even though there were now four of us in that fucking city, and Dina was pregnant, and he and I had just nearly died… all I could think was that I didn’t want to hear shit about turning back. I even wrote it in my goddamn journal.”

         She hangs her head even further, clearing her throat. Even still, her voice comes out in a croak. “Pretty much gave up on even pretending we were there for Tommy anymore. We got a lead on Nora, and I… I went out alone to track her down. She was in this hospital the WLF were occupying. I… I-I chased her down to the lower levels. They were filled with spores. Neither of us had masks.”

         Bile, again, stronger this time, and tears she has to blink back. “She was already dying by the time I got to her. Dead. Choking on spores. I-Instead of putting her out of her misery, I, uh… I-I… I made her tell me where Abby was.”

         A part of her wants to say more, spell it out clear as day. The ugly truth that she beat a dying woman until she choked to death on her own blood, sitting in a puddle of her own piss.

         But Rachel’s grown up in this world too. She already knows what you do to make someone talk. She knows she’s done it, time and again, to keep her and this community safe. She can imagine it, and saying anything more would just be laying it at her feet.

         She can’t bring herself to look at Rachel, and instead she just holds onto her hand, as tight as she dares. It’s an anchor point as she forces her on, feeling like she’s going to throw up at any second.

         “Abby was at this aquarium. Jesse and I headed out to… post up there. Wait for Tommy to show his dumbass face. But on the way there, we… w-we heard Wolves talking about him being at this marina instead. And I just… I made every excuse to get us to go to the aquarium anyways, because it was never about finding fucking Tommy. It was about killing her. Jesse didn’t bite, because he wasn’t a fucking idiot, so… I let him go to the marina on his own. I went to the aquarium.”

         Her hands are shaking.

         “S-She wasn’t there. Owen and… Owen and Mel were. I tried to get them to tell me where she was, b-but I… I messed up. Lost control of the situation. Owen got a hold of my gun. W-When we wrestled for it, I shot him, a-and then Mel came at me with a knife, and… I-I turned it back on her. Put it in her throat.

         “A-And then I tried to get Owen to tell me where Abby was, b-but he was already dying, a-and all he could tell me was that…”

         She’s crying, and she raises a hand to cover her face.

         She can still feel the knife going into Mel’s throat. The vibrations as it caught on tendon and cartilage.

         The pop of the buttons as she tore open her coat.

         Terror. Terror, terror, terror right now as she tries to force the words out. Terror at how Rachel will react, how she'll look at her, how this'll probably change their entire relationship. The fear is nauseating, sickening, ice cold and bone deep, and it almost paralyzes her. In the end, it's only the greater fear of lying to her and her finding out, and their relationship falling apart like her and Joel's did, that finally lets her speak.

         “M-Mel was fucking pregnant!” she admits in a murmur, digging her nails into her forehead. “I-I didn’t know, couldn’t see because she was wearing this coat, b-but she fucking was… a-and by the time I figured it out, s-she was already-!”

         A sob escapes her, and then Rachel’s arms are around her.

         She buries her face in her shoulder, clutching onto her for dear life.

         She can feel Mutt prodding his snout between them, trying to worm his way in so he can comfort them. Dropping a single hand to his head, she drags him into their side.

         “I-I’m sorry, baby girl!” she whispers vehemently into her coat. “I-I never wanted to p-put this on you, b-but I… I-I couldn’t stand the thought of you finding out, a-and thinking I fucking kept it from you, o-or that I didn’t trust you, or-!”

         She can feel Rachel’s head shake. “I-It’s okay, mom, I get it, I just… I-I can’t…”

         When she trails off, she waits a few seconds for her to pick it up again. But she doesn’t. She just trembles, and her body hitches as she forces down her own sobs.

         But she doesn't pull away. She doesn't recoil from her, or push her off of her. For some reason she doesn't, maybe because she's in shock or by the grace of fucking god, but she doesn't. And that's enough to bring just a little relief to her. Enough of a balm that she can calm down and get a hold of herself.

         Breathing deeply, she adjusts her position until she isn’t clawing at her anymore. Her fingers that are resting on Mutt’s head start to lightly scratch. It’s more a fidget to calm herself than it is an attempt to pet him.

         She has to be strong. She has to finish this.

         “T-Tommy and Jesse found me,” she admits in a low tone, bringing her hand up to card through what locks fall from Rachel’s hat. “Tommy… h-he’d killed Manny, just a bit earlier. Fought with Abby. S-She nearly killed him by tossing him into the ocean. We all headed back to the theatre, a-and we were going to leave, since Dina couldn’t… s-she was going to die if we stayed there any longer. But… b-but I left my map at the aquarium. At least I… think I did.

         “Abby found us.” The admission is maybe her quietest yet. Despite her best efforts, in those three words, she lets slip so much guilt. Shame. Guilt at causing the whole situation to spiral so far, and shame at how badly she fucked everything up. “Had this… Scar kid with her. T-They killed Jesse. N-Nearly killed Tommy. Abby and I fought, but she was just… f-fucking unstoppable. Only reason she didn’t kill Dina and I was cause that kid stopped her.”

         A pause, and then she sighs. “She let us go. Tommy, Dina, and I headed back to Jackson. D-Dina had JJ, and… a-and we lived together, in this little farmhouse near the settlement.”

         That causes Rachel to pull back, staring at her with wide eyes. “What?! You never told me about that!”

         She blinks at her sadly, and she feels a few more tears slip down her cheeks. Mutt whines a bit as she takes her hand away from his head, bringing it up to her face. Brushing the tears away, she nods, feeling uncannily like a little kid admitting to breaking a vase. “W-We were… together. Her and I. JJ was… h-he was our son, pretty much. But I…”

         The map is still clear in her head. She remembers the feeling of staring at it, watching Tommy tap it.

