Fandom: Far Cry 5
Rating: High E; the Highest of E's
Warnings:Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Death
Characters: Female Deputy | Judge (can be read as a Female Reader-Insert), Joseph Seed, John Seed, Jacob Seed, Faith Seed, Far Cry 5 Ensemble
Pairings: Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Faith Seed; Polyamory
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV First Person, Present Tense, Time Loops, Groundhog Day, Fix-It Fic, Videogame Logic, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Blasphemy, Soulmates, Predestination, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Morally-Grey Characters, Character Study, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Eventual Explicit Sexual Content, Rape/Non-Con Elements
Summary: Kill John; kill Faith; kill Jacob; confront the Father. Because when you beat the game, you get a chance to do it all over again, right back from the beginning. Kill Faith; kill Jacob; kill John; confront the Father. Every time Rook dies, she wakes up in the helicopter on the way to arrest Joseph Seed. Stuck in limbo, repeating the same events over and over again. Kill Jacob; kill John; kill Faith; confront the Father. And she’s going to be stuck in this loop until she finally gets it right. Until she finally accepts her purpose in God’s plan and follows the path He’s laid out for her.
Love John; love Faith; love Jacob; love the Father.
A Groundhog Day time loop polyseed slow burn.
A/N: Peep the udated tags and summary. Polyseed confirmed. Also, relationship tag change for Faith; she's now part of the harem 😜
*Excerpts below the cut (possible spoilers)*
Excerpt 1)
I hadn’t known it at the time, but my fate had been hanging from a thread. I’d been so very, very close to being unreachable by anybody.
I learned a lot in my time in the camp, about what’d truly been happening in the Valley. Sure, I’d known that the cult is kidnapping people and ‘baptizing’ (and sometimes drowning) them, but I hadn’t known where they go afterwards: Confession. In a giant underground bunker, tucked away somewhere in the mountains to the west. It’s aptly named John’s Gate, a fortress where the cult will await the Collapse. And it’s exactly where I would’ve ended up if Jerome hadn’t freed us. Once you wind up in John’s Gate, there’s no helping you. You’re gone forever.
Like Joey Hudson.
Undergoing her own Confession – being tortured by the Inquisitor himself until she admits her sins to him. Then being carved into or tattooed with whatever she confesses to. A permanent mark etched into her for life… like the mental scars won’t be enough already. The thought makes me sick.
And I could’ve been in her shoes had things been different.
I cast my gaze directly west, to Black Horse Mountain where the bunker rests. I’m not far from the bunker’s security gate – maybe a twenty-minute hike (if I hurry). If I were a stronger person, I could charge right in and rescue Hudson and all the others by myself. I’ve had dreams about storming John’s Gate and liberating the captives there, blowing the stupid place sky high in the process. Of course, in those dreams I’m a one-woman army, kicking ass and taking names.
But as I am now? As the Resistance is now? That place is untouchable.
Stopping a prisoner convoy is far different from a large-scale rescue operation. Pushing the Peggies out of Jim’s Rest Shop is a totally different animal than storming a whole ass bunker – especially one that’s been heavily fortified, and is kept firmly under John Seed’s scrutiny.
We can’t even agree what to do with Fall’s End. How are we supposed to do anything about John’s Gate?
I sigh and gather my catch for the day. Time to head back. It’s funny how the camp has started feeling a bit like home.
Excerpt 2)
“I’ll get you that water, Merle.”
Of course, promises are easier made than kept. I grumble under my breath the entire way to the compound, cursing Joseph Seed and the sun and every member of the resistance including myself. Because how in the hell am I supposed to have even a chance of convincing the paranoid prepper gang to part with such a precious resource.
I clench and unclench my fists as I think about how to ask. Maybe I can appeal to their sense of community? Or try bartering something in exchange? Do we even have anything to barter with them? If so, am I authorized to make that kind of deal? I have to stop and press my head against the rough bark of a pine tree to center myself.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
I’ve been kidnapped by John Seed’s goons; this shouldn’t be scary at all in comparison. Because they won’t shoot an unarmed woman would they? After all, the Doverspike residents are technically on the same side as the Resistance. Even if we’re not technically allied, they’re fighting against the cult. That has to mean something, right?
Before the Reaping, Lester Doverfield and Ian Spikenski had co-owned US Automotive. They’d done some work with Merle, apparently. My mustachio’d acquaintance had stated that both men are hard-working types. Salt to the earth, hands-on men who like to tinker and go out to the Spread Eagle every night after fixing up cars – when there’d been a saloon, anyway. Merle had joined them for a beer or two, throwing darts and causing a ruckus.
Why Merle himself didn’t come is beyond me. But then again, I don’t really understand a lot of why things are the way they are. Like I don’t understand why Doverfield and Spikenski don’t join up with us and help us push out the cult.
It feels like being purposefully stupid on principal not to fight back. They’re just sitting in their compound waiting to be taken. It doesn’t solve anything – inaction and complacency.
Still at a loss, I approach the front gate with both arms held up in a pacifying gesture. No bow with me today. And no Boomer, even though I’d feel better with him at my side. I want to be damn certain I don’t look like a threat.
“Doverfield? Spikenski? Do you have a moment?” I call out loudly, feeling like an idiot. Of course they have a moment, dumbass, I scold myself. They’re locked inside a fortress with nothing else to do but pace nervously and shoot at things.
I must look like a really appealing target right now.
Thank you for reading this far ❤️
As per usual, comments, likes, and reblogs are all appreciated 🥰
Joey Hudson might not be underground anymore, but it's hard to shake off the shadows of John Seed and Eden's Gate. Mary May Fairgrave might be the cure.
Contains: useless lesbians, Moments of care in hard times, oral and manual sex, hope for a brighter tomorrow.
~3.2k words - MDNI
"Hey, Joey, why don't you come inside for a spell?" Mary May asked, stepping out of the bar. "You've been out here all day."
Joey gripped her shotgun, looking off down the road like she expected danger to pop up out of nowhere, despite the fact that all had been quiet since she escaped the bunker with Rook. The cult presence in the region had been shattered, the remaining cultists fled to the Henbane and the Whitetails to regroup. It was just difficult to shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen the moment she let her guard down. "I'm fine," she said automatically.
"You're sunburnt and I ain't seen you so much as take a sip of water since this morning. Come inside, just for a bit. I saved you some dinner."
Joey checked down the road again, and sighed. "There hasn't been a lick of trouble since Rook killed John," she said. "But I can't shake the feeling that he's still out there."
"I know how you feel," Mary said, leading her inside with a gentle hand on her back, careful not to touch the red patches on Joey's shoulders. "I wish I'd seen him dead. Wish I'd shot him myself. Not that I don't trust Rook, but…"
"He's been a problem for so long, its hard to imagine that he's gone," Joey agreed. She set the gun down on the bar top and sat down on a stool gingerly.
"Drink this." Mary set a glass of water in front of Joey. "I'll go get dinner for you."
"Thanks." Joey sighed, leaning her hot forearms against the cool bar top. She should've kept long sleeves and a hat on, but the sun had felt nice earlier. She just wasn't paying attention to her body enough to tell when it started to hurt. She'd done her best to turn that off in the bunker, and now she was having a hard time wriggling back into her own skin.
"You figure we're ever gonna get over this?" she asked when Mary returned. "Feels like half the county's already dead. Even if we survive…"
"We're gonna survive," Mary said firmly, setting the bowl of Casey's now-famous Everything Soup in front of Joey. "I am not letting that son of a bitch beat me, especially now that he's dead."
"Yeah, but--"
"I'm not sure if we'll ever get back to how things were. But we've pulled together, and we'll keep taking care of each other. Someday, it'll all just be a bad memory."
"I wish I was as optimistic."
"Don't worry, Jo. I'll be optimistic enough for both of us, until you're ready."
"I should be out there fighting with Rook."
"You spent weeks underground with that sadistic bastard. I don't want you goin' anywhere just yet. If you were out there with Rook you'd be tryin' to push as hard as she does, and you're in no shape."
"I dunno how she does it," Joey said. "I thought she was so shy when she started at the department. Quiet, unassuming. S'like she came alive under fire. Almost didn't recognize her when John brought her to the bunker."
"Yeah, she's a firecracker. I wish I'd gotten to know her better before hand."
"Yeah, she was livin' here, wasn't she?"
"Yeah, in the back apartment. Hardly made a peep. She used to come in here and read while she ate. I had to practically beat the boys back with the broom to keep 'em from botherin' her. I don't think she even noticed the attention."
"Didn't notice Staci either, and he was pulling on her pigtails like a schoolboy with a crush. He was practically drooling over her."
"Not you, though."
Joey snorted. "I'm not sure Staci was ever aware that I'm a woman."
Mary May laughed. "No, I meant-- oh never mind."
Joey shook her head. "No, go on. Think I'm a bit cooked from the sun."
"I just meant— Did you like her? Like that. I know you like her, everyone does. But you never, uh, had a crush on her or nothin'?"
"Well, I mean, she's cute and all, but not really. Didn't get to know her well enough before, and now that I do know her I can't even think of her as a person so much as an, I dunno, symbol? Plus I've had a candle burning for someone else for a while." She stole a glance at Mary, who was fixated with the counter, wiping a clean rag over the clean surface like she was trying not to seem too interested in the answer. "I guess I should buck up and confess. Not much to lose now."
"I'm distracting you," Mary said quickly, gesturing at Joey's bowl. "Eat."
"Right." Joey's stomach growled violently, reminding her that she really needed to listen to Mary's advice.
If she were braver, she'd tell Mary May how she felt, but bravery was in short supply. She'd used it all up in the bunker, and she couldn't risk the heartache, not with everything so fucked up in her head and out in the valley.
She didn't want to admit it, but John had done a number on her. The torture, the forced confessions, the gleeful and graphic descriptions of what he was going to do to Rook once he caught her, and then the even more gleeful and graphic descriptions of what he'd do to Mary May, once he sussed out Joey's feelings about her. John was more perceptive than he had any right to be, and he'd used that knowledge to crack her open like a nut. John Seed took more of her down to his grave than she'd revealed to another soul in a long time.
She didn't want that to be true, but it didn't change the facts.
That was the trouble with small towns. People got used to things taking a certain shape, and they didn't like when people stepped outside expectations. Very few people even knew she liked women. Mary only knew because she'd bumped into Joey and the girl she'd been dating at the time at a movie theatre in Missoula. It hadn't worked out with the girlfriend, of course— A couple hours drive was alright for a weekend away once in a while, but it was hell trying to maintain a meaningful relationship over that distance, and neither of them wanted to move.
That was usually the way things went. If there were other lesbians in town (and Joey had a few suspects in mind), they were quiet about it, same as Joey. Most people didn't even care, but a few people cared a lot, and sometimes it was better not knowing if your neighbour would hate your guts based on something like that.
She scraped the last of the soup out of the bowl and finished the refilled water. "I guess I should sleep," she said reluctantly. "I'm tired as hell."
