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He doesn’t see them at first, too enthralled with the gouts of flame that practically shot from his fingertips, jetting out to lick at the creepy Bliss zombies clamoring before his feet. It was beautiful in the fading light—just about made up for the stink, and he’d barely even started. He’d cranked his music up, and was too busy hollering along to hear the first crack of aluminum against bone, but then they ran out into the brilliance of the floodlights, whackin’ straggling Angels with a stained silver bat and working their way towards his trailer. He was just about to yell out a greeting so they didn’t think he was completely fucking nuts, but then the light caught the logo on their jacket, and he scowled.“Fuck off, Johnny Law!” he drawled, dousing a few more Angels in streams of flame pointedly. “It’s my property—I know my rights!”They didn’t seem to care, continuing to wind their way around his set-up, poking around his ammo caches with curiosity. Fine. He kept an eye on them in case they were tryin’ to steal shit or, a likelihood in a different time, plant shit, but they weren’t disturbing nothing save for the few Angels that decided to go for the person that wouldn’t charbroil what was left of their faces. Looked like they could handle themselves, and if they wanted help, they’d ask. If they were like the other cops that’d come out this way, they’d just talk a lot of shit and leave.He went back to the flamethrowing, trying not to let the dread of an impending lecture suck the joy outta what was left of his fun. He actually kind of lost track of them after a few minutes, but when the last Bliss-dizzy motherfucker fell back on their butt and there was just disco thumping through the emptied trailerpark and the smell of burnt flesh searing his nostrils, there they were—standing a respectful distance away, bloodied bat resting comfortably on their shoulder and grinning without a trace of mockery.“I like your music, man,” they said, sticking out a hand. “And that’s a badass flamethrower.”He brightened, decided to give them a chance, and shook, noting callouses and a firm but non-dick-waving grip. He squinted, raising the brim of his cap to get a better look. “‘Course it is. Made it myself. You the one them Peggies’re so shook up about?”They shrugged. “We tried to arrest Joseph Seed. Went about as south as it could have possibly gone, but I’ve been tryin’ to make up for it.”He grunted, nodding. “Well, uh, pardon my French, but next time you should probably just, you know. Shoot him.” Hard to tell in the low light if they were a dude or a chick. Built solid, but with that much mismatching body armor and shit beneath the County jacket, he couldn’t really tell what they looked like underneath. Low, mellow voice. Black hair shorn up to the temples and then drawn back into a perfunctory ponytail. Fuckin’ cop, lookin’ like a Hispanic and debatably beefy Skrillex. Had to be one of the signs of the apocalypse.“It’s on my list.” They grinned, and he started at the unexpected dimples that winked into existence. His next conscious thought was ‘oh fuck’ and then, a few panicked heartbeats later, ‘please let them be a chick’ followed by a hasty ‘and also not be here to arrest me’. He cleared his throat and stopped himself from reaching out again, covering the awkward jerk of his arm by patting the stock of his flamethrower. “Uh, this is Donna. An’ I’m Charlemagne Victor Boshaw IV. Sharky, if you’re monosyllabically-inclined. Or, uh, bisyllabic, I guess. Anyway, it’s…it’s just Sharky.”They nodded through his babbling. “Alright, Sharky. You can call me Rook. Or Deputy, I guess. A lot of folks seem more comfortable with that.”He laughed. “Oh man, no, me an’ the fuzz have kind of a…contentious past, you could say. What with you guys having giant sticks shoved up your asses and all. What kind of a name is Rook? ‘Specially for a cop, I mean, it’s like one letter away from ‘crook’ y’know.”They lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry, I'm new around here. Moved in about a week ago. This cult shit kicked off on my third official day in the department. And what kind of a name is Sharky? ‘Specially for a pyro in a landlocked state.”He scowled. “Listen, I get blamed for a lot of shit I ain’t done, and maybe sometimes I get blamed for shit that I do, allegedly, but if you got a problem with my fuckin’ name you can take it up with my uncle.”“Hey, just teasin’. Sorry.” They spread their hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Sharky’s pretty cool, actually, for a name you didn’t pick yourself. And thanks for letting me in on the murder. Fuckin’ Angels creep me out.”He shifted his weight, regarding them suspiciously. “I dunno about ‘murder’ seeing as they’re already dead to the world, and like, devoid of any and I mean any personality. Honestly it’s more like mercy killing when they’re this far gone. Ask anybody.”They squinted at him for a moment, and he was about ready to cut tail and run and hope their bat-wielding antics had tired them out well enough to let him reach his truck when they hummed and nodded with understanding, waving behind them with dismissal.“Not here to arrest you. Think it’s plain we all got bigger problems, yeah? Was just hiking through the hills up yonder and heard music. Didn’t sound like Peggie drivel, so I got curious.”He was torn between wanting to believe and the very strong instinct that clamored at him not to trust a badge. “You…like disco, then?” Their fervent nod and the return of that amazing smile was enough for him to put a pin in those doubts. “Shit, alright, then. I mean, it’s only the greatest, most joyful and melodious genre on God’s green Earth, so that just shows you still got a beatin’ heart.”They lifted their bat from their shoulders and tapped it a couple times on the plywood track, shaking what little blood hadn’t already dried from the smooth barrel. “Knock on wood. Look, I know you’ve got your own thing going on here, which I can definitely respect, but I’m trying to take these assholes out, and I could use some local knowledge. Keep getting lost with all these goddamn hills. You in?”He tried to hide his surprise. They…wanted him around? He tamped that shit down real quick, though, shrugging and hemming and hawing for a little, as though he had something to go back to other than crushing loneliness and possible self-immolation. “Sure, I guess,” he said finally, adjusting his cap. “What—uh, what do I call you? Sir? Ma’am?”They grimaced. “Rook is fine.”“Okay,” he said, switching to a blunter tactic. “Sorry, but…are you like, a chick or a dude? ‘Cause I’m having some difficulties here, an’ I want to be respectful and give this team-up, you know, the best possible chance—”“Neither,” they said calmly, holding his eyes in a steady gaze. “Just Rook. Deputy is fine if you want to be formal. I’m cool with you calling me dude and stuff, but I’m not a ‘he’ or ‘she’.”“Oh. Okay,” he said, trying not to stare. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, so if we get separated and I’m, you know, trying to find you…uh, how would I ask around?”They put a hand pointedly on the radio at their hip, but smiled. “I use they/them. Pronouns. You?”“Yeah, I’m just a dude. Uh, he/him, I guess. That’s so weird, I’ve never really thought about shit like that. Words and like, what they actually mean, you know? Like, you ever say ‘the’ a lot and then start thinkin’ ‘hey, why do we even use this—who started it and why does it sound like that?’” He was blabbering, feeling the panic push up his throat and tumble out in a flurry of the wrong words. They were watching him, dark eyes carefully blank, and he felt like his face was on fire.“Sometimes,” they said after a while, folding their arms and cocking their head. “Especially with ‘to’—uh, the preposition one mostly, but the others feel weird now and then, also.”He almost collapsed with relief, slapping a hand to the top of his cap and grinning. “Oh, dude, yeah! Man, I’m so glad you got that—sometimes it’s like I say stuff to people and they just, uh, give me this look, you know? And it’s like, fuck you, buddy, I was trying to convey a specific experience, and maybe you gotta do some work to get there too, but you’re not even gonna try? Ugh, that fucking sucks, man. Why I spend a lot—a lot of time, uh, out here…by myself. That and the pantslessness. And fire.”They kicked their bat back up to rest on their shoulder and nodded toward the treeline at the back of the park. “I got you. I’m trying to make it down to the prison before dawn. Or the closest bunker I can find. Would you be up for leaving ASAP?”