         It was like… like a shot of adrenaline. Like how she imagines a druggie feels seeing a baggie of coke after going sober. Terrifying and exhilarating all at once, making her mouth go dry and her palms sweat.

         “Tommy found a lead on Abby,” she says simply, shutting her eyes to avoid looking at whatever emotion it conjures on her daughter’s face. “I… I-I couldn’t resist. I needed to end it. So I… fucking left them, Dina and JJ, and… a-and that was it. We were done.”

         She swallows thickly, and she doesn’t open her eyes, even as she tightens her grip on Rachel’s shoulders. “You can’t… no matter what, you can’t tell JJ that. Any of that. Dina and I swore to never bring it up, Robin and Hank, a-and Maria and Tommy too.Tthe only reason I’m telling you now is because I want you to have the full picture. But… promise me: you’ll never speak a goddamn word of this to JJ. He… i-it would destroy him.”

         Finally, she opens her eyes, expecting to see disgust in Rachel’s eyes. A sneer on her lips, a scowl as she pushes her away, repulsed by how she abandoned her aunt and cousin. Almost-brother, now.

         There’s just shock, and lingering confusion. Something like grief, in the shine to her eyes.

         Her hand reaches up to hold her arm, right over her moth tattoo. “I promise, mom.”

         She can barely take a shuddering gasp before pulling her head down and pressing a kiss to her temple. Then another, and another, and another before she’s smothering her in another hug. “Thank you, baby girl.”

         To her utter bafflement, she can hear Rachel laugh. Just a bit, the sound almost completely disappearing into the fluff of her coat.

         Then she pulls away, and there’s something almost eager in her eyes. Or no, not eager, but… anticipatory. She asks, “W-What happened after that? Did you find her? Abby?”

         Her stomach drops again as she nods. It may not be as bad as killing Owen and Mel, but… Santa Barbara was definitely the lowest point in her life.

         “Yeah,” she sighs, reaching up to brush the last of her tears from her cheeks. “She and that kid were in Santa Barbara. They… they’d gotten captured by this fucking slaver group. The Rattlers. That was a real shitshow. Got caught in one of their traps and got this gash in my side. I… I honestly thought it was going to kill me, so I just… went crazy, pretty much. Tore my way through them and their base. Found some of the people they were keeping captive and… freed them. They told me the Rattlers had Abby and the kid up on these pillars on the beach. When I found them, they were… pretty much half dead. I cut them down.”

         Rachel blinks at her in surprise, eyes flying wide open. “Really?”

         “Mhm.” She can’t keep the moroseness from her voice, and she can feel a pained scowl stretching across her face. “She… Abby picked the kid up. Led me to the beach, where there were some boats. And I… I almost just… let them go. But I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t, but she didn’t want to fight, so I… I-I put a knife to that kid’s throat and made her fight me.”

         The sound is another thing that sticks scarily clear in her memory, even all these years later. That little gasp, half a groan, that he made when the bladed point pressed up against his skin.

         She’s struggling to remember lots of things at this point. Riley’s voice, Tess’ face, Henry and Sam’s laughter.

         But that sound… she doesn’t think she will ever, ever forget it.

         Ignoring the horror on Rachel’s face, she continues with something almost like a shrug. It’s all the movement she can manage at the moment. “I -I almost killed her. She made me fight for it, too. That’s… that’s when I lost my fingers. Nearly lost my switchblade too. But I got her under the water, at some point. Then I just… I-I just couldn’t fucking do it. I let her up, and she… she left in the boat with the kid. I went back to Jackson, and… and that’s when I went traveling. I couldn’t stay there, but I couldn’t go after Abby again, so I just… wandered.”

         She chuckles. “T-That’s how I ended up here.”

         Her daughter laughs with her, just a quick little huff through her nose, but it’s something. It’s enough to spark a tiny bead of warm joy deep in her soul, to soothe the stinging rawness now pulsing in her chest.

         “Wow,” says Rachel, and she huffs another laugh, shaking her head. “That’s… a lot. But I don’t… I-I don’t get it.”

         When she raises an eyebrow at her, she continues with an almost disbelieving shake of her head. “W-Why did you let her go? I mean… t-they killed grandpa because, what…? He killed some quack that was going to kill you? I-I mean, he didn’t even test to see if you could spread your immunity! I-If Grandpa Joel hadn’t stopped him, then-!”

         She cuts off that train of thought with a quick, sharp gesture. “It’s not as simple as that, baby girl.”

         Instead of quieting down, though, affront enters her daughter’s eyes. A flicker of the stubborn fire she somehow fucking passed down to her despite no blood relation. “How?! They were going to kill you for no reason!”

         Compared to everything else she just told her, it’s startling easy to keep her cool here. “Joel didn’t know that. H-He wasn’t thinking about any of that. He thought they were going to make a cure out of me, that it was going to work, but he… he fucking stopped them anyway.”

         “So?” she replies, standing up and vaguely shaking her head at her. At the sudden movement, Mutt dances back and then forward again, looking between them with rapid flicks of his head. “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

         That one actually stumps her. It stops her right in her tracks, and her mind works quick trying to navigate the veritable minefield she just threw out in front of her.

         “It… did,” she admits slowly, and she holds up a finger to put a stop to her triumphant smile. “As far as I’m concerned… sure. No matter… no matter all the fucked up things I did to end up here, I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything in the world, Rachel. Not even to change the past. But… it didn’t work out for the Fireflies. It didn’t work out for Abby and her friends. I’m… I’m sure they all knew some of the people Joel killed. People who were… just as fucking important to them as you are to me.”