Mary hummed. "Come upstairs first."
"Oh?"
"I've got some aloe for your burn. It works like a charm."
"Oh, that sounds nice."
"Come on, hon."
"I should wash my bowl."
"Forget it. It'll keep till the morning."
Joey pushed up from the bar and trotted up the stairs after Mary May, dropping into a seat on the edge of the bed where Mary directed her.
"Oh, I don't want to get goop on your shirt. Maybe you should take it off," Mary suggested, digging through a box, the contents rattling around as she searched for the aloe.
Joey did so automatically, her brain catching up with the fact that she was suddenly a lot more naked than she'd anticipated, in front of Mary May. The worn out bralette she had on underneath barely qualified as clothing.
She reached for the pump bottle of aloe when Mary sat down with it in hand. The bright green gel smelled like summer to Joey, reminiscent of every other beautiful sunny day when she'd forgotten to reapply sunscreen after swimming or sweating.
Mary pumped some of the aloe into her own hand and tucked the bottle between her legs. "I've got you," she said. "You just sit there and look pretty."
"I'll try," Joey said, thinking of how rough she'd looked last time she looked into a mirror. Purple bags under her eyes, bruised and battered from the crash and the subsequent days with John Seed as her only company, if she got any at all.
She hissed as the cool gel touched her shoulder, instantly cooling a little of the heat emanating from her skin. Mary diligently slathered it across her arms and chest while Joey sat there with her eyes closed, trying very hard not to make things weird by moaning or breathing too heavily or making too much eye contact.
Still, her eyes flickered open when Mary leaned forward to smooth some aloe across Joey's neck. Mary's pretty, freckled face was right there, close enough to kiss.
"Hey, Jo, can I tell you something?" Mary asked, applying some to Joey's face as well, fingers gently spreading cool relief across her forehead and cheeks.
"Sure. Anytime." Joey fixed her eyes on the tiny scar on Mary’s cheek, something she’d had for ever— From a crash off Drew’s dirtbike when she was ten. Anything that belonged to Mary May’s older brother belonged to Mary too, no matter how hopping mad Drew got about it. Mr. Fairgrave always took Mary’s side. Maybe that was why Drew joined Eden’s Gate, a few years back.
Even with all the chaos now, no one had seen Drew anywhere. The cult had simply swallowed him up, same as it did to so many others. He hadn’t even come to Mr. Fairgrave’s funeral, in the end. Joey had been the one that wrapped a comforting arm around Mary May’s shoulders and tried to be there for her. Even with puffy red eyes and washed out by the black dress she’d worn, Mary May was the bright centre of the room, making people laugh with stories about the old man, easing the sting of loss for everyone but herself.
That was just how Mary was. Strong, certain, unshakable.
Something in her eyes was uncertain now, though. She bit her lip for a moment, mulling over her words before she spoke. “I’m real glad that you don’t have a crush on Rook.”
Joey raised her eyebrows. “Why’s that?”
“I always kind of thought blondes were more your type.”
Lightning lanced through Joey’s body as Mary May met her eyes, something long left buried finally coming to the surface. Did Mary know? How could she, when Joey had spent so much time and effort choking down her feelings? She’d put the friendship first, because the idea of ruining that with a confession had been unbearable, so sure that her feelings could never be returned. But the way Mary was looking at her now…
It was now or never. Everything going on only proved the need to clear the air. One hand drifted forward unbidden, bridging the gap between them, palm settling on Mary’s knee with the weight of wasted years. “Definitely. One in particular.”
Mary’s fingers were still slightly tacky with drying aloe when she settled them over Joey’s hand. “Oh yeah? You ever gonna make a move?”
“Wasn’t sure she’d be into it.”
“Well, I think she would be. I think you should kiss her next chance you get. Uncertain times and all that.” She made a funny face, looking away and then back at Joey, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Her fingers twitched, like she was considering pulling away but couldn’t quite bear to. “You do mean me, right? I didn’t read that wrong? I’m a bit new—”
Joey closed the distance between then and kissed Mary, smiling against her lips when Mary made a soft sound of surprise. “Of course I mean you,” she said. “It’s been you for a long while. I just didn’t think you liked women.”
“Well, I kept tryin’ to convince myself I didn’t.”
“How’d that work out?”
“Terribly. Last time I went on a date I almost threw up after he kissed me goodnight.”
“And how are you feeling now? Should we get a bucket?” Joey teased.
Mary May scoffed, scooting closer. “Shut up and kiss me again.”
Joey was only too happy to do what she was told, cupping her hands around Mary’s face as she kissed her, slow and soft, tongue flicking out against Mary’s top lip when she sighed and leaned into Joey’s touch. The moment almost felt surreal, something too good after those weeks of suffering under John’s tender care. Something she’d dreamed about but never dared hope for, finally becoming reality at the end of the world as they new it.
Mary's hands found Joey's waist and pulled her down over her as she laid back. Joey slid her knee between Mary's thighs, propping herself up enough that she could find the edge of Mary's shirt and drag her fingers up her stomach softly. Mary inhaled sharply, a breathy laugh that was half whimper leaving her lips as Joey's mouth moved along her jaw and down her neck.
"Stay here tonight?" she asked. "Please?"
Joey hummed her assent, touch sliding up until her fingertips brushed the band of Mary’s sports bra. “Anything you want, honey.”
"Can we— Would it be moving too fast--" Mary's cheeks turned from pink to red, and she shut her mouth, embarrassed.
"Mary May, I've known you for twenty years, and I've wanted this since high school. We can move as fast as you like." Joey let her hand move further up so she could gently squeeze Mary's breast, her thumb ghosting across her nipple.
"Since high school?" Mary asked, an incredulous laugh shaking them both. "Oh my God, Joey, we're both so stupid."
Joey grinned, rearing back so she could pull Mary’s shirt off, then the bra a moment later. "Did you wish it were me when you were letting Evan Pierce finger you in the back of my truck on prom night?"
Mary nodded. "That's why I chose your truck instead of his. Smelled like that body spray you used to wear. Evan's truck smelled like gym socks and weed."
Joey laughed as she guided Mary back down. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah. I know I am. I wish I’d been brave enough to say somethin’ back then.”
Joey shook her head. “We would’ve broken up when I went to college, and that could have wrecked our friendship. I don’t love you just because you’re a hot hometown blonde, Mary May, you’re also my best friend. So stop worrying about what could have been, and tell me that I can make fifteen years of fantasy come true.” She nudged her knee up a little higher, her own core pulsing when Mary ground down against it.
Mary’s ears went as red as her face. “Yes, please.”
Joey kissed across the curve of Mary’s breast, lips latching onto her nipple. Mary May’s hands curled around the back of Joey’s neck, cool against the sunburned skin. The gentle touch stung just the slightest bit, but it was nothing, really, compared to the last weeks. Freedom was worth the cost, and the warmth of the late summer day was too. It was so easy to take it all for granted, the blue sky, the wind on her skin, the smell of rain and the song of cicadas at the height of noon. The stars in the sky, the glimmer of humour in Mary May’s eyes, the soft sound of her laugh, the wrinkle in her brow when she was working through a problem. Joey hadn’t appreciated all those things the way she ought’ve, and she’d been given a second chance to do things right.
How sad was it, that it took the worst days of her life to remind her of what was important?
She fumbled with Mary’s belt one-handed, popping open the button on her jeans so she could slide a hand under the waistband of her panties, fingers sliding through the coarse hair on Mary May’s mons and down to the wet heat below. Mary May shivered from the touch, a breathy laugh leaving her lips. Joey laughed too, releasing all the darkness still weighing on her mind, letting the sun rise at long last.
Joey sank down, pulling Mary May’s jeans and underwear fully off so she could settle between her legs, hitching Mary’s thighs over her shoulders. She teased along Mary’s labia with her fingertips, circling her clit with her tongue. The salty tang of Mary’s arousal sent a tingle down her spine, her own clit throbbing in response to the other woman’s moans.
Mary’s legs tightened around Joey’s ears as she pressed a finger inside her, resting her chin on her palm so she could get comfortable, curling her fingers as she kissed Mary’s clit, finding a steady pattern that made Mary May yank her pillow down over her face to muffle herself.
Joey looked up. “No, don’t do that. Let me hear you, baby.”
Mary May peeked over the edge of the pillow, face red up to the blond roots of her hair. “O-okay,” she said breathlessly. “It feels really, uhn—” The rest of her words were turned unintelligible as Joey dropped back down, returning to the very enjoyable task of making Mary May come.
It didn’t take long before she was practically fluttering around Joey’s fingers, soaking Joey’’s face with a gush of wetness that dripped down her wrist and onto the bed below. If she’d been thinking ahead, she might have thought to lay a town out underneath Mary’s hips, but it was too late, and she didn’t intend on stopping. She brought Mary May to another peak, then another, stopping only when Mary begged her to stop, over stimulated and shaking like a leaf.
Joey dropped a wet kiss on Mary’s lips, letting her taste herself before she flopped back onto the mattress beside her, catching her breath.
Mary looked over at her, pink-faced and panting, her blue eyes bright. “Woah. You’re, uh, real good at that, Joey.”
“Yeah? Give me a minute to rest my jaw, and I’ll do it again.”
Mary giggled, rolling herself into Joey’s side, her touch trailing down Joey’s flank. “What about you? I want you to feel good too.”
“No rush, baby. We’ve got time for that too. I’ve been thinking about this for a lot of years.” Joey leaned her head against Mary’s, closing her eyes for a moment as she committed the moment to memory. “I’m sorry it took the end of the damn world for me to tell you what I felt.”
“It’s okay, Jo. When this is all over, we’re gonna build a whole new one, you and me. And it’s gonna be better than any bullshit New Eden, and better than this old world too. And we’re gonna be happy,” Mary May promised, her voice a fierce whisper of tenuous hope and that fiery conviction that Joey already knew so well. “You’ll see.”
Joey smiled, angling her chin forward to press a kiss to Mary May’s mouth. “Okay. You just tell me what to do, Mary May. I’ll follow your lead.”
The weeks in the darkness had made her feel small, but now she was out from under it, and Mary May was sunlight and love and everything good in the world, and laying next to her made Joey feel like she was a giant, big enough to take on the violent, changing world outside with renewed vigour.
They’d find a way to make it all right, but it could wait until the morning.
Contains: Inexplicable second chances, The Seed Family, canon divergence, mild threats, gossip, flirting??
~4.5k - MDNI
Rook hauled herself over the cliff’s edge and turned to sit there, looking out over the valley, breathing hard, muscles burning with the exertion of a good climb. She unhooked the grapple from the bar and coiled the rope up absently as she took in the view, tucking it into the outer pocket of her backpack, same place as she used to when she was in the resistance. Her heart panged uncomfortably at the reminder, that the peace gained had come at the cost of all her friendships. She was no stranger to the mountains and the lakes, familiar with the rivers and valleys, the forests and fields, but to the people she’d come to love and respect, she was pretty much nobody. Just the new deputy.
