It was raining when they woke up. Hard, pounding sheets of it, painting everything in a gray fog.
It suited Jack’s mood.
The wave of disbelieving regret came first. Just up and slammed an elbow down onto her exposed gut. She lay there for a long moment, morose and dismayed. Karl had been a good man, and Kody a wonderful boy, and she wondered how many mornings she would wake up to them as the first things on her mind.
It was strange how grief could hide inside you. Like a virus, lying low for months, even years, only to spring out and leave you weak and helpless again.
Slowly, her mood morphed into one of steady, simmering rage. Not wild and uncontrollable—this was an intelligent thing, and felt like a righteous one. Rarity’s little stunt last night was dangerous and unbelievably crazy, and Jack already knew, because she knew herself, that she would be stewing about it for days yet.
“It's raining.”
Jack turned, and watched the object of her annoyance lazily part the small curtains over the small window. Raindrops trailed down the glass like tears.
“Suppose you’ll want to wait it out?” Jack asked, very short of sneering or snapping.
“Hmm, no,” Rarity said, still in that same sleep-husky voice, frail and distant.
Jack’s aggression died just a bit. Like a petulant child, she had planned on immediately dragging Rarity out into the rain and back on the road if she had answered that she did want to wait out the weather.
So what now? Strongly argue that we should stay inside jus’ cause she wants to go?
It felt childish. Hell, it was childish. There were limits to the allowance that irritation provided someone.
Jack didn't answer. Rarity dropped the curtain and walked over to her barricading bag, rummaging around. She pulled out a couple of chocolate chunk granola bars and tossed one to Jack.
“Breakfast, I suppose. Doesn't beat eggs but…” she trailed off, going into herself. Jack could see the moment that she remembered what had happened.
“Thanks,” Jack said quietly, and unwrapped the bar.
The rain didn't slow as Jack had hoped by the time they were ready to go. It was very constant, and the endless canopy of brooding darkness that stretched from horizon to horizon made it clear that it wasn't moving on for a while. It quite liked where it was.
“Are you sure you don't wanna just wait out the rain?” Jack asked Rarity. She herself wanted to, but she also wanted to get a move on.
What would make this better, naturally, would be if the damn RV ran. They could at least get it back onto the highway before having to face the rain.
Except Jack couldn't really see how the thing got out to this spot in the middle of the woods in the first place, so there was high chance of that not happening even if it ran.
“Quite sure,” Rarity said resolutely. Jack had to wonder what this sudden drive was in the woman. “Though I will thoroughly lament the ruination of my wardrobe.”
“Fine, just don't ‘thoroughly lament’ ‘round me,” Jack muttered. “Or out loud.” She looked up at the sky, slightly worried. “I hope we don't run inta more Rooters ‘cause of this rain.”
“Hope, indeed,” Rarity agreed in a soft tone of voice, also looking up at the sky.
“We got some stuff fer Molotovs, just in case,” Jack let her know, albeit a pointless drop of information. Rarity was there. Rarity had watched her rob that house-turned-grave. Jack kept reminding herself it was practical, and it was necessary, but, once something dug into your skull to taunt you, it was hard to get rid of it.
Together, they stepped out into the rain. It was pleasant, almost; a bit cool but not frigid, and the forest seemed to be alive with it. The birds were complaining, the insects celebrating, and the soft pitter-patter of the rain itself created a euphony that soothed.
Rarity had packed two umbrellas. Small, fashionable, city ones, and Jack looked from the umbrella to Rarity and raised an eyebrow, asking silently how the hell the thing was supposed to cover her at all.
It did a decent enough job overall, even though Jack had to keep shifting the edges of it away from her so that the runoff water didn't go down the back of her collar or the front of her shirt.
They didn't talk for a long time. It felt strangely calm. A calmness she had not expected to feel again for a long, long while after Cody. Yet here it came, open armed and flashy as if to say ‘here I am.’ In a way it frustrated Jack. Like she wasn’t respecting things that had happened mere days ago, like she was growing numb to atrocities in this new world they walked.
Yet that’s how it was. Calm. Almost fucking tranquil even. Even between them, for the moment anyway, the air and silence was companionable, and there were those strange looks Rarity kept throwing her way. Jack had to wonder if she was thinking the same thing, and if it was bothering her as much as it was bothering Jack.
She almost wished for a Rooter to materialize in front of them, to break the weird path that her mind insisted on straying to.
