A/N: This will have a somewhat major character death in it.
Also, Bass and Charlie won't react as they do in the television program because they are in a different place than they are in the television program.
Bass and I walked along the path the wagon was supposed to take the night before. All traces of happiness from our budding relationship were temporarily gone, replaced with an almost manic drive to find Miles. If the cursory search along the path brought up nothing, we'd have to go back to camp. And though I was perfectly happy with Bass, with Miles gone I didn't know if I could deal with the judgmental looks of my mother. And my grandfather. Being around everyone else was fine because they were mercenaries – they honestly could not care less about our personal relationship as long as we came through when they needed it. But I couldn't decide if Miles being missing was good or bad. On the plus side, my mom wouldn't say anything because she wanted to find him so bad. On the down side, this meant Miles was gone. I guess I had been hoping that she would have been so angry at Miles for flubbing his big reveal to me that she wouldn't mind that I was now officially in a relationship with a man who had definitely held me as a baby. Which was kind of weird when I really thought about it, but he had been so many people since then that I didn't really care at all.
"Charlie." There was gruffness in Bass' voice that hadn't been there when we left the house this morning. My contemplation was broken; I realized that he had stopped a few paces behind where I now was. He was staring at me with a look that I can't quite describe. It was an intense need, a hallow hunger in his eyes. Without realizing I took the few steps that covered the distance between us. I slid my arms around his neck, holding him close. His arms circled my waist in what seemed almost like an automatic movement. I held him close for a couple seconds. "We'll find him Bass. He can't escape both of us." He squeezed me tighter for a moment before letting go. A sigh worked its way all the way through Bass, a movement that somehow took his entire body. The situation was starting to solidify itself in my mind, my focus fully shifting from Bass and me to Miles. Fear was starting to work through my body as Bass crouched, pointing to markings on the ground that I had missed earlier.
"There are footprints here, but I don't think they're Miles' boots." After a cursory glance I could tell that they weren't. During the point in my life after Danny died but before I left on the road I had memorized the shoe prints of every person that was important to me. "But I also don't think they're from any of Duncan's men," Bass continued, "and they're fresh which means someone is searching this way or they may know something…" He trailed off there, so I finished the thought for him. "So which way do you want?" He looked up at me standing above him before answering me. "Honestly, I don't think Miles would have gone this way. From what we were told, where he was lost should be a lot further from camp than this so I can't imagine that he's here. But I think we need to check this out." I nodded, making the decision for him. "Okay, I'll follow it. You go on ahead, meet back at camp high noon-ish?" He nodded before standing. As I moved to follow the trail he found Bass pulled me back into his arms, resting his head on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment. "Charlie, we're going to find him." I nodded against his chest, willing the tears welling in my eyes to disappear as the fear I was feeling for Miles, my father, continued to grow. We parted, both determined to find a man we both loved.
Carefully I picked my way along the dirt; the trail would be easy to follow even if I wasn't trained to do it. The familiarity of the boot prints was bugging me. I knew that I had seen them before, yet for some reason I couldn't figure out who they went to. They didn't belong to Miles. Or Aaron. Or Bass. Or my mother. And they definite weren't Nora's or Danny's. But they were someone's. Someone whom I should know. The landscape shifted into grasslands shortly after leaving the road, but the trail was still obvious. No care had been taken to hide it in any way. I suddenly realized why I couldn't recognize the boot print. They were my grandpa's. But he had repaired his boots using duct tape about a week earlier, obscuring part of the print. He wouldn't be out searching for Miles though. He and Miles didn't have what could be called a good relationship. So why was he out here?
I picked up the pace, pushing myself to go faster. Something was wrong. He should not be out here. I had just assumed he was somewhere back at camp. The trail took a sharp turn to the south, towards a small body of water. This wasn't right. Why would he go that way? Why wouldn't he obscure his trail at all? Everyone was supposed to do that and he knew better.
The sun had grown hot, beating down upon me as I rushed to find the end of the trail. I paused as the trail entered the trees near the edge of the pond… lake… water thing. The heat of the day was fended off by the water, cooled further by the shade within the trees. Most of this side of the water was covered in what could probably be described as an overgrown orchard, grown long before the power shut off. There was surprisingly little die-off even after the people that were caring for it were gone. Cautiously I moved onward, my pace slowed by the increased care I needed to take for my safety.
