A/N: This is for thegoodshipcharloe's Cornicopia/Pornicopia challenge. There will be three or four chapters. The porn comes later.


It is a chilly spring morning when the tornado the locals will later call "Bloody Mary", rips through Willoughby. It is sheer luck that Charlie and Bass are not there when it happens. They had drawn the short straws when it was time for a much needed supply run, and are maybe ten miles out, their wagon loaded down with boxes and barrels, when the storm clouds begin to gather.

"Should we find a place? Take cover?" Charlie asks, eyeing the dark clouds warily.

"No. Let's just go home." Bass is tense. Ever since the Tower, thunderstorms, and lightening in particular, put him on edge.

They keep going and as the rain begins to fall heavily, they pull an old tarp up over the wagon seat to keep them somewhat dry. Charlie glances at Monroe again. His jaw is set in a firm line and he isn't talking much. His knuckles are white with the force of his grip on the horses' reigns, and his breathing is shallow.

Charlie bites back all the things she wants to say. No need to poke a hornet's nest.

She stews silently for half a mile. She doesn't like this weather either, but clearly Monroe isn't interested in finding a place to wait it out, and she thinks that is a bad idea. She looks around. The sky in the distance is black. Clouds swirl angrily. The breeze takes on a decided bite. Cold rain beats down on their tarp and exposed skin.

This makes her think of the summer storms back in Wisconsin. Some of them had been brutal. She shivers at the memory. Bass shrugs out of his leather jacket and hands it to her. "Here. Wear this."

She doesn't argue. The rain is coming down hard. Visibility is low. Then, suddenly the rain stops. The clouds still swirl angrily and the air has a green tint to it. Charlie sits up straight and places a wary hand on Monroe's forearm. "We have to find cover NOW."

Maybe it is the tone of her voice. Maybe it is the sudden skittishness of the horses. Whatever changes his mind is irrelevant. He pulls sharply at the reigns, guiding the wagon into a grove of oak trees. In the distance they can hear a howling that sets Charlie's teeth on edge.

"Where do we go?" Bass asks. He is trying to put on a brave face, but Charlie can see raw fear under the surface.

"That bridge we just passed. It's an old steel one. Should stand up as good as anything." Charlie looks around the wagon. "Do we have rope?"

"Not much." Bass says, holding up a coil of it from where it's been stored under the seat. He's going to say more but Charlie is already in motion. She takes her knife and slices the long leather reigns from the horse's bridle. Then she unhitches the horses and smacks their haunches. The frightened animals run off into the howling wind.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Bass asks her.

"Shut up and follow me."

For once, the General does exactly as he is told. They run to the bridge and crawl under. Making their way through years of accumulated debris and undergrowth; it takes a minute to get to the center. There is a steel beam that supports the bridge and Charlie motions toward it. "Wrap your arms around."

He does as she asks. She takes the rope and wraps it around his body and the pole twice before knotting it firmly and moving in to wrap her arms around the other side of the beam. He understands and uses the leather reins to tie her to the beam as well.

All around them, the wind screams like an oncoming freight train. Instinctively, they wrap their arms around each other as best they can around the steel support, praying the ropes and leather straps will hold them in place.

Charlie feels her feet lift from the ground as the storm sucks at their bodies. Bass feels it too and he wraps his strong legs around her as best he can to help hold her in place. Charlie's hair whips around their heads and something slams into them from the side. Later, they will realize it is the rusty hood from an old Cadillac.

Although dazed and bruised from the hit, that piece of metal probably saves their lives. The next thing that flies under the bridge is a series of fence posts. They all bang off the Caddy hood, jarring Charlie and Bass, but not hurting them.

And then it is over.

The howling wind is gone and the sun peeks out.

"Holy shit," Bass whispers. "That was –"

"Yeah," Charlie agrees, letting out a deep breath. "Now, we have to get out of here and find Miles and my Mom and Grandpa."

"And Connor."

"Of course." Charlie nods absently as she begins to untie them from the pole.

