> 1199
>  by Merc the Jerk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue: The I-70
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“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 behind the bus.

“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 somethin’,” 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 minuscule volume. Jack gripped the pistol in her hand, staring at the spot 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.

Rarity sighed, shaking her head in meek agreement. She took Jack’s hand and squeezed once. “Just... be safe. Please.”

“Yeah, sug. You do the same.”

Jack dropped down onto the asphalt. Licking her painfully dry lips, she clutched her weapon in a firm, 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 faint wet smacking, a noise not unlike that of 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 when the worst thing she had to worry about was hauling shit to sell at the town square. And now...

She shoved the thoughts away bitterly, focusing on the present. 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 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. Shadows clung to him as if he wore an enormous, ink-black tarp that warped and distorted his unnatural girth, but even with the darkness hiding him, she could almost envision its dozens of cracked and chipped teeth, could almost swear she could see its stomach distended from swallowing whatever it could get its hands on.

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 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 afterward, 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 vehicle 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, merely 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,” she said once more, then sighed. “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 pack had until she finally pulled out the lockpick set. 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 monster’s nearby corpse.

“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 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 documents. She pushed them aside and took the box in eager 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 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?” 

“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, so do not even consider giving up at this point. You will get us out of here too.”

“Dying ain't giving up,” Jack spat out, just for argument’s sake. Her eyes stung briefly, and she was glad that Rarity couldn't see her face and what might have been written on it.

There was a stilted, heavy pause. Finally, Rarity quietly said, “Well… you won't do that either.” There was a small intake of breath after her words akin to a gasp, as if she was picturing the possibility of Jack's death. 

Or, more likely, Kody.

Jack heaved a sigh. “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. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she checked the gun, holding the release behind the trigger. She gave it a pump and watched 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. “Deny me if you will, but if you had left by yourself…” She left the rest of the sentence to insinuation. 

Jack took a few steps towards the front of the car and sat. It made her angry. Angry that Rarity was right, angry that Rarity had to be involved. Guilty that Rarity had to be involved. But she knew it was the kind of anger and guilt that she couldn’t swing her fists at, so she let it fold itself inside her, crushing it to save as tinder for another day. Because at the end of the day, there was gratefulness too--for Rarity’s company, for her sacrifice, her support. 

“I shouldn't know how to do this,” Rarity whined, swallowing, fighting back pity tears as she gave the gun another pump. “These things are dreadful.”

“They've saved our lives,” Jack replied, seeing through the woman’s pity party. She had been eager to learn about self-defense a few scant weeks ago. But now, all it took was one Goddamn misstep and here she was again, acting like a prima donna. Jack tried to be patient with the woman, though, due to the circumstances of the past few days. “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, then didn't let go. She wanted to say something to the tailor, something more than what she had already said. Something to make it better, to make up for it.

Except what could she possibly say to accomplish that?  

She let go of Rarity’s hand and turned away from her. “Let's get a move on,” she muttered, 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 half-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 rubbed 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 slapped 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, breathing a bit heavily from the exertion.

“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 fingers the tailor's way.

“Yer talkin' stupid. We're here fer a reason.” She pursed her lips, considered her words, her tone, then spoke again, trying to be more sensitive. Understanding. “Look… what we’ve been through past coupla days? Ain’t nothin’ good ‘bout it. But we can’t jus’ drop it an’ give up on the damn thing.” She gave an unsure laugh devoid of humor. “We’re fuckin’ states away from home now. Packin’ up an’ goin’ back jus’ ain’t in the cards now.”

Rarity puffed up some at that, seeming to want to be angry at Jack, but she promptly deflated, instead sighing, the noise riddled with disgust, anger, and now weeks of frustration. She closed her eyes for a time, considering a few thoughts that had been weighing quite heavily on her mind for what seemed like decades.

“I wonder, Jack.”

Jack glanced over to her as she undid her belt and loosened up a few buttons on her shirt, eager to relax at least a little while they were in a room she’d consider safer than most of the places they slept in. Rarity continued.

“It feels like we’re a harbinger, oi? We have brought disaster after disaster to people that don’t deserve it.”

“Kody was not yer fau—”

“Who else could be at fault?!” she snapped, her voice loud within the room. “He was there, and I… I…” Trembling, she took in a shuddering breath, her face contorted in obvious hurt.

Jack looked towards Rarity, then looked up towards the ceiling as she laid down on the tile. It could be considered callous, perhaps, but she had no idea how to answer the woman, no words of comfort that weren’t mere lip service. She felt a spark of anger within her, this time directed at herself, and once more held no outlet to put her aggression towards. She closed her eyes, trying instead for the peace that came with sleep.

Rarity seemed to collect herself and took off her shoes. She stared at the walls of the room for a time, going over its various knickknacks and notes. A few scattered photos, a calendar, now weeks behind on an accurate date—a date a week prior was circled in red and the word ‘Anniversary. Cake?’ was scrawled within the square—and a framed college certificate hung on the wall. 

She smiled bitterly, feeling close to tears again, and spoke, rousing Jack from near slumber and breaking the silence that seemed to flood the room like a thick blanket.

“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 Langston 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, but there briefly.

“Don't remind me of his horrible fashion sense. And that mustache 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, neither saying anything about her 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.”

Usually, 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.
> Mansfield
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack dug her hoe into the dirt, tilling the land under the hot autumn sun. She brought the back of her hand to her brow and wiped the sweat off, slightly annoyed. 

The last few days had been rough for her. An Indian summer had come around three days ago and decided to plop itself down onto October’s coattails as if it belonged there. And while harvest had wrapped up some weeks ago, there were still plenty of chores to be done to settled the land for the winter season. Her brother Mac and sister Alice were in Appaloosa visiting her cousin, so she had to stay behind to take care of the farm work that couldn't wait—tasks that now came with rivets of sweat and two showers a day, as if it was the middle of the Goddamned summer.

Resting her calloused hands on the top of the hoe, she briefly shut her eyes, thinking about lunch. She had laid out some pork tenderloin in the sink before she had stepped out to milk the cows, but still had no clue what sides she wanted to go with it. Her granny might, though; and the thought of her scalloped potatoes made Jack's mouth water. She tilted her Stetson back, getting ready to finish the till line before heading towards the house when a familiar voice called out to her.

“Yoo-hoo! Darling!” the high-cultured voice belonging to Rarity sang through the air. Jack debated briefly on pretending she hadn't heard it, but decided to follow her better nature and cupped a hand to her mouth.

“Out by the corn!”

Rarity came into sight a moment later, traveling down the hill the house was on and hiking to Jack. Her gypsy mane of violet hair tumbled over the shoulders of a short dress of fire red. Her face was a miracle formed of high, ice-edged cheekbones, a full, sculpted mouth painted as boldly red as the dress, skin smooth as cream, and eyes as blue as the deepest part of the ocean. When she finally got to the farmer, she brushed off the skirt of her dress and pursed her lips, those eyes looking Jack over lazily, one brow lifted in a perfect and derisive arch. 

“Gracious, you're dirty,” she remarked, looking slightly surprised at that fact. 

“I've been out here bustin' my butt since dawn. Dirty comes with the territory.” She was wearing those needle-thin heels she was so fond of, Jack noticed. The kind you could kill a man with. Jack could never figure out why anyone would put their innocent feet in such torture chambers without a gun being held to their head.

“Does the smell come with the territory as well?” Rarity asked.

“Yer a comedian,” Jack replied dryly. “Diane been teachin' ya some tricks fer yer routine?”

Rarity narrowed her eyes, as did Jack. After a moment, though, they both smiled warmly at one another.

“So, what can I do ya for? It's gotta be somethin' if yer willin' ta risk getting those heels dirty.”

“Well...” Rarity gave a small scratch at her cheek. “Perhaps I do have a favor to ask.”

“Ya gonna have me whip up a meal fer a date again?” Jack smirked. “Who's the lucky guy? Or, uh, gal. Whatever's ticklin' yer fancy nowadays.”

“It's nothing of the sort. Rather, it's the finalization of a business deal regarding where I buy silk. I'm celebrating with a client tomorrow, and I knew the perfect beverage to use!”

“An' it ain't one of yer fancy wines? Outta Vega Sicilia or somethin'?”

Rarity paused. “How in the heavens do you know about wine brands?”

“I ain't jus' a whiskey an' cider girl. Jus' cause I don't always have it, don't mean I can't get a lil appreciation outta those kinda drinks, sug.”

“Well, I didn't mean to suggest you couldn't. It's just simply a surprise to me.”

Jack scratched at her chin. “Mostly from my Manhattan days. They're a buncha snobs out east, but ya gotta give 'em credit: they know how ta make drinks.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Rarity said. “Your cider brings people from all across the state every harvest season. That cider is so exquisite, in fact, that I wanted to share it instead of wine.”

Jack laughed awkwardly, feeling a touch of heat rise on her face. “Alright, alright. Ya sugar-coated me enough. We'll getcha a bottle from the cellar. The good stuff,” she answered with a wave of her hand, putting down the hoe.

They marched through the fields, finally coming to the Apple clan's house. Jack's Granny rocked slowly in a chair on the porch, working steadily on a quilt.

Jack gave a small wave to her; only barely glancing up from her work.

“Makin' a welcome home blanket fer Alice, I bet,” Jack said once they passed by her. “Granny spoils my sis rotten.”

“I'm surprised you didn't go with them,” Rarity answered, glancing towards the farmer as they passed by a well-used tractor, its hood open and the engine exposed. Jack made a small note to herself to finish working on the damn thing sometime soon.

“Same reason ya didn't go with yer sis ta Virginia. You an' me got obligations. Somethin' a lot of the other gals don't get.” She paused, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, nah, that ain't fair. Diane, Twila, the rest-a 'em, they understand. Jus' somethin' that don't click with 'em right off the bat. Especially not Dash.”

Rarity hummed in agreement, giggling at the familiar ribbing. “Well, we can’t all have trust funds.”

As they rounded the side of the house, Jack spotted the small rise of stone jutting at a slanted angle from the bottom of the house, the heavy wooden doors and rusty padlock marking it as a cellar. It was built by her grandpa, back during “the Red Scare.” He had intended it to be a bomb shelter, but once he had got over his insistence that the Commies were going to blow a town in the middle of nowhere up, he had sheepishly turned it into a cellar for storing aging ciders.

She moved to the door, reaching up to a single light above it. Fishing around, she found a key tucked to the base of the light and unlocked the cellar.

Pulling it open revealed a set of stairs leading down into inky blackness. Jack reached over and pulled a string, lighting the stairway and the faint outline of a dirt floor.

“Try not ta fall. They're concrete.” Jack started down, taking the steps two at a time. Rarity followed suit with a lot more care on her high heels; about halfway down the steps, a loud clang made her jump out of her skin. She snapped around, noting with alarm that the door had shut behind them.

“Relax, sug. Wind musta caught it,” Jack reassured, not even bothering to look at the tailor as she felt along the wall at the base of the steps, clicking on a light and illuminating the cellar floor.

“It can't lock with us inside, can it?” Rarity questioned, glancing at the cellar door once more as she joined Jack's side.

“Nope. It ain't gonna trap us, Rare.”

Rarity took a few steps towards a shelf lined with bottles. Underneath the shelf sat two wooden barrels resting on their sides. Rarity ran her fingers over the edge of the barrel.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Whiskey,” Jack agreed. “Ma tried her hand at makin' wheat whiskey way back in the day. Got rid of the still before Mac was born.”

“Interesting. How is it?”

“I ain't had any yet, Rare. Been saving it fer a special occasion.”

Rarity paused, looking down at the barrel. “Mac's... twenty-eight. You're suggesting it's...”

“'Bout thirty or thirty-one years,” Jack replied plainly.

“Getting to be almost vintage, I'd say.” She looked over at the farmer. “What kind of special occasion? Mac settling down?”

“I dunno, jus'... somethin' outta the ordinary, I guess,” Jack said with a shrug. “Didn't seem right ta pop it open fer a glass by my lonesome.”

“Indeed.” Rarity raised a finger up. “Which is why, as your friend, I say it's imperative I have a glass with you instead.”

The farmer cocked a brow and stared at Rarity. “Yer kiddin',” she said, unsure what the woman’s ten dollar word meant, but playing along until she got the context.

“Well, it wouldn't do for you to have a glass by your 'lonesome,' as you put it,” Rarity said. “And I know Malcolm isn't a drinker: ergo, the responsibility falls to me.” She nodded to herself.

Jack put a hand to her hip. “Why ya wanna wet yer whistle so bad on this stuff? Ya don't seem the type ta...”

“Drink whiskey?” Rarity finished with a wave of her hand. “Darling, there's no shame in a drink like that. Some of the most prestigious artists and singers of the last century have had the beverage at the forefront of their mind. In fact, it was Mark Twain that said, 'Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.'”

“He said that?” Jack asked, surprised. She stepped further into the cellar, rummaging through a small box at the base of her feet. “I always was fond of that boy, seems like he had good taste in drink, too.” She pulled out a barrel tap and gave a small smirk Rarity's way. “Well, I guess ya need a lil' treat if ya can remember somethin' by Twain.” She rummaged further, grabbing two beer steins resting next to some long-necked bottles and ran her shirt tail over them. Rarity's nose wrinkled at the sight, but she did her best not to complain. For once.

With a grunt, Jack hoisted the keg up on its head and placed the tap on top of it. She looked around herself briefly and sighed in irritation. Balling her fist up, she slammed it down into the faucet a few times, setting it squarely into the keg before turning the barrel onto its side again and testing the tap with her stein under it.

The drink came out, filling the air with its bitter, hoppy scent. Rarity winced at its strength, fanning her nose.

“Second thoughts?” Jack asked, her hand resting on the faucet at the barrel.

“A woman doesn't retract her statements, darling. Pour me,” she announced.

Jack shrugged, doing as requested, pouring Rarity three finger's worth into the stein.

Handing the glass to Rarity, she looked down at her drink. “Toast?”

“Of course. Á votre santé,” Rarity said, bringing her glass up.

“What?” Jack repeated. “Any reason yer speakin' fancy?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “To your health,” she repeated.

“Then why didn't ya jus' say so?” Jack asked, shaking her head before stating one of her own. “May ya have warm words on a cold evenin', a full moon on a dark night, an' a smooth road all the way ta your door.”

They clinked their glasses together, and Rarity swirled her drink for a moment as Jack took a pull and grimaced, narrowing her brow in thought as she licked her lips.

“That was surprisingly poetic, considering it's you,” Rarity mused. Jack shrugged.

“Irish toast. Figured if ya were gonna go crazy with yer foreign one, I'd follow in step with a few words from my granddad's side.”

Rarity sniffed down at the drink resting deep within the beer stein. “How's it taste?”

“I ain't gonna lie an' say it's perfect. Sure as hell ain't smooth. But it's got a good finish.” Jack exhaled. “Ma didn't have what it took ta be a bootlegger, goin' by this barrel, but it's still kinda nice havin' a lil'... more, I guess.”

“More?” Rarity asked, finally taking the plunge and gritting her teeth as a sip went down her mouth and throat. She coughed hard, making Jack smirk. The expression fell through after a moment.

“Yeah. More. Like, uh...” Squinting, she shook her head. “Like I'm cheatin' an' gettin' another memory of her. It's dumb, but...”

Rarity took another sip, wincing. “There's no shame to it, darling. I'm sure that...” Rarity shrugged. “I'm sure if something happened to my mother and father, I'd have a few eccentric habits like you do.”

Jack stared at her, taking a drink. “Ya know, sometimes yer somethin' else.”

She blinked. “How so?”

“Nevermind. Jus' how ya word things. I never know whether ta smack ya till yer curls fly off, or hug ya.”

The fashionable woman gave a small press to her violet curls, brushing a looping bang to the side of her face. “Best I keep you on your toes, dear. You'll step in less shit that way.”

Jack blinked at Rarity's crass word, before tilting her head back and laughing hard. “I can tell someone's had a bit too much.”

“Barely enough,” she replied with a titter, reaching over to the tap for another splash. Jack drained the last drops of her own. The drink was cool going down, warm when it got to the stomach. Already, Jack could feel a bit of the day’s frustrations slide off of her spine and shoulders like water off a duck’s feathers. She glanced over into Rarity’s cup.

“Dang, girl. Yer almost bone-dry in there.” Without waiting on Rarity’s confirmation, she poured the woman another glass, well aware that the girl could take her fair share of slugs before going totally down for the count.

Rarity took the mouthful with a pleased hum, downing it and only clearing her throat slightly. 

“A shame the recipe has been lost to time, isn’t it?”

Jack gave a small bounce of her head. “Yeah. But who knows? Maybe ma wrote it down in her diary. I should look sometime.”

“Indeed. And when you achieve results, I should be notified posthaste! A good drink is not one to have alone.”

“Another excuse ta get shitfaced, can’t say I’m shocked at all.”

Rarity didn’t argue, instead she flashed a coy grin Jack’s direction, finished her drink, and was poured another. Third time’s the charm.

The last one finally hit her and a crimson flush came to total fruition to her pale face. She reached forward to put the stein back onto the shelf and stumbled a hair with her glass, dropping it instead; it was only Jack’s lightning reflexes that stopped it from landing on the concrete floor. She caught it by the rim, then tossed it up into the air, catching it in her hand.

“Bartender’s cuttin’ ya off. Think yer feelin’ good enough now, ain’t ya?”

“Mmm,” she replied, a full grin coming to her lips, bringing a sensual streak of red across her rosy cheeks. Looking down at her wrist, she noted the time. “Gracious, I should get back. I had not realized I'd take this long.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack agreed, reaching over and grabbing a bottle of cider. “Can't forget yer reason fer comin' here.”

“I almost did,” Rarity put a hand to her forehead. “Gracious. Your mother made a strong drink.”

“Strong like she was,” Jack agreed. “Kept up jus' fine with Pa.”

“I remember her, vaguely. Recalling correctly, my mother complained the first time she shook hands with the woman. Quite a grip.”

Jack laughed, giving Rarity a tap on the shoulder with the cider bottle. “Come on. Let's get ya back home an' ready fer yer lil' client celebration.”

Marching up the stairs, Jack led Rarity outside and pointed to a worn and beat-up truck, which sat in screaming contrast next to Rarity’s convertible mini cooper.

“I'll take ya back. Ain't no need fer ya ta drive. Dash got stopped two different times last week for speeding. Guess the new sheriff got his boys on a tight patrol.”

“You drank too,” Rarity pointed out with a raised brow.

“Just the one. An' I got almost a foot on ya,” Jack replied with a small wave of her hands and a bow as if to say 'here I am.' “Drink ain't shakin' me up.”

“Eight inches,” Rarity said huffily, for argument’s sake. She walked to the truck, frowning at its rusted hood, and pulled the door open, shaking her head at the loud groan from its hinges. Wrinkling her nose at the foam bleeding out of the torn passenger seat, she nevertheless climbed in and sat down.

Jack shuffled into the driver's side, the shocks letting out a small moan as her weight came down. She turned the key.

Instantly, the truck roared to life, the engine strong despite the broken appearance of the car’s frame. Jack took her hand down to the gear shift, and they took off, the gravel and dirt path crackling under the truck's tires as they backed, turned, and traveled to the end of the drive, then took a right, heading towards Mansfield.

After a few moments of silence, Jack punched a button on the cassette player. Johnny Cash crackled to life, crooning out “In The Sweet By And By.” Rarity spared a glance towards Jack, then brought her attention back to her phone. 

“You could at least splurge for a CD player in this, darling.” The tailor leaned back, bringing her phone screen closer to her face and furrowing her brow before giving up and dropping it onto her lap. The phone service in Mansfield was never top-notch.

“Ain't my normal ride fer trips. Mac an’ Alice took the Chevy out to Appaloosa. This is jus' a farm truck fer checkin' out the far backfields, sug. Ain't got no need fer a CD player.”

Rarity tossed her feet up onto the dash and looked out the window at the fading day.

“Feelin' alright?” Jack asked, not bothering to look towards the woman.

She managed a smile. “Yes. Just fine. Just... thinking, I suppose.”

“Should I ask?”

“Do you want to hear my thoughts on a dress and the different types of cloth that would synergize well with the texture?”

Jack let a derisive snort out. “Nope.” She licked her lips. “But I think yer lyin' ta me.”

“Come now, Jack.”

“Ya look a lil' sad's all.”

Rarity huffed. “Well, if you must know, I was simply a little nostalgic.” She looked over at the cassette player. “While your mother I have a hard time remembering, I recall your father. He took me home a few times after we played.” Shutting her eyes, she shrugged. “He always listened to this kind of music.”

“Got jus' bout sick-a gospel thanks ta it,” Jack admitted with a chuckle. “Even this makes me kinda roll my eyes.”

“Isn't Johnny Cash supposed to be the King of Country? Or something to that effect? How can you be sick of it?” she asked.

“Gospel ain't country. Are diamonds a ruby?”

“No,” Rarity replied, finding the question a little bizarre.

“There ya go. They might both be gems, but there's differences. Jus' like here. Gospel, country, bluegrass: different kids, same parents, ya know?”

“I suppose so,” Rarity answered after a moment of hesitation. “Anyway... it reminded me of Alice and Stephanie. They're growing up so fast.”

“Alice really is,” Jack remarked. “'Fore I know it, she'll be datin', drivin' a car 'round… drinkin'.” Jack gave a small drum of her fingers against the wheel, turning with the road as it winded through a small patch of woods. “Hell. She's probably done all of 'em on the sly if she's anythin' like her big sis.”

“My Stephanie’s the same way. She's such a sweetie, but...” Rarity wryly smiled. “She's growing. Luanne will lead them to trouble as well, lest we forget the last of the terrible three.”

“How could I?” Jack laughed, turning her head towards Rarity as they rounded another corner. “I tell ya what happened jus' a few days 'fore Al an' Mac went on vacation? I get ta the barn, an—“

“Jack!” Rarity cried out, snapping to attention, her eyes wide in panic. Without even a moment's hesitation, Jack slammed her foot onto the brake.

Tires squealed, locking hard. The truck nearly broke free from Jack's iron grip, but she held on, preventing them from fishtailing and finally getting the vehicle to a dead stop, a mere three feet from a car half-off the road.

“Are ya alright?” Jack instantly asked.

“Just some frayed nerves,” Rarity replied, clutching her frantically beating heart. On hearing that, Jack leaned back in her seat, putting her hands to her face.

“Jesus,” she stammered out. “That coulda been...”

Rarity looked over at the car. “Hmm... doesn't look like anyone's in it.”

Jack took a moment to process her words, glancing absently at the car. Her brow furrowed. “Engine's still on.”

Curiosity got to her; she parked the truck and opened the door, stepping out.

“Why would the engine still be going?” Rarity asked from inside the cab.

“I dunno. Maybe the fella had ta take a leak?” Jack shrugged, looking around the fairly open fields but spotting nobody.

“If that's the case, he could have done us a favor and got off the road.”

“'Specially 'round that curve.” Jack rubbed the back of her head. “Gonna sound dumb, but let's move it outta the way. If I almost smashed into it, imagine if someone went as fast as Dash does ‘round that corner.”

“Mmm.” Rarity grunted, looking out the window. “I agree.”

They left the truck and went to the car. Jack paused as she made her way to the front.

“The hell?”

“What?” Rarity made her way to the back, resting her palms on the rear bumper of the car.

“Still in gear.”

“It's still in gear?” Rarity repeated, incredulous.

“I stutter?” Jack asked, glancing back at her. Reaching over, she swapped it to neutral and joined Rarity. They gave it one hard push onto the shoulder, then Jack went forward and put it into park.

After a moment, they headed back to the truck.

“Odd,” Jack said as she took the truck out of park and passed by the abandoned car.

“Indeed,” Rarity replied, glancing out the side-mirror as they traveled further along down the road.

They finally came to the outskirts of town; Jack parked in a nearby lot. Most folks didn't go through on four wheels. The town was small enough that it honestly had only a few streets, and the main road going through was typically packed with merchants and dealers, Jack herself included when it came to produce. Most of the town's food supply came from her backyard.

They made their way through the town, passing by the church, then about a block's walk from there, the school, where a playground swing creaked slowly in the wind. 

Halloween made its presence known. All over the place, there were decorations; some over the top, some amusing, others half-assed. Jack smiled wistfully. There were only a few times during the year when the absence of her parents was cranked up to ten. Halloween was one of them.

Back when Jack's Pa was alive, he'd dress up in a Soviet uniform he got from an odd army surplus store down in Drewhurst and march around the house during Halloween, speaking Russian. Or at least a close enough mesh of syllables and grunts that it convinced Jack and Mac it was Russian. Granted, he was a bright son of a bitch—a trait Jack would freely admit she didn't inherit—so he might have picked up some words along the way. 

He loved to decorate the house for Halloween, sometimes planning the theme months ahead—Jack would never forget the time he built an entire backside of a pirate ship sticking out the side of their house as though it had crashed into it. The paper had run a front page story about it, and on Halloween night it seemed like the entire town came to their front step to admire his sheer craftsmanship and dedication to the holiday. 

As they traveled towards the heart of the town, something was off enough that though they said nothing, their uneasy gazes at each other communicating enough.

There was no noise. No talking, no merchants packing up their wares, no children running about, nothing.

Finally, Rarity nervously laughed.

“Starting to feel like an episode of the Twilight Zone.”

“Awful quiet,” Jack reluctantly agreed. “Somethin' must be goin' on across town. Diane throwin' a party, the mayor doin' a meetin' with all-a the business owners, somethin'.”

“Then why weren't we invited?” Rarity reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. “No phone calls, no texts, no e-mails, no—“

“I dunno!” Jack snapped back. “If yer tryin' ta freak me out, yer doin' a bad job!”

“Then why are your hands shaking?” Rarity questioned, her tone slightly smug despite the situation.

“I'm cold,” Jack awkwardly lied, crossing her arms and looking away, towards the town square as they prepared to turn to the road leading to the boutique. Jack snapped out and grabbed Rarity's arm, squeezing it so hard Rarity hissed in pain.

“Jack, what—“

Saying nothing, the farmer pointed towards the town square in the distance.

Dozens of carts stacked with fruits, hats, pies—one splattered top-first onto the ground—littered the square, as if everyone there had gotten up and left at the same time.

“If this is a joke, I'm not laughing,” Rarity said.

Jack reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She flipped it open. No messages.

“Let's see... Chylene's outta town, same with Isabelle. Maybe Twila'll know somethin'.”

“She's at the capital,” Rarity said, then another bolt of realization struck her. “And Diane's visiting her big sister in Waeldestone.”

“Shit,” Jack said, breathing out as she looked over her contact list. “Uh... could try the mayor.”

“Yes, yes, I think the mayor would be a wise decision,” Rarity agreed. She looked up at the sky. “Suppose a tornado warning we missed while in your cellar?”

“Ain't lookin' like tornado weather, but...” Jack gave an unsure shrug at her suggestion, liking the idea compared to the dozens of panic-stricken thoughts in her mind right now. “Maybe.”

She found the mayor's number and pressed 'call.' An automated voice promptly greeted Jack.

“Service temporarily unavailable. Please try again later,” it said in a cheerful, apologetic tone. Jack swore once more, flipping her phone closed.

“Nothing?” Rarity guessed.

“Not a damn thing.”

“Maybe...” She looked to the sky, shaking her head in frustration. “Maybe she forgot to put more minutes on her phone? She's done that before, after all.”

“Y-yeah,” Jack said, deep down knowing that probably wasn't the case, but accepting it for now. “Good thinkin'. Bet they're all in the town storm shelter.” She forced a chuckle. “Chicken Littles thinkin' the sky is fallin'.”

“Indeed,” Rarity agreed, almost too quickly. “What do you say we go there and rouse their attention, darling?”

“If we don't, who would?” Jack looked around the deserted town. “Aside from a stranger or someone livin' on the outskirts that didn't hear the tornado alarm.”

“Like how we didn't,” Rarity said, turning towards the path on the other side of the main strip and walking at a near jog towards it, Jack hot on her heels.

“Eyup. Jus' like how we didn't.”

A ten-minute walk later and they found themselves in front of a large protrusion in the dirt, much like the Apple family's cellar but much more prominent.

They shared another nervous glance at one-another, then Jack went to the shelter's door and pounded it with her fist.

“Y'all! We're clear!” Jack bellowed, beating again on the door. “Ain't no need ta be in there now!” Trying the door, she found it locked. “Y'all!” she cried out, pulling hard on the knob, then pausing when she noticed a lock in place. It jangled once more as Jack pulled against the door. “Y'all...”

Jack's shoulders slumped and her head dropped. Rarity took a step forward and put a delicate hand on the farmer's arm. She said nothing; her thoughts troubled as she stared at the empty world around them.

“What should we do?” Rarity finally asked.

“I dunno,” Jack admitted. “I, I dunno.”

“There has to be...” Rarity trailed off, rubbing her eyes. “We can't be the only people here.”

“Maybe we are,” she said quietly. “They left town fer some reason. Daemarrel?” Jack offered.

“Why would they have migrated there?”

“I dunno,” she repeated, the words quickly becoming almost a mantra to her. “What,” she snapped, glaring at Rarity. “Ya got a better idea than Daemarrel? It's the largest fuckin’ town for fifty miles.”

Rarity said nothing, staring at Jack. Finally, the farmer threw her hands up.

“Thought not. People don't jus' disappear.”

“I never said they did. Don't put words into my mouth,” Rarity warned. Jack balled her fists up at the tailor's tone, but sighed after a beat, relaxing her pose.

“I'm sorry. I jus’...”

“It's fine,” Rarity neutrally said. Putting a hand to her chin, she looked past Jack, towards a few of the buildings.

“Perhaps Daemarrel is a good call,” she pondered aloud. “It's a quick way to tell if this is a localized incident, or...”

“Yer thinkin' that whatever happened here...?”

“Isn't it a possibility?” Rarity gave a small twirl of her hands, encompassing the town. “It's not like we'll find answers here.”

“What if nobody's there?” Jack asked, her mouth feeling like cotton at the question.

“Don't think about it. We can, er, burn that bridge after we cross it, yes?”

“Alright. Meet me at the edge of town in an hour. I'll run home ta pack an' tell—” Jack clammed up, her eyes suddenly turning to emerald pinpricks.

“Pack?” Rarity asked. “It's an hour’s drive at worst. Why would—“

Without another word, Jack darted past Rarity, going at a dead sprint towards her truck.

“Jack!” Rarity called after her, only to watch her vanish behind a building. Letting out a tsk of irritation, Rarity shook her head. “Honestly.”

She turned and walked, heading across town. The silence as she made her trek grew from unsettling, to disturbing, then, finally, oppressive. Every footstep clicked on the stone and asphalt of the roads, echoing across the buildings, reminding her of the fact she was alone, thanks to Jack's actions.

It was almost a miracle when she saw her boutique, dressed up festively for the night’s trick-or-treaters; all made by her own hand, naturally. Going at a brisk, unladylike jog, she all but leaped onto the shop's landing and rammed her key to the door's handle several times before striking home. Twisting it, she nearly dove inside, locking it cautiously behind her. Not that there'd be anyone to bother her honestly. As she soaked in the familiar sights around her, where she was expected to be alone, save for the occasional overnight guest or her sister, she finally was able to breath easy.

Moving to the kitchen, she turned the stove top on. Fire came to life, and she grabbed a tea bag from the cupboard and put water in a kettle.

That done, she turned and sat dumbly at the kitchen table, looking past her hands limply splayed across it.

She should be bawling. She should be panicking, impossibly distressed. For all she knew, Jack and herself were the last people on earth.

“Good luck repopulating,” she said with a wry, almost angry smile, before sighing again.

It was too early for theatrics, honestly. For all she knew, it was just Mansfield that was affected. And there were undoubtedly hundreds, if not thousands of explanations.

Regardless, she couldn't help but feel like this was more... ominous. It was just a sense, of course, but it still stuck with her so hard she shivered.

It reminded her of one of the world's shortest stories.

The last man on earth was at home. There came a knock at the door.

As she sat there, looking towards her teakettle, there came a knock at the door.
> Mansfield part two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack drove home. 

Johnny Cash on the cassette player had changed from “In the Sweet By and By” and its promise of a meeting on that beautiful shore, to the low, rumbling tone of “Amazing Grace.” Jack tapped impatiently at the wheel, only her cautious nature stopping her from driving her foot through the gas pedal.

As she traveled, scanning left and right for any sign of someone outside, she grew more aware of something incredibly wrong. Abandoned tractors in the fields on the outskirts of town, halfway through harvesting what may be their very last harvest, rumbled patiently for owners that may very well never return. A truck sat in a driveway with its door ajar. If Jack were closer, she would probably hear the familiar ping of the vehicle warning a driver the door was open. Looking at an ATV that had crashed into a lagoon, Jack dumbly realized she was near Bonnie Carideo’s carrot farm.

Watching, she passed by as the four-wheeler sank into the mess of shit and water—the bubbles that sputtered from its exhaust reminding her of a man descending into quicksand.

If whatever had happened got to Bonnie, then...

Grimacing, she pushed her pedal down harder, all but forcing it into the floorboard. The engine roared to life, and Jack fiddled with the stereo blindly as she turned her attention entirely to the road and ejected the cassette, swapping over to radio.

She couldn't remember what station it was on last—rock, bluegrass, opera—all she knew was that the dead static that growled from the speakers wasn't it. Running a thumb over the radio's knob, she searched the stations. There was a faint ghost of noise on one of the channels but it silenced when she tried to narrow in on it.

Turning the radio off in irritation, Jack concentrated her thoughts on driving.

The farm came into view a few moments later. She drove up the road and threw open the truck door almost before it came to a stop, slamming the car into park but leaving it running. She took off in a beeline towards the porch.

A part of her expected what she saw. A pair of knitting needles and a half-finished quilt laid on the ground. The ball of yarn had rolled off the porch, leaving a single, bright-red thread along the path that it had taken. It looked like a line of blood, popping out against the faded wood. 

Rejecting the evidence before her, denying even the thought, Jack pressed on inside, shoving the screen door open with an impatient slap of her hand. It ricochet off of the heavy wooden one behind it.

“Gran?” Jack called out. Stepping through the foyer, she glanced around the living room, then entered the kitchen. A pot of potatoes sat boiling on the stove top; the water nearly evaporated from it. Jack shut off the burner and moved past the kitchen's island, loaded with cooking sheets and spatulas, then rounded by the fridge, where dozens of photos greeted her. Her brother, Malcolm, stood in one, a Goliath towering over all but the largest of men. Next to him stood Jack. She was no slouch either, breaking six feet with ease, but even then, she was dwarfed in the picture. A hand as big as a Christmas ham lay protectively on top of her Stetson-clad head, while his shoulder was a perch for Jack's younger sister. The girl sat grinning at the camera, her red curls and pink bow seeming to be mid-bounce when their Granny took the shot.

Jack stared at it for a few seconds, the thought that they might be gone stopping her dead in her tracks. Reaching into her pocket, she took out her phone and tried Mac's number. It went straight to voicemail, Mac’s lazy drawl filling her ears, asking her to call him back. The farmer stood with the phone clenched tightly against her ear until the beep sounded, then jammed her finger to the keypad, closing off the phone call, and pressed on.

“Gran?” she called again, wandering towards the stairwell leading upstairs. She turned from it, trying a door just beside it instead, revealing a stairway leading down to the basement. Determined to check everywhere, she took her first steps downward.

The place used to scare her. Mac was a little hellion back in the day—he'd hide down here when he knew granny would need canned vegetables or fruits. Thanks to her bad knee, she'd always have Jack fetch them, and way too often, Mac would reach his hands through the steps and grab Jack's ankles as she made her way down. Every time, she'd scream. 

One time, the scream was a prelude to her tripping and falling to the hard concrete, prompting a trip to the hospital, where she was treated for a broken nose, broken ring finger, punctured lip, and chipped tooth.

Like most of the Apple family, she'd seen her fair share of fights, but that fight with gravity was the one that had wrecked her the most.

As she stepped into what Mac had always called ‘the danger zone’, she felt an odd emotion blast through her—a kind of nostalgic dread, in a sense, as if there would be calloused hands grabbing her ankles at any moment as she tromped down the stairs. If that happened, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to stop screaming.

But there were no hands, her brother’s or otherwise, to grab her and take her away to wherever they had taken everyone else.

Stop it, she warned herself. There's an explanation for this.

	What is it? she asked, giving a troubled frown when no answer sprang to her.

Twila might have had an answer. She could explain some science mumbo-jumbo about solar flares moving everyone, or some trans-dimensional vortex plopping everyone into a damn field with horses in Europe, or a military-grade missile hit the town that only targeted people, or—something. Something to at least explain what was going on.

But Jack didn't have an answer. She was a practical girl, smart when it came to quick thinking and grounded plans, but lost entirely regarding higher or unconventional thought. No answers came to her, and no answers would come to her down here among canned green beans.

Looking around the junk, then once more towards the foodstuff, she rose back upstairs, going to the second floor, passing by dozens of family photos that littered the wall next to the stairs, following the slope of it upwards.

Jack cracked open the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. Next step was her granny's room, and the familiar scent of juniper filled her nostrils. Even after grandpa had been gone for all these years, her grandma still wore his favorite perfume. Looking from the doorway, Jack took stock of the familiar double bed, the familiar dresser (bought from her cousin Maurice at a steal, even for family), the familiar black and white photo above the dresser, depicting her grandpa in the timeless navy dress whites, during his service in Korea.

Staring at the room for just a scant moment longer, Jack pressed on farther down the hall.

Next was Mac's room. It spoke a lot about him—at least, more about him than he tended to speak of. Simple. Clean. Borderline spartan in regards to decoration. The only objects drawing even a curious glance would be the camouflage blanket covering his massive mattress, and what rested atop his chest of drawers.

A doll. A tweedy little gray man in suspenders with button eyes and a small notebook in one sock-hand; the other clutching a fake quill.

Twila's doll.

It had been a mess of a day, but Mac had ended up with the damn thing when it was all said and done. He'd tried to give it back to her a time or two, but just never got the stones. Mac was shy, painfully so around a pretty face. It was a shame; Twila had not so subtly mentioned to Jack that she'd like to get to know him better and had even planned to do just that when her brother got back from Appaloosa.

That happening seemed more and more like an impossibility.

Swallowing back emotion, she pressed on, stepping next into Alice's room. It wasn't often she went in here anymore; Alice had gotten secretive about the place. And rightly so, by the time she had been Alice’s age, Jack detested her granny coming into her own room. Their baby girl had changed from a duckling to a swan almost without any of them noticing.

Stepping in, Jack glanced over to a poster right above the bed. Some boy band she had never heard of. Luanne probably introduced her to them, if she had to guess. And in turn, Luanne was probably introduced to them by Dash.

Intermingled with the books on the bookcase sat a toy car—model, she corrected herself in the defensive twang Alice had—and below that a raggedy doll. Jack felt a small stitching of pride when it dawned on her that she'd bought the toy for the girl years and years ago at the state fair. Her smile turned bitter and she let out a weak sigh. Giving a small prod to the doll, she rubbed its stringy hair in thought, before stepping forward and letting out a tsk of annoyance.

Alice hadn't made her bed before leaving. Jack busied herself making it, giving a small pat to the bed's pillow when the action was done.

It wasn't long ago she had read bedtime stories to the girl while Mac checked the closet for monsters. Jack still remembered the shriek he gave when she had hid there once. Granny had given her holy hell for the trick, but it was worth it just to see Mac fall flat on his ass in shock.

Trying her best to keep distracted, she went towards her own room across the hall. The familiarity of it put her at ease. 

It was a lot like Mac's: simple, tidy. A Bible on the nightstand, a dresser with a few knick-knacks and baubles from their mother's side—all from her uncle. The man was a globetrotter. Antarctica to Zimbabwe, as her Granny had put it on more than one occasion. The well-used lasso hung in a neat loop above the dresser, along with a few competition trophies and ribbons.

Glancing over near the bed, Jack rested her eyes on the gun cabinet.

It was a hobby—one learned to have a lot of hobbies during downtime on the farm. When work hit, it hit hard, but there were times, especially after fall's harvest, that gave the whole family a welcome break.

Granny baked, knitted. Mac learned how to use his impassive expressions and quiet nature to play cards—not to mention he had a surprisingly insightful eye for cinema, as Jack had learned over the years. Alice? She was always getting in trouble, that alone seemed like a hobby, but truthfully, she had developed a close relationship with a herbalist from Africa that had settled down nearby, and spent a lot of time talking with her.

She was a strange bird, but the African had helped Granny more times than Jack had fingers, at a fraction of the doc's cost. Arthritis, stomach aches, fevers? That woman could manage it all, and still find time to instruct Alice on hundreds of natural remedies.

Jack hoped the woman had made it out of this too, but... she had her doubts.

She had her doubts about a lot of people making it. She had her doubts that the next town over would have people, honestly.

Her gaze briefly lingered again on the gun cabinet.

It was a fleeting thought, but it was a thought. Jack wasn't a quitter. She wasn't a coward. She'd be the last person to do... that. But if this really was everything, was there much point going on? Her family was gone. Her friends? Gone, too.

You don't know that, she told herself. Just as quickly, the counter thought came: you can make a guess from a track record.

	It wasn't everyone, though. If it was everyone, the thought that sparked through her as she looked at the gun cabinet would have been less of a flash in a pan. Maybe she would have got the shotgun out. Felt its weight in her hands. Maybe look down the barrel for a minute or two before putting it up. 

Maybe she wouldn't have put it up.

But it wasn't everyone. Rarity was still here in this mess, and Jack was nothing if not dependable. Even though Rarity had shown time and time again to be made of stronger stuff than the gunk she coated her face in, Jack still saw the tailor as her responsibility, here. And it'd be a cold day in hell before she just gave up on something that had to be done.

She just needed a moment or two to sit back, that's all. With that in mind, she moved to her bed and laid on it, not even bothering to kick off her boots as she stared at the ceiling.







The knock froze Rarity in her seat She stiffened, felt her heart rate increase as a million thoughts crossed her mind before settling on one: that she had imagined it. 

Letting out a small, nervous laugh, she rose and prepared to fix a cup of tea. 

Another knock came, this one louder. The tailor jerked, stifling a yelp in her throat.

She stood, staring at the archway that lead into her main showroom, indecisive for a long moment. Finally grasping her bearings, she glanced towards the knife block on her kitchen counter. Sucking in a small breath, she grabbed a steak knife and clutched it tightly in her hand, then snuck her way forward, through the kitchen and into the shop's storefront. She wiped her clammy hand on the skirt of her dress and crept through the rows of jewelry and racks lined with clothes, past the register, until she came to the front door. Another loud, urgent knock made her nearly exclaim in surprise, but she kept silent, summoning her nerves to look through the door's peephole.