         That seems to get through to her, realization and then guilt flashing through her eyes before she flops back down heavily onto the boulder. Immediately Mutt places his head in her lap, sensing her unease. Absentmindedly, she brings a hand up to pet his head.

         “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t ever go back after Abby again,” she continues. She swallows and rubs at her face again, already feeling her cheeks tighten as her tears dry.

         A headache is beginning to pulse in her skull at crying so hard. “I… I-I don’t know if she was just fucking pissed about Joel killing that doctor, or if she lost someone close to her, but… I knew that if I had been a Firefly, and Joel had killed someone close to me like Dina, or JJ, or…  you… I wouldn’t have rested until he was dead too. Just like how I didn’t rest until I’d chased her down.

         “The only way to win at revenge is to just not bother, baby girl,” she says in a low tone, reaching up to gently hold her face. With something like a smile, she leans in to kiss her forehead again. “It… it’s like a fucking poison. It takes you over. It ruins your life, and it never… fucking… ends. And the people we love, who love us, like how Joel loved me… no matter how badly they die, it’ll never make them want that for us.

         “That’s why I let Abby go, or at least part of it,” she finishes, pleased when her daughter flashes her a small, abashed smile. “She just… wasn’t worth it. She never was.”

         Rachel chuckles softly at that, and she looks out towards the lake. Then, with a snort, she reaches up to pull her into a side hug. “You should try the wise, philosophical thing more. Can kinda pull it off.”

         She scoffs, reaching up to lightly smack her head. “You know I was having, like… panic attacks about this conversation, right? I was terrified it would… i-it would make you hate me, or something.”

         Her expression as she pulls away is a sight to behold. Her eyebrows have flown up, eyes blown wide, mouth dropped open, a dozen little billboards painting offense across her face.

         Then, wonders of wonders, she actually stops. The start of what no doubt would have been a tirade about ‘where’s your faith in me?!’ and ‘how could you think that?!’ dying in her throat.

         “I mean…” she starts, settling down and looking away, “it does sound like it was… pretty fucking messed up. A-And yeah, the… the stuff with that Mel woman is… rough.

         “But,” she sighs, looking back up at her with a tiny little smile that melts her heart, “I don’t think it… I mean, you're crying over it. I-I don’t think you’re some monster or anything. You’re still my mom. Nothing’ll ever change that.”

         Her eyes once again burn and her throat closes, and it’s all she can do to pull her into another hug.

         The relief is so great it nearly makes her head spin. If she were standing, she's sure she'd have been knocked flat on her ass. Then comes the love, a burning, near-molten wave that washes through her like she just got dropped into a warm and gentle ocean.

         She doesn't hate her. She isn't disgusted by her. She still loves her. She's still her daughter.

         For maybe the first time in her life, she thanks the Lord with absolute, genuine gratitude.

         “I love you, Rachel,” she whispers into her hair, the words almost coming out in a vehement gasp, and she can’t help a laugh as Mutt tries to worm his way in too. “More than anything else I have ever loved in my entire goddamn life.”

         She can hear her sniff, and she tightens her grip around her shoulders just a touch. “I love you too, mom.”

         It’s only after they separate, and Rachel has taken to tossing snowballs out onto the lake, that she realizes she forgot one important little detail.

         “So, wait… why did we even have to talk about this?” her daughter asks curiously, looking back with an inquisitive frown. “Do some of those strays know Abby or something?”

         Her mouth goes dry again, and she feels the tripwires tugging at her feet.

         “F-Funny story, actually…”

         It takes half an hour of Mutt and hers combined efforts to bring her down from her panic attack.

         As more and more of their friends filter into their room leading up to three o’clock, the atmosphere both brightens and dims.

         There’s some levity as people embrace, crack jokes, and check in on the others. But it becomes thinner and thinner, a façade to cover up the rising vestiges of grief.

         It’s something Lev and her had been dealing with, in the quiet moments when they were left alone. Thoughts of how many people they’ve lost filling the empty, silent spaces.

         Now, with all of them gathering together… it almost provides a stark contrast to compare it to. Memories of the group they started out with, and how few they are now.

         It gets even more apparent when Nadia and Aisha arrive with Mark in tow.

         Nadia and Aisha are a bright spot as they move through the room, faces brightening at the sight of the mother and baby. But just behind is Mark, outwardly calm, yet a walking, talking cloud of grief. A dark and cold shadow following in her wake.

         It makes her a bit worried about how this meeting will go.

         She has a rough idea of how she wants the discussion to go. She won’t give any details about what happened in Seattle or Santa Barbara, and neither will Lev. She can’t, and he won’t.

         Maybe she should. Maybe everyone here deserves to know what Ellie is capable of. But damn it all, a part of her feels wrong at the thought. Not only because of their agreement with the woman, but because she saved all of their lives.

         So no. Their history is theirs and theirs alone.

         That means the only thing they’ll be talking about is Salt Lake. She very much doubts it will be enough to turn away most of them, but she can already pick out who it might matter to.

         Her eyes land on Alice as she helps lift Claudette up so she can peer at Aisha. Then Howard and Petunia, as they let Cricket talk their ears off about the video game he was playing until probably less than fifteen minutes ago. When they’d arrived back to the hospital, they had decided to swing by the playroom on a whim, only to find the entire Barneses family there with Abel.

         A laugh escapes her. Maybe she doesn’t have to worry about Howard and Petunia. She can’t imagine they’d take Cricket away from here; the look on his face as he worked his way through some fantasy game was a wonder to behold. You would have thought he was walking on water from how amazed he was.