Connor has been back for a few months. After his disappearing act almost a year before, everyone (including Bass) had given Connor up for dead. When he'd shown back up unexpectedly, he was different. One of the few survivors from Bradbury, Idaho; he will only say that the Nano isn't going to be a problem for anyone anymore.

Aaron and Priscilla had moved back to Wisconsin after the Patriot war had ended. Monroe sticks around for Miles. He and Rachel stay as far from each other as possible. Charlie is neutral in all their fights and somehow serves as the glue in their small (and highly dysfunctional) 'family'.

Bass and Charlie make their way out from under the bridge and stare in terrified awe. Everywhere they look, trees are toppled. An old rusty windmill is smashed into the road where they'd been riding not long before. A farmhouse on top of a nearby hill looks all wrong. "What's that on top of the house?" Charlie asks.

Bass sighs. "Pretty sure that's our wagon. Guess it was good to cut the horses loose."

The rest of their journey should only take three hours, but because of the debris and fallen trees, their pace is much slower than usual. Charlie and Bass reach Willoughby (or what is left of it) just after mid-day.

Buildings have been reduced to rubble. Some are simply missing. The clock tower has fallen onto the old library. Bodies of people and animals are seen here and there. A few survivors wander about, covered in grime and blood; they looked dazed. The once sleepy little town is now chaos wrapped in eerie silence. One thing is clear. Willoughby will never be the same again.

As Charlie and Bass get closer to Gene's road, they both feel a welling panic. Without thinking it through, she reaches for his hand as they round the last curve. He squeezes hard when they see it at the same time.

Her Grandpa's house is gone. In its place, there is a ragged pile of debris.

"No." Charlie's anguished whisper sends chills down Bass's spine.

"Maybe… Maybe they're okay –"He doesn't sound very convinced and his face is pale.

Charlie pulls her hand from his and begins to run, vaulting over a dead horse and around a rusted out Harley Davidson that is sitting in the middle of the street, wheels up, spinning in the breeze. Bass breaks into a run himself, following her, keeping an eye out.

"Miles!" he yells, eyes wild.

"Mom? Grandpa?" Charlie's voice is cracking with desperation.

"Connor! Miles! Rachel!" Bass is feeling it too. As they get closer to what is left of the Porter house, they are both overcome with dread. Piles of boards and bits of cracked glass litter the yard. Where the house itself had once stood, there is now a pile of rubble that is almost twelve feet tall.

Twice Bass uses trees as landmarks to ensure this is even the right place. Nothing has been left untouched. Nothing is as it should be. Everything they ever knew in this place is mangled and broken.

They dig for hours. After a while, they stop yelling out names, and then they stop talking altogether. They dig through piles of rubble that had once been a home. Surprisingly, there is very little that they can salvage. Charlie finds a tattered photo album and some silver spoons. Bass finds a wool blanket and a small box of candles. They start a small pathetic pile of these things that are all that remain of this family home.

They keep digging.

Gene's body is the first they recover. Charlie's shoulders are racked with exhausted sobs as she cries over his broken form. Bass digs a hole at the top of a hill behind where the house had once stood. An hour later he digs another grave. This one is for Rachel. Charlie is unable to shed any more tears. Bass worries that she is in shock.

She continues to dig in the pile.

He suggests they rest for a while.

"Gotta find Miles." Charlie's voice is hollow. "And Connor." This last bit is almost an afterthought, but Bass doesn't say anything. He only nods.

They dig until their fingers are bloody and their bodies are aching and the sun is gone. By then, the search has become more dangerous than it is helpful, and they both need rest.

Bass collects some water from a nearby well. They drink their fill. Neither can eat. Bass gives her the old wool blanket he'd found earlier. Charlie takes it to the top of the hill and lays it between the fresh graves of her mother and grandfather. Bass leans against a nearby tree, watching as she settles between the two piles of dirt. He watches her with haunted eyes until they grow far too heavy to watch anything at all.

Neither sleep well, but they do sleep.