On seeing who stood on her front step, she cried out, fumbling with the lock and throwing the door open. She offered no pause as she stepped forward, letting the knife clatter to the porch, and embraced her guest.

The young boy yelped in panic, recoiling in surprise when the door flung open. As soon as he saw it was Rarity, however, he relaxed, letting himself be hugged and burying his face in her shoulder.

They broke the embrace and the tailor quickly ushered him inside. 

“Rarity. What's going on?” The boy’s complexion was deathly pale, his mouth barely forcing the words out without stuttering them.

“I'm clueless,” she answered, pausing to lock the door behind them. “Jack and myself haven't an idea.” She shook her head, giving a small stroke to Spike's green hair with her fingers. 

“But, it's, gracious, it's good to see a familiar face, darling. I was fearful it was just the two of us. It seemed like everyone in town simply...”

“Vanished,” Spike finished thoughtfully, ignoring the woman's touch for the moment, although at any other time, he would've melted at even the slightest of grazes from her. “I've been looking around town for a while now. I've tried Chylene's, the Corner, Isabelle's trailer, nothing.” The boy looked close to hyperventilating. “I-I guess I heard you and Jack and started walking around trying to f-find you.” Sniffing, he took in a deep breath to try and calm himself down, but his watering eyes were an obvious tell to Rarity that it wasn't working.

“Let's have a seat in the kitchen, darling. A cup of tea and a moment of thought would do us both quite a bit of good, yes?”

Nodding mutely, he followed after her. She went about making him a drink, humming a slow melody to both distract herself and wordlessly soothe him as she fretted about the kitchen.

“I don't know where to start,” Spike admitted, looking down at his hands.

“Neither do I.” She glanced over her shoulder at the boy, watching him. “I don't understand this in the slightest.”

Spike exhaled, standing and taking a slow, pondering walk across the kitchen. “If it was some sort of...” Rolling his hand, he stared upwards in thought. “A fire? An earthquake? Something. We could see where everything went. Right now though, it's like...”

“Everyone vanished off the face of the earth,” Rarity finished. 

She poured the tea, adding two cubes of sugar to hers and three to his, then brought the mugs to the table and sat across from him. She reached over after a moment’s silence and put her palm upon Spike’s own in a wordless gesture of comfort. One she certainly didn’t feel herself as she sat with what might well be one of the last three people on earth.

My God, Rarity, she chided herself, since when have you become such a pessimist?

	She had always thought of herself as a realist—a practical woman, a business woman. It wasn't her fault that the reality of the situation was so pessimistic.

“The radio,” Spike said suddenly.

“What?”

He rose and walked past her, then paused, turning to her. “I just thought it might... there might be a station doing a broadcast for people. I-if it's going on in more places than our town,” he explained. “Even if the phones are busted, radio might still be worth looking into.”

“An excellent idea, Spike!” Rarity exclaimed. “I've been rather beside myself at this whole situation. I didn’t even think—” Rising quickly, she stepped out of the kitchen. “I'll check the television as well. I suppose it won't change what's outside the window, but...” She went down the back hall and climbed the wooden stairs leading toward her bedroom. 

Normally, she'd take a moment to freshen up. A small spritz of perfume, a check in her mirror for out of place hairs, a look over her mascara and lipstick, but today wasn't a normal day by any means.

She moved to the remote by her four poster bed and turned on the television. A multicolored symbol greeted her, with a note underneath stating simply, “Please stand by.”

She hit the channel button on the remote; the screen flickered, the numbers on the top left of the screen changed, but that symbol remained the same. Over and over, every station she switched to would not work.

“This could be national. Worldwide,” Rarity breathed out, sinking to the foot of her bed. “But...”

She held her thumb down on the channel button until the numbers in the corner picked up speed, silently refusing to believe what was before her.

But every channel stayed the same.

“Rarity!” Spike shouted from downstairs, nearly making the woman scream in surprise. “Down here!”

She ran, stumbling in her heels and nearly falling down the stairway, arriving just in time to hear the middle of a radio announcement.

“...The largest unexplained phenomenon I have ever heard of.” The announcer sighed, seeming to hesitate. “For those of you wondering, I have no clue how far this has spread or how many people are gone. I can't reach anyone outside of the city. If anyone's near Sudbury...” She paused once again. “I don't know if this is affecting the county, or the nation, or even the whole damn world. Phones are dead, net's down, the only reason I'm even still broadcasting and not swallowing pills is because my co-host found another station in the same boat as we are. More people are out there.” They heard a tapping, as if she was running a finger on the desk. “I'm a damn DJ. I filled in today because David was sick. This isn't my scene.” Another pause. “But it's better than doing nothing. The gal that hosts the classical tunes on weekends is digging up some stuff she wants me to read to everyone while we figure out some way to get in touch with more folks. Maybe this'll blow over—but maybe it won't. I'm not sure what the hell...” She sighed. “My advice? Head to the bigger towns. If you're near us, great. We're on Sudbury’s outskirts, north, near Miller road. Maybe try looking around town if you're ballsy, spread the word to anybody you see. If you're not? Head to the capital, try there. Maybe the army'll know what to do, governor Celestia, anybody. If you're staying put, well, maybe what my co-host is looking for will be useful. We'll, uh, get crackin' at that after I take a minute to get my ducks in a row. Be safe.”

A surprisingly fast and loud electronic song came on. Despite the situation, Rarity and Spike shared a perplexed glance first at one-another, then at the radio.

“The capital...” Spike said, crossing his arms. “Twila went there to visit Luna and Celestia.”

“If anyone had an explanation for this, I believe Twila would.”

“If she's—“

Rarity reached over to stroke his hair. “She's fine,” she reassured. “Without a shadow of a doubt.”

It could be a lie. In fact, judging by how many in town were gone, it was a bold faced lie that she didn't believe for a moment, but...

Spike nodded, taking her words to heart, like he always did. “You're right. I-I can't think that she's not there. She's tons smarter than me and I made it, so—”

A knock on the door made them both let out a startled gasp. Rarity's eyes lingered on the knife she had on the kitchen counter top before deciding against it. She wouldn't need it. Carrying a weapon? In her own house, in her town? Preposterous.

And it being preposterous didn't stop you when little Spikie came knocking, did it? she mentally reminded herself. Pushing the fact away for the moment, she went towards the boutique’s front door.

Opening it she was greeted by Jack, who all but stumbled in, standing for a moment, then turning and wordlessly closing the door behind her. She didn't so much stare at Rarity as she stared through Rarity.

“Are you alright?” the tailor questioned.

It took a while, but Jack finally shook her head. “I... dunno.” She blinked a few times, as if trying to wake up from a clinging dream, then shuffled forward, leaning against a glass counter. “Granny's...”

“Oh,” Rarity replied, not waiting for Jack to finish. She put her hand on the taller woman's shoulder. “I'm... I know it's...”

“Jack!” Spike's voice called out. Jack's jaw nearly unhinged when the boy came into her sights, only his upper torso exposed to her as he leaned in from the kitchen. Wasting no time, Jack took two big steps forward to him. “Wha—” was all the protest he could utter as Jack scooped him up and clutched him tightly to her.

“Oh sug...” Jack marveled. “I thought we'd lost ya too.”

He gave up on resisting and leaned into her for several long moments before Jack reluctantly let him go. They all looked at one another, words not coming, before Spike gave a weak shrug.

“What do we do now?” he asked with an expectancy to it, as if his seniors would know just the right plan to take.

“We were gonna go to the next town over. See if anyone's there,” Jack said.

“No,” Rarity countered.

“The hell ya mean, 'no’?”

“We should head to the capital. Spike and myself heard a radio broadcast suggesting people do just that.”

“I'd like that too,” the boy admitted, rubbing his arm and looking to the side. “Twila's...”

Jack's expression softened. With a small nod, she clamped her hand gently to Spike's shoulder.

“She's there. An' we should...” She nodded harder. “We should get ya to her.”
> Highway 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack pulled up to Rarity’s shop an hour later.

It had hurt her, opening the pastures for the cattle, but she didn't know how long they'd be out of town; she sure as hell couldn't count on feeding them while they were gone. At least like this, they'd manage by themselves, and her dog Winona would scare off coyotes.

Brushing that thought away she leaned her head back against the truck's headrest and shut her eyes.

This whole thing was fucked up. She didn't like that word, hated it as much as anything, but nothing else came close. This was fucked up, and if she stopped to think about how fucked up it was...

Giving that train of thought up, she opened her eyes and read over the gauges. Oil was fine, Mac had checked that before he left, but gas they'd have to stop for somewhere; otherwise, they'd never make it. The truck was reliable, but not the best on mileage.

Movement caught her eye.

Spike walked towards the truck, dragging a suitcase at his side with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The cab would be cramped with three people, but at least the truck bed would hold what they needed.

Jack had packed light for the trip. A couple of sandwiches, granola bars, clothes, a first-aid kit, a flashlight. She had the charger for her phone just in case she got reception, but she doubted anything would change.

In the distance came Rarity and Jack almost growled out in irritation. She had practically a train behind her—three bags, all on wheels, and another duffel bag was cradled in her free arm, alongside a purse. Jack bit her tongue as best she could as the two came closer to the truck. The tailor opened the passenger door and stuck her head inside. “Is there room in here for my baggage, darling?”

“Not unless ya want Spike ta ride in the bed.”

Rarity turned her head, ready to speak to Spike.

“Don't even think about it,” Jack warned. “Put yer crap back there.”

“Fine. It's on your head if my conditioner bottle breaks, however.” She shut the door and moved to the back, shaking her head.

“Thinkin' 'bout conditioner at a time like this...” Jack said to herself before pausing.

It was a lot like her, really.

At a time like this, she should be bawling her eyes out over her family. But... she kept going through the motions, automatic, like she was watching all of it through a sheet of plastic—she held a vague idea about the weight of the situation, but there was a degree of separation between Her and It. A numbness, like when you go to the dentist, and you get treated to some Novocain. You know you should be feeling something, and if you really focus, you almost can, but it takes a lot of work for it to happen.

Spike and Rarity finally joined her in the truck, and the door slammed closed with a sort of finality to it. With a turn of a key, the car roared to life, and they drove.







They rode the back roads east, taking the thin highway the locals nicknamed Highway 4. The hours vanishing in an instant as they all sat silently, absorbed in their thoughts. The only time words were exchanged was when they had to perform a group effort to remove the vehicles strewn about the road so they could pass. Finally, with dusk falling hard and fast, Jack let out a small cough.

“Try an' find a radio station,” she said.

Spike nearly jumped awake in surprise at hearing someone, but promptly took to tuning the radio, shuffling past dozens of dead stations, before a familiar voice greeted them.

“—ing a repeat of the news. At least, the news from where I sit. Coms are still shit. My co-host tried a cop car outside the station. We managed to get one man on the cop's line. He lost contact with everyone hours ago, so...” She clicked her tongue. “So I guess that ain't a good sign either if the cops are having this happen too. Could go all the way to the top. Anyway, the cop, right? He's coming to the station, so that's a plus at least, but...” There was another pause. “I guess that's it for a few, guys. Sorry. I'm not used to talking this much. I need a break. Stay tuned and remember: you're not alone.”

Loud electronic music began pumping out of the speaker. Jack listened for only a minute before turning the radio off and starting up a cassette tape. Johnny Cash crooned once more, this time speaking of being a bridge over troubled waters and Jack took to nervously tapping along on the steering wheel.

“We're gonna need gas soon,” she mentioned.

“Then take it by a station,” Rarity instantly said.

“Glad I have yer permission, yer highness,” Jack drawled back. “Was jus' mentionin' it 'cause I thought you'd throw a fit if I stopped.”

“Jack, on a good day, it's at least a six-hour drive there on the interstate. I expected at least one fuel-up.”

“Why aren't we taking the interstate?” Spike asked.

“Ain't safe,” Jack said. “Amount of cars, even here?” She shook her head. “We'd hit a pile-up in no time.”

“Pile-up or no, it won't matter if we run dry,” Rarity said.

They arrived at a station a half-hour later. Jack snaked through the abandoned cars at the lot and pulled up next to the pump.

“I'll go inside, one of y'all be ready at the pump,” she said, hopping out of the truck and shutting the door behind her.

“You think a clerk or something is...?” Spike asked, giving Jack an unsure look.

“No. But there's usually a switch by the register ta start up the lines.”

Spike seemed to retreat a bit into himself. He looked down to the ground, frowning. “We'd be stealing it, then.”

Jack looked at Rarity, and the woman laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Spike... we're in a situation where sometimes you have to compromise. I'd be abhorred to the idea normally, as would Jack, I'm sure. But making it down the road is too much of a necessity to not be willing to...” A thought came to her, and she reached into her purse, rummaging through it until she produced a billfold. From there, a checkbook.

“How's this?” she started. “If the owners return, they will have our payment.” She tore off a check and signed it in a curving, elegant gesture, then handed it to Jack.

“Y-yeah,” Jack agreed with a quick nod. “That'll take care of that.”

Spike frowned. “They're not coming back,” he said simply. He blinked and brought a hand to his eyes, close to crying, the weight of everything that had happened reduced to one simple sentence.

Rarity looked like she was getting ready to say something. She moved to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder and bringing his head to her side. Jack, however, was the first to speak.

“Maybe not,” she admitted. Rarity stared daggers at her, but Jack didn't even flinch, instead morosely shaking her head and squatting to get eye level with the boy. “But ya heard the radio. There are some out there that never left. I think yer sis is one of 'em. So we're gonna put this check in there, an' we're gonna get ya to her. Okay?”

He sniffed, but finally calmed down and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jack said again and stood to her full height. “Go ‘head and get the pump ready. Rare an’ I’ll take care of this.”

“Are you just feeding him lip service?” Rarity murmured as soon as they turned to walk towards the gas station.

“The hell makes ya say that?”

“You can't reasonably be sure if the things you're saying are true—what if, when we get to capital, Twila’s not there. What then?”

The bell above the door rang out their entrance. The store was empty, hauntingly untouched.

Jack entered behind the register counter, flipped the switch, and sighed. 

“We'll burn that bridge when we get ta it,” she answered, the tone of her voice leaving very little room for argument, closing the conversation before it could escalate.

Rarity looked around the store, the neat shelves lined with snacks, the shiny linoleum floors. She’d stopped at this gas station before. Everyone did once or twice, on their way in or out of Mansfield. What would happen to this place, she wondered. Would it stand forever deserted, optimistically waiting on visitors until its stock fell prey to rot and rodents? Or would it get sacked by someone in a few weeks, in a few days?

Jack touched her hand, rubbing lightly at her knuckles.

Rarity looked towards her, and found the farmer much closer than she was before, leaning forward with her forearms flat on the countertop so that the two of them were at eye level.

“Have you tried calling yer folks?” 

Rarity looked down, bit her lip, shook her head. “No. They…” Her throat closed around the words. Jack touched her hand again, grasped it gently. “They texted me this morning. They’re out on a camping trip. W-were. Were, out on a camping trip.”

“They could still be out there.” 

Rarity raised her eyes up slowly and met Jack’s. She chewed her lip thoughtfully at that, before muttering out a reluctant, hesitant, “Perhaps.” Though she made no effort to reach down to her phone and try to send through a message. 

Jack glanced away and took a few steps about the place, looking over the wares.

“I’ll grab us some drinks. You go on out and keep an eye on the boy.”

“Yes. I’m sure Spike will be wondering what’s taking us so long,” she replied in quiet agreement and turned towards the door.







Evening faded into a dusky afterglow, leaving orange clouds swimming across the sky—cumulus, Spike told them, proud for a brief, fleeting moment at what his schooling had taught him.

Jack pulled off to the side of the road. With the amount of tossed aside cars and unfamiliar turns on the way, they had finally agreed to get some rest instead of pushing through the night. It was something Rarity was grateful for; the number of cars they had to move just to get to where they were now astonished her. Her muscles ached more than the result of any workout she had ever done, and though she didn't want to admit it, she could eat her weight in food.

Her stomach let its discontent be known, growling so loudly that she was sure it would be noticed.

Spike was dead to the world in the center of the cab, his head resting against Jack's shoulder with a weak, tranquil smile on his face. It was amazing how well children could handle things like this, she thought. Far better than adults. They were able to step back from the bad to find the good. Admirable, really.

A low snicker came from the driver's seat, drawing Rarity's attention away from the boy. Jack raised a brow, smirking.

“Fightin' a bear or somethin'?”

“What?” Rarity replied, tilting her head.

“Yer stomach.”

Rarity blushed, looking towards the front of the truck.

“Hey,” Jack quietly coaxed. Rarity could guess the jokes would come once again, so she rolled her eyes and looked to the farmer, unamused.

“Jack, must you—“ Rarity stopped.

Jack held out a shrink-wrapped sandwich. “Grabbed it at the station,” she explained. “Know it ain't foie gras or anythin', but...” She tapped Rarity on the shoulder with it until it was taken.

“Thank you,” Rarity said. She tore open the wrap and ravenously dug into it.

“Didn't know ya liked swiss an' turkey that much.” Jack faintly smiled.

“Hunger is the best spice.”

Silence came to the cab for a long, long while. Jack rested her head on her arm, looking at everything and nothing outside, while Rarity concentrated on her sandwich. Finally, Jack ran a hand over her face and sighed.

“We're goin' pretty slow, ain't we?”

“I suppose,” Rarity admitted, finishing off her sandwich and rolling the packaging into a tight ball. “But if we keep running into wreckage and vehicles blocking the road, we'll need our strength. It's better this way.”

“That's one reason.” She looked at Spike, saying nothing else.

Rarity caught on. “You think she isn't there?”

“I don't know.” Jack continued staring outside. “But if this ain't a time ta plan for the worst...”

“And if she's not there, then what?” Rarity revisited the question from earlier, giving a more stern glance to Jack this time, as if to silently say ‘you won’t weasel out of an answer this time’. 

“Dunno.” Jack admitted, shuffling a bit awkwardly in her seat at Rarity’s glance until she could get more comfortable.  “Capital might at least let us think things through. Mansfield's a dead town, so...”

Rarity's face changed from crestfallen at the thought of Mansfield being nothing more than a corpse, a shell of its former life, but she put aside the raw pain in her heart and wore instead a mask of utter seriousness. “No matter what, we make sure Spike's safe.”

“Goes without sayin'.” Jack tipped her hat over her face and leaned back into the truck's headrest. “Mmm.” She shut her eyes, already dreading how stiff she would be in the morning, sleeping like this.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Goodnight.”

“Yeah. You too, sug.”

It took a long while, but sleep did come, and with it, brief peace.
> Haskill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the morning before the creatures found them that they puttered into the outskirts of Haskill, riding on fumes. 

It was a town like Mansfield, though a hair bigger than their quiet hamlet, frozen permanently in the midst of a celebration. 'The grand opening of the Haskill museum!' banners proclaimed. Flags drooped like wilted flowers along the road as if they knew they were a dying object in a dying town. Jack shook her head, returning to the job of fueling up the truck. Just as the pump kicked up, she froze, a strange noise coming to her across the eastern winds.

Music.

She looked around her until she spotted Rarity leaving the storefront, her hands full of water bottles.

“Ya hear that?” Jack questioned, a part of her wondering if she was going nuts.

“Hear wha—?”

Jack held a finger to her mouth, silencing the tailor. Rarity gave a flat, unamused stare at Jack, but paused nevertheless. A few seconds later, she cocked her head, for a moment reminding Jack of a confused dog, before her eyes widened.

“Music!” she exclaimed. “Do you suppose...?”

“Mighta jus' been kept on after everyone...” Jack didn't finish the thought. “But it never hurts ta check. Soon as Spike's off the john, we'll do some walkin'.”

“Why walk?” Rarity questioned, moving past Jack to put the bottles in the cab of the truck.

“Loud as my truck is, it'd drown it out.”

Spike came out of the men's room moments later, and they began the trek across the dead town.

The music drove them, perhaps gave them the courage to walk through this bizarre tomb, deafeningly silent and free from the presence of man. Jack lead them down one of the sideroads, past a couple of dead-looking houses, and tried to keep herself composed for their sakes. Still, she couldn’t help the occasional hum, cough, or tsk from erupting from her mouth, anything to fill the silence that the music only barely masked. From somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, its call bordering on a wail. 

They spotted a good-sized grocery store, billed as Dave’s Produce and Pharmacy. A business, built and shaped into the design of a log-cabin log-cabin stood directly across the road—Stanley’s Outfitter’s, it proclaimed—and next to it was a skinny, glass-fronted place, Stanley’s Liquors. 

Either two Stanley’s in town, or that son of a bitch must be swimmin’ in cash, Jack absently thought with a snort, a hair grateful for the brief distraction.

The sun shone almost directly overhead by the time they found their quarry, a seedy looking bar on the very outskirts of Haskill. Despite its more shabby appearance, the dump's parking lot was filled to bursting, lined with rusty, dusty trucks that made Jack's look like a Lamborghini, and a collection of bikes, one black and chrome beauty standing tall near the other less-than-stellar models, its high handlebars making it seem a lion among lambs.

Jack had always wanted a bike, secretly. Maybe a Harley. Just the chance to tear up some of the back roads during summer after the chores were done, feel the wind pull and tug at her face, feel free, but still be close to the things that she cared about most. The things that made her her...

But she never got the money. She wasn't a girl who bought things on a whim, or when other, more important things, took center stage. Any meager profit they gained out of the farm usually tended to stay on the farm: tractor parts, medicine for sick calves, apple tree saplings to repopulate ones lost in a storm, surgery for her granny's hip, saving what they could for her sister's college—Jack gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling for a few steps. Her expression changed so violently and instantaneous that it would’ve been almost comical in another situation.

The pain flared up and struck her heart with the sharp precision of a knife, leaving her weak. She stumbled forward, covering her eyes with a hand before finally turning, slumping down onto the short set of stairs leading to the bar's porch.

“Jack?” Rarity instantly questioned. Spike watched, unsure how to approach or what to do, exactly.

“They're gone,” Jack said, as if the realization happened five minutes ago, rather than bordering on two days. “Jus’... Jesus, Rare. They're all fuckin' gone.” She buried head into her hands, her entire body trembling.

Rarity said nothing, joining the woman at the steps and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She had wondered if Jack would ever have it hit her.

“I'm sorry.” It wasn't much, but it was the only thing that could even come close to what she needed to say.

“Jus'...” Jack seemed to want to add more, but instead wiped at the snot at her nose with a sleeve and sucked in another heavy breath and leaned back, her eyes red and bloodshot. “Sorry. Right now I can't... we can't waste time.”

Spike nodded. “I do wanna see Twila as soon as we can.” He looked down at his shoes. “I’m worried about her.”

“We’ll get ya to her, sug,” Jack said, wiping again at her eyes. “I swear ta ya.”

She rose and went to the door, putting her hand on it.

“What if whoever’s in there is….?” Spike trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“I think, for all our sake’s, we better hope so,” Rarity replied, quickly shelving her darker thoughts for a later time. “This place is a terrible mess. No doubt it catered to all sorts of ruffians and the like.”

“It’s seen better days,” Jack agreed with a sigh. She looked behind her to her two companions. “If there’s someone in here that looks too rough, Rare, I want you ta get Spike the hell out. Alright? I don’t think that’ll be the case, but jus’ be ready.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me on that.” She put a hand to the farmer’s shoulder. “But don’t you go getting in over your head either, Jack Apple. We’ve still a long way to go.”

Jack nodded in agreement, then opened the door. A set of chimes jingled overhead as the door was opened. Instantly, Jack was assaulted by the scent of whiskey. Normally, she’d find that nice, inviting, even, but right now there was a certain sense of foreboding to it. 

At the counter was a man, his arms slumped over on the bar and a bottle almost all the way polished off tucked against his shoulder. He breathed heavily, halfway asleep, only slightly stirred by the chimes from the door. Finally, he turned his head and blinked bleary-eyed at the group. He narrowed his eyes and looked past Jack, at Rarity.

“Am I still asleep?” he pondered aloud, blinking once more, then reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a monocle, which he placed over his right eye. 

“Rarity Belle?” he asked, stumbling to a stand and wiping at the blue, pencil-thin moustache above his lips. Jack noticed that for being in a biker bar, the man was immaculately dressed in a crisp dinner jacket and a set of black dress slacks. Something about him was very vaguely familiar, though his name was fuzzy, hard to summon at will. Jack glanced back at Rarity, wordlessly encouraging her.

For her part, the tailor simply stared, disbelief clear on her face. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Francis Pottager?”

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, taming it a bit as he approached. “I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed, his voice raw as he stepped forward, foregoing formalities and giving her a hug. “I thought I may have very well been the last man on earth.”

Though Jack didn’t know the man nearly as well as Rarity, she accepted the hug he offered to her as well, and Spike begrudgingly did the same.

Francis shook his head yet again, rubbing at his lips and running his thumb again over his mustache. “I apologize, I must look unseemly to you at the moment, Rarity, compared to how heavenly you look.” He offered a crisp laugh. “You all look heavenly right now. A trio of angels.”

Rarity wanted to disagree with the man, but she couldn’t. His clothes were a bit frayed at the edges, but overall fine, but his face… It was drawn, with deep black circles under his eyes and a good two day stubble on his chin. 
Instead, she said, “We’re just as glad to see you, Francis. But what on earth are you doing here?”

“I could ask you three the same question, no doubt. Haskill seems a fair distance from Mansfield, after all.” He offered a pained smile. “Though to answer your question, I suppose I wanted a nightcap or two.” Francis looked towards the bottle and gave a resigned sigh. “Or three. I honestly thought I was the only person alive in the entire world. No phone reception, no radio stations, no moving vehicles. Just myself and the road.”

Hesitantly, Rarity asked, “...so no Fleur?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know. Last I knew she was in the capital when I left to visit my brother.”

“Well,” Rarity said, “we’re headed that way ourselves. There was a broadcast on the radio—seems not everyone is gone. Any survivors are to meet there.”

“I wish I had heard that broadcast. I…” He put his fingertips to his brow and scowled. “Nevermind. At least now I have some direction.”

“Better than bein’ lost, ain’t it?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Spike quietly agreed.

“There are still a few hours left until sundown, perhaps we can make some progress? Travel together? I’ve been riding the roads only during the day—my eyes are far from what they used to be, and with all the vehicles strewn about, progress has been slow.” Francis clasped his hands behind his back. “That is, if I won’t slow you down, anyway.”

Rarity looked to Jack, thinking of the limited space in the truck. “Surely we’re better off together?”

Jack tilted her head. “Ya got a ride?”

Francis nodded. “Of course.”

“Then we’ll jus’ have a lil’ convoy,” Jack replied. “Two to a vehicle. We take it nice an’ easy.”

“We’ll be able to take more supplies, too,” added Rarity.

“Then that settles it. Francis, yer comin’ with us. We’ll ride until nighttime an’ set up camp.”

	




The road ahead was like the road behind them now: littered, deserted, and slow going. Although they made progress, it wasn’t as much progress as Jack had hoped. There were still some miles between them and the capital. 

Even so, when they sat down for the evening as a group, spirits were high. Maybe it was seeing a survivor that, while a friend to Rarity, was outside of the usual group of people they lived with on a day-to-day basis and therefore seemed more mystical to them in this deserted world. Or maybe it was the simple fact that they now had a common goal ahead, a potential paradise, hope. Either way, there was some revelry as they grouped up and Francis cooked a few cans of beans for them to share over a fire that he had crafted in an impressive blur of motion. It grew from a few weak, trivial sparks battling desperately against the night and into a full-on respectable campfire within moments of the man striking a flint to tinder.

“Well,” Francis said to the group, “I’ll admit it’s not caviar, but the store was sadly out when I went shopping, as it were.”

“I think I’d prefer beans to caviar anyway,” Spike answered, rubbing the back of his head.

“It’s nothing to get worked up over, really,” chimed Rarity as she hastily disposed of the last of her portion. “I never saw the appeal, myself.”

“No kiddin’,” Jack agreed with an empathetic nod. “Last time I tried it was salmon roe an’ it was… alright, I guess. But why eat the eggs like that when ya can fry ‘em?”

Rarity gave her a blank look. “That sounds even more revolting, if that’s possible.”

Francis chuckled. “Now, now, Rarity. It’s better than you’d assume. In fact, when my father would host a fish-fry, I’d almost jump at the chance for them.”

“Plus with a fish-fry, after ya eat the eggs, ya got a full-on fish ta chow down on,” Jack agreed. “Compared ta that ‘teaspoon an’ yer finished’ crap the hoity toity do.”

“I can’t believe you went to fish fries,” Spike admitted to the man. “Rarity always said that you were a proper gentlemen.”

Francis raised a brow, giving his monocle and adjustment as he looked over to the tailor in question. “Did she now?”

She blushed furiously. “I-I… Well of course! Who wouldn’t?”

“Well, some of the other upper class would argue against it. Not that they’re always worth listening to in comparison to the cream of the crop I’m sitting by.” He chuckled. “They don’t understand what makes a gentleman, at times.”

“Really?” Rarity asked, surprised. “I’ve always seen you leading the pack, so to speak. It’s hard to think they might disagree with you on much.”

“Well, they see the way I treat my brother, I suppose.” He tapped his temple. “Not to mention a few of my eccentricities, such as my vehicle choice.”

“But your motorcycle's cool!” Spike blurted out. He looked at the three. They stared blankly at him until he awkwardly returned his focus to his meal.

Rarity glanced at the vehicle in question before looking back at Francis. “I’ll admit it’s… not what I expected. Yet it does seem fitting, now that I think about it.”

He chuckled again. “Fitting? Perhaps I come across as the dashing, romanticized modern cowboy, riding against the norm of the dull and stuck-in-their-ways townsfolk?” He nodded with vigor. “I like to at least pretend so.”

Rarity’s blush deepened, but she said nothing. Yet inwardly, it was still something of a shock, her recent revelations into the noble’s character. She’d always admired the man as one of the Camelot gentlemen. He set the bar that most others tried to emulate. Not only was he sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome, but he was generous and entertaining, standing up for a great many ideals other nobles fell far short of.

But then she’d seen him mount his motorcycle in one deft motion, starting it up and riding down the road with just as much poise as a stroll down the capital streets. It was a clash of what she’d envisioned, and yet it still felt true to his character. It didn’t lessen who he was or how he acted. And that was very strange to her.

“Yer alright,” Jack remarked with a grin. “Anyone that stirs up those dullards can’t be too off the mark.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that, Miss Apple. And anyone that’s a friend of Rarity can’t be too off the mark either.”

The farmer gave a tap to the rim of her stetson. “Well, there are worse gals ta be around, that’s fer damn sure.”

After the meal, the group split up, Jack and Rarity opting for the cabin of the truck. Francis, proving again to be a gentleman, chose to sleep outside on a blanket. Spike joined him, wanting to be away from the girls at least for a night.

Jack gave a small sigh as she looked out the window.

“Feelin’ like I’m gettin’ emotional whiplash. Today’s been nuts.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be saying that a lot from here on out.”

“I hate ta think that yer right, but ya got a pretty nasty record on bein’ jus’ that.” She let her hands rise and fall. “Sorry ‘bout the funk I was in earlier. I, uh…”

“It was necessary.” Rarity turned towards the farmer. “None of us can be strong all the time, Jack. Do you feel up for talking about it now?”

“I dunno,” Jack replied. She looked out towards Francis and Spike and then turned to face Rarity again. “I dunno,” she repeated. “Feels like if I say anythin’ on it, it’ll break a spell or somethin’. I might start cryin’ an’ never stop. Jus’—” she sucked in a breath and clenched her eyes shut for the second time that day.

“I’m in the same boat, believe it or not.” Closing her own eyes, Rarity quietly said, “I keep my focus on the three—well, four of us, and the drive to the capital. I can not, I will not, allow myself to think of… everyone else. Not in any specific terms. Right now? No news is good news. Because if I were to find out for absolute certain that they were all… they were all…” Her voice cracked as she bit her lip to stifle a sob.

Jack forgot her own sorrow for a moment as she leaned across the seat, bringing Rarity into a tight hug.

“Oh sug,” Jack muttered out. “I’m sorry. It’s gotta be hard fer ya too.” Instinctively, she brushed her hand across Rarity’s hair, tucking it behind the tailor’s ear. “I’ve been the shittiest friend ta ya.”

Rarity shook her head and pulled out of the embrace. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. You’ve kept us going, kept Spike calm, too. We’re all hurting in our own ways and being inconsiderate in our own ways too. This is all just… so much.”

Jack offered her an expression that was a cross between a grimace and a smile. “I know, sug. An’ yer handlin’ it better than I am. So, jus’, consider this an apology ahead of time if I bite ya. It’s gonna be hard. Fer both of us.” She touched slightly on the elephant in the room. “Stephanie… wasn’t she at Camelot durin’ all-a this? Do ya think maybe…?”

“I don’t think much,” Rarity said quietly, her voice brittle. “We’ll be there soon enough, and then we’ll see. Until then… until then, there’s hope, isn’t there, Jack?”

“There’s hope,” she repeated in earnest agreement. She gave a small, encouraging stroke to Rarity’s temple. “An’ no matter how it turns out, I’m here fer ya, sug. Okay? It ain’t much, but ya can count on me.”

Rarity gently nodded her head. “I know all too well. Thank you, Jack, and, for what it’s worth, I will do my best. I know we don’t always agree on how things should be done but… I still get that there are things needing doing.” She sighed. “And Francis will be a big help too, if… if things are worse than we imagine.”

“I almost don’t wanna say it, sug, but how could things get worse than we’re thinkin’?” she asked, turning to lean back on her seat. “Because a lot of what I’m thinkin’ is pretty…” the farmer let her words trail off, closing her eyes.

The tailor barked out a short laugh. “Well, we’re a fine pair. One lost in a worst case scenario and the other just avoiding it. Our friends would be disappointed.”

“Hell, Twi aside, I think we’re managing better than most could,” Jack answered. “Can ya imagine Dash on her lonesome, with nobody ‘round ta feed that ego?” She weakly smiled. “Bet good money she’d talk ta herself worse than you do. Not ta even mention Pinkie.”

Rarity gave a weak chuckle, but was otherwise silent. Finally she asked, “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

Jack bridged her hands together in thought. “Do ya want what I think, or the logical reply? B-because they’re two different sides of a coin.”

“I know you’ll give an honest answer, either way.”

“Then I’ll tell ya what I think is the truth, rather than facts. An’ the truth is…” She nodded. “Someday. Maybe a long time comin’, but someday. I got faith in all-a them. They’re all fighters in their own way, ya know?” Jack looked over to Rarity. “Don’t think we’d be around jus’ ta have the others gone. That’s my gut instinct. That’s my truth.”

Again, Rarity was silent. But this time, it wasn’t fear or worry that held her back, but firm agreement with the farmer’s words. Whatever would happen, she believed in all of them to find a way through it.

“Well,” Jack said under her breath. “Long day tomorrow. Unless ya needed ta say some more ‘bout, ya know, I think we should catch some sleep.”

“I’m alright, Jack, thanks. Goodnight.”

“Night sug.” She lowered her hat over her head and leaned back, trying to get as comfortable as she could on the worn seat. “Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we’ll get ya inta a proper bed instead-a this.”

“That would be muchly appreciated, dear,” Rarity replied, her tone a mix of amusement and annoyance at the discomfort.

Giving one more small, weak laugh, Jack drifted off into a fitful sleep.
> The MacKade Farm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It came hours after they had fallen asleep. A black, shifting thing. It wore the night like a cloak, dripping, obscuring its pulpy, fleshy body as it shambled forward, covering its tumor-laden face with a shadow-coated arm, walking, searching through its sense of smell and limited hearing. 

On catching wift of a strange scent, an odd, unusual smell it hadn’t came across in all of its years wandering, it shuddered and inhaled wetly, then shambled forward through the greenery and across the hard pavement of the road. Though the road in and of itself was a foreign, strange object to it, the thing paid it little mind, pursuing the sight-scent with a single-minded hunger. 

It drew another breath through its jagged and chipped teeth, tasting the air, and lurched forward, already sensing the others of its kind congregating around the foreign invaders. Shuffling, trailing a clawed hand across the side of the truck, it leaned against the window, pressing its maddening face hard against the glass, hard enough to cause one of the sacks of putrescence adorning its face to rupture and smear across the window.





In her dreams, Rarity was fine. She was back home, a sketchbook in hand and reclined on her day bed upstairs. Downstairs, she could barely hear her sister and her friends playing. She sucked on the tip of her pencil before returning it to the paper, inspiration striking like lightning. But her lines went crooked, creating a jagged scar over her creation’s beginnings, as a terrible screech echoed from downstairs. The world went dark, seeming to fade, the false reality bending but not broken yet.

“Sweetie,” she cried, annoyed. “You and your friends better not be messing up my shop!”

There was no answer but a dull thud and a sickeningly loud plop as she opened her eyes… revealing a bloated and inhuman face staring at her through the window.

She screamed.

Jack snapped awake at the sound, pinwheeling her arms so suddenly and aggressively that she hit her window and slapped Rarity’s shoulder.

“Rare!” Jack barked, turning to face the tailor. “What—”

Her words died instantly on seeing what stood behind the tailor, across the glass of the window.

“Oh Jesus!” Jack barked out, recoiling in horror at the abomination. “What the fuck?!”

“What the hell is that Jack—oh God it’s so disgusting!” Rarity cried, pushing and kicking away from the window, slamming against Jack.

“I don’t know!” Jack shot back. “Rare! I—”

A scream came from outside; Jack turned her head and watched in blank horror as a beast like the one looking at them stared down at Spike and Francis, who stood between Spike and the creature, an arm protectively guarding the boy.

“Spike!” Jack bellowed. “Oh, what the, what the,” she babbled out, close to throwing up and feeling a part of her mind leaving her for every moment she observed the abominations.

Rarity grabbed the farmer’s arm, shaking her profusely as she wailed and cried. Though she tried to speak, nothing came out but whimpering sobs or mindless squeals. They were trapped, trapped and couldn’t get away. Why couldn’t they get away!? Away from those… those… things!

“Wake up!” she finally yelled. “Wake up-wake up-wake up!”

Jack took in another panicked breath. Rarity’s pleas finally called her to action and she felt behind her for the door.

“Rarity. Rarity, listen to me,” Jack instructed, looking outside as Francis grabbed Spike and made a mad dash for the bike, narrowly dodging one of the creatures leaping after them. He almost made it to the bike before one pounced on him, tackling him to the ground. It grasped Spike’s leg and yanked it, causing the boy to yell in agony as he was pulled from Francis’ grip.

Francis crawled away, breathing heavily as he made it to his motorcycle, he felt in the small satchel at the back as Spike was being dragged away, the boy’s screams piercing Jack’s eardrums so painfully that she winced. 

“Rarity!” Jack roared, aware she was crying and had, she was ashamed to realize, peed her pants in raw, uncomprehending terror at the creatures, at Spike, at everything before them. “Listen, Goddamnit!”

Her cries were met with deaf ears, her voice lost to the sheer terror the woman was going through. But then, in her wild thrashings, she saw the attack outside. Like a knife, it cut straight through her broken thoughts and shined like a torch through the darkness. Spike was in trouble.

She blinked, her head pounding, forcing her eyes down to not catch sight of the creatures again. “J-Jack, we’ve… we’ve got to help them!”

Francis had risen from searching through his supplies and held a pistol in his hand. Jack noticed that his leg was wounded. Blood dripped down his slacks from three lines into his flesh, a claw, no doubt. Spotting the fading silhouette of Spike; he gave chase after the boy, running as best he could with his wound. The beast that had pressed himself against their window gave chase after Francis, forgetting them.

“How? How the fuck do we help ‘em without anythin’?!” Jack replied, wiping at the sweat positively caking her forehead.

“You’re always talking about hunting or whatever, are you telling me you don’t even have a gun in this truck?! What kind of farmer are you?”

“The kind that keeps her guns in the Goddamn cabinet at the house!” Jack replied, slamming a fist into the driver’s wheel. It let out a sharp beep that echoed across the fields as loudly as a gunshot

Jack’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” she said under her breath. 

The creatures turned their heads towards the noise and approached, scampering about on their hands and knees, crawling towards the noise. There were a lot of them, more seemingly appearing every second. Big, bloated ones with the boils, and thin, wispy ones that looked like squatting human skeletons, phasing in and out of the darkness as if they couldn't stay corporeal.

Rarity wailed. “Great, just fucking great, Jack! Any more bright ideas?” 

“Fuck off!” Jack barked back. She took in a breath, close to hyperventilating. “Noise,” she said to herself. “Rare. I want ya ta be ready ta run when I say so, alright? Jus’ fuckin’ book it, get the hell outta here.”

“Whatever it is, do it fast!” she cried as one of the things slammed its fist into the window, sending cracks all throughout it.

Jack turned the keys in the ignition; the truck fired to life with a roar. From the radio, Johnny Cash once again began to speak of the beautiful shores that they’d meet on, in the sweet by and by.

She shifted to reverse and gunned it, throwing them backwards. Jack drove, her head turned, her arm thrown over the seat of the truck as she steered. She twisted the wheel, narrowly dodging one of the beasts, and then, once they made it on the road, she spun it, twisting the truck completely around with a squeal of the wheels.

Seeing that they were, briefly, away from the beasts, Jack turned to Rarity.

“Get out!” she barked. “Get out now!”

The tailor complied, throwing the door open and slamming it behind her before her feet even touched the ground. She looked behind her, quickly, then turned away from the oncoming monsters and ran for all she was worth. Part of her hated it, but a deep-seated feeling of dread pushed her away from the unnatural things. She had to get away, no matter what.

Jack watched Rarity go and opened the glove box, pulling out a set of flares and a small hunting knife.

Next time, get the damn gun in here, she chastised herself, her hands trembling as she pocketed the knife and flares. She might need them if she were to find anyone after this.

If they’re not dead, Jack thought, her heart beating so hard in her chest she was getting nauseous. She pressed down on the horn for all it was worth, hoping, praying that it’d be enough to distract the creatures from Rarity, then she revved up the truck, putting her pedal to the metal. The truck roared to life and started to speed up. Once it reached 40 mph, Jack threw open the truck’s door and leapt out, landing on the gravel to the side of the road, her left arm and shoulder taking the brunt.

The truck continued on a beeline, sputtering and spitting all down the way. Before it dropped its speed, it collided with one of the very last cars they had cleared off the road before they had set up camp. The noise of metal meeting metal made Jack’s teeth clench involuntarily and she rose, clutching at the arm she landed on. She only had a vague idea of where Rarity had ran off to and as she sprinted for everything she was worth towards where she thought the tailor’s path had taken her, she hoped she’d be right on the money.