“Shit, Deputy, you do not mess around.” He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or intimidated. Okay, he was both, but he wasn’t sure which one he felt more strongly in this particular moment. He ran a mental inventory, came up better than he thought he would, and nodded, a cool, surreal breeze gusting down from the mountain and threading under his sweatshirt. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”It’s not like he had anything better to do.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It ended up taking about two hours for them to get close to the prison, more because they’d had to deal with a bear attack after crossing the train tracks, and then a one-two combo of a transport semi and a patrol convoy than actual travel time. It had been a lot to handle, and honestly by the last round of Peggie reinforcements he was feeling more than a little like heading back home, taking the leftover pizza and the last couple bottles of wine from his fridge, and holing up in his bunker for a few days to recup, smoke what weed he had left, and maybe jack off while the whole Peggie thing either blew over or fully consumed the county so he could unrepentantly live out all those hyper-violent fantasies that had sprouted from years of cross-faded zombie game sessions with his cousin. Unfortunately when he broke cover from behind a truck the color of old mayonnaise and ran face-first into the sweat-smelling gut of a similarly-surprised Peggie, he expected his story to end on a freeze-frame of said Peggie, one blistering second before getting his skull caved in with the butt of his rifle, and that was a far fuckin’ cry from the high-flying, pantsless, disco blasting out his eardrums, giant badass explosion heating his back, possible horde-of-ladies-screaming-his-name scenario he’d been hoping for. But instead of a quick gust of BO followed by a last red starburst of pain, he got a front-row seat to Rook getting an uninvited piggyback ride, their cargo-clad legs wrapping around the greasy-haired man’s waist while they choked him the fuck out.“Holy shit,” he gasped, as the Peggie staggered back against the off-white hood, his eyes bulging and face turning red. Rook grimaced as they were pinched between the truck and their victim, but it didn’t break their hold, and then it was over.Rook was panting slightly as they straightened up, glancing up and down the road to make sure there weren’t any more trucks coming.“Fuck, dude,” Sharky said, grin spreading. “That was so clutch, Dep—you, you really pulled through there. You just straight up choked that guy out, man! Holy shit, that was awesome.”They glanced at him, laughing a little, and he noticed a few strands of their ponytail had come loose, sticking to their sweaty forehead.“You distracted him for me,” they said, shooting him a tired fingergun, and bent to the fresh corpse, pawing through their jacket. His enthusiasm faded, and he looked away in disgust. “No, dude—c’mon. That’s just gross.”They paused in their desecration to arch an eyebrow up at him. “You’re a fan of the killing, but you turn your nose up at free ammo?”“It’s different,” he protested, but they just shook their head and went back to it, stowing a couple clips in the gray backpack they wore. They found a wad of cash in the man’s jeans pocket and counted it out quickly, paging bills with their thumb, separating them out and offering him half.“He’s not gonna need it.” They shrugged at his shocked expression. “Think of it as hazard pay.”“Don’t you need to keep it as like, evidence or something?” he asked doubtfully. He could see a twenty on top, and dead dude or no, that was at least a couple pizzas, and the piss business was not exactly steady money.Rook sighed, straightening up and taking a couple steps closer, clapping him on the shoulder. “If I live through this, there is no way in hell I’m going through the mountains of paperwork this shitshow will generate, I tell you that much for free.”He flinched at the unexpected contact, covering it with a weak grin, but the brief warmth and pressure of their hand on his arm was like a gulp of black coffee, and his heart thumped painfully. The money hovered in front of him, and he hesitated, wondering if this wasn’t some kind of bullshit that would land him another stint behind bars, but they were shoving their half into their pocket, so he’d have that as leverage, at least. He took it, nodding, and added it to his moneyclip. “Cool, uh, thanks,” he said.“Of course, man,” they said, moving on to the next body. “Thanks for helping. It is so much easier fighting with someone else. These guys are real fuckin’ tenacious.”He winced as they flopped the corpse over to access his jacket pocket, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sure. Uh, are you gonna wash your hands after you’re done, or…? Because you really should. Wash your hands. Dead bodies are fuckin’ gross.”“He’s no grosser than he was five minutes ago,” they said, opening a wallet patched with duct tape. “I mean, not that he wasn’t gross then, but at least now he isn’t actively trying to kill us.”Us. He chewed on that word for a minute, rolling it around his mouth in quiet awe. Us. Not you and me—us. A team, a unit, a fuckin’ label. He grinned. “Fair point, I guess. You should still wash your hands, though.”“Got some sanitizer in my pack, if you’re that worried. How much further, do you think? To the prison?” They checked the emptied trucks, coming up with an unopened bottle of water and a couple granola bars. “Fuck, yes.”“Bout ten, fifteen minute’s walk, I guess,” he shrugged, watching as they uncapped the water bottle and pressed full lips against its mouth, throat bobbing steadily. He licked his lips, suddenly aware that the last thing he'd had to drink was a lukewarm beer at the trailer park, and his mouth tasted sour, tongue thick and dry with dust from the hills and the shitty unpaved roads.“Want some?” Rook held the water out, and he took it with a mumbled ‘much obliged’, gulping until there were only a few swallows left, glinting white-gold in the harsh glare of the Peggie headlights.He stopped himself from drinking it all, flushing as he handed it back to them. He thought absurdly of that book Ms. Olivaw had read aloud in seventh grade, about the boy who didn’t know his father, hitchhiking with a friendly man, traces of mustard backwash floating in red soda. Shit, you couldn’t avoid backwash, that’s why so many kids got mono during sports season. He’d probably just drunk like a half-milliliter of Rook’s spit right there, and now they—they finished the bottle with a satisfied sigh, crushed it in their hand, and threw the empty back in the abandoned truck. “Ten minutes, huh? How ‘bout by car?” they asked, picking a set of keys from the road and smiling."Less," he said with authority, and they threw him the keys, flashing silver through the gloom. He caught them with only a slight bit of fumbling, pinning them against his chest with the heel of his hand. “You don’t want to drive?”“Not used to these hills at night,” they said, piling into the truck. “Are you okay driving?”“Dude, I’m a great driver, I totally got this,” he assured them as he tried the keys in the ignition. It caught readily, thrumming to life with only a little sputtering. “Nice. It’s that special Boshaw touch. No butt stuff.”They snorted, stabilizing themselves by propping a hand against the dash as he threw the truck into reverse and turned them towards the main road. The truck’s turn radius wasn’t that great, and they ran up over the wild grass bank at the edge of the road, bucking the cab laboriously.“Uh, shit. We’re good, though. We’re good,” he muttered, pulling onto the straightaway at last. Fuel gauge good, no emergency lights activating, tires felt decent when they’d leveled out. Good. He turned the radio on, changing the channel with a grimace when it blared to life with that weird synth and dreamy vocals that the Angels seemed to like so much. No country. He found a station just starting to play some Creedance, and grunted happily.