@eli-whitetail
The Judge. Nick’s girl had told him that was the name used by the masked and silent Gun from Eden. The Father’s shadow. The one person Jacob didn’t mind moving between the two settlements because the Judge didn’t pay the animosities between Prosperity and New Eden any notice.
It had taken him a long while. Weeks bleeding into months as he visited Roughneck’s Crag and sat atop its low roof with Sharky and Jerome, catching up on years of missed talks. Beer shared between them and the Judge always there, silent as ever.
The Judge was always the last one there, beer untouched. And Eli would always thank the mysterious figure for the company and listening to him as he stood and headed back to Prosperity for the night. But one day something struck Eli. Maybe it was the hint of a laugh coming from beneath the Judge’s mask; some wise-crack he was retelling about Cheeseburger and some of the Whitetails. He knew that laugh.
So he waited and watched and listened until some foolish hope in him was sure. He was excited, scared and utterly heartbroken for her all in one terrible flood of emotions. The next time Eli sat beside the Judge and noticed that her beer was untouched for the umpteenth time, he looked out at the setting sun and sighed. “Judge … I thought you once told me you didn’t have a nickname, Sam.”
The Judge was careful in all that she did. Very few even knew how to refer to her. Him, her, it. Most settled on ‘that thing’ from Prosperity while those from New Eden deferred to the title that was given to her by Joseph. A title that she hadn’t asked for, but he felt she needed given there was no name to otherwise call her own once they stepped out from the bunker. Samantha Creed had died in those concrete walls. Somewhere, in the midst of those seven years she had finally shaken herself free of all that clung to her from her past.
Or so she told herself.
At night she still saw the faces of those she let down, of those she killed. She may not go by Rook anymore or Creed, but the mistakes of her past haunted her. Joseph could forgive, but she could not. It was easy to slip into the persona of a nameless, faceless asset. That was essentially her role before the Collapse. Only everyone knew her face, and considered her the hero of their resistance. If they knew who she was now . . . no, it was for the best. The Judge became a silent observer, intent on never taking up a cause and leading it as she did before. All that followed her, was hell after all, and she’d learned her lesson the first time.
Now and then Joseph would look to her, head tilted as though he wanted to hear her opinion on something. Only for him would she give a shrug of a shoulder or shake of the head. Never would she fully commit for fear of tainting his judgment. While she may be the Judge, it was only for her to act out on the judgement of the Father’s –– not to make that decision for herself. When Joseph went north, leaving her behind to look after the flock, after Ethan, she was lost once more. It was a de-facto leadership role in that she had to keep Ethan in check without taking the place he so desperately craved. Guiding without leading. Controlling without letting him realize. She hated it. Despite her reservations, she did what she could, and when they came, with the book in hand, her heart had nearly broken.
Someone else to be taken in by fate and left to twist in the wind. The Judge knew what awaited them, the apple, the power. It was something she’d already tasted for herself, but she was careful to never use the gift. She didn’t trust herself.
The newcomer returned with Joseph and she felt some peace when he touched her shoulder, only for it to shatter when he so carelessly tossed her to another. Now she was to follow their judgment instead of Joseph’s. So she did as she was instructed, but whenever she wasn’t needed, the Judge didn’t return to New Eden. No, she went to the camp she’d made a short distance outside the gated community, and would spend her time there, alone. A bit like a petulant child, but she was tired. Eventually she was invited to the Crag, to spend time with the others, and after Carmina vouched for her, she was allowed into Prosperity.
Seeing Nick and Kim had nearly ruined her cover, composure broken as she inhaled sharply and took a step forward to greet her old friends before she stopped short. Their lives were not hers to indulge in. She’d closed and locked that door years ago when she chose Joseph over them. The Judge retreated further into her shell and lingered beside the garage where she could hear and sometimes watch Nick work. It was horrible. It hurt to see him, and not be able to speak with him, but she figured this sort of suffering was deserved.
John would’ve been giddy at her acceptance of his ways. Only through an ocean of pain . . .