They are still filthy and exhausted from the day before when they head back to the pile the next morning. The sun shines brightly. The air is cool and the birds are singing. The birdsong makes Bass's skin crawl. How can anything be so happy when the world around them is so utterly destroyed? He is reminded of those first awful days after the blackout. The singing birds had bothered him then too.

Charlie and Bass don't talk much. They wrap their torn and swollen hands with rags and they start digging where they'd left off the night before. They are thorough as they sift through broken boards and shattered plaster. Hours pass, but they find nothing that offers even a glimmer of hope.

They continue to dig.

"We gotta take a break," Bass says after another hour.

"Can't," she answers without looking up. "Miles could be in here. Still need to dig through the north end of the pile."

"Charlie." Bass steps closer. His eyes are bloodshot and he's covered with dirt. "Charlie. Look at me."

She looks. Her blue eyes are just as red rimmed as his. She is just as filthy. "What?"

"If Miles or Connor are still in there, it's too late now. They're gone."

She shakes her head with little jerks.

"You know I'm right. We can walk into town. Talk to some of the survivors. Maybe they weren't here at the house when the twister tore through. Maybe they were at the bar or something. Maybe someone saw one of them."

"You don't understand." She won't meet his eyes.

"Oh? What don't I understand?" Bass sounds weary.

Charlie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "They're all dead. Miles is all I have left. He's it. Without him, I'm alone." Her voice comes and goes in spurts. She is doing her best not to break apart.

Bass throws down his shovel with far more force than is necessary. "Yeah, you're right, Charlotte. What would I know about losing everyone?" He runs a hand through his hair, not even noticing the streak of his own blood he leaves behind on his cheek. "I'm going into town. I'll let you know if I find anything."

Charlie watches him walk away. Of course Monroe knows what she's going through. He's probably the only one who does. It doesn't matter. All that matters is finding Miles. She moves to the north end of the pile and begins to dig once more.

Bass has only been gone for ten minutes when Charlie pushes aside a broken rafter and sees something that makes her heartbeat stutter. Tears well and she chokes back a sob as she reaches for the thing that is wedged under the edge of a chunk of wall. Something that looks a lot like a boot.


Bass doesn't talk to anyone who remembers seeing Miles or Connor but there are rumors of at least three different wagons full of injured people leaving town within a few hours of the storm passing through. Bass is skeptical of most of the stories because they are all different. Some say that one wagon had been headed to the little hospital in nearby Arnette. Another was maybe headed to Austen. The existence of a third is speculated upon, but its destination is unknown.

He talks to every person he can find, but gives up after two hours. Nobody knows anything that can truly help. Most of the survivors are looking for missing loved ones of their own and don't have any more information for him than he has for them.

Bass stops to help an old man who is burying his wife. In return the man pays Bass with a stale loaf of bread and four apples. Bass takes the food gratefully, but heads back to Charlie with a heavy heart. His boots crunch on broken glass as he rounds the final curve and 'the pile' comes into view. He scans the rubble and feels a lurch of dread when he doesn't see her. His pace quickens.

Movement up on hill catches his eye. She's kneeling between the fresh mounds of dirt. At first, Bass thinks she's taking a break to visit the graves.

He stops short when he sees that she's patting a fresh pile of dirt between the first two. "Oh no," he breathes out, before breaking into a run. He reaches her side in seconds, dropping the food onto the grass at his feet. Whatever she's buried isn't big enough to be a body. The fresh pile of earth is no bigger than a small suitcase. Confusion swirls, mixing with the dread. "Charlie? What is that?"

She looks up at him through hanging strands of greasy curls and her eyes are wet, which he expects. It is the grin that surprises and terrifies him. "He's okay," she says. Her voice is shaky.

Bass takes a step back, unsure. "What are you talking about? Who is okay and what is that?" he points at the small mound of dirt.

She uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose and nods toward the pile. "A boot." Her smile is still wide and it does not waver.

A shiver slides down his spine. "A boot?" Bass worries suddenly for her sanity. Maybe she's finally lost too much. Rachel and Gene had been bad enough. Now Miles? Connor? Whoever she thinks she's lost now – this may have been the final straw. "Charlotte, who's boot is that?" he asks, his voice growing louder.