She found herself trying to get back that feeling more and more. Of belonging somewhere, of being needed and liked, but it wasn’t easy to recapture. Folks tended to be wary of newcomers, especially after the cult came around, and no amount of friendly chit-chat or offered help was going to put things back the way they were.
She unscrewed the top of her canteen with a sigh, swallowing loneliness along with the water, returning to the moment. No sense living in the past, or the future, or whatever it all was. The now was more important.
The valley was beautiful from up here. It was beautiful from every angle she looked, but there was something particularly breathtaking about the breadth of it laid out like a map before her. If she turned just enough that she could ignore the distant statue of Joseph, it was even better. The sweep of forest, the glimmer of water, the flash of cars when the light caught them just right as they drove down the roads that webbed across the county like veins. The mist hadn't entirely burned off the deep pockets of shadow to the north and west, but the sun was getting high enough now that they were beginning to rise up like steam, blowing away in the wind.
Despite the grief of a life never lived, the morning was perfect.
Or would be, if it weren't for one persistent problem.
She caught the flash of Jacob's rifle scope again. Behind the tree line, a good hundred meters below.
He'd been dogging her all morning, from when she left home around dawn. She could feel the weight of his attention, the prickle of danger on the back of her neck. Initially she'd thought she'd had a big cat on her trail, until she spotted the tiny flash of light, the tell-tale sign of a scope.
At least some things hadn’t changed.
She stood up and moved back into the treeline, where he wouldn't be able to see where she went, careful to avoid leaving a trail, and climbed up a sturdy looking pine, just far enough to tuck herself out of sight, careful not to snap any branches on the way.
It wasn't long before he appeared at the edge of the cliff she'd climbed up, scouting for her, rifle strapped across his back. She could hear the frustrated huff of air he expelled when he realized he'd lost her trail, and once he started into the trees looking to pick it up again, she carefully dropped down, silent as a spider, and padded after him, itching to slide her own gun into her hands. There wasn’t much point in it. If they were close enough to talk, they would be close enough that Jacob would be able to close the remaining distance and push the barrel aside before she could click off the safety and chamber a bullet.
He stopped after she'd been trailing him for a few dozen meters, and turned, the slight twitch of his eyebrows the only outward sign of his surprise.
"Hello, Jacob," Rook said. "Why are you following me?"
"Looks like you're following me," he pointed out.
"It does look that way. But we both know that looks can be deceiving. Did you follow me out here just to chat?”
"Maybe I just appreciate the sight of a woman who can climb a sheer cliff like it’s nothing.”
Rook snorted. "Sure. What do you actually want?"
"Came to collect you. It’s Joseph that wants to talk."
"Joseph can go to hell."
"Don't be difficult."
"Fuck you."
He shook his head, clicking his tongue like he was oh so disappointed in her. "Not very polite, honey. It's gonna be quick. Would be easier if you just accepted it."
"Would be easiest if you just left me alone."
"You don't get it. But you'll see."
Rook wished she had taken the opportunity to go back down the mountain rather than confront him. She should have known it would be nothing good, should have remembered that even without the reaping, they'd take what they wanted, regardless of law or decency. The cult would only tolerate being told no for so long. Just like before, they'd take her and do whatever they wanted to her, and without the chaos of the reaping, no one was likely to shoot them over it either.
Inevitable as it was, Rook wasn't going to give him anything for free. The moment Jacob took a step toward her she bolted, running east from their position. There was a road that way, and a place she could grapple down the cliff quickly. She'd be exposed, but she just had to be faster than him for the initial sprint-- There was only so fast a person could safely go down a cliff, especially if he intended to carry her off while she struggled.
She could hear him swearing as he crashed after her, but she had the advantage here, her smaller size allowing her to move through the forest unimpeded while he crashed into branches, a bear chasing a rabbit through thick brush.
She broke out onto the road and tilted into a real sprint, crossing open space while Jacob was still fighting the trees.
There were a lot of sections of forest where there was no understory to speak of. He could have caught her easily if he'd had open ground in the initial dash, but she'd gotten lucky.
Lucky too, that she had memories of trekking over every inch of the county. He wouldn't have a home turf advantage, even if he thought he might.
A truck screeched around the bend ahead, spitting up gravel as it turned and stopped, ready to head back the other way.
"Rook!" Eli shouted through the window. "Get in!"
Rather than struggle with the gear strapped to her back and waste time, she vaulted into the bed, holding tight to the side as Eli sped off again. Thank god he'd happened to be watching his trail cameras at the right moment.
Jacob burst out of the trees behind, dishevelled and wild-eyed, and watched them speed off down the mountain.
He was going to be pissed.
Eli drove straight back to Falls End and parked behind the bar, next to Rook's own truck, and rounded the back, leaning against the side. "You alright?" he asked.
Rook nodded. "Thanks to you. Your timing could not have been better."
"I've got trail cameras set up all over, been thinkin' we were headed for war with the cult before long. I was doing munition inventory in the Den, noticed Jacob trailing you, and thought to myself, that can't be any good." Eli dropped the truck gate to make it easier for her to climb out, and offered her a hand.
"You've got good instincts." Rook unfolded her jellied legs and dropped to the edge of the gate. "Christ alive. I should never have confronted him out in the middle of nowhere like that. Or maybe I should have shot him."
"Well, I can't say I would have objected to helpin' you hide a body, 'specially that one, but…"
"Yeah. That could open up a can of worms we're not ready to deal with." Rook slid off the truck gate and onto the ground. "Guess that's it for solo hikin'. Maybe Miss Mabel'll let me borrow her big kitty next time."
"You know what he wants from you?"
"They want me to talk to Joseph. They'll drag me in eventually, but I'm gonna make 'em work for it. I'd just go, but I don't know if it's the kind of conversation I'll be walkin' away from or not."
"Think they'd be that bold? Disappearin’ a deputy ain't subtle."
"Well, they'd make it hard to prove. And Jacob did just try to snatch me up off the mountain, so they might be that bold."
He rubbed his hand over his face. "We've gotta do something."
"I've got some ideas. That drug they make is what keeps their followers happy and pliable. If we can slow or halt production maybe… I gotta think on it. Don't think it's a Whitetail job though. Might be a Sharky Bowshaw and Drubman Jr. kind of job.”
"You sure about that? Those two are dumber than a sack of hammers.”
“Maybe, but the two of them together are a wrecking ball. Just gotta know how to use ‘em.” She shrugged lightly, trying not to get offended on behalf of friends that didn’t even know she existed anymore. Sharky, at least, was a lot smarter than he looked or acted, but it wasn’t like most people knew that. He played dumb because no one expected more from him anyway. “Like I said, I’m still working it out.”
“Well, you let me know if you need a hand. Never thought I'd run into anyone as ornery and paranoid as me."
"Is it paranoia if we're right?" Rook laughed and bumped her hip against the tailgate, arms crossed. "Thanks again, Eli. Would've been hard to shake him if you hadn't shown up."
"I get the feeling you would've managed it. Don't think Jacob's on your level."
Rook rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep herself from smiling. "You already rescued me, you don't need to flatter me too."
"Might want to, though." The look he sent her way was curious, testing the waters to see if she might be open to him flirting more overtly.
Her smile died. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to shake the feeling of guilt for what she'd done in that other life. The moment drawn out, Eli falling, Jacob's praise clear despite the ringing in her ears, despite the music. The sinking, awful regret that seized her the moment her finger pulled the trigger. She should have resisted more. Should've died, like a decent person would have.
"I'd better get inside. I work tonight, so if I get to sleep in the next half hour I'll be up in time to eat real food and annoy Pastor Jerome with my piano practice. Thought I'd have to choose." She laughed, the sound falsely bright to cover the unwarranted grief and regret.
He was alive. She didn’t have to feel that way anymore.
"Why do I get the feeling you'd choose the music?" He’d backed up a step when she’d stopped smiling, hiding his confusion at the sudden change in her demeanour.
"You're beginnin' to understand me, that's why. See you around, Palmer." Rook tapped his shoulder as she headed for the stairs up to her tiny apartment. She hung up her gun before dropping everything else on the floor, leaving a trail of clothes behind herself as she headed for the shower. She drank a chalky tasting protein shake while her hair half dried, wedged the single chair under the doorknob just in case, and rolled into bed, alarm set.
It was hard to tell if she was doing any of it right. If she was wasting her second chance. If there even was a right way to do things. The cult's methods were wrong, but they'd been right about the bomb.
And about her. She was struggling to find a peaceful path forward, because she was a soldier, and had been for her whole adult life. She knew how to put down a problem with a bullet. Everything underneath that was distant, rusty from disuse and the years between her childhood in the mountains and now. After everything she'd done, even if she hadn't really done it, the thought of more violence made her stomach churn. There had to be a way to keep the peace. Somehow she'd find it, no matter what she had to personally sacrifice to get there.
Her alarm went off too soon, but she rolled out of bed and got dressed, tucking her uniform shirt into her backpack to put on right before work, and went downstairs to get something to eat. Mary was behind the bar today, along with the older fellow that cooked Mondays and Tuesdays so Casey could have a couple days off. Rook wasn’t sure that Mary May ever took a whole day off, but there was no way that anyone would be able to convince her to do anything else. The bar was just about all she had, with her parents gone and brother missing.
“Hey, Mary May,” Rook greeted her. Things were quiet, just the same weathered faces that were there just about every day that Rook stepped inside.
“Hey, Rookie,” Mary May greeted her. “How’s things?”
“Oh, you know. Same old. Gettin’ to be routine.”
“Yeah, you’re settling in now? Still looking for a place, or plannin’ to stay here for the foreseeable?”
“I’m lookin’, but I don’t think my chances are good. Don’t have the same buyin’ power as the Seeds, so unless someone real stubborn moves out and won’t sell to ‘em, I’m pretty much outta luck. I don’t mind. Do miss havin’ a kitchen though. Probably not the best idea for me to eat a burger every day of the week.”
“We have other things on the menu,” Mary May pointed out.
“I know. It’s just the best calories per dollar. I don’t always eat more’n one proper meal a day. I should probably get a hot plate, actually. Next time I run into town I’ll look for one.” Rook shrugged. “Sorry, I’m just thinkin’ out loud. Long night, long mornin’.”
Mary May stuck the ticket with Rook’s usual order through the window to the kitchen. “That’s right! You got some good gossip for me?”
“Hm? No. Just worked last night, and I was up in the mountains this mornin’. Went for a climb.”
“Oh, come on, it’s a real small town, Rook. Everyone saw you and Eli gettin’ kinda cozy Saturday night, and Trish said she saw Eli’s truck out back this mornin’.” She leaned against the bar. “If you two get together, everyone’s gonna know within the week anyway, so you might as well let me be the first with the gossip.”
“What? No, no, it’s not like that. Saturday he was askin’ if I wanted to join the Whitetails, and then I sat and had a beer with the group of ‘em. He felt bad for clockin’ me by accident when I was tryin’ to keep him and Jacob Seed from murderin’ each other in the street, that’s all.”