The loud crash behind her almost halted Rarity in her tracks, but she shook off the fear and kept going, looking for a place to hide until Jack came for her. That was when she remembered: those things had taken Spike, hadn’t they?

But Francis, thankfully armed, had gone after him, she recalled. She told herself to remember to thank him proper when they got away from those…

Monstrosities.

In all her years, Rarity had never even heard of things like these. Just thinking about them hurt her head and made her heart beat even faster with fear. Her lungs began to burn; her legs too. While she was in fine enough shape, she had no lengthy experience with physical exertion, and her stamina was running out fast.

It was then she noticed the ground began to slope up, becoming somewhat rocky and hard to traverse. She slowed, but was thankful. Surely those monsters were far behind, and Jack would be able to see her more easily on a hill. Topping the rise easily, she turned and grabbed her thighs as she bent over, breathing deeply to catch her breath.

Standing back up, she looked but saw nothing in the dark. Worse, she heard nothing. No truck, no voices, and—thankfully—no cries of pain or fear. She wondered if she should call out.

Then the decision was made for her as she heard the crunch of rocks from behind. She turned, the relieved smile on her face quickly twisting into a grimace of disbelief. Three of the skinny monstrosities were coming up the hill, running on all fours and far faster than she’d seen anything run before.

Rarity turned, trying to get away, but caught her foot against the ground and fell. Pushing herself away, she looked at her inevitable death, knowing it was far too late. More were coming up behind her, slinking in the dark as if they were a part of it. A black, grotesque hand rose from one and crept towards her, twisted bone fingernails ready to claw and tear.

Jack caught sight of the tailor climbing atop the slope. She wanted to cry out in relief on seeing the woman, but kept silent, fearful that the creatures would hear her once again. Instead, she wordlessly began a trek up the side of the slope, over large rocks and jagged shrubbery. Jack froze when she heard shuffling amid the plantation.

One of the creatures shot out ten feet in front of her, its speed so jarring compared to their earlier pace that she nearly swore out loud. But it paid her no mind, instead turning away from Jack and sprinting. Realizing what, or rather, who the beast was after, dread knotted her stomach so suddenly and instantly that it was like a stone had been dropped into water.

To her, there was no other choice. Even if the thought of the things terrified her on a level she couldn’t even describe to someone, it was either save Rarity or die. She had already lost Spike, had probably lost Francis as well. If she lost her too...

Gritting her teeth, Jack charged forward, pulling out the knife at her side. In an attempt to draw their attention away from Rarity, she snapped a flare, erupting the nearby grass in a red, sparkling glow, briefly reminding Jack of fireworks she used to light as a child.

One of the creatures turned to face Jack; the flare seemed to dim for a brief instant, before roaring to life, brighter and more vibrant than any flare the farmer had ever seen. The creature covered its face, howling at the light and, before Jack’s eyes, parts of it seemed to burn and flake right off, stripping it as if the flames of hell itself were swallowing the creature. Driven on by blind instinct, Jack swung the knife at it. It sliced through flesh and bone like the beast was made of butter. Clutching at its ruined chest, it shrieked; snapping the others away from Rarity as they looked on, horrified on some instinctive level at the fire in Jack’s hand and the fire she held in her soul at that moment while she charged forward. They scattered like roaches from the light, some running on all fours, others putting their grotesque faces deep in the crooks of their elbows to hide away from the flare—one was too slow for either, and it watched Jack approach and snap her foot forward, kicking it to the ground. The flare seemed to finally give up the ghost after the last assault; it sputtered and seized, light from it only a dim ebb of what a normal flare would make. 

Jack knelt down, taking quick stock of Rarity, making sure there wasn’t any apparent injuries. Hoisting her up with one hand, Jack risked a glance behind her. More creatures peered at her cautiously from the shadows, slowly fanning out in an attempt to snare her and Rarity, but not making a move quite yet. The flare, and the firemaker Jack seemed to be, made them cautious on the same level a dog feared a rolled-up newspaper.

“Come on, come on!” Jack called out in a barking order, slapping Rarity’s back to try and motivate her, unsure where they were going, but knowing it had to be better than here. “Move yer ass!”

The tailor opened her eyes but looked at nothing. She was shivering, her hands gripping her arms tightly. “I’m sorry, miss, but the Boutique is closed,” she said through chattering teeth.

“Goddamnit!” Jack spat. She clutched tightly at the woman, dragging her along as best she could and searching for something, anything they could duck behind to break the creatures’ line of sight. 

There, in the distance and further up the hill, Jack spotted a barn. It wouldn’t be worth much, but it was better than nothing; maybe they could at least buy a scant few minutes, maybe Jack could have just a second to think. “Rare!” she desperately cried out, backhanding the girl’s cheek to try and snap her out of her daze.

Rarity’s brows made a fine V as she glared at Jack. “Jack Apple, how dare you!”

Jack glared daggers at Rarity. “They’re gonna do a lot worse if ya don’t help me run, ya damn cow! I ain’t carryin’ ya all the way!”

“What are you…?” she began, but then she turned and saw the things, now conquering their fear in the presence of the two women, two succulent victims awaiting their claws and so vulnerable to their jaws. Pulling out of Jack’s arms, Rarity began running for the barn. “Move your ass, Jack—hurry!”

They sprinted through the fields and up a slightly steeper incline just before the barn; the morning-dew-slick grass under Jack’s feet made her fall, landing hard on her chest. When Rarity turned to pick her up, Jack pointed towards the barn.

“Get the thing open!” Jack called out, already pushing up to a stand. She took a step forward and hissed. Her ankle was twisted, she could tell the instant she tried to put weight on it.

Rarity was already pulling up the wooden bar holding the doors closed, slamming her shoulder into the door to push it open. She turned. “Jack! Look out!”

One of the creatures had caught up to them; Jack whipped around as it leapt, knocking her forward into the barn. She gripped its wrists, like thin branches in her hands, struggling against it as it kicked wildly in her grip. Jack snapped her head forward, headbutting it once, twice, three times before flipping it over. She turned both hands to the sides sharply, breaking both wrists like they were toothpicks. The creature barked shortly at the pain, and redoubled its efforts to be free.

“Shut it behind us!” Jack managed to pant out to Rarity in her struggle, adrenaline briefly granting her the advantage against the monster. Twisting and turning she managed to bring a foot up to its chest, then moving her weight, she pressed down on its neck with her injured foot. Pain shot up all the way to her kneecap as it writhed, but they were rewarded by the gagging noises it made under her.

“Fuck you!” Jack screamed, stamping at its throat with every ounce of strength she had, until all that came from it was a single, whimpering croak that soon died off as well. But already she felt herself being pulled, Rarity gripping her arm tight and leaning back, spilling them into the barn. With a well placed kick, Rarity shut one of the doors, then scrambled up and shut the other, putting the wooden bar into place.

“Go to hell, you monsters!” Then, with practiced poise, she slid her fingers through her hair, straightening it some, and dusted at her clothes. She leaned over, throwing Jack a hand, and hauled her to her feet. “We’re safe here, right, Jack?”

The door behind them shook as something on the other side impacted against it; dust rained down from the overhang above them. Wasting no time, Jack looked across the room and spotted a ladder. “Rare,” she managed to say, pointing to it with a trembling hand. “Up top. We gotta go up top.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she replied, managing to stay calm now that the beasts weren’t in sight.

They made their way across the barn and climbed upstairs. It was a dusty hayloft; a window at the far end was cracked open, with a variety of empty beer bottles and cans scattered around, as well as the faint glimmer of used needles. A pitchfork stood nearby, erect and embedded deep into a square bale. 

Below them, something impacted against the door; Jack pointed to the far end of the loft and put a finger to her lips. Rarity nodded, then placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. She pointed at the pitchfork with a questioning look. Jack nodded, taking the pitchfork and handing Rarity her knife. Then, after a beat, she gave Rarity her last flare. Leaning forward, Jack cupped her mouth directly by Rarity’s ear.

“Flares scare ‘em,” she half whispered, half mouthed, then pulled away, putting a finger to her lips once more to Rarity, who nodded yet again after an almost comically noticeable swallow.

Below, it sounded like the door finally busted down with a heavy crack. Slow, methodical footsteps across the packed earth echoed through the barn. Holding up the knife, Rarity jerked her head and slowly moved towards the window. She took each step carefully, terrified of a single misstep or creaky floorboard.

The seconds stretched out, every breath they took seemed like it might be their last, every exhale terrified Jack, afraid that somehow the noise would reveal them to the creatures. 

There came a noise from the ladder. A single, inquisitive tap on its bottom rung. Jack rose to a half-crouch and moved forward, the pitchfork poised like a spear, ready to be embedded into whatever came up. Once again the seconds stretched out. One minute passed. Two. Jack’s muscles cramped as she held the pitchfork like a vise. Looking back to Rarity, she grimaced, then risked a look below.

Darkness and the lonely carpet of moonlight from the open door. Nothing more. She sank down to her stomach and flipped her head over the overhang, looking towards the door.

They were gone.

She felt like she was going to vomit with relief, but to check one more spot before she got careless, she pointed to Rarity, then at the window.

Raising the knife in a white-knuckle grip, Rarity approached the window just as slowly as before. She sidled to the wall, leaning tight against it as she inched to the sill. Carefully, she leaned her head towards it and peered outside. Here too, thankfully, was clear. She waved a hand to Jack and the farmer instantly came over, all but collapsing onto the hard haybale.

“Rare…” she breathed out, whatever strength she had left from her adrenaline high rapidly fading. “Jesus. Oh God in Heaven, Rare. What… what were those?”

Quickly, Rarity recognized that Jack was experiencing what she had only just gotten over—gotten over? Even now, if her mind wandered—She shook her head hard. The images were still fresh, but kept at bay. And Jack needed her.

Ignoring caution just a bit, she moved quickly over to Jack, saying, “I don’t know, Jack, all I know is you got us out of there. We’re safe, alright? I don’t think they can climb...”

“Climbed after ya on that hill jus’ fine. What if they… they could jus’ be waitin’, waitin’ us out. Shit, Rare.” She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, just for a moment, trying to calm herself. “I… what if we’re jus’ trapped rats?”

“You know that’s not true, so don’t start lying to yourself now.” Rarity put her hands on her hips, giving the farmer a stern glare. “We are not rats, we are intelligent, strong, and resourceful. So breathe, Jack, and calm down. Those...things are wrong, and we both know it, but we have to get over that now!” She grinned, forcing the expression as best she could. “Or do I get to slap some sense into you, now?”

Jack let out a single weak laugh. “Would it make ya feel better?” Her expression died down seconds later. “Rare. Was there anythin’ we coulda done different fer ‘em?”

She didn’t have to ask what Jack meant. “I… don’t know, honestly. I… I…” She cursed under her breath. “We’re here now, Jack. We need to focus on this. We can guilt ourselves over a bottle or two later.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “God. He was jus’ a kid an’ he got dragged inta this mess. If he had jus’ been in the truck instead of me, maybe he woulda.” Shaking her head, Jack scowled. “I can’t think ‘bout it right now. I, I can’t.”

“So think about this instead: How do we get down without breaking a leg?”

“Do we head down now?” Jack asked, unsure where she stood on the issue. “Would waitin’ up here for mornin’ be better? Do we try ta put distance between them? What if they’re all over the damn place?” Looking helplessly to Rarity, she hoped the other would have an answer.

“You said they didn’t like the flare,” Rarity offered, “so maybe waiting until morning would be better… Can you help me pull the ladder up?”

She raised a brow. “Don’t think it’s that type of ladder. If it’s anythin’ like the one back home, it’s nailed in place.”

“Why else do you think I need your help?” Rarity said dryly. She offered the knife. “Look at the state of this place, surely we can push them loose with a little effort?”

“Oh. Uh…” She rose, moving to the ladder. “Alright. Guess that’s true.”

Taking the knife, she climbed downstairs and used it as a makeshift pry, popping the nails out of place then returning back up top, where she pulled out the top row of nails too. Rarity, for her part, gently pushed the doors closed again, although she found the locking bar completely broken. When they were both back up top and the nails pulled, they hefted the ladder up—cringing at the noise it made—and laid it on the loft floor.

“Well, that should suffice,” Rarity said, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “Now we wait.”


	




They drifted off into a fitful sleep, both too exhausted to even dwell on the horror of earlier. It was still dark outside when there came a creak from the door below. Jack had always been a light sleeper, so that, plus what they had dealt with earlier in the night, snapped her awake. Though groggy, she shook Rarity’s arm, then covered her mouth.

It was a wise move, as on instinct Rarity tried to scream. Her dreams had paled to the real thing, but nightmares had kept her nerves on edge. After a moment, she noticed Jack and stopped, her chest heaving with the effort of the attempt. Slowly, she moved the farmer’s hand. “What is it, Jack?” she whispered.

“Heard somethin’. Door. Might be another one.” Reaching over, Jack took her pitchfork and clenched it tightly in her hands. “I’ll drop down. Stay up here.”

Rarity hissed, “Don’t! Just stay!”

“Stay?” Jack repeated, “What if they get up here? What if they try ta hurt ya?”

“Basic logic,” she explained. “It’ll be easier to push them down, then fight surrounded. It’s why we moved the ladder!”

“Goddammit,” Jack swore under her breath. Rarity had a point, but she didn’t have to like that she had a point.

“Hush! Do you hear anything?”

From below there came a noise. Hushed, low. But after a moment Jack recognized it. Something like whispering.

“The… Those things, did they talk?” Rarity asked.

“I, uh, don’t think so.” Jack crept towards the edge and swallowed. She peaked down below and froze. “Rare,” she whispered out. “Holy shit.”

Worried that some new nightmare had come, the tailor wanted to stay right where she was, but instead she began moving closer, saying, breathlessly, “What is it?”

Jack let out an unbelieving laugh. “A fucking miracle,” she replied then, louder, exclaimed, “Boys!”

“What?!” cried Rarity as she scrambled over to the edge. 

There, looking a little rough for wear but very much alive, were Spike and Francis, closing the door and looking up at the girls.

“Francis! Spike! You’re alright! Oh, thank God…” Rarity said, tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s a miracle. Holy shit,” Jack repeated. “Get the ladder. Let’s get ‘em up here.”

As the pair slid the ladder over and held it steady, Rarity asked, “Are you two hurt? How did you get away? Can you forgive us for running away?”

“W-we thought you were dead,” Spike blurted out. “Those things t-tried to…”

“It’s okay,” Francis said. “You’re okay, son.”

“We lucked out,” Jack said, “did somethin’ stupid an’ it just happened ta pay off.”

“We were very much the same. Thankfully bullets managed to stop them, eventually,” Francis said as he watched Spike climb up the ladder. “Time at the shooting range paid off today.”

Spike quickly moved to Rarity’s side and hugged the woman tightly, barely holding back from crying.

“Yer alright, little guy,” Jack said, clapping his shoulder briefly before helping Francis up the last few rungs of the ladder. Once he was up, Jack lifted the object and put it beside them.

Rarity, her arms still tight around Spike, whispered more thanks and apologies. She turned to Francis, “And thank you, for bringing him back to us. Once again, I’m in your debt.”

“Why, anything for a lady as majestic as yourself,” he answered with a bow, letting out a hiss as he adjusted himself. Jack took a step forward; he waved her off.

“Just a bit sore. I fell pretty hard after I got Spike away from those things,” he explained, rubbing at his side. “I’m too old for this.”

“I think we’re all too old for...whatever this is,” Rarity said quietly. “But at least we’re safe, for now.”

“For now,” Francis agreed with a grim nod.

“Things seem ta hate light. Or at least flares. In the mornin’, maybe we’ll be safe,” Jack offered.

“Safer,” Francis replied. “I don’t want to call anywhere safe at the moment.”

“So do we just sleep here then?” Spike asked. Francis did his best to offer a brighter expression to the boy.

“Guess so. Kind of like camping.” Francis forced a chuckle out. “Though a bit too much hay for my liking, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Twila says she gets hay fever sometimes,” Spike said. “I hope I don’t.”

“I’m sure you won’t, my boy. Now I’d suggest you get some rest. Same goes to you, Jacqueline. There’s a brief matter I wish to discuss with Rarity, privately.”

Raising a brow, Jack shrugged. “Well, alright. Give me a poke if ya need me; ain’t like I’ll be noddin’ off any time soon.” So saying, she moved back under the window of the hayloft, giving a small, motherly squeeze to Spike as she sat next to him. 

Francis watched them briefly before sighing, looking very much like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Following his lead, Rarity moved to the other side of the loft, away from the pair. She raised a curious brow. “What could possibly need privacy at a time like this?”

He gave a weary shake of his head and rolled up his sleeve. At his wrist was a nick, like a tooth had scraped over the flesh and drawn blood.

“One of them bit me. Not deep, luckily, but, well, I’ve certain you’ve seen movies where this situation happens, yes?” He let out a click of his tongue. “Far from my favorite genre, personally. They’re all so overwrought.”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “Oh of all the things… Zombies, from you? Really?” She leaned forward, pulling his hand up to examine the wound closer.

“And I never expected to speak of creatures like we saw a few hours ago either, madam,” he answered promptly. “I know you’re the sort to plan your moves carefully: the quality of your tailoring can attest to that aspect of your personality. So, I wanted to inform someone that I knew wouldn’t overreact or jump to conclusions. Just as a precaution.”

“Fair enough,” she said levelly, letting go of his head. “It’s thankfully minor, and doesn’t seem to be infected or anything. Plus, I refuse to believe we’ve entered some cliche horror film.” She gave his shoulder a light slap. “So no changing into a horrendous monstrosity. There are few enough true gentlemen in the world for that to happen.”

“Well, I’ve said and done a few things today that make me question if I’m a gentleman, personally,” he said, somehow finding it in him to offer a weak laugh. Another silence came and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his pistol. “I have two bullets left,” Francis said, then looked over to Spike. “I’m simply saying this, not advocating it by any means, but if those creatures come and it looks hopeless… perhaps it might be better for the boy and yourself to take them. I’m not afraid of the way they’d kill me, but...” Shaking his head, he wryly smiled. “I shouldn’t think like that, like it’s inevitable that they’ll return. Forgive the ramblings of an old man, would you?”

“Ramblings, indeed!” Rarity huffed. “Don’t you dare mention such...such… utter nonsense again! We’re going to get through this, together. All of us. And the first step to seeing that through is by not losing hope.” She turned away. “It’s not going to get any easier, I just know it won’t. But if we start off by shooting ourselves in the foot then…” She shook her head, the events leading to this moment catching up, making her words difficult to accept. “We’re still here, still alive. That means something, doesn’t it? Something we’re not just supposed to throw away at the first sign of trouble.”

“I hope you’re right. I just… if it were men hunting us down it’d be one thing, but…” He gestured out the window at the empty fields. “Tell me that’s not something out of a children’s story. It’s only natural I’m a bit unnerved, my dear.” Waving his hand to brush the thought away, he swallowed. “Well, I suppose we need a watch just in case. I’ll take first, preferably.”

“I would say you should rest, but seeing as I’m used to staying up late, I think it would be prudent for me to take the late shift.” She stepped forward and embraced him warmly for a moment before turning for the other side of the loft. “Make sure to wake me in a few hours, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Nothing to it.”

Rarity nodded and took her time finding a comfortable spot. After a moment’s thought, she decided to make a place beside Spike, laying with her back to his. 

Though she thought she’d never sleep, it did come, the warmth and life of the friend beside her bringing her some comfort. With it came dreamless relief, her exhaustion pushing the nightmares out of her head. For tonight, at the least.
> Happy Valley Living
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack was the last one on watch, which suited her just fine. It was right around the time she got up in the morning anyway, so it didn’t phase her much. Watching outside the window as the sun rose, she briefly felt like the whole last few days had been nothing more than a damn dream. Then she gripped Francis’ pistol in her palm and was woken up into another nightmare. She looked over at the group, all sprawled out, all looking distant from their troubles. She hated waking them, but decided to bite the bullet and reached forward, shaking Rarity’s shoulder.

“Rare,” Jack spoke in a half-whisper, trying for once not to startle the tailor awake.

Though they could probably spare an hour or so before getting everyone up, the quiet was getting to Jack. Having someone’s presence at the ready was something that’d do a lot of good. She had just about given up on Rarity when the tailor shifted, letting out a displeased groan.

Shuffling around, Rarity tried to find comfort yet again, but felt nothing but straw poking through her clothes. Finally turning to her back, she opened both eyes slowly, grimacing as she became somewhat awake. “I forgot about this part,” she grumbled. “It seems like just a few minutes ago I was waking you, Jack.” She yawned and rubbed at her eyes.

“How the tables have turned,” Jack said. Rarity rubbing her eyes made Jack subconsciously reach up, running a thumb over her nose. “Ya alright?”

“I’d be better with a shower, fresh clothes, morning tea and”—here her stomach rumbled—“breakfast. But I shan’t complain as long as it’s safe.”

“I know what ya mean ‘bout a shower,” Jack agreed. “I’d kill fer one too.” She glanced out of the window. “Maybe they’ll have a garden hose ‘round the barn. Could use that,” she suggested with a bit of a joking smile. “It’d wake ya up quick enough.”

Jolting upright, Rarity quickly said, “I’m awake, I’m awake…” She stood, wiping straw from her clothes. Carefully, she reached down the front of her shirt, removing an especially annoying piece. “While a bit more comfortable than expected, the downsides to a straw bed are obvious. Let’s not do this again, yes?”

“Well, I’m more of a mattress gal myself, no matter how often I heard tha phrase ‘roll in the hay’ thrown my way,” Jack agreed. After a beat she snorted and reached forward, plucking a long strand of hay from Rarity’s hair.

“Thank you,” the tailor said stiffly. “Well, let’s wake the boys and be off, then perhaps we won’t have to resort to a hose.”

They rose the two easily enough and left the barn. Francis looked between the three and crossed his arms.

“I suppose a walk to our vehicles is in order,” he said. Jack rubbed the back of her neck.

“Well, ya’d think that, but the truck didn’t make it last night,” the farmer muttered out.

“You had a wreck?” Spike asked, surprised. “But you’re a great driver.”

“Did it on purpose. Was the only way I could think of ta get those damn things offa me.”

“Believe me, darling, there was little choice,” Rarity added. Then she frowned. “Does this mean what I fear it means?”

“Well, I’m afraid so. Is there anything that’s salvageable from the truck? Clothing, ammunition, provisions?” Francis asked, then looked down at Rarity’s feet. “Non-heeled shoes?”

“No ammo, no,” Jack said. “Though I know Rarity did have some clothes with her, I think that’d include shoes.” She raised a brow at the woman in question. “Right?”

Dejectedly, Rarity replied, “Yes… Let it not be said I always put form above function.”

“Well, any function in your presence becomes form too, my dear,” Francis said with a warm smile, raising a finger up to empathize his position. “Very few can have their cake and eat it too, you should consider yourself lucky!”

“We should consider ourselves lucky if she don’t complain every step of the way,” Jack mumbled out.

“I heard that, Jack Apple!”

It took them some time, but they made it back to their improvised campground from last night. The grounds had been ransacked by the creatures, torn cloth and bags lay shredded on the ground. Francis’ bike was tipped over, the contents of a satchel on the back spilled out and littering the ground. 

“Well!” Francis said, clapping his hands together. “We shouldn’t dally. Time is short, after all. Gather everything you’d feel comfortable carrying on a long hike. Ladies, I’ll leave you to gathering what you find from the truck, wherever it is. Spike is going to help me strip the motorcycle for anything that may assist us.”

“Ya could jus’ drive you an’ the boy farther ahead instead, Francis,” Jack said, raising a brow. Francis quickly shook his head.

“Nonsense. A man does not leave a woman twisting in the breeze. Besides, while I’m sure you’re familiar with some travel, I was a bit of an outdoorsman in my day. I feel like I could be some use to you.”

“Well, you’ve been a great help already. But, sure. Might be fer the best.”

“Seconded,” agreed Rarity as she looked about. “I forget, Jack, which way is the truck? Last night was… hazy, to say the least.”

“I wish it was a bit more hazy. I wish we could jus’ drink ‘til it was a blur.” She pointed west down the road they came from yesterday and started walking. “When we get ta the capital, I think I’m gonna do jus’ that. Crawl in a bottle an’ shut off the lights.”

Rarity said, “I’m split on agreeing with you and scolding you. We all need our escapes, I suppose. Especially from this.”

“Well, let me know if ya want in the bottle too, there might be enough room fer one more.” Jack focused on the road in front of them. That was all she could do right now, distance herself from everything she could in a very real sense. The thought of last night, of being out there with… everything that had happened left a cold pit in the center of her stomach, and the thought of it happening again tonight made her entire body tense up.

“Thanks,” Jack said quietly, not looking towards the tailor. “I’m glad yer around. If I had been alone through this… well, I dunno.”

“You’d worry yourself into the deepest rut,” Rarity said, somewhat smugly. “Think nothing of it, Jack. You’ll keep us alive, but I’ll keep our spirits high as they can, alright?”

“Sure, sug. We’ll try that.”

They made their way to the truck. It lay as Jack left it last night: smashed hard against another car, it's frame bowed in hard and in no shape to drive.

“Well, at least Pa ain’t around ta see his truck like this,” Jack said, sighing as she looked over the wreck. “He woulda grounded me until I was thirty.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear. It’s served well, hasn’t it?”

“Did it's tour of duty an’ then some.” She cocked a thumb to the bed. “Let’s grab what we need—what we need,” she stressed.

With the roll of her eyes, Rarity replied, “Fine, fine.”

After a moment of digging, Jack gathered what she needed, namely a set of fresh clothes to change into, a compass, a small fire starting kit—girl scouts was finally paying off—and, lastly, some hygiene products. She wasn’t a high maintenance girl, but there were just a few things she felt like she needed on the road. Satisfied with her packing, she looked over to Rarity.

“How’s it comin’ along?” Jack asked, doing a once-over to make sure she was good to go and then hesitantly ejecting the Cash tape from the cassette player, pocketing it.

“I’ve all the essentials, I think,” Rarity said, looking over at the small—much smaller than she wished—pile behind her. “But drat it all, my eyeliner seems to have spilled over everything. And I really can’t decide: Do I take the simple but classic skirt and leggings, or the more casual pants? They don’t really match with my traveling shoes…”

“Your ‘travelin’ shoes’ better not be heels. An’ a skirt won’t do ya no good if a stiff breeze catches ya, wear pants. Think practical fer once in yer life, Rare,” Jack bemoaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Did ya even pack anythin’ we can use?”

“I’m not an idiot, Jack, of course they’re not heels.” Rarity huffed. “And of course! Though it may not seem obvious to you. I’ve a small sewing kit, a few rolls of cloth I could never leave behind, some thicker thread and the needle for it… A few pins and spare needles, regular-sized those, a small flashlight… A few other bits and bobs and whatever seemed like it might be useful.”

“That’s better than I’d expect from ya. No offense.” Jack tapped the frame of the truck. “I’m gonna change real quick, then I guess we can head.”

“Just you stay on your side of the truck, and I’ll change as well.”

Jack gave a small, toothy grin Rarity’s way. “Stay on my end? Ya afraid I’ll sneak a peek or somethin’?”

“I’m already changing in the wilderness, for God’s sake. Blame me for wanting what privacy I can get…” She trailed off, her voice muffled by the changing of her shirt.

“Can’t say I’m enjoyin’ it either,” Jack agreed, stripping off her pants and tossing them to the side. “Jus’ better hope ya don’t have ta take a piss while we’re out an’ about.”

“You’re really the worst, Jack Apple.” Rarity sighed. “But it won’t be the first time, I suppose.”

Jack snorted, slipping on a pair of boxers. “You’ve done that before? Really?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Miss prim an’ proper herself? Should I even ask when that happened?”

“Oh that’s right, you weren’t there.” Rarity gave a small smile, happier days and pleasant memories warming her despite the autumn chill. “I’m sure I must’ve at least mentioned that camping trip, with Dash and the girls?”

Jack looked over, putting a fist to a palm in realization.“Oh! That one where I was off down in Bower City with the family, right?” After a beat, she started tugging on her jeans. “Yeah, I think Chylene mentioned it ta me the day I got home.”

“It was something else,” Rarity remarked, dragging on the thicker, but slightly tight pants she had grabbed more as an afterthought. Why wasn’t I aware my winter wardrobe was in such a need for an update? she thought glumly. Finally, pulling the stubborn pants in place, she took a careful seat on the grass and began lacing up the shoes. “But the girls had such a good time, it was more than worth it. So worry not, Jack, I’m not a complete stranger to this sort of thing.”

“Jus’ full-a surprises, ain’t ya?” Jack questioned. From the other side of the truck, Rarity heard a complaint of “Fuckin’ bras,” muttered under her breath, and then a moment later, Jack moved into sight, rolling a shirt down over her abs, a plaid button-up tied off at her waist. Giving a look over Rarity, Jack nodded in approval.

“See? Francis was right, ya do form an’ function good, sug. No need ta hem an’ haw over all-a that shit like ya did earlier. I’m sure pants that tight lookin’ are crazy popular in the city, an’ yer keepin’ warmer. Win-win.”


	




They took to hiking not long after reuniting. Francis in the lead, Spike, Jack, then Rarity bringing up the rear. They had gone off-road at Francis’ suggestion: the map he carried showed that the road meandered and twisted through the woods and foliage a few miles up ahead. By simply crossing the dense woods and traveling ‘the way the crow flies,’ as Jack said, they could shave easy hours off of the trip. And with only until dusk to find a location to bed down, every hour saved was important. 

It was about two hours into their impromptu march that Spike spoke up.

“Are we there yet?”

It was a question that was asked by every child at least once on a road trip and Jack sighed, rolling her eyes from habit.

“Do ya see buildings?” she questioned.

“No.”

“Then we ain’t there yet.”

“But my feet hurt,” he complained.

“I know it’s not pleasant, my boy, but a few more klicks onward and we’ll be able to rest for a spell, is that fine?” Francis asked patiently. “There’s a little stream where we can get some water.”

“Okay,” he quietly agreed. They shuffled through the woods for a while longer before Spike spoke again. “Have you ever watched any of those unsolvable mystery shows?”

“A time or two. Mac ate ‘em up,” Jack said.

“There was one I saw on missing people. They would go hiking in the woods and just vanish.”

“Ain’t sure if now’s the time fer that,” Jack said, looking past the boy and towards the path they walked. Spike seemed to ignore this, instead continuing to talk.

“People vanish a lot. There’s over five-hundred missing people every year. Do you think maybe…?”

“It’s a hell of a lot more than five-hundred gone—”

“What if we’re the ones that vanished?!” he blurted out. “What if we’re the ones that are gone?!”

“Does it make a difference?” Jack asked, gritting her teeth. She was angry at the boy inexplicably; maybe it was because he poked a wound that had just started to faintly heal, maybe it was him blathering on about nothing, or maybe the bad fucking days had caught up. But she caught herself, swallowing and calming herself down before continuing. “Thinking too hard on that can be bad, sugar. All we need ta think about is that we’re gonna get ya to the capital. Okay?”

“Indeed. Focus on the objective, the rest can wait,” Francis agreed cheerfully, though his eyes were hardened slits as he scanned the way before them, almost seeming to dare anything to show up at the moment. “And right now that objective is to make it to the stream. Hiking is thirsty work, after all.”

“Really thirsty work,” Spike agreed. Jack reached forward, ruffling his hair.

“So is talkin’ up a storm,” she said, “so maybe cut back on the ‘are we there yet’ stuff, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay, Jack!” he said, pushing away her hand, though not entirely unappreciative. He turned, saying, “Hey, I think Rarity fell behind.”

Jack opened her mouth to respond, but then the three saw the tailor pass around a tree. When she approached them, they could see her face set in a stern mask. She looked to Jack, her face cracking into a pained scowl. “Well? Are we there yet?”

The farmer’s brow twitched and she turned, wordlessly walking away.







It was a few hours before dusk when they stumbled into a ramshackle trailer park nestled in the lowlands of the woods. A sign next to a lonely dirt road leading towards the main path proclaimed this to be ‘Happy Valley Living’. As they watched it from the edge of the woods, Francis looked towards the group.

“Well, it’s surely quaint. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

“That seems a bit of an understatement,” Rarity said. “I could certainly offer more poignant descriptions, none of them pleasant.”

“I’m sure it’s a nice lil’ place,” Jack offered, then added under her breath, “fer meth dealers. What?”

“Nothing,” Rarity said quickly, hiding her smile at Jack’s remark. “Regardless of its appeal, it may be a Godsend. I’m sure we can scrounge some useful things, not to mention we may find a clean bed… and a shower!”

“An’ a place ta keep safe from those… whatever ya wanna call ‘em,” Jack added. “Since we made it through last night alive in that loft, I’m thinkin’ they hunt by sight. So we keep the blinds down an’ make sure we block the doors off, an, well, we hope fer the best, I guess.”

Looking through their options, they decided to pick one towards the center of the cluster of trailers. It looked less dilapidated than the others, with a moderately trimmed lawn and siding that had seen at least a new coat of matching paint. Approaching first, Jack reached the screen door and opened it, then knocked on the door leading proper into the trailer.

She paused for a beat then let out a weak laugh. “Sorry, habit,” she explained, opening the door and stepping inside.

It smelled of cigarettes, the scent seeming to waft from the brown plush carpet at her feet. To the left, underneath a set of venetian blinds, was a well-worn couch that sat gazing blindly at a television still broadcasting a blue screen. Farther on was a kitchen, separated from the living room by a counter loaded down with notes, photos and an ashtray. Past that was a hallway that Jack guessed went to a bedroom and maybe a laundry room.

“Well, it could use a good cleaning—or at least some air freshener—but I suppose it’ll suffice.” Rarity entered slowly, turning about and taking it in. “Do you think we could hazard some hot food?”

“Well, if we die we could at least die with a full stomach,” Jack agreed. “What’s on the menu?”

“Spike, be a dear and help me search this kitchen.”

“Okay,” he promptly agreed, following after her.

Francis meanwhile looked towards the door. He shut it, locked it, then went to the kitchen and took to fishing through the cabinet doors. After a few moments, a pleased ‘ah-ha!’ came from him and he returned with a roll of duct tape. He covered the small window at the door, sealing it off with the tape, then taping the venetian blinds to the frame of the windows.

“I suppose I’ll do the rest of the rooms,” he said. He moved past the kitchen and Jack watched him vanish down the hallway. She leaned on the counter, skimming over the pictures hung on the refrigerator. One was of a middle-aged man, his arms wrapped tight around the shoulder of an older fella. It didn’t take much to guess it was father and son. They were crouched behind a deer, beaming.

Not a bad buck, Jack thought absently. She clenched her teeth together and dropped her gaze to the counter. There were piles of bills addressed to a Douglas Ramirez. A folded newspaper sat underneath the ashtray, dated for the day before halloween. Next to it was a pack of Camels, crumpled and abused. Jack snorted and reached for one, putting it unlit into her mouth. She had given up smoking right about when she picked up drinking, but right now both seemed like damn fine options.

“Any lighters in there?” she asked the two in the kitchen.

Walking to the counter, Rarity picked one up and threw it to Jack. “I’d ask you to save me one, but with my holder at home… Just take it outside—this place reeks of smoke enough as it is.”

“Mmm,” Jack grunted out in agreement. Moving to the door, Jack tossed it open and stepped out.

Lighting up, Jack stared out at the sun. It was already starting to scrape the tops of the trees around the valley; wouldn’t be long at all until night came. A part of her wanted to wait out and watch the stars, but another part of her felt paranoid even being out this late. Who knew how soon those damn things would come? The four of them were lucky last night, but luck eventually ran out. Playing smart was the name of the game now, and being out here alone as night crept closer with every breath wasn’t smart.

Finishing up, Jack threw the smoke out into the dirt and walked back in, where the smell of dinner made her stomach groan so hard she nearly doubled over.

“He had some good stuff in the fridge!” Spike announced to Jack when she rounded the courner. “Steaks!”

“Nothing fresh, I’m afraid,” added Rarity. “Boxed macaroni and cheese, a can of peaches…” She made a face. “And more bags of pork rinds than could be considered sane.”

“Spicy or plain?” Jack asked with a raise of her brow. They looked at her and she shrugged. “That’s important information right there.”

“Uh, both? They’re in the cabinet above the microwave.”

Jack moved into the kitchen and opened the cabinet in question.

“Jesus,” Jack commented as she took in the sight. “That is a lot of pork rinds. Did this guy run a state fair in here or somethin’?”

“No idea, but you take your steak medium rare, right?”

“Medium rare, that’s right,” Jack agreed, a bit surprised she hit the hammer on the nail.

“I was pretty sure you had good taste,” Rarity replied, carefully checking two of the steaks. “Unlike Dash, who’ll take it burnt or not at all. That’s largely why I stopped taking her out to dinner, did you know; it was too depressing watching her ruin a good meal.”

“An’ what’s worse is that she drowns the damn stuff in sauce—it’s a steak, not a damn Chinese meal. Ya gotta let the meat speak for itself,” Jack readily agreed with a shake of her head. “Lord, that girl. Makes ya wonder about her.”

Lifting two of the steaks out of the pan and onto a plate, Rarity handed one to Jack. “Enjoy, darling.”

“Thanks, sug.”

“Oh, and you’ll be pleased enough: there’s nothing to drink but water and beer.” Rarity placed a finger to her cheek in thought. “Or spoiled milk, if you like.”

“I’m more a whiskey gal, but I reckon a beer’ll do good enough.”

“Can I have one?” Spike asked, looking hopefully towards Jack.

“Uh… ask Rarity,” the farmer instantly deflected. Spike turned his eyes towards the woman in question.

“I’m grown up enough for one,” he said earnestly.

Rarity smirked. “You won’t like it,” she warned him, “but yes, one will be alright.”

Reaching into the fridge, she brought out two beers, putting one in front of Jack, the other in front of Spike. As Jack popped both tops and took a drink, Spike followed suit, taking a sip.

“Well?” asked Rarity.

“Who the hell can drink this?” he asked, his face contorting to a look of absolute disgust. He pushed the can away from him and stuck his tongue out.

“She warned ya,” Jack said, casually taking another sip of the drink as Rarity tried—and failed—to stifle a giggle.

“Well,” she asked, “do you feel more like a man?”

“Being a man sucks if that’s what I have to look forward to,” he said. From behind came a laugh and Francis appeared from the hallway, nodding.

“It has its ups and downs,” he agreed. “But more ups.” Moving past the table, he put the duct tape up. “We should be secure enough, I’d believe, for a restful night.”

“Much obliged,” Jack said, cutting into her steak. Bringing it to her mouth she nodded appreciatively at its texture and flavor. “Good work on these, Rare,” she complemented through her full mouth. She was hungry enough that she wanted to wolf it down as quick as she could, but restrained herself, knowing it might be a while yet before she had something like this again.

“All that practice with Stephanie paid off, it seems.” Rarity cocked an eyebrow towards Jack. “But I would’ve thought you’d like to say grace, Jack?”

“Shit,” she said. Swallowing her mouthful she shut her eyes and put her palms in front of her, her expression turning more serious as she thought.

“Lord, thank ya fer the meal, bless it an’ let it nourish our bodies. Thank ya for everythin’ you’ve done when it comes ta keepin’ us safe.” There was a pause as Jack mulled her next words over. “What happened ta everyone hurts. But… if it’s yer plan, I, uh…” Shaking her head, she pressed on. “We’ll follow what you’ve laid out for us. Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” chorused the others. With that, they all dug in eagerly.

And for a little while, the terrors of the previous night were forgotten in the presence of a good meal and fine company. Old memories were shared and laughs filled the empty trailer as the last vestiges of the day fell below the horizon.

When the meal finally ended, the group dispersed. Spike took to watching some cartoon movie on the DVD player, with Francis halfway to asleep on the couch. Jack took a look at the laundry room, then followed after Rarity into the bedroom, where a bathroom sat tucked off one door past.

“I’m gonna guess you’ll want the shower first?” Jack questioned.

“Oh yes, please,” she replied eagerly. 

“Alright. Won’t fight ya over it. Jus’ leave some hot water for the rest of us, alright?”

“No promises,” Rarity said with a wink. She sauntered into the bathroom and Jack looked around the bedroom. Beside the two mattresses that served as a bed Jack noticed something tucked beside a nightstand. She almost threw herself onto it, and, as she grasped it in both her hands, she legitimately laughed out loud, tossing it onto the bed then checking the nightstand. Sure enough, when she threw open the thing a beautiful sight greeted her.

A box of shells. Ten of them. Rising, she went over to the bathroom door and slapped against it, her prize in hand. “Rare! Rare, you won’t believe what I jus’ found!”

There was a pause before her voice replied, “What? Is something wrong, Jack?” The sound of running water stopped. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Jack repeated with a chuckle. “Nah, sug, more like somethin’ great. Found ourselves a nice lil’ treat in the bedroom.”

“Oh. Well, good.” The water began again. Jack stood at the door for a moment before shaking her head.

“What? Jus’ ‘well, good?’ Ain’t even curious what I found?”

“Well, I am, but… Is it going to go anywhere until I’ve finished my shower?”

“I guess not,” the farmer admitted. “Nevermind.” After a beat, she added under her breath, “Dash woulda been excited ta see it. Woulda shot through that door, I bet.” Through, for the moment, with her complaining, she turned her attention back to her prize.

It was a beautifully oiled break-action shotgun, with a rosewood stock and hinges that snapped open and closed with precision that would have given her own gun collection back home a run for its money. She checked, then double-checked, to make sure the gun was empty before testing the hammer and trigger.

There was a small click as she squeezed and she smiled a bit, pleased at its lack of resistance.

“Yer house ain’t so hot, but ya knew how ta respect a gun,” Jack said out loud. The owner would never hear her, but she felt it still needed saying. Even if only to help alleviate a bit of the guilty conscious she had, knowing she was taking it without hesitation. It was different than taking things from the gas station—there was a bit more of a gravity to this in her eyes. The theft was a sort of point that there was no coming back from.

Sug, you’ve passed that line days ago, she told herself. Disappointed with herself, but accepting that as fact, she quickly stuffed the shells into her pockets and took to carrying the gun around, tucking it under her armpit as she took stock of the remainder of the room.

Nothing else jumped out at her, save for a few blankets they would probably want to use when they bedded down tonight. They sure weren’t all going to fit on the bed or sofa, that was for damn sure.

Finally she heard the water turn off and smiled a bit, looking forward to a shower herself—she really needed it after the past few days.