“Nice,” he heard Rook mumble at his side, and felt a warm twist in his gut at the approval.They bumped along the dirt road for a good five minutes, and he stayed wary for crossing deer, singing along to the radio under his breath. Fuckin’ idiots would just hope right out in front of cars at night, flashing blank eyes at the last second as though they were surprised, as though the big, noisy, bright hunk of metal careening towards them had just come out of nowhere. Stupid fucking deer.The cheerful bounce of electric piano filled the cab, and Rook gave an abrupt, excited hum. He glanced over, and though they’d turned their head to look out the window, he could see their cheek bunched in a grin. He felt an answering one grow on his face, and he turned the radio up louder. They looked over at him in pleased surprise, and slapped at his shoulder excitedly, and then they were both belting out along with a young Sir Elton John and he felt happier than he’d been in a long-ass time, cult apocalypse be damned.It was a quick drive, though, and they’d only gotten to the end of the second chorus when the prison came in view. The familiar sight soured his mood automatically, but then there were Angels to kill, and man, turning those creepy turdblossoms into speedbumps sure put the smile back on his face. Rook whooped, bailing after he scraped to a halt next to a blasted out bus, and he followed after. Between the screams, the too-close-for-comfort zipping of fire from the prison walls, and the gut-jolting, eardrum-rattling reports of his shotgun, he could hear them still, whistling the “la” section, and it stayed stuck in his head for hours after they’d killed the last Peggie.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He didn’t pay too much attention to their business in the prison, too busy looking around at everything in a sort of disoriented haze. So fucking weird to see mattresses and blankets and personal knick-knacks cluttering up the waiting room that had always been bare and relentlessly uninviting, to have people pass him by with friendly nods instead of suspicious or bored glares, to walk through the narrow halls with a freakin’ shotty on his back. It takes a bit for Dep to notice his unease, but when they do, they hand him their backpack, and ask him to see if the trader posted up by the armory would give him anything for the skins and bliss oil they’d collected.He took it with relief, jogging off and haggling with the body-armor-wearing young woman behind the window. She was brisk, friendly in a confrontational way that dispelled some of the brain fog, especially when she flashed an impressed grin at the wolverine pelt.“This one’s in great shape—you do it yourself?” she asked, searching through the fur for imperfections. “Mhm, yeah,” he nodded hastily, folding his arms. “Totally.”“Really?” she arched an eyebrow, turning it over and testing the cure. “How long did it take to flesh it this thin?”“Uh, actually,” he winced. “I just—I just found it. Like that. To be perfectly honest with you, ma’am.”She laughed, tapping a small blue scrawl at the underside of the skin he hadn’t noticed before. “I guessed. Craftsmen’s mark here. This fur’s been professionally done. Probably from before all this Peggie shit kicked off as a trophy.”He flushed. “Uh, okay. Gotta be worth something, though, right?”“Sure, yeah,” she nodded, grinning. “Along with the others, I can give you probably a few mags, maybe a couple sticks of boom. I’ll throw in some water purification tablets for free—Faith’s been dumping all kinds of shit in the rivers, so I wouldn’t trust anything untreated around here.”“Thanks,” he said, unzipping the pack and stowing the goods she passed over the counter in its main pocket. She handed him a dram vial with the water tablets, and went over how to use them. He nodded, furrowing his brow to look like he was listening, but her words were starting to blur into each other.“Uh—sorry, uh…” He interrupted with a pained grin. “Could you write it down, please? Just to be safe?”She exhaled but nodded, grabbing a pad and pencil from beneath the counter and scribbling out instructions.“Hey, how’s it goin’? You about ready?” A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jumped, heart shooting into his throat. Rook stepped up next to him, peering into the backpack with curiosity. “Shit, dude, I almost just ninja-chopped you just now—don’t fuckin’ sneak up on me,” he blurted, hiking his pants up.“Sorry,” they said, flashing him a grin. “Just excited I don’t have to lug all those skins around any more. How you doin’ on shotgun shells?”He shrugged, not wanting to say he’d restocked from the Peggie corpses outside the gates, afraid of a told-you-so from Rook and a look of revulsion from the weaponsmaster. “I’m good.”“Awesome.” They fished around in a side pocket and pulled out three vials of bliss oil, putting them up on the counter and looking to the clerk. “How much will this get me in SMG ammo?”The woman checked the small glass bottles, squinting at the amber liquid inside to ensure they were full and pure. Satisfied, she nodded and pulled out a couple mags. “You’d probably get more out west, what with there being so many Angels around here, but I can give you these right now.”“That’ll work—thank you.” Rook collected the ammo and dumped it in the backpack, lifting the straps from Sharky’s hands with a grin. A shadow fell across the doorway and a tall man in a floppy fisherman’s hat stepped in. Sharky moved out of the way instinctively, but he stopped just by Rook’s elbow. They glanced back and smiled, nodding from him to Sharky and back.“Sharky, this is Preston. Preston, Sharky,” they said, and Sharky felt his gut cramp with jealousy.“Hi,” said Preston, sticking a large hand out. No smile. Hooded gray eyes. He looked like a serious dude. Probably didn’t like disco.Sharky scowled but took his hand and shook, squeezing hard enough to let the other man know he wasn’t a pushover. “What’s up, homie?”Preston didn’t flinch, tucking his thumbs into the beltloops of his jeans and nodding. “Not much, man—you guys really saved our bacon there. Wanted to tag along for a bit as thanks.”“Yeah, okay,” he said, as if he cared, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket and cocking his head. At six feet even, he couldn’t rightly be called short, but he sure as shit wasn’t gangly like this motherfucker. The dude probably had some kind of glandular disease—he felt sorry for him, really. “So, Dep—uh, are we leavin’ or what?”Rook slung the pack over their shoulders and sighed, checking their watch. “We got, what? Four hours ’til sunrise? If you guys are good to go, I’d like to start heading towards the sulfur springs. Apparently we’ve got a doctor stranded up there, and in this mess we need all the medical expertise we can get.”“Dr. Cotton?” asked Sharky, brow furrowed. He’d thought the doc had set up shop over in Holland Valley—what would he be doing out east?“Uh, no—Lindsey, I think?” Rook waved to the weaponsmaster and edged around Preston, stepping out into the cool night air. “He’s a vet, actually, but still. Doctor.”“Okay, then.” Sharky sped up to go through the doorway before Preston, not looking at him. The prison floodlights cast harsh white pools down in the admitting yard, giving the clean-up detail shadows that were darker than the night sky. The sounds of crickets and frogs was a low trill beneath the hum of the lights, but it grew louder as they exited the gates. The car they’d rode in on was a smoking hull—a necessary sacrifice that had taken out four Angels and a slow-witted Peggie in the pitched assault. There was a van parked up by the gate that looked functional, with only a few bullet holes dotting the passenger’s side, and Rook was making a beeline for it.“The springs, you said?” asked Preston, freakish stride carrying him to the driver’s side before Sharky could get there. He slid in casually, as though he hadn’t been trying to show anybody up. “I used to work there as a tour guide in the summers. There’s an old mill nearby—been abandoned for years, but if you need a place to camp, it’s as good as any.”Sharky scowled, getting into the back and gripping the bench with white knuckles. He knew about the mill, he could have told them about the mill. That old place was falling to pieces. Likely to step on a nail and catch— what’s it called, tinnitus. The mill was a stupid idea.