“Uh huh. And what was he doin’ here today?”
“He spotted me when he was drivin’ past, when I was comin’ down the mountain. Realized I was a bit more tired than I thought I’d be, and didn’t want to risk climbin’ down, so I was out by the road. He offered me a ride.”
Better to leave the part about Jacob out of it. She didn’t want to alarm anyone just yet.
Mary May hummed, unconvinced. “And if he did ask you out? Would you say no?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really date.”
“Neither does he. His ex was his high school sweetheart, and I don’t think he’s seen anyone since she left. He’s gotten a little too into preparing for the end of days, keeping himself busy. Be healthy for him to get back out there,” Mary said, giving Rook a knowing look. “He’s a good one.”
“Well, I’m not thinkin’ that far ahead, and I doubt he is either. We’re just gettin’ to be friends, right now. Seems we see eye to eye on a few things.”
“You are allowed to date, you know. Whitehorse didn’t make you take a vow of celibacy or anything.”
“Yeah, I know. I just haven’t really been in a serious relationship, and the older I get, the more that becomes a stumblin’ block, you know? I mean, the man had a kid, and I haven’t even had a roommate since I left the army. Feels like we’d be at different places in life. And besides that, I’m still settlin’ in.”
“Well, it’s disappointing, gossip wise, but if you’re not ready, you’re not ready.” Mary turned to grab Rook’s plate when the little bell rang, and set it in front of her. “I’d better make the rounds, let you eat.”
She headed from the church to the sherriff's department at 6:30 and made a pot of coffee before she clocked in, like usual.
"Hey Rookie," Whitehorse greeted her, poking his head into the break room. "Everett called in tonight, so you're flyin' solo. You want me to stick around a while?"
"Nah, that's alright. Is Nancy in to run dispatch? I didn't see her at her desk."
"She said she can come in 10-2, so long as she can come in late Wednesday. Which I'll worry about later. Pratt's down a couple hours this week, I'll see if he wants to stay till Nancy gets here. He and Hudson should be pullin' in now."
"I'm off Wednesday. I have to run to town in the morning, but I can come in and man the phones for, what, 2 till 6?"
"You're a life-saver, Rookie."
"No problem sir. Happy to help. Just do us all a favour and stop scheduling Everett on nights. He hates it and he makes it everyone else's problem."
"Not fair to always put you on nights either."
"I like nights. You don't have to worry about me complaining, Sherriff. What I like best of all is a consistent shift, but it's not like I have much else on. Plus working nights means weekend mornings I can run drills with the Whitetails, and weekday mornings I can get on the mountains until the weather turns." Rook walked to the lockers to put her bag away and shrug her uniform shirt over her tank top. "Put me wherever I'm useful, sir."
"Fresh coffee fifteen minutes before seven? Must be our favourite Rookie in tonight," Joey poked her head around the corner of the locker room. "Hey! Heard a rumour today."
"If it's the one about me and Eli, it's of no substance."
"See?" Staci said from a little down the hall. "I told you."
Joey sighed. "You did. I just thought that would be nice."
"For him, maybe," Staci scoffed.
Rook shuffled back out into the hall so she could get her coffee while Joey and Staci talked to Whitehorse, and then took over Nancy’s chair while she checked over notes from the weekend. Nothing of note had happened, aside from a couple teens caught trying to race their parent’s cars down the mountain and one of them hitting a deer and spinning out in a panic (unhurt, luckily, although the deer couldn’t say the same), and a small fire down at the old rusted old barge on the Henbane where either some bored teens or Sharky Boshaw had been hanging out. Hard to say which, but considering that it was a small fire, Rook was willing to bet it was the teens. Then again, there wasn’t much that was going to burn on a boat that was half rust and half mildew.
A few other minor incidents, but nothing of concern. All quiet on the Peggie front, at least. That was something.
Hopefully they were distracted. If she could keep out of their hands, they might stay distracted for a while.
Joseph wouldn’t come to her, anyway. One of the others would bring her to him. If he walked into the Sherriff’s office, without his people to stop things, it would be easy to slap cuffs on him and ship him out before he could signal his people. The brothers wouldn’t trigger the reaping without him— Only Joseph would be able to tell them, and they’d risk never getting him back if they tried without him.
And, well, if God let the non-believers take him, it eroded his status as a chosen savior.
“What’s on your mind?” Staci asked, dropping his weight on the back of her chair and tilting it backwards. “You’re quiet. Barely said a word when Whitehorse and Hudson left.”
“Just thinking about the Peggies.”
“You did the right thing, if that’s what you’re wondering. We’ve all talked it over, and I’m pretty sure you saved our lives.”
“I’m just worried. I don’t think it’s really over.”
“They’ve been here for years, Rook. They’re a little extreme, but that was the first time I was worried about them trying something. So long as Burke doesn’t get his back up, or gets a lot of back up, I think we’ll be alright.”
“I hope you’re right. They just… Worry me.”
“So you said.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. I should do a patrol in a minute.”
“There’s no rush. Hudson and I just finished a circuit of the county half an hour ago. Got any paperwork to do?”
“Not currently.”
“Then you’re probably fine just to sit a minute. Been a few days since we worked together. Anything new going on?”
Rook shook her head, looking up at him from the reclined chair. “Nah. Just got a drink with a couple of the Whitetails Saturday, Sunday I played hymns for Pastor Jerome’s sparse congregation and ran down past Rye & Son Aviation and back. This morning I hiked in the park, climbed near Ozhigwan Falls.”
“I guess that’s where that rumour about you and Eli Palmer started. Folks probably saw him hitting on you at the bar, yeah?”
“He wasn’t hitting on me. Are we not allowed to be friends?” He wasn’t, really. A flirtatious smile or two didn’t mean anything, and she wasn’t going to let it mean anything anyway. She was dangerous to Eli, more than anyone else in the county. Joining the Whitetails was one thing, but a relationship with him? That was too close for comfort.
“You don’t even notice when people flirt, do you?”
“No,” she lied.
“Unbelievable.”
She moved back to her own desk, for a bit, and then wandered around tidying up while Staci hovered in the doorway of every room she moved to, making light conversation. He was clearly bored, and too tired to do anything particularly useful with himself. She couldn’t blame him, after a long day, but she also wasn’t in a talkative mood.
It was so much easier when she hadn’t had to say much of anything. In her other memory, people asked her for help, and she’d agree to, and that was the long and short of it. She could grind herself down into the shape of a knife, and not worry about being much of a person at all. Knowing who she was to others made it simple. Things felt complicated now.
They finally got a call, and Rook had never been so happy to be sent out to Mabel’s. Teens were harassing Peaches lately, and that was a disaster just waiting to happen. “Tell her I’ll be there in ten,” she said to Staci, grabbing the keys off the hook in the locker room and striding out without another word.
“You alright, Rook?” he asked over the radio a few minutes later.
“Yeah. Just worried that Peaches is gonna eat some kid if I don’t get there quick.”
Rook pulled into Mable's driveway a few minutes later and hopped out of the truck.
"Oh, shit, someone's here," a voice hissed, and a number of crunching footsteps signalled that the teens were running for it.
Rook dropped down and headed into the treeline, snagging two of the teens by the collar and dragging them out into the light. She whistled sharply. "Come on out. Your friends are definitely gonna name you, so you might as well come here and talk to me."
The third teen cursed and stepped out of the trees looking guilty and nervous. "We weren't--"
"Doin’ anything?" Rook asked mildly, dragging the two she had a grip on back toward the cougar cage. Peaches was pacing back and forth, her thick tail lashing. "Listen up, kids. This is a wild fuckin' animal. She might have a good relationship with Miss Mabel, but she's not some domesticated kitty cat. If you piss her off enough, she could kill you, and then I'd have to come out here and shoot her, and quite frankly, I don't want to do that. So here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna go home, and in the next couple days all three of you are gonna call up the FANG centre and volunteer some time. You do that by the end of the week, and I won't talk to your parents. Can't promise Miss Mabel won't, but that's the only deal I've got for you, aside from haulin' you in."
"That's not fair," one of them complained. "We were just--"
"Shut up, Lo. I don't want my dad findin' out I'm sneakin' out at night. It's more than fair."
Rook let go of the two collars she had in hand. "Glad we've got an understandin'. Brittany Forrest, Kevin Spatz, Lorenzo Lombardi." She pointed to each of them as she said their name. "Yeah, that's right. Now go on."
The teens scrambled off, and Miss Mabel came out of her house, scowling. "You're not gonna arrest those hooligans?"
"No ma'am. I'm makin' 'em volunteer down at the FANG center. Figure if they get labeled as bad kids this early, they're gonna be trouble all their lives, and we don't need that. They're gonna learn a healthy respect for wildlife, and it'll give em somethin' to do that ain't causin' trouble. Half the time kids do shit like this because they're bored. Pretty near everything kids might get into that ain’t trouble’s been bought and boarded up by the Seeds."
Mabel hummed. "You're smarter than you look, Deputy."
"Ain't sayin' much though, is it?" Rook inclined her head toward Peaches' enclosure. "Your girl there's looking bored and restless too, Mabel. She gettin' enough exercise?"
Mabel huffed, crossing her arms. “You offering to walk her?” she asked, as if it were an absurd notion.
“Sure. I’m all over the mountains a few times a week. Introduce us, figure Peaches has to decide if she’ll follow me anywhere herself. Cats don’t much care to be bossed around, do they?”
“Well, at least you know a thing or two. Come on then, Deputy. But it’s not my problem if she bites you.”
Contains: Inexplicable second chances, The Seed Family, Marshal Burke, canon divergence, uhhhhhhh that's most of it yeah
~2.8k - MDNI
Rook knew it was coming.
She could see the frown on Whitehorse's face from down the hall as he listened to whoever was on the other side.
"What do you think's going on?" Pratt asked, elbowing Rook lightly. "Whitehorse looks worried."
Rook shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Except it wasn't. She knew what was going to happen. That was the signal that Burke was on his way.
The nighttime arrest was pretty melodramatic. There was no real reason why they had to go right now, except for Burke's impatience. Maybe he thought they’d get the drop on Joseph, coming in the night, but she already knew how that would pan out. The cult would be ready.
"You want to wait and see what's going on before we go on patrol?" Pratt asked. "I'm curious myself."
"Yeah, we should wait. I'll put on more coffee. Got a feeling we've got a long night ahead."
Pratt followed her into the break room and leaned against the counter by the sink, close enough to be a hindrance but not so close that she really needed to ask him to move. "So you think it's something big," he pressed.
"No doubt about that. Probably somethin' to do with the cult. According to their book, they left Georgia with the law on their tail. Probably all caught up with 'em. Some paper pushing bureaucrat finally got the approval, maybe. Takes a minute to pass shit across state lines." She scooped pre-ground coffee into the filter. “Or whatever they’ve been gettin’ up to since they’ve been here. Missin’ people, I think? Whitehorse mentioned they sort of skirt the law at times, that things have gotten… Tense, before.”