Jack let a small, derisive snort of laughter out. If she thought she needed one, then Rarity must have been going just about nuts. If that girl washed her hands and kept up appearances any harder, Jack would have been certain that she had some kind of disorder. But the fact Rarity was taking this all so well and holding together… it impressed Jack. Rarity was made of stronger stuff than first look suggested. In a way Jack had always known that, but knowing and seeing were two different things. Jack had said it before and she would say it again: that girl was full of surprises.

The bathroom door opened to reveal Rarity, a somewhat frayed towel wrapped tightly around her. The bit of cloth did its best, but was hardly sufficient covering for a woman as developed as Rarity. She had another wrapped above her head, tight, and a small bundle under her arms. She looked over at Jack, saying, “Well, I feel like a new woman. If you ignore some of the more questionable stains, it’s the best shower in all the world.”

“I’ll take stains. Though if I see a roach in there I’m gonna flip out,” Jack answered. Smiling, she held out the shotgun to Rarity. “Look at this, girl. Ain’t it somethin’? Was tucked away by the nightstand.”

“I’ll trust your expertise,” Rarity said, giving the gun a look over. “As far as my knowledge goes, if it works against those things, it’s a godsend.”

“Damn straight. I’ll take every advantage I can get over those sons of bitches.” Putting it onto the bed, she stretched her arms over her head. “Well, guess I’ll hit the shower myself. Shout if ya need anythin’.”

‘Hold on a moment,” she said, holding out a hand. “Go inside and then hand me your clothes.”

Pausing, Jack looked at her. “Uh, okay,” she said. “Ya ain’t gonna run off with ‘em, are ya?”

Rolling her eyes, Rarity replied, “Just as far as the washer. It might be the last chance we get, and we only have so many spares.” A thought hit her. “And I’ll be sure to keep the boys out.”

“Oh yeah. I don’t think they’re the type to peek, but I guess it never hurts,” Jack agreed. Entering the bathroom she was nearly knocked off her feet from a burst of warm humidity that sucked the air from her as she stripped down. Finished, she took a moment to wipe at her brow.

“Were ya tryin’ ta boil lobsters or somethin’ in here? Like a damn sauna,” Jack complained, turning and opening the door enough that her head could look through. She offered the stack to Rarity. “Shells for the gun are in my pants, don’t forget ta take ‘em out. And the cassette.”

“Yes, yes,” Rarity said absently, carefully grabbing the stack and balancing it with her own. “Enjoy, darling.”

“Thanks, sug. Appreciate it.” A pause came as Jack turned her gaze to the floor. “Hey, Rare?”

“Yes?”

“We’re gonna be alright,” Jack reassured. The tailor probably didn’t need to hear it, going by how she was managing, but maybe Jack did, and saying it out loud helped herself. “So jus’ keep that in mind, okay?”

Silence, then, with only the barest hint of a tremble, “Y-yeah. Thank you, Jack.” Then she turned towards the hall and the laundry room.

Jack stared at the door for a long moment, before turning her attention towards the shower.
> 486 Samson Way
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night passed by without further incident, though Jack was on pins and needles waiting for the hammer to fall the entire evening. There were a few noises outside; one close enough that Jack had loaded a shell in the shotgun and came close to firing, but the safety of the trailer prevailed. At the crack of dawn, the group started to at least stir a bit. Jack found a coffee maker and made some for everyone, Spike’s drowned in sugar and cream.

“You know,” Francis said as he came into the kitchen, looking well-kempt and refreshed despite the early hour. “If you ignore the end of the world outside, I’ve had worse wake-ups.”

Jack looked from the pot to the man. “Somethin’ like that,” the farmer quietly agreed, pouring one for herself. “Get some eggs an’ bacon an’ it’d be jus’ like home was before.”

Spike came next, the antithesis of Francis, his slouched over posture and slack hanging jaw a reminder of the fact they were starting early.

“Mmm,” he grunted out, collapsing onto a chair by the kitchen table.

“Well mornin’, sunshine,” Jack exclaimed. “Hope yer bright-eyed an’ bushy-tailed in a minute or two.”

“Yes, Spike,” Rarity said, walking in a moment later. “You’re normally such a morning person. I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

“Well, he was up fairly late watching something on television. I thought it might do the boy good to have some distraction for a moment or two,” Francis said, taking a sip from his cup.

“Ya damn couch potato,” Jack said affectionately. “Like yer sister an’ her books.”

“It was really cool. Was this show called Thunder—” he paused. “Dogs? No. Cats. Thundercats.”

“That show’s as old as I am, Jesus,” Jack commented with a raise of her brow as she took to her own cup of coffee. “Maybe even more towards Mac’s age.”

Looking around, Rarity asked, “Is that all we have? Coffee?”

“All I saw,” Jack agreed. “Unless ya want some gravy from that spoiled milk ya mentioned last night, or a beer.” She gave a mock look of excitement. “Oh, wait! How could I forget the pork rinds!” Shaking her head, Jack took another sip. “It’s a miracle this guy stocked up on this, even.”

“Tsk…” Rarity ignored the coffee and instead filled her mug with water from the tap. “I hope we have better luck in the capital.”

Jack finished off her cup then considered another. Deciding instead on a less orthodox choice, she reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer. “An’ here I thought ya drank coffee. Or can ya only stomach latte macchiatos?”

“I tend to avoid anything too basic,” Rarity explained. “I’m not really a fan of the taste, but there are ways to make it enjoyable.”

Jack took a drink of the beer and tilted her head. “It’s like steak: ya add too much an’ there’s no point in havin’ it.”

“Well, amongst certain circles…” Rarity huffed slightly. “It’s simply what’s done.”

“I never saw a need to alter coffee myself,” Francis said with a small raise of his shoulder. “If I wanted a hot chocolate I would have a hot chocolate. There’s no need to make coffee taste like that.”

“If certain circles jumped off a bridge, would you?” Spike asked, puffing out his chest in an attempt to look authoritative. Jack fought against the grin she held, but didn’t win; it burst open into a cheek-to-cheek smile at the boy. “You’re better than them, you don’t have to follow their lead.”

“Apparently not anymore,” Rarity agreed. She gave a small smile. “I’ve always preferred a good tea, myself. But water will do for now.” She drank deeply. “So shall we get going?”


	




After looking over the map, there came a realization: walking would suit them better than driving. The road continued with several twists and turns, and, with it being close to the capital, the traffic would have been choking. Getting a car through there would take up just as many hours as walking would. And time was their greatest enemy at the moment. 

Francis lead the way, scouting ahead, his older age doing nothing to slow him down. Jack minded the rear, clinging to the strap of the shotgun for dear life as they traveled. Between the two were Rarity and Spike, the woman keeping an eye on the boy, making sure he didn’t wander off or get into trouble. They took only one pause from their forced march, resting under an alcove of stone, and it was a quiet one. Spike nearly nodded off as they rested. Francis ran recon around the area and Jack had, between the trailer and now, sank into a quiet and curt mood, only speaking when necessary and obviously a thousand miles away from where they were now.

Time escaped from them with every footstep they took and when they finally broke free of the woods, it was a few hours before dusk. About thirty minutes later they came to a rise in the terrain. They climbed it and, past the interstate roads that twisted and rose like a long-dead snake across the sky, there was a massive field of houses and streets. The suburbs that sat outside the capital.

“Well, we could try to chance making it to the capital proper tonight, but I’m not sure that’s wise,” Francis offered. “We should commandeer a home instead.”

“I don’t want to be out here when those things are around,” Spike agreed with a quick nod.

Jack gave a small consenting nod, mulling something over as she stared at the ground.

“Penny for your thoughts, Jack? It’s a good idea, you know.” Rarity took a seat on a nearby stump, stretching out her legs.

“It’s…” Jack seemed to consider it, then crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’ll tell ya later. We should make tracks while we can. Take a minute ta limber up an’ we’ll rest proper in a house. Okay?”

“You won’t find me saying no to a quick break. I haven’t walked this much in...ever, I think.”

“Even back on the farm this wasn’t routine for me either. Ain’t like I walked the fence line every night or nothin’. Usually was enough ta make sure the cattle were fine in the field.” Jack sighed. “I can’t believe we left it. We had to, but, I miss it already. Miss tendin’ the farm, miss picking up Alice from school, I even miss when you’d twist my arm an’ you me an’ the girls would eat at that one upper crust place in town, uh...” She snapped her fingers, trying to drum up the name from her memory. “L’atmosphere?”

“Not the best name, as I recall, but not a bad place either,” Rarity said, nodding her head. She let out a small sigh. “There’s more than enough to miss, I’m afraid. Will I ever see my boutique again? Is… Oh God. Is what I love doing even relevant anymore? I hadn’t even thought…” She shook her head fiercely. “No, not the time to think on that.” Looking to Jack, she added, “And that goes for you too! We can brood on what’s behind us when we’re safe.”

“I’ll try. I’ll try, sug,” Jack answered, her frown deepening before becoming neutral once more. She offered her hand down to the tailor. “Yer right. We don’t have time ta think on it. We gotta move.”

Taking the proffered hand, Rarity rose with a cheerful, “Lead the way, Ms. Apple—we’re counting on you!”

They had their choice out of the litter, and they picked an unassuming house just a few blocks into the suburbs. It was fairly fortified, with windows that had heavy curtains and a door that only had a single sheet of glass, so it was more tempting than a lot of the others with massive windows and inviting glass doors. Jack tried the door and frowned. Locked. Just as she rose a foot up to kick at it, Spike took a step forward and bent down, picking up a garden gnome. He fished around its feet until he let out a small “ah-ha!” Holding a key up, he went to the door and unlocked it, gesturing inside.

“Clever little devil,” Jack commented.

“Twila has her spare key under a turtle statue outside.”

With a tousle of Spike’s hair, Rarity said, “I thought it was a particularly tasteless decoration. Now at least I know why she insisted on keeping it.”

“...I bought that for her for her birthday,” Spike said under his breath.

They stepped inside and Francis reached over, turning on the lightswitch. Only it didn’t turn on any lights. He gave another experimental flick, but had no luck.

“Well, that had to happen sooner or later, I suppose,” he said. “Water might still work, at least.”

“...I don’t like this,” Rarity said quietly. “Thinking about staying in the dark, even inside.” She shivered.

“Maybe they’ll have lights?” Spike offered. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Or candles,” Jack offered. “Pretend you’re a thousand miles away an’ havin’ a candlelit dinner or somethin’.” She fumbled through the house a bit. “Gonna try and find the john. Back in a second.”

Spike looked to Rarity. “If they have Monopoly, we can pretend it’s just a power out. It might be fun.”

“I found some flashlights,” Francis announced from the other room. “Now at least we can—”

They were interrupted by a loud shriek from the other end of the house, followed by a “Fuck!”

“Jack!” cried Rarity as she immediately headed towards the cry, heedless of her lack of weapons. “Jack!”

The woman in question had stumbled back out from the bathroom, numbly fumbling at her belt. She stared into the darkness of the room, trembling. Without saying anything, she shut the door.

“Don’t go in there,” she warned.

Cocking an eyebrow, Rarity asked, “If it’s one of those things, we can’t just leave it!”

“It’s not,” Jack answered. “Rare, it’s…”

After a moment, comprehension dawned on the tailor’s face. “A...body?”

Jack’s expression fell hard at that. Swallowing, she managed a single nod. “A kid.” She brought a hand to her brow and grit her teeth. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered.

Rarity let out a small gasp. “Good heavens… We, we can’t let Spike see—” She swallowed hard. “We’ll need to...move it.”

“We should bury him. Jus’ out in the back or somethin’.”

“Agreed. Let me go tell Francis. He can keep Spike busy. Perhaps see if you can find a shovel?”

Jack mutely nodded, moving towards the front and going through a door at the side, which lead to the house’s garage. A bit of blind searching and she finally found a shovel. Taking it, she went through the house and dropped it by the back entrance, then doubled back, grabbing a blanket from a bedroom. After a moment of disgust and painful empathy for the child, she wrapped him in the blanket and took him out the back, uncaring at how close the night was coming.

She put him down gently on the ground, then took a few steps away, taking out a shovelful of dirt and piling it to the side. Jack realized with no small amount of anger at herself that she was crying. The kid was lying face-down in the tub, bloated from drowning; Jack guessed. Mom had went to check on lunch, answer the door, maybe pick up the phone, and that’s the last thing that happened. Mom was gone and he died alone. It was one thing for her to be going through this. She could take it, or at least try to. A toddler, barely past being a baby? How was that fair? How was it just? The thought that there could be hundreds, if not thousands of these children somewhere right now, the thought that Alice could be like that right now…

Wiping at her eyes, she felt her arms drop limply to her sides as she sucked in a breath, letting it out through teeth she clenched so hard they hurt.

The sound of sliding glass made her turn. There was Rarity, closing the door behind her. “I’ve told Francis and he’ll watch Spike for us, so let’s just…” She stopped after a few steps, bringing a hand to her mouth. With a hard swallow, Rarity forced herself to recognize the blanket-covered body. Then she ignored it, looking at Jack with gentle eyes. “Jack… Give me the shovel, take a seat, okay? I’ll...take care of this.”

“But…” Jack quietly protested, though offering no real resistance to the idea, simply staring down at the blanket. “Rare, I, oh Jesus,” she finally whispered. “Shoulda figured it’d hit kids too, ya know? That it’d…” Wiping at her eyes, she hesitantly looked to Rarity before grimacing and passing the shovel to the woman. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just sit down.” With only a hint of hesitation, the tailor grabbed the shovel and began to dig. The spade felt unusual in her hands, and she felt annoyance that her mind automatically worried about calluses. Instead of saying anything, however, she simply pushed hard, lifting a clod of earth which joined the one Jack had already moved. Her brow furrowed some at how much smaller it was, but merely shrugged and struck again.

Jack watched Rarity dig through the dirt, but said nothing for a long moment, instead paying attention to her form. Though she clearly didn’t do hard labor, Jack bet anything she had had a garden she tended at some point in her life. Maybe her grandparents. As the unearthed pile finally matched the amount Jack herself had dug, the farmer sighed.

“Think he was a good kid?” she asked suddenly, hating herself for asking it and frowning when Rarity paused briefly from the work.

“I’m sure,” Rarity said, huffing some, moving another clod. “And I know what you’re thinking, Jack—don’t.”

Rarity read her like a book and Jack felt a dozens of conflicting emotions from her doing just that. She took in another breath, this one shallower, shuddering, before she sniffed, letting out an almost silent “Yeah,” in a tepid agreement.

“I’ve known you,” she grunted with another shovel full, “for near on our entire lives, Jack. Longer than any of the others.” Stopping for a moment, she wiped at her brow. “Alice is okay, Jack. Somewhere, somehow. She wasn’t alone, and she’s a bright girl.”

“If she’s gone… if Mac’s gone… I got nothin’ else worth livin’ for. Ya know that, sug?” Jack asked, looking at Rarity like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

With no reply, Rarity continued digging for a minute, nervously chewing at her lip in thought. “I know it’s hard, Jack. Your family has always been strong, there for each other. You remember when your parents…?” She trailed off, cursing herself quietly for the poor suggestion. “What I mean is: family is more than just a name, is it not? I’m—we’re here for you. You’ve so much more than you may realize.”

Jack exhaled, this time with maybe a hair more life. “You an’ Spike may be the only family I have left, ‘less…” There was a pause; Jack seemed to consider saying more, but instead looked up at the sky in thought. “When we get ta the capital, you take care-a that boy. Ya hear?”

With only a hint of pause, Rarity said, “Of course, Jack.”

Nodding, Jack seemed to relax. “Good. If I lost you two, shit,” she said, the word describing everything she saw and felt at the moment. “Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout it hurts so much I can’t but barely breathe.”

Quietly, Rarity said, “I know how you feel.” With a particular effort, she heaved a large heap of dirt on the now-sizable pile.

“Then you should know how glad I am you two’ll be safe there. I’m sure Twila’ll take care-a ya both real well.” Rolling her palms together, she glanced at the dirt and once more paused. “She’ll take good care-a ya both,” Jack repeated, more to herself.

“Mmhmm,” Rarity intoned. With one last heave, she stabbed the shovel into the ground, where it promptly fell over. Rolling her eyes, she said, “I think this should suffice, if you want to help?”

“Yeah. I-I think I’m good.” Rising, she moved over to Rarity and looked first to the hole, then, to the elephant in the room. Jack felt her lip tremble, but she remained strong this time, picking the body up and briefly nuzzling it against her breast in an apologetic hug. Realizing that she was once more on the cusp of tears, she knelt down and laid its body gently into the earth.

The farmer thought about her words, trying to say something, anything to express how she felt. Finding nothing, she licked her dry lips and made the sign of the cross, then lowered her head.

“Another little lost lamb comes ta yer flock. Uh, may he find rest, amen,” Jack muttered outs, knowing it was worthless as far as blessings went, but wanting at least something said in the boy’s honor.

“Amen,” Rarity followed, stronger. Gently she took one of Jack’s hands in her own and gave it a little squeeze. Jack returned the grip and nodded, then she took the spade and got to work.


	




Safety took them into the laundry room; there were no windows that they could be spotted and a door just a dash away. Spike and Francis lay near the wall on top of a collection of quilts, Jack and Rarity much the same a few feet away. After they had finished burying the boy, neither had had much of an appetite, and Spike was worn out still from last night’s movies, so they had agreed with Francis to retire early. Not that there was much any of them could do with the power out, but still. Jack lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind swirling in thought.

She was glad they made it this far, that they had managed to get Spike here safely, that none of them had been severely injured, that those things didn’t know they were here. A lot to be glad and grateful for.

There was something, however, that she still wasn’t sure was a blessing or a curse. It gave her hope and took it away just as quick. Though she had wanted to say something about it, she didn’t know where to begin and, when she had thought of speaking on it, they had found the boy and that took her thoughts away in a heart’s beat.

Still though, she needed to tell someone, and talking about it with Spike or Francis was a worthless endeavor.

“Are ya still awake?” Jack whispered, not looking to the woman as she said the question.

“I am,” came the simple reply, Rarity opening her eyes to the dark, curiosity evident in her voice.

“What a crappy day,” Jack started off with a shake of her head. “Ya holdin’ up?”

“I’m awake for a reason, obviously.” She sighed. “But… I’m alright, for now. Are you alright, Jack?”

“Earlier was harder than I woulda liked. I really put ya on the spot.” Her expression flinched as she thought back, back from where they were, and to home. “Would ya believe I’ve always been bad with kids gettin’ hurt? Mac is too, but I could barely even give calves shots growin’ up. So earlier… hit me harder than the hoof of a holstein. No kid deserves that. I-it’s fuckin’ evil, Rare.”

Despite herself, Rarity chuckled. “I always did say you would be a fine mother.” More seriously, she added, “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of empathy. Honestly, I respect that, Jack.”

“Thanks, sug. I’m jus’ glad ya did what ya did, otherwise we might have been out there all night with him.” Her smile faded as she looked over to Spike and after a beat she turned her back to him, resting an elbow on her pillow.

“There’s somethin’ ya gotta know,” Jack said. Before she lost her nerve, she charged forward. “I… the capital. I can’t stay.”

“Yes? And?” At Jack’s sputter, Rarity continued. “I told you earlier, I’ve known you too long. It was plain on your face, as you would say.”

“But do ya know why?” she asked. “I ain’t doin’ it jus’ ta tail it back home.”

“Well, I’m hardly a mind reader. And I’m curious—I was waiting for you to tell me.”

Jack looked towards the mess of clothes thrown towards the kitchen and she rose, sauntering towards it. She reached to her back pocket and made her way back to Rarity, squatting down near where the other lay.

“Yers out of juice?” Jack asked, already booting the phone up. Rarity nodded, her face looking long and pale in the dark.

“Well, plus of older models, I guess. Still got a lil’ left in mine.”

Finally loaded, she moved her hand down to a small envelope icon on its screen. There, a message appeared.

Truck’s gone to hell. Stuck in town for a few more days. Be careful.

“Mac’s number,” Jack explained, her hand briefly quivering. “Got that jus’ today.”

Her eyes wide, Rarity exclaimed, “Today?! That’s great news!”

Jack’s glare instantly made the tailor lower her voice once more. “Unless the line got tied up an’ I’m jus’ now gettin’ a message some days old.”

The tailor’s face twisted in thought and disappointment. “It’s not impossible, we have been in some out of the way country… But still, Jack. It’s far better than nothing.”

“I know. That’s why I’m goin’. Goin’ all the way to Appaloosa.” Jack nodded in agreement. “I wanted ta tell ya earlier, but…”

“No, I understand…” Rarity sighed quietly. “If I had a message from my parents, or Stephanie, I’d probably… But that’s a long way to go on your own, Jack.”

“I know.” She looked back down at the screen of the phone. “Over a thousand miles, through things I can’t even think ‘bout. But I gotta try, don’t I? If there’s… if there’s a chance they’re out there fer me. I gotta.”

“You ‘gotta’,” Rarity echoed. “I agree.”

“I’m, uh, glad ya think that, sug. So don’t be worryin’ ‘bout me none.” Offering as sincere a smile she could under the circumstances, she put a hand to Rarity’s shoulder and gave a flick of her eyes towards Spike. “Ya jus’ worry ‘bout that boy, okay?”

With a look toward the boy herself, Rarity closed her eyes, saying, “O-of course, Jack. You can count on me, I...promise.”

“I know I can. Ya ain’t let me down yet, sug.” Her smile a hair pained, she forced a laugh out. “Alright, enough prancin’ ‘bout in my unmentionables, lemme put this up an’ I’ll hit the sack.”

She returned to their makeshift bed a moment later and sank under the covers, the improvised thing feeling like heaven regardless of how slipshod it was.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Rarity Belle ain’t a girl ta let people down,” Jack said with a small smile. “She might complain’ while doin’ it, but she’ll take care-a business.”

Rarity forced out a low chuckle, saying, “If Jack Apple says it, one knows it must be true…” But why doesn’t it feel that way, this time? she asked herself.

“Damn straight,” Jack replied with a nod. She turned once more into her back. “Guess next I’ll say that we should try this whole sleep thing, huh?”

Pulling the covers tightly around herself, the tailor gave a quiet, “Indeed; goodnight, Jack.”

“Night, sug. I…” she paused, then shook her head. “Night,” she repeated instead.

It wasn’t long before the deep sounds of sleep drifted from the farmer’s side. But Rarity turned back, an itch of discomfort building between her shoulder blades. Though whether due to the makeshift bedding or her own chaotic thoughts, she never quite decided as the night stretched on and the first light of morning came.
> Camelot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their packing up and departure was becoming uncomfortably routine at this point. Rarity and Francis would handle repacking their supplies, Jack would rummage the house, taking only what they needed, and Spike would hop between the two groups, never really sure where he needed to help. They were out the front door by no later than eight and already walking the road. Jack paused for one moment, turning to look back at the house. Or, rather, what lay in the backyard. She finally teared her sights away from it and pressed on down the road.

Jack had sent a message to Mac, almost as soon as she had received one from him, but, as she had expected, no reply came back, Her message seemed to hang between sent or not-sent: if Twila was here, she’d probably mention Schrodinger’s Cat. Jack didn’t really care too much for the comparison, but she couldn’t say why, if she were asked to explain herself.

Only a scant two hours later they came to something they thought they’d never see again.

A crowd. A line of people stretching off towards the horizon. Farther off in the distance, sanctuary. 

The capital shined like a beacon of hope to them. Several freight trailers had been hastily erected around the main strip, and, if Jack squinted, she could see some sort of bottleneck. A check-in station, maybe.

“That’s a big line,” Spike stated the obvious.

“I suppose I was the odd man out when it came to the radio broadcast instructing people to come here,” Francis agreed. 

With the barest of tears in her eyes, Rarity exclaimed, “It may be the most glorious sight I have ever seen in my life. People, everyone, people!”

The woman’s joy was contagious. Spike’s smile seemed ready to leap off his face, and Jack reached forward, wrapping an arm around Rarity and Francis’ shoulders.

“We did it,” Jack whispered to herself, squeezing the two with all her worth. “We did it, y’all.”

Spike impatiently looked back at the three. “Come on, guys! Let’s go get in line!”

The three looked between one-another, then joined after the boy.

The tail end of the line housed several impatient men and women, and one man in shoddy, drab clothing, plucking absentmindedly at a guitar. The others didn’t acknowledge them, but the guitarist let out a small laugh at the appearance of more people.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in,” he remarked good-naturedly. “Locals, or broadcast?”

“Um… Broadcast, yes,” Rarity answered. “We managed to catch one in time—I see we weren’t the only ones.”

“That broadcast sure did it’s job, didn’t it?” he replied, giving a raise of his brow. “Lotta people in our little happy camp, now.”

One of the women ahead of them in line let out a humph of contempt.

“Camp?” she asked, the droll tone common among the capital’s people. “Don’t make me laugh. This is anything but.”

The man gave a strum of his guitar and looked back at the newcomers. “Don’t mind them, they’re just upset that it’s taking so long to get back inside.”

“We have a home to get back to, unlike you,” she snapped back, then turned her head towards the front of the line so quick Jack could almost hear a pop.

“Locals are jus’ as friendly as I remember,” Jack said under her breath.

“It’s tough times for all of us, Jack,” Rarity replied quietly. To the guitarist, she asked, “So what exactly is going on here?”

“Message did good. Maybe too good. Everyone headed here. Now they’re having to check in every person, make sure no troublemakers get in, no weapons smuggled.” He looked over to a man standing next to the woman that had dismissed him. “Day two and counting, Marcus?”

The man he called Marcus offered a glare in response, before turning his attention back towards front.

“Two days,” the guitarist said to Rarity. “Not a happy camper, no ma’am.” 

“Two days in line?” she asked, her mouth dropping just a bit.

“Welcome to bureaucracy. Ain’t it grand?” He gave another strum of the guitar. “We’re lucky there’s a generator nearby, powers the streetlights so those, uh, what you wanna call ‘em?” Snapping a finger in an attempt to drum up a name, he shrugged. “Shadow-things. Those shadow-things seem to hate the light.” He gave a look towards them. “You have seen ‘em, right? I’m not going crazy here, just ask princess and the prince, they saw ‘em too.”

Despite herself, Rarity shivered. “W-we’ve seen them.” Shaking her head, she changed topics. “You say bureaucracy—who exactly is in charge?”

He paused from his guitar. “Well, miss, meet the new boss. Same as the old boss. Governor Celestia.”

With a heavy, relieved sigh, Rarity turned to Jack with a wide grin. To Spike, she said, “Surely, if Celestia is still in charge, Twila must be here somewhere.”

Spike nodded, his smile as bright as a new day. “They’re like two peas in a pod.”

“Good,” Jack said, her own smile feeling alien in how full and pure it was. “Fer once our tax dollars are doin’ somethin’ worth a shit.”

“Makes me almost wish I had put some money in for ‘em,” the guitarist agreed. The woman up ahead let out a small, condescending laugh.

“And not waste it on liquor or cigarettes? Heaven forbid.”

“I’m more a weed guy, but thanks for the reminder,” he answered, returning his gaze to Rarity. “They’re probably wishing I was still in the boxcar.”

“Boxcar?” Francis repeated. The guitarist shrugged.

“First night those fucking things come around—pardon my language—those two are driving through near the trainyard. Things almost get ‘em, but they manage to get out of their car and make a run. I’m crashing in a boxcar at the time, hear ‘em, and get ‘em inside with me before those shadow things can get ‘em.”

“You’re all very lucky, then,” said Rarity. Then she added, “It was a hayloft for us.”

“Funny. You don’t look the type that’s interested in a roll in the hay.”

“Playing in the hay is fun,” Spike said. Jack let a snort out and he gave a confused “What?” in response. 

With a barely restrained giggle, Rarity ruffled the boy’s hair. “I agree fully, Spike. So.” She directed at the others. “Do we wait or…?”

“Well, it seems the surest way inside, doesn’t it?” Francis offered. “I have clout, but I don’t think clout is what gets us inside any earlier.”

The tailor looked thoughtful for a moment. She asked the guitarist. “Excuse me, what if you’re a local? They’re making you wait as well?”

“Depends,” he replied. “Prince and Princess are, but they lost their ID’s.”

“Because you probably stole them from us in that boxcar!” the man countered. Ignoring the remark, the guitarist squinted his eyes and opened them again.

“Got ID and they’re letting people in earlier. Just gotta wait for a guard to patrol.”

She nodded. “Thank you, you’ve been a big help.”

Offering a grunt in acknowledgement, he returned his focus to his guitar.

“Ya do got yer ID on ya, right, Francis?” Jack asked.

“Driver's, Social Security, Passport and Military,” he agreed, patting the pocket at his backside.

“Lovely, darling,” Rarity said, giving the older man a quick hug. “Now to find ourselves a guard…”

About an hour after Rarity said this, there finally came a guard, his eyes scanned the crowd and his finger rested on the outside of the trigger guard as he took everyone in. When he began to walk past the group, Spike waved his hand.

“We’ve got a local,” the boy offered.

He nodded briskly. “Identification, please.”

Francis stepped forward, pulling out his certification. The guard looked over it, then double-checked the papers.

“Looks legit. Government sanctioned buildings are off-limits for the time being. Go to your home with your guests and await further instructions. Come with me.”

Jack smiled at the others. “This is as far as I’m goin’.”

Rarity started. “What?” she said, a little sharper than she meant to. Taking a quick breath, she asked, “I mean, what do you mean, Jack? You’re not even going to see if anyone else is here?”

“Rare…” Jack considered her words, taking far longer on them than her norm. “if anyone else is there, ya know they’d wanna come with. I can’t have that hangin’ over my head. Besides. If I sit down where it’s safe, I ain’t sure how long it’d be before I get back up again.”

“But…”

“Wait, Rarity, you don’t sound surprised?” asked Spike. Then, to Jack, “You’re leaving? But we only just got here!”

“I know sug.” She squatted down, meeting the boy at eye-level. “An’ it’s hard on me too. But don’t ya worry ‘bout a thing. Francis, Rare, hell, even Celestia. They’ll… they’ll take good care-a ya.” 

Sniffing a bit, Spike replied, “If you’re going… You’re going to find your family, right?”

“I am. An’ I’ll come back with ‘em an’ we’ll have one heck of a reunion. Bet yer wantin’ ta play with Alice again, right?” Her smile trembled and she reached forward, putting a hand that despite its size and leathery texture, rested gently on the boy’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice trembling a bit. Wiping at his eyes, he said, “I’ll tell Twila what you did for me. If she can help you, you know she will.” He paused. “Though I dunno how if you go. But she’ll figure it out!”

“She’s a smart cookie. Smarter than me by a country mile.” She shot forward, squeezing him in a tight bear hug and not caring one lick at the tears that now made their way down her cheeks. “Oh, darlin’. Yer such a good kid.”

“Well, where, exactly, are you heading to?” Francis asked. Jack looked up and finally broke her embrace, giving a motherly pat of the boy’s head as she stood again.

“Appaloosa,” she answered. Francis looked at her blankly, and Jack elaborated. “It’s about fifty miles west of Bower City.”

“Bower Ci…” Francis paused for a split second before collecting himself. “That’s quite the distance, considering…”

“I’ll walk the whole damn thing if it means there’s a chance I see ‘em again.”

“Well, you’ve proven yourself a survivor, Jack. If anyone can, you can. Just be careful.”

She nodded. “I will. An’ you watch over the lil’ guy, if ya don’t mind.”

“Not a problem. I’ll make sure he’s tended to properly.”

He held out his hand, and Jack looked at it for a moment before stepping forward and giving him a hug.

“When I get back I’ll treat ya ta a beer,” Jack offered.

“When you return I’ll treat you to two,” he countered. The farmer felt a pit in her stomach as she looked at the last of the group. Rarity watched, the expression on her face for the moment undecipherable.

“Sug…”

Rarity said nothing for a moment. Then, her face still a mask of inexpression, she walked over to Spike, leaned down and hugged him tight. “Spike,” she said, “don’t worry, Twila will be here. You’ll see. Everything will, will be alright.”

“Um...thanks?” He looked confused, awkwardly returning the hug.

She let him go, turning to Francis. “I…” Her voice broke, but she pushed on. “I’ve known many men in my life, Francis Pottager, but you are one of the absolute best to be found anywhere in the world. And you will find Fleur here, I have no doubts.”

“Rarity. Don’t tell me you’re…” Francis trailed off, looking at the woman with sincere concern.

She gave a nearly imperceptible nod, whispering, “I have to. Somebody does.”

He hesitantly nodded, then put a hand on top of Spike’s head. “I’ll take care of him until you’re back,” he said in the same low whisper.

“Rare?” Jack questioned, giving a cautious tilt of her head toward the woman. “What’s goin’ on?”

Pinning the farmer with her best glare, she declared, her tone one of no nonsense, “Saying my goodbyes. I’m going with you, Jack.”

“What?” Jack asked, taken aback so much she actually stumbled a hair. “Rare, yer kiddin’, right? There’s no way ya can do that.”

“I can do it as well as you can,” she snapped. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose. She started over. “I’ve given it a lot of thought since you told me, and I’ve made up my mind.”

“Rare, ya need ta stay here, where it’s safe. Where I don’t have ta worry ‘bout ya gettin’ hurt or God knows worse out there while I’m doin’ this. Please,” Jack all but begged, looking to the woman desperately. “If ya got… I don’t know what I’d do.”

Quietly, Rarity replied, “And what do you think I’d do if something happened to you?” She shook her head. “I know it’s dangerous. But you’re not invincible, Jack. Everyone needs someone watching their back.”

“Fuck,” Jack swore under her breath. She swallowed, digesting Rarity’s words. Finally, with a small shake of her head, she met the tailor’s eyes. “No talkin’ ya out of it, is there?” she reluctantly asked.

With a knowing, slightly smug grin, Rarity replied, “Because I talked you out of it so successfully, yes?”

Though she didn’t want to, there came the faintest tinge of a smile to Jack’s own mouth.

“Fer all the makeup, ya sure are a mule underneath.”

“I learned from the best.”

Jack gave a slow shake of her head and reached forward, giving a hug to the woman.

“I don’t know what ta say,” Jack admitted. “This… this ain’t gonna be easy, fer either of us.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Rarity shrugged. “It never is, dear. But between my brain and your brawn, I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Could be worse, after all. You could be pairing up with Dash—could you imagine?”

“Jesus. She’d never stop bitchin’ ‘bout it,” Jack said, her smile trembling not for the first time today. She gave one more hug to the woman, then broke away, wiping at an eye. “Always complain’ ‘bout things. A-a damn softie, that’s what she is underneath, sug.”

“True enough. So, enough attacking those unable to defend themselves… If we’re going, we might as well go.”

Jack nodded, then paused, looking at the guard.

“There’s a farm in Mansfield,” she said to him. “It needs tendin’, but it might be worth lookin’ into if this shit is fer the long haul. People need ta eat an’ need ta work. That lets ‘em do both. Tell Celestia the Apple clan gives their regards.”

Satisfied with her words, she turned back to Rarity and let out a deep sigh.

“‘Least now the cows won’t up an’ die while we’re away.”

“Yes, that’s, uh, that’s great, Jack,” Rarity said, seeming somewhat distracted.

“An’ it means there’s somethin’ ta come home to once we get that girl.”

“There’s plenty to come back to,” Rarity said. “And several friends who will throw us one hell of a party. So where do we begin?”

Jack gave simple tap to her forehead. “Guess we start simple. We get ourselves a map an’ plan a little road trip.”
> Highway 365
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though the two were ready to go, Jack knew it would be a fool’s errand to go out into the world unprepared. So with that in mind, they did something that Jack never expected she’d do with Rarity for an extended period of time:

Shopping.

Their first stop was a clothing shop. Though it was nice at the moment, winter wasn't an empty threat but a promise; and they weren’t properly geared for any long-lasting encounter with the cold. 

They traveled over the river and into North Camelot. From there they could just hop onto the I-40 and follow it out of the capital and all the way into Oklahoma, if they'd like. Jack wasn't yet sure which way they wanted to go about it: Rarity and her had poured over the map for a pretty extended period of time trying to decide, and got more argument and indecision than progress out of it.

They pulled into the local Family Dollar after an extensive search of the area. There were white vertical bars behind the door and the storefront windows. Rarity gave Jack a pinched, pursed-mouth look, but didn't say anything. 

She didn't need to.

“That’s gettin’ ta be too frequent,” Jack remarked, tapping her foot onto the shaggy carpet of the shop to get rid of what glass remained on the toes of her boot.

“At least all those silly dares with Mac on who could kick more apples from your trees is serving some purpose,” Rarity replied, stepping carefully around the shattered glass. “Besides, needs must, Jack.”

“Jus’ remember those were yer words when it comes ta the clothin’, sug. Yer lucky I didn’t take us ta a thrift store.” She walked further into the room.

“Yes, because Family Dollar isn't a thrift store.” 

Jack shrugged unapologetically and peered around the unlit store. 

Though it wasn’t what Jack would call ‘ghetto’, she knew it wasn’t what Rarity would call ‘tasteful,’ holding a few practical designs; cargo pants, jackets, belts, alongside a few things like shorts with ‘bootylicious’ on the ass. Alice had tried to wear a pair of those once—Jack and Mac both put an end to that not in days, but hours.

“Despite what you may think, I’ve frequented many a thrift store in my day. One can find some truly unique pieces, for inspiration if not actually to wear.” Looking around, Rarity instructed, “Well, first things first. We’ll need a pack before anything else.”

“Let’s see…” Jack trailed off, raising her head towards the ceiling. After a beat, she took to counting on her fingers. “Pack, ride, food, tools, guns. Maybe some cards.”

With a moment’s thought, the tailor said, “Well, I think it best if you take care of the tools and weapons. You’ll know more than I, after all.” She sized Jack up and down, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m confident I recall your size, so I’ll gather clothes for both of us.”

“Alright, sug. After that, there’s a Kroger down Carson, or Daniels, one of those roads. We can meet up at the front there an’ get some food. I’ll try ta find us a pair-a wheels too.” Now it was Jack’s turn to eye Rarity. “Speakin’ of guns, tho’, have ya ever pulled a trigger?”

She shrugged. “A few times. It was a hobby of my father’s, but I was never fond of it. Surely there’s no need? I mean, you’ll handle that, won’t you, Jack?”

“I wanna say yes,” Jack agreed, though there was obvious hesitation in her eyes. “But I ain’t…” Wiping at her mouth, she gave a quick shake of her head, trying to keep the talk casual. “I mean, hell, what if I get hurt an’ can’t use it? It’d be better if we got ya at least a lil’ somethin’ that ya were comfortable with.”

Rarity opened her mouth but hesitated. Memories of their trip flashed back and she flinched, involuntarily. Instead of saying anything, she simply nodded.

Seeing Rarity visibly flinch made Jack reach forward, putting her hands onto Rarity’s shoulders.

“If I can at all, sug, I’ll keep ya safe. I swear. But, I said it before, if I lost ya, if I knew ya didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell without me…” Jack bit at her lip, once again mulling her words over. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“Fair enough,” was Rarity’s quiet response. The pair stood in silence a moment, taking stock in each other’s presence, before she said, “Well, let’s not waste any time. It’ll be night before we know it.”

Jack gave a slow nod of her own. “Yeah. Yeah, the hell am I standin’ ‘round fer? We gotta move.” She gave an encouraging shove to Rarity’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Jus’ get me somethin’ that holds up good. I’m countin’ on ya.” She headed towards the door and, with a small wave, stepped outside and took off down the street.

Rarity watched her go, then turned to the field of potential in front of her. She took a deep breath, focusing on what she knew, what she did, and pushing back the memories that threatened to take hold of her. “Right,” she said to no one. “Let it not be said that Rarity Belle failed in anything clothing related.” Head high, she passed in between the first racks she saw, eyes picking out the best candidates to return for once she found a good pack to hold it.


	




All things considered, shopping took less time than either had anticipated. It was only on the tail end of the afternoon when Rarity spotted Jack coming into the parking lot of the supermarket, four bags slung around both her broad shoulders. Two loaded with paracord, first-aid kits, flares, water purifiers, rope, oil, and a few other tools Jack thought would help them, two bags completely empty.

“Consider it yer shoppin’ cart,” she explained, shoving it towards the tailor. 

“Your gratitude knows no bounds,” Rarity replied, taking the bags with some consideration.

They made their way through the market, stocking up on canned goods, dried food, and instant noodles; Jack swung by the market’s supplement aisle and got a bottle of vitamins for them as well. Before they knew it, their bags ran over with supplies and each took a heavy shoulder-load back out to the front.

Jack looked over the cars outside and rubbed at her chin in thought. “Van?” she offered, pointing to a white one at the far end. “Maybe an SUV?”

Shaking her head, Rarity offered, “Shouldn’t we find something a little more economical? I know we could use the space, but we should probably consider our fuel needs, don’t you think?”

Giving a nod of her head, Jack considered it. “Actually a decent point. Then what are ya thinkin’?” Jack swept her hand across the lot. “Got yer pick of the litter. Jus’ nothin’ too small. An’ remember we might have ta go off road sometimes ‘cause of the pile ups.”

Counting on her fingers, the tailor said, “So at least decent gas mileage, space, and fairly reliable in various conditions. I’m no expert, but if I’m not mistaken something foreign will meet those most likely.”

“Foreign?” Jack raised a brow. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a home-grown ride.”

Rarity simply shrugged.

Finally letting out a small huff, Jack conceded. “Alright. Jus’ know we ain’t gettin’ no Camaro or nothin’ here.” She added under her breath, “can barely fit inta some of those damn things.”

Despite Jack’s complaints, they found a Volkswagen a few years past its prime and loaded up. Jack, surprisingly, took passenger; it became obvious why a few minutes later, when her knees rested squarely against the dash. She gave Rarity a flat look, but said nothing.

“Ya know how ta get somethin’ hotwired?” she asked. At Rarity’s incredulous eyebrow, she sighed, saying, “Jus’ reach under the dashboard on yer side. There’ll be some wires. Gotta cut the red and green one an’ touch the cords.”

Doing as she was told, Rarity managed to start it after a few tries, taking a pocket knife from Jack to cut the wires.

Once the thing revved to live, Jack offered a satisfied grunt.

“Good work,” she said.

“There’s a skill my parents would be proud of,” Rarity deadpanned, switching the car to reverse and pulling out, leaving the lot. They drove through the deserted streets for a few moments before reaching the outer limits of the suburbs.

“Last chance,” Jack offered, glancing out her side mirror at the capital. “Ya can still, ya know…”

“Oh, please. You know the only one more stubborn than you is me, Jack.” She laughed. “And admit it, you don’t want to do this alone.”

Jack looked at Rarity, then brought her eyes back front. After a beat, she sighed.

“Nah. I don’t. Familiar face’ll do me a lotta good.”