         Lev touches her elbow, and when she turns, he nods to the door where Davey is standing.

         She immediately smiles, swinging forward on crutches to embrace him. “Hey, Davey! I’m glad you’re here. Maria and Georgie still doing okay?”

         “Yes, they were sleeping when I left,” he answers with a smile. “O-One of the nurses was happy to sit with them while I was here.”

         His words make her breath a small sigh of relief. It’s good they’re resting again. As well as they’re doing, she knows they aren’t in the clear yet. They need all the strength they can get.

         “Go on and take a seat,” she says after a pause, stepping aside and gently pushing him towards the large circle of chairs they’ve laid out. “You’re the last one in, so we’ll start in just a second.”

         He does, and it’s after he’s walked away that Marshall slowly comes to stand at her and Lev’s side.

         “Is that everyone?” he asks, and she nods.

         She doesn’t move forward to call the meeting to order, though, or whatever the hell it is she’s supposed to do as leader. This is the first time most of them have seen each other since they all arrived. She can let them all catch up for a bit.

         Helps that it stalls the rather sticky conversation she’s rushing headlong into.

         Marshall seems to realize what she’s going for. Idly, he adds, “I’m surprised they let us do this.”

         Lev shrugs. “Since we all passed their questioning and are ‘low risk’ they apparently don’t really care what we do. As long as we don’t try to sneak off or hurt someone… they seem okay with us doing whatever we want.”

         “They want an answer on if we’re applying for residency soon, though,” she adds, glancing between the two of them. “Hence… this.”

         She gestures at the room, and the two of them nod their agreement.

         “I agree,” rumbles Marshall, rolling his neck in a way she knows is meant to relieve some inner tension more than any kink in his neck. A nervous kink he’s never been able to kick from having a Rattler collar around his throat.

         A sigh, and she pats his arm. She can understand. More than any of them, she’s sure he and Gracie are the ones most eager to move out of their current accommodations. A cell is a cell, no matter how nice.

         The sooner they get this meeting over, the sooner they can all apply for residency, and the sooner they can all, hopefully… get accepted into this community. Get their own places.

         Fuck, the thought is already filling her with a deep longing. She doesn’t give a fuck if all these people can give her and Lev is a tiny studio apartment. As long as it’s theirs.

         Wistful imaginations of building a life here are enough to galvanize her into action. Rolling her shoulders, she reaches out to clap both Lev and Marshall on their shoulders. “You two ready?”

         “As ever, Abigail.”

         “Always, Abby.”

         She smirks. “Good. Everyone, come on! I officially call this meeting order or whatever the hell.”

         That gets her a few laughs, but very quickly all of them find seating.

         She takes the seat closest to her, facing away from the door, and Lev and Marshall take the ones on either side.

         “So,” she starts, leaning forward on her knees and peering around at all of them. “These people want to know ASAP which of us are applying to stay here, and which of us are wanting to go. I just wanted to get as many of us together as I could so we could talk things over. Get on the same page about all of this.

         “To start us off, I want to make sure we all have the same information,” she continues, holding her hands out. “I have the feeling Ellie may have told Lev and I a bit more than she told the rest of you, so-”

         “Let’s start with her, actually.”

         It’s only by the grace of god that she does not audibly groan at Alice interrupting her.

         Before she can even try to get them back on track, she continues with a sort of spiteful determination, saying, “That woman, Ellie Miller, is her, right? The girl Joel Miller brought to Salt Lake City?”

         Fucking… there goes her plan of gently, naturally leading the conversation into that topic.

         “Is she?” rumbles Howard, a dark look on his face as he trades a glance with his wife. “Pet and I thought she might have been, but…”

         The way he trials off makes it clear they definitely knew she was; they just didn’t want to be the ones to bring it up.

         An almost manic look enters Alice’s eyes as a round of murmurs pass through the group.

         When she meets her eyes, she feels her blood go cold.

         “That’s not all though, is it, Abby?” she asks, suspicion dripping from her voice like venom from a snake’s fangs. “Why the hell’d she know you? And why the fuck does it look like you got into a fight between now and the last time we saw you?”

         Her blood pressure spikes, and she bites down on some ill-thought-out retort. She grinds it between her teeth like a starved dog with a rotten bone, refusing to spit it out.

         Jacques gives his sister a warning look. “Alice…”

         When he reaches out to take hold of her shoulder, though, she bats his hand away. She doesn’t even look at him. Instead, she keeps her eyes locked on hers. “Abby?”

         Lev and Marshall’s gazes are just two of the dozen and a half now burning a hole in her head. As much as she knows both of them would try and take the heat off her if she asked… she has to handle this herself.

         Alice isn’t the only one who wants answers from her. The urge to just lie is strong, but she can’t hardly think of one. What possible reason could Ellie have for knowing her, and to know her so well that they’d end up fighting each other, aside from the truth?

         Fuck.

         Lying by omission it is.

         “When my friends and I hunted down Joel…” The words bounce around her mouth like rocks in a tumbler; begging to be let out but locked in. It takes a moment for her to finally free them. “When my friends and I hunted down Joel, Ellie saw us. She was living in Jackson with him.”

         The only reaction she gets is uncertain shifting from the group. Most of the group, that is.

         Alice’s dark face turns a shade ashen, and she realizes immediately she said too much. 

         She knows what’s about to happen, what she’s about to say, before she even opens her mouth. Yet she is utterly powerless to stop her.

         “That why you were the only one who made it out of Seattle?”

         Her silence, shocked and choked, is answer enough.

         A disbelieving, bitter smile splits Alice’s face.

         “I-It doesn’t matter!” she exclaims. Or more accurately stutters, her nerves getting the better of her.