“Good idea—we should head there first. Get some rest and check out the area,” said Rook, buckling themselves in as Preston started the car.The radio screeched to life along with the engine, and Sharky got a few seconds of The Knack’s familiar rollicking bassline before Preston switched it off. He gasped, affronted, and saw Rook give the other man a questioning glance.“Sorry, it’s just hard to focus on the road with music blasting. Do you mind?”“Driver’s preference.” Rook shrugged, leaning back in their seat and looking out the window, as if that wasn’t a clear sign that this Preston guy was a lost cause, a total square, and a fuckin’ buzzkill.“Fuckin’ hell, man,” he muttered, tapping the back of his head against the van’s side. He hadn’t signed on for this shit. Cartin’ around with a stiff and camping out in dilapidated cabins that were probably definitely haunted—no butt kickin’, no chicks, and now no fuckin’ music? The wooorst. If things didn’t pick up soon, he might just dip out and go back to flaming Angels on his lonesome. Least he’d have tunes. And the no-pants option. And whatever was left of the Heinies in his fridge.The van bumped along, the weird, echoey sound of the tires eating up dusty road underscoring the uncomfortable silence. Rook cleared their throat, propping their head up with the heel of their hand and staring out the window as if praying Godzilla would come crashing through the trees or something.“So,” he muttered, more to fill the air the anything. “Now that uh, the niceties of modern society are kinda goin’ down the shitter, whaddya guys think the odds are of us-of us goin’ more in the Mad Max direction? ‘Cause I’ve been givin’ some serious thought to really trickin’ out my truck. Get some cool spikes on the hubcaps, maybe rig some like, oil or shrapnel traps under the back fender if dudes are tryin’ to follow me.”“Oh man,” Rook twisted around in their seat, grinning at him. “You think you could rig a turret on top? If we’re talkin’ true wasteland anarchy, you’re gonna want a gunner watching your six at all times.”“Uh, of course I’m gonna rig up a turret, man, that’s like number three on the mods list.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms across his knees and counting off on his fingers. “Number one is obviously reinforcing the windows and shit. Gotta beef up the tires next—then weaponry, then aesthetics. Gotta be practical.”“Yeah, for sure—”“Jesus, guys,” muttered Preston from up front, lures on his hat brim jingling as he shook his head. “People are dying, you know. Is this really worth talking about right now?”Sharky scowled, two seconds away from launching into a tirade about how some people got sticks up their asses, but Preston’d had the bad luck to get like a whole fuckin’ two-by-four shoved way up there. But by the time the words had ordered themselves in his head and he’d opened his mouth, Rook was already talking, voice low and measured.“Folks have different ways of coping. I’m sorry if we came across as, as callous, or maybe gave you the impression that we don’t care, ‘cause we do. For me—I mean, I can’t speak for Sharky, we only just met tonight, but I feel like we got kind of a similar way of lookin’ at things. For me, making jokes and talking about stupid shit is the only way to keep going. You know what I mean?” They waited for a moment, the dim flash of passing streetlights illuminating their profile as they watched Preston. More jingling as the man shrugged reluctantly.“Yeah, I get it. For me it just feels like—like if all the people who’ve gotten killed already were watchin’, maybe they’d be disappointed in us for getting off track. Feel like we’d forgotten them.”“Mm,” Rook nodded, then cocked their head and grinned. “Or maybe we’d be givin’ ‘em something to laugh at in between the thrilling acts of vengeance. I didn’t get the chance to meet many of the good folks of Hope County before things kicked off, but I’ve lost people close to me before. Best times I’d ever had with them was doing useless bullshit and making stupid jokes, and I’m not gonna let Eden’s Gate take that away from me.”Preston inclined his head, adjusting his grip on the wheel as he guided them off the main road and onto a dirt track. “That’s fair, I guess. Peggies been takin’ enough from us as it is. Just not my way, is all.”“That’s fair too,” said Rook lightly, leaning back in their seat. “Just, y’know. We care—wouldn’t be out here if we didn’t.”Preston let out a short, dissatisfied hum. The air in the van was cold, and Sharky clapped his hands briskly.“So,” he called out cheerfully. “How ‘bout that radio, huh?”The sky was lightening, a gentle predawn that was flushing golden over the hills to the east when they pulled up near the old mill. No tracks or Peggie activity—the place had been abandoned a long time, and even the dicks from Eden’s Gate must have written it off as without value in resources or strategic location. And the smell of sulfur was strong—the springs were close. They got out of the van, stretching a little—Rook yawned, massaging the back of their neck, and Sharky stamped the ache out of his legs.“The springs are just over the hills,” said Preston, waving his hand, rubbing at his eyes. “Not sure when Dr. Lindsey came through this way, but we could scout it out now, if you’re ready.”“Nah, I—” Rook yawned again, covering their mouth with the inside of their elbow this time. “Been up for a few days now. Getting sloppy—if we can get some rest, I think our chances’d be a lot better.”“I could use a fuckin’ nap, too, to be honest,” said Sharky, trying to remember if there was even enough room in the mill to sprawl out properly. He used to be able to rage for days, but the highs of life-threatening battle apparently burned you out a hell of a lot faster than good old-fashioned drugs and alcohol.“Sure,” said Preston, following them up to the mill. “I can, uh, I can keep watch for a bit.”The door was boarded up, and so were the windows. It was built over the edge of a short ridge, though, and when Rook walked the perimeter, they found a way up through the crawlspace foundations where the boards had rotted through.“I think I smell skunk, dude,” he said, accepting the hand up as he clambered into the musty space.“Think there’s a den or something nearby,” they said, brushing their hands off on their jeans and leaning back against the wall. “Or a burrow? What do skunks have?”“Fucked if I know,” he scoffed, shuffling carefully across the softened planks. Thank Christ he didn’t have allergies. Must be like a hundred kinds of spores in here. “Just hope they can’t climb.”They grinned, setting their backpack in the corner and curling up, using it as a makeshift pillow. “I dunno—they look kind of cute. Maybe a friendly one? I miss my cats, man.”“No—do not trust skunks, Dep, those little motherfuckers are tricky as hell.” He pointed at them sternly. “They do not snuggle. You let one get close, and all you get is a face full of stinkpiss and probably a few gnarly bites. You’re gonna need tetanus shots and—and like a morning after pill but for rabies, and maybe stitches, dude.”They laughed, raising their eyebrows. “Are you speaking from experience? There’s a lot of—of personal rancor in that.”“I had a close encounter,” he said, chest warming. They were actually interested in his stories? “Y’wanna hear about it?”They nodded, grin wide and eyes shining, and he felt the warmth spread up his neck. He shuffled back, clearing his throat and deciding how best to set the scene.“Alright, so—me an’ my cousin Hurk decide to do like a summer cookout thing a few years ago. He’d just got home from one of his adventures, so nothin’ too crazy, y’know? Just us two plus his buddy Craig and Craig’s girlfriend at the time. Uh, think her name was Destiny. Or maybe that’s his new girlfriend?” He frowned, trying to remember if that was right, but Rook sneezed, and he realized he was getting off track. Skunk. Get to the point. “Salute, man. Anyway, point is, she didn’t know us too well, and brought a couple of her friends along, which was totally cool and everything, because one—legitimate safety concern when you’re a chick that doesn’t know the area or the other dudes. Uh, and two—they were both actually super hot and we all got along great. Brought a keg and a few bottles of wine, plus some of the best weed I have ever gotten in this dink-ass county—” Oh shit, Rook was a cop. He flinched, waiting for a reprimand, but it didn’t come. They just kept watching him expectantly, so he kept going.