They took Highway 365 out of the suburbs, and after an hour’s drive on the road, pausing when needed to clear out traffic and circumnavigate the wreckage where they found it, Jack finally couldn’t take it.

“Hate ta be the kid right now, but any chance we can stop fer a few? Have a bite an’ pee?”

“Mmm.” Rarity nodded. “Something to eat would be nice.”

Driving for a few more minutes, Rarity slowed and pulled over during a relatively clear stretch. 

Jack got out of the car and leaned side to side, popping her back. “Well, how ‘bout some Pop-Tarts? Figure we don’t wanna crack out the actual cookin’ stuff yet, ‘least.”

“Sounds fine. You take care of what you need; I’ll dig them out.”

She took the opportunity to run off and, a few moments later, came back refreshed. Mac had always said one of life’s greatest joys was taking care of business outside. Jack, at the time, thought he meant laying fence, planting crops, the usual work for her. She only just now got what he really meant all those years ago.

The thought made her snort as she returned back to Rarity. Why it just now came to her, she couldn’t say. But that was pretty much the name of the game now. She couldn’t say where shit ended and began, she couldn’t tell what the hell anything was. Only thing she could say right now was that Rarity was here, and she was going to have a Goddamn Pop-Tart.

As if she could read her mind, the tailor tossed a pack her way, with a quick, “Catch!” the only warning.

Jack slapped her hand forward, knocking it up in the air, but recovered quickly enough, catching her prize in her off-hand as it tumbled back down. Tearing into it, she quickly swallowed a piece.

“Breakfast of champions,” Jack muttered under her breath, glad that they were at least the cinnamon kind. As she munched on the snack, she looked over, catching sight of a worn wooden fence. An idea came to her, and she looked over to Rarity. “Up fer some target practice?” 

With a few more thoughtful chews, the tailor swallowed and said, “Well, that was fast. I knew you’d ask, eventually, so… Might as well.”

“Better now than tonight when we’re hunkered up someplace,” Jack said. “Let me jus’ get yer gun.”

She came back from the car moments later, a small nine millimeter pistol in her large hands. Relaxing her grip, she let the gun’s handle dangle in front of her as she offered it to the woman.

“Next time keep it a bit closer ta the top of yer bag, sug. Ya don’t wanna dig through a lotta stuff ta find it. Wear yer holster with it when we get outta the car most times,” Jack lectured.

With great patience, the tailor managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I simply thought I’d not need it for a little while.” Somewhat forcefully, she took the gun, feeling the solid metal heft to it, the rough grip warm from Jack’s hand. It was something astoundingly real, absolute. Vague memories came back, and she check the safety, then the magazine somewhat hesitantly. “Well, you’re in charge of the lesson, Jack. What’s first?”

Jack sauntered over to the fence and searched about for a second. She found what she wanted and loaded the fence with trash, plastic and glass bottles, tin cans, and a small ceramic bowl she found near the ditch, then returned to Rarity.

“Saw ya check the safety an’ mag. Good deal. Now pull the slide back ta get a bullet loaded in the chamber.”

“Alright.” She gripped the gun tightly and pulled the slide. “It’s loaded. I think.”

“Yep, yep it is. Now…” she moved to Rarity’s side and took the back of the tailor’s hands, briefly reminded of doing the same to Alice when she was a youngster first learning about guns. Guiding Rarity’s hands upward, she held them out, moving directly behind Rarity to get a good sight on what they were doing.

“Look down the top of the slide. There are two notches at the back, one at the tip. Ya line those up an’ yer gun’s level. Then it’s jus’ like pointin’ yer finger at what needs shot up close. Still followin’?”

“Yes, I believe so. It all sounds familiar, at least.” She hefted the weapon, lining up the sights as instructed. 

Jack nodded. “Familiar is good. Yer dad probably said the same, mostly.” She stepped back, taking notice of Rarity’s stance, then stepping in again. “Don’t have yer gun arm fully extended, give yer elbow a little slack, an’—” she gave a tap of her heel at Rarity’s feet, spreading them a hair apart. “Make sure ya keep yer body a little wider fer stability. Yer pistol ain’t gonna kick like a mule or nothin’, but it’s a good habit ta have, especially if we ever have ya on a rifle. Jus’ do whatever feels natural.” She looked towards the collection of trash on the fencepost. “Now fer actual shootin’. Let’s see some magic.”

“This feels so cliche,” Rarity joked, moving just a bit to stand more comfortably without betraying the stance Jack had put her in. She loosened up, setting the sights to a bottle on the left. Breathing in, she let the breath out slow, then pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack, which made her flinch slightly, despite herself. It would just take getting used to, she reminded herself. “And I missed. Of course.”

“Yer jus’ rusty.” She looked to the woman, at her side again. She gestured to the bottle and put a hand at Rarity’s shoulder. “Squeeze, don’t pull the trigger. That’ll help. Don’t think hard on it, no sense gettin’ worked up over this. Don’t freak out. This is a nine mil. Very easy gun for beginners. Jus’ take a breath an’ shoot while yer exhalin’.” She scratched at her cheek. “If it helps any, think of pointin’ with yer knuckle on yer finger. If that’s makin’ any sense.”

“Mmm.” Again, Rarity took aim, breathed, then did her best to follow Jack’s instructions. She fired, again, again. She missed, clipped a can which spiralled away, and then missed again. “I see what you mean on that, I think, about pointing with the knuckle.”

Jack gave a proud smile. “Figured ya would. Jus’ a matter of practicin’ now. We’ll make a damn Annie Oakley outta ya yet.”

Rarity gave a smirk of her own. “Just don’t ask me to wear the hat.”

“Damn. An’ here I was gonna get ya one next town over.”


	




The hours continued to tick away as they drove. The sun, at one point on their side, was slowly fading, only just peeking over the hills in the distance like a shy child from behind the leg of their mother.

Highway 365 was one of the most free they had seen; traffic had steered clear of it for the most part, and they only had to actually stop once after their brief lunch break. Rarity hummed along to the CD the previous owners of the car had left inside. Though Jack wasn’t a huge fan of it, the tailor’s good mood was infectious and she smiled alongside her, even catching herself tapping a finger to her thigh on more than one occasion as they traveled.

“Next town’s ‘bout ten minutes from here. Reckon we’ll hole up ta avoid those things then—”

A loud boom from the driver’s side caused Jack to instantly go on alert. Rarity swore and slammed on her brakes, bringing the Volkswagen to a screeching stop.

“The hell was that?” Jack asked, already out the car and to Rarity’s side. It was obvious what happened when she got there.

The car’s wheel had erupted, bits of rubber still draped over the rim, but there was no way in hell they were going anywhere like this.

Jack looked quickly around them. Though it wasn’t barren by any stretch of the imagination, being in a fairly wooded area, she doubted those things would be stumped by mere trees. Further ahead, a signpost mocked her, stating proudly that the town of Glendale was ten miles away.

“Shit,” Jack swore under her breath.

“Well,” Rarity’s somewhat faded voice called from the back of the car, “at least they have a spare—though it doesn’t look too good, and I’m a complete amateur with cars.”

“Do they have a jack?” the farmer questioned. “Otherwise this is gonna be a bitch.”

A moment of silence, a distinctly unfeminine grunt, then, “Here it is, under the tire.”

Jack nodded, already moving to go for the tire. “Alright. I got some tools in my bag. We can use those. Quick-like, now.”

Rolling the tire out of the back, Jack grabbed the jack and threw it onto the frame. A few seconds of cranking, and she had lifted the side of the car enough that they could replace the tire.

The sun had all-but vanished now despite their speed. Already long shadows had appeared to the east, like fingers reaching for the two, intending to swallow them whole.  

“Should I grab a flashlight? I hate just standing around…” There was a clear note of nervousness in Rarity’s voice as the light began to fade more quickly. Her eyes began darting, almost against her will.

Jack earnestly nodded her head. “Grab a flashlight. An’ our guns. I ain’t no pit stop crew member, this is gonna take some time. Time we don’t have. How ya feel ‘bout yer aim?”

Opening the back door and grabbing what she needed, Rarity replied, “Well, at least they’re bigger targets. But less talking and more changing. I’d rather not find out for sure.”

“If it’s too hard, say so,” Jack instructed, already freeing the ruined tire from the rim.

“It’ll be fine,” she assured the farmer. “We’ll be on our way to safety in no time.”

“I trust ya,” Jack said plainly. Like usual with her, the plainer the words, the more soft-spoken, the more truth they held.

The things tonight seemed bolder. As soon as the sun had set and there was nothing more than a faint line of crimson across the western horizon, Rarity saw them. For now they seemed to be merely observing them, glancing across trees, poking through bushes, up at the treeline. Only the faintest movement called attention to them, the slight twitch of a tree limb, the crack of a twig as they moved about, but they were there and were rapidly growing in body count.

And both knew, it would only be a matter of time before they grew brave enough to swarm.

“At least I can look at them this time…” she said under her breath, scanning this way and that. However, that thought brought back those memories, and she shivered. 

There came faint, almost inaudible whispering, speaking in a tongue just on the edge of familiar, yet so foreign that it would be impossible to decipher. The speech started off slow, a calm talk amidst tea and biscuits, but quickly grew faster, frantic, the utterances rising to a those at a bar in speed and tempo, then the near-feral gibbering a religious zealot might have during a hellfire sermon. 

The trees in the distance shook, as if they wanted Jack and Rarity to search it, to investigate its quickly-darkening shade, and the monsters made even less attempt to hide, brazenly watching now, taking a few experimental steps toward in challenge, pack hunters testing a target before pouncing.

“Oh God,” Jack said with a tremble in her voice, wiping at her brow with urgency as sweat threatened to blind her as it rained down her face. She didn’t dare look up from her job as she moved the spare tire into place.

“D-don’t listen, J-j-jack,” Rarity hissed between chattering teeth. She gripped the gun tighter, fixing and refixing her stance, trying to hold onto the realness of it. Ready to defend their lives, as was quickly proving necessary. Suddenly, the gun went off in her hands—she’d squeezed too tight and pulled the trigger. By some miracle, the shot found a target, catching one of the things in its arm.

It started then.

With a howl, dozens charged them, tripping and falling over one-another as the ones in back overtook their leaders. They cleared the fields and came into the first arcing sweep of Rarity’s flashlight, cutting through them like a scythe through wheat, stripping their shadowy armor free and briefly giving them pause as the light graced their bodies and, while not stopping their slobbering charge, slowed them down to a walk, as if they were fighting their way through a powerful blizzard within the light’s incandescence, covering their eyes and letting out hisses of pain as it ate away at their defenses.

One came to the edge of the road and that’s when Rarity aimed her first intentional shot. As Jack showed her, she used her arm to steady her flashlight and simultaneously the gun. Her target, illuminated, was terrible to look at, but somehow less so as it clawed and roared against the light. She lined up the sights, began her exile, and fired.

The beast fell back, a splurt of liquid, almost too dark for blood, shooting from its neck. But others gripped its twisted flesh, ripping as they pulled it back and charged forward. Again, the light seemed to almost have a physical effect, but there were too many and she could only shine it on so many at once.

She fired, panic at the edge of her mind, trying to worm its way through and make her unload. But she just breathed and fired, breathed and fired, the only sounds finding her thoughts Jack’s sotto voce swearing and the tink of metal on metal. But with every hit that knocked one back, that sent them falling to the ground, she would miss or, worse, find her shot shrugged off.

“Jack! I don’t think…” Her words trailed off, her mind blanking.

“Don’t think! Do!” Jack barked, tightening a lug on the tire, her hands shaking so bad she dropped one to the ground; ignoring it for the time being, she threw on the next one, twisting it on as quickly as she could, praying that there wasn’t one right behind her as she threw herself into her work. “Almost! Tire should hold with one more lug!”

“Hurry!” Rarity cried, her voice cracking just a hair as the clip ran dry. She fumbled at the release, trying and failing to catch the falling magazine. The light went wide as she desperately tried to grab it; her focus lost, the monsters picked up their pace. She let it fall with a clatter, swearing harshly as she went for another, desperate to reload.

“Got it!” Jack cried, kicking the tire jack free and standing, only to have one of the monsters flank her from the side, the dropped light letting them charge and swarm with wild abandon. It propelled itself into her, slamming her into the side of the door and dropping her to the ground. Even then she dropped fighting, already instinctively reaching up to its neck with one hand to avoid its wickedly sharp teeth, the other hand squeezing its shoulder and pinning it against her body to stop it from digging into her.

It let out a shriek, its mouth so close to Jack’s nose she could smell its putrid breath and she wrestled her leg up to its abdomen and freed her hand from its shoulder, blindly fishing along the ground for a weapon.

Luck decided she was due for a break, and she clasped a hand tightly around a part of the tire jack. She snapped it forward, cracking it against the side of its temple and being rewarded with a spurt of a dark, oozing liquid from a crack in its skin. While it was still stunned she kicked it off and made a dive for the dropped flashlight, twisting while on the ground and shining it by Rarity, stopping a creature just as it was preparing to leap at her.

“Car!” Jack barked, waving the light as it it were a torch, stalling them for as long as she could as she weakly climbed to a knee, pushing against the frame of the vehicle to hoist herself up.

“Get in!” Rarity cried, but her voice was strained, distant sounding. She was no longer firing carefully, as the things approached to overrun. Firing wildly, she moved back and forth, like on autopilot. No longer focused on anything, the only thing she could hear was her fear screaming to kill, to end these things rushing towards her. She could fight or she could flee, and she had chosen to fight, an animal response overriding any sense of Jack’s logical order.

Jack finally rose fully, her head aching and a warmth trickling down the back of her head

—Bleedin’? Am I bleedin’?—she thought, the words odd, strange as they both faced death. It took a lot out of her, but she got her bearings back when she intentionally bit her lip to focus and threw open the car’s driver side door, grabbed Rarity’s shoulders and twisted, throwing the tailor to the side hard enough that she stumbled and nearly dropped.

“Car!” she commanded with a roar, snapping her hand forward and cracking another one of the creature’s as it came close, her blow strong enough that its disgusting eyes rolled upward and it collapsed to the ground. “Start the Goddamn car!”

For half a second, Rarity just stared at Jack. But finally the message got through—fight turned to flight and she gasped, hyperventilating as she dropped the gun and began grabbing for the key. She wanted to scream, but she could barely breathe. Finally, she felt the sharp edges on her delicate fingers, gripping it tightly and turning. The engine roared to life, a gentle giant barely overcoming the screaming masses that now surrounded them.

Jack was no Bo Duke, but she did her best impersonation, sliding across the back of the car and tucking into the passenger seat, the dash cracking against her knee cap as she threw herself inside.

With the farmer in, Rarity wasted no time shifting into gear. She slammed the gas, surging the vehicle forward, through and over several of the things. One managed to grab at Jack before she got the door fully shut, and she let out a surprised gasp as it pulled at her. She grabbed the handle of the door and pulled with all her might, slamming into its arm once, twice, then with a sickening crack as she came down on it a third time, it let go of her and its mangled arm vanished into the quickly-growing horde of bodies. Jack managed to get her door shut, finally, and looked in the passenger mirror, watching as they put distance on the monsters.

They drove on, the only sound the rolling tires and their labored breathing, their own heartbeats in their ears. 

Finally, it was Jack who broke the silence. She didn’t look at Rarity; felt like she couldn’t at the moment, but asked the question that felt automatic to her now.

“Are you okay?”

Gripping the steering wheel tight, Rarity’s knuckles were white from the strain. She let out a slow, long breath, and relaxed ever so slightly. Quietly, almost too quiet to hear, she said, “Jack?”

Jack turned to look at her, giving the woman her undivided attention and waited as patiently as her frayed nerves allowed for Rarity to continue.

“Tomorrow, please… Teach me some more?” Her voice grew chill, solid as steel despite—or perhaps because of—its quiet intensity. “I’m tired of just barely getting away… I’m tired of being a victim, of being prey for those monsters.” She straightened in her seat, looking Jack directly in the eye. “We’ve too far to go to always be behind. So help me become good enough. Let’s make those bastards scream and run for a change, okay?”

Jack measured the woman. Her intense stare, the fire she held within her, all of it came to a boil and there was a surge of respect that came pouring into her heart for Rarity. She drew a shaky breath and then nodded.

“It ain’t much, but everythin’ I know ‘bout this kinda stuff I’ll teach ya.” Her own gaze narrowed and she nodded once more, agreeing with a thought. “An’ I’m with ya. The more we kill of those bastards, the less of ‘em ta hunt us. We’re startin’ open season on ‘em, so help me God.” 







The two managed to limp into town in an almost literal sense; the car struggled and crawled, and, once they managed to park beside and duck into a nearby one-floor building that proudly proclaimed it as Jackson’s & Son’s Renovations, Jack did much the same, her muscles sore and aching and her knee terse, tight, like a coil that needed to spring, but couldn’t. She reached down, rubbing at it and glancing about the main lobby of the building.

Jack had seen her fair share of construction offices in her time; addons to the house weren’t always handled by the family, after all, and so there was a small, faint familiarity to everything within it. A desk in the corner, lined with blueprints, notes, including one circled with a red marker and an urgently scrawled ‘Call!’ wrote underneath. 

Guess they didn’t realize there’d be bigger fish to fry, Jack thought to herself, unsure whether to laugh at her joke or get annoyed with herself.

She glanced past the desk, seeing a room to her right and a hallway leading onward, and also noting a few framed displays on the walls. Most were degrees, certificates or presentation rewards, like ‘best independent business, 2009’. One, however, caught her eye. It was, she assumed, Jackson of renovation fame and his sons in their youth, holding up a largemouth bass in a photograph by the lakeside, the children in it no more than eight or nine. It briefly reminded her of Spike and she spared Rarity a half-glance at the thought of the boy, but didn’t speak, at least not yet.

Rarity closed the blinds on the nearest window, her motions jerky and impatient, before quickly striding to the next window and doing the same. The blinds descended and what little bit of moonlight that shone through them died, leaving the two in almost pitch darkness. 

Jack gave a small nod at the action as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, glad that the woman was being somewhat productive. She decided to not be a burden herself and stepped forward, past the desk, checking out the room to the right.

A simple windowless bathroom stood almost hidden in the dark; though she wouldn’t be grateful for the lack of light later if nature called, for now it was one less action they needed to do to ensure their safety. She ducked back and looked down the hall. The paranoid part of her wanted to request the gun at Rarity’s side, but she shrugged that part away, mentally telling herself that they were safe, there wasn’t a need for weaponry, now away from those things.

She came to another room, this one a more lavish office with lush carpeting and two heavy set leather chairs sitting in front of a sturdy desk, pristine in comparison to the receptionist's desk out front. Jack ignored it for the time being and stepped past the desk, closing the blinds in front of a large window that housed a great view of the brick wall across the alleyway.

Almost satisfied, but not quite, she looked towards a nearby bookshelf and got to the side of it. With a grunt and a flare of her tired muscles, she shoved the bookcase over, blocking the window fully. A gut instinct called to her and she squatted down beside the desk, pulling a drawer open. Finding nothing but paperwork, files, and a cellphone, she tried another, finding much the same. At last, she offered a wry smile, reaching forward and pulling out a bottle of liquor.

If there was one thing she knew about business deals, they were usually closed with a drink; a renovation business, owned by a family man? Just seemed to go hand-in-hand.

Placing the bottle on top of the desk, she walked towards the room’s entrance and spoke in a low, raspy voice, enough to call out, hopefully not enough to draw attention to anything else that could be listening.

“Rare.”

“Our bags are still in the car.”

“What?” Jack said. She could barely see Rarity’s frame, standing by one of the windows and looking out through a sliver in the blinds.

“Our bags,” Rarity repeated. “With our bedrolls, and our toothbrushes, and—”

Jack rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. “Look, sug, we don’t need that shit right now, come here.”

There was a shuffle of the blinds being closed and a muted tsk, and Rarity crossed to her. Jack turned, leading her back to the office. 

She marched forward and grabbed the bottle in one hand, pulling off the cap with a quick twist of her fingers. Debating on taking the first swig or not, she gave a small shrug and offered the drink to Rarity.

“Think we could use this after all-a that shit,” she said.

Rarity took the bottle gingerly from her and brought it closer to her face. And then immediately held it back.

“What is this?” 

“I dunno, whiskey? Felt like a bottle of it.” Jack replied, rubbing at a bicep and working on relieving at least a few of the kinks she felt in her muscles from their earlier escapades.

Faintly she saw Rarity’s mouth turn down, but the woman brought the bottle hesitantly to her lips and took a pull, only to start hacking and coughing violently. 

Jack stifled a laugh. “Hell, that bad?”

“That was not whiskey,” Rarity choked out. Jack grabbed the bottle out of her hands with a low scoff. The smell drifted up like a warning pretense before the awful taste hit her tongue. It was definitely not whiskey. 

Jack’s nose wrinkled and she pulled the bottle back, wiping at her mouth in disgust. “Sure ain’t moonshine either. Like fuckin’ drinkin’ gasoline.” She grimaced, then took another drink.

“I was thinking more along the lines of rubbing alcohol,” Rarity sniffed. “And how are you still drinking it?”

“Well, let’s jus’ say my folks ain’t the only ones that tried their hand at makin’ hooch. They were jus’ the only successful ones at the job.” She reached up, rubbing at the side of her nose, then offered the bottle back to Rarity. “Jus’ don’t smell it. Hold yer breath before an’ after drinkin’ it an’ it’ll go down easier.”

“I’m not drinking that again.”

“An’ here I thought if ya could handle the folk’s moonshine, ya could handle… whatever the hell this is. Vodka?” She rolled the bottle around, still unsure.

“Disgusting, is what it is,” Rarity said, with a humph, crossing her arms.

“But it’s good distraction. God knows we could use it. Steadies the hands.”

Jack took a few steps away, dropping to one of the leather chairs with an undignified grunt and placing her hat in her lap. She took another drink, grimacing as she did so. Rarity pursed her lips, then stepped beside Jack, grabbing the bottle. She pinched her nose and took the bottle to her lips again, her face contorting in displeasure at the drink’s foulness. Finally she pulled the bottle away, coughing and putting a hand to her chest until her reaction died down.

Jack gave a single weary laugh at that as Rarity sat down in the other chair beside her.

“Surprised ya went for it,” Jack admitted.

Rarity crossed a leg over her knee and leaned back in the chair. “As you said, a distraction was a welcome thing, after an evening like ours.”

Jack gave a slow nod, shutting her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Jack?”

The woman tilted her ear, waiting on Rarity to continue.

“I’m sure tomorrow will be easier.”
> Glendale, and Its Forests
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Volkswagen wouldn't even start the next morning, and they both awoke with massive cricks from sleeping in chairs. Jack’s knee was bruised to hell and slightly swollen and hurt like the dickens, leaving her limping worse than the night before. 

All in all, so much for ‘tomorrow being better’, Jack thought. 

Still, it was better in the imminent danger department, and that morning the sky was painting-perfect blue, the type you found in the midst of summer. Jack was growing an express appreciation for daylight in general, and while Rarity and she munched on their Pop-Tarts in silence, her eyes were on the sky the entire time.

“I suppose another vehicle is in order,” Rarity said after breakfast. “And a shower, mayhaps,” she added under her breath.

“Or we could pour the rest of the Vodka inta this one—see if the fumes are enough ta start it up,” Jack said wryly. She felt lighter; cheery, somehow. It was probably the survival of their close call. “I can't believe you drank that shit,” she chuckled at Rarity.

The predictable sniff was her answer, and Jack guffawed, putting her hands into her pockets and trailing after Rarity as the woman went to the trunk to retrieve fresh clothes for the both of them.

It wasn't too hard, really, Jack decided. The things only operated in the night. It was a clear line in the sand, a simple rule. They could make a schedule out of that; keep an eye on the sun and make sure to be holed up an hour or two before sunset. 

She silently swore to herself that nothing like the night before would happen again. They wouldn't be caught with their proverbial pants down, again.

“Still up for target practice?” Jack asked. Rarity straightened and handed her clean clothes. 

“Car and shower first, and then perhaps.” She paused. “Although my pistol seemed to do very little last night.”

Jack frowned, humming. “Guess that's what we get, arming you with a nine mil,” she muttered. She threw her clothes over her shoulder and put her hands back into her pockets. The morning was crisp. “I’d really like to get a rifle on ya, honestly. It would ease my mind.”

Rarity closed the trunk and wrapped her clothes around her forearms, crossing them in front of her chest. “It would ease my mind not to be attacked by monsters nightly.”

Jack barked out a laugh. “Yeah, ya know, that’d be great, too.”

They wandered a while in search of the residential district and found a handsome postcard-like downtown, with the shops and restaurants lining a thin one-way street. 

There were cars sticking out of shop fronts, some smashed into each other and resembling crushed soda cans. As they neared, the smell of leaked gasoline made Jack's nose scrunch.

So, not quite postcard-like. 

“You know, I've always seen myself living in a place like this,” Rarity mentioned.

Jack glanced at her. “Really?” She chuckled and looked around. “Suburbia?”

Rarity hummed. “Indeed. Though my dreams have always taken me to the suburbs of Manhattan or Philadelphia or Baltimore—not the capital, so much.”

“What's wrong with Mansfield?” Jack questioned, and then almost facepalmed herself—it had been a knee-jerk reaction to someone insinuating things about her home. 

Mansfield was a quiet, backwater hamlet, she thought. That was what was wrong with Mansfield. No place to build a fashion empire. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Rarity said easily, then paused. “Except for a town school district, which I would like for my children to have. And the commute.”

“Mansfield has a school,” Jack argued.

“Yes. One. An elementary school.” Rarity’s tone left the ‘and that's the point’ insinuated. “Wouldn't you have rather gone to a smaller school than we did? Full of kids that were from Mansfield instead of five other towns?” She paused and her voice softened. “I know you had a hard time at Daemarrel.”

Jack winced, then shrugged it off. “I wouldn't have met all a ya’ll, then.” She rubbed a hand across her mouth because damn, now she was thinking of stupid Daemarrel High again. Those thoughts hadn't plagued her in years. “I see yer point, I guess,” she finally said to Rarity.

The fifth house that they tried was open. Glendale was a very neat suburban community, unlike the suburbs they had shopped at the day before. All of the lawns were manicured, all the houses in neat rows, and all of the roads wide and unblemished. If it wasn’t for the wrecked cars, the smell of burning, and the occasional frantic bark or cry of an animal, it’d be almost painfully serene and welcoming.

The house they entered was a clone of all the others on the block, though with slightly different coloration. And inside it looked to have not been lived in at all, everything so neatly in its place that it gave off an almost sterile impression, like a hospital room with no patient.

 Jack pressed onward, clearing the rooms within the home until she opened a door just past the master bedroom; a room void of any form of expression or style, just as much as the rest of the home. She briefly took to the thought that the house might have been one that was up for sale with furniture included, rather than her first thought of it being a home that was simply kept in-check by a borderline zealous housekeeper.

“Found the bathroom. Yer welcome ta it first, if need be,” she called out to Rarity, well aware that this was a decent way to curb an entire day’s complaints.

Rarity trailed in after her, leisurely looking around. “Do you think it will still have hot water?”

Jack shrugged. “If that trailer did, house like this probably will.”

Rarity wrapped her clothes tighter around her arms and went inside the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Jack threw her clothes down onto the large four poster bed and looked around with pursed lips.

If the house really was just on display, there was a high chance that she wouldn’t find anything useful within it, but since the only other option was to sit and listen to Rarity quietly humming while she showered, Jack started poking around the bedroom. 

Looks could be deceiving, apparently. Despite her thoughts that the place might have been a simple show floor model for the neighborhood or a pre-furnished home, there were a few small, subtle nods to there being someone here, originally. An alarm clock, off and dead to the world without power, a book; Jack rolled her eyes when she saw it was Fifty Shades of Gray, with a bookmark peeking out from midway through; and, after opening and closing a set of drawers, a collection of women's underwear. Her practical side took over, and she eyeballed the measurements on the undergarments. Too small for her, but she made a mental note to tell Rarity when the shower had ended. She walked back to the kitchen, looking over what non-perishables she could find in the fridge and cabinets. 

Crackers in the cupboard, and a pitcher of water and deli ham in the fridge. Sniffing over the ham, she deemed it okay for now, and set it onto the table, intending to make an early lunch of the discovery since the Pop-tarts hadn't exactly sated her.

She considered sitting down at the table and waiting on the prima donna, but changed her mind and headed towards a door that connected the kitchen with the garage.

If the actual home proper was immaculate and pristine, then the garage was its antithesis. 

From the light that filtered through the heavy garage door window, Jack could easily make out a workbench sitting to the side, cluttered with tools. Past that, beside the garage door sat a heavy set of overalls, caked in grease and oil. Jack once again measured it with her eyes and deemed the set of clothes to be out of her size as well, lending itself far more to Mac’s giant frame.

The tools, the overalls, even the shelf that seemed to house more than its fair share of supplies, all paled in comparison to the object dead center, however.

It was a Jeep Wrangler, albeit one that had seen better days. A few sparse dings and pits marred the frame, but it clearly had received a lot of care. A set of new tires, new upholstery on the seats, and a vanity plate. Weyeld1, it read.

She wouldn’t say the plate helped tie everything together, but right now, the wheels looked more tempting than any of the other shit in the room.

Curious, she tried the door. It opened without a hitch. To make it seem almost too good to be true, the keys sat in the ignition.

“Looks like you were ‘wild’ enough ta leave yer doors unlocked, at the very least,” Jack said, then rolled her eyes, realizing she was talking to herself. Putting that to the side, she walked back into the home and had a seat at the kitchen table, waiting now on Rarity to finish up.

Rarity came in, barefooted and with her towel-covered hand weaving through her wet, wavy hair. She looked strangely at home, Jack thought to herself.

“Shower’s open, dear.”

“Alright.” She stood and tapped at the table. “Got some ham. An’ maybe some drawers in the bedroom that could work fer ya.”

“Why, could you not open them?” Rarity asked, standing up on her tiptoes and looking inside the cupboard above the fridge. Jack saw a more-than-respectable wine collection.  

Jack tilted her head, not quite processing Rarity’s remark for a time. “Eh? Ain’t ‘bout openin’ ‘em, I’m talkin’ wearin’ ‘em. Stuff’s way too small fer me.”

Rarity reached into the cupboard and pushed around some of the bottles, considering them before one caught her eye. 

“Chateau-D’yquem. An early two thousand vintage. Marvelous,” she remarked, taking the bottle and bringing it down to her level.

“An’ half those words mean, what, exactly?” Jack questioned.

“They mean that our lady of the house has excellent taste in wine, darling. Do go take the shower now,” she dismissed, waving a hand, her gaze on the bottle label. “You’ll feel a million times better.”

Jack snorted. “Best not get totally shitfaced, I wanna make some ground ‘fore we have ta hunker down again.” She stood and walked around the table. 

“No promises, darling.”





Rarity did take her suggestion, and was peering down at the underwear drawer when Jack walked out of the shower, feeling lighter and refreshed. 

The bottle was in Rarity’s hand, though, so perhaps she didn’t take all of Jack’s suggestions, but it was a start. 

“Think these people’s washing machine still works?” Jack asked, bundling her dirty clothes in a ball between her hands. She lightly felt at the back of her head with her hand—the wound she had received during yesterday’s fight had flared like a sonofabitch when the hot water hit it, and had made washing her hair a more careful and laborious process than usual. She'd forgotten all about the damn thing.

“Probably. And I have aquired bread for us, and made sandwiches in the kitchen,” Rarity hummed. She closed the underwear drawer and turned to Jack. “You were right—her undergarments would not fit you.” 

Jack chuckled. “Figured they were more your size, yeah.”

“She has excellent taste, though. You know, I feel very close to this woman, whoever she was. She has impressed me.” Rarity nodded, as if to reassure herself of the fact.

Jack rolled her eyes. “Guess you didn’t take my suggestion about the wine, huh?”

“It’s very good wine,” Rarity announced matter-of-factly.

Bringing a hand up, Jack rubbed at her brow and sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s eat, ya lush. Maybe the bread’ll get ya on even ground again.”

“I’m not drunk, Jack Apple,” Rarity said primly, following her as Jack led them back to the kitchen. “And I’m not a lush.”

Jack raised a hand above her shoulder, brushing off the words. “Yeah, yeah.”

Back in the kitchen, Jack chewed thoughtfully on her sandwich, tapping at the table as she did so. Swallowing, she pushed forward with a thought she had.

“The garage had a Jeep ready ta go, an’ a decent amount of tools. Unless ya were gonna admire this girl’s unmentionables fer a little longer, I think we can gear up an’ go after the meal.”

Rarity hummed in agreement. “Wouldn’t take whoever lived here to be a Jeep owner.” She scrunched her nose lightly, as if owning a Jeep was uncouth.

“Probably belongs to the husband,” Jack drawled. “He seemed like a reasonable sort.” A memory came to her and she snorted and amended: “Shit, license plate aside.”

“License plate?”

Jack grinned. “You’ll see.”

They finished their meal, including the rest of the wine. Jack thought to protest that, but figured it wasn’t worth the argument. She felt good, worry for family notwithstanding. Small things, and little moments, she told herself. Hope. Like this house and the fact that it had everything that they really needed. She was prepared to work with what they had, but it wasn’t like they were desperately scrounging for food. Hell, if they could nail down the whole ‘get inside before sunset’ thing, they’d be golden, and the trip would be… well, not a pleasure, really, but not a toll, either.

Upon seeing the license plate, Rarity snorted in a very unladylike way and muttered, “Wow.” 

“Key’s in the ignition, though. Fire the baby up and check the gas,” Jack told her. “I’mma look around for anything else in the garage worth taking.”

The Jeep started up with no complaint, a nice powerful rumble that made Jack grin and miss her truck with a little pang. She looked more closely at the tools on the workbench. Carpentry things mostly. Her foot hit a crate underneath the workbench that she hadn’t seen, and she ducked down. A roll of duct tape and some odds and ends stuff. Bike parts. She took the tape and twirled it around her fingers, moving on to a truly massive tool cabinet as tall as her. She opened drawers, and found—big surprise—tools of every kind, including yard work tools, all immaculately organized. One in particular, a machete, caught her eye and she pocketed it, taking the sheath and strapping it at her back.

“Darling? I found a map in the glove compartment,” Rarity called out from the Jeep.

“Yeah?” Jack came around to the passenger side. Sure enough, a crisp, neatly folded map laid on the seat. It was thick, and when unfolded revealed itself to be not just a county, but a state map. “Damn,” Jack said, smiling. “We are in business.”

She located Glendale easily enough, surprised to see just how much ground they had covered. They were almost out of Arkansas. She took her time tracing the roads and highways. She knew where she was going, generally—she’d taken the trip to Appaloosa several times, and knew to follow I-40, merge onto 35, and then I-70 through the mountains. The trip took a good twenty hours by car. It was no joke by any means, and the roads further west in the mountains were treacherous in the best of times. The faintest chill in the air told her that winter would be here soon, and with it, even worse conditions in said mountains.

She flicked a finger at the map. “I say fuck the interstate an’ hop offa Chesapeake, hit up Ventura Highway, take it ta Highway 101, an’ see where we go from there.”

Hearing no response from Rarity, Jack glanced up and found confused blue eyes studying her. She rolled her eyes and folded the map.

“Look, I know where I’m goin’, okay?”

“If you say so, dear.” 

Jack pushed away from the Jeep and moved to the garage doors. With the electricity out, she knew she couldn’t rely on the door to operate, so she squatted down to the shutter and got her fingers underneath, lifting.

There came a pop from the chains as she pulled the garage door up and hoisted it over. Glancing towards the Jeep once more, she couldn’t help herself.

“Guess our chariot awaits, princess.”





Chesapeake Road was a small two-laner with heavy woods on both sides, the trees standing bare and grey and still as soldiers in formation. It was slightly claustrophobic, but would have probably been pleasant in the summer or fall, with all the pretty leaves bleeding color along the road’s edges and exploding with life.

But it wasn’t the summer, and the ridiculously soaring temperatures made odd bedfellows with the naked trees and mountains of dead leaves.

As they made their way out of Glendale, mangy, bruised clouds overtook the sun, leaving the sky threatening rain. Jack scowled at the clouds, trying to keep their speed down as the sun—their timepiece—disappeared entirely. It was about quarter ‘till three, Rarity had told her mere minutes ago, but the sun was sticking around for shorter and shorter. By about five thirty or six it would be gone altogether. Jack tried not to let it make her nervous.

The nervousness broke through anyway, along with a good deal of cursing, when they found the small, two lane road that they traveled on completely blocked. 

Jack groaned and slammed on the brakes. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

Before them, a truck carrying grain had tipped over onto its side, knocking into a fence and blocking both lanes with its bulk, all but stopping any possible route through. Jack slapped the wheel in frustration, but soon let her arm drop down to her lap as she looked closer at the one-vehicle wreck.

There was an arm protruding from beneath the truck’s driver side window, white on the asphalt road. The blood surrounding it told Jack it was severed, at best. Still somewhat attached at worst.

“Aw, Jesus,” she muttered, glancing over to Rarity. “Be best if ya didn’t look.”

“I’ve already seen,” Rarity said. Her voice was high. “But the thought is appreciated.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

“I suppose this was a… a previous wreck. Before everything. Seeing as there is a body.”

“Probably,” Jack sighed. She tried her absolute damndest not to look at the arm, and instead cast her eyes about for any opening large enough to fit their Jeep through. There was space on the right side of the wreckage and Jack inched the Jeep closer to it, eyeing the space. 

A black SUV, it’s front smashed into the guardrail, stood in their way.

“Right,” Jack huffed. “I guess we’re not getting anywhere.”

“Can we not pull it out?”

Jack glanced to Rarity, then to the smashed-up vehicle ahead of them. “Darlin’, it’s a fuckin’ SUV that probably has a busted axle. If we were luggin’ a tow truck around, maybe, but…”

“Well, do you think we could maybe drive it out of the way?”

Jack gave her a flat stare. “No, Rare.” She was edgy, and when she was edgy, she tended to snap.

“Oh. Well excuse me for not being knowledgeable about vehicles, Jack,” Rarity dryly huffed out.

They sat in silence, tense, with the Jeep rumbling patiently beneath them.

Full tank of gas, too, Jack thought wistfully. Son of a bitch.

She turned off the car and unbuckled.

“C’mon,” she said to Rarity, and climbed out. She went to the trunk and opened it, taking their bags from the inside.

“Are we going back to town?” Rarity joined her, and stared down at the bags on the asphalt. “We could just drive back into it.”

“We’re not going back to town,” Jack grunted. She slung on a bookbag and gathered a bag into each hand. “Next town’s about ten miles from here. We can make it by foot.”

“By foot!?” she cried out, looking at Jack with pure shock. “I never, Jack Apple, we are perfectly able to get a tow truck and return here.”

Jack shook her head, offering a humorless laugh. “It’d be the same sorta timeframe. We can at least make some ground this way.”

“Provided we do not run into obstacles, or hurt ourselves, or any number of inconveniences! Be reasonable!”

“I’m reasonably sure we can walk a few hours without breakin’ our damn fool necks, Rare. Throw me a fuckin’ bone here.”

God, and it was about to rain, too, the voice inside her head whined in a perfect semblance of Alice's teenage moaning. 

“I have thrown you enough bones to keep a dog content for years!” Rarity replied, lifting her arms dramatically in the air. “We are not walking, and that is final!”

“Oh yeah?” Jack snapped back, rolling her shoulders and stepping away. “Jus’ watch me.” With that, she began to head towards the SUV and squeezed past the wreck, leaving Rarity standing by the car.

Rarity watched her leave and waited one minute, two minutes, anticipating Jack to return after throwing her fit. When that didn’t happen, Rarity, in an uncharastic manner, kicked the Jeep’s tire and swore under her breath.

“Damn mule,” she muttered, adjusting the pack on her shoulder and following after Jack.

Jack stood just past the SUV and on the cusp of returning like a dog with her tail between her legs, when she heard the telltale noise of grunts and subtle curses as Rarity made her way through the wreckage. Waiting until the woman had fully passed through, Jack finally snorted.

“What kept ya?”

Rarity glared daggers at the woman and pointed a stern finger, her manicured nails still holding up somewhat well despite the brutal regime they currently experienced.

“So help me, Jack…” she spat out, not finishing the threat.

Finally, Jack shook her head. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But we ain’t gettin’ shit done if we don’t get ta moseyin’ pronto. Mac an’ my sis are out there. An’ I ain’t gonna stop fer nothin’ until we get to ‘em.” She looked further down the road, with the grey sky hanging low over it and the grey trees rising up from it, and then looked back at Rarity. “Look, let’s make a pact, alright?” she said. Rarity tilted up her chin, looking Jack in the eyes. “We make progress. Everyday—a town a day, okay? There’s plenty of small little hamlets along these roads. We pace ourselves, and we get to a town a day, even if it’s five or three miles away.”

Rarity was silent for a long, lingering moment, looking down at Jack’s outstretched hand. Finally, just as Jack was heating herself up for another argument, she placed her hand against Jack’s and they shook, twice.

“Very well. A town a day.” 

Jack smiled, relaxing. “Right.” She dropped the bookbag from her shoulder and opened the front pocket, getting out the map and laying it spread on the asphalt, kneeling in front of it. Rarity crouched down with her and peered over it. The next town was Fort Keld, a good large city right on the edge of the state line between Arkansas and Oklahoma, about ten or fifteen miles away, if one followed the I-40. Jack had plotted a course up and around Fort Keld, if only because she didn't want to deal with clearing the agglomeration of cars on the I-40. 

“We could simply drive back into town and go another way, Jack.” The quality of Rarity's voice was gentle and patient, and made Jack eye the woman suspiciously. “It would maybe add another twenty minutes to our trip. That's not a large price to pay to keep a car under us.”

Jack glared for a long moment, sighed, and folded the map. She felt like arguing more, and in favor of walking, but Rarity had a way about her, in how she spoke, that always made her sound like she knew exactly what she was talking about. She believed every word that came out of her own mouth, and that kind of certainty was infectious and hard to argue against without ending up looking like a stubborn dumbass. 

Plus, Jack had enough sense to know her own heart and realize that she was being pointlessly obstinate about a ludicrous and dangerous idea. But she couldn't help it; everything within her was straining to go go go, and to find Mac and Alice. Her urgency and worry was a blinding and mind-numbing weight at the front of her brain.

But Rarity had a point.

Jack threw up her arms in consent. “Fuckin’—fine. Fine.” 

Well, she didn't have to like being wrong, at any rate. 

Rarity said nothing and didn't send her a triumphant smirk like Jack was expecting her to. So there was that, at least.

They climbed over the wreckage and back into the Jeep. When they spun it around, the sky behind them was no better, still menacing and gloomy. There seemed to be no end to the cloud cover.