"Don’t think the missing people were kidnapped. They just joined the Peggies. Minkler’s just finally moved on it because his wife and son packed up and joined. And you don't need to use that much," Pratt said, gesturing at the coffee filter she was spooning grounds into.
"I'm makin' it how Nancy showed me. No one complains that her coffee's too strong. Sometimes I think you make it bad on purpose so no one asks you to."
Pratt laughed, but the slight nervousness behind it let Rook know she was right on the mark. He moved along, however. "I was really looking forward to tonight. It was fun, working the graveyard shift with you on Friday. It's not usually fun."
"Well, I am known for my upbeat attitude and sense of humour," Rook deadpanned.
Whitehorse appeared in the doorway. "Oh, good. We're gonna need that coffee. Just got a call from a federal marshal. He's comin' down from Missoula, wants to arrest Joseph Seed tonight."
"Shit. You were right, Rookie." Pratt ran his fingers through his hair. "How're we going in? Ground or air?"
"Air. We want to make this as quick and painless as possible. You and Rook get your coffee and run checks on the chopper. Make sure she's in good shape. I'll call Hudson back in. No rush yet, Marshal just left Missoula, we got a couple hours." Whitehorse tapped Rook's shoulder. "This'll be a big one, Rookie. Figure you can handle yourself, but be ready for things to go sideways."
"Yessir. But just my two cents? We shouldn't do it."
Whitehorse crossed his arms, nodding tiredly. "Can't say I disagree, Rook. That cult's gonna boil over like an ant hill if we do this."
"And they're militant," Rook said, pulling a couple mugs out of the cupboard. "You heard some of their songs? Keep your rifle by your side? Definitely doesn't make me think they're just gonna protest peacefully."
"Well, they don't know we're comin' at least. We get in and out fast enough, maybe we avoid trouble." Whitehorse accepted the mug Rook handed him. "Thanks, kid. I'll go call Joey."
"Didn't make me a coffee," Pratt complained.
"You don't take your coffee black, and you're standing half in front of the fridge. And you're not my boss." She stuck her head out of the room. "Hey Nance, you need a coffee?"
"Not yet, Rook, but thank you," Nancy called back.
"Nancy's not your boss either," Pratt grumbled, stirring cream and sugar into his mug.
"Oh cheer up, Stace. I just like giving you a hard time. It's fun for me."
"Man, thought when we got a newbie that I'd finally get to boss someone around."
"Life's full of little disappointments. Now let’s go stick our hands into helicopter guts, that sounds fun as hell."
Pratt shook his head. "You're so weird."
"You're weird if you don't think it's fun. Ain't you the one with the helicopter license?"
"Yeah. But flying and maintaining are not the same beast."
"Sure, but it's real reassurin' when you know what's goin' on in there."
Rook tried to focus on the work of getting the helicopter up to speed. It was well-maintained, and nothing much needed to be done, but it was important to double check with a beast as finicky as a helo. Pratt gave her an odd look when she started working without needing him to direct her, the old memory guiding her along just fine.
Things would be different, after today.
She was going to change the world. Whatever came of it, she couldn’t know. She just needed to stop what she’d seen from coming true. No more dead friends. No war to wage for freedom.
Would the bomb still go off?
Or was Joseph right? The timing of it all seemed a little too perfect. Why then, right as they put Joseph in cuffs, if it wasn’t her that caused it? Some fluke of fate?
And yet, she was here again.
It had to be more than coincidence.
“You done this before?” Staci asked.
Rook shrugged. “Sort of. Not really.”
“You just good at everything you try, first time out?”
“No. Most things take a lot of practice. I just pay attention, that’s all.” She sat on the edge of the helicopter floor, legs hanging off the side, and picked up her now-cold coffee. “Nothin’ to it.”
Staci sat beside her. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that? I feel like I’ve known you forever, for some reason.”
Rook’s ribs squeezed tight around her heart, remembering everything they’d been through, erased from history and left only in her own memory. The guilt and defeat in his eyes when he stood at Jacob’s shoulder, the wild, frantic hope when he helped her get free. The disbelief when she returned for him, still bloody from her fight with Jacob and his Chosen. Everything before the world went to hell, and the scant days after his rescue before they went to face Joseph himself. “Maybe we were good friends in another life.”
“Sure. Maybe.”
“What do you think about this? The arrest.”
Staci sighed heavily. “I think it’s gonna be a shit-show, if I’m being honest. You’re right about the Peggies. They’re… Yeah, militant is the best word for it. The next best is batshit. We’re gonna have a problem on our hands, for sure.” He flexed his hands, knuckles popping when he clenched them into fists. “Marshal’s just gonna come in here and fuck shit up and roll back to Missoula and leave us to clean up the mess. Typical Fed.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be a high profile arrest. Burke’s just itchin’ to get a promotion, I bet.”
“I gotta pay better attention. I didn’t even hear Whitehorse say his name.”
Rook hummed noncommittally, and pointed out the headlights coming down the street. “Well, look alive. That’s probably him now.”
It was eerie, how familiar the next hour was. Burke's rundown of the procedure, Whitehorse's concern, the flight to the island compound, past the statue and setting down in the middle of the Eden's Gate barracks surrounding the church. They'd obviously been tipped off-- Nancy had probably let them know the instant Whitehorse got off the phone. Given them enough time to set up their theatrics, the bonfires, the armed cultists glaring at them in the shifting light.
The congregation stared at them when they walked into the church, some standing, gripping their rifles. Not too many, but enough to outnumber their paltry invasion force four or five times.
Rook's ears started ringing. She couldn't hear Burke speaking, though her memory filled in the gaps easily.
Whitehorse urged Burke not to interrupt the sermon, but the marshal wouldn't be dissuaded. He brandished his warrant. A flimsy piece of paper, the authority it carried worth less here than the ink printed on its face.
The cultists moved between them and Joseph, which made Burke reach for his gun, although he listened when Whitehorse told him to wait, this time.
Rook looked past Joseph, to the three Heralds as Jacob and Faith moved in to flank John, silently backing up the Father. Jacob's eyes swept over the lot of them, evaluating who was the greatest danger, lingering on Burke and Hudson before settling on Rook. John hardly glanced at the others. They didn't interest him, but Rook had caught his attention already. Faith looked serious and serene, but her eyes glossed over all of them before settling on Joseph again.
Joseph stepped forward, hands outstretched and open, ready to be cuffed and taken away, his eyes fixed on Rook’s. He looked exactly how she remembered, entirely ordinary, not as handsome as his brothers, but magnetic, the conviction in his heavy gaze enough to slow time to a crawl.
There was a flicker of something that hadn't been there the first time. Confusion, recognition. Like maybe he'd seen it all before too. Like he’d seen her before.
"Come on, Rookie," Burke said impatiently. "Cuff this son of a bitch."
Rook reached out, trembling slightly, and gently pushed Joseph's hands down. His brow furrowed, the deviation in what should have been obvious to him as well. "Sherriff, we can't," she said, unable to tear her eyes away from Joseph's. "They're gonna go to war over him."
"I'm inclined to agree, kid," Whitehorse said. "Let's go. Ain't kickin' the hornets nest tonight."
Burke grabbed Rook’s arm. "What the fuck are you doing?" he snapped. "Arrest him!"
Rook finally tore her eyes away from Joseph's. "No," she told Burke, turning toward him. "You saw those people, Marshal. They'll die for him. They'll kill for him. We try to take him, we're not leaving under our own power. We'll be killed. Or worse." Her gaze flicked back to the three siblings.
"Let's go, Rookie," Whitehorse said. His voice was almost neutral, but Rook caught the relief and approval in his words. He recognized a bad situation just as she did.
Burke spluttered as they turned to go. "I'll see you all arrested!"
Whitehorse pushed the doors open. "Go ahead," he challenged, not looking back. "I'd like to see you try."
Burke swore all the way back to the chopper, calling Rook a coward and a traitor, until Whitehorse rounded on him, half into the chopper.
"She's right, Marshal. You want to die tonight, be my guest, but you'd be a fool to go through with it. Best to leave well enough alone. Keep the peace."
Rook looked over her shoulder as she followed Burke into the vehicle, and saw Joseph watching, siblings by his side.
The tension in the air didn't resolve, but there was no bloody climax, no crash, no desperate run through the forest.
All was calm.
Rook wondered how long it could last.
Burke yelled at Rook some more when they landed, until Whitehorse told him to get the hell out. Burke promised he'd return with federal agents, at some point. Rook told him not to come back without the goddamn national guard, which only made Burke scoff. He’d seen the same cultists that they had, and still wanted to discount the danger.
Whitehorse shook his head when the doors closed behind Burke. "If he could get more support, he would've brought them this time. Hopefully we don't see him back again. Feels like the Peggies are just itchin' for us to try somethin'. Good instincts, Rook."
"I met one of 'em at Aubrey's last week, and she invited me to their choir practice. You should've seen their faces when the other one popped by-- John? And he's not even the main brother. They're nuts about these guys."
"You went to their choir practice?" Hudson asked, raising an eyebrow. “I warned you to stay away from them.”
"I know. I was just curious. It’s clear that it’s a cult, but Sharon just seemed… Nice. Not the kind of person that would get involved in something dangerous. I left pretty quickly, anyway. They’re a bit too… Cheerful. I don’t trust it.”
If she hadn’t seen Sharon in her memory, gun in hand, she would have discounted the danger, would have stayed too long. It was uncomfortable to think that if she didn’t know better, she would have trusted them.
Staci snorted. "You don't trust them because they're happy?"
"Well, happiness and singing about the end of the world and shooting non-believers are, hm, not what I would call a reassurin’ combination. Better not to provoke 'em.”
"I'm not gonna let Burke come down on you for this, Rookie," Whitehorse promised. "You made the right call. Marching in there with anything less than the national guard is suicide."
Rook nodded. "Go home and get some sleep, sir. You and Nancy have been here way too long, and Joey looks like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet. Stace and me'll hold down the fort."
"Stick around the office tonight. Don't want you splitting up, just in case." Whitehorse patted Rook on the shoulder and headed down the hall to talk to Nancy.
"They're not gonna retaliate," Staci said. "Right?"
"No reason to. The only person that did anythin' is Burke, and he's prob'ly halfway back to Missoula by now." Rook dumped out the dregs in the coffee pot and rinsed it out. "Hopefully that's just the end of it. At least until Burke comes back."
"Yeah, don't think he's gonna let this go,” Hudson said tiredly. “You two stay safe tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.” She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Christ alive. In four hours.”
“I’ll stay an extra hour or two,” Rook promised. “That way you can sleep in.”
“You are a godsend.” Hudson ruffled Staci’s hair and shot Rook a tired grin on her way out, shoulders slumped with tiredness.
“What’ll you do if Burke does come back?” Staci asked. “Or if the Peggies do something stupid?”