“Uh, anyway. Everybody’s feelin’ good and we got a sweet bonfire goin’. Craig’s a pretty big survivalist, an’ he brought a bunch of venison sausage for us to cook up. Hurky’d covered libations, but we were all hungry as hell, so we start roasting the venison. Smells fuckin’ incredible. One of Destiny’s friends is havin’ a little trouble cookin’ hers evenly, so, y’know, being a gentleman, I scooch over and give her some tips—help her with the skewer, get that casual contact goin’. And she’s—she’s sweet and seems receptive, y’know. Havin’ a good time.”He suddenly felt awkward, talking about ladies to Rook. Would they think he was flirting with them? Because he wasn’t—it was just a story. Wasn’t like he was tryin’ to talk up his game with some PG anecdote, and he was pretty sure they knew he was straight. Yeah, and that meant chicks only, and they weren’t a chick—which he knew and respected and maybe he was still trying to get his head around the whole gender thing, but what if they thought that he was flirting with them because he thought they were? Fuck, why was he even thinking about this—it was too stupid and complicated and they probably weren’t thinking anything along those lines, and he shouldn’t either, because it didn’t matter if they thought he was flirting because he wasn’t because he couldn’t because he was straight. Right?“Sharky?” they asked, frowning slightly. “You good?”“Yup!” he blurted, ears burning. He was not looking at their lips. “Uh, sorry. Just the all-nighter catchin’ up to me.”They nodded, smiling sympathetically. “If you want to take a break—”“Nah, I’m okay,” he shrugged, adjusting his cap and peeking at them from beneath the brim. “But it’s cool if you’re not feelin’ it. Ain’t exactly the tale of the century.”“No, I’m invested!” they protested, grinning wide enough so that those dimples popped out again. “So, you were crossfaded and chattin’ up a cute girl. How does the skunk fit in?”“Uh,” he wiped his palms off on the denim over his thighs. “I guess it smelled the meat cooking. Probably was hangin’ out for a while outside the light of the fire—a lot of folks camp out where we were, so the animals are used to getting scraps and shit. Anyway, Hurk is teasin’ me ‘bout the lady—her name was Nicole, if I’m rememberin’ right. Or Nicki, maybe? But he’s throwin’ bits of sausage and hot dog bun, some hittin’ us and some just flyin’ right by because he can’t aim for shit, and we’re laughin’ and dodgin’ and we’re both pretty drunk, so we end up fallin’ off back into the bushes behind us.”He mimed the scene with his hands. “So I’m down and fuckin’ everything is funny and great even if I got twigs and shit in my hair, because when we were falling, she grabbed my hand, right? So I think, couple scrapes are nothin’ because she’s cool and I’ve been getting good signals, so I try to roll over to where she landed and give her a kiss before helpin’ her up.”“Oh no,” groaned Rook with dawning comprehension, and he snorted.“Oh yeah. Smooched it right on the nose. Ended up with a face full of angry skunk. Cut my lip open, turned around and sprayed fuckin’ directly in my eyes. Didn’t get a call back and couldn’t see for three whole days.” He leaned back against the wall, grinning and tapping his finger against his upper lip. “Left a little scar, but uh, you can’t really see it when I got the ‘stache goin’. Moral is: those little bitches are a lot meaner than they look.”They laughed, tipping their head back and folding their arms. “Jesus. Man, I’m sorry for laughing, but…god, that must have sucked.”“It totally did, but at least I got a decent story out of it,” he said, relieved and pleased that they’d enjoyed it. They grinned, shuffling over on their side. “That’s it—silver lining. Night, Sharky.”He took the cue, laying out and nestling his head in his arms, padded with the soft, thick fabric of his hoodie. “Night, Dep.”He tried to slow his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking boring thoughts. He was bone tired, but his mind was a stubborn hum of activity, flashing through memories, snatches of remembered songs or television commercials from his youth, switching tracks with breakneck speed conducted by loose associations. Like trying to play six degrees of Kevin Bacon with a chatbot drawing from a database chockfull of pop culture references, lyrics of the golden oldies, his weirdest high cravings, and his personal Top 40 Best Hits of embarrassing shit he’d done over the years. He tried to think about the nights in prison, laying on his back on that thinass cot, staring up at the cracked concrete ceiling. He’d had a roomie briefly, but the dude hadn’t been much of a talker, and Hope County Prison wasn’t exactly in danger of overcrowding before the Peggie nonsense, so he’d spent most of his sentence on his own. The blank ceiling, the fuzzy hum of the half-light fluorescents, the soft footsteps of the thin patrol—consistent. Enough stimulus to prevent the bullshit from taking root, but not so much as to keep him awake. A little on the lonely side, but he’d never kept such a steady sleep schedule, before or since. Sometimes it helped to pretend he was back there. At least, it worked better than counting fucking sheep.He sighed and shifted, shielding his eyes from the light filtering in between the gaps in the mill’s warped planks. The sound of stifled laughter caught his ear, and despite the fact that he really did want to go to sleep, he rolled over with a grin.“The fuck you giggling about over there, Rook?”“I just—” they gasped, putting their hands over their eyes, helpless grin wide beneath their palms. “Was it a good kisser?”He snorted, half-frowning at them incredulously. “Man, shut the hell up and go to sleep. ‘Was it a good kisser?’ You can kiss my ass, I tell you what, my dude.”“On a scale of one to ten—” they managed to get out before subsiding into a gale of snickers, and he couldn’t help but smile.“Alright, okay. It wasn’t the worst kiss I’ve ever had.” “So…what was—”He laughed. “Uh, I thought we were tryin’ to get some shuteye here?”“Okay, fine.” They settled back in their corner, pointing at him vaguely. “But you owe me a story later.”“Alright, whatever,” he said, grinning to himself. The warm glow in his chest washed out the racing in his head, and he was out like a light within minutes of putting his head back down.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
His dreams were muddled and confused. Something to do with giant cartoon gators, maybe? But when Preston’s hand shook him awake, the last vestiges blew away without hopes of recapture. He groaned, rolling over, back and hips complaining about the few hours spent on an unforgiving floor. “Get your bearings, Boshaw,” murmured the other man, clapping his shoulder firmly. “We got a hell of a fight ahead.”“Fuck, dude, couldn’t it be another couple hours ahead?” No answer, and probably none forthcoming, either. He ran his fingers through his hair, and his tongue over teeth that felt thin and fuzzy. After a full night of kicking Peggie ass and taking Peggie names and generally being awesome, he was sore all over and in need of a cold beer and a greasy burger. Neither were readily apparent in the old mill, nor likely to appear soon, lamentably. He sat up, stretching, while Preston went to wake Rook.The light through the boards was golden—morning fog must’ve burned off already, putting the time around 10 or 11. He cleared his throat while pulling his boots back on, grinning at the dissatisfied groans coming from the other corner.“Up and at ‘em, Deputy.” Preston sounded marginally more sympathetic than he had when he’d woken Sharky, and that irritated him.“Fuck,” they muttered, turning into their backpack and taking a few deep breaths before hauling themself up. “How’s—how’s it look out there?”“Not too promising,” Preston said grimly. “There’s at least a dozen of them out there. I think I saw your doctor, though. He’s alive, but they were taking him in front of a priestess when I left. Helicopter patrols every two hours--last one just passed. We should go soon.”“Shit. Thanks for keeping watch, Preston.” Sharky stood, checking his gear. “So. We got a plan, or we just rushin’ them?”Preston gave him a baffled look. “Rush them? They’ll kill us soon as they see us.”