Jack tried to summon the feeling of anger from earlier, and it did come, but fizzled promptly out when she didn't put any of it to use, leaving a mild annoyance in its wake.
Suddenly, Rarity stopped and reached out a hand, grabbing Jack’s bicep and halting her too. Jack's senses went immediately on the alert.
Caught daydreamin’ again, stupid, she admonished herself.
There were no birds or insects anymore, just the steady rain. Nervous, Jack very carefully scanned the forest floor.
“I don't see anything,” she breathed to Rarity.
“Neither do I.”
Swearing internally, Jack knelt down and retrieved two Molotovs. She’d only made five of them with Karl’s gas, and the alcohol ones wouldn't work under the conditions. She wondered how good these things would work, under the conditions.
“Keep an eye out. I’mma prep these.”
Doing her best not to soak the rags with the rain, Jack used her umbrella’s cover to dip the thin sheets of cloth into the bottles.
“Jack.”
Rarity’s shaky utterance stopped her in her tracks. Slowly, she looked up and over the small barricade that her umbrella made.
Her heart rate sped up drastically, her thoughts scattering like rats when a light was thrown.
They rose up out of the ground one by one. Two, then four, then six, and finally a seventh. An entire fucking horde of them.
Hidden behind the umbrella, Jack’s hand fumbled and almost dropped the lighter she had retrieved from her breast pocket.
She glanced up again and saw the Rooters sniffing the air in tandem, looking more feral then they had in the previous times Jack had seen them.
They can smell us easier, she thought with a sudden surety that made her redouble the efforts of trying to light the two Molotovs. The lighter protested mightily, refusing to spark.
“Jack,” Rarity said again, much more fearfully. Jack swore, abandoning the Molotov and standing to her full height, swinging the shotgun off of her shoulder.
She barely bothered with aiming, instead instinctively squeezing the trigger from the hip, twice. A loud report echoed, cutting through the sound of the rain like a scythe through wheat. One of the Rooter’s let out a shriek that was struck down midway as his body was torn asunder from the blast of the twelve gauge. Jack looked back to Rarity and screamed, “Run like hell!”
The monsters howled as one, seeing one of their own struck down. Immediately, four of them disappeared down into the ground. Jack secured the gun to her stomach and sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her, the injury at her shoulder a dull ache with every adjustment of her socket as they cleared the land in a blur of speed, running fast enough that her eyes jostled with every footfall upon the dirt.
She felt something wrap around her ankle a split second before she was on the ground, landing so hard her jaw rattled and her hands automatically began to scramble for purchase; to rise, to flee, once more.
She rolled onto her back, her stomach aching and sore. She had landed not only at her chin, but her gun too, and it had impacted her just below the ribs. Jack knew if they made it through this, the fucker was gonna bruise.
One of the Rooters weaved together in front of her, materializing almost midway through the act of pouncing on her. She got off one shot, piercing it in the neck, and then loaded another as it stumbled back. She saw a second Rooter rise up out of the ground just to her left.
Not aiming at all, she shot the second round in a blind panic. And struck gold. It pierced the thick trunk of the tree on the thing’s back, and the Rooter seemed to simply come apart before her, it's vines and roots and branches unwrapping and crumbling.
Weak point, Jack thought dazedly. It had a weak point.
“Jack!” Rarity screamed, and distantly she heard the sound of the Mosin Nagant fire off. “Get up!”
Rarity’s shot hit the remaining Rooter on torso, and the thing barely flinched.
“Shoot it in the tree!” Jack ordered, scrambling up and narrowly missing being caught by a few errant roots that tried to wrap up her arm.
Another all-but materialized to Jack’s right, just as Rarity’s shot pierced the tree of the one on the left.
“C’mon!”
Jack ran forward, slipping from the slickness the rain created, but righted herself soon enough and began to sprint, her body leaned forward and her hands pumping with every lunge of her feet, her heart racing and her lungs aching and her brain all-but choking on adrenaline.
Then, the woods simply ceased to be, and Jack stumbled into a surprised halt as she stared at the wide long stretch of highway before her, cars choking it and spilling out of a long tunnel carved out of the side of a large hill.
Rarity burst through the shrubbery and almost bowled her over.
“What are you doing?!” the tailor gasped.
“In there,” Jack panted, pointing at the end of the tunnel.
They cleared the distance fast, running along the edge of the woods until the land started to slope upwards. Jack crossed onto the actual highway, jumping over the guardrail easily, then pivoting and hoisting Rarity up and over, too.
“I can clear a guardrail on my own.”
Jack ignored her, systematically jumping up and over car roofs and hoods, picking her way towards the tunnel entrance.
It was dark, and seemed to go on for miles. Jack couldn't even see the light at the other end.
“C’mon,” she muttered to Rarity, instinctively taking the tailor’s sweaty palm in her own and leading her inside.
Once darkness descended onto them, Jack turned towards the mouth of the tunnel and scanned for the Rooters. It was several seconds before she saw one shamble out of the woods, sniffing at the air like a wild dog.
“Fuck,” she swore, then pushed ahead, deeper into the tunnel. The smell of gasoline assaulted her, first a tickle at her olfactories and then a full-palm slap at them. “Smells like a damn refinery in here.”
“Here,” Rarity said, and Jack dimly saw her go around the corner created by an overturned bus. Jack followed, climbing up onto the hood of a sedan, her height letting her peak over the bus and towards the mouth of the tunnel. All four of the Rooters were shambling towards them, moving much less gracefully then Jack was used to seeing them. They picked their way through the cars, grunting and sniffing fruitlessly in search of their prey.
Jack ducked back down behind the bus, putting a finger to her lips at Rarity’s questioning eyes.
They sat there for a while, listening to the things snort and shuffle, until finally there was silence.
“Are they gone?” Rarity asked in a whisper as Jack peeked over the upturned bus, doing her best to ignore the stench of the pitch black freeway tunnel.
“Shut up,” Jack snapped in a hiss, looking very carefully at every gap and inch of room that the field of wrecked cars provided. Seeing nothing, she ducked back down.
“I think we’re good.”
“Then… should we go back out?”
“Out and where? Back into the woods? Are you insane?” she barked a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, wait; I forgot who I was talkin’ to.”
“How dare—”
A cracking noise came from deeper in the tunnel. Jack froze, all the muscles in her body bunched and ready. She slapped a hand over Rarity’s mouth, perhaps slightly harder than necessary.
“Mmmsph! Muphs muh!” Rarity said, furiously.
“Shut up!” Jack hissed. “Shut the fuck up.” She tilted her ear towards the deep end of the tunnel and waited, but heard nothing more.
“I heard something,” she breathed to Rarity. “We’re not alone.”
She lowered her hand away from Rarity’s face, quickly but quietly throwing the pack off of her back.
“Here.”
She pulled out the NVGs, handing one of them to Rarity. She strapped hers onto her head, still somewhat clumsily.
When her vision swam with green daylight, she stared ahead. The tunnel was long, ridiculously so, and the cars looked like a scrunched ribbon laying the entire length of the road.
She saw movement—a faint shadow from behind a car fifty feet in front of them—and froze, glaring daggers at it. The woman waited ten, twenty seconds.
“Jack—“
“I said shut up,” she repeated.
“I just... fine,” Rarity replied, her tone harsh despite its miniscule volume. Jack gripped the pistol in her hand, staring towards the car a moment longer, then scowled, placing her gun in Kody’s holster.
“There's somethin' over there. Swear on it,” she growled out.
“Why put up the gun?” Rarity asked.
“I smell a lotta gas.” Jack reached behind her, pulling out the machete. “I'm scared we could blow the place up.”
“Does it work like that?” Rarity asked. Jack gave a frustrated shrug.
“Hell if I know. It'd make sense. Same reason ya don't use a lighter 'round a propane leak.”
“That's an open flame, Jack. There's a dif—”
“Enough with the words. If it's what I think it is, it's heard us by now anyway. An' it's one of the few things now I ain't too scared of.” Reaching into her bag again, Jack handed Rarity a walkie-talkie, keeping the other for herself. “Get up onto the bus. Guide me, and keep a lookout for any more. Don't shoot yer gun. Even if it looks like I'm in trouble. If that happens, run back the way we came. Okay?”
“I won't let you get—“
“Rare,” Jack interrupted yet again, her tone authoritative.
The woman sighed, finally shaking her head in meek agreement. “Just... be safe. Please.”
“Yeah, sug. You do the same.”
She dropped down onto the asphalt. Licking her painfully dry lips, she clutched her weapon in a strong, calloused hand and rose to her full height, foregoing stealth. Jack nodded over to Rarity, and the woman started the clumsy climb onto the side of the upturned bus, clawing at the rubber of the rear wheel until she hoisted herself up. Crouching, she scanned the field from her vantage point, then brought the walkie-talkie to her lips.
“Straight ahead,” Rarity instructed. “I see him now. Behind the car.” She sneered in disgust. “Having a meal.”
Jack listened. Sure enough, she heard the sound of wet smacking, along with a noise not unlike when she sank her teeth into an apple back on the farm.
The woman paused, briefly struck dumb at the comparison. She missed the farm. Missed the days of being a farmer. When all she had to worry about was the mortgage, her granny's health, and if her little sister doing alright in school.
She shoved the thoughts away bitterly, focusing on the now. It was thinking, distracted thinking like that, that got you killed.
“Move a bit to the left, next to that van, and you’ll be able to see him too,” Rarity told her.
Jack did, then paused, squinting. The silhouette of the creature was at the very tail-end of her vision. It paid her no mind, feasting on its meal of a half-stripped corpse. Jack held in her breath and touched the front bumper of the car that she stood next to.
“Looks like a Waddler,” she said to Rarity.
“Good. Nothing to worry about, then.”
“Unless there's more than three and they start to use their fucking tactics on me,” she muttered to herself. She snuck forward, weaving and bobbing around and behind cars, until she was about twenty feet away from the thing.
“Jack?” Rarity said over the coms, her tone worried. “Another further on.”
The creature in front of Jack paused. After another moment it shuffled up, rising from the body and turning towards the machete-wielding woman. Jack glared at it as it rounded the corner of the car.
The creature's hands groped blindly forward, shambling soundlessly towards her, finally coming close enough that she could see his face. It seemed human enough, save for its lack of nose and dozens of boils covering where its eyes should be. His heavy jowls shook with every labored breath, the flayed skin hanging off his torn cheeks looking like strips of dried jerky. As he waddled even closer, she could make out the pus weeping from his boils, the dozens of cracked and chipped teeth, gained from blindly biting into hard objects, and his chin, caked with dried vomit and blood.
When he got only a breath closer, Jack swung an overhead blow, her height and weight letting her bury the machete deep into the center of his skull. His mouth twitched; Jack snapped a foot forward into his distended stomach and kicked, dropping him to the ground where he gurgled once and lay limp. Jack grimaced once the action was done. Over the couple of weeks since... whatever it was that happened, she had gotten used to the smell of death. Corpses of survivors, the ones that hadn't vanished without a trace in the 'flash,' and the bodies of some of the creatures that had sprung up afterwards, but these fat bastards took the cake. She held her breath, freeing her weapon with one hard pull of her hand.
“Got 'em,” Jack announced. As disgusting as Waddlers were, the things were slow and not nearly as frightening as the Swarmers, which in turn paled in comparison to the Rooters.
“Good work,” Rarity answered. She turned, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding when there wasn't anything behind them. “Still one ahead, however.”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Fat bastard'll take a bit ta come towards us.” Another pause. “How much juice is left in the goggles?”
Rarity fumbled briefly with some of the buttons on the binoculars side, before swallowing as a percentage popped up. “Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five?” Jack spat out, incredulous. “Have ya been drainin' the battery?”
“Do I look stupid enough to do that?” Rarity answered. “I doubt Karl replaced the battery for a couple of months.”
“Not to mention that fucking stunt you pulled last night, making us travel through the woods,” Jack muttered to herself, moving over to the door of the wrecked car she stood by. Peeking into the vehicle, she frowned. It was like most of the cars here: empty, the keys still in the ignition, the gas long gone and the battery drained, as if the car had bled out like a shot man.
Jack froze. In the backseat was a children's seat, empty, save for a bib. Daddy's boy, it proclaimed. Feeling a sharp pain in her stomach, she looked away, staring into the endless darkness and trying to swallow around the lump in her throat.
“Anyway, we’ve still got two fresh batteries,” Rarity reassured.
Jack said nothing, simply shaking her head. “Next one close?”
Turning her head, Rarity looked deeper into the tunnel. “Eleven o'clock, I suppose. About... sixty feet? Next to a police car.”
“Any others?” Jack asked, whipping the machete through the air to flick away a bit of the puss from her last kill.
“No. At least none that I can see.”
“Then I'll take care-a him,” she replied, pressing on.
Rarity glanced down at her dirty hands and dirty coat. All the dirt and mud made her want to scream and lash out at something, but she kept herself calm, willing a pond or lake to appear on the other side of the tunnel. If she didn't bathe soon she would go crazy. Granted, what she really wanted was a hot bath and a washer, but unless they found another home running on well water and a generator, she doubted they'd have that luxury for a long, long while. The towns were getting sparse, now: some of them twenty or more miles apart from each other.
A wet slap broke through the silence of the tunnel, then the heavy thud of a large object dropping to the ground.
“Got 'em,” Jack announced, panting a little with exertion over the coms. Rarity looked towards the dark, her binoculars off for the moment.
“Good work,” Rarity repeated. “Are you by the police car? Do you suppose...?”
“Yeah, yeah, I think it might,” the farmer agreed. Tilting her stetson back, she peeked through the car's windows and smiled for the first time that day. “Get over here an' pick this damn lock.”
“Does the word 'please' mean anything to you?” Rarity replied over the coms, but within a minute the tailor was by Jack’s side.
“Look at this,” Jack ordered, tapping at the reinforced glass.
At the top of the cabin was a rack with a shotgun loaded inside. Rarity frowned at it.
“We already have a shotgun,” she muttered.
“Sure, but more ammo never hurts.”
Rarity sighed as she fumbled through the dozens of pockets her vest held until she finally pulled out the case. Selecting the one she thought would work the best, the woman put it into the police car's keyhole, straining her ears to hear the tumblers clicking into place as she jiggled the lockpick, looking for the sweet spot. She found it and gave a pull at the door. It opened without a hitch, sending the smell of stale, rock-hard doughnuts and soured coffee to mingle with the gas and decayed scent of the tunnel.
“I miss doughnuts,” Rarity remarked to herself, not caring how many calories the damn things had. Her figure was the last thing on her mind right now.
Climbing into the car, Rarity gave a curious poke at a computer system on a swivel near the passenger's seat. Unsurprisingly, it remained dead. Reaching past that, she tried the glove box and opened the latch.
A package of crackers, a map, and a half-full pack of cigarettes greeted her amid the pile of otherwise useless papers. She grabbed all three items and froze on noticing a red box the size of her palm under a few other papers. She pushed them aside and took the box in excited hands.
“Jack?” Rarity called out, giving a pleased shake of the half-full box, grateful for the metal rattle that came from its contents.
“What's wrong?” the farmer asked, her footsteps coming closer. Rarity would have turned to them, but the dimness would have made it pointless for her until Jack was a few meager feet away.
“What caliber is your gun again?”
As Rarity looked through the papers one more time to make sure she wasn't missing anything they could scavenge, she could already guess Jack had raised a brow at the question, like she was wont to do when Rarity asked something Jack thought was particularly dumb or unnecessary.
“.44.”
Rarity paused, the caliber completely different than what she expected. “O-oh...”
“Why?” Jack pressed.
“I found a box of nine.”
“Nine millimeter?” she continued, pressing.
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Thank God,” the woman replied, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Yer pistol takes that.”
“It does?” Rarity blinked, surprised at the news.
“I thought I drilled ya on this shit back when we first found ya a gun. Yers takes nine. Did none of that sink in? Were ya not payin' attention?” By her tone, Jack was scowling. “Like usual with ya, never mindin' me.”
Rarity let out a loud, displeased huff. “I'm sorry I had more pressing matters to think of, Jack, than discussing bullet calibers.”
“It's somethin' ya need ta know,” Jack snapped back. “What if I get—“
“Don't even say that,” Rarity hastily snapped, her delicate face twisted in rage. “Don't even consider it a possibility.”
“Rare...”
“We're here because of your insistence,” Rarity said, stuffing the box of ammo aggressively into her vest pocket. “I would have been content with us at Camelot, I'll have you know.”
Jack gave a roll of her eyes, doing one last scan of the tunnel before killing the display on the binoculars. “Ya didn't have ta—“
“Come with you?” Rarity guessed, interrupting her. She grabbed the shotgun and gave it a hard tug, pulling it free. She checked the gun, holding the release behind the trigger and gave it a hard pump, watching a shell fly free. “You know I had to.” Rarity gave another pump, keeping a meticulous count of the shells that came out of the gun as she unloaded it. Jack took a few steps towards the front of the car and sat, waiting for Rarity to continue.
“I shouldn't know how to do this,” she said, swallowing, fighting back pity tears as she gave the gun another pump. “These things are dreadful.”
“They've saved our lives,” Jack replied. “If we had tried ta get anywhere without 'em...”
Rarity shook her head. “I know that. That doesn't mean I can't hate this whole thing, Jack.”
“Hate it all ya want. It won't change the truth of the matter.” Jack glanced from her seat through the front glass of the car at the gun.
Rarity gave another pump. Finally, she pulled and no more shells came. She counted. Six. “Should we load yours, now?”
“Yeah. Here.” Hopping off the car, she handed the gun over, and watched the back of Rarity's head as the woman reloaded the gun, her delicate fingers chambering the shells with an almost uncanny dexterity. “Fer what it's worth...” she said after a drawn-out pause. “I wish ya didn't have ta know this stuff either. But it's...”
“It's what's necessary,” the other said plainly, finally giving a pump to load a shell ready into the gun. “For both of us.”
Jack grabbed Rarity's hand, helping her up from the car's seat. “Let's get a move on,” she said, taking her gun and slinging it by its strap over her shoulder. “Ya good fer a lil' more walkin'?”
“Until we find a spot to rest,” agreed Rarity. “When we do that, I think a few hours of sleep are due.”
They traveled for a long, uneventful hour, searching the cars for anything they could grab. They lucked out once more with a bag of groceries. Most had spoiled, but there were a few canned items they readily took. After another hour of slowly making their way through the tunnel scavenging, Jack saw a faint light. She brought the binoculars out and let out a small laugh.
“We made it,” Jack announced.
“Good. I was loathing the idea of staying the night here.” Rarity squinted towards the illumination, pleased.
Jack took another look at the light, noticing its rose-tinted appearance. She put the binoculars away and saw a door as they approached. It read 'Maintenance'.
“Yer jus' gonna have ta deal with the thought, then,” Jack commented.
“What? Why?” Rarity asked, agitated. “We're right there. Why can't we just—“
“If this is what I think it is, it'll be safer. We won't need a watch, meanin' we'll both get some sleep.” She sighed. “God knows we need a full night.”
Rarity pursed her lips, but nodded hesitantly. “You're right, of course.”
They tried the door and it opened without a hitch, revealing a small office, with a desk covered in spreadsheets and small hand-written notes.
“The guy that worked here was probably a manager of some of the day ta day stuff here. Electric lights, pest control, that kinda thing I bet,” Jack remarked, looking around the drab office before setting her sights on a picture of a middle-aged man carrying a young girl on his shoulders. Shaking her head, Jack blurted out: “Wonder if the guy lucked out?”
“Define 'lucked out,'” Rarity answered, watching as Jack dropped her backpack to the floor and rested the shotgun against the wall.
“What ya think? I mean, was he inside when it happened? That'd be luckin' out.”
“If he was, I would be reluctant to call it lucky.” Rarity gave a rub at her wrist, rolling it to work out a kink.
Jack pulled out a flashlight, turning it on and watching the light it projected flicker until she gave it a slap to its side and snapped it out of its indecisiveness. She sat it on the desk, illuminating the dark office for a moment while she moved to a tall filing cabinet. With a grunt, she lifted it and half-waddled it to the door, bracing it.
“Don't talk like that,” Jack said sharply.
“Why not? It's not like the ones that were outside have to deal with...”
Jack walked back to Rarity, tossing her bag onto the linoleum floor. She put a hand on Rarity's shoulder, right over the strap of the mosin nagant, and pointed one of her meaty fingers the tailor's way.
“Yer talkin' stupid. We're here fer a reason. Or alive fer a reason or...” She blew sharply upwards, lifting a strand of blonde hair off her face. “Whatever's goin' on.”
Rarity brushed off Jack's hand, staring up at the woman. “Can you honestly say that? That it wasn't dumb luck that we're standing here right now?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I don't know why, but, yes.”
“Then you're dumber than you look, Jack,” Rarity snapped, taking her own bag and dropping it without preamble, looking towards the farmer with a challenging glare.
Jack recoiled briefly, but her surprise and hurt turned to anger in a heartbeat.
“Fuck you, Rare,” she spat out.