More and more people gathered at Prosperity. Mostly unfamiliar faces, but too many that she recognized. Grace was blind, and the Judge couldn’t imagine the sniper unable to line up her shots as she once did. The sound in her throat when she first saw the other woman was loud enough to catch her attention. When Grace realized it was the Judge, she’d scoffed and dismissed her. The Judge didn’t approach her a second time.
Sharky had matured in some ways and stayed the same in so many more. He was wary of her, but would talk at the Judge as though she were an ally. Hurk too couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut, nervously saying whatever was on his mind. The mask seemed to freak him out.
It was so strange to see their new lives here, and how she’d once envisioned a future where Hope County would be much the same as it was before, and she’d maybe have been promoted by then. Still spending time with them at the Spread Eagle. That sort of bittersweet daydreaming only made the present hurt all the worse, which was good. No amount of suffering could ever undo what she’d done, but it was a start.
When the Judge was summoned to Prosperity, she went, arriving on foot, silent and making the guards jump. They opened the door for her and she took one step before freezing. Carmina was talking to someone she didn’t recognize. When he turned around, she was –– well, if she weren’t mute already, she would’ve been struck mute then. Eli Palmer. In the flesh. Alive and well. The Judge’s heart began to beat faster, pounding in her chest until she could barely hear her own thoughts over the rapid thudding. She turned and left, mind reeling with the revelation of what she’d seen. It was always horribly good to see those who survived and were alive from before, but this was different.
He was different.
How could she have not known? Did Joseph know? The others? Had they kept this from her on purpose? The Judge retreats from them, to her home in the woods and stays there for a few days while she gathers her thoughts. Eventually she reemerges at the Crag, to jokes and concerned looks from the others who work alongside the Chief of Security. True to form, she says nothing.
When Eli arrives at their gathering place, she is better prepared for it. Her and Carmina are in the middle of playing a board game –– one in which she’s destroying her godchild at. Both look up and introductions are made officially between the Judge and Eli. She doesn’t say anything, which is laughed off by Hurk as he explains the silent brooding type, “You know.” Being around him is as difficult as it is to linger outside Nick’s shop or hideout on the watchtower within earshot of Sharky, but she does it anyway. The time spent with friends, even if they have no idea who she is, gives her a sick sense of inclusion. Of belonging. She doesn’t deserve that, but she takes it anyway. As selfish now as she was then.
He seems more talkative than he used to be, or perhaps more laid back. She has a hard time remembering anything good from all those years ago, but maybe the world ending had that effect on him. Never does she approach him, but she will nod or give a half-hearted grunt when he speaks to her. Eli doesn’t ask questions, and is none the wiser, speaking at her and reminiscing without realizing how much she too remembers. She was there. The Judge worries about giving herself away around him. It’s too easy to let her guard down.
Her fears seem unfounded until one day he approaches her and takes a seat beside her. She tries to maintain a height advantage, always on the top floor or in a tree so she has a clear line of sight with the bow. A weapon she had no skillset in until Eli had come along. Her feet dangle over the edge of the second floor landing, able to see the north west and south sides from this vantage point.
Slowly she tilts her head, gazing at him through the eyeholes of the mask. It’s an inquisitive gesture, paired with her waiting for him to break the silence because she won’t.
“Judge . . . I thought you once told me you didn’t have a nickname, Sam.”
Everything seems to freeze around her. The wind stills, leaves no longer rustling. Distant birdcalls are now silent. Time stops. Sam slowly looks away from him, leaning forward until her chest touches the top of her thighs and she breathes out a distorted gasping sound. With that exhale, she hears the birdsong in the trees once more. It was stupid of her to think that Eli wouldn’t recognize her. That he wouldn’t realize who she was and put the pieces together.
She straightens up and turns towards him, wishing she could say something, anything. Even if she knew what to say she couldn’t. There’s a vice around her throat, emotion tightening it down further. She reaches out, hand hovering above his knee, but unable to commit to actually touching him. It’s not a right she feels has been given, and so she snatches her hand back and shifts away from him –– towards the setting sun. She feels numb, chest hollow and carved out. Sam shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line beneath the mask.
“Title.” The one word is like sandpaper on gravel. Raspy, and more grating than anything, but that’s what happens when you scream yourself hoarse for years in a bunker and then stop speaking altogether for even longer after that.