“We don’t let them see us, then.” Rook shrugged on their backpack and grinned over at the other two. “Least, not until we’re ready. Preston—you know the park, right? Is there much cover around the area?”He tilted his head, considering. “Not if they have air support. You’d be spotted right away. There are some bushes around the outskirts of the springs and on the islands, but they have at least seven folks on patrol, so you’d need to be careful. Priestess has your doctor on the main island, two others guarding them. Another couple standing guard at the main entrance.”“So, ideally…take them out at the same time while we have someone positioned as close as we can to the doctor.” Rook hummed, toeing a floorboard that jutted up from the rest. “I’ve got two radios. Do either of you happen—”“I got one!” blurted Sharky excitedly, slinging his sidebag around and digging through it, pulling out his old scuffed-up hand radio, the battery casing secured with duct tape. “It totally works and everything.”They beamed at him, cheeks creasing. “Oh, dude—that’s perfect. Channel five, alright?”“You got it, Dep,” he said, fumbling with the dial.“Great, great.” They pulled their radios from their backpack, checked the dials, and handed one to Preston. “That makes things easier. Lowest volume setting, obviously. No communication unless it’s necessary. I think I have a solution to the air support and the patrols, but it’s fairly high-risk, so…no pressure if you’re not up for it.”And that’s how, ten minutes later, Sharky found himself parked at the base of the geothermal park drive, drumming the softened plastic wheel with nervous fingers, tossing anxious glances to the silent radio in the passenger’s seat. He could hear birdsong outside the windows, and the faint thrum of a helicopter. His chest felt thick and hot, restricted by the extra layer of body armor Rook had insisted he wear.Don’t be nervous, Charlemagne, he told himself, blowing out his cheeks and staring up the dirt trail, as if expecting a horde of Peggie shit-kickers to round the bend at any minute and send a flurry of bullets through his windshield. You’re the bright flare to take the heat off Dep and Preston while they get to that vet guy. You’re the calvary—fuckin’ Gandalf on his white horse at Helm’s Deep. You can do this.Really the action itself wouldn’t be as bad as this, as the waiting. Once his instincts had kicked in, it’d be better than going to the dump and lighting junker cars on fire. Be better than a wicked sweet roller coaster on a few tabs of Adderall and a gentle PBR buzz. Better than being back in his trailer, jacking off to his admittedly limited and low quality collection of videos, for sure. Just had to get through the waiting bit.His leg was jigging, rocking the van slightly, and he focused on stilling it. How long did it take Preston to kill a couple guys, anyway? It was just a couple guys. And Rook had moved like a fucking panther at the prison—and before, at the trailer park. A veritable bat-wielding ninja. He resisted the urge to radio and ask them what was taking so long. If everything was going to plan, sure, they wouldn’t be killing yet unless they were abso-fuckin’-lutely sure they could do it without attracting attention, but still. It was frustrating not to at least be able to see what was going on. His radio crackled.“Front guards are down,” came Preston’s voice. “Radio chatter says copter’s due to flyover in fifteen.”“10-4,” he answered.Nothing from Rook.He frowned, gripping the radio hard. They were okay. Right? There’d be some—some kind of commotion if they’d gotten caught. Or-or at least gunfire if…something else.Nope.Nope, nope—they were fine, they were okay. They’d call back any minute, and say—“Got it. I’m in position. Sharky—when you’re ready.”He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, and an almost out-of-body sense of calmness stilled him, like someone had poured a glass of ice-water down his spine. Everything was set, and now they were counting on him. Time to do what he did best—something incredibly stupid and reckless.“Alright 'migos, I’m headed in,” he said, then tucked the radio safely away into the dash and started the engine up, nosing the van gently up the dirt road. He increased the speed gradually, taking the bend with ease and coming onto the park track at a decent clip. The ticket stand up ahead looked perfectly normal aside from the arm lolling out of the doorway. Preston was posted up in the bushes across from it, and flashed him a thumbs-up. Sharky saw him shuffle off to the right as he passed, and leaned onto the gas.The dark green van was obviously not a Peggie vehicle, and he started to draw fire virtually the moment he emerged into the park proper.“Shit!”He heard bullets impacting against the passenger side, saw distant figures on the wooden gangways breaking patrol to vector in on the intruder. The van bounced uncomfortably on the uneven surface, tires spitting up rocks and grit into the undercarriage as they churned, but he was still going pretty fast. The back right window shattered, and he flinched, eyeing his shotgun propped in the footwell of the passenger’s seat. Not yet. Those motherfuckers had rifles, but he wouldn’t be able to tag them back until he was close enough to smell ‘em. There were a few guys that had been close enough to intercept, and had made the incredibly poor decision to stand in the middle of the road, firing at him with what looked like military-grade submachine guns.He gritted his teeth, scooching down in his seat and slamming the gas pedal to the floor. One of the Peggies dove away at the last second, but he hit the other one with a jolt that set his teeth on edge and sent the man’s body flying a good twenty feet back to splash down in one of the pools.“Yeah! Fuck you!” he whooped, straightening and looking ahead to the rest of the track. A few more cultists had set up a makeshift roadblock with a crate of Bliss, hunkering down at the shoulder and taking potshots as he got closer. He kept straight until the last second, then swerved to go up on the bank, one Peggie going under his wheels and another crumpling over his hood. He grinned, a distant part of him wondering if he shouldn’t be worried that this was so easy on like, an emotional level, but his heart was pumping and his palms were sweating and he felt strong and alive, alive, while these stupid fucks were busy bitin’ the dust.He was about halfway around the park now, and he spared a glance over to the central island. A flash of white—sneakers? showed briefly behind the thick wooden supports of the observational deck but was hastily retracted, and there were at least three bodies strewn about. One man lay facedown on a connecting bridge, another hung over a splintered section of railing, and someone wearing an Eden’s cross jacket was floating in the water, limbs still. Another flash of movement and the report of pistol fire—Rook was darting across the bridge in pursuit of what, judging by the flowing hair and the misty trail of Bliss fog streaming off her head, was the priestess. He wanted to see Rook land the killshot, but the crack of a bullet against his windshield brought his attention back to the road.“Shit—goddamn,” he hissed, wrenching the wheel after a cultist, running off the shoulder and through the bushes. Sticks and leaves pattered and scraped over the hood, the car rocking violently. Missed. He tried to pull back on the main road, but there was a bigass rock or a root or something under the front axle and apparently this fucking thing didn’t have four-wheel drive. He opened the dash compartment and took out his radio, stuffing it in his sweatshirt pocket and yanking his shotty out of its place. The driver’s side door was pinned shut by the dense vegetation, so he clambered awkwardly over to the passenger’s seat and jumped out. Almost immediately, shots zipped past him and he ducked down, shuffling around the van for cover.A snarl and a greasy mop betrayed the Peggie he’d tried to run down, hunkered in the bushes about ten feet away, and he shot instinctively. A flurry of chewed leaves and pale woodchips jumped up as the man grunted and fell back. He peered through the fresh gap to confirm—yup, dead—and started running along the shoulder. Van was pretty visible—it’d still be a target, even if it was no longer mobile. He’d stand a better chance if he met up with Preston or Rook.The patch of skin between his shoulderblades felt hot, itchy as he ran, and his lungs were tight