Jack drove them back into Glendale, then pointed them north for a bit, onto US 71.

The highway stretched long before them. Two lanes, asphalt bleached and cracked from countless sunny days. There were cars that they had to clear, all of them long out of gas by now, but it wasn't too terribly many. They kept to the middle of the highway, riding the yellow line and easing around the wrecks that would allow them space. To one side of the highway the ground leveled off, fields of dead grass sweeping away from them and toward the miniature summer cottages that dotted the horizon. On the other side, the curb ran down at a lazy incline. A long grassy stretch, then the jagged outline of the forest, tame and unthreatening at a distance, low and still beneath the blackout tangle of branches where it huddled prematurely in wait. The smell of peat and sulfur cut insidious beneath the smell of coming rain and rotting dead leaves.

The storm finally struck. Fat, smacking drops at first, then sheets of it—gushing torrents of rain that struck the ground and the windshield with the sharp ring of metal on stone. The Jeep's wipers could just barely keep up, affording millisecond glimpses of what was ahead before becoming blurry and distorted by the rain again. Lightning strikes spat down, angry artillery fire that slammed against the cannon roar of thunder.

It was taking too long. Jack couldn't help but be nervous, gripping the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles went white, pushing the Jeep forward aggressively when she saw an opening large enough to fit it through, clipping several cars in the process. By the time they got through the worst of the buildup, the Jeep was dented and grooved. 

When they hit a clear stretch of road, Jack gunned it. 

“Slow down,” Rarity almost instantly chastised her.

“We don't got a lotta daylight ta burn, sugar,” Jack replied through her teeth, wrenching the steering wheel between her hands until the rubber squeaked.

“So we should use that daylight to get into a traffic accident?” 

Jack sneered at her. “Better than getting chewed up by the—”

She felt the car lose traction beneath her and swore, heart jumping into her throat. Rarity screamed, shouting a barking “Jack!” as the vehicle lost control, hydroplaning right, heading towards a long-dead car. Jack turned, twisted the wheel and managed to avoid the obstacle, but overcorrected, fishtailing. She gave it one more shot, twisting the wheel again to try and bring them back to the center, but it was too late. They collided with the guardrail, emitting an agonizing screech of metal on metal as the railing first impacted the bumper, then crumpled under the weight of the vehicle, grinding under the car’s hood. The breaks finally found a bit of traction as Jack crushed her foot into the pedal and the car mercifully stopped, a tire hanging precariously off of the shoulder of the road.

Jack sat behind the wheel, her hands clamped in death grips upon the wheel and her breaths coming out in a low whistle through clenched teeth even as the Jeep had came to a dead stop. Rarity leaned back in her seat, dazed. Even then, she managed to speak first.

“Are you alright?”

Jack didn’t respond for a second as she stared straight ahead. Finally, as if time had returned to her, she brought a hand down hard on the wheel, slamming it with the base of her palm.

“Goddamnit!” she bellowed, slamming the wheel again. She put the car into park habitually, there was little doubt in her mind that the thing wasn't going to ride again without serious repairs, and stepped out into the rain to look over the damage. Rarity sat for a moment after Jack slammed the door shut, then got out herself to examine what befell them.

She was soaked almost instantly to the bone, and hugged herself against the chill as she walked around the back of the Jeep and to where Jack was squatted near the front left wheel.

The guardrail was a mess of warped metal underneath the vehicle from where they impacted, torn and bent at sharp angles. These very angles had clearly struck against the car’s vulnerable underbelly, liquids had already begun to pool on the ground like blood from a shot man. The wheel they were standing next to was also not in good shape, bits of metal deeply penetrating the rubber. Jack sighed and seemed to accept her initial diagnosis, standing to her full height and resting her forearms on the hood of the vehicle. She dropped her head into her hands and closed her eyes.

“Son of a bitch,” she said quietly, aware of her trembling hands and weak knees, of her heart still galloping wildly in her chest, and the cold drops of rainwater sliding down her back. She let herself have just a moment before urgency broke through her overwhelmed senses and she ducked back into the vehicle, reaching for her pack in the backseat. Feeling the front, she pulled out the folded map and sprawled it out across the driver's seat and center console.

“Sun’s goin’ down an’ we’re in the middle of bum fuck nowhere,” Jack mumbled to herself, running a finger over their plotted course.

“We’re too far from Glendale? Can we not turn back?” Rarity offered, squeezing up next to her in the space of the ajar driver's door, the car making patient protests about it being open.

“Even if I’m generous an’ we jog, I don’t think we’d get there ‘til twilight. An’ considerin’ last time it was twilight an’ we were outside, we jus’ about got…” She didn’t finish.

Rarity did not respond for a long moment, staring down at the map and worrying her bottom lip. Finally, she looked up from it and towards the northwest.

“That forest.”

Jack glanced behind her, looking towards where Rarity pointed, and at the dense woods in the distance. She held back a comment, instead waiting for Rarity to finish.

“We could take them. They cut through towards the next town, according to the map. It would be closer. Less risk, provided we start walking now.”

Jack wrestled with herself for a minute, instinctively wanting to shoot the suggestion down. Walking, in this rain, with the sunset getting so close?

Except they made a pact to make progress, and Jack's actions had admittedly just fucked them up hard.

“I… think that’s our best bet,” she finally agreed as she finished looking over the map. “Though fuck do I not want ta be in the woods when those things come around. Get the feelin’ pitchin’ a tent an’ hidin’ in it wouldn’t do no good.” She laughed a little nervously and rubbed the tickling water from the back of her neck. “Call it a hunch.”

“Well, it’s a hunch we won’t need to learn about if we hurry.” Rarity took her words as an example, stepping around to the back of the Jeep and grabbing their luggage. She put her pack onto her back and stepped over the ruined guardrail to hand Jack hers. Their hands brushed against the straps as Jack took it from her. Rarity smiled up at her, a little, for a second, standing there in the pouring rain, and then began a slow descent down the hillside. “Come along now, Jacqueline.”





They hiked for a solid hour in silence.

The forest was gloomy and thick. Bare branches suspended from every tree, and a range of flowers, which grew dispersed and sparingly in the oncoming cold, caught attention in the otherwise brown forest grounds. Fat drops made muted plops as they fell from branches,  and though the rain had given up the ghost almost half an hour ago, the sky was still bruised and dark.

It left Jack feeling uneasy. The forest was so still and quiet that their footsteps were the only sound in the entire world, it seemed. No breeze blowed through, but the temperature had started a steady decline when the clouds had rolled in, and it didn’t seem to be letting up. Rarity had dug out a coat; long and woollen, in a jarring, I’m-not-a-deer red.

And all the while the sky seemed to debate with itself whether it wanted to drop more of it's load or not.

“Gonna be a farmer's rain,” Jack said. The silence gave her chills, and she wanted to break it. Rarity made an inquisitive noise from behind her. “A good soaker—kind that pours for a half-hour, leaves the crops happy, but doesn't stop work for too long.”

Rarity didn't respond with anything verbal, and they hiked for another fifteen minutes before the land started a slow decline into something like a valley, the trees thinning around them.

Deeper they went into the woods, the only sound as they pressed on came from them. Their footsteps, Rarity’s occasionally labored breathing, not used to the hike and movement, Jack’s grunts as she took the shortest paths possible, climbing over logs and stones and ignoring the snag of branches and briars as they tugged and tore into her clothing and skin.

The realization came on gradually. It started out as a cold, wet trickle down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck rising and shooting a tremor through her. Then the hair on her arms stood on end, and she slowed her steps until she stopped altogether. And she listened.

Truly, really listened.

The forest was too quiet; quiet in a way that forests just didn't get.

No shuffle from other animals. No song from the birds. No occasional cicada cry through the air or chirp of a cricket. Dead silent.

The realization hit her like a slap, and Jack hunched low, dropping to a squat immediately and fumbling up for Rarity's hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging incessantly.

“What on ear—” Rarity began, only to be cut off by a shhh from Jack, her finger to her lips. Rarity seemed ready to retort, but kept silent. And, after a moment, she mirrored Jack’s motion, dropping down to a knee and taking stock of the woods. 

A dead, hollowed out tree, bent over and broken in half, stood ten feet to their right. Jack squeezed Rarity's hand, nodded towards it, and they half-crawled, half-scrambled behind it's thick trunk. Jack slammed her back against the bark, heart in her throat, the fingers laced with Rarity’s breaking out in sweat despite the cool temperature.

They both heard the faint sizzle of leaves being bothered—not trampled on, but almost… weaved through. It was a subtle sound, almost calming to the ear. Jack reached down, her movements slow and deliberate as her hand crept for the reassuring weight of her shotgun. She counted out a beat in her head, and inch by slow inch, rolled her head to peek out from behind their semi-exposed cover.

It came from their left, slow and patient, looking all the world as though it was taking a stroll through the woods instead of stalking them. 

The creature was what Jack could best describe as a failed children’s clay model. It had a form, misshapen and oddly proportioned, of a hunched over man caught between an ape’s unnatural two-legged gait, and a human’s more correct posture. Atop its back was a small tree—Jack wanted to call it a bonzi or something like that, but couldn’t be sure—and amid its garish, lumpy body were strange sacks of some sort of fluid, which dripped down its body, dense with greenery and vines. A few flowers even littered it's frame, looking oddly gay on such an abomination. It had a pair of massive webbed eyes like a fly, and a snout resembling an alligator’s. The thing was massive—over eight feet tall, easy, but it glided across the forest floor with barely a sound, it's root-like feet propelling it forward through the earth as though it was water.

Jack kept a bead on it with the shotgun as it stopped in its tracks and scanned the forest, and then inhaled one great breath through the mouth, like it was tasting the air. It looked towards them for a moment, and Jack sucked in her breath, focusing the sights of her shotgun for real—but then it looked past them and away from their hiding spot.

“J-Jack,” Rarity whispered, trembling.

Jack reached back and held onto Rarity’s hand with her own, wordlessly comforting the woman as the creature slowly began to glide past their tree, grunting to itself in dissatisfaction at the missed opportunity. 

Waiting one moment, then two, Jack finally exhaled the sigh she held and squeezed at Rarity’s hand so hard she left red marks upon the other woman’s porcelain skin.

“I don’t think it can see us if we stay completely still,” she breathed. Rarity nodded, pale as a ghost. They sat huddled beneath the tree for almost a full minute, not daring to move even a muscle. 

Eventually, Jack sucked in another breath and rolled her shoulder slowly into the trunk of the tree, shotgun in a death-grip, and looked past the weathered bark at their back.

It was gone—seemingly vanished into thin air. Jack stared hard for one long moment, tracing every detail within her field of vision, and then crouched back down to face Rarity.

“There’s somethin’ goin’ on here,” she said to Rarity in a harsh whisper. “Thing up an’ ran off.”

“Ran off? Do you hear yourself? That thing can run no more than I can sprint a marathon.”

“Well it’s not there anymore. Maybe it’s hidin’ in the trees or somethin’. Let’s keep goin’. Slowlike.”

“Keep going?” Rarity hissed incredulously. “While it's stalking us?”

“Well the other option is to sit on our asses ‘till nightfall in fear of the thing,” Jack pointed out. “I’d rather take one o’ these than a whole pack of the smaller, faster ones. C’mon.”

Rarity nodded begrudgingly and got up, shuffling reluctantly after Jack as the farmer pressed forward.

Their steps now came with dread, fear that wherever the creature was, it now was aware and actively hunting them. They practically tiptoed for ten minutes, making about a hundred feet of progress for all of their trouble, before a wrong step from Rarity brought the snap of a twig to life and made Jack whirl around, her gun at the level and pointed directly at Rarity. 

Instantly she realized what she did and she lowered the weapon, alarm in her eyes.

“Fuck. Rare, I’m—”

Rarity screamed, the shrill exclamation after such a long period of careful silence making Jack’s every nerve stand rigidly at attention. The farmer whipped around reflexively, but not fast enough. Vines shot up from the blanket of leaves like they were alive, one wrapping itself in a death grip around Jack’s upper arm before she could utter a sound or make a move, and the other around her hips, squeezing so tightly that Jack felt shooting pains all down her legs. The gun tumbled from her hands and to the leaves below in shock.

The creature formed up from the ground, vines twisting up and making legs and then a torso almost too fast for the naked eye to keep up with. Within seconds it was to its full height before them, and the tree at it's back slowly rose up out of its body. It clamped its maw around Jack’s shoulder, and a pain unlike anything the farmer had experienced before slammed into her. 

“Jack!” 

She heard Rarity’s shout, and then a few fumbling seconds later the clean pop of her pistol discharging. The thing grunted around Jack’s shoulder as if the bullets did nothing more than disturb it; then, with a grace that should have been impossible for its size, it slinked its foot forward and one of its brown toe-roots shot out with the speed of a whip-crack, wrapping around Rarity’s neck and immediately choking her.

Rarity gagged, her hands clawing, scraping at the vines, trying to find some purchase, some form of relief against the attack, but failing, faltering. It lifted her from the ground, sending her legs kicking in the air, spots of darkness appearing in her vision.

Jack’s scream of fear and pain turned into a scream of anger as she fought through the pain and used her free hand to grope for her pistol, unloading round after round into the creature point-blank, firing wildly and randomly, each time making it stumble and loosen its grip on her a hair, but not enough for her to slip out.

“Why—don't—you—fucking—die?” Jack screamed, shooting in emphasize with each word. The bullets were doing almost nothing to it, puncturing little holes that disappeared and stitched themselves back together quickly. Regenerated.

We're going to die.

The thought sounded stark clear and simple in her head, like the drop of a pin in a silent classroom. The gun kicked back, empty and spent in Jack’s hand, and the creature’s jaw tightened around Jack’s shoulder, sending waves of agony through her body. She howled and dropped the pistol to the forest ground, going at the thing with her naked fist, desperate and blinded by pain. Twigs and brambles tore at her kickles with every punch, and she wasn't putting a dent in the thing—she wasn't putting a dent in the thing—she— 

A powerful, echoing blast shook the forest floor and made Jack’s ears ring. The thing grunted, a bubbly, growling sound of rage, like the motor of the Jeep Wrangler. Its jaw finally slacked enough and Jack pulled her shoulder free, bloody and ruined and punctured, with pale gleam of bone showing, but blessedly attached. She dropped to the ground and rolled away from the thing as another earth-rattling blast sounded through the forest. Pieces of the creature, twigs and vines and even branches, rained on Jack’s prone form. The creature moved its attentions away from its prey, turning to face its challenger.

Rarity.

Jack whipped her head around in search of the tailor and saw the coat, the damn red coat, the body within it limp and dangling a good five feet in the air. 

Another blast, another screech from the creature, and Jack took off at a dead sprint. She unsheathed the machete from her back and the sharp, well-kept blade sliced through the thick root holding Rarity up. Behind her, the creature gave another shriek of pain in response to another blast, and a gleeful “Woo!” was uttered by someone, echoing through the forest.

Rarity dropped like a stone into Jack's arms, and the sudden weight made her shoulder flare with agony again. She sunk to her knees on the cushioning leaves, practically dropping Rarity’s limp body down onto the ground. Delirious with pain, she hovered her cheek over the tailor’s mouth and nose.

And felt whisper-light breaths on her skin. 

Not dead, not dead. Just unconscious. Thank God.

There was a loud groan and a shuffle of foliage slapping together, followed by a cocky, cheerful, “Aw yeah heh heh!”, and Jack looked up just in time to see the creature’s body dissolve back into the earth, the vines fleeing like snakes, and the great tree atop its back crashing to the ground.

The adrenaline tapered out, sucking her strength from her even as she watched the thing die. She could practically feel the aches present themselves, one by one in a strangely neat and orderly way. Her shoulder, and hips, and arm, and knuckles. Her vision folded in on itself, growing blurry and black at the edges, and she dropped down beside Rarity on the forest floor.

The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a person-shaped silhouette against the dark, brooding sky that threatened a farmer’s rain.
> Kody's Grove
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rarity awoke with a massive double-barrel shotgun staring her right in the face. She offered a wry smile at the circumstance. For some reason, the sight of the gun wasn’t even the worst thing that had happened to her the past few days. At least the weapon wasn’t already pouncing upon her, clawing, gnashing, and tearing asunder. A gun, or, rather, the man behind it, could be reasoned with. Spoken to.

So it was with that in mind that she slowly crept her finger forward, and turned the barrel away from her head.

“Please. I’ve had a rather taxing few days already. The less guns pointed my direction, the better.”

The man seemed to take this into consideration, not repositioning the weapon, but taking a few steps back and sitting down on an overturned bucket, cradling the shotgun in his arms.

He was broad-shouldered and squat and built like a bull, with a haggard appearance; loose, long auburn hair that had been missing a shower for days now, gray at the temples, and a freckled face caked with stubble. At his neck was a loose-fitting scarf—Rarity once more felt a humorless smile creep her way that she willed back, the object was just so tacky when compared to his tan fisherman’s vest. His legs were covered by a pair of denim jeans splattered with mud and blood. Jack’s? Rarity wondered for split second, but pushed the thought away before it could make her panic and lose her composure.

Never taking an eye off her, he fished into one of the pockets of his vest and pulled out a cigarette and lighter; with a flick of his wrist, he lit up and inhaled.

“That habit will kill you,” Rarity stated. He gave a raise of his thick brow and then actually chuckled at her.

“I’ll take my chances with them over the other things out there,” he replied. His tone was laced with a typical accent from around here, a drawl not quite on par with Jack’s, but close. Rarity felt herself relaxing a bit more at that, subconsciously grateful that she seemed to be making some rapport with the man that was holding a gun to her seconds ago.

“Care to explain your… theatrics with the weapon?”

“I saw you and that girl got cut by that thing. Don’t take a genius to remember Night of the Living Dead.”

“Well, that thing was more, er… Pulp Fiction? No, that’s not right.” She racked her brain, trying to think of an accurate movie to describe the plant thing, before shrugging. “Regardless, being bit or clawed does not turn you, apparently. We had a similar concern with a man we traveled with earlier.”

“He didn’t make it?”

“No, he’s quite alright. He stayed in the capital to watch over a young boy who also traveled with us.”

The man’s face softened, albeit a hair. “Yours?”

“Not exactly. But I would consider him family.”

He slowly nodded at that, adjusting the grip of the gun, not yet totally relinquishing it, but clearly just cradling it now.

“Then what the hell takes you out here? We’re a good bit away from the capital.”

“The damn fool you saw earlier is the reason,” she replied, crossly. But her irritation faded after a second and she looked to him with clear worry on her brow. “The one traveling with me, Jack. Is she…?”

“Fine, last time I saw her. Got her patched up nice and neat, and if you’re being truthful about those things not changing you, she’ll be up and walking about soon enough.”

“Well, you must believe me somewhat, considering you’re not ready to blow my head off.”

He snorted. “Make no mistake, if you had acted like you were ready to lunge, it would have been bye-bye head. Nobody touches me or my boy.” He eyed her once more and then stood, throwing the shotgun onto his left shoulder. “But you look fine enough to me. I’ll take you to your friend.”

Rarity held up a hand expectantly. 

He stared down at the hand and snorted. “You’re not crippled, get up yourself.”

She lowered her hand and pushed herself up, grumbling as she did.

“Fantastic, I’m in the company of another ruffian.”

He led her to the shack’s door and opened it carelessly, making Rarity lift her hand up in defense against the bright, glaring sun. 

“What time is it?” she pondered, then realized another thing as she stared up towards the clear skies, “Wait, what happened to the rain?”

“It’s Tuesday,” he answered curtly, as they began walking across a stone-cobbled pathway. After a beat, he added on, “Rain came last night. About two, three inches, going by the gauge. Should help the crops well enough.”

Rarity was silent, and glanced at the fenceline nearby. “Late in the season for crop growth, isn’t it?”

He gave an absent-minded rub of the back of his neck as he looked past the fence in thought. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get one more harvest before our first frost. Going by the shit that’s happening, we’ll need every bit of food we can get our hands on.”

“You don’t believe things will improve?”

He barked out a laugh. “Can you not see the world has ended out there? Good luck ‘improving’ things when we can’t even go take a piss outside at night without being torn to pieces.”

She rolled her eyes at the crass statement. “I’m sure the government will think of something to restore our way of life.”

“They’re the ones that probably did it!” he replied, throwing his arm up in exasperation. “MK Ultra, some new biological weapon, fuck, I don’t know, maybe they pissed off aliens! All I know is I’d bet every dollar in the bank—not that money is good now—that they were responsible.”

Rarity almost called him crazy. Almost. The gun in his hands and, more alarmingly, the consideration that it could have been some sort of weapon they created stopped her from that train of thought. Instead, she offered an uncertain nod.

“Have you heard any news? Is this localized?”

“Not been keeping tabs on the radio, girly?” He gave his hair a brush back with his palm. “Whole state is fucked. No emergency services, no hospital staff, no power unless you have a generator, no nothing you can’t get yourself.”

“I’m well aware of the state, thank you. As I said, we were east a few scant days ago. Rather, I mean out of state. Or, gracious, out of country.”

His laugh chilled her, despite the unnatural warmth of the autumn day. “Thinking of going to gay Paree until the government solves your issues?” Frowning, he stopped, turning to look dead-on at her. “Think again. Before my connection dropped on an IRC client, I was speaking to a man in Germany. Same exact shit, just with more lederhosen.”

“Charming,” she dryly replied.

“I didn’t get the big bucks for being charming, dollface. I got them by being effective and ready.” He looked up, a few steps away from what Rarity assumed was his home.

The building was a traditional ranch style. Single floor, but stretching a respectable distance out, with heavy bricks lining the walls and metal window shutters. If she was faced with a less paranoid man, Rarity would have assumed they were for tornados. Him, however…

He stepped forward onto a small covered porch and pulled out a key. Unlocking the front door, he opened it, tilting his head inside, wordlessly telling her to go in first.

The small living room held furniture built for comfort, chairs with deep, sagging cushions, sturdy tables that would bare the weight of resting feet. The walls were a shade of umber that melded nicely with the light pine of the floor. There were mild splashes of color to offset and challenge the mellow tones—paintings, a large rug, a scatter of toys that reminded Rarity he had a child. 

The living room shared its space with the dining room—the ‘dining room’ being a handsome cherrywood table with two matching chairs set across from each other, and not much else. It gave off the impression that the two spaces were one in the same, and mutually exclusive; that dinner could be enjoyed at the table or in front of the television. Not that there was one. Instead, above the fireplace mantel there was a massive buck’s head.

The man pivoted and closed the door behind them, taking the gun off of his shoulder and hanging it by its strap on the coat hanger nailed to the wall, as if it was nothing more than a coat. Rarity gaped at the casual treatment of the weapon but closed her mouth just in time for him to turn back around and face her.

“Kody,” he called through the house, and then kicked off his filthy boots and set them neatly by the door next to a scatter of other shoes. “Ko-di-to,” he sang, and went into the small, compact kitchen. Rarity hesitantly wandered into the living room, stepping over Transformers and bright Hotwheels and colorful Legos with the grace of a cat.

The couch and two armchairs sat facing a massive brick fireplace, one that was clearly a home job, judging by the texture and worn look over the years. Perhaps it was one of the earlier addons to the home, before a more modern take began to spread throughout.

“Here, dad,” a slightly exasperated voice said, and Rarity turned away from the fireplace as a young boy about Spike’s age came shuffling from a darkened hallway to Rarity’s left. He was a good-looking kid, with a mop of curly, sandy hair and a body that was just starting to go gangly. If he grew into his feet, he’d be a tall one before he was finished sprouting. He had a kiss-my-ass chin, Rarity observed, and a sulky, full mouth. High cheekbones, light eyes, a dusting a freckles inherited from his father. He wore an X-Files T-shirt that assured Rarity the truth was out there.

“How’s our guest doin’?” 

The boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “She’s still sleeping.” He looked curiously at Rarity, who smiled in return and made him flush.

“Could you show me to her?” Rarity asked, lowering herself a hair and resting her hands on her knees to speak level with the boy.

The boy looked past Rarity and towards his dad, who nodded in return.

“Okay,” he replied simply, and then motioned her froward with a toss of the arm as he turned back to the dark hall. 

“I’m settin’ up lunch. Don’t be too long, Kode,” the man—and how strange and slightly rude that she didn’t know his name yet—called out after them.

They passed several oak doors in the short hallway, all on the right, before coming to the last one. Kody seemed to falter in front of it a moment, and then he rapped his knuckles gently on the door. When no response came from inside, he twisted the brass doorknob and led Rarity in.

It was very obviously Kody’s room—spacious for a child’s bedroom, with a sturdy dresser and desk in dark, dark oak, a wall of shelves that held a boy’s knickknacks and broken toys alongside a respectable library. A portable stereo that looked shiny and new sat on top of the book shelf, along with a pair of binoculars that didn’t look new at all. The walls were a quiet green, and the bed was a twin.

And Jack’s sleeping form was strapped to that bed; half-mast in only a bra, her wrists tied to the headboard with thick rope, more of it crossing her body in neat horizontal lines.

Rarity had a moment of humor at the ridiculousness of seeing Jack’s six-foot-six frame on the tiny kid’s bed, and then the moment was replaced with wariness and terror. Barbarians, her thoughts shrieked at her. They’d been picked up by man-eating barbarians—because naturally the first thing that people did in zombie apocalypses was turn into cannibals. 

And then she stepped further into the room and noticed that Jack’s bitten shoulder was wrapped, tended-to neatly. 

She turned to the boy still hovering inside the frame of the door.

“Did you do this?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Again he shrugged. “I’m good at patching people up—dad’s a klutz. Gets hurt nearly every week.”

“And the ropes?”

“Dad didn’t want her turning into one o’ them. Specially not a Rooter—they’re high level.” He grinned, excitement in the eyes. They were pale green, Rarity noted now that she was closer to him. Like the color of fog over seawater.

“High… level?” Rarity asked.

“Yeah, you know, like in games. High level enemies.”

“I… see,” she said, not seeing at all. She glanced back at Jack, decided that if her friend awoke in the near future, they’d all hear the cursing and panic—along with maybe some furniture breaking. “Well, she’s obviously not infected. Do you think we could cut the ropes now?”

“Uh.” The boy glanced back out the hall, suddenly hesitant. “If my dad says it’s okay.”

As paranoid as the man was, Rarity doubted he would. She strolled over to the little desk, grabbed scissors from a pencil cup. “It can be our secret,” she said conspiringly, and was pleased when he flushed again and wriggled in mischievous glee.

“Yeah, okay,” he decided, then grinned wickedly and rooted into his pocket. “But you’re gonna need something like this to cut ropes like that.” He pulled out a buck knife, and flipped it open with delight.

Big boy knife, Rarity thought as her brows jumped high on her forehead. The thought made her worry, for some reason. Made something inside of her squirm.

Then she thought, cannibals, and smiled wryly.





Lunch, as it were, was not Rarity—or pieces Jack, for that matter (Lord knew you could get several good meals out of that much woman, Rarity thought with a snort). Whatever it was, though, smelled like glory, would probably taste even better, and made her stomach loudly remind her that she hadn’t had anything to eat since the sandwich of a million years ago, in the stomach’s opinion.

“Out of the fridge, boy,” Kody’s father grumbled when his son's socked feet ventured within a foot of the object in question. He hadn’t even turned around to see that that was where the boy was heading. “I’m makin’ sloppy joe.”

“I was just gonna pour the drinks and set the table.” All cherubic smiles, Kody veered his course and opened a drawer, sending silverware clanking.

His father merely grunted, and Rarity was charmed, utterly and completely, when Kody raised his head and winked at her conspiringly, sharing a secret. 

“Find some chairs from somewhere, too.”

“Sure, I’ll just make them appear outta thin air,” Kody said smartly and snorted. There was teasing warmth to the backtalk, though. “You never made more than two.”

“Wasn’t expectin’ company—ever,” he retorted snappily, as if he was very displeased at finding people in his house, suddenly. “And don’t take that tone with me.” It was added as almost an afterthought. Kody rolled his eyes, carrying gleaming silverware to the table.

Amused and intrigued, Rarity stayed quiet. She was seated on the living room couch, which gave way beneath her butt like butter and embraced her back like a lover. Lived-in furniture, she thought appreciatively, letting herself relax for the first time in forever, it seemed. 

The house was an easy place to feel relaxation. A family home, she thought. Big, simple rooms, sturdy furniture, noisy plumbing. If it was her house, she wouldn’t change much. Maybe spruce up some of the colors, add a bit of pizzazz here and there with thick throw pillows and splashy, bright flowers. Female touches, she mused, surprisingly sad that there obviously was no female in the house.

She wondered how she could breach the subject with them—because she suddenly wanted to know where the mother had gone to. Was it whatever that took the others? she wondered, and then winced, casting invisible waves of sympathy at the boy and man preparing lunch and bickering casually. No, she decided, amused again as Kody made soundless, bratty impersonations of his father speaking to his father’s back. These men were not in the throes of raw grief and panic at losing a loved one unexpectedly. The woman was long gone.

She looked about the walls, the fireplace mantle. No pictures whatsoever. Nice large landscape paintings flagged the fireplace, though, and that damn stag head was above the mantle. She snorted at it, though when she’d seen it’s beedy eyes staring straight at her upon entering the house, she’d been disgusted and creeped out. And had thought of Chylene with a pang.

“When’s it gonna be ready?” Kody moaned from behind her. “I’m starving.” It was the perpetual complaint of every ten-year-old boy.

“Yeah, and you’ll be in the fridge thirty minutes after dinner.” It was the knowing reply of every parent of every ten-year-old boy. “Go find some damn chairs.”

“We could just eat in the living room.”

“Get, child,” the man snapped. An impatient sort, Rarity thought with humor. But obviously a fantastic father. Just rough enough around the edges to make it fun. He was probably the type to cart a child around on his shoulders, to wrestle in the yard.

She thought she might one day like to meet a man just like him, have her own handsome sons and pretty daughters. She thought that, well, she was not really looking in the right pile for him at the moment. High society didn’t exactly raise the type. He’d have to be a country boy.

She felt her face heat.

Or—

Well. 

Ahem. 

Because she felt jittery and awkward suddenly, she stood and walked into the kitchen. The white countertops showed a bit of age, the wear and tear of use. The cabinet doors were glass-fronted—surprisingly female, that, but Rarity figured that it was to better find things—and the dishes inside of them plain white stoneware, meticulously arranged. But the refrigerator was covered with photos and newspaper clippings, notes on post, children’s drawings, all haphazardly affixed with multi-colored magnets.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, eyeing the browning meat, the potatoes sizzling in peanut oil, the spicy sauce he was stirring in a bowl.

He shot her a sidelong look. “You any good in the kitchen?”

“As a matter-of-fact,” she began and let the words trail off to insinuation. 

“Heh. You can toast the buns,” he decided, and opened a cabinet overhead without looking up, pulled out a bag and plopped it on the counter.

“I’m not going to poison you.”

“Jury’s still out.” He shrugged, and she recognized that the boy had inherited that shrug from him. “I tend to not trust women in the kitchen,” he freely admitted when he saw her annoyed straightening of spine. 

“Traditionally we’re trusted more than men,” she said, putting four buns into the toaster and setting the timer to just over a minute.

He chuckled. “Old-fashioned views, there. Welcome to the 21st century—we’ve got househusbands and woman breadwinners. Also, Guy Fieri and Gordon Ramsey making the kitchen their bitch.” Here he smiled, quick and arrogant. “And me.”

Since the smell agreed with that statement, she returned the smile. They worked in companionable silence for a bit. The buns popped and Rarity replaced them with four more. She heard the grunts and mutters of Kody dragging in chairs and sent him a smile over her shoulder.

The man could cook, she admitted after a little time of watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was the sort of cook who moodily dashed and dumped ingredients in by eye, or impulse, and seemed to enjoy it. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked.

“Parents owned a restaurant—best damn stuff, very southern, family cookin’. Didn’t have a menu, really, just made whatever people wanted. From ratatouille to burgers: didn’t matter.”

“Ratatouille isn’t at all southern.”

Again he shrugged. “Pops was half Italian.” He stirred the meat, clucked at it approvingly. “Mom was like, seventy-five percent Irish. Homemade corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, soda bread—heavy, big meals. Workman’s eating. Left you full for a week.”

“Got the chairs,” Kody announced from behind them. “Had to use my desk chair. And yours.”

“Good, fine. Go wash up. And poke at the sleeping giantess in your bed. Soup’s up.”





Jack was dreaming. A dream, instead of a nightmare for once, since this whole damn mess started.

She was home, on the front porch, watching Mac pluck absentmindedly at a guitar as the sun was setting at the farm. The breeze blew gently, warm, scented with the nearby forest, and under her bare feet she could feel the knots and grain of the wooden porch. She picked at the small wooden splinters on the armrest of a chair she really meant to sand down for months now. 

Mac continued on, picking at the guitar. Eventually, Jack caught on. House of the Rising Sun, she realized, and with a grin, she joined in with Mac, lightly tapping her foot along with the tune, and singing in a low, melancholy alto to match the song—one of their folks favorite’s, despite their more honky-tonk forrays.

As the song came towards the refrain, a second voice joined in, just as low as hers, matching the song without missing a beat. Jack glanced to the side and saw Rarity sitting beside them both, her slender arms resting on her knees and smiling as she took in the sky. She was glowing, gorgeous, resting there without a care in the world. Jack regarded her appearance for only a moment before accepting it; dream logic allowing the impossible, the sudden appearances, the changes in locale, to be met with a shrug of acceptance. And right now, she accepted the woman at her side.

When she woke up, however, it was like a switch had been flipped. Her warm days and pleasant nights were met instead by a cramp in her arms and legs. She stretched reflexively, swearing and attempting to relieve the aches, as the thoughts of what all happened began to creep into her mind.

That thing, she thought, and that brought her full-mast, snapping to attention; she shot up, immediately taking in the room as pain ripped through her shoulder. 

Noting the knicknacks, the toys and the fact the bed had left a large portion of her body splayed out and well over its confines told her that it was a child’s room. Which meant that whatever happened, she had made it. Somehow, she was still alive.

Rare, she reminded herself, and that forced her to her feet immediately, aching shoulder or no. As she stood to her full height, she heard an appreciative ‘woah!’ from across the room.

A child stood in the open doorway, her earlier hypothesis proven true. He looked up at her with some surprise, taking in her figure.

“You’re huge,” he remarked. “Laying down I couldn’t really tell.”

“Yeah, well, I ate a lotta beef growin’ up,” she replied dismissively, her voice raspy and sore. It came to mind that she wasn’t really dressed to be social, and she glanced down her frame and crossed her arms over her breasts. She looked to the boy, shifting on her feet and coughing a bit to hint at what she needed.

“Dad wanted me to get you,” he replied, apparently heedless of the woman’s hints. “We’re having lunch.”

“Any chance I could get a shirt or somethin’, uh… what’s yer name?”

“I’m Kody. Spinelli. My dad’s Karl.”

“Kody an’ Karl,” she repeated under her breath, trying to put a name to a face. Being a vendor at the market sometimes made her go through that motion instinctively; a repeat customer was someone you wanted to get chummy with, after all. Though, granted, a part of it was just good manners. At least that’s what she told herself.

“As for a shirt, maybe dad has one. Yours got torn into after the Rooter got you, and I had to cut it off you to patch you up.”

The kid talked a mile a minute, and Jack had to blink and process for several second before her sleep-addled brain caught up. “Rooter…? Ya mean that fuckin’—” she caught herself and scratched at a cheek. “That, uh, thing that attacked us?”

Kody nodded in earnest. “Yeah! Dad shot it. I wanted to come with him to hunt, but he had me filter water and look over the generator instead, so I missed it. He told me all about it, though. It must've been so awesome.”

“Jus’ as well ya didn’t see it. Thing like that no kid needs ta see.”

He puffed up with some indignation. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost eleven!” he protested. “I run this joint.”

Despite the situation, Jack suppressed a laugh. “Alright, alright, tell me somethin’ then. There was a girl with me. Violet hair, pretty, ‘bout yay high—” she held a hand to about shoulder height to demonstrate. “Have ya seen her?”

“She’s at the table,” he told her with a nod.

“Boy!” a man’s voice called out from deeper in the home. “Did you get lost on the way or something? Chop chop!”

Kody took a few steps outside the room. “I’m coming!” he replied and shrugged to Jack, the carefree expression easily conveying ‘what can you do?’ to her. With that, he headed down the hallway.

Jack glanced down at her lack of modesty and briefly considered searching the house for some clothes proper, but the protests of her stomach and pressing urge to check on Rarity pushed her away from the consideration and she strode forward, heading towards where the voice had called out from.

The smell hit first, and it nearly made her wobbly-kneed at its welcoming scent. Spiced meats, vegetables, savory stock, and this time her stomach loudly announced its desire to her.

Turning down the hall, she came to the dining room proper, where three sat at the table. Rarity, Kody, and an older man Jack assumed to be Karl.

“Good, uh, afternoon?” she guessed, rubbing at the back of her neck. The bright, cheery sunlight streaming through the windows reassured her of the guess being somewhere in the ballpark. 

“And good morning to you, sleeping beauty,” Karl dryly stated, serving himself a plate. He took Kody’s and fixed the boy up, then gave a considering glance towards Jack.

“Don’t just stand there. Eat,” he instructed curtly. She wasted no time in following the instruction, pulling a chair out and plopping down. Looking over the meal, she offered a grin. Sloppy joe on toasted buns, steamed carrots. Good meal to wake up to.

Setting herself up a plate, she wolfishly dug in, her manners again pushed to the side after days of eating junk food and cold meals. Rarity raised her brow at Jack’s lack of etiquette, but said nothing, eating her meat and carrots with a fork, savoring them.

“Jack. Should I enquire to your lack of clothing?” Rarity finally asked, breaking the rhythm of the meal’s silence. Jack swallowed a hearty mouthful, tapping at her chest with a closed fist to force the food down.

“Kid here says it got tore up in the scuffle with the, uh, ya called ‘em Rooters?”

Kody nodded in agreement, mouth messy with sauce and eyes excited. “Because of their feet,” he explained. “They walk on roots.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, taking a drink of water to wash down her bite. “An’ I didn’t think it proper ta loot the place fer a shirt before makin’ myself over here ta speak ta everyone.”

“But appearing in your undergarments is proper,” Rarity replied, sarcasm evident in her voice. But instead of pressing on the matter, she shoved another bite of the meat into her mouth, obviously just as hungry as Jack, only masking it more.

“After lunch, I’ll get you a spare. You’re clearly not a normal size, but I should fit you.”

“Think I got an extra in my bag. Don’t worry too hard ‘bout—” She paused, realizing something quite important. “Have ya seen ‘em? We had all out supplies in there an’—”

“Lady,” Karl grunted. “I could barely carry you both. I wasn’t sure how safe the place was, so I only took the one trip for you and the guns. Packs are probably torn to shit now.”

Jack sighed, too tired for mad and settling for simple browbeat exasperation. “Alright. An’ our guns are…?”

“I got ‘em,” Karl stated. “Wasn’t gonna trust two strangers armed around me and my boy.”

“We ain’t—” Jack caught herself, refusing to get heated. She nodded, then held out a hand across the table. “Karl, right?” Jack asked. He frowned but nodded and took the hand for a shake after a few seconds. “Ya saved our bacon back there, packs or not.”

Slightly disgruntled, he said, “Don’t take it the wrong way. If I had thought you were trouble, I would have left you out there.”

Kody looked to Jack. “He didn’t want to leave you,” he clarified. “Dad was just playing safe.”

“No need to play peacekeeper, boy,” Karl stated, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “They should be grateful they’re not dead and in the ground or worse by that son of a bitch.”

“We are,” Rarity agreed with a somber nod. “We owe you our lives.”

Karl glanced to Rarity, a bit surprised, perhaps, at her acceptance of the fact. Seconds later he spoke again, grumbling. “And you’re gonna make up for it. After we eat and tons of fun gets some clothes, you’re going to do a look over our fence line, make repairs if need be.”

“Tons of fun?” Jack repeated, blinking. “That ain’t the right insult ya know. That’s what ya call a fat fu—” she caught herself once more, giving a side-glance to Kody. “A fat person.”

“You don’t have to watch your tongue in front of the boy. He knows the words,” Karl replied with a shake of his head.

“Yeah,” Kody agreed with a proud nod. He paused, then added with a beaming smile, “Dad called you a heavy cunt when he brought you inside.”

“Tons of fun,” Karl said again, in an explanatory manner, mirroring Kody’s own mannerisms with an eerily similar nod. “Don’t just have to be for lardasses.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and tapped at her now-empty plate with a fork, using the conversation as a cover to devour her meal. She reached forward, adding another serving to her plate.

“Don’t think we ever caught your names,” Karl stated, glancing towards Kody. “Even if ours somehow got leaked to a pair of strangers.”

Jack wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and rubbed it on her jeans. “Jack. Jack Apple.”

“What kind of a last name is that?”

“Well, was Apfel back before the family came to America. German. But ain’t like ya got room ta talk. What kinda name is Spinelli? You related to Spinelli from Recess?”

Karl looked towards the ceiling and let out a long-suffering sigh, bringing his pointer finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “Dammit, boy. Spell out our life story to ‘em while you’re at it.”

Kody ignored his father’s remark and looked expectantly towards Rarity. “What about you?”

“Ah. Yes. Rarity Belle. French origin, of course.”

“Wow, you’re from France?” Kody asked, leaning forward with enthusiasm.

She faltered, looking a hair awkward at the callout. “Well, no. I’m not. But my grandmother was. I’ve always wanted to go, however.”

Jack’s mood tanked somewhat as she took another drink of water. “Good fuckin’ luck makin’ it there now.”

Karl tapped at the table and looked over to Rarity. “Like I said outside to you, pumpkin, gay paree is in no better situation than us. Your friend at least can see that.”

A silence filled the table, only broken by the scrapings of forks on their plates and occasional sips from their water glasses before Karl spoke up again.

“That’s why you should dig down. Find a place to hold up and prepare. It’s not going to get easier. Just think about how many people have or are going to die to the Rooters, or the hordes of Swarmers that show up. If you stick tight and have a plan, they can’t get you.”

Jack narrowed her brow at the man. “We do got a plan. Travel west.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a good way to get yourself killed. You or her.”

“I ain’t gonna let that happen,” Jack replied, her hand instinctively turning into a fist around her fork. “I won’t let anythin’ hurt her.”

“So the other day was just a fluke?” he replied, his tone cold.

Jack grit her teeth but didn’t counter the point. Couldn’t, really. Everything that happened with the Rooter was her damn fault and she knew it. 