"Well, for one thing, if he doesn’t come back with a lot more firepower, I’d do the same as I did tonight. Burke's probably gonna make it a point to fuck up my career. Which is fine, this was only ever gonna be temporary.”
"You're planning to stay in the county though, right?"
"Maybe. Haven’t thought that far ahead, I guess.”
"What if you meet someone?"
"Around here? Hudson warned me not to date in town."
Staci scoffed. "Of course she did."
Rook flicked the brewer on and walked out into the lobby, dropping into Nancy's recently vacated chair and pushing herself into a spin. She gave Nancy and Whitehorse a wave as they walked out of the locker room with their things in hand. "See you tomorrow. Stay out of trouble, you two."
"Never!" Nancy said, laughing a little too brightly. She was clearly relieved that nothing had happened. Making the call to follow Joseph’s order or save her coworkers couldn’t have been easy when she did in that other timeline. "You know me, Rook. Nothin' but trouble. But there are some cookies in the bottom drawer if you're feelin’ snacky. I didn't see you bring food. Again."
"Yeah. I gotta go to town and get some things one of these days. But don't worry about little ol' me, go get some rest."
Staci leaned against the top of Nancy's desk, watching the door shut behind them. "Nancy doesn't fuss over anyone near as much she does you."
"I've heard that I'm too skinny. Everyone thinks I'm not gonna survive the harsh Montana winters, so they want to feed me." Rook pulled the package of cookies out from the drawer and took one. "Apparently I'm just a sad wet cat of a woman."
"Well, some folks like a wet—"
"Staci if you finish that sentence I'm gonna get my gun out and shoot you," Rook said, biting back a laugh.
Staci grinned at her. "Pussy."
Rook threw her cookie at his head, and couldn't hold back her laugh this time. "Get your head out of the gutter! This is a workplace!"
But it felt nice to laugh with an old friend, even if he didn’t know her as well as she knew him. Like the clouds were beginning to part. Things were different. Things might finally go right.
Contains: Inexplicable second chances, John Seed (derogatory), Pastor Jerome Jeffries, Choir Practice
~2k - MDNI
Although Sharon hadn't mentioned exactly where the choir practice was, the only clear radio station in the county was the Eden's Gate one. There was a country station that was mostly clear on the south side, and a classic rock one that came in from the west, but both got pretty grainy in places. The Peggie station mentioned the time and place of any church events open to the public more exactly, a few times daily.
She hadn't planned on going. She'd planned on hiking part of the way up to Raptor's Peak, but she found herself driving past the wide gravel shoulder that served as a parking lot for the trail and continued along the curve of the river until she reached the church where they hosted their practice.
Someone had said once, in the dream version of reality, that the cult had started here at Eden’s Convent, whenever they first came to the county.
Rook eyed the guards posted by the door warily. They had rifles, but they were strapped across their backs, not in hand, and they smiled at her when she went by them.
Weird.
Her intention had been to linger at the peripherals and observe, but Sharon spotted her and approached, beaming. "You came! I'm so glad you did. Must be lonely, coming to a new place. I've lived here forever-- Know just about everyone." She grabbed Rook's arm and pulled her forward. "Come meet the choir. I brought my song book, if you want to join. The songs are easy to learn."
"Oh, no, I'd rather just sit to the side. I'm not sure I'm up to singing. Just thought I’d check things out.”
"Don't be shy," Sharon coaxed. "You'll have fun."
“Maybe next time.”
Sharon didn’t push further, and handed her the stapled together songbook. “So you can follow along. If you want. And you can keep that.” She returned to the others and said something in a hushed voice to the rest of the choir, who all turned to look at Rook and waved. Rook waved back awkwardly, regretting coming already. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking.
She sat down on the steps in the garden while the choir organized itself, and tried to tell herself that she was just imagining the similarity between this place and Eden’s Convent in her dream.
It was no use. She was too realistic to dismiss what was right in front of her, however impossible. It was no dream. Somehow, she’d seen something real. Not necessarily a prophecy, but a warning.
She felt a prickle on the back of her neck, and looked up, back up toward the church, and met John Seed’s eyes. A few members of the chorus greeted him, and they launched into Oh John, smiling wide at him.
Rook figured that was the moment to get out of there, while Sharon and her choir friends were too distracted by the presence of one of their Heralds to notice her slipping away around the side of the building. She could hop over the short wall by the tool shed and get back into her truck without alerting even the guards at the door, and there was still even enough daylight for her to get a portion of her hike in. She needed to sort out her head, and that was the best way she knew how.
John rounded the corner ahead before she could make it to the wall. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Not staying?”
“Sharon invited me, so I thought I’d come and see. I just don’t really think this is for me.”
“The path to Eden’s Gate is open to all who seek salvation.” He was smiling, but there was a shrewd calculation going on behind the cheerful, friendly facade. Trying to figure out the angle to exploit. “And something brought you here today, didn’t it? You’re looking for something.”
“Everyone’s looking for something.”
“And maybe you’ve found it.” He extended his hand. “I’m John, by the way.”
“John as in Oh John, bold and brave?” Rook asked. Even though she already knew. His face was impossible to forget, even though she’d never seen him before, not really.
What was going on?
“Just John to my friends,” he said, dropping his hand when she didn’t reach out for a beat too long. “You’re the new Deputy, aren’t you?”
“Right— Sorry. Rook. I’m being rude. You caught me trying to sneak off, and now I feel like I’m in trouble.” She held her hand out, and he didn’t make her wait more than a heartbeat before his palm closed around hers. “Which is silly.”
“You’re under no obligation to stay,” John agreed. This was nothing like the convert or die sentiment that Rook was more familiar with, although the message was undercut by the way he didn’t let go of her hand. “But we’d be happy to have you, deputy.”
“Ha. Well. No. I’d better get going.”
“Consider coming to the Sunday sermon. Maybe you’ll hear something that resonates.” He stepped closer, his other hand closing over the back of hers. “I think you’d fit right in with our flock.”
“I really don’t think so. But thanks. Really nice of you to reach out like this.”
Some of her confusion and distress must have been plain on her face, because he still didn’t let go, and moved another step closer, so close that the tip of his glossy black shoes touched her dusty boots. He was a skilled actor, so good at playing at concern, it was no wonder he was one of the welcoming arms of the cult. His good looks didn’t hurt either, blue eyes innocent and honest despite everything that she knew about him.
Thought she knew about him.
Knew about him.
She used her other arm to push him away, stumbling back slightly when he let her go at the first real sign of resistance.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Maybe you should come in and sit for a moment.”
“No! No, I’d better go.” Rook launched herself over the low wall and jumped into her truck, cursing when the old engine turned over once without starting. She hadn’t done any maintenance since she got to Hope County, and she should have made that a priority after the long drive to get there. Luckily, the next attempt had the truck starting up smoothly, and she peeled out of the lot like she could feel the devil breathing down her neck.
She needed advice. Someone to talk to that wouldn’t think she was insane.
A tall order, with her a stranger to every soul in the county.
Her best chance was either Larry Parker, who was absolutely insane himself, and would probably think she’d been sent by the FBI if she showed up there knowing anything about him, but was definitely a man for impossible scenarios (Although he wasn’t that interested in anything that didn’t involve space or Anne, whoever that was), or Pastor Jerome. Whatever was going on seemed more in the realm of religious tomfoolery than sci-fi bullshit. She’d just have to be a little extra vague about explaining the matter.
She drove back to Falls End and parked in her spot behind the bar, rehearsing what she was going to lead with.
The church was empty when she stepped inside, however, dust motes catching the evening light as she walked across the floor. Last time she’d been here John had tattooed wrath on her, and greed on Nick Rye, and peeled it back off of Nick so he could staple it to the wall.
She swallowed down nausea and sat down at the piano bench off to the side, lifting the lid off the keys. It was still in tune, for all that Pastor Jerome didn’t have much of a congregation these days.
She started plucking out the notes of Amazing Grace while she waited, fingers remembering how to play as she continued on. She could see the arrest in perfect detail, the most faithful of Eden’s Gate followers waiting, singing the hymn to welcome the invading officers. They’d known they were coming— Nancy was the connection to the cult, or at least one of them. She didn’t know if the others were trustworthy, or if they’d been killed in the initial grab for Falls End.
All that information, and yet, so much she still didn’t know.
She heard the scuff of a boot on the floor, and turned quickly, lifting her hands off the keys.
“You’re welcome to play it,” Pastor Jerome said. “Lord knows no one else does these days.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I forgot about music until today, as strange as that probably sounds.”
“You’re good. Been a while since you played?” Pastor Jerome sat down on the first pew, studying her curiously. He looked a little younger than he did in her memory, better rested and in no pain.
“Yeah. I used to play a lot when I was a kid. My grandparents had this tiny music room— Piano, guitar, fiddle, and this drum that came from my grandmother’s mother. Only thing she had from her mother’s people— Blackfoot, actually. I guess they came from Montana. North of here though. This was Salish territory, once.” She waved away the thought. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why not? Does coming here feel like coming home?”
"Sort of. But that's not why I came."
He nodded, leaning forward, arms braced on his thighs and his hands clasped loosely together between his knees. "So, why did you?"
"I have this… Feeling. That somethin's going to go wrong. Like, catastrophic. And I think maybe I can stop it? But i might make everything worse by tryin'."
"Do you think that this feeling is meant to discourage you from trying? Or does your heart tell you that you should do what you can?"
"Yeah. It does. Tell me to try, that is. I'm just scared. The consequences of me gettin' this wrong are… monumental."
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Deputy. It's not going to be the end of the world, is it?"
She laughed, the sound ringing hollow in the nearly empty space. "See, you say that…"
"It might feel like the end. But that's not always such a bad thing. Things have to end before they can start anew. Maybe you have to let go of whatever it is that's holding you back, let yourself take the fresh start. That's what coming here's all about, isn't it? No one moves to the middle of nowhere for fun. They do it to seek out something new, to let go of the limits of their old lives. That’s why I left the middle of nowhere, though I couldn’t help but come back."
"You were a soldier too, right?"
He nodded. "Marines."
"Patriot? Or tryin' to get out of the mud?"
He laughed. "Deputy, I'm a black man. This country gave me two bad options, and I chose the one that at least gave me a paycheck."
Rook plucked out a notes of the anthem idly. "You know, I've asked that a lot, and I've only heard patriot a handful of times. Think they all end up in the air force?"
Pastor Jerome shrugged, grinning. "Either that or they all got flat feet."
It felt good to laugh properly, let go of a little worry. His advice was sound— She had to do what she felt was the right thing, and there had to be a reason for all of this. And if Joseph was right, in that dream, she could stop it, all of it, by walking away. He wouldn't call for the reaping if he had no cause to. And if he did anyway, she'd fight, but she'd go straight for him. Cut the head off the serpent. They wouldn't be able to hold it all together without him.
The Peggies would definitely kill her, but that was worth it.
"Thanks for the talk, Pastor Jeffries. That helped a lot."