already. His head was on a swivel, and he squinted through the mist rising off the springs. The thrumming of the chopper was louder now, and he saw it coming in, angling toward the center of the pools. He gritted his teeth, picking up speed. It’d be about half a mile back to the entrance. He could turn back, but dollars to doughnuts Preston’d been working the perimeter opposite his route, and they’d meet much sooner. Touch base, pick up something that’d be more effective at range, and take out that freakin’ helicopter.He heard gunshots ahead and from the nasty fuckers mounted up in the ‘copter. Saw a few Peggies filtering onto the road from the waterway bridges, clumping up ahead and firing at the hills. There was a crisp pop and one of them fell back, face bloodied. He sprinted, sneakers slipping in the loose grit, heart fluttering, absurd laughter bubbling up from his gut. They had no idea—no idea he was coming! Stupid fucking Peggies.He cheated towards the bushes, slowing as he got close enough to worry about them hearing, catching glimpses of Preston ducking cover to cover up on the hillside, taking shots occasionally. He hoped the other man wouldn’t hit him by accident. Goofy tall motherfucker.Close enough now—he raised his shotgun, holding his breath, and squeezed off a beautiful goddamn shot. Exploded the closest Peggie’s head open like a fucking watermelon at a Gallagher show, and sending the one behind him reeling, bleeding heavily from the shoulder.He ran in close, just barely catching the guy beneath the arms and holding him in in front of him as the other two Peggies turned and fired, bullets thudding into his chest and stomach. “Shit,” he gasped, throwing the body to the ground and bringing his gun back up, blasting into the gut of the next Eden’s Gate mouth-breather. The other one was mid-shout when his neck exploded.Preston reloaded his rifle as he came down the hill, panting slightly and giving Sharky a nod as he drew up.“Should we make our way inwards?” he asked, eyeing the helicopter.“Gimme a sec,” said Sharky, kicking over a couple of the bodies and checking their guns. One of the corpses had an SMG with half a clip left, and he hefted it, slinging his shotty over his back. “Let’s go.”The soft patter of their racing steps over the wooden bridge made him feel better, made him feel safe and strong, like these past ten minutes or so had been a fucking walk in the park. The helicopter’s rail gun was chewing up the central pavilion, punching ragged holes in the decking just behind the two figures that remained. The pilot seemed frustrated, pulling up and away in tight, agitated circles until he spotted Sharky and Preston darting down the connecting path.“Switching targets!” crackled out of a radio still latched to a nearby Peggie corpse’s belt.“Fuck me,” mumbled Sharky. Too far from cover, and their route would be too predictable to just haul ass and hope for the best. He stopped, letting Preston draw ahead and brought up his borrowed SMG, squinting through the sight and steadying his breath.The chopper was still facing him, so he aimed for the brilliant flash of the windshield and squeezed the trigger. It didn’t buck like his shotty, and he was able to keep the muzzle fairly steady as it spit its little love-notes skyward. The cab started to turn, and his heart was in his throat, but he kept fire concentrated just there—just around the pilot’s window even as the gunner came into view. Under the noise of the engines and the blades and the thud of his heart he shouldn’t be able to hear it, but he could swear he heard the squeak of the rail gun swiveling on its mount to point right between his eyes even as he spent the last of his bullets, but then—The helicopter seemed to jolt, losing its smooth, controlled descent and listing sharply over the springs, nosing down, down, down until the entire thing crashed into the water, sending plumes arcing up against the bright blue sky. The blades crumpled and squealed, trying to turn against stone, and the cab bucked as the gas tanks burst.“Fuck yes!” Sharky whooped, springing up at least a foot, the electric thrill of the close call singing in his veins. “Oh my God!”“Nice shooting!” he heard Rook holler from the island, and turned to see them picking around the debris of the deck, bending to help a man in a padded vest that had seen better days up from behind some crates. He looked young. Old-fashioned glasses, though. A stethoscope hung from around his neck, the blue rubber looking soft and clean despite all it had gone through these past few hours. So this was definitely the doctor. Or just some random dude with bizarre taste in accessories.“Hey!” he hollered cheerfully, jogging over and grinning widely. “What’s up, ‘migo? Glad we found you in time. I like your stethoscope, sir.”“Uh. Thank you.” He flashed an uncertain smile, adjusting his glasses with a trembling hand. “Think that’s enough fieldwork to last me, uh…the rest of my life. Very glad you guys came along when you did.”“Us too! This place is a little too exposed for me, though—let’s find a car that still works and get you back to the prison, yeah?” Rook nudged him with their elbow and he nodded emphatically. “There’s an official visitor’s parking lot down that way,” Preston said, jutting his chin up the hill across the catwalks. “That’s where they would have their reserve vehicles.”“Sounds good.” Rook led the way, pausing as they came to each corpse and looking them over quickly. Preston and Lindsey didn’t seem to have any objections. Sharky scowled down at his feet as he followed. The excitement of the firefight was ebbing, and his chest and legs were hurting. God, there were so many ways that plan could have gone wrong—should have gone wrong! They’d been lucky to get in and out without losing anyone—was every mission gonna be like this? They crested the low hill and saw two flatbeds and a transport van parked in the visitor’s lot. Preston announced that he was going to hotwire the van, like that would impress anyone, and started a light jog down the slope so that everyone could see he hadn’t been winded by the skirmish. Dep dropped back level with Sharky and swatted at his side.“How’d the body armor work? Nice driving, by the way—they let me get right in.”He grinned and plucked at his shirt. “No new holes, at least. Thanks for the loan. Wish I could’ve seen you do your ninja thing.”“Keep it—you’d be surprised how many people have a spare Kevlar lying around out here. And holy shit, dude, you should’ve seen yourself shooting down that helicopter. Super badass.” They were practically bouncing on the balls of their feet. Adrenaline? Or was this just how they got after snagging a few hours of sleep? Ordinarily he’d be irritated, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t bothering him with them.He laughed, kicking a rock down across the parking lot as the van’s engine caught. “Yeah? Didn’t feel super badass. ‘Kinda badass’, maybe—‘pretty badass’, I guess you could say. Clutch Nixon-esque, if you need a quote for the speech at the medal-awarding ceremony.”“Medals?” They raised an eyebrow, a playful smile spreading. “Slow down there, hotshot. You don’t get a medal until you’ve taken down two helicopters. Or helped me goad the closest Herald into cussing us out on the radio.”Their eyes glittered, and it was hard for him to hold their gaze. He ducked his head, cheeks hot, aiming another kick at a chunk of bark and missing. “Man, that could take a while. I ain’t ever heard Faith cuss.” “Of course not—goes against the image she’s been directed to cultivate.” Rook followed him into the back of the van, sliding onto the bench next to Doc Lindsey. “She used to be tight with Tracey, though, and that lady is an artist in the medium of four-letter words. I bet Faith has a healthy reserve of ‘fuck’ just waiting to boil over.”“I wouldn’t antagonize Rachel,” said Lindsey, cocking his head. “She’s seen too many other Faiths be discarded to allow her position to slip. Anyone willing to take charge of the Angel conversion operation has--has accepted a ruthless trajectory.”Wait, other Faiths? Rachel? He opened his mouth to ask, but everyone else had seemed to accept Lindsey's point without question and he didn't want to look stupid, so he tucked it away in a corner of his mind, watching Rook shrug. “I mean, I’ve heard some crazy stories, but she’s just a human with an arsenal of psychedelics. We hit the right buttons, take out the right outposts and transports, and she’ll destabilize.” Rook’s cheerful energy had ebbed, and they slumped back against the van’s siding. “It’s what we’ve been doing out west. Trying to, anyway.”Dr. Lindsey brightened, leaning forward. “I heard Fall’s End was liberated—is John negotiating?”They shook their head, eyes wide. “Oh no—no, I don’t think any of the Seeds are open to negotiation. We have established a foothold, though. I wanted to come out this way before Faith got too settled. The longer we leave them without a united resistance effort, the deeper they dig themselves in, and the more people we lose.” “Have you been up north yet?” Sharky asked. Everyone had heard that the Whitetails’ militia had gone to ground against Jacob’s forces up there, but it was hard to tell whether any actual progress was being made.They looked at him, started to say something, but changed their mind. “I think disrupting their supply chain is the best move for now. We can do that from down here.”“Stop food coming up from Holland Valley, restrict the Bliss they use to turn their Judges and the Angels they use as their labor force—makes sense.” Preston felt the need to add nothing to the conversation. Was taking his time driving them back to the prison, too.“If you’re looking to put a dent in their Angel reserve, I’ve been testing them. Well,” Lindsey laughed self-consciously, fingers drumming on his knees. “Testing Bliss, and how it affects the brain—the biomechanical process by which people become Angels. To the extent that I can, at least. A biochemist or, or a neurochemist would have more relevant training, but…I guess we’re all working in the dark here.”“That’s really cool, though!” Rook perked up, and Sharky scrambled for something to contribute. “Is there—I mean, I guess every zombie movie and show has, uh, conditioned us to expect there to be a magical cure and it’s not really realistic, because shit’s probably super complicated, but…d’you think there could be a cure?” He finished lamely, neck prickling. He heard a soft snort from the driver’s seat. God, what a stupid question. He’d actually mentioned zombie movies—how dumb could you get? He’d had a chance to impress this egghead and Rook with this whole daring rescue thing, and now he just…showed his entire ass. Stupid—“I don’t know,” said Lindsey without any detectable scorn. “I mean, hopefully. It’s hard to tell at this point.”“How can we help?” Rook listened attentively as Dr. Lindsey eagerly rattled off a list of plants and equipment and—did he say Angel heads??—so much other stuff that Sharky found himself tuning out his words and instead watching his new friend, the Junior Deputy.They couldn’t have gotten more than four or five hours of sleep, but their dark eyes were bright. Some dirt on their front, knees, and forearms from sneaking up on the Peggies, superficial scratches on their cheek, a few strands of black hair escaping from their short ponytail, stuck with sweat to their forehead and undercut. They didn’t seem bothered by it. Probably so used to throwing themself into life or death fights with little to no notice after the past few weeks that a few bumps and scrapes weren’t worth registering. They had a few small dark moles over their neck and near their hairline he hadn’t noticed before, and he could just make out the twin pockmarks of a healed-over piercing flanking their right brow. Huh. They’d look good with a piercing. He wondered why they hadn’t re-upped it. Probably not ideal image-wise if you wanted to be a cop, but they didn’t seem to fit the job description anyway.They caught him looking, brown eyes making electric contact, and he felt his ears getting hot. They didn’t call him out on it—just flashed him a grin and returned their attention to Dr. Lindsey, who now seemed to be demonstrating how to sever a head.The van bumped and slowed. The smooth roar of the tires over asphalt turned gritty. “Comin’ back to the prison now,” said Preston from up front. “Has anyone radioed ahead yet? We are in a Peggie vehicle, after all. Could be some…confusion.”“Shit, yeah, hold on—“ Rook fished at their side. “What channel are they using at the prison?”“Seven, I think,” said Lindsey.They fiddled with the knob and sent a quick warning ahead. Must’ve worked, ‘cause the van nosed up the drive and parked by the guardhouse without getting perforated, and the folks coming out to greet them were waving their hands and not their guns. Getting the Doc settled back into his lab was easy enough— extricating themselves from the veritable mob of people who had “just a quick question for the Deputy” or “one teensy favor to ask” was another matter. He felt kinda bad for thinking it—like, of course people were desperate and scared right now, and seeing an active authority figure like Rook who was actually going into the field and getting shit done made them feel like they could ask them to run more errands, but fuck—people ‘round here were supposed to solve their own problems. But noooo, apparently half the prison had some bullshit they needed Rook to handle and wouldn’t let them leave until they’d agreed to look into this that and the other thing. Un-fucking-believable.And joy of joys, Preston was still tagging along. Ambling along after them like—like—ugh, what was that tall fucker’s name from The Addam’s Family? Classy Frankenstein. Luge—Lurch. Yeah, ambling along after them like Lurch had gotten into fly fishing. He started to say something to Rook—wanted to ask them if they couldn’t politely tell the walking buzzkill that his services were no longer needed—but clammed up when it occurred to him that he’d only joined up a few hours before the other man, and if he put them in a position where they had to choose…They’d choose him, right?He looked at them sidelong as they crossed the yard. They were watching their feet as they walked, frowning slightly. Were they thinking about the last fight, or the next? The Seeds? Snagging Angel heads for Doc Lindsey? Their nose looked flat from straight-on, but there was a slight arch to it from this angle. Stubborn chin, strong jaw. Yeah, with the undercut and everything, they’d definitely rock a brow piercing. They were cool. They’d liked his music, and kicking ass with them was scary, but totally sweet. He’d thought there was a connection between them—an instant click—but he’d been wrong before.What if they didn’t like him stirring the shit pot and kept Preston around over him? That’d be a real kick in the balls. So he’d wait until he was sure. He could be patient, sure he could. Didn’t mean he had to be passive about it, though. Sure as hell wasn’t sitting through another silent drive with Supreme Commander No Fun.“Yo Preston, I’ll drive this time—try an’ get some sleep in the back,” he called cheerfully, jogging backwards towards the driver’s side of the van. “Where we headin’, Dep?”Preston frowned reluctantly past him, raising a hand and twiddling his fingers. “Uh, you gotta spark the—““I know, man, I’ve done it like a billion times,” Sharky snorted before he realized it might not be such a great idea to admit a familiarity with the subtle art of hot-wiring cars in the presence of 5-0, but Rook didn’t seem bothered. “We got a few hours back at the springs—you, uh, you go have a nap, m’kay?”Before Preston could argue, he yanked the door open and planted a foot on the frame to stake his claim, raising his eyebrows at Rook expectantly. “Got a specific heading in mind, el Capitán?”They grinned, jogging around the front of the van and clambering into the passenger’s seat. “Aye, Mr. Sulu. Let’s keep pushing east, if that’s cool. They might have pulled resources off of some outposts to investigate the hotsprings by now.”He heard the van’s loading doors open, felt the chassis sag, and heard the doors shut again, sullenly. He smirked and got behind the wheel. “You got it, Dep.”Sharky got the engine running in no time—he snuck a peek to his right and was pretty sure they looked impressed—and pulled down onto the prison drive. The seat was too far back, but he didn’t want Rook to see him adjusting it, so he scooched down as casually as he could until his sneakers could comfortably control the pedals. There, cool.And now…the final touch. He turned the radio on, spun the dial until familiar galloping bass filled the cab, and sighed blissfully. Bee Gees. Perfect.