Karl sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Listen. Like it or not, the world’s a different place now. A place where you can’t make promises. You can’t have big dreams. I don’t know why the fuck traveling west has you dead set, but stop if you want a chance to live longer. Find some place quiet, some place defensible, and hole up. Hell, I could even point you to some people a good thirty miles from here—they’ve got a good thing going over where they’re at. Took a mine and locked it down, put up defenses. I could introduce you, have you hole up with them until at least the summer comes. We’ve already seen enough people get gone just from whatever took everyone. No need to keep the death toll climbing.” 

Seeming to be satisfied with his piece, he pushed his plate away from him and finished the rest of his drink in greedy gulps.

“You guys’ve got the dishes,” he told them matter-of-factly, standing. “We take turns around here. To avoid chaos. And the spilling of blood.”

“Running water. Thank God fer small favors,” Jack muttered to herself. He snorted.

“Well water, girl. I knew enough not to trust the town lines if shit went down.”

“You really seemed to have this planned out for quite some time,” Rarity remarked. Kody stood from his place at the table and bolted off into the hall. The kid was a pistol, Jack mused.

“If you’re going to do something, do it right,” Karl answered after a pause of watching his son leave with pure warmth and adoration in his eyes. Then he shook himself. “I’ll expect you both outside as soon as you’re done.”







Walking fence line and repairing it was familiar work for Jack. And after the obligatory half-hour bitching session that Rarity insisted on, the tailor blew out a breath and shut up and rolled her sleeves up and made the work companionable and pleasurable. Like walking the fence line back on the farm with Mac—if Mac had a witty, dry humor that never quit, smelled wonderful when the full breeze whipped his scent towards her, and didn’t know a lick about the work he was doing but was willing to learn. And, naturally, picked everything up with competency and an unmatched attention to detail.

Karl’s land was orderly. They were still in the thick of the woods, but he’d cleared out a good five acres and fenced in three of those, leaving the other two wild and untidy. There was a respectable chicken coop right next to the house, recently cleaned if the smell said anything, and the sounds of animals put Jack at ease. Next to the coop was a shack, small and slim like an outhouse, where Karl kept his ‘small’ tools. Behind the house they’d discovered a larger shack with carpentry equipment inside of it and a bunch of half-finished pieces of furniture scattered all over. A massive pile of lumber and firewood—Jack assumed it was from all the trees he’d cut down to clear the acres—was piled up beside the carpentry shack under a blue tarp, and the large well stood beside it. The most prominent thing, however, was the garden that took up the entire west side of the property. Lots of blood, sweat and tears had been put into it, and it showed. 

Red cabbage, spinach, carrots. Jack guessed earlier in the season, probably corn too. He seemed to have a green thumb at the very least. A handy digit for the end of the world. 

The entire thing made Jack miss home with a suddenness and intensity that almost took her breath away and sprang tears into her eyes. Jack drew into herself the last acre of fence that they walked, and Rarity seemed to understand her turmoil, because she quieted too and started sending sympathetic glances at her. 

Finally, with the sun just kissing the tips of the trees, they finished and walked to the house. Karl was there, leaning on the porch railing with his eyes on the setting sun and two tall glasses of dark iced tea sweating patiently beside him. He was smoking.

He said nothing to them when they joined him on the porch and took the glasses. He seemed introspective and melancholy, too, like Jack.

“You’ll have to play rock, paper, scissors for the couch,” he finally muttered.

“Nah,” Jack dismissed. “We’ll take turns. You can have it first, Rare.” 

Karl grunted and took a drag. Jack emptied the glass until it was nothing more than ice cubes, then took to sucking on one as she ran a hand over the porch railing. 

“You worried about Rooters coming?” she asked him.

He snorted. “Worried ‘bout lots of things—but no, Rooters don’t wander near the house. They’re the blindest of the lot. Takes sharp movement, or some very bright color to attract them.” He arched his back until several pops rang out. “Swarmers on the other hand… if the things see the fuckin’ chickens move in the coop, they’ll attack. Much more easily attracted.”

“Have you got defenses against them?” Rarity asked, worried.

He snorted. “Nah, I’m just gonna let the sons of bitches into my house,” he replied sarcastically. Then he pointed out beyond the fence line. “Got an entire minefield going beyond the fence. Traps, too. You may hear explosions at night. Don’t let it startle you.”

“A minefield?” Rarity said, incredulous. “You have a young boy in the house, for God’s sake!”

Karl straightened and bristled. “Hell yeah I do, and he’s my boy. We laid the traps and mines ourselves. He’s been through them dozens of times, he knows where they are.” He took a threatening step forward and pointed at Rarity’s face with a finger. “Don’t ever act like I don’t think about his safety, or that I don’t know what’s right for him.”

He threw his half-finished cigarette into a metal bucket, then whirled around and went into the house in a furious motion. 

Jack and Rarity looked at each other in surprise. 

“Touchy subject, I think,” Rarity decided a bit dryly.

“That dumbass is gonna get him killed,” Jack said, shaking her head and glaring out towards the field. “Hell, he might get us killed, havin’ those things around.”

“You don’t suppose he intends to keep us here, do you?” Rarity questioned. Jack flatly looked at her.

“As much as he seems ta want us out the door? I doubt it. He’s jus’ a crazy fucker, that’s all.”

“Eloquent. But correct.” Rarity’s brow furrowed and she absentmindedly brought a thumb to her mouth and chewed at the nail. “We should consider leaving tomorrow. No need to overstay our welcome. Not to mention, I fear this place isn’t as defensible as he proclaims it to be.”

Jack crunched the ice cube she had been rolling in her mouth. “Don’t have ta tell me twice. If we weren’t too far out from the road, I woulda loved ta hit it today.”

Rarity ran a thumb over the porch railing and turned, taking in a breath. “That settles it, then. We leave on the morrow. Come, Jack. Before we have unwelcome guests.”

Jack nodded, but stood on the deck for a few more precious minutes, watching the sun bleed away. As twilight approached she sighed, retreating inside, and, scant hours later, retreating into her dreams.
> Kody's Grove Part 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

They walked a ways out, deeper into the woods until the tree canopy blocked their view of the sky. It was several degrees cooler now than it had been, with a refreshing cleaness in the air. The ground was soggy and soft, the trees still dripping fat raindrops absentmindedly. One of the drops caught Jack on the nape of the neck, the feeling of it akin to an ice cube sliding along her skin, and she winced in surprise and discomfort and swiped it away. 

The shadows were already growing long and dark, the night deepening in the woods first, as if it had a primary claim there, as if it couldn’t wait for the show to begin. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jack chanted in her mind. She could feel her spine start to knot in terror, then her arms, then her legs. The darker it got, the more nervous she became. 

“This was a Goddamn stupid idea,” she breathed to Rarity. She wanted to scream into the woman’s face, but didn’t want to attract the night’s nightmares to their position. “Stupidest idea you’ve ever—” 

Rarity stopped dead in her tracks and Jack almost ran into her back. 

There, a good forty feet in front of them, was another Rooter. Jack swore internally, grabbed Rarity’s arm and brought the both of them, very slowly, into a crouch. The thing stopped and inhaled, like the one before had, and again, looked towards their general direction. 

Please don’t see us, please don’t see us, please…

She hardly breathed for several long seconds, not moving a muscle. The Rooter let out a grunt and started to shuffle along again. Jack made sure to wait for a very, very long time after it had disappeared out of their sight before she slowly stood to her full height. She dropped her bag off of her shoulders, scanned around, and shoved her hand inside quickly, in search of the NVGs.

“Here,” she panted, handing one pair to Rarity. “Since ya fuckin’ insisted on travelin’ in the dark.” 

Rarity didn’t respond.

They continued on. Their exodus was silent, their steps the only noise either created, soft as they were. They ran into another Rooter, and followed the same pattern as before with it. The things seemed to rely on their sense of smell more than their sight, and if one stood very, very still, it did not see you. Karl’s information had been right.

They walked for hours, avoiding most everything with the help of the goggles. Fucking things were a lifesaver, Jack thought more than once. 

Eventually the woods opened up for them again, and brought them to a camping site where an RV stood, its door open and, as Jack expected before even stepping inside, its occupants gone, the only proof of their vacation was a ruined and burnt pot on a now-dead campfire, and a half-eaten banana upon the dash of the RV. 

Moving, more machine than man, Jack cleared the van. With a nod to Rarity, her first real attempt to speak to her since before they encountered the Rooters, Rarity shut the door behind them, sealing them in the RV throughout the long night. 

Rarity lowered the shades at the windows and, though realistically it would do nothing, she dropped her now-heavier bag in front of the door, creating a halfhearted blockade.

Jack, meanwhile, sat on the sofa across the door, running a hand absently over the night vision goggles, testing over dozens of knobs and switches, trying to get an indication of how much battery remained in them,

Rarity took in a breath, running a hand over her tangled hair, then crossing her arms. She stared at Jack, who finally finished her examination of the goggles and was checking the batteries in a pair of walkie-talkies, then making sure the receivers picked up. She seemed ready to move onto another make-work project when Rarity spoke, cutting through the silence like a spark of lighting in a black sky.

“Didn’t you do that when you found them?” she questioned. A part of her, the sore, exhausted, annoyed part, wanted to add ‘then again, maybe you hadn’t thought of it, since you’re you’, but she bit her tongue just in time to not let the words escape. Jack didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her. Rarity glared, and almost let the words slip through, just to… Well, just to distract herself by starting a fight, really. 

Since Rarity was not giving up in the face of blatantly being ignored, Jack sighed and looked up at her. “Well, maybe I just don’t wanna talk to you right now, and I’m keepin’ myself busy so you’ll go away,” she replied in a frustrated growl, a small protesting pop coming from the walkie-talkie in her right hand, a subtle reminder of her strength. She let the object drop to the ground and stared harsly at Rarity. “So go away.”

“You—”

“I said I don’t wanna look at you right now,” the woman snapped. “Goddamnit,” she snarled, burying her face in her hands.

Rarity swallowed. A part of her wanted to comfort the woman—and, selfishly, a part of her wanted to be comforted in return—but she did not know exactly how to go about it when one party refused to even talk about it, which in turn fed into her own frustrations on the matter. She sighed, loudly, irritably, and gave a pointed look Jack’s way, even if the farmer was not meeting the glare.

“As you wish,” she tersely answered. “And, like usual, I appreciate your reassurances as well, considering the events.”

Jack looked up at Rarity, a hot reply on the tip of her tongue. Upon seeing her more tense form and the rarely seen flash of anger in her eyes, Jack relented, albeit a hair.

“Look… can this jus’ wait? Tomorrow? Please?” she asked, her own tone more quiet, a meekness to it not normally present in her more stentorian voice.

Rarity glared for several seconds, debating with herself. The subject needed to be discussed, to be put to sleep, and she was one to face her problems and feelings head-on—and she thought that Jack was, too. Still, perhaps a rest would give them perspective, or at least a day’s distance from the horrid events. She decided to concede to Jack’s request. It wasn’t an easy, instant decision; after today it felt like there was a bomb within her ready to burst, but she knew the limits of her own stamina for tragedy, how to handle shock and despair. Better than Jack, apparently.

“Fine,” she said plainly—because what else could there be said? She could talk all day at Jack, but it would be like talking to a brick wall. “I suppose I’ll find the bedroom, then.”

Jack nodded, staring unseeingly at the floor, trying not to remember.





Mere hours earlier, in a different  place, in what may as well have been a different world, Jack and Rarity began their day.

They awoke early that morning. Too early, perhaps, at least judging by the silence that sat within the room and extended through the house itself. It was something that wasn’t totally strange to Jack, considering the early-to-bed-early-to-rise mantra wasn’t just a quote by Benjamin Franklin, but a way of life during the more urgent seasons at the farm. She sometimes found herself awake this early during the off season, too, and would use the quiet to laze around and think her thoughts until she heard the sounds of either of her siblings pass her room.

What was strange, however, was Rarity, almost mirroring the action, up and rubbing at her tired face mere minutes after Jack.

“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Jack stated, tilting her head in a casual greeting and trying not to smirk at the other woman. “Ya got drool all over her chin.”

Rarity took a second to process the words and quickly reached forward, rubbing at her chin with a sense of urgency, before letting out a grunt of irritation when her hand came up dry. She reached behind her and threw a pillow at Jack’s general direction.

“Ow, heh.”

Rarity sniffed, stood, and stretched. Though the couch was one of the most comfortable ones she had ever sat on, it wasn’t exactly made for sleeping—and she wasn’t exactly used to sleeping on couches.

“What time is it?” Jack asked from behind her. A small light illuminated the dark of the living room as Rarity’s wristwatch sparked to life, the woman’s face scrunching up at the sudden assault of light to her vision.

“Seems to be four forty three,” Rarity answered, letting her arm drop back down.

Jack hummed in thought. “We’ve got a coupla hours ‘fore sunrise, then.” She finally stood to her full height and popped the kinks out of her back. Her shoulder and knee were dully throbbing in unison, but at least there was no flaring pain like yesterday.

Upon her standing, a small glow took hold, illuminating the room. She glanced over at a plug towards the ground, where a nightlight in the shape of a jet airplane bathed the room in a yellow light. As they found out last night once they were preparing to settle down for bed, it was motion sensitive; Jack guessed it was for the kid, and a small half-smile of amusement came and left her face. 

“Do you suppose Karl would mind if we ate without him?”

Jack shrugged. “Well. He seems the practical sort. We do some work an’ I don’t think he’ll cry over some oatmeal an’ coffee.”

Rarity seemed to hesitate. “But I want an omelet,” she muttered.

Jack chuckled roughly. “Not gonna lie: I do too.” She looked longingly in the general direction of the kitchen. “You think he has sausage? Or ham?”

“I would place my bet on spam over either of those,” Rarity said wryly. She paused. “How is your shoulder?”

“Tender, but it'll keep.” She paused a beat. “Yer neck?”

She lifted a hand to her savaged throat. Bruises, red and yellow and purple, marred the creamy skin. Jack looked away from them. 

“It feels as though I was almost strangled by a root monster,” Rarity said dryly. “But I’ll live.”

Jack snorted and opened her mouth to reply in equally dry tones, but shook her head. She crossed the room to the fireplace, ran a hand over the banister. 

“Thing uh…” she shrugged her injured shoulder out of habit and clinched her teeth around a curse. “Fucking thing almost killed us,” she gritted out, half in pain and half in frustration.

“But it didn’t,” Rarity replied evenly. “We lived.”

“Because of Karl. How were we supposed to handle that? Huh? We didn’t stand a chance.” She turned to look towards Rarity. “I almost got you killed.”

Rarity stared, silently, before she laughed. A deep chuckle seeped in humor. Jack’s visage darkened, irritation coming to life before Rarity spoke.

“Oh yes. Like back at the barn. Or by the car. There is not a single place safe in this Godforsaken world now, Jack Apple, the forest was where you only now realized it?”

“I can’t protect you against somethin’ like that,” Jack said earnestly, pointing at her own chest. 

“You cannot realistically protect me against the swarming creatures either,” Rarity stated matter-of-factly. “Likewise, I could not protect you. We both would try, I have no doubts about this, but try does not always equal success.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’: yesterday, at the fucking dinner table, Karl was right. I’m going to get one of us killed.”

Because Rarity neither argued nor agreed, Jack turned back towards the fireplace. “Ya know… we ain’t too far yet,” she began quietly, shifting her weight. “We could loop back. We could get ya back there, ya know?”

“We are too far away,” Rarity argued. “It would take us at least another day or three just to get back. And I will not even comment on the fact that you are even suggesting that I abandon you on this journey—” Jack turned back towards her and opened her mouth to say something, but Rarity cut her off with a sharp hand motion. “—after I’ve already given you my word!”

“Yer word ain’t gonna keep ya safe. Can’t ya understand why I’m sayin’ what I’m sayin’ here?” Jack asked, exasperated, throwing her hands to the side. “Ain’t sayin’ this shit jus’ ta be a fuckin’ prick here. If things don’t go as planned, we’re gonna fail. An’ fail hard.”

Striding forward, Rarity laid one hand on Jack’s cheek. The action was such a surprising form of physical intimacy that it shocked Jack into silence. 

“As long as we breath, there is no such thing as a hard failure. I do not expect the road ahead to be easy. Frankly, if we manage with mere bruises and fractures, I call that an astounding victory. And we will manage, Jack. We'll find them, together.” Her words were quiet, heartfelt, reassuring.

Jack sighed and shook her head, putting the point to rest for now. Rarity’s voice and gaze were one smooth, impenetrable wall of confidence, and arguing was never easy when she got like that. “Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of an optimist?”

Rarity tossed her hair. “I prefer realist to optimist.” 

Briefly Jack wondered what that would make her. “Either way, it's… thanks.” Awkward now, she scratched at her cheek and look to the window. “We’ve got a few hours before I’m even willing to think about setting foot outside. How ‘bout those omelets?”


		




Jack slowly opened the door to the outside of the house, her eyes on the horizon for reassurance. The sun just barely peeked out over the distant mountains, bathing the sky in orange. The air blew gently towards her, lifting up a few errant strands of hair and carrying with it a false promise of warmth. Warmth that she knew would fade as the days bled into weeks. They were already a good week or two into November, and she knew once the temperature decided to drop, it would drop almost overnight. The clear skies and sunny days were lies, sweet honey on the senses, but ultimately deceitful, crass things that could kill them even quicker than the creatures they hid from.

However, even a lie could be appreciated at times—something Jack never really thought she’d think and agree with. Returning to the task at hand, she scanned the treelines as the sun began its timid climb upwards, making sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were alone, for now. That whatever brought those things here had made them return.

Though nothing in life was certain, she could say that they were as safe as they could be, for the moment. Not a thing in sight, the only noise beyond the wind blowing through the woods was the small crunches and snaps of vegetation as animals prowled within, and the subdued clucks and calls of Karl’s chicken coop.

“Think now’s as good-a time as any,” Jack stated to Rarity. “Let’s go.”

They left the porch and crossed the length of the coop, past the tool shack, and paused at a wooden fence gate, a latch holding it securely in-place. Beyond the fenceline, the ground was leveled and tilled, suggesting that there was some work, or soon would be work done within, perhaps an extension of the garden at the west, but Jack couldn’t say for sure. Though, the other hand, it could be as simple as the mines Karl spoke of last night were here, buried and ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation.  

“Shoulda got a metal detector, back when we picked up all our gear,” Jack muttered.

“Hindsight,” Rarity remarked neutrally, obviously on the same wavelength as Jack was regarding the situation. “Do you suppose Karl might…?”

“Have one?” Jack finished. “Gotta, I’d think.”

They looked warily past the fenceline for a moment. 

“Well, there’s no way we’d be able to traverse a covered minefield without one, I’d think,” Rarity stated hesitantly.

Jack turned towards the small tool shack. “In there, maybe.” Without waiting for Rarity to join her or reply, she started to stroll back towards it. So much for just quietly leaving in the morning, she thought, and then almost started swearing when she came close enough and saw the heavy, slightly corroded lock on the door.

She stopped in her tracks, shoved her hands into her pockets and glared at the lock, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, alright, guess we’re not going anywhere.”

Rarity caught up to her and followed her gaze to the lock. “Ah,” she said. “Well, I guess we’ll need a key.”

“I could jus’ kick the fuckin’ thing down—” Jack muttered, giving a tap to the door.

“Or we could just get the key,” Rarity repeated wryly.

“—but that wouldn’t be right neighborly of me, would it?” Actually, now that Jack thought about it, the idea had it's appeals. She was kind of in the mood to kick the shit out of something and hear the crack and smash of wood.

“If you’re so adamant about not wishing to procure the key, allow me,” Rarity replied, digging around her pockets and fishing out her lockpicking kit. She took to working on the deadbolt, humming quietly to herself as she ran tumblers and listened patiently for the telltale signs of clicks. When the lock popped, she let out a pleased hum.

“Open Sesame,” she chipperly remarked, looping the lock out of the latch.

Rarity recognized it the instant she opened the door. This was the shack she had woken up in. At gunpoint. Now, from the position of not being at gunpoint, she could remark on its far more mundane nature. Tools on a corkboard, from pliers to a handsaw, a small rolodex calendar on a sterile metal desk, a lawnmower and a few gardening tools placed meticulously to their left, alongside their goal; a long-necked metal detector. In the far corner next to the desk sat the only object of chaos within the shack: a deer, hanging upside down from a rope suspended at the rafters, blood from a slit neck dripping down, over its dead face and into a strategically placed drain.

“Don’t recall that when I awoke in here,” Rarity remarked.

“Mighta kept it hidden while talkin’ with ya. Sorta thing could give ya the wrong idea when ya woke up.”

Rarity snorted. “Right. Because pointing shotguns at people's head gives them the right idea.”

Jack paused, looking at her. “That’s a fine ‘how ya do’.”

“...One way to put it.”

“How’d you get in here?” a voice behind them inquired, and they both stiffened in surprise, Jack’s hand reflexively flying to the handle of the machete before she recognized the voice.

“Kody, darling,” Rarity breathed out, putting a hand on her chest. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“Specially not nowadays,” Jack agreed, turning and putting her hand down from the machete to her hip.

“Sorry,” he said, though didn’t sound all that sorry. “I woke up and you were gone, I thought you were maybe starting on some chores or something…?” He narrowed his eyes suddenly. “Wait… are you leaving?”

Jack gave a slow nod. “Had planned on it. Figure we were gettin’ in the hair-a you an’ yer daddy.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down towards the ground. He added, almost as an afterthought, “I don’t think he minded. He just says stuff sometimes, you know.”

Rarity and Jack shared a look. 

“And I was kinda hoping…” Kody continued, but trailed off. They stood there in silence for a bit, awkward. “... that you’d stick around. For a day or two, at least.”

Rarity and Jack exchanged another quick glance at one another, before Rarity took initiative.

“Uh…” she eloquently stated, the lead leaving her faltering for the moment. She racked her brains quickly, thinking of the best way to let the boy down gently.

As soon as she opened her mouth, however, she was cut off by a bellow piercing the air.

“Kody?!”

Karl’s voice, panicked and out of breath, called through the grounds. Jack leveled a narrow look at the boy in question.

“Did you not tell your dad where you went?” she hissed. In a moment of bazarre panic, she saw Karl stringing them up like the deer carcass for ‘kidnaping his son’ or some other crazy shit like that. Lord knew the man— 

“In the tool shack, dad!” Kody called back, pulling Jack away from her brief panic attack and forcing her to focus more on the present and what really was before them.

“Why the hell are you in there?” Karl called back; Jack could tell that he was calmer, by a hair, but there was still a certain edge, and, going by the fast paced footsteps she heard, he was walking at a slow run or a brisk jog towards them. “Don’t tell me those two are—”

He rounded the corner into their line of sight. Unable to help herself, Jack clenched her teeth at the shotgun on his shoulder, but he didn’t even spare them a glance before he kneeled in front of his son and took the boy’s face roughly in his hand.

“Don’t you fucking run off like that,” he hissed. “What’d I always tell you, huh? You ever wake up and I’m not up, you wake me up. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” Kody whimpered, actually sounding sorry this time. “I just got curious—they weren’t in the living room and all their stuff was gone.”

“Well curiosity kills people!” Karl exploded and Jack startled at the sudden volume. Karl seemed to reign his temper in quickly, though, because he visibly shook himself and stroked the boy’s unruly curls. “Just—just wake me up, next time,” he said roughly, and stood.

With a jolt, he seemed to notice where they all were, and fixed a killing glare on Rarity and Jack. “How the fuck did you get this shack opened?” he snapped.

Rarity did a half-bow sort of motion, appeasing. Jack could tell she was nervous, too. “I picked the lock,” the tailor admitted.

Kody perked up. “You know about lockpicking?”

“Unbelievable,” Karl said. “After we saved you and fed you, this is how you repay your dues?” He scowled and prepared to speak again before Jack interrupted.

“We weren’t planning on stealin’ nothin’. We jus’ needed a metal detector. Had a feelin’ you’d keep one around here.”

“You could have waited until I woke up,” Karl snarled.

“Who knows how long that’d be? Better we slip out while we could.”

“How about waking me the fuck up?” Karl snapped back.

“And gettin’ a show when we jostled ya by a gun ‘round yer bedside?” Jack scoffed. “I know yer type. Pistol under the mattress, in the nightstand, one in arms reach if ya can at all.”

Kody pointed a stern finger Jack’s way. “You don’t know my kind at all if you think I’d take kindly to any of this,” he shouted back. 

“Enough!” Rarity snapped at both of them, getting in between. “I’m sorry that we broke into your tool shack, Karl, but we needed a metal detector to cross the minefield that you have set up.” 

“You could have—!”

“Yes, we could have woken you up, but Jack and I were eager to get on the road to make up for lost time. We’re not even in Colorado yet, for God’s sake, and we’re going to Nevada.”

“You two will be dead before you get there. Do you have any id—”

“I think we have some notion,” Jack countered, glancing past the man. “An’ the sooner we get there, the sooner we don’t have ta deal with it anymore. God knows with winter comin’, we don’t wanna be stuck out in the middle-a nowhere if there’s a freeze.”

He scoffed. “And asking permission would put you both so behind on killing yourselves. Way you’re both acting, I should have left you two out in the woods.”

Jack was silent at that, realizing that she had overstepped her bounds. She sighed, putting a finger and thumb to her nose.

“Look. I got a family. They were out helpin’ my cousin. In Nevada. I can’t stop. Not fer nothin’. Not until I’m sure.”

Karl measured her for a time, gauging her silently. Eventually, he did speak and asked her plainly. “Kid?”

She shook her head. “Brother. Sister, too. She’s a youngin, though. ‘Bout Kody’s age.”

He scowled and turned his torso, spitting outside onto the brown grass. “Goddamnit. You’re not going to make it. Or find ‘em. You know that, don’t you?”

“If you were in my shoes, if there was even a chance they were out there, what would you do?”

His answer came instantly, a wry, defeated smile on his face. “Same fucking thing, lady.” His pose seemed to relax as he made a decision, running a hand through his hair. “Look, just… help us prep a bit for winter today. We’ll give you some supplies and you can leave tomorrow. Okay?”

Jack was honestly reluctant to wait even that long, but she hesitated in her argument, glancing over to Rarity.

“Well, I suppose it is a fair trade after invading your property the way we have. And supplies would be helpful.”

“Then it’s settled,” Karl grunted. “Breakfast first, though.”

Jack said, “Uh, we’ve kind of… already…” she trailed off at the increasingly flat look Karl was giving her. 

“You ate my food, too?”







Karl ran a hand across his brow, wiping sweat clean from his face. With a well practiced grunt, he hefted an axe to his shoulder and drove it down, connecting with a log. It split in twain, sending two pieces spriling to the ground from the perch. Without missing a beat, he put another log up on its end and brought the axe down, repeating the process.

Jack hovered nearby, gathering up the freshly split pieces and throwing them into a wheelbarrow while Karl took his breathers. The work was a bit slow-going. She'd tried to split too, but the injury in her shoulder prevented it and Karl had said his fair share of words about her about being practically no help.

“So,” Karl grunted, breaking the long-standing silence between them. “Tell me about the family.” He replaced his log and glanced up at her. “These, ah, siblings of yours?”

“Sure. There’s my older brother Mac. Big guy, makes the lot-a us look like shrimp. Quiet an’ shy, but would do anythin’ fer us.” Another log fell to Karl's swing and she continued her talking without breaking stride. “Lil’ one is named Alice. Loudmouth, bratty, pokin’ her nose inta trouble every second she can, an’ the best lil’ sister a gal like me could have.”

“Pain in the ass, kids that young.” He grunted, obviously straining on that last swing. He loaded up another log. “But a good kind of pain, huh?”

“Ya said it.”

“What about the parents?” He paused when Jack didn’t immediately respond. “They not around?” 

“Nah,” Jack said, wiping at her forehead. “Not by the... whatever the fuck happened. Mom always had a bit of a weak heart. Ended up killin’ her. Guess ya could say Dad died of a broken one.”

“Isn’t that just a nice way of saying ‘he was so depressed after the death of his wife that he committed suicide’?”

“No,” Jack said, and then paused. “I mean, yeah, when people say that, that’s usually what it means—but not my Pa. Some virus or other ept through him in a week in the dead of winter. Got him an’ got him good. Jus’ kinda… gave up.” She shrugged and gave a shake of her head, her lips pursed and thoughtful. “Know how it goes, I’m guessin’, judgin’ by the lack of womenfolk ‘round here.”

He grunted, but didn’t respond for a long time. So long that Jack started to rethink the inquiry and take it back. 

“Yeah, guess you could say that,” he finally sighed. “Wife was, uh… Katherine. Kathy. She…” his mouth moved for a long moment but nothing really came out. “Well, she’s dead, obviously. She was a soldier, a medic. I don’t really know what happened, but she called me one night in a panic, said one of the men she’d been working on had let slip something to her under the loopy drugs. Something important.” He shrugged, put another log onto the stump and hit it with the full force of his back. Taking out excess anger, Jack guessed. “Three days later, she was dead.”

Jack pressed her lips together tightly. “Why?”

“Why?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh gee, I don’t know? Maybe to shut her up? Do you think our soldier boys would really need another scandal on the news? Especially if it was an officer. Think about it. Whatever she had must of been big. Don’t hear about Kuwait otherwise, it’s always about fucking Iraq, or Iran, or God fucking knows what shitheap out there. But Kuwait? Might be our most squeaky-clean war in a long old time.”

“I don’t think any war is squeaky-clean,” Jack replied automatically. Karl laughed without humor.

“Tell that to the fucking pencil-pushing big cats. They make a killing doing their killing. But they can’t let scandels get out, otherwise the average asshole might actually wake up and realize we’re not always the good guys.” He gave something resembling a smug squint across the compound. “Been waiting for years for shit to break on us, the chinamen, the mexicans, the CIA. We built up, kept our heads low and waited.” His expression clouded for a moment in thought after a beat. “Wasn’t expecting this’d be the way it went down, though. Demons, or aliens, or whatever you want to say they are… never in a million years.”

“Guess that explains the setup ya got fer the most part,” Jack replied, not wanting to really dwell on what they were up against herself, it seemed a decent way to shift to less troubling waters.

He didn’t deny it, instead nodding in agreement. “Government can’t even figure out the difference between an asshole and a mouth. No way they’re going to get this mess figured out, and no way I’m letting them near my land to fuck it up any more than they already have. Fuck, some of the people at Tillman would handle that shit better than the Government.”

Jack didn’t know what to say to placate the man so instead she continued her work, offering only a small, “Sorry ‘bout her.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Me too.” He looked around them at the haphazard piles of split logs. “That should be enough. Let's gather this up in the wheelbarrow and take it over.”

They worked in silence for a long moment, each of their thoughts on their own ghosts, and on each others’. 

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your folks,” Karl finally said. “How old were you?”

“Little older than Kody, though not by a lot. Twelveabouts.”

He tsked. “I couldn't imagine losing mine at that age. Hell, one a mine's still alive.” He paused. “Or was. Before.”

Jack hummed neutrally. A part of her wanted to change the subject, honestly, because while she could usually talk about her parents’ deaths with the detachment that time provided, the circumstances of the last few weeks had been a little too close to home to that particular tragedy. Losing almost everyone that one knew at twenty-five was eerily similar to losing both parents at twelve—it felt like your entire world crashing around your ears. The shock and grief was massive, and could creep up on you at any given moment in time, sometimes years down the road, and cut you off at the knees.

“Well for what it’s worth, at least Kody grows up with a good father,” she finally told Karl, and imagined, not for the first time, how life could have been if one of her parents survived. 





“So all of the groves in the key are actually meant to line up all of these drive pins here, so that they are level with one another.” Rarity pointed to the sketch she’d drawn on her sketchpad. “That's really the goal of lockpicking.”

“So that you basically trick the lock into thinking that it has a key in it,” Kody said, understanding.

“Right. Now, to pick the majority of locks, up to about ninety percent of the ones you would find anywhere, you will use one of these three picks.” She grabbed them out while listing them. “The rake, the snake, and the diamond. You’ll end up having a favorite among them, truthfully, one that just works a little bit better and faster for you. My favorite is the diamond, though my father swears by the snake.” She rolled her eyes and paused briefly when a rather morbid thought hit her head, but brushed it off.

“So what you’re actually going to do is put in the torque so that it’s opposite of the drive pins, scooted a little out of the way.” She demonstrated as she spoke, putting in the slinder piece of metal into the core of the lock. “Then, I like to turn it upside down to put a little pressure on it with my thumb while my other hand works—obviously it wouldn’t be like this if the lock was actually attached to something, but just for demonstration…” Tongue peaking out of the side of her mouth, she inserted the pick too. “And then you’re gonna just rake this along the drive pins so that they all line up. But do it gently, you don’t want to go at it like you’re fu—” she stopped herself abruptly, heat coming to her cheeks. 

“Like you’re fucking it?”

She gripped the bridge of her nose and sighed longsufferingly. “Well, yes,” she said in exasperation. “And I should really have a word with your father about cleaning up your language.”

“I have no idea what the word even means, if it makes you feel better,” he told her. “Dad uses it for just about everything.”

“It’s a crass term for coitus.”

“I don’t know what coitus means either!” he replied happily. Rarity nodded.

“Good. Never you mind, then. Anyway,” she said pressingly when he opened his mouth with a look of indignation on his face, “when you apply this pressure to the torque—and apply and back off, and apply and back off—you’re going to actually start feeling when the drive pins line up. So you could go at it in a racking style, which is faster, or you could align each individual pin. Either way works. But eventually...” she worked the pick until the torque gave way beneath her thumb and the lock snapped open. “It will Open Sesame.” 

“That’s so cool!” Kody exclaimed. 

Smug, she snapped it shut again and held it out to him. “Now you try.” 

Gingerly, he took the padlock. Rarity scooted the tools encouragingly to him, and watched as he grabbed the snake pick and put in the torque carefully. The kid had steady, careful hands, she noted. A good trait to have in almost any profession or skill.

Inexperienced, it took him a few minutes to pop the lock open, but when he did, his smile seemed to almost be too big for his face. 

“Do it again—practice makes perfect, after all,” she suggested.

He snapped the lock shut and took to picking it again. “How did you learn how to do this?” he asked.

“My father was a locksmith,” she told him, and then instructed, “ease up on the torque a little, it can jam the drive pins if you’re pressing it too hard.” He complied and she continued, “He would find broken locks, or people would give him some that they never used, and he’d take them home for us to practice together.”

“Do you miss him?”

She started a little at the frank question, but saw that he was still focusing practically all of his being on the lockpicking. She sighed.

“Of course I miss him. And my mother.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but he did glance at her, perhaps significantly, before shying away again. 

Rarity reached over, giving a small pat to the boy’s head. “But there are other matters to deal with, now. You cannot have much of a moment to grieve during times like these.” Briefly she wondered just who she was saying that to.

He was silent a moment, picking the lock but with obvious distraction. “Do you think everything will ever be the same again?”

He sounded unsure and hopeful, both at the same time, as if it was something he hadn’t allowed himself to even consider. And it was strange to find him so, because so far he’d been treating this end-of-the-world scenario as if it was all very entertaining and thrilling. Rarity supposed that for a young boy it would be.

“No,” she answered simply, glancing away for a beat. She continued a moment later, returning her gaze to him. “But there can be something, after all of this, I believe. As long as you’re still alive, there’s hope for tomorrow.” She smiled. “Now, let’s pass by this grim conversation and return to work. Practice makes perfect, after all.”





Later, they sat around the lunch table eating on a smaller offering than breakfast, dried jerky but a treat in the form of orange juice—Karl had been fairly adamant about wanting to save some of the meat he had in the freezer for dinner instead of wasting it on a quick break from work. After a hearty pull of OJ, Jack looked towards Rarity and Kody.

“Well, what you two been doin’ past few hours? We finally got enough wood ta last for a few months.”

“Yeah, with no real thanks to you,” Karl grumbled somewhat teasingly and Jack elbowed him in a natural reflex that seemed to surprise them both.

Kody wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “I learned how to lockpick!” he announced. Karl looked flatly at Rarity, who raised a brow in response.

“When the hell are you gonna use that, boy?” Karl questioned.

“If we need to go into town for supplies, we can get to anywhere we need to be, now.”

Karl snorted. “Won’t be necessary. We’re self-sufficient.” He held his words for a second, before giving the kid a smirk. “But it never hurts to have a plan B. And going by what little miss perfect did to the shack earlier, she must have some notion about what to do.”

“I have a respectable awareness of the workings of the trade. Though far from perfect,” Rarity remarked, bridging her fingers together and resting her elbows on the table. “But I’m as proficient as one can be with second hand knowledge, I suppose.”

“Well your ‘second hand knowledge’ is going to make sure that nothing in this house stays locked,” Karl drawled, giving a meaningful glare Kody’s way.

“Doubt ya got too much that’s under lock an’ key ‘round here.” Jack shrugged. “Ain’t like a safe full-a cash is gonna mean much now. If ever.”

Karl leaned back is his chair and took to picking between his teeth with a thumbnail, working out a strand of jerky from the gap. “Tragedy is a good equalizer like that. Rich. Poor. Old, young. Doesn’t matter when shit gets put on the table. I mean look at you two.” He glanced at Jack and Rarity to further prove his point. “Not like I’d expect a hick and a prima donna to usually join up, aside from when things get rough for everybody.”

“Who ya callin’ hick, mister?” Jack replied, and almost at the same time, Rarity offered a quick “Prima donna? Well I never!” in response.

Karl brought a leg over a knee and offered nothing else, seemingly satisfied with his piece on the matter.

Eventually, Jack shrugged—and then winced in pain, forgetting again about the shoulder. “Nah, we’ve actually known each other for…” she looked at Rarity, somewhat in shock as the thought occurred to her. “...hell, like, all our lives, actually.”

“Indeed,” Rarity said slowly, as though she was talking to a simpleton. “We did grow up together, Jack.” 

“Yeah,” Jack said, a little dumbly. 

“Sure wouldn’t expect it, judging by appearances,” Karl muttered out.

“Well, appearances can be deceivin’, as the sayin’ goes.”

“You know, I’ve meant to ask something.” He glanced over, out the windows, where sunlight spilled in through the openings, briefly letting them forget about what waited in the dark of night. “That shit that happened. How you two make it out? Were there sirens?”

“Oh, you mean when everyone up an’...?”

“No shit, sherlock. When everyone just vanished. The lightshow and then nothing.”

“Lightshow?” Rarity repeated, tilting her head. Karl rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Cinderella. The flash that happened?”

Jack and Rarity looked to one-another. Karl swore.

“Fuck. You know, what took out everyone?”

“Mister,” Jack began, leaning on the table. “Me an’ the girl here were in my folk’s cellar samplin’ some hooch. I didn’t see shit that day, jus’ knew when me an’ Rare got a few belts in us, I drove her home an’ it was empty. Nobody. Dropped food, cars crashed inta trees, dead silent. Never found out what happened.”

“I have footage of it,” he replied, a hair triumphant. “Bet you anything the government is involved.”

“Footage?” Rarity repeated. “Of the event?”

“Did I fucking stutter? Footage.” He glanced over at Kody, who met his gaze and grinned around the jerky he was gnawing on. “Me and the boy were canning some vegetables down in the basement. A friend of mine was upstairs, working on a herb rack at the windowsill when we—”

“We heard a really loud bang!” Kody exclaimed, punctuating the word by slapping his hand on the table. “So we ran upstairs thinking Danny fell.”

“We don’t find shit,” Karl continued, not missing a beat from Kody’s interruption. “Except Dan isn’t there. His truck is still parked outside, and his tools are still around, but we hear another noise from towards town.”

“Dad got his binoculars and he climbed onto the roof. He told me to look for Danny.”

Karl nodded. “I looked out onto the road, towards the outskirts. Semi had wrecked, tipped over. Looked like a pileup. Was tempted to just let the cops handle it when they showed up, but I wanted to make sure nobody was hurt, so I started to walk over there.”

“Heart of gold,” Rarity replied, the tone a thin line between sarcasm and sincerity, not forgetting the fact that Karl did in fact save them earlier. It was almost enough to excuse his alarming crassness that even made Jack’s occasionally gruff manners shine in comparison.

“Fuck off,” he said dismissively and continued, looking down at his hands. “I get over there. Nobody. Fucking. Nobody. I thought maybe people had got out of the vehicles, but…”

“I couldn’t find Danny,” Kody interjected, talking of his own experience. “So I looked at the camera feed.”

“That’s my boy,” Karl beamed, putting a hand on top of Kody’s head. “He looked through the footage to see where Dan ran off to.”

“He vanished,” Kody said in a delighted whisper. “Like that.” He tried and failed several times to make his fingers snap, before flushing and sitting back in his seat again.

“Vanished?” Jack repeated.

“Are ya both like fuckin’ echos? Always repeating what we’re saying.”

Jack narrowed her brow. “Look Karl, this is jus’ a lil’ hard to take in.”

“And monsters that come out at night to kill us ain’t?”

Rarity rubbed at the bridge of her nose, reluctant to admit that he had a point. A part of her still expected to awake from a horrible nightmare.

“A good point, I suppose,” she said. “Still doesn’t explain where everyone went, however.”

“But what if it was us that went somewhere?” Kody asked.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Kode,” Karl dismissed after a short time of thinking about it. 

“Does it really matter?” Jack questioned with a raise of her hand. She spared a glance at the other three. “What happened ain’t gonna change what’s happenin’ now, ya know?”

Rarity scoffed. “Indeed. We do not need to know everything. We simply need to know to go safely in the day, and bunker down at night, with only a few exceptions to shoot in the day, judging by those within the forest.”

“So easy on paper. But it didn’t look like your rinky dink pistols did shit against the Rooter. If I didn’t have my twelve gauge, you would have been one more brick in the wall,” Karl stated plainly.

“We do not need to be reminded of that, Karl. We’re well aware.”

“If you’re dead set on going west? Load up.” He tipped his glass towards Jack, raising his brow as he spoke. “We got a small store next town over. Might be able to grab a few heavier arms.”

“We got a shotgun,” Jack replied, throwing an arm over the headrest of her chair.

“You sure were reluctant to squeeze the trigger, then.”

“Was over my shoulder. Went dumb when that thing caught us.”

“Losing it is one fucking great way to get yourself or that girl killed. If you have a weapon, use it, don’t drop it. Don’t forget about it. Otherwise you’re already a dead man walking.” He gave a small bounce of his head. “Woman,” he corrected after a pause, a little lamely.

“Dad taught me how to quickdraw,” Kody stated, looking towards his father with obvious, beaming pride. “From the side it’s just about your wrist. Rifles and shotguns you use a sling.”