"Glad to hear it. And the doors are always open if you want to play some music. There's a hymn book in the bench, but feel free to play anything you like. Maybe we can coax a few folks back in if you play something catchy. Whatever the kids are listening to these days."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Pastor. But thank you. I'll take you up on that. Forgot how much I like to make noise."
She'd spent a lot of time in grim, determined silence. This time, she'd see if words made better weapons than bullets. If she could turn the tide with something other than violence.
The state never arrives to confront Eden’s Gate. The world still goes to war. Mary May finds herself in a bunker with the man she shares an unwanted history with.
I revived this from my drafts and thought I’d post this here since I’m not sure if I’ll finish the other unfinished sections for AO3! Spoilers for Far Cry: Absolution.
*****
Driving down a public road with a carload of beer and liquor shouldn’t have Mary May white knuckling the wheel at the prospect of sirens behind her regardless that the car is Jerome’s and nobody has ever looked twice. As a man of God he’s an unlikely trafficking accomplice, but he approved of flouting the Peggie-led county prohibition on the transportation of alcohol.
The pistol holstered at her hip isn’t for the cops, it’s for the cult.
—the air goes white, dims, and goes white again as the warhead detonates over one of Montana’s not-distant-enough, still-operating nuclear silos.
The autumn dry answers the flash with quick-kindling fire. Mary May’s grip presses the blood from her knuckles as she floors it toward the nearest homestead she knows. She shuts her eyes as each successive flash burns blinding white as Montana’s buried missiles vaporize unlaunched.
She can’t reconcile the clouds mushrooming toward the stratosphere with reality. Even as the first bomb’s blast wave catches her, even as the car flips, the bottles shatter and the air fills with the sour of alcohol, the surreality – dissociation – empowers her to climb out the busted out window and, bleeding arms sliced by the glass, run for the house.
She’s the second person there.
Her heart drops so low the weight of her own feet crushes her pulse beneath them faced with a man as vile to her as John Seed shadowed by the smoke-darkened sky and hued orange by spreading wildfires.
She would have given the world to run to human company.
Now, she would give the world to have arrived alone.
Glass-cut, bleeding arms stinging, she unholsters her gun.
One hand merely rests on his pistol, the other raised placatingly, his eyes beseeching. She knows intimately his every semblance of human emotion is serpentine manipulation.
“We don’t have to kill each other, Mary May. I already promised I’ll always help you.” He smiles. There’s an unkind force of compulsion beneath his words as he says: “You know I meant it, because you’re not in prison. I protected you from the consequences of your actions.”
“You blackmailed me. If you really think I’m waiting out nuclear fallout with you, of anybody…”
“I think my brother was right. We can litigate it later, once we’re safe.”
She hates to concede the point, but she has no reason to antagonize him and risk dying before she even attempts to survive. She lowers her gun. He takes his hand off the pistol grip.
Survival becomes the imperative. Her heart-stopping concern that the bunker might not open to them in the time it takes to rifle the homestead for a key is alleviated when John produces his own copy. Of course he has one. Nieasha and Devon Howard surrendered their property to pad his vast portfolio when they became his converts.
Mary May pulls the hatch secure behind them and joins him at the bottom of the ladder.
He looks down at his watch under the bunker’s stark artificial light.
“I think we made it in under ten minutes. Or at least we’re not far enough over to just go ahead and croak.”
Suddenly swamped with emotion, exhaustion, and the pain of her lacerated arms, she moves stunned past him to drop onto the old plaid couch. Looking down at her shredded skin, she begins picking out slivers of glass.
Head underwater, she is aware he gets on the radio but she ignores him totally until she discovers him standing before her with a first aid kit he’s scrounged from the prepper stash.
She searches the deceptively boyish face of the man she despises. She swallows around the knot in her throat. Her voice sticks:
“It’s gone. Montana. The Spread Eagle. Just… gone. Everything.”
“We’re not,” he says. His weight depresses the couch cushion beside her. “God must still have a purpose for you.”
John Seed has slunk around the periphery of Mary May’s life for going on the greater part of it, an unnerving man who revealed himself in his full callous horror in a room wallpapered with human skin. He wets cotton balls with alcohol and cleans her wounds with hands as careful now as they had been sadistic with his tattoo gun in hand. He tweezes stinging splinters from the wounds with nearly-painless efficiency.
“What kind of God would create a world as evil as this?” she says.
“The devil is the ruler of this world. His reign is ending, and despite your refusal to atone for your sins, your baptism preserved you. God has chosen you to live on in Paradise.”
He believes that to the bottom of his frigid heart.
She faces the value of his continued faith in her election, remembering how close the bullet meant to end her life fired from the gun of his sycophant struck the dirt before John changed perspectives on if he meant her to die or live. She holds back from challenging his conviction.
She studies him as he wraps her wounds: well groomed, but not clowned up like a lawyer, this set of once-expensive clothes now part of his everyday rotation, dirtied and, in places, frayed.
She hates him the most when he’s roving town looking slick in a suit and tie, the tattoos that have proliferated across his skin over the years covered except for the ink on his hands. He’s even more dangerous with a briefcase than with a pistol, remaking the landscape of Hope County in his brother’s fanatical image.
Generations of history vanished with his every transaction. Family businesses passed into his cult’s hands. Happy homes emptied to hollow shells.
These familiar resentments plunge into the shattering knowledge that fires rage above them.
Every family’s story has been wiped from the face of this land, and not by John Seed.
She lurches off the couch, staggering the narrow width of the bunker to plant her palm on the cold concrete wall and vomit up her truck stop lunch, splattering the floor with a mush that used to be bread and fries and pink hot dog.
“We are going to smell that for days,” John says with annoyance behind her.
Of course he’s alright with this.
Of course he is.
He’s wanted this. Looked forward to it. People are dead and dying, even more will die sick from radiation poisoning, covered in burns and sores with their organs failing, and he’s glad for it.
As glad as he was she pulled the trigger and blew her brother's brains out the top of his head to spray into the smoke-choked air and splatter the Montana soil.
She grits her bile-sour teeth and sneers at the wall she remains resting heavily against. Her heart pounds against her ribs in sudden fury. Her voice drips condescension:
“Your brother didn’t get dicked down by God. He just listens to the news.”
John’s humanity disappears.
“Watch how you speak about him.”
She rounds on him.
“Go ahead and shoot me, John. My rotting body will smell worse than my lunch before it’s safe to chuck me out.”
The icy rage souring his expression makes a cagey retreat toward calm.
“There’s no reason for blasphemy. I didn’t cause you to shoot Drew, and Joseph didn’t cause this. Things will become clearer to you, now.”
She declines to respond, going to look for a towel to clean up her puke with and then washing it in the sink with as little water as possible, wondering what kind of recycling system they’re on.
Their tensions disappear into purpose.
They begin inventorying their supplies, counting cans and mason jars. There is an ample stock of beer and liquor, though less here than was lost with Jerome’s car. Mary May knows from the stony remove with which John regards it that he’s considering disposing of it, but with both their energy beginning to flag he chooses to wait to however-inevitably harp about sobriety.
They finish their inventory and take turns splashing water on their faces before eyeing the bunks where, she realizes, they’ll be spending a period of time stretching toward an unknown horizon just feet apart.
“I’m more of a top bunk sleeper,” she says, thinking of early childhood and Drew, the little brother she'd loved and thought she'd known, but then offers with more generosity than she feels: “Unless you are.”
“I was mostly an only child,” he says, baffling her. He doesn’t explain except to say: “You should have read his book.”
Whatever he means, the point washes out to him taking a seat on the bottom bunk as he strips his shirt off.
It’s a little unfair, she starts to think, that despite having breasts nobody thinks once when men–
She doesn’t finish the thought. Although she’s seen the scars he so proudly bears on his chest, and she’s seen his shirtless brother, she’s never caught sight of the extent of his self-mutilation: more sins, some crossed out; his favorite word, YES, large on his abdomen; straight streaks of keloids shining across his shoulders in the electric light that don’t share the same controlled style, like lashes.
She remembers his tattoo gun stabbing its needles into her, the vicious pain he inflicted inking her down to the bone. He’s promised to cut a single strip of her flesh from her, someday, but it seems he’s made a long habit of carving up his own.
“Did your brother hurt you like this?”
He looks surprised to be asked.
“Nothing that wasn’t reciprocal. We believe in self discipline.” Placidly, he adds: “You’ll come to understand this, too.”
–a conversation-ending reminder he’s a psychopath.
She retreats the scant distance the upper berth permits.
*****
The scratch of Mary May’s pencil fills the quiet of the bunker, the calculations she scribbles on the paper ripped from one of the Howard’s notebooks familiar from years of taking stock of the Spread Eagle’s kitchen, beer, and liquor.
She slides the paper with their tallied list of supplies across the table for John’s inspection.
“Two years.”
He no more than glances over it, trusting her expertise, and nods.
“That’s far more than enough. We can try to join the others, eventually, when it’s safer to walk the fallout. It’s not a priority with this much to eat.”
Her brow furrows above the line her lips press to.
“They don’t need you to lead them?”
Blue eyes stunning in the cool white electric light stare clear and calm into hers. John smiles.
“I am the voice crying out ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’ I’ve played my role in this.”
She had resented him painfully, inartfully tattooing ‘envy’ she hadn’t felt into her flesh. A wellspring of envy she doesn’t deny bursts forth in her chest. He’d been right too early. She longs for his faith, as delusional as it obviously is.
She rubs her dry eyes, willing back tears. She cried last night while he slept the sleep of the righteous. She promises herself she won’t shed a tear while he’s watching.
His focus narrows. He’s looking straight through her eyes to rifle through her weaknesses.
“It would be better for you if you atone before I bring you to the Project,” he says.
“Shut up, John.”
His fingertips drum tabletop alongside their inventory.
“We have time.”
“You talked to them, on the radio?”
“There had been a danger the bunkers could be misflagged as active silos. God preserved us. All three arks were spared from the strikes. A new world’s coming.”
“I’m…” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘glad’, or anything like it. She offered a weak, pained smile in place of it, and said: “Excuse me if I believe that last part when I see it.”
“You know, I like your defiance. But it’s no secret I’ve always liked you, Mary May.” He held up a placating hand. “You think I’m a creep, and it’s not mutual.”
She blows a strand of hair from her face, slinging an arm over the back of her chair as she slouches against its back.
“At least let me be the one to say it.”
Grief’s terrible shadow suddenly engulfs her.
Paralysis spreads through her limbs. She wants to scream herself hoarse. She wants to kick the chair over onto the concrete floor. She imagines her fist striking the wall until her knuckles split.
She can’t raise her voice above a whisper, saying:
“Don’t you care, just a little?”
He slides the hand resting beside their inventory millimeters forward across the table, a strictly metered gesture at connection.
“I can’t. You wouldn’t either, if you were me. My brother thinks it’s my least laudable trait. I don’t want to tell you a thing about it. I think I will, when we’re bored enough for that.”