"This wasn't the deal we had," my grandpa's voice cut through the relative silence. "You can't do this. You promised." It sounded like there should be a conversation happening, yet only my grandpa was speaking. I caught sight of him through the trees. He appeared to be speaking to … nothing. He was gesturing wildly around and pointing at what I assume he thought were different people. The row of trees he was standing in, however, was empty but for him. "I need those meds. They could save everyone. I promised them that I'd save them." He was growing more and more agitated. Losing all semblance of trying to hide myself after coming to the conclusion that he was alone, I stood and walked to the edge of the row of trees closest to him.
As I came between two of what I think were hickory trees Grandpa collapsed. Just grabbed his stomach and keeled over. "You shot me. Why would you shoot me?" His voice was fading; I was suddenly kneeling beside him desperately trying to shake him from whatever trance he was in. This couldn't be real. There was no gunshot. No sound of impact. There was no way he was shot. But as I pried his hands from his midsection there was a wound. He was gushing blood and there was no way for me to save him.
"Grandpa." My voice was unrecognizable – frantic and alien to my ears. Over and over I chanted it until his eyes focused on me instead of whoever else he thought was here. He finally appeared to register my presence, something that I had to take full advantage of. "Grandpa who shot you?" He looked at me like he didn't understand the question. "Charlie. What are you doing here? What do you mean? Those patriots shot me. You have to run before they catch you too." He grew increasingly frantic as he registered the situation. By the end his blood slicked hands had left the gaping wound to grasp mine, urging me to go.
Confused and afraid I looked up from my grandpa, trying to find who he was talking about. "But Grandpa, there's no one else here." It was his turn to look confused. He was rapidly losing blood, he wouldn't live much longer. "Charlie what are you talking about they're right there," he said while gesturing to the air not five feet away, "you have to leave before they get you too." Again I looked, maybe to try and see if he was actually telling the truth. Yet again there stood no one. I looked down into his eyes. "Grandpa. No one is there." His head whipped to where he said the gunman was standing. "But… Charlie they were there a second ago. They must have run." I shook my head. "Grandpa, we are the only ones here." Sadness and fear rushed over his face. "Charlie…" His voice was weak. He was hanging on by a thread now. "Charlie something is happening. There were Patriots standing right there. They were going to give me the cure. Why couldn't you see them?" I shook my head, my arms going around my grandpa. I truly had no idea. How could he have died if it was just a psychotic break? There was no gunshot. "Why couldn't you see them?" Again he asked in a voice just above a whisper before the light slipped from his eyes. Sobs wracked through me. I held onto the dead body of my grandpa, crying. He shouldn't have died. Not right then anyways.
Eventually I was able to pull myself away. Again I was covered in the blood of someone I loved. If people could stop dying in my arms it would be amazing. Slowly I made my way back to the road and subsequently to camp. I wouldn't be able to carry Grandpa back by myself, so I would send some people to get his body.
As I came upon the edge of camp, the mercenary on guard, Vincent, rushed to me. "Charlie, are you okay?" There was desperation in the man's voice, probably something to do with Bass. "Physically, yes. I need you to take a few men and go collect my grandpa's body. I marked where the trial breaks from the main road with a shirt of mine on a stick. The trial is pretty easy to follow, and his body is in the orchard." Vincent's face had cycled from concern to nodding at me pityingly. As he left to go do what I had asked I stopped him once again. "Have they found Miles yet?"
"No. But you should change and eat something before going out again. There are enough people out looking for him to spare a half hour. When you get back you grandpa's body will be here." I nodded slowly at Vincent before making my way into one of the buildings on camp to change my clothing. Worry for Miles still ever present in my brain, I pushed aside the loss of my grandpa. I would grieve for him when I had time.
It took me about two minutes to find Connor. He was sulking by a fire close to the far side of camp. When I came up to him he gestured to a bowl of stew and some water for me. I sat and tried to eat, but didn't feel hungry. After a few bites I drained the glass of water and moved to stand. There was still daylight so I could still look for Miles. "Charlie." I paused and looