When Jack woke up and found herself on the hard concrete of the office in the tunnel, it took her not seconds, but minutes to get her bearings straight. To follow through the events of the last few days? Weeks? ...Months? She sporadically thought, her mind a jumble as sleep cleared her head like the grains of sand falling down an hourglass.
She realized that she had no damn clue what day it was. Only that it wasn’t cold or snowy enough for winter, not warm enough for spring.
November. Late. Maybe even December now? she thought, finally considering that at least somewhat correct. Or at least as correct as could be without a calendar striking her in the face. They’d left on Halloween, and it felt like they’d been on the road for at least two or three weeks already.
Rolling over, she stifled a yawn and stretched her body free of the stiffness she had been afflicted with from the accommodations. She had done her fair share of backpacking and roughing it, but concrete didn’t have any give compared to dirt.
Despite being… well, eager wasn’t the word to describe it; hell, eager wasn’t the word to describe her ever since this whole thing started. Motivated, maybe. Yeah, that was the word she’d use.
Despite being motivated, wanting to go out and do what needed to be done as many times as they needed to do it to get to Mac and Alice, she elected to wait a few minutes before they took to travel proper. And in those few moments, she sat and watched her companion of so many weeks now.
Rarity slept, a troubled frown on her face and a hard crease of worry upon her brow.
Can’t even find a breather in the dreams, can ya, sugar? Jack thought as she traced her view across Rarity, at the deep, measured rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way her hands, now slowly starting to callous from the work and strain they had been put through, occasionally seemed to jerk and attempt to grasp something. The occasional twitch of her mouth, as if attempting to speak.
Not really been any time for that, has there? Jack sighed with a shake of her head. She knew damn well she was half-responsible for that. Always pushing them forward, never taking the time to stop, assess, to think.
To apologize.
The last thought gave her pause. It wasn’t like Rarity was totally innocent here either. If they hadn’t found the trailer, they would have been killed. Full stop, three strikes and you’re out. What Rarity did last night had been a disaster, and Jack was still pissed about it.
Yet even then…
It wasn’t like she had been doing a heap better. If she hadn’t pushed them onward, they wouldn’t have been in the woods, the Rooter wouldn't have attacked. That man and his boy would, more than likely, still be alive.
Hell, she could even see how Rarity got the idea to put her foot down and walk off, in that light.
Maybe that was it, it all came full-circle to her. Her drive, her urgency, her Goddamn fool idea to go west. It was all on her. Rarity would have been perfectly fine in Camelot, hoping that maybe, just maybe, her folks and her sister made it through this shit.
Rate you’re going, girl, maybe it would have been better if you didn’t.
She wryly smiled, finding no real argument with the thought.
If she hadn’t, this wouldn’t have turned out like it did, that’s for sure. Rarity wouldn’t be sleeping like a bum with a manicure, she’d be safe in a bed.
Jack pushed the thoughts away, the complicated, messy thoughts, and instead simply reached for the truth as she stared at Rarity’s sleeping form, still irritated at the woman, but far from despising her.
“Maybe it’s my fault. But I’ll do right by ya. I promise,” Jack said, for the most part in the presence of nobody, Rarity’s troubled sleeping not improved at all by Jack’s words.
But maybe that didn’t matter. At least Jack could feel a bit better about herself. She could continue west without as much weight on her shoulders.
With those thoughts now in her mind like a blazing torch, she reached over, gently taking Rarity’s shoulder, and shook her awake.
Jack peeked around the door, looking up and down the tunnel. They were close enough to the exit that the Waddlers seemed to shy away from it, and the daylight outside. It was the coldest morning they’d had so far, but the sun was bright outside the tunnel, and there was no wind.
Winter, however, was threatening. A part of Jack wished it would just fuckin’ come already, and stop giving her false hope in the form of this bizarre Indian summer they were having.
“Looks clear,” she said to Rarity. “But let's be quick-like about it.”
She took off, walking over and around cars. Rarity took one more look at the place they’d spent the night, then followed.
It almost seemed too good to be true. Literal light at the end of the tunnel. Fresh air and escape. Jack was briefly, almost maddeningly struck by a thought, an overplayed joke.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
She felt herself smiling, even holding back a snort.
Why did two idiots enter a tunnel?
Why, the answer to both is: to get to the other side, Goddamn tootin’.
“What are you laughing about?” Rarity questioned as they came to the edge of the very tunnel in question.
“I wasn’t laughin’,” Jack lied. Rarity rolled her eyes.
“I heard the snort. You always do that when you’re trying not to make a scene,” Rarity remarked with a scoff.
“Really nothin’ big. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout how glad I am ta be outta there.”
“Mmm,” Rarity wordlessly agreed, taking stock of the area they were in now.
From the mouth of the tunnel they were finally free of a large mountain range, at the time they had took it to cut a path and save time. Though it was a time saver, and God knew that they couldn’t risk being outside with the Swarmers around, the tunnel was only a minute improvement. But the rest of the area, however…
Maybe it was simply her finally shedding some of her dread, maybe it was having to sleep in such a claustrophobic area, but right now, the world before her looked painfully beautiful.
The road ahead turned, dipping low and curving amidst a sea of green trees. Like usual, there was a wreck, several vehicles flush against the road’s guardrails—the crash site right behind a sign: “Caution. Sharp Turn.” And now it was Rarity’s turn to laugh, but she quietly buried it within her, refusing to let it spring to life.
She could tell from the way Jack’s brow ever-so-slightly narrowed that the woman was thinking, obviously weighing the pros and cons of taking the road and climbing over and around debris, versus a few, potentially easier straight lines across the woods and plains of the state. But before they decided on a path, Rarity pointed over to the left.
There sat a pristine lake tucked within the lowlands, something just past the foothills of the mountain they cut through. Its blue surface gleamed like a gem, showcasing the clouds above like a pitch-perfect mirror.
“Before we go anywhere, we’re taking a bath.”
“Ain’t interested in this ‘we’ stuff on that front,” Jack countered.
Rarity rolled her eyes. “Come now, Jack, what on the earth could be the problem? We both could use one.”
Jack shook her head. “Take yers first. Somebody’s gonna need ta keep an eye on things, ‘less the thought of a Rooter catchin’ ya in yer birthday suit is appealin’.”
“Oh.”
She should have guessed, and should have considered that fact herself. A fact that left her irritated. Not at Jack, no. Jack was well aware that this wasn’t any sort of vacation.
Her, however…
Regardless, Jack cocked her chin towards the lake. “Alright. Ya go on ahead. If I think we got time, I’ll do it after. Alright?”
With a nod in agreement, they climbed down the slope, coming to the shore.
The area was wooded, dense with foliage and trees, and a few large rocks sat upon the shore, their smooth surfaces testament to the years the water had been within the natural basin.
Jack stopped by the treeline and began to lower herself onto the ground, using the trunk of a tree to slide downward. “Okay, go on ahead. I’ll listen if ya got any problems.”
“Right.”
Rarity pressed on a little ways ahead and proceeded to strip. Afterwards, she knelt down at the water’s edge and took to soaking her clothing, wringing it out—the action making her want to scream at the thought of the wrinkles it would cause. In all honesty, it probably would have, if necessity didn’t dictate she had to wash this way—after finishing this act, doing her best to clean them with what little tools she had, Rarity set them on a large stone rock the size of her back, content in knowing that as long as the sun stayed out, she could have at least mostly clean clothing by the time she left the water, give or take.
With that, she stepped into the water and took to marching forward within it until she was well at chest height. Taking a few more steps forward, she finally found water up to her chin, and she remained there for a few precious moments, not thinking, not dreading the approaching times, but rather, let herself simply be. Something that the sisters at the spa had told her to do more than a few occasions.
She floated in the water, the brisk coldness numbing her fingers and toes and making her nipples jut out like the small pebbles that littered the shoreline, but even then, even in the water that held coldness in it that crept upon her and took her breath from her for a few short seconds, she was content.
She could push aside the death of Karl, of Kody. Forget that she saw a child not just die, but rupture before her. She could forget his blood on her skin, the sight of his father with the muzzle of a gun against his head or the wet noise that came from his skull.
Instead of that, she focused on her other senses. The feeling of her foot as she lightly scraped a moss-covered rock on the lake’s floor. She could shut her eyes and feel as if her other senses rose in strength, feeling every vibration of her shivering form as it coped with the cold, she could hear what stubborn birds refused to flee south for the winter chirp amongst themselves, hear every small adjustment of water as it lapped against the shore, and it helped her forget. Helped her retain her focus, not be bogged down by what happened. Not be bogged down by Jack’s seemingly wordless, dismissive mentality regarding talking about what happened the other night. As it was right now, Rarity could simply be, and there were no problems with that.
She wasn’t so foolish to call it a religious epiphany, to say she found some form of universal truth or realization, but as she finished washing her body and began the slow walk towards the shoreline proper, rising out of the water with every step like some pagan deity, Rarity felt relief, as if she had been reduced to a more simple consistent truth. To a more simple, consistent life.
Proof you did need simply a bath, dear, she mentally chided herself. Why, gracious, imagine what a visit to the spa would have brought.
Moving over, Rarity examined her clothes, letting out only a mild tsk upon seeing they were still damp, and opted to reach into her bag to produce a towel. She dried herself off and then folded it, setting it upon a stone and using it as a makeshift seat.
She heard a shuffling from behind her, and a small “Oh!” and already knew who it was.
“Come on, Jack. I don’t mind,” Rarity addressed, not bothering to turn around to look at the woman.
“I didn’t know ya weren’t decent,” Jack drawled out, her voice obviously coming from behind the treeline. “I’ll wait.”
Rarity scoffed. “Treat it as a locker room or something. I will be like this for a bit. My clothes are still drying.”
Jack seemed to hesitate, but then slowly, reluctantly joined her. She spared Rarity a glance, looked away, then spared her another glance before finally focusing her sight on the lake before them.
“We really don’t have the time ta jus’ lounge around.” Even despite the words, she sat down next to Rarity, who continued to stare at the horizon.
“I’d like a cigarette,” Rarity remarked.
Jack chuckled at the left-field statement. “Taking up smoking again?”
“Only because I do not have any clothes on that would soak up the smell.”
“An’ here I thought you quit because you didn’t want to get cancer,” Jack said wryly.
“That, too,” Rarity said carelessly.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the birds screech, the water lap, before Jack said, “Dunhills, yeah?”
Surprised, Rarity let out a little laugh. “You remembered?”
“Only cause you bragged about the fact that John Lennon smoked them.”
“And Hunter S. Thompson.”
“Yeah, and him,” Jack agreed, having absolutely no clue about who that was.
The conversation lapsed, the birdtalk and water movement took over the stage once again. A breeze flowed by and Rarity shivered. Jack rose.
“I guess I’ll…” she trailed off, gesturing to the pond.
Rarity nodded, resting her arms on her knees. She spared Jack a glance as she took off her hat and shirt, then turned her attention once more towards the horizon. As Jack waded deeper into the water, Rarity said, under her breath, “You can talk about my cigarette brand, but is the thought of anything beyond that simply too much?”
It felt as if something had shifted between her and Jack. Rarity couldn’t remember the last time she had a meaningless and superficial conversation about anything with the woman. Even a simple ‘how was your day’ usually led to a long confabulation between them. They were—well, they were best friends. And more importantly, they were themselves; neither of them were the type to talk of cigarette brands when there were real things, real issues and feelings that needed discussing.
If you wish to talk about it so badly, why don’t you start the conversation?
Rarity snorted, then rose to don her clothes on once more.
The road would have been treacherous in bad weather. That was something that crossed Rarity’s mind as they walked down the highway. It was curvy, filled with hard twists and turns to account for the mountains they found themselves in, and several of which had busted, falling-apart guardrails, a continuing trend that had never really stopped since they had first left town.
The thought of everything being removed with the same ease of a light being flicked off by a switch did her thoughts no favors, but she at least kept herself distracted by watching the area as they moved along.
The woods were as quiet as the lake as they walked, and the sun rested squarely on their shoulders. For a time, for a long time, it felt like noon would never move away from them, would never vanish.
A few hours before sunset, after stopping to eat a few jarred peaches courtesy of Karl, they saw a deer within the woods. Though it had every right to be scared of humans and the noise and mess they all so often left in their wake when traveling, this one seemed to pay them very little mind, looking at them for a few seconds, judging them a non-threat even when they were as close as twenty-some feet, and then returning to grazing, fattening up for winter. Jack considered reaching into her pocket for the gun, but Rarity shook her off, silently holding a hand to Jack’s own.
“We can manage without.”
Not disagreeing, Jack relaxed her stance and pressed on.
The road took on a steady incline, the woods pressed in, and the sky became more and more rosy. They walked without talking, just on the edge of awkward, which was disguised as peaceful. The temperature dipped with the sun, to the point where even the exertion of climbing and walking upwards did not warm them a lot.
“We need ta find shelter,” Jack finally said. Sweat covered her back under the backpack, but all she felt was chilled. The winter seemed to oblige her earlier request of actually getting around to coming.
And just when they were getting to the mountains, too, Jack thought sarcastically. Great.
“Well, we’ve proven that we do not need to hide out as soon as night falls,” Rarity pointed out to her.
“Well, yeah, but I’d still like to not fight a Rooter or a fucking swarm of Swarmers,” Jack relied, incredulous.
Rarity said nothing. Jack threw the bag off her shoulder and knelt down, pulling out the map. She traced the long, thick line that was I-70, trying to estimate their general location. Maplecrest was the next town, tucked neatly into the mountain range. Maybe ten or so miles yet.
“Shit,” Jack muttered. “Still a little bit of a hike in front of us.”
Rarity, again, did not respond. Jack folded the map, put it away. The lack of bitching or, well, any form of communication from the woman was kinda pissing her off. She felt like she was being ignored, which never sat well with her. But, for now, the urgency of their travel put that thought away from her, and she began walking briskly, dipping down alongside the road as they made their way further onward, Rarity following suit.
Time was slipping away. Not quite to the point of alarm, but time was slipping from them, sand in an hourglass, and after about twenty minutes or so, Jack stole another look at the map.
“Fuck. Don’t think we’ll make it ta the next town at this clip.”
Rarity spoke, putting a hand to her chin. “Then what do you suggest? We do not have a plethora of choices on the matter.”
Jack tapped again at the map, catching a side-road she would have bypassed, and in fact did earlier, when they were dead set on the next town. A small note on the road made her pause, drawing her mind back to Karl.
“Tillman,” Jack stated. Lightbulbs were awesome. Rarity glanced over to her, waiting on an explanation. Jack continued. “Karl mentioned it. Said it was a group. Said they could get things square better than the government.”
Rarity stepped forward now and looked over the map. “A mining corp… he did say something about this.”
Jack nodded a bit more quickly this time. “Oh, oh shit, yeah, ‘bout a group that had their heads on straight. Think that’s our ticket fer tonight, at least. Surely they wouldn’t jus’ leave us twistin’ in the breeze.”
“We don’t have much other choice on the matter. Unless we spot a private home, it appears to be the closest shelter near us.” Rarity glanced further down the road. She nodded to herself, and then began walking; Jack pocketed the map and quickly followed.
The side road was a relatively wide one, but looked to be more trail than an actual road for vehicles. It was dusty, packed dirt, and when they followed it for a couple of minutes, they came to an old, rusted chain link fence. Jack frowned at it a moment, then squatted down a little and held out both hands for Rarity’s foot.
“I’ll boost ya,” Jack said when the other woman stared at her in bewilderment.
Rarity sucked in a breath to argue, but thought better of it. She approached Jack slowly, then looked down at her ready hands.
“Yer foot goes here,” Jack said wryly. “What, you never seen people do this in movies?”
“I don’t know what kind of movies you’ve been WAAA—” she wailed as Jack ‘boosted’ her up, the action throwing her into the air as if she was a ragdoll that weighed nearly nothing.
Rarity clung to the metal fence for her life, slowly and clumsily climbing up and over before landing with an undignified thump onto the grass on the other side. She glared hard at Jack.
“That was not funny,” Rarity growled. Jack shrugged and made a quick run at the fence, using her height and muscles to scale it with ease and landing on the other side.
“Well, maybe ya need a better sense-a humor,” Jack swiftly countered. WIth a quick adjustment of her hat she continued down the road, leaving Rarity to offer a half-swear under her breath as she followed after the woman.
The road twisted right and then left in long, lazy curves surrounded by trees. A bright red cardinal shot across their vision and onto a low-hanging branch to fuss at them.
Finally, the road took another lazy turn and then a steep downward plunge.
Jack paused.
Below them sat a train, connecting on a long, snaking train line that cut around the mountain westward, past Jack’s vision. But what drew her eye even more than the train and its potential for travel was the buildings around it. A shack, a poorly-constructed larger room with heavy steel doors to the east, and a tower, something that would be perfect to get a view of the surrounding area, to see if there were any more stops along the way they could take before reaching town proper. But the best news she could see was the small figures of people, some wandering about, a few smoking, and one up at the top of the tower, watching the advancing sunset. As Jack looked on, squinting, the man in the tower turned his body towards them.
“Fuck,” Jack muttered. And, sure enough, though she couldn’t hear, she saw the silhouette of the man lean over the guardrail of the tower and towards the people below him. And those people turned to look towards the treeline that Jack and Rarity stood at.
“I doubt we’re gonna have a friendly reception down there,” Rarity muttered.
“Yeah, well, we don’t really got too many options right now,” Jack said. She put her hands above her head and started walking slowly down the declining dirt road. The people in the camp were all gathered into a tight knit group, a few flanking them with rifles pointed ahead of them and towards the tree line. Towards Rarity and Jack. The man in the tower also had a gun pointed. Sniper, probably.
Yeah, Jack thought, real friendly reception.
As she drew closer she could make out the individuals within the huddle in the middle. Most were ordinary looking, between twenties and forties in age. There was one woman well above seventy, Jack thought, with a deeply creased face the color of ground coffee and the thin, snowy hair of the elderly. The was also a child, a little girl, and an older woman—mom probably—with her hands on the girl’s shoulders. Another woman was heavily pregnant, standing close to the elderly woman.
When they got within shouting distance of the group, one of the men with a gun in his hands barked, “Stop!”
Obedient, they halted.
There were four of them, and they all approached slowly towards them, guns at the ready. Rarity had to hold in a roll of the eyes at the dramatics of the entire thing—four men with guns treating two women as if they were the biggest threat in existence.
“Who are you?” the one that had barked the order earlier asked. He was probably the leader.
“Two women in need of shelter and assistance,” Rarity snapped.
“Yeah? And how the hell did you find this place?”
“Friend of ours mentioned it,” Jack said, slower and calmer in order to balance out Rarity’s ire. “Karl. Fella just a ways up the road. He said he helped y'all out.”
Watching their faces closely, she could see the recognition bloom. The old woman stepped out from the huddle—tugging gently away from the young pregnant one’s hold on her shoulder.
“Enough, enough of you fellas waving you boom sticks around in these girls’ faces,” she huffed. The men all paused where they were, looking slightly abashed.
“They could be bullshitting, Rhonda, we can’t just—”
The woman gestured to them, exasperated. “How would they know about Karl? I doubt those brutes would have managed to get a single word out of him, much less invade that fortress of his. They’re telling the truth.”
“True or not, what we’re dealing with is strangers. We can’t just throw open the gates to any fucking body.”
"We don't have time for a vote," the woman decided curtly. "If it helps you sleep better at night, we can tie them to their chairs at dinner, but we're hardly turning them away with dusk approaching."
A middle-aged woman with rose-colored hair stepped forward, a woman on the cusp of recognition to Jack before it dawned on her. Sherri Jubilee. She had seen the woman a time or two at the farmer’s market. Though usually she stuck mostly to sales in the west, occasionally she’d go to Mansfield’s market with pies. Her and Mansfield’s mayor were old friends. Giving a brush of her hair back behind an ear, she turned, speaking to the others present.
“Well, best listen to reason. Night’s coming and by my stars I don’t want to stand out here all night yappin’. Lead the girls inside now, ya hear? There will be time for questions over the meal.”
A small utterance of agreement spread throughout the others present as Sherri beckoned Jack and Rarity over to her.
“Come along now,” she said, turning and walking through the quickly-spreading crowd. “Daylight’s one thing I won’t stand burning.”
Jack exhaled and stole a glance to Rarity. “Saved by the bell,” she remarked, moving after the woman.
Rarity held back until most of the group turned and started walking towards the largest structure—some sort of gathering hall, no doubt, maybe a mess or sleeping area.
It surprised and shamed her a little that she had come very close to losing her temper with the men, earlier. She hadn’t known what had came over her. Maybe being in Jack’s presence for such a long time was beginning to make her resort to a growl before a smile.
Still, what kind of people acted with such open hostility towards two people who could need their help? Maybe that was just the world they lived in now—where a gun in the face was a ‘hello’.
A melodious voice interrupted her thoughts, its tone smooth and warm, a contrast to the moment scant seconds ago that were hard, threatening.
“I apologize, we gave you both quite the start.”
Glancing up, she met a pair of pale green-blue eyes, and a sweeping sense of immediate recognition. A relation to Governor Celestia, and one of the most prominent bachelors within the dreadfully dull Arkansas social clique, he was seen often at the balls and parties of the capital. He had the broad-shouldered, long-legged build that seemed to be made for Armani suits. His fine, unblemished skin was alabaster in color, his hair a rich, almost burnished shade of gold one found in old paintings. The first and only time she had ever seen him in person had been at the Gala when she was still in high school. And that had been spent following Dash around while Dash followed the Wonderbolts around, so she had not introduced herself as she’d desperately wanted to.
And now that she was presented with the opportunity again, she gaped as if she was presented with the angel Gabriel. He chuckled when she didn't respond and flashed a well-practiced smile designed to raise a woman’s blood pressure. “It’s like Sherri said. We should get inside, before we’re left out in the dark.”
She stammered, perplexed, before finally offering a weak, “yeah,” in agreement, flabbergasted and dazed that Vincent, the Vincent Fenix was speaking to her.
That very Vincent took her hand and helped guide her forward, towards where Jack and Sherri had entered a few seconds earlier.
The interior reminded Jack of the interior of her barn. A thing designed to keep the elements out, to keep rain from landing on equipment, but not to serve as a second home away from home. The large mess hall was about as bare bones as it could get; Mac probably would have had better acominidations when he did his stint in the Army.
Three picnic tables surrounded a massive crock pot. The floor was hard packed dirt; fresh, as if it had been laid recently. There was a spigot sticking out of the ground near the left wall, and the air was filled with—Jack gave a small sniff and her stomach loudly gurgled at the thought—chili.
Don’t act like it’s been forever since a hot meal, she thought, a hair crossly at herself. That place over yonder with Karl had more hot meals than you could shake a stick at.
“Hungry?” Sherri asked, throwing a smile that was almost coy over her shoulder.
Jack blinked. “Uh, yeah?” The chili stroked at her olfactories again, and her stomach tightened in anticipation. “Hell yeah.”
“Well, we’ll serve you right up, once we get the rest of the others square.” She leaned towards Jack and spoke in a half-whisper. “Have to show them hard work pays off, after all.” She winked, this time definitely coy, and Jack returned the expression with a small, nervous chuckle of her own.
The bowls were filled for the dozens that were present, with the child receiving an apple which she absently munched on while drawing on a piece of paper with a crayon. She looked to be about five, tow-headed and rosy-cheeked. It made Jack’s stomach knot in all sorts of awful ways.
Once they were all seated, the old woman rose and clasped her hands in front of her, over the great cast iron pot. Immediately, the hall fell quiet.
“Dearest Lord, we thank You for this food, and the hands that prepared them. We thank You for the day that now bleeds away from us; and also for the companionship and warmth that we receive in these dark times. All things stem from You, and so it must be in your holy plan that these things would happen. We put our trust in you, our Lord, and may—”
“Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub,” someone chimed over the woman, in a thickly dry voice. “Coulda just said that, Rhonda, and let us eat. Ain’t like He’s listening.”
“He’s with us more than He’s ever been before, child,” she replied, her reedy voice quietly passionate and sure instead of angry. The man blinked and lowered his head a little. "Amen."
Slowly, the table began to eat. Jack dug into her bowl with a gusto that had all her eating companions look at her in amusement. One of them, a young man with curly brown hair and skin the color of gold dust grinned wildly at her from across the table.
“They say hunger is the best spice, ya know.”
“Must be right, since I’m in heaven,” Jack said through a mouthful. And because it was through a mouthful, it came out sounding nothing like that. The man smirked at her anyway.
“Well, it’s Sherri’s cooking,” he said, as if that explained everything. Jack swallowed the chili and reached out a hand over the table.
“Jack Apple.”
“Alexander Rucker.”
“Very overdramatic,” Vincent said the moment that Rhonda finished her prayer. Her rolled his eyes and dipped his fork into the chili, frowning at the meal. “And just look at this food, hardly a thing of elegance. Mere sustenance, the kind you might feed to a half-breed mutt.”
Rarity paused with her fork almost to her lips. She put it back down, quickly. Vincent didn’t seem to notice.
“Naturally,” she agreed, and then sighed her well-practiced ‘these accommodations are not up to my standards’ sigh. “No champagne wishes or caviar dreams to be found here, that’s for certain.”
She would have eaten the hot, filling chili over caviar any day of the week, but Vincent did not need to know that. She played a little with her meal.
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, triumphantly. “The croquet game.”
Rarity looked up at him, and their eyes met. “W-what?”
“That’s where I saw you—last fall.”
“Are you quite sure about that, dear? I recall being at—” she hesitated, not wishing to tell him of her humble town and shop, and instead offered a more elusive reply. “The estate.”
‘No, no, I’m positive. Why we stole away and played that charming little game in the hedge maze, don’t you remember?”
She was positive he had confused her with someone else. She clearly remembered last fall, spending the day at Jack’s farm with their sisters, sneaking sips of cider from last year’s harvest, a fact they had agreed to keep secret from Isabelle, for more than obvious reasons. Going to the carnival with her friends, going camping with Luanne, Isabelle, Alice, and Stephanie.
She smiled weakly at him. “Ah, yes, of course. I’d almost forgotten.”
He chuckled, pleased with himself. “Fear not—I did not forget you. Such an exquisite beauty in form, grace, and manner. Only a fool would not let their mind be preoccupied by your presence, milady.” He brought her hand to his lips and pecked it.
Rarity played it off with a small scoff, but she couldn’t hide the blush that came to her face. “Oh, I’m quite sure you say that to all the women you meet.”
She was sure, because all the gossip magazines—all of them—said that he did. He was not a man that needed more than one well-practiced line to charm a woman.
“Only to the ones that I find interesting. And you…” He gave a smile to her, one that was almost alarmingly playful and coy. “Well, you interest me more than most.” He tapped at the table and leaned forward, still holding that same damn expression that brought a warm heat to her cheeks. “In fact, perhaps I could offer a rather daring proposition.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Well,” he murmured near her ear, his breath hot on her cheek. “I have a few bottles of an aged Ortega blend from Germany. Perhaps you could indulge me and share a drink?”
Because she was a mature woman with a fair share of past partners, she knew exactly what it was he was suggesting. A part of her hesitated—also because she was a mature woman. Quickly, she debated with herself.
There was, of course, a reasonable level of attraction between them, and a younger her would have squealed at the prospect of bedding Vincent Fenix. Actually, she would have squealed like that three weeks ago, when there were still nobles to impress with her choice of sexual partners. But that was also the thing: the world was simpler now, and no one actively cared about her sexual partners.
But even if she had nothing to gain from the experience, it would feel good. It would be nice to feel like a woman again, would be nice to be distracted and distanced from Kody’s violent death—which played over and over in her mind like a movie reel, though not nearly as frequently as it had a yesterday or the day before that. To distract her from thoughts of her family, which would not leave her be.
And she had heard that he was a terrific lay.
Her mind made up, she settled for a grin she hoped was confident, sultry, and, above all else, maintained her guise as a noblewoman. She held out a hand to the man and let it droop towards him.
“I’m never one to pass on good company, after all. Lead the way, I say! I’d be rather interested to hear in how a man such as you came to be here, after all.”
Jack narrowed her eyes at the two figures further down at the other table. The tall, slick-looking blonde guy and Rarity.
“Hey, Al,” she muttered, tearing her eyes away for just a second so that Rarity wouldn’t sense her glaring and look over.
The brown-haired man hummed around his meal of a toasted cheese sandwich and glanced at her. “Mm?”
“Who’s that fucker hittin’ on the lady?” she tilted her head towards the others nearby. “What’s his story, huh?”
Al opened his mouth to respond, but one of the other men barked out a short, unfriendly laugh before he could.
“Hell, we should be asking you what your story is, lady.”
She blinked at the young man in surprise. The guy was a good five or so years her junior, barely out of high school, with a tall mohawk of silver hair and skin the shade of black coffee. Piercings lined both of his ears and his left brow, and his leather jacket had silver studs on the shoulders. He was thin as a rain— a long bony line, and very tall even sitting down. She only had a forehead or so on him, about two or three inches, but the mohawk made him seem taller still.
“Uh,” Jack said hesitantly. People like this guy, in her experience, were never good news. “Well, whatcha wanna know?”
“That we didn’t take in a fuckin’ snake that’s gonna kill us in our sleep tonight,” the man snapped.
“Yeah, because I’m sure I look like a snake here,” she replied, clutching her fork tightly in a palm, not liking his tone in the slightest. “Did ya lose track of yer senses or somethin’? We’re jus’ two people worn the fuck out an’ needin’ a place ta lay our heads until night passes by.”
“Well I don’t fucking trust you,” he hissed. “Like how the hell didja even find this place? It’s not—”
“Heeeyyy, c’mon, Tommy,” Al said easily, grabbing the other man in a friendly headlock and giving him a noogie. “Be nice to our new friend.”
“W-what? Get off me, you asswipe!” he cried out, attempting to shove the man away. Al kept him tightly pinned regardless, his grin widening further still at the man’s protests.
“You bastard!”
“Say uncle!” Al called out in a sing-song tone.
“Stop!”
“Alexander!” Sherri called sweetly from the other table. “You leave that poor boy alone now, ya hear?”
With a cackle, Al let his arm relax into a companionable drape around Tommy’s shoulders. “Don’t mind him,” he told Jack.
“Do mind me,” Tommy snapped.
“Look. If it makes ya feel better, kiddo, my name’s Jack. Jack Apple. Me an’ that girl over there came from the east some weeks back.” She raised her hands up and let them fall back down into her lap. “Been dealin’ with the things outside fer a good while now, too. Only reason we came down ta this place was because we knew light was burnin’ and we weren’t makin’ it ta the next town over.”
“Where in the east are you from?” Tommy demanded.
“Mansfield, Arkansas.”
“Never fuckin’ heard of it.”
“Well, yeah,” Jack said, wry. The hamlet had a population of less than four hundred. No one had heard of it, and that's just the way she liked it.
“Small town?” Al pipped in.
“Eyup.”
Her eyes wandered back to Rarity across the room. The blonde guy was practically on top of her now, whispering something in her ear. Jack’s head went hot, her eyes narrowing.
“Alright, so I’ve answered your questions,” she muttered, glaring. “Now answer mine. Who the hell is that guy?”
Lazily, with Al’s arm still around his shoulder, Tommy glanced at Jack’s pointed finger and then traced it back to its mark.
“Oh, him? Vincent Fenix,” he said, sarcastically grand, and then waved his hand through the air. “Some Son of the President or Prince from a Faraway Land or blah blah blah.” Tommy shrugged. “Blueblood, he claims. Squeals like one, about everything, so I guess he is.”
“An’ he’s here instead of some—hell, I dunno, yacht or some shit—because?”
“Well, we all have people we care about. Maybe he’s looking for family?” Al offered. Jack was silent at that before she sighed, leaning more onto the table.
“Guess we all do, huh?” she replied, a bit wistful at the man’s remark.
“Meh,” Al said carelessly, at the same time that Tommy muttered a quiet, “Yeah.”
All three of them went silent for a moment. Jack saw Al’s arm tighten around Tommy’s shoulders in a hug before slipping off, and she wondered about it. She pushed her fork through her chili absentmindedly.
Finally, Tommy heaved a great sigh and met her eyes. “So you done?” She blinked at him. “With the meal,” he elaborated, gesturing.
“Oh, yeah.” She pushed the bowl away from her.
“I figure you could bunk with me and Al tonight,” he went on. “We’re both on the watch rotation, so he and I can hot rack.”
“Oh. I mean…”
“Won't take no for an answer!” Al chirped at her brightly. Inadvertently, she felt a soft spot start to form for him. He reminded her of Diane. “I mean, we're friends now!” Al went on. “We shared a thoughtful, introspective silence and everything!”
“Gah!” Jack yelped as the man dug a surprisingly forceful grip under her elbow and dragged her from sitting to standing as easy as lifting up a bookbag.
Yeah, she thought wryly as Al dragged her out of the mess hall, Tommy following behind at length and laughing at her misfortune. Definitely like Diane.
When they stepped outside, Jack had to shield her eyes against the glare. The entire settlement was lit up like a damn football stadium. And actually, once her eyes adjusted, she saw that it was literally lit up by football stadium lights, the things rising up into the sky and beaming cones of light down onto them, with bugs gleefully dancing in the rays and throwing themselves against the bulbs.
“Neat, huh?” Al said. He had let go of Jack’s arm and was now just leading her at a casual stroll.
“It's definitely smart,” Jack admitted. “Kinda don't see how yer able to sleep, tho’.”
Except when they came upon the rambling structure, Jack immediately had her answer. The building was not very big, but it was in better shape than the rest of the sagging, half broken structures of the Tillman Mining Corp.Two large ropes hung parallel of each other on either side of the door, and they were connected to a massive black tarp on the roof—one that presumably was pulled over the entire structure every night to block out the light and allow it's occupants to sleep.
“Huh,” Jack said in a mildly impressed, ‘well wouldja look at that’ way. She wondered just how many of these little clever things were Karl’s doing. The place seemed to have come together very quickly and very seamlessly. They most certainly had their act together, just like Karl boasted.
“Did you guys know Karl?” Jack asked Al and Tommy when they entered the house. There were rooms inside, with actual working doors whose off-colored frames and shiny hinges told of their very recent installment. But still; a semblance of privacy.
“Sure,” Tommy answered. “He’s the entire reason our merry band of fucking misfits isn't dead. Know him well?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Jack replied, evading a conversation she would rather not touch with a ten-foot pole for at least a bit longer.
They entered the second room on the left. It was completely bare except for two sleeping bags, two packs propped up against the left and right walls, and an old stereo with a stack of CDs next to it. There was also a broken window, taped over with grey duct tape.
“Home sweet home,” Tommy announced, sarcastic but carefree. He plopped himself down onto one of the sleeping bags and started fooling around with the stereo. Before long, Eric Clapton joined them with “Layla”. Jack wondered who the hell kept CDs nowadays, and then snorted at herself when she remembered that she still had a damn Johnny Cash cassette in her back pocket. She'd gotten into the habit of tucking it back there whenever she changed her clothes, and she didn't know why. Little piece of home, she supposed.
Al went to the window and popped it open just enough to stick his hand through and grasp the rope hanging outside. The tarp rolled down neatly from the roof and plunged them into the type of darkness where you could still see silhouettes of people, but not much more.
“Alright. I guess I should go relieve Bonnie so that she can eat,” Al said, stepping away from the window. “Go ‘head and use my sleeping bag, Jackie.”
At the invitation, Jack felt a wave of pure exhaustion roll over her. She crawled on both hands and knees over to the stretched out sleeping bag and rolled onto her back, putting both hands behind her head to stare at the ceiling.
Dimly, she wondered where Rarity had run off to during the meal. Well, she was probably with that glib fella. Guy was practically up her skirt during dinner. He was probably getting what he wanted.
Rarity was like that—not, not a whore, exactly, but willing to flaunt herself if the occasion called for it. Always desperately trying to claw and climb her way into the high society, as if it was some castle in the sky, hovering above her in her mind’s eye. In their youth she complained mightily about Mansfield and every single aspect that encompassed it. Everything that Jack herself loved. Rarity used to say that she could not wait until high school graduation, how she would take to the stars the very next day, and never look back. And Jack would listen and would nod dumbly in fake agreement—not that Rarity noticed that, or particularly cared about Jack’s own feelings on the subject.
Tommy was already softly snoring, and the Clapton on the stereo was demanding how many times he had to say that he loved her. Bitterness on her tongue, Jack rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to get to sleep.
It didn't happen for a long, long time.