         She didn’t want to talk about this. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, they weren’t supposed to be talking about this.

         If anything, how flustered she’s getting seems to egg Alice on. If the woman takes pleasure in this, though, she doesn’t show it.

         Despite her smile, there’s only anger in her face. “Years ago, you said they all died. Owen, Manny, Nora, Mel… y-you said Mel was fucking pregnant.”

         Gasps, and Abel holds up his hand. “W-Wait, what the hell are we talking about here?”

         “I’m talking about the fact the woman who brought us here is a fuckin’ psycho with a vendetta against Fireflies!” declares Alice, and it’s then she finally finds the strength to surge to her feet.

         “We have no idea how many of them she killed!” She tries to say it with some authority, but it’s a weak, flimsy deflection.

         Alice storms a couple feet towards her, jabbing a finger in her direction. “It doesn’t matter which of them she killed personally, you’ve made it plain as fuckin’ day she was involved! That’s all that matters!”

         Marshall stands, holding a hand out to both of them, some desperate emotion on his face. “I don’t know exactly what you guys are talking about, but Ellie isn’t all bad! She’s the one who helped free me and everyone else from the Rattlers, back in Santa Barbara.”

         The way Alice’s eyes blow open, along with about half of the group’s, lets him know he’s made a mistake.

         This time, it isn’t Alice who speaks. It’s Petunia, her voice faint, eyes darting between the three of them. “And then… she tried to kill Abby, if I’m remembering that story correctly?”

         “Okay, pause for a sec, I just…” Gracie sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and reaching up to massage her temple. “So… the immune girl that nearly made the Fireflies extinct a decade and a half ago… also hunted down Abby’s friends in Seattle… and then tried to hunt her down again… and she’s here? She’s that woman with the machete?”

         It’s enough to finally snap her patience, and she stomps halfway into the center of the circle of chairs.

         “SHE DID NOT MAKE THE FIREFLIES FUCKING EXTINCT!” she bellows at the top of her lungs, glaring at all of them.

         Lowering her voice to merely an almost-yell, she growls out, “I don’t know who it was that started that stupid line of thinking, but… as far as I know? You know, as the daughter of the doctor that was going to cut open her head? From the moment she came into Salt Lake to the moment she left, she was unconscious.”

         Alice scoffs, shaking her head. “You really think she had nothing to do with what happened?”

         She nearly bites her head off, but Davey is quicker than her.

         “S-She was unconscious?” he repeats with a dizzied look, brow furrowed as he clearly tries to make sense of everything. When she nods, he looks to the rest of them, focusing in on Alice, Howard, and Petunia. “T-Then why have I been hearing she’s the reason the Fireflies had to disband?”

         “Because the fuckin’ smuggler who brought her ass to Salt Lake killed dozens of us and Abby’s dad, who was the only damn reason we could have made a cure!” fires off Alice in a rapid succession of words that leaves her reeling with sickening memories.

         Davey clearly isn’t swayed. “Okay, but if she was unconscious, then-!”

         “Oh give me a break,” says Howard, rolling nearly his whole head, not just his eyes. The look he gives the other man is borderline patronizing. “Davey, are you telling me you think that man killed dozens of people on a whim?”

         “Are you sure it was a whim?” shoots back Mark, and his voice is as cutting as it is quiet and tired. “The names I heard thrown around on Catalina were ‘Joel Miller’ and ‘Ellie Williams.’ The woman we met here is Ellie Miller. Are we sure their relationship was purely one of smuggler and cargo?”

         Petunia scoffs, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what their relationship was; it may not matter to you because you only joined on Catalina, but that man murdered half a dozen of Howard and I’s friends. Our family.”

         His gaze is ice cold and unswayed. “Why are you talking like an authority on the matter? Your deployment at the time was… Treasure Island, if I remember correctly?”

         Pet reels back slightly, as does her husband, and their eyes flash with hurt.

         Jesus, maybe she should have told him it was okay to sit this meeting out. He may not be wrong, but the words are beyond cutting. And it’s clear he doesn’t really care about this.

         The last thing she needs is him spiraling this even further by using it as an outlet for his grief, trying to take it out on any available target.

         “If she was unconscious the whole time she was there… why were you going to operate on her?”

         Nadia’s voice is quiet, hesitant, but it cuts through the noise like a knife through butter.

         The question hangs heavy in the air, and its weight drags her down. Down into doubts and grief and memories.

         ‘And what if this was Abby?’

         “We were running out of time,” says Alice firmly, though she can hear a quiver in her voice. One that betrays the same doubts she’s drowning in right now. “FEDRA was closing in. We lost three QZ cells in just that last year alone. It was then, or never. And Joel Miller perfectly understood that. For god’s sake, us being hunted down like rats was exactly why he was hired in the first place!”

         “And what?” she finally says, huffing a breath in a way she hopes is derisive and mocking. She gestures vaguely at the room, at the past, even. “You think he brought her there to, what… just to kill us?”

         It’s enough of a switch up to buy her a second of silence from Alice, which she pounces on with vicious anger in her heart. Anger at years of listening to blame being shifted to Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, when she ruined her life and got her friends killed because it had been fucking Joel.

         “I don’t know if you remember, but Marlene had no idea where they were,” she continues on relentlessly. “Her people that were supposed to meet them got killed, and then she didn’t hear a fucking thing. Almost everyone else thought they were dead, including my dad! You don’t cross the entire country, fight tooth and nail to meet some people, and then have your… your smuggler, or your guardian, or your dad, or what-the-fuck-ever kill them!”