"Miles. It's Miles's boot. I'd know it anywhere." She stands, wiping her palms on the thighs of her already filthy jeans.

Bass's heart falls. "I don't understand."

"I found him. I found Miles. He's okay." She's still smiling and it's making Bass's hair stand on end.

"Charlie?" Bass puts his hand on her shoulder. His eyes narrow as he tries to figure out what's going on.

She looks up at him with bright eyes and a hopeful smile. "Yeah?"

"What the hell are you talking about? What's all this about a boot?"

"Miles. I found him. Well, I found part of him."

Now he's positive. Rachel's crazy genes have finally trickled down to Charlie and she's gone insane while he was in town. "What do you mean, Charlie? PART of him?"

"Found his boot."

"And you buried his boot?" Bass tries to imagine how he can take care of her if she's gone off the deep end. Maybe he can get help in Austen? There might be a mental hospital there.

"Well, his foot was still inside." She grimaces a little but then the smile is back. "It was jammed under a wall that had fallen. He must have been stuck."

"His foot? You found his foot and you're happy?" Bass is appalled at the implication of what this means. He feels a wave of nausea rush over him as grief sinks into his gut. "Miles is dead?"

Charlie reaches out and presses her hands against his chest. "No. You don't understand. He's not dead. He's okay."

Bass's eyes are wet and his hand is shaking as he runs it along his jaw. "Okay? How is he okay?"

Charlie steps away from him and walks back to where an old shovel is still wedged in the dirt. " I also found this." She holds up a rusty hack saw, the blade of which is covered in dried blood. "And this." Charlie hands him a splintered chunk of siding. It was white once, long ago. Now it is speckled with moss and chipped paint.

He takes the siding from her and takes a deep breath. He needs to get a grip. Missing Connor, Dead Miles and Crazy Charlie? This is almost more than he can take.

"Turn it over."

He turns the chunk of siding over and his heartbeat thunders in his chest. "Shit," he says as hope surges through the fear and grief.

On the board in what he wishes is brown paint, but he knows is actually blood; is written a message. "All ok. Will be back. M". It is the M that he can't tear his eyes from. It is the M of the Monroe Republic insignia. It is the way he and Miles signed all their notes to each other when they were kids.

"He's alive?"

"Yeah, he's alive – just, you know, missing a foot."

Bass stares at the hacksaw and swallows hard. "Sweet Jesus. You think he had to…?"

She nods. "Unless he had help."

Bass's head jerks up and his eyes meet hers. "Wait. Does this say "We'll" or "Will"?"

"Not sure. It's too smeared."

"So Connor could be with him?"

"Yeah." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "Has to be with him. Not like he's going anywhere without help." She pats the pile of dirt lightly with her boot. "Where do you think they went? Maybe we should head out in the morning and find them?"

Bass shakes his head. "Some of the people in town say there were a few wagons that left loaded with injured people, but nobody I talked to knew where any of the wagons were headed. We might end up going in totally the wrong direction and miss them when they come back."

"So, we just wait here?"

"Well, yeah." He nods toward dark clouds rolling in. "But we need somewhere with a roof. Looks like it's going to storm again." There are enough boards and other building supplies left." He looks around the pile dubiously. "I think we can build a shelter of some kind. Won't be perfect, but it will probably work."

Charlie shakes her head, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "No. I think I know a place we can use that won't require a lot of work. We'll just have to find it."

Bass is also feeling the effects of the physical and emotional stress of the last couple of days. Unlike Charlie, he is not completely optimistic of their chances of ever finding their missing loved ones again, but he'll be supportive and hope for the best. He knows what she's going through and it's not easy. If Miles is alive and comes back, he'll want Charlie to be safe. If Miles isn't alive, Charlie will need every friendly face she can find.

Truth is, Bass will need a friendly face too.