Karl ran a finger over the rim of his glass, glancing to Kody and giving another proud half-smirk his way. “Damn right. Get a strap, carry that African style.”

Rarity glanced around the table, and then caught Jack’s eye for a split second. “Well, actually, Jack has been meaning to teach me how to shoot with a rifle.”

“Yeah,” Jack grunted. “Woulda liked to have taught you before we got attacked by that damn thing—but whatever.”

“I can teach you!” Kody offered. 

“We got a range out a little ways,” Karl added on, seeming to agree with the boy’s suggestion. “You three could take advantage of it, if it strikes your fancy.”

Jack paused, mulling the offer over. “Well, figure it’s either learn now or die later. I’d go with the first option myself,” she answered with a nod, then paused. “Though, I’m not gonna be much good for shooting for a while, with the shoulder.”

Karl nodded. “Fine, then, you can help me out with the harvest.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, looking at Rarity out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t waste casings when you shoot. Grab them and I can get gunpowder loaded up.”

Jack snorted. “Right. Self-sufficient.”

“Damn right.” Karl gestured to Kody as the boy shot from the table. “My boy and I don’t need anyone but ourselves.” He paused, and then cupped his hand to his mouth. “And don’t think you’re getting outta dishes duty, Kode. Get back here.”





“...And if you go left five steps, then up seven, you’ll pass by the mines.” Kody pointed at a collection of rocks, piled into a small mound. He followed his own instructions, easily moving past the stones with his arms outstretched like he was emulating an airplane, not a care in the world despite the fact they now stood upon the outskirts of a minefield.

Rarity watched him as he took a lazy turn, moving past a tree, its trunk bowed and tilted over to where it snaked horizontally a few mere feet above the ground. He hopped up onto the trunk and balanced his way across, talking as he did so.

“So the gun range isn’t too far away,” he said, jumping off of the trunk and letting out a small ‘omph’ as he landed on the ground. “We’d let you shoot it back home, but we don’t wanna spook the chickens.”

“How generous. At least a small comfort before being eaten by their masters.”

“The Swarmers would eat them anyway, if it’s not us,” Kody answered, turning to look towards Rarity with restrained excitement. “Dad said that he saw someone on the road get pulled out of his car and ate the first night they showed up.”

Rarity had no real drive to carry on that conversation, so she remained silent. Kody mistook the quiet as a silent urge to continue, and so he pressed on.

“Dad was going to try and help, but by the time he could get a shot, the Swarmers had chewed him down almost to the bone. It must have been fast, since Dad can get around pretty quick for being so old.”

She almost protested, well and sure that man could be no more than ten years her senior. That wasn’t old. That was a respectable age. Though when she was Kody’s age, a man like Karl would seem like an antique. The thought of thirty, or even twenty for that matter, a distant, impossible dream. So she let his remark die and offered an indifferent scoff instead.

“What did he do then?” Rarity questioned as they walked, observing Kody’s movements and mirroring the actions, trusting, or at least doing her best to trust that the boy knew his way around the safety of the minefield.

“He came home and slept out on the front porch with a shotgun in his lap, then woke up and planted mines everywhere.”

Kody took them a bit farther away, down a dirt path lined with thin, yellowing grass.

He guided them both to a clearing amid the woods, where three round hay bales stood, the paint on their sides an obvious indication to their use; a target, not unlike the sorts she had seen before at the town’s fairs, on the occasions she was guilt-tripped into attending, be it with her sister or her friends. Jack or Isabelle would always goad her into watching the tractor pulls. She could even recall a time after a breakup where Isabelle managed to pull her out of a depression by winning one of the overstuffed and overpriced prizes at the shooting gallery. A large teddy bear. One that, granted, was the proud property of her younger sister now, but was still a nostalgic memory to relish on occasion.

Yes, a memory, darling. Considering you’ve not heard from your sister. Her eye twitched with suppressed emotion and she swallowed, a low, shuddering noise in the back of her throat. Kody showed a surprising amount of matureness, once more a shade of Spike, and he reached forward, taking her hand.

“It’s past the archery range,” he said quietly. She nodded, focusing herself forward, allowing Kody to lead her deeper into the clearing.

Towards the end of it, there was a thick and aged hickory tree, knotty, with busted off pieces of bark and obvious battle scars. In the center was another bullseye, painted and repainted with a careful hand. Karl’s work, Rarity assumed. Kody took a few steps forward and kicked at a stump.

“This is three hundred yards,” he announced, then pointed to a solitary stick further ahead, jammed into the earth and pointing towards the heavens. “That’s two hundred. And there’s a pile of rocks at one hundred if you wanted to try that.”

Rarity rubbed at her lip with the tip of her thumb as she stared off into the distance at the target. “Three hundred seems a bit far, dear. Perhaps we can work on the basics first.”

“Okay. Dad can make the three hundred, but I’m still learning the two.” He beamed up at her and quickly jogged forward, beckoning her. “Come on!”

She watched him go and felt a chuckle bubble out of her throat, her earlier thoughts and dread quashed and buried inside her once again. “Very well, very well. Slow down.”

He took her to the small collection of rocks, closer to the woods. There was a sort of duality within her as she looked past the target and into the dense underbrush. A subconscious fear of what, exactly, could be hidden within, but, there was also some relief when she recognized the familiar buzz of insects, and the faint brief sparks of movement, clearly from smaller creatures, some lizard or raccoon or other ghastly disease ridden thing that she right now loved more than any other creature in the world. Their very own early alarm system for if the Rooters were nearby, and their chittering and occasional calls let her know that, yes, right now they were safe. Right now there was time to train. To take aim and prepare.

As she raised the rifle to her shoulder and squinted her off eye shut, she did just that.

Shooting rifles was a new experience for her—she’d only shot the occasional pistol with her father, and even that was a rare occurrence. A rifle was bigger, obviously, harder and more awkward to hold up, and when she squeezed the trigger— 

“Shit,” she swore under her breath, the kick from the weapon driving its stock directly into her tender underarm, inadvertently bringing tears to her eyes. She readjusted herself, bringing the stock flush against her shoulder proper, and fired once more; though, this time, there was no righteous fire or deafening roar, only a click.

“It’s a bolt action,” Kody said. Rarity looked at him like he was speaking in tongues before drawing a distant, foggy memory of what that entailed. She looked over the lever at the top of the rifle and awkwardly reached across her line of sight, her left-handed grip causing her to have to pull away a bit from the rifle in order to chamber in another round. She soon enough got another at the ready and flushed the weapon to her again. She squeezed the trigger and a round launched across the field, missing the target and only nicking the side of the tree before disappearing into the woods.

“Good start!” Kody cheered, as enthusiastically as if she had shot a bullseye.

Not good enough, Rarity thought, once more reaching over the top of the gun’s stock to use the weapon’s bolt and free another round into it. Having to lay her face practically down on the stock of the gun just to aim made the entire endeavor very uncomfortable, as did the fact that she was cross-dominant, favoring her left hand but her right eye. She squeezed off another round, actually catching the outside of the painted ring this time. 

But, well, challenges could be overcome. She smirked, a bit self-satisfied. She knew herself to be a quick study, all things considered, and privately between herself and herself alone, she enjoyed the practicality of learning how to shoot. 

Something stirred in the bushes. Rarity froze, chills running up and down her spine, her blood freezing over. The foliage behind the targets shook, and she reached over to the bolt to load another round.

“Kody,” she whispered, heart hammering. “Get behind—”

The foliage bust open and a large buck darted out, skittish and obviously on the run. Rarity only hoped it was from them, rather than a Rooter. Kody was on it in a heartbeat, shaking Rarity’s shoulder.

“Shoot it! Shoot it!” he quickly ordered. Rarity considered it easier said than done, between her own inexperience and Kody shaking off what little aim she could get on the creature. Nonetheless, she brought the rifle to-bear and squeezed off a round. A shriek of surprise and pain came from the deer as soon as Rarity’s brief bout with deafness from the gun faded away, and he was off, sprinting in a dead run past the two, heading towards the house at an angle.

Rarity sighed, well aware that to miss a moving target with her inexperience was understandable. Doubly so when it came to wildlife. She relaxed and lowered the gun,  Kody quickly slapped her shoulder again.

“Come on, we need to chase it!”

“What?”

Kody pointed where they had seen the deer first erupt from the underbrush. Rarity squinted, and was briefly surprised at the blood that decorated the dead grass.

“I think you hit its heart,” Kody remarked. “It should bleed out soon.”

“Kody, dear, I think I shot its rear.”

“Dad calls it the flank.”

“And I’m sure Jack would call it the ass, but regardless.”

Kody looked out west, debating something. He then nodded. “We should go find it. It ran towards the house, and Dad’ll be super happy if we did get it. He may even take me hunting with him from now on.” He paused and shot a sly look over his shoulder at her. “Well, if you tell him that I was the one that shot it.”

She eyed the clouds beginning to boil together in the far western sky. Time enough to get back towards the house, she figured. And the buck had run off towards it.

She shook her head. “It’s long gone now.” But she decided to outpace his disappointment by adding, “but if we see him, we will most certainly take him to your father. How is that?”


	




Jack leaned over the sink, cracking a peapod open with her rough fingers. She scooped out the peas from their casing into a bowl, and tossed the empty pod to the side, her fingers easily going through the monotonous motions without complaints. Karl leaned over, standing next to her and working on a five gallon bucket filled to the brim with corn ears. He pulled out one, shucked it and tossed it to another one, repeating the process himself.

“Handling those peas like a pro,” he commented to her, sounding genuinely impressed. “You done this before?”

“Grew up on a farm. Peas, corn, ya name it, odds are I had my hands on it.”

He looked sidelong at her. “Don’t tell me; apples, too?”

She looked towards the ceiling in a long-suffering expression, before nodding. “Golden delicious, granny smith, braeburn, ya name it we farmed it.”

“That’s—”

“Don’t say it,” she warned, and startled a bit when he laughed, a loud and happy sound that did not at all fit with his more guff demeanour. 

“Living up to the name I guess, huh?”

She pursed her lips in mock irritation and flicked a pea pod into his face, which made his grin all the wider.

“Ya said it,” she stated plainly.

“Guess so, missy. Guess so.” Another chuckle escaped him, like he couldn’t help it. “Jack Apple, from the apple farm. Ah, geez.”

They worked together in silence for a minute or two. 

“So I have to ask,” Jack finally began. “Why…” she gestured. “Why all of this?”

He gave a halfhearted shrug. “The peas? We planted a good amount, I guess. Good return on the investment.”

“Nah, nah. Ain’t talkin’ the peas.” She cocked her head towards the living room and another cock towards the dining room. “The house. Security. Mines. Super self-sufficiency. Why all-a that shit?”

“Oh.” His more jovial expression faded a bit. “Well. The wife and I had got the land for a steal, and we was going to originally have some angus cattle on it, but the hours I worked got reduced, so I decided to start a pet project. Lay out a foundation, start building. Little by little, have a place outside of the city we could raise Kody at. Give him a chance to be a kid, not have to deal with all those fucked up things you see on TV.” He tossed an ear of corn into a tub. “And now he has to deal with something even more fucked. Good joke, huh?”

Jack tossed another pod to the side and stared out the window above the sink. “Mmm.”

“But that’s sort of how it started. Built the place up. Got a good groove on the thing, then got in a dispute with the county when it came to setting up a water line, so I said ‘fuck it’, and we built a well. And a damn good well too.” He gave a shake of the corn ear in his thick hands, looking like a lecturing scarecrow. “Guess then… I just saw what we could do on our own, and wanted to see what else could be done. So we started a garden, grew it into fields. Chickens. Herbs. Figured out a way to wire up the place to run on a generator on bad days, solar panels on good ones.” He nodded to himself, coming to a realization. “Guess that’s when I started to go the next step. Just after Kathy got killed. Knew I needed a way to keep everything safe, so I got some guns, started to teach Kody everything I could on that front. Fishing, bow hunting, filtering water. One project after another, you know how it is, being farm grown.”

“I do. One thing gets done, two more things need the same treatment.”

He nodded, perhaps a hair too enthusiastically. “Yeah. So I got things square with him, I got things square around the place, and then, night after I saw the things Kody calls Swarmers? I got serious. Knew a few ways to make pressure bombs, so set up a little surprise for if they ever got close, and an electric fence I could switch on if the need came up. I’ve gotten fucked with too much in my life, Jackie. Not letting that happen again, not now, not ever.” 

The man could make a passionate speech, Jack had to admit. She found herself taken with the idea he presented, and sympathetic to the plights that he spoke of.

“And when I die, be it through natural means or by fighting those fucking things, I’m gonna leave it all to Kody,” he spoke wistfully, almost as if he couldn’t wait for that to happen. For him to die. “I even named this place ‘Kody’s Grove’, you know? ‘Cause in the end, it’s his.” He shrugged. “So I guess that’s another reason why I built this place; to have a legacy.” A pause, and he lowered his voice and head. “Guess it don’t really matter, now, with everything happening.”

“There’s still hope of that, Karl,” she told him. “You an’ your son’ll be fine.”





The woods once again closed in around them as Rarity trailed after Kody in search of their prey, their steps brisk, hurried, tearing through the underbrush as they chased the blood like a demented game of follow the leader. Kody was obviously moving almost as fast as his smaller legs could carry him, ducking under foileage and leaving Rarity a sputtering mess as she was struck by the branches.

“Kody! Slow down, please,” she ordered. He seemed to almost jog in place waiting for her to follow after, and, once she got closer, he was off again, his clumsy steps rushing ahead of her.

“Hey, there's another one!” he called, and when Rarity got through the branches, she saw him standing over several drops of blood, bright against the yellowing grass and leaves. She finally caught up to the boy—he only seemed to pause long enough for that to happen when he saw a blood puddle. 

“You had to have shot it in the heart,” the boy argued empathetically. “Look at how much it’s bleeding!”

Almost against her will, Rarity felt his enthusiasm of her hunting skill take her ego. She brushed her hair back behind her shoulder and did her best to disguise a smirk. 

“Yes, yes, it’s bleeding quite a bit. But if he was short in the heart, that means we do have time to not run everywhere, honestly, Kody.”

He brushed off her admonishments with a wave of his hand. “The quicker we get to it, the quicker we can take it back to Dad! Come on, we’re having venison for dinner tonight!”





They worked in silence for a beat more, with waves of begrudging gratitude coming from Karl’s body language. 

“Yer a good father,” Jack said with a shrug. “Just cause there’s monsters out there now… it don’t change that. He seems like a good and well-adjusted kid.”

To her bafflement and surprise, the man blushed a little. He ducked his head down to face the corn bucket to hide it, but Jack saw nevertheless and smiled at him, slowly returning to her own job. The silence hung once more.

“I sometimes wonder if I’m not…” Karl began in a rushed voice. “...like, teaching him enough, you know? He can barely read within his age group, and can’t write more than a few words.” The soft tone of voice let her know the depth of his insecurity about it and she pivoted to him, laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

“But he knows how to filter water, fish, grow his own food—none o’ them city slickers know how to do that.”

He laughed, a little nervously, scratching at his cheek. “And that’s why they’re dead, and we’re not.”

“Exactly.”

Karl grew silent again and stared at her, his corn briefly forgotten. There was a certain kind of look in his eyes, one she had seen before in other men. A restrained want, even if it was for a few scant, mere moments. He took a few slow breaths, considering. Jack wasn’t a mind reader, but she could read at least this thought. 

He wanted her. How far he wanted her, she couldn’t be sure of. But, as she took sight of him, she realized that she wanted him too, or at least didn't have a problem with the prospect if they were to put in on the table. Two boats passing in the night. 

She meet his eyes, bit her lip, tossed her peas to the side, and stepped forward into him. He seemed to hesitantly do much the same, and they met one-another, close. Close enough that she could smell the cologne on his collar. Close enough that she could hear his slow breaths. She reached forward, resting a hand on his chest and flashed a smirk his way. Meanwhile, Karl rested a hand at her hip and took his other up to her face, lightly cupping her chin between his index and thumb. Leaning down, he gave a slow embrace of his lips against hers.

Jack was more than happy to return the favor as their lips slowly slid against one another’s.







The woods opened up for them, leading gently up a hill so that they could not see the house proper, but Rarity knew they were back onto Karl’s lands. 

“It looks like we missed it, Kody,” Rarity said. 

“No, there’s still blood tracks!” he said, pointing at the ground where, indeed, small drops of blood decorated the grass. 

“It looks like it stopped bleeding, maybe,” Rarity said, almost to herself. There was not nearly as much blood as there had been.

“Let’s just follow a little more,” Kody persuaded her, just as they crested the hill. 

They didn’t have to follow it for too long, because there, laying on its side and breathing heavily and not fifteen feet in front of them, was the buck. A line of blood from Rarity’s well-struck shot went across, over its ribs, and dripped onto the ground. The two were quiet upon seeing the beast. Though Rarity was pleased at her earlier shot, even if it was more luck and less skill than she’d care to admit, she felt nothing but sympathy for the deer. It was a mere victim of circumstance, of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and while the thought of venison stopped those thoughts from fully entering her mind, it did not stop the deep, troubled sigh she gave as the deer tried to roll over onto its hooves and move again upon seeing them out of the corner of its eye.

Kody looked to Rarity and nodded to himself. He pulled out his pocket knife and flicked it open.

“We should cut its throat. Stop it from…”

Rarity nodded instantly at agreement upon the suggestion. She followed after Kody as he approached, every bit averting her eyes from the deer as Kody focused upon it.

As she looked down and their feet dug through dead leaves and dying grass she spotted something in her peripheral vision, something she would only realize later Kody did not. A loose-fitting pile of dirt, something almost like an exceptionally large gopher would have made, upturned in a neat circular pile amid the rest of the undisturbed field.

She processed it mid-stride, her adrenaline on and active and screaming at her to flea. Instead, she managed a quick, “Kody.” A pleading, urgant tone to it.

He glanced over his shoulder, surprise etched on his face as he finished his step, planting a foot firmly onto the ground.





It ended naturally, as if they both decided that it had gone on long enough and chose that moment to pull back. And when they did pull back, they stayed close, still in each other’s personal space. Karl went beet-red instantly, his eyes widening in alarm.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I don’t know—”

The sound of the explosion seemed to shake the entire house.





His expression still held surprise even after the deafening and near blinding explosion. Rarity froze, her mouth agape and her hand outstretched for him, or, rather, what of him had been there not even a second ago, obliterated by the mine he stepped on. Rarity remained totally paralyzed, her mind not merely struck dumb, but fully shut down upon the sight, upon the warm splash of blood that covered her clothes, her face and arms. She remained frozen until he dropped face-first down onto the ground, no more than a broken puppet with far too few pieces. Later, Rarity might consider at least one small blessing to be that his death had to have been quick, like flicking a switch to kill the lights in a not-used room. But that consolation came later, much later and now her lips had finally trembled, shuddered as she whispered a weak, unbelieving “Kody.”

Feeling bile come to her throat, she gagged and dropped down to her knees, only managing to turn her head to the side as she threw up until she dry heaved, coughing, sputtering and holding her wrist in her hand to stop them both from shaking. Her lips moved once again, mouthing his name, and she crawled forward, looking him over. His eyes were still open, and when she met their lifelessness, she threw up all over again.

There was no doubt, no mistake, and no hope.

He was dead. And she held the blame on killing him.


	




Karl was out of Jack’s arms, out of the house, like a bullet. Jack followed him at a run, dread coiling like a stone in her gut. By the time she was out of the house, Karl was almost past the chicken coop.

“Karl! Slow down!” she yelled at his back, but he seemed to do the opposite thing and speed up. Jack’s vision fuzzied, her legs growing weak and her chest aching. Straining myself, she thought, cursing her weakness, her lightheadedness, her breaths that seemed to do nothing to aid her in her time of need. She bent over, drawing in deep mouthfuls of air as a wave of nausea hit like a car. 

	Her first thought was she was getting sick. But it was a sick like she had never felt before. A kind of off-kilter feeling that she couldn’t place the source of.

Rooter, her mind stated with a direct bluntness that gave her pause. Pursing her lips, she nodded in agreement with the assessment. Why else would she be feeling like this? She’d only run a few yards, and she could give Dash competition on the track, usually. 

Carefully, she took off at a jog past the coop and tool shack. Just as she was jumping the fence, a mournful cry rang through the air. She stumbled, startled, and landed hard on her hands and knees, a barb from the fenceline tug and cut at her clothes and, subsequently, nicked at her leg, bringing a bead of blood to surface. She ignored it and pressed on.

It didn’t take her but a scant second to see the end results of the noise. Of Karl’s end goal. And, as she came closer still, she saw Kody. Or, rather, what remained of the boy.

Jack stepped forward, but stopped mid-stride, alarm bells ringing, whaling desperately in the back of her mind. Kody’s end, the helpless, ruined body amid broken bones and torn-asunder flesh was an urgent reminder of what lay possibly feet from her. She hesitated and then retreated her foot back to her side, not daring to approach.

She saw Karl’s back shake seconds before a gut-wrenching sob tore through the air. The lifeless body in the man’s arms quickly stained them with blood, and Jack felt a numbness settle over her, as if she had stepped out of her own body to watch the scene. Her eyes focused on Rarity, deathly pale, her lips trembling, bright flecks of Kody’s blood in an arc across her torso and face.

“Oh, Kody,” Karl gasped, his voice all over the register, dropping into highs and lows with the force of his grief. “Oh, my baby.”

Jack again tilted her body weight to take a step towards him. Mines, her mind screamed. She opened her mouth to call out, helpless to do anything else, more helpless than she had ever felt in her life.

“Karl,” she muttered out weakly, at a register that the man couldn't have possibly heard.

And yet his eyes lifted up to hers, and what she saw in those eyes made her own widen in alarm.

“Kar—!”

The pistol was out of the holster and pointed at his own temple, and before she could completely call out his name, a shot rang out. She saw every detail, the bright spray of blood and grey matter jetting at an arc from the exit wound and staining the already-red grass, how his body tipped down by degrees before gravity took him and he landed face-first onto the ground, dead, crushing Kody’s lifeless body underneath him.

“Christ!” Jack barked, a sudden wave of nausea hitting her like an uppercut. She dropped to her knees and looked away from the carnage. Her eyes landed on a buck, shot but alive, not ten feet away from her. 

As she watched, the animal rolled over and got to its feet, it's strength back. It skipped away.
> Kody's Grove Part 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack wiped her hands as she stared down at her work. Before her were two mounds of freshly packed dirt, one slightly smaller than the other. She stared at the smaller one for a minute, briefly unsure of what sort of words she should say. What words she could say. She offered a half-muttered sentence, half to herself.

“We should… you know, a grave marker,” she finally managed to get out. Rarity stared ahead, not replying, not doing much, save for shivering at the light mist that had begun to drizzle on them. There was blood on her, coating her skin, her clothes, and Jack knew it had broke her in some way. There was no complaint about her ruined clothes, no aghast comment. Only the dull shiver and blank stare. Jack could make a mighty easy guess it was shock. Hell, she felt similar. Everything had an ethereal, unreal feeling to it, as if this was all some kind of dream she’d wake up from any second now.

“Not dream, nightmare,” she corrected herself. Rarity slowly turned her head to look at Jack, who waved it off. “Nothin’.”

“Now what?” Rarity pensively questioned, seeming to be on the search for answers. Jack sighed, focusing on remaining in control. On keeping this going as well as they could.

“No change in plans. West. That’s all that matters. Even now,” Jack answered, forcing herself to be as single-minded as possible to avoid the hurt, the reflection on everything. A desperate bid for escape, to stop her from seeing the elephant in the room.

Rarity was silent for a moment, unsure what to say before a hair of reason seemed to spark back to her, a glimmer of the practical woman she was before the sight of death had yanked away a part of her soul.

“The house,” Rarity said, shutting her eyes and opening them. Jack nodded.

“Right.”

Rarity slowly nodded at that. Jack turned and made her way onward, pushing past Rarity. The rain picked up around them, creating a rhythmic crescendo of pops across the roof of the house. 

Jack perked up with a question as they made their way back to the relative safety of the yard. “Do ya have the time?”

Rarity stared at Jack, dumbfounded, before she numbly looked down at her forearm and the designer watch she wore at her wrist—a fleeting thought came to Jack as she looked over her shoulder at the woman, that at least she could make good calls on watch brands. It was at least something practical. But the thought vanished as soon as it came to life within her—Rarity spoke in a low voice.

“Two o’ eight.”

Jack nodded dismissively at that, using the question as a way to try and distract Rarity, try and slowly pull her away from what she had seen and what they had to do later. Jack knew she’d never forget having to drag the bodies. A worm buried in her mind at the thought of Karl. She had heard that corpses would still sometimes twitch after a death. His did in her hands as she dragged him across the mine field and she screamed in surprise at the violent, unrestrained motion. Despite the scream, Rarity had barely reacted, her own hands stained red from moving Kody’s delicate body, death and blood loss making him less like a heavy iron, and more like a bag of feathers. Too frail, too light.

Jack grit her teeth, counted to ten, and returned her focus to the current, the now. Though damn if everything that happened didn’t feel like the current.

They came to the house proper as the rain picked up into an honest-to-God downpour. Jack thought with a brutally painful homesickness that the crops were needing it. It had been a dry fall.

She took off her hat out of habit and stepped inside.	

There were no lights on. Jack furrowed her brows at the dimness. The house had been awash with light when her and Karl had left it. Unbidden, her eyes strayed towards the kitchen sink, the bucket of corn and bowl of peas.

She expected the both of them to have disappeared, somehow. But no, there they were, looking all the world as if they were waiting for her and Karl to come back and finish them. 

She shook her head, sighed. It couldn't be helped. Everything seemed very clear cut in front of her—take this action, follow it with this one—like her brain was running on robotic instinct.

“What are we gonna do?” Rarity asked again, looking around the house with blank, almost glazed eyes. Jack stared at her for a second, then looked away.

“Sit. Sit fer a moment, ok?” Jack instructed, looking about before she guided Rarity forward and sat her on a recliner within the living room. She pursed her lips, chewing absently upon her bottom one.

Rarity’s shellshock… even if she’d never admit it in a million years, it creeped her out. Gave her the heebie-jeebies. The woman was like a broken clock, a machine that had been hit too hard on its side and now only rattled when it should ring and cry out. Jack didn’t know how to fix it, Jack was afraid she wouldn’t get fixed.

So she focused on what she knew. She motioned around the house in an all-encompassing gesture. 

“I'm sure Karl won't mind if we…” ‘Raid his house’ was a bit much, even though that was what Jack almost said. But also… wouldn't they be? She knew the man had some goodies—like, military goodies—stowed somewhere. Hell, there was even a gorgeous-looking shotgun hanging on the coat hanger by the front door. 

Jack crossed the living room and took it off the hook, running her hands all over the weapon and checking the sights. It was a show, really. She knew the gun was in peak condition. 

Her hand passed over an engraving on the barrel. Kathy, it said in wide, script font. Jack swallowed. She let out a reluctant “fuck,” and put it back onto the hook. She didn’t want a reminder, not like that, despite what it could provide them with; instead, she looked elsewhere, trying to spot more useful supplies.

A hallway closet answered her wants. A pair of walkie-talkies and, even better, a pair of night vision goggles. She tested the switch, trying them out. Instantly, the dim room turned washed out and green, the area highlighted in a sea of it. 

Finding nothing else of value there aside from a pair of binoculars that, regrettably, had a cracked lens, Jack stepped away. A small curiosity took hold of her and she stepped into Kody’s room.

There, resting on the footrest of his bed was a high quality holster. She took hold of it and looked it over.

Oiled, looked to be made of buckskin, and soft as hell. Hand-stitched, too. A gift for the boy by the father, perhaps. Not that it mattered much to ponder that now.

Jack hated to be so callous about it all, but knew also that there was no comfort in pondering questions that would never get answered. She took the holster and pressed back out into the living room, dumping the items onto the couch and preparing to head into the kitchen.

Rarity stood nearby, looking like she had woke up from a dream and landed into a nightmare. But her attention had seemed to come back and, as she looked towards the items now on the couch, her brow narrowed.

“So, like that, then,” she commented. Jack said nothing, but Rarity continued, obviously expecting Jack’s non-response. “We’re robbing them like thieves.”

“Did the same exact thing back last town over. Unless yer forgettin’ where we got that Jeep. Not that it did a lotta fuckin’ good,” Jack muttered, moving past Rarity and towards the kitchen. Rarity scoffed, appalled.

“That’s different,” she countered, pointing a finger at Jack, who ignored it.

Jack opened the pantry door and took to loading her arms with crackers and instant noodles, before pursuing a few mason jars filled with jams and vegetables. She snagged what appeared to be a cranberry jam, and then a can of tomatoes before she shook her head.

“Fuckin’ how is it different?”

Rarity’s pale cheeks flushed red in anger. “Jack Apple you know damn well how it’s different. You’re lying to yourself if you think otherwise.”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Jack snapped back, moving past Rarity and back into the living room. She sat the items down on the couch and stared pointedly at the wall as the faint tap of rain drizzled down onto the currently non-sealed windows and rooftop. A moment of this and she spoke again. “They’re dead, Rare. We ain’t. An’ we can’t let the food or supplies jus’ rot. That ain’t what they’d want.”

“As if you knew what they wanted,” Rarity barked back, her originally subdued anger now becoming far more presented. “You knew them barely a day at best.”

“Rare, it still hurts ta see a kid like that gone like he did. Hurts jus’ as bad watchin’ his old man pull the trigger. I ain’t some kinda monster that don’t see that.” She curtly shook her head. “But if we don’t get what we can outta the place we are gonna be hurtin’ for food supplies.”

Rarity made no comment back. Jack took that as a minor victory, and then shut her eyes as the memories tried to come back. She shook them off and went back into the kitchen, started opening cabinets and drawers at random. She opened the one above the fridge, and paused, whistling.

“Man had quite the liquor collection.”

Rarity crossed her arms and glanced away from Jack as she made the comment. The other paused, mellowing a bit.

“Sorry,” she said, more quietly as she grabbed a bottle. She gave a small swirl of the last few mouthfuls of whiskey within and popped open the top. She nearly brought it to her lips, before instead offering it to Rarity. 

Rarity watched Jack’s hand for a time, and then took the bottle, not only drinking it, but downing it, her wince as it went down suggesting it wasn’t being finished off for its taste.

“We’ll get through it, sug,” Jack muttered out. Rarity met her eyes, and Jack could almost see all of the doubts and hurts and fears swirling in their depths.

But Rarity nodded.





The rain slowed down and then stopped altogether by the time Jack finished her sweep through the rest of the house for supplies and gear. And a sweep was the word for it. She came in like a locust, gnawing and chewing and taking everything that she could consider useful from the rooms; bed sheets for kindling if they needed to start a fire, or for warmth in their own right; as much food as she could find; she even looped back around to the kitchen and started loading up the unopened bottles of alcohol for Molotovs. And drinking. 

Finally, when the living room couch looked like something out of Hoarding: Buried Alive, she went scoured out two packs into which to fit it all.

Rarity was nowhere to be found when Jack came back, so the farmer made quick work of finishing up what she could of the mostly-empty bottles in the kitchen to get a buzz, then retrieving the gasoline from Karl’s shed to make even more Molotovs—‘cause, hell, she was unashamedly scared of the damn Rooters. She didn't combine the bottles with rags quite yet, since walking around with actual Molotovs was like asking for Death himself to come and slap her on her stupid face, but she at least got herself ready to make them when the time came.

The last place she went was Karl's room. She figured the man would have the best stuff close to heart, but the only thing of note that she found was a pretty Mosin-Nagant in Karl’s bedroom closet, loaded and ready to go. 

The only problem was ammunition, both for the rifle and for her shotgun. Karl made his own, she knew that much, and she had found plenty of gunpowder and casings in his carpentry shack, but she had no clue how to do it herself. Back on the farm Mac had been teaching himself, fooling around a little in their barn every once in a while, but she’d had no interest in it personally.

She supposed that they could always get ammo in the next town. It just seemed a waste to not grab the powder, was all. Coulda made bombs or something with it. Maybe Karl’s boasting about being self-sufficient had rubbed off onto her. Maybe his paranoia had, too.

Slightly disgusted with herself, she sat back down on the couch and rubbed at her face, fatigued beyond reproach. 

“Ya up fer cookin’ dinner?” she called out to Rarity, wherever the woman was. “Think I need ta crash fer a bit.”

There were footsteps, and then Rarity appeared from the end of the hallway, walking into the room.

“We don’t have much time for rest, Jack. We need to leave soon.”

“Leave?” Jack repeated, squinting and tilting her head. “Girl, it’s gonna be nightfall in an hour or two.”

“Well with all the things you took from this place, surely anything that challenges us now would be dealt with a lot faster.” The tone she said it in was sarcastically saccharine, and Jack closed her eyes against an oncoming headache. 

“C’mon Rare,” she muttered, a bit pleadingly.

The woman glared at her for a few seconds, then turned her nose up. “Fine. But we are leaving tonight.”
	“Tonight?” Jack repeated, giving a rise and fall of her hand. “Ya lose yer senses? Ya really want that pack-a assholes tearin’ inta us? We stay indoors. We stay here.”

“No.” Rarity replied instantly, completely, utterly dismissing Jack’s logic with a single word. “I refuse.”

“Are ya fuckin’ stupid? Seriously?”

“Don’t call me stupid, Jack,” she hotly snapped back. “You’re clearly playing the fool here.”

“Bullshit. I know what’s gonna come out fer us in a bit. It’s safer in here.”

Rarity pointed a stern finger her way. “You damn hypocrite,” she barked out, her gesture trembling. “What happened to a town a day? What happened to finding your brother and sister? Are you giving up on them?”

Jack’s weariness took a backseat and she slowly rose, a glower coming to her face. “You are treadin’ on some thin Goddamn ice,” she warned, her tone low and soft, the opposite of her normally loud and boorish outbursts. Rarity flinched, perhaps thinking she went a bit too far herself, before replying, her tone matching Jack’s.

“I saw a child die in front of my eyes. His blood is still on my clothing and we both saw his father kill himself. I do not want anything else to do with this Godforsaken, fucking house and if I have to walk out by myself then so be it, Jack. You stay “safe”, I’ll continue our arrangement.”

So saying, she turned and headed towards the door. She waited for a few seconds and upon Jack offering no more words or making any motion to go to her, she opened the door and stepped through, slamming it so hard the frame shook.

Jack waited, counting on Rarity to return—expecting the woman’s temper to chill, for her to realize that going out this late was tantamount to suicide, and return to the home, but as the minutes rolled by and the knot in her stomach grew and twitched, Jack swore, taking out a brief but flaming burst of anger on the coffee table, planting the heel of her boot into a leg and knocking it clean off with an audible crack, launching the piece across the carpet and skittering into the wall, where it connected and bounced off, leaving a fist-sized hole in the wall. She grabbed both of their packs and ran outside, taking off at a worried jog northward.

Rarity had been true to her words. She had already gotten almost a quarter mile out even in the scant time Jack had waited for her. She marched briskly, moving at nearly a jog, as fast as her once seemingly delicate legs carried her. Jack considered calling after her, but thought better of it. 

She jogged ahead, crossed the yard and jumped the fence, pausing at the outskirts of the minefield, her fingertips rubbing together nervously. Shit scared the everloving crap outta her, even though Rarity had taught her the way to get through it in order to recover Karl’s body. She did the sequence Rarity showed her, feeling like a kid playing hopscotch on a playground, only twenty times more nerve wrecked. 

Once she was through, she set off at as fast of a run as her body would allow her, mindful of how it had responded earlier to her pushing herself.

Jack caught up towards the outskirts of the woods; Rarity heard the fast moving footsteps behind her and spared a fleeting, slightly fearful glance over her shoulder before recognizing it simply as Jack. Come to her senses, she thought with a surprising amount of bitterness, and then she shook her head and slowed her place just a little. It was unbecoming of a lady to hold grudges.

They walked a ways out, deeper into the woods until the tree canopy blocked their view of the sky. It was several degrees cooler now than it had been, with a refreshing cleaness in the air. The ground was soggy and soft, the trees still dripping fat raindrops absentmindedly. One of the drops caught Jack on the nape of the neck, the feeling of it akin to an ice cube sliding long her skin, and she winced in surprise and discomfort and swiped it away. 

The shadows were already growing long and dark, the night deepening in the woods first, as if it had a primary claim there, as if it couldn’t wait for the show to begin. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jack chanted in her mind. She could feel her spine start to knot in terror, then her arms, then her legs. The darker it got, the more nervous she became. 

“This was a Goddamn stupid idea,” she breathed to Rarity. She wanted to scream into the woman’s face, but didn’t want to attract the night’s nightmares to their position. “Stupidest idea you’ve ever—” 

Rarity stopped dead in her tracks and Jack almost ran into her back. 

There, a good twenty feet in front of them, was another Rooter. Jack swore internally, grabbed Rarity’s arm and brought the both of them, very slowly, into a crouch. The thing stopped and inhaled, like the one before had, and again, looked towards their general direction. 

Please don’t see us, please don’t see us, please…

She hardly let out a breath for several long seconds, not moving a muscle. The Rooter let out a grunt and started to shuffle along again. Jack made sure to wait very, very long after it had disappeared out of their sight before she slowly stood to her full height. She dropped her bag off of her shoulders, scanned around, and shoved her hand inside quickly, in search of the NVGs.

“Here,” she panted, handing one pair to Rarity. “Since ya fuckin’ insisted on travelin’ in the dark.” 

Rarity didn’t respond.

They continued on. Their exodus was silent, their steps the only noise either created, soft as they were. They ran into another Rooter, and followed the same pattern as before with it. The things seemed to rely on their sense of smell more than their sight, and if one stood very, very still, it did not see you. Karl’s information had been right.

They walked for hours, avoiding most everything with the help of the goggles. Fucking things were a lifesaver, Jack thought more than once. 

Eventually the woods opened up for them again, and brought them to a camping site where an RV stood, its door open and, as Jack expected before even stepping inside, its occupants gone, the only proof of their existence was a ruined and burnt pot on a now-dead campfire, and a half-eaten banana upon the dash of the RV. Moving, more machine than man, Jack cleared the van and with a nod to Rarity, the first real attempt to speak to her since before they encountered the Rooters, Rarity shut the door behind them, sealing them in the RV throughout the long night. She lowered the shades at the windows and, though realistically it would do nothing, she dropped her now-heavier bag in front of the door, creating a halfhearted blockade.

Jack, meanwhile, sat on the sofa across the door, running a hand absently over the night vision goggles, testing over dozens of knobs and switches, trying to get an indication of how much battery remained in them,

Rarity took in a breath, running a hand over her tangled hair, then crossing her arms. She stared at Jack, who finally finished her examination of the goggles and was checking the batteries in a pair of walkie-talkies, then making sure the receivers picked up. She seemed ready to move onto another make-work project when Rarity spoke, cutting through the silence like a spark of lighting in a black sky.

“Didn’t you do that when you found them?” she questioned. A part of her, the sore, exhausted, annoyed part, wanted to add ‘then again, maybe you hadn’t thought of it, since you’re you’, but she bit her tongue just in time to not let the words escape. Jack didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her. Rarity glared, and almost let the words slip through, just to... well, just to distract herself by starting a fight, really. 

Since Rarity was not giving up in the face of blatantly being ignored, Jack sighed and looked up at her. “Well, maybe I just don’t wanna talk to you right now, and I’m keepin’ myself busy so you’ll go away,” she replied in a frustrated growl, a small protesting pop coming from the walkie-talkie in her right hand, a subtle reminder of her strength. She let the object drop to the ground and stared harsly at Rarity. “So go away.”

“You—”

“I said I don’t wanna look at you right now,” the woman snapped. “Goddamnit,” she snarled, burying her face in her hands.

Rarity swallowed. A part of her wanted to comfort the woman—and, selfishly, a part of her wanted to be comforted in return—but she did not know exactly how to go about it when one party refused to even talk about it, which in turn fed into her own frustrations on the matter. She sighed, loudly, irritably, and gave a pointed look Jack’s way, even if the farmer was not meeting the glare.

“As you wish,” she tersely answered. “And, like usual, I appreciate your reassurances as well, considering the events.”

Jack looked up at Rarity, a hot reply on the tip of her tongue. Upon seeing her more tense form and the rarely seen flash of anger in her eyes, Jack relented, albeit a hair.

“Look… can this jus’ wait? Tomorrow? Please?” she asked, her own tone more quiet, a meekness to it not normally present in her more stentorian voice.

Rarity glared for several seconds, debating with herself. The subject needed to be discussed, to be put to sleep, and she was one to face her problems and feelings head-on—and she thought that Jack was, too. Still, perhaps a rest would give them perspective, or at least a day’s distance from the horrid events. She decided to concede to Jack’s request. It wasn’t an easy, instant decision, after today it felt like there was a bottle within her ready to burst, but she knew the limits of her own stamina for tragedy, how to handle shock and despair. Better than Jack, apparently.

“Fine,” she said plainly—because what else could there be said? She could talk all day at Jack, but it would be like talking to a brick wall. “I suppose I’ll find the bedroom, then.”

Jack nodded, staring unseeingly at the floor, trying not to remember.

She did remember, of course, and it seemed that the more she tried to block it out the more it came to the forefront of her brain. Came to her brain like Karl’s brain left the premise. Elvis has left the building, hey.

There came to her a laugh at the thought that slammed into her, but Jack refrained, knowing if she started to laugh she might well not stop until the laughter turned to sobs. Instead she let out a weak snort, which she disguised by coughing, and then took to what she did best to distance herself from her thoughts and feelings.

She sat down and prepared to work.

Jack looked across the RV, searching with the same dull, plodding steps a blind figure might take across unfamiliar territory, before she came to a small cabinet in the RV’s kitchen. She opened it and spotted what she was searching for.

A ceramic mug.

Taking it, she gave a small, tuneless whistle, returning back to the sofa and plopping down. Flipping it over, she ran a thumb over the coarse ring of stone at its base.

She unsheathed the machete and took to running it over the stone, giving it a few small licks, almost as if she was trying to shave layers off the mug’s base. It was a bit cumbersome, the size of it lending itself to a few clunky swipes and movements and she nearly rolled the edge, but she eventually got through, no worse for wear. She sheathed the weapon and almost tossed it to the side, before reconsidering.

Right now, a weapon felt like it was all she had to face the threat they found themselves in. She knew she could count on Rarity, in the back of her mind, but right now she was too pissed to admit that to the rest of herself. Instead of speaking with the woman, calling out to her, hell, maybe even something as simple as telling her everything would be okay, she curled up and held the machete closer to her, a comfort, a warmth in a world that was rapidly turning colder.
> The I-70
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.
> Tilman Mining Corp
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.