         Her entire body is shaking. “I hate her. I hate her more than I have ever hated anyone in my entire life except maybe Joel Miller. But she wanted to be there; it’s the only thing that makes sense. So blame Joel for what he did to the Fireflies, blame Ellie for what she did to our… my friends. I sure as hell do. But don’t lay stuff at her feet that she had no part in, and use it as a reason why we should leave.”

         It cows Alice for only a moment, and then she’s in her face.

         Any ashen shade in it is gone now and replaced by furious red. “We… can’t… stay… here. Unless you wanna tell me, to my face, right now that she had nothing to do with Owen, Manny, Mel, and Nora’s deaths… then I don’t care what else you say. She’s a psycho. She can’t be trusted, and neither can a community that lets her run around without a care in the world. I won’t let my family live within a hundred miles of that bitch.”

         “That ain’t your decision, Alice,” says Jacques from behind her, and his sister freezes like a block of ice.

         Slowly, she backs away from her, and turns around to look at him. When she speaks, her voice is carefully, very carefully, controlled. “Jacques… I don’t know if you remember right, but after what Joel did… we had nothing.”

         He’s on his feet in a second, teeth bared. “I know we had fucking nothing, Alice! I remember very fucking well what it was like to have nothing! So why are you asking me to take my daughter, your niece, away from a place where she could have everything?!”

         He swings his arms out, gesturing to the hospital room they’re in, and it’s a damning enough point all on its own. He continues on, though, merciless with his words. “Food, safety, a roof over head, clothes on her back, an education, friends… a normal fucking life?!

         “I get you hate Joel Miler, I hate him too!” He pauses, leaving words between them unsaid but clearly heard, given the rigid set to Alice’s shoulders. “I get you hate Ellie Williams, even. But Claudette is the only thing that matters right now. At least to me and Latonya. Whatever Ellie did or didn’t do, I do know she saved my family’s fucking lives. Maybe we can’t trust her, maybe we’ll always hate her, maybe she’ll always hate us… but look at this place! This place is a goddamn city! Can’t be too fucking hard for us to stay out of each other’s ways.”

         “You know I love you, Alice, and you’re my blood, but we ain’t leaving,” continues Latonya, still sat in her seat. The look she gives her sister-in-law is considerably gentler than Jacques. “They said if we stay here… my baby can go to school. To school. I can’t take that away from her, not by choice.”

         As if she thinks she needs to speak too, her daughter quietly pipes up from her lap in a scared, mousey voice. “I… I-I want us to stay too, auntie.”

         It’s then that Alice loses, and she can see the moment she knows it too. Her jaw works itself back and forth, hands white-knuckled at her sides.

         It takes several seconds for her to give a single, jerking nod. “Fine. Sure. I ain’t going anywhere without you guys, so I guess I’m staying too.

         “But Abby?” she suddenly says, whipping around to glare at her. “Know this: if that bitch even looks at my family funny, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in her ass. That clear?”

         She snorts. “Crystal. Hope you’ll let me help, if that ever happens. But your brother is right. She saved our lives, and she’s given no sign she wants us anything else except alive. So do not start shit.”

         A pause, and she makes a slow turn, glaring at everyone for at least a second each. “That goes for all of you. Hate her, curse her name, hell, throw a picture of her up on your wall and shoot it full of holes for all I care. But Ellie made it clear that anything else will end up with you on a boat out of here at best. So as long as we’re here, you stay out of her fucking way and if you can’t, you keep your head down.”

         She looks back to Alice pointedly, staring her down. “Understood?”

         The woman snorts just like she did, though her eyes are flinty. “Sure. Just like you did, I’m guessing?”

         She raises her hand, flicking her fingers at her face pointedly, and she feels her own heat up. It’s only by virtue of several long seconds of deep breathing that she doesn’t hit her.

         “If you want to pick a fight with her,” she says, trying for a dismissive tone, “go right ahead. Be my guest. But I’m not going to sacrifice the safety of everyone else here just for you. So if you try some shit with her, and they decide you’re out of here… you’ll be going alone. And that’s if they don’t hang you.

         “Is that fucking clear enough for you, Allard?”

         The other woman stares right back at her, and she’s glad to see her face has gone ever so slightly pale again.

         She nods, and the moment she does, she can take a deep breath again.

         The silence after is as awkward as it is deafening.

         Then, just as mouse-like as Claudette before, Cricket asks, “D-Do they really hang people here?”

         It’s Lev who answers, tone gentle and comforting. “Ellie said they do in rare cases. For only the worst crimes, and only if they think you’d use your knowledge of the community to hurt it if you were exiled.”

         The little boy nods, looking pacified though not by much.

         She supposes that’s her cue to get this meeting back on track.

         “That’s one of the things I wanted to cover here,” she says after a second, trying to strike a diplomatic, leader-y tone. She thinks she fails. “Ellie said a few things to me that I don’t know if she said to the rest of you, so I’ll pass them along. Just in case they sway you one way or the other.

         “Apparently there’s around 2,500 people in this community, and they’ve cleared all the islands on Lake Michigan of infected. She said they have a few settlements spread out across them, but this is their biggest one. I don’t know where the others are or what they’re like.”

         Despite her last sentence, there’s a few looks of astonishment passed around the group. It’s almost enough to make her laugh.

         She’s sure if you told someone in 2013 that 2,500 would be a lot of people in 2050, they’d have asked you if there was a mass extinction event.

         Come to think of it… did cordyceps kill enough people to count as one?

         She shakes her head free of morbid thoughts, continuing on with a slightly forced smile. “She also said that apparently kids can go on camping trips out to that FOB we saw in the summer. Play in the lake. She said that ferry they had is electric, and they have a couple more like it. So… if you hadn’t already guessed, this place is pretty damn capable. Organized.”

