Bass and Miles had finally gotten word that the Mathesons are hiding in a village just outside of Chicago. They'd mounted their horses, selected five of their most trusted soldiers, and personally went to get them.
The warrant for Ben has been out for four years now, since they started the Republic and got the man-power needed to manually search every town in the neighbourhood of the former Matheson residence. Bass is focused on finding Ben, but Miles knows better. He knows Rachel better.
The oldest female Matheson has until tomorrow to meet them here, as instructed by the letter he sent ahead. It's her or Ben. They'll stop hunting the others, her children, down if she turns herself in.
The group of seven quickly and professionally set up camp by the river, maybe half an hour away from their destination. They've travelled non-stop for days, and they want to be rested for any unpleasant surprises the visit might bring, considering who they're up against.
Miles and Bass walk away from the tents, following the river to get closer to the town and further away from prying ears. Their purpose is still hidden from their soldiers, who simply think they'll be reuniting with long-lost family. Ben's involvement in the Blackout is a major secret, and they intend to keep it that way.
They're quietly discussing the 'what if's', should they get the power back. Georgia is snapping at their heels, their collected assortment of war machines greater in numbers, though fewer people familiar with how to use them.
In the new world, somebody will have to lead. Democracy hadn't worked, had tumbled humanity as a species into a down-ward spiral with no end in sight. Now, the smartest, the healthiest, the strongest have survived, evolution doing its work when nobody asked for it.
Bass stops half-way through his sentence about a way to localise the return of electricity to their Republic when they hear the sobs. The sound is muffled and distant, but the generals are nothing if not vigilant. They draw their swords and approach the noise.
These days cries in the middle of the forest are usually people being attacked, and it's not hard to tell that their possible victim is female, which almost certainly makes her attackers male. The strange thing is that assailants aren't usually quiet, which makes them extra weary.
Bass and Miles find a twelve-year-old girl crying by the river, her arms wrapped around her knees. There's nobody in the vicinity, and the closest town is the one they will be going to tomorrow, at least an hour's walk with her tiny legs.
Using a little girl as bait seems a little excessive, but Miles remains alert as Bass sheaths his blades. The sound of metal dragging across leather is enough to make the child look up, her vision impaired by tears.
She rubs her fists across her eyes, staring at the imposing man in a Monroe Militia uniform. She doesn't even see Miles yet, Bass blocking her vision of the second general. "Who are you?" she asks like he hasn't found her crying. She's defiant and hides every traces of her weakness she can, her red and puffy eyes almost unnoticeable as she glares at the president.
"I'm general Monroe," he says, looking imposing and every bit the leader he is. Seeing that she is not impressed, her derisive snort clearly audible, he crouches down to her height, where she is leaning on one knee, ready to run off at any moment. He sees the glint of metal in her hand just in time.
He grabs her wrist, still careful not to hurt her when she is just a child, and presses down with his thumb, her fingers spreading out and the knife dropping to the ground. He lets go and she shakes her wrist to relieve the pain of her pressure point, considering hitting mister haughty general in the face while she's at it.
"Almost killed by a ten-year-old," Miles laughs, "Shame on you, Bass."
The girl startles and stands up fully, looking at the other man, her actual age and an insult on her tongue, when she suddenly smiles brighter than anything either general has ever seen and sprints to Miles.
"Uncle Miles," she exclaims loudly, wrapping her arms around his waist, only barely avoiding the sharp edge of the sword. The man in question lets his weapon clatter to the ground and frowns before understanding dawns on his features.
"Charlie?" he half asks, hesitantly embracing the little girl who has to be his niece. He almost can't understand how he missed the resemblance in the first place, knowing that she had to be around here somewhere with Ben and Rachel.
Charlie nods into his chest, arms tightening. Miles has one hand on her back, the other stroking her hair. She practically purrs against his chest, and he can't believe she's here, that she's real.
"Charlotte Matheson," Bass speaks from just a foot away, unable to believe his own eyes. The disbelieve is clear in his voice, and Miles' niece turns around in his arms, entwined hands keeping him close, as she sneers at the president. "My name is Charlie," she enunciates clearly, dangerous like a kitten.
"Definitely your niece, Miles," Bass grins. Little Charlotte might be a kitten now, but in a few years, under the right circumstances, she'll be the fiercest lioness he has or will ever come across. Charlie seems to take the words as a compliment, straining her neck to look up and backwards with bright blue eyes.
"I've missed you," she admits, finally stepping away and facing both generals. She's holding one of Miles' hands between her own, sincerity dripping from every word. Rachel and Ben have been so focused on Danny lately, that she has been left on her own much more. They moved again just a month ago, running from something her parents refuse to explain, and it is nice to finally see a familiar face again.
"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" Miles asks gently, basking in the warmth of her hands. His free one feels freezing in comparison, so he hides it away in the woolen material of his uniform coat pocket.
"Mom and I had a fight," she shrugs, like it is an every-day occurrence. Something about the way she says it makes it clear that she and Rachel argue often.
"About what?" Bass injects himself into the conversation, fascinated by this little spitfire of a girl. She looks at him again for the first time since she spotted Miles. Knowing that he is her uncle's friend immediately warms her up to general Monroe.
"We are moving again," she says. Charlie knows it's a secret, but surely she can tell her uncle. He's family after all. "It's not like I want to stay here of all places, but this is the third time this year!" she rants, glad to finally have somebody that listens to her. "I hate them," she murmurs, arms crossing and lower lip sticking out in a pout.
"You don't mean that," Miles is quick to rebuke, even though he has no way of knowing.
"I do," she protests, stomping her foot on the ground. It looks childish, but she sounds a lot more serious than any pre-teen has a right to be. "Everything is always about Danny. Mom ignores me all the time, and dad locks himself in his room and doesn't come out ever."
Miles, more familiar with the family dynamics than he should be, can see what she described clear as day. Ben would be laden with guilt, unable to face his wife and children with the knowledge of the many deaths on his conscience. His marriage to Rachel, mostly because of Miles, has been falling apart for over a decade, and of course she would put her complete focus on only one child, her obsessive and semi-sociopathic nature not allowing room to love a second one.
Today, she hates her brother, is jealous of him and neglected because of him. If she manages to survive just a few more years, her protective nature, the only family trait to be proud of, will make her the best guardian angel Danny could ever hope to have.
The generals exchange a glance. "You could come and stay with me for a while," Miles offers to his own surprise. "I live in Philly, have done so for a few years now. " It's emotion getting the better of him, but Bass doesn't protest.
The president knows that if they take Charlie, her parents have no choice but to come and get her. They'll have home-field advantage and enough soldiers to keep everybody alive. There's a lower possibility of casualties, and Miles might even convince his family to stay. It's a fantasy, but a good one. Kidnapping Miles' willing niece is hardly the worst crime in the world today.
"You mean that?" Charlie asks with her eyes wide, looking back and forth. She subconsciously gets that she needs the permission of both of them to make this slowly forming dream into reality.
"Yes," the generals say in unison.