Are they friends? Bass isn't sure. He doesn't think they are enemies anymore, which is a start. Until they find out for sure about Miles, Bass will stick close to her. Charlie has a habit of getting into trouble and Bass knows that Miles will kill him if anything happens to her.

He nods at Charlie. "Sounds good. Let's get the things we can save and find this place you know. Hopefully it hasn't blown over in the storm."

She smiles a little, but it's a sad smile. "Nah. Nothing would blow down the place I'm taking us to." Charlie collects the blanket, the food and the old photo album. Bass carries the box of candles, the siding with Miles's note, the shovel and the hacksaw and he follows.

As they walk along, Bass looks at the saw and shovel and shakes his head, remembering all they'd left behind in the wagon that is no more. "Sure wish I had my swords."

"Yeah, I miss my bow. Hunting is going to be a bitch with just a knife."

"We'll figure something out, Charlie. I'll go back to town tomorrow and find some proper weapons."

She nods. "Sounds good. We're almost there."

Gene and Charlotte Porter had built their house in 1964. They had selected a lot on the very outer boundary of Willoughby. Softly rolling hills framed the property on two sides. The front of the house had faced the town. Winding through the hills behind the house was a creek.

Bass follows Charlie along the sandy creek bed. They are out of sight of the Porter property, but have not traveled far when Charlie slows. "It's along here somewhere, I think."

"What is it we're looking for, exactly?"

The hill on their left is steep, rocky and covered with soft green vines. Charlie holds a hand out, touching the stones as they walk along. "We're looking for the old Otis."

This means nothing to Bass. "What the hell is the old Otis?"

"The Otis was a silver mine in the 1890s. Before it was closed, there was a robbery and a shoot out and Grandpa always told me that it was haunted. He was probably just trying to keep me from exploring." For the first time since they'd first found Gene's body, Charlie is sounding more like herself.

"And I'm guessing it didn't stop you at all?"

"Nope. I stayed down here for a week each summer before the blackout. I was little, but they let me wander around some. I loved coming here. I would fish with Grandma's old pole or go swimming. I brought picnic lunches and sat in the house part of the cave that led to the mine."

"The house part? What does that mean?"

"The entry to the mine was like a room. It was a great hiding place. The air was cool and the floor was flat stone. I never went into the mine itself. I always figured it might cave in, but I loved that room."

"So where is it?" Bass is enjoying her story but he's exhausted and worried and more than ready to just pass out. A soft rain begins to fall and he groans. "Come on Charlie. Are you sure this is the right place?"

"I thought so, but it's been a while –" She stumbles as her hand falls through the vines into an opening in the wall. "A-ha! Here it is."

They move the vines aside just enough to walk into the opening and out of the rain which is now coming down much harder. Bass lights a candle and shines it around the space. "Hey Charlie?"

"Yeah?" She walks up behind him to see what he's seeing.

"Looks like someone else already lives here."

The dark is inky black, but the candle light shimmers off the uneven cave walls. The floor is firm and smooth under their feet. The cave smells earthy and damp. The air is cool. Everything about Charlie's house room feels like a cave. Everything except for the furniture.

"What the hell?" Charlie asks as a smile slowly grows across her face.

In the center of the room stands a rough hewn wooden table and a single straight back chair. A rusty baker's rack leans against one wall. On its shelves are dusty jars of pickles, cans of coffee and some mismatched dishes. Along the opposite wall is the best surprise of all.

"Is that a bed?" Bass asks, his every fiber aching with exhaustion.

"Yeah," Charlie says reverently. "A bed."

Bass takes a few steps closer to the bed and then turns, holding the candle so that she can see his face. "So, we have one problem," he says.

"Oh, what's that?"

Bass tilts his head toward the bed and smirks. "The last tenant hasn't moved out, Charlie. We're gonna have to evict him." He shrugs. "Or her. I really can't tell."

Charlie pushes past Monroe to see for herself. "Oh." She grimaces down at the bed and it's skeletal occupant. "Yeah, that's gotta go."


A/N More coming soon! Next up from me will be the final chap of Two Roads. Please leave a comment here if you have a moment. -Lemon