         “Ellie said she takes her daughter and her friends on those camping trips,” adds Nadia with a much warmer, realer smile than hers. “We spoke of her a bit. It… it sounded very much like they were both living very nice, very normal lives here.”

         Daughter… daughter, daughter, daughter…

         Fuck, she still can’t wrap her head around it.

         “She told Lev and I that that’s kind of the goal of the community here,” she says, glancing at him just in time to see him nod. “’Normal.’ Everyone gets a roof over their head, food, power, water, clothing, even some furniture and entertainment. They have libraries with not just books, but DVD’s and games. And they try not to force anyone to work any specific job, but that everyone who can work, has to. Does that sound about the same as what she told the rest of you?”

         Everyone nods.

         “She mentioned if we do get to stay here, we’ll be on ‘probation’ for a while,” says Gracie suddenly, leaning forward with a pointed look aimed at her. “That means no weapons, and even afterwards, we’ll have to take a test to get some. You okay with that?”

         All she can do is shrug. “If it was me running this place, I wouldn’t do it any differently.”

         “I want to know more about how good their doctors here are,” says Abel just a bit brashly. “Mark, how’s May doing? Davey, Maria and Georgie? These doctors taking good care of them?”

         “Maria and Georgie are feeling much better,” replies Davey instantly, a relieved smile on his face. “Both of them already want to be out of bed, if you can believe it. They want to see this place for themselves.”

         There’s a few laughs at that, and even Mark cracks a smile. It fades quickly, though, as he drops his gaze to the floor, hands knotted together. “May is okay. The procedure to remove her eye went without a hitch, and they say she’s healing well. She should be fine.”

         Sympathetic winces, this time, and despite his harsh words earlier, Petunia reaches out to rub his back. When he glances at her, she just smiles sadly.

         “I also want to say that they’ve been very fair to Gracie and I,” adds Marshall after a second. “The holding cell they have us staying in is honestly nicer than that apartment we shared back in San Diego.”

         Gracie grins at that, kicking back in her seat. “You can say that again. Take the bars off the windows and toss your gigantic ass out into the cold, and it’d actually be pretty cozy.”

         More laughter, especially from Marshall, who takes the playful jab as well as he always does. Neither he, nor Lev, nor her, mention she used the same joke twice.

         The topic brings to mind something else, though, and she clears her throat to gather everyone’s attention back up. Once she has it, she says, “They also seem to have some sort of actual justice system here. Or… I don’t know. Ellie said they have investigations, lawyers, and trials. Lev and I even spoke with an investigator from their ‘Justice and Integrity Division.’ Just wanted to make sure you all knew that.”

         Latonya snorts loudly. “That puts them above FEDRA at least.”

         “I would say the lemonade already put them above FEDRA,” quips Davey, and he gets a round of snickers for his trouble.

         A moment passes by, quiet and comfortable, as she wracks her brain. Trying to think if there’s anything else she’s forgetting.

         It’s Lev instead who speaks, and his voice is quiet in a careful sort of way. “I want to make sure everyone is also on the same page about the immunity. The nurse who gave Abby and I ours said that it only prevents us from getting infected. It doesn’t protect us from the demons themselves; they can still kill us. If we do decide not to stay… we’ll only be a bit safer out there than we were before.”

         She feels her skin crawl, and the inside of her mouth burns. The scar on her arm, a combination of teeth marks and knifework meant to obscure them, pulses with phantom pain.

         She still can’t believe it, in a way. That Ellie was right.

         That was just… it. That’s all it was, that’s all it took.

         They’re immune.

         She’s been immune for more than a decade.

         It was just… that easy.

         It takes all her effort not to throw up, and when she comes back to herself, it’s to see the group staring at her.

         “I-I think that’s it,” she says for lack of anything else to say, the words catching in her throat for just an instant. “Now… I don’t want to force anyone to stay. Or guilt anyone into staying. And it’s not a sure thing. If we tell them we want to apply for residency, they’ll want information from us. Who we’ve worked with or for, where we’ve been, our skills, and that information will be given to this whole community.

         “They’ll hold a residency hearing after that, and some of us may be questioned. We’ll be able to speak if we want, as will any of their people.” A breath, to steady herself at the grim possibility she’s going to bring up. “Even after that… they may vote us out. We’ll be able to stay until we’re healed up, and they’ll send us out with supplies, but… I just want to make sure you all know that whatever you say here, right now, isn’t a guarantee. Even if you say you want to go right now, I’m sure they’ll let you change your mind and apply as long as you’re still here.”

         When she gets a nod from every single one of them, she sighs. “Alright then. All those in favor of staying, raise your hand.”

         Not a single person keeps their hand down.

         She stares into her wine, eyeing how it swirls this way and that as she tilts her glass around.

         The taste of bile on her tongue is just as potent as the aftertaste of spaghetti. Then again, it’s been a while since they finished dinner. Might just be fading from how long they’ve all been sat here, listening to her tell her sad, fucked up story.

         It takes them a long time to speak. It honestly surprises her. Well, not Avery. Avery can be trusted to shut up and listen when it’s important. It’s Jamie who surprises her. Aside from a few muffled curses, he’d kept almost entirely silent as she spoke.

         By the time Avery does speak, he’s polished off his glass of wine and filled it back up again.

         “That woman, Mel…” A pause, and he grunts, as if trying to forcefully dislodge the words. “Did you know she was pregnant?”

         She shakes her head. “Not when it happened. By the time I realized, she… she was already gone.”

         He nods, and takes another sip of the wine. After a second, he mutters, “That’s fair enough, I suppose.”

         She snorts, glancing over at him incredulously. “Is it?”