“Aw, the loud oaf is mad. What a shame,” Rarity said with a condescending tone, sitting down on the ground. “I'm sorry I don't share the same view, Jack. It's simply been a roll of the dice this whole—“
“Shut up!” she snapped loudly, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “Everyone that's gone? That we've met and watch die? Kody, and Karl? Yer sayin' it's jus' chance? Fuck. You. People died getting us here, an' it pisses me off hearin' ya say they went in vain.”
“What are you going to do, Jack? Hit me?” Rarity asked calmly, the room turning to ice for a brief moment.
Jack stared at her, shaking her head after a moment. “The way ya act sometimes, I outta slap ya.”
She sighed, dropping down to a knee and giving a tug at the belt at the bottom of her bag, pulling out a bedroll, grateful they wouldn't have to deal with a tent tonight, at least.
“But you don't,” Rarity said quietly, undoing her own sleeping bag, the spell that had possessed them mere seconds ago vanished, neither honestly holding it against the other. Well, they'd been through some shit.
“I'd regret it afterwards, even if it felt nice as hell during it,” Jack said plainly, undoing her belt and holster, setting them nearby the shotgun. She kicked off her boots and lay on top of the bedroll, staring up at the ceiling.
Rarity undid her own belt and went a step further, taking off her hiking boots and pants. She unbuttoned her top and crawled into her bag, staring towards Jack.
“I won't apologize,” Rarity curtly spoke.
“I know,” Jack replied wearily after a long, long moment. “Ya never do. Yer so damn stubborn.”
“Says the woman taking us cross-country.”
“Ain't stubborn. I'm jus' desperate.”
Rarity stared at Jack, before turning onto her back, looking at the tiled ceiling.
They both lay silently. Rarity turned off the flashlight to conserve its merger juice, and Jack put her stetson to her side, giving it a small tap as if it was a good luck charm.
Just as Jack was about to doze off amid the silence, Rarity spoke once more, hesitantly.
“My father worked a job similar to this before he met mother.”
The blonde gave a weak gaze over to her traveling companion. “That a fact?” she questioned.
Rarity nodded. “Had a degree in... electrical engineering, I believe. Despite his appearance, he graduated magna cum laude from Anderson College.”
“Go Lions,” Jack said plainly.
“Mmm?”
“Their football team.”
“Oh. I see.” Rarity shut her eyes and continued speaking after a beat. “After a few years of different jobs, he swapped to his locksmith trade. Met my mother when she left the salon and realized she had locked her keys in her car.” Rarity sighed. “It's almost romantic, in a sense, I suppose.”
“Like he was her knight in sweatpants,” Jack joked, her smile faint and fleeting.
“Don't remind me of his horrible fashion sense. And that moustache of his.” Rarity stuck out her tongue. “Many a night I considered sneaking to him while he was asleep and shaving the abomination off.” The faint sparkle of her own humor died soon enough, and she swallowed. “Did you know how embarrassed they made me? Mother, father, and Stephanie?”
Jack said nothing, letting Rarity talk.
Rarity scoffed. “It's hard, thinking that... that they made me so embarrassed around clients and friends, but... I'd give anything to see them again now, Jack.”
“Yer sister might still be out there,” Jack offered, not commenting about the parents.
Rarity took another breath in. Jack didn't have to look to know Rarity was either crying, or close to crying.
“You're a lot like him,” Rarity remarked after finally calming down. “Stubborn. Unbelievably tacky, foolish. But a good heart.” She shook her head. “If there's a reason behind it all, Jack. I'd want to know why him, instead of me? Why mother?”
Jack didn't have an answer. She took another breath in and shut her eyes. “I don't know,” she honestly replied.
“You could have said something better than that, you know,” Rarity said, rolling onto her stomach. “That it's part of a bigger plan, or, or—“
“I ain't gonna lie ta ya.”
“Even if I want you to sometimes?”
“Even then. Because yer lyin' when yer sayin' ya want me ta lie,” Jack said, reading the tailor like a book. “I don't sugarcoat anythin' with ya because I know yer hard enough ta take it, even if ya act like a damn catty bitch sometimes.”
Normally, Rarity would have been set off by the words, but now, as tired as she was, she decided to let the insult slide.
“Thank you for putting up with my talking, Jack.”
“Anytime, sug. I mean it.”
“Sweet dreams.”
It took a while, far longer than she would like, but Jack did finally sleep. And Jack did dream.