She dizzies with the aching thought of all the people she may never see again. Casey. Jerome. The neighbors who filled the seats of the bar she inherited from her mom and dad — people from all walks of life she chatted and laughed whose cares she eased with liquor, yes, but more so as a friendly face with a friendly ear.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” John says.
By the time she’s stopped screaming her throat’s torn raw. She’s staring at the chair she smashed into the wall. The first day of sheltering in place, and she’ll already have to straighten the leg.
She collapses onto the concrete, sobbing and snotting. She wipes her eyes on her bandaged forearm, thinks better of it, and uselessly shakes her arm out as if it could dissipate the salty damp sooner.
The dirt-backed walls eat sound, the devastated world outside hidden distant and muted.
She could no more hold back the grief than she can believe she let him watch her.
“Go away?”
The legs of his chair scrape on the concrete. He passes her, shutting the door to the deeper bunker.
Laying in bed with John Seed :))) tracing over his tattoos and just staring at him so lovingly. Making sure he knows ur there and u adore him completely, just as he adores you
Rook woke up with a start, tumbling out of bed, sheets tangled around her legs.
Joseph had moved her— She must have fallen asleep after a while sitting in the darkness. There was light in this room, thin, silvery light coming through the window, and a faint greenish glow coming from the clock radio on the nightstand. The time read 3:56 am.
Wait.
Window?
She scrambled upright and ran to the window, the breath of cool night air coming in loosening the dread lodged in her ribs. There wasn’t even a hint of smoke on the breeze. She could hear crickets and frogs out there, the usual nighttime symphony that had sung her to sleep for weeks of sleeping on the ground.
She flicked on the light, and realized that she was back in her apartment above Mary May’s bar, the one she’d rented when she first came to town.
The mirror showed the same inconsistencies. The wrath tattoo on her chest was gone. The scars from bliss-tipped arrow wounds in her thighs, gone. The bullet scar in her arm, gone. The little scar on her forehead from the crash, the slice on her leg from falling off the statue, the burns, the bruises, the callouses on her hands, all gone.
“What the hell?” she murmured, casting around for something to tell her the date, and finding her phone lying on the tiny table next to the sink and counter that was just big enough for a kettle and a toaster.
August 20th.
A week before the day she arrested Joseph. She was supposed to start at the Sherrif’s department today.
Was it a dream?
She remembered every detail in vivid detail, but sometimes dreams were like that, right? Unless this was the dream.
She pinched her arm hard, and it hurt.
So not a dream. Which meant the other part was. Which was a hell of a relief, if she was being honest with herself. Just stress about the new job bubbled to the surface, probably.
Still, it unnerved her enough that she was wide awake, and not likely to get back to sleep, so she dug her rifle out and took it apart to clean, the smell of gun oil centring her, solidifying reality around her.
If it felt a little too comfortable in her hands, that was just a lingering effect from dreaming, wasn't it? Nothing to worry about.
That didn't eat up enough time, however, so she got dressed and went for a run after that, returning as the sky lightened so she could shower before work. The water pressure was abysmal, but Rook found herself basking in the feeling of a proper hot water shower, as if she'd actually gone weeks bathing in cold mountain streams. Funny, how a dream could make her more appreciative of the little things.
She ate some toast and drank some bad instant coffee while she got dressed. She'd been into the office Friday to pick up her uniform and sign some paperwork, and met a couple of her coworkers, Staci Pratt and Joey Hudson-- Obviously they'd taken a centre role in the dream because she hadn't met anyone else yet.
The rest of it though? Pure fabrication. Nothing to it.
She'd have to write it down, if she remembered in later. It would make compelling fiction, even if it was a far cry from what her job would really entail. She'd be handing out tickets and occasionally breaking up fights. In a place like this, serious crime was rare.
She walked over to the Sheriff's office, leaving her truck parked where it was, and got there fifteen minutes before seven, earning a look of approval from Whitehorse.
"Nice to see you've got a little initiative," he said, nodding for her to follow him into the break room while he made coffee. "Can't get Pratt in here till 7 on the dot."
"That who I'm workin' with today?" Rook asked. She was pretty sure she shadowed Hudson the first day in her dream. Not that she expected anything to play out the same way.
"Nah, Hudson today. She'll go easy on you. Your schedule'll be all over the place these first few weeks, I'll get you on every shift so you know what to expect, but you'll probably be workin' a lot of nights and weekends for a while. Nights are quiet, so you'll get acclimated."
"Yessir," Rook said. "Whatever needs done."
That earned her a little smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Hudson and her had a laugh when they realized how similar they looked-- Rook had braided her wet hair rather than put it up in a ponytail like usual, and since they both had long, dark hair and their sleeves rolled up, it was easy to imagine being mistaken for each other, at least from behind, even if Rook was a little taller.
"I feel like there's a prank we can pull on Pratt," Hudson mused. "I'm not sure what it is yet, but I'll think on it."
"Just let me know," Rook said. "I'm pretty sure I have to do whatever you tell me to do."
Hudson grinned at her. "That's right, you're our Rookie. Finally, I have seniority, and I will use these newfound powers for evil."
"No evil while you're on the clock, Joey," Whitehorse called from his office down the hall. "Save it for your days off."
"Yeah yeah. I'm taking Rook on a drive around town. Get her familiar with the lay of the land."
"Good idea. I'll radio you if anything comes up."
Rook followed Hudson out to the pickup marked with the department emblem parked along the side of the building. "You want to drive?" Hudson asked. "Or do you prefer to sit pretty and just listen and watch?"
"I can drive. If nothin' else, I'm familiar with windin' gravel roads."
Hudson tossed her the keys. "Yeah, Sherriff said you're from Colorado, originally? Probably feels a lot like home around here, 'less you're from the city. So long as you’re prepared for the winters."
"Feels a lot like home. It's funny, really. More arid, down where I grew up, but after doin' my tour in the desert, I don't mind a little cold weather."
"Forgot Earl said you're a vet."
"Yup. Just left a few months ago. Was just kinda floatin' between then and now, wasn't quite sure what to do with myself."
"Turn left here. Yeah I imagine it's not easy. Lotta vets around though. Eli'd probably let you join the Whitetails if you ask. He's got plenty of civilians, so he likes to pick up folks with a bit of experience.”
Rook nodded, her stomach sinking. Eli? The Whitetails? She shouldn’t have known about either. “Not a bad idea. That’s not a conflict of interests or anythin’?”
Hudson shook her head. “Ask Earl if you’re worried, but honestly, I figure if something happens and we’re not fightin’ on the same side as Eli Palmer, we’re on the wrong side.” She motioned for Rook to turn right.
The big YES on the hillside came into clear view as they headed north. “What’s that all about?” Rook asked, even though she already knew, in her gut, what the answer was.
“Oh, it’s that damn cult. The Project at Eden’s Gate.” Hudson’s opinion of them was already clear from her tone. “Peggies. Nothing but trouble. They act like hippies, but there’s plenty I don’t like about them. Some other folks agree— They’re probably gonna try and recruit you, so be wary. I know they’ve got a foothold in the department, but I don’t know who, or how much they’re involved. They literally have it written in their little book. Word of Joseph or whatever.”
“Not Whitehorse,” Rook said. “There’s no way.”
Hudson nodded. “I’d agree with you there. There’s a reason he hired you from outside. Knew you wouldn’t have any connection to these bozos.”
“I’ve never been one for religion anyhow. Never had any good answers for the questions I had.” Rook tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, already unnerved by how much looked familiar. She had to remind herself that she’d come from this way when she’d driven in from Missoula. “Whitetail Park’s across the bridge here, right? Lot of good trails?”
“Good trails everywhere. Good fishing and hunting in the county too, if you’re into that. Might be too late to get yourself a permit, but if you ask around at the Eagle some of those old guys might be willing to let you take theirs in exchange for some game.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I wouldn’t be able to do much with anythin’ anyhow, unless Mary May’s alright with me scrapin’ hides out behind the bar.”
Hudson snorted. “She’d probably let you tan hides in front of the bar. Bet it would draw customers in.”
“Oh, they make ‘em noseblind around here, do they?”
“It’s all the smoking. Plus you’re pretty, and men love watching a pretty girl sweat. Pigs, all of them.”
“Not all of them. Got to be a few good men in town.”
“All of ‘em are married. I’ve lived here all my life, and I promise you, every man that’s still single is single for a reason. Don’t date in town.”
“Not much risk of that. I don’t date.”
“You’re very wise, for your age.”
“Not on purpose, I assure you. I’d rather be stupid and happy.”
“Ha! Wouldn’t we all.”
Rook tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that grew as Hudson directed her around the county, pointing out landmarks and talking about people. She’d looked at the map of the county lots, she could have just filled in the blanks with what she knew of the mountains, but the names… Elkjaw Lodge and the Grandview Hotel, the big Cheeseburger looming over the FANG center, The Drubman Marina, complete with Adelaide watching her shirtless boyfriend wax the pink helicopter, the Peaches’ Taxidermy billboard and the mention of Mean Old Mabel. The statue of Joseph, looming over the county from the top of the hill.
They stopped for lunch at Aubry’s diner, just across the river from the Holland Valley. Hudson made a scornful noise at the soft choir music playing in the background. “Aubry’s taken up with the Peggies,” she whispered. “But she still makes the best rhubarb pie in the county, so we’re not writing her off just yet.”
Rook’s appetite dissolved when she recognized the young, dark-haired waitress humming along to the radio as a woman she’d shot in the head when she cleared out the outpost at US Auto. Her name tag read Sharon. A detail that hadn’t popped up in the dream. “Just a coffee for me, thanks,” she said hoarsely.
“You sure?” Hudson asked. “It’s on me, if you’re worried about money.”
“Oh, no, no it’s not that. Just uh. Not hungry.”
Hudson frowned, not really buying it. “Okay, but I don’t want to see you skipping meals, Rookie. You get much skinnier and you’re gonna blow away in a stiff breeze.”
“I’ve been told that before. S’why I wear heavy boots.”
Sharon came back with coffees and piece of pie. “It’s on the house,” she said with a smile, setting it in front of Rook. “Aubrey says you don’t look like you can miss a meal.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Least take a couple bites,” the matronly woman behind the counter said sternly. “And welcome to Hope County, Deputy.”
“If you get some free time, we’ve got a church group, and some of us get together Wednesday nights for choir practice. Would love to see you there,” Sharon said, sweet and earnest. “Good way to meet folks.”
“Oh, I probably don’t know the songs,” Rook said quickly.
“That’s okay. Some people just come out to listen. You don’t have to be part of the project to enjoy good music.”
“I’ll uh, think about it. Thanks.”
Sharon squeezed her shoulder and bounced along to the next table to check on them.
“So it begins,” Hudson said dryly. “Be careful, Rook.”
The first deviation. In the dream version of today, she’d ordered the same (delicious) sandwich as Hudson, and hardly paid attention to the waitress. She’d given them an opening by looking a bit haunted, where last time she’d just been a little quiet, still getting her footing.
It was just coincidence, though. Couldn’t be anything else.