         “Maybe. I dunno.” He sighs and shrugs, shaking his head. “Gonna be honest, girl, I’m a man. Matters of pregnancy and all that surrounds it are, uh… little outside my purview, as it were.”

         Jaime nods his emphatic agreement, and she shoots him an exasperated glare.

         “I cannot believe you’re cracking jokes about this right now,” she says faintly, sheer disbelief coloring her tone, and they both chuckle.

         “Think I’m in shock.” Avery lets that hang for a second before waving the words away with an errant brush of his hand. “Or… maybe not, just… I dunno. I don’t wanna say I ain’t surprised, cause I am, but… I remember the war, Ellie. You remember it. What we had to do to the Green Flock. We’ve all sinned in this world. I can’t judge you for yours more’n you can judge me for mine.”

         Jaime and Rachel trade a glance, questions clear in their eyes. They know well enough not to ask them.

         For her part, she just watches her wine swirl. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Back, and forth.

         Then: “Not even for what I did in Santa Barbara?”

         He reaches across the table to place his hand on hers, stopping her fiddling with the wine glass. The feeling of his calloused touch, gentle yet firm, makes her want to cry. “Not even for that, Ellie. Regardless of why you were down there, or what ya did… you saved a lot of lives, or leastways sounds like it. Feel like the wrongs you made’re outweighed by the rights.”

         “Yeah,” says Jaime, almost no hesitation in his voice. “I mean… yeah. Fucked up. But you let them both go, and… you know, you killed a bunch of slavers. Freed a lot of slaves. Net positive really.”

         Rachel nods her agreement emphatically, squeezing her tight into her side.

         It takes several shuddering breaths until she can speak. “T-Thanks, you guys.”

         “Of course, girl, of course,” Avery replies, a forced tone of bemusement in his voice. As if he wants to make her feel like she’s just being silly, beating herself up like this.

         She isn’t. She knows she isn’t. This isn’t beating herself up. It’s just finally confessing to her sins.

         Another few seconds pass in silence, and she lets them. She’s sure they aren’t done with their questions just yet.

         It’s Jaime who makes the next move, sniffing and shifting in his seat. “B-But, uh… you’re sure those guys aren’t here for you?”

         It’s Rachel who answers, her hand tightening on her shoulder as she bares her teeth slightly. “Yes. And even if they are, we’ll just… kill them.”

         She snorts, looking at her with a bemused smile. “’We’ won’t be doing anything. The council will handle it.”

         Her daughter rolls her eyes, but otherwise accepts the gentle rebuke with good grace.

         “But yeah,” she says, turning her gaze to Jaime. “I think Abby and Lev probably… I don’t fucking know. They probably knew it was possible I was here. But I think they were telling the truth when they said they were just following the immunity rumors.”

         He nods, slow and careful, nibbling on his lip for a second. Then his brow furrows and he shifts again, leaning forward, clearly trying to dispel some of the nervous energy running through him. “You’re not worried about any of the other strays? I mean, they’re all Fireflies, right?”

         “Not our problem.” The words come quick and concise, a response she already had preplanned. “Abby said she’d handle it. Abby’ll handle it. Besides, only about fucking… four of them were Fireflies back during Salt Lake. Pretty sure the rest won’t have very strong feelings about me in comparison.”

         Both he and his father nod, accepting the explanation with ease.

         Avery, though, raises a finger after a second, shaking it almost absentmindedly at her. “Kinda curious, though. Why tell us this now? Just cause that Abby and Lev are here?”

         A shrug, and she raises her wine to sip it. Its sour, bitter taste clings to her tongue, though the aftertaste is sweet. “Yeah. I… you guys are pretty much my family. I couldn’t stand the thought of them talking about it, and it making its way through the community, and you… y-you two having to hear about it that way.”

         Jaime ducks his head when she calls him her family, a flush equal parts embarrassed and pleased coming to his cheeks. Avery does the same, and she can’t help but think, Like father, like son.

         “Anyone else you’re thinking of telling?” asks Jaime, genuine curiosity in his eyes, and she huffs a laugh.

         “Right now?” He nods, and she shakes her head. “Fuck no. Think this whole day has taken a decade off my life.”

         They all laugh at that, and it feels good. The sound takes some of the weight from her chest.

         “Seriously, though…” she says after a moment, leaning back in her seat. “I dunno. Eleanor. Marcus and Adela, maybe. Couple others. But fucking… after. Once this whole shitshow calms down.”

         Avery raises his glass with a grin. “Amen to that. I’ll take clearing infected over drama any day of the week.”

         With a rueful smile, she follows suit, and then so do their kids. Jaime with his own glass of wine, Rachel with her cup of grape juice. She pouts at how the plastic knocks dully against the three wine glasses.

         In the silence after, she sits warm and content, leaning up against Rachel as they both sip their drinks. Behind them, she can hear Mutt’s tail beating an irregular tempo against the floor as he lies on his side, dying from lack of attention.

         Then, with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes, Jaime leans forward again. “So, feel free to pass if it brings up too many bad memories, but… what was California like?”

         She lets out a gusty sigh, raising a hand to her face, even as Avery and Rachel chuckle.

         Of course. Little wanderlust-filled punk…

         Resigning herself to another long night spinning tales of her travels, she sets her glass down.

         “Well, it fucking sucked. Forget the Rattlers, that was the first time I ran into a goddamn beetle. It was on the way back, in this place called Barstow. Fucking thing jumped on me from a roof, stuck about a dozen of its little barbs into me, and then…”

         Despite her grumbling, they way all of their eyes light up as she talks makes contented warmth flicker in her chest.

         Just for that moment, it’s easy to forget about the looming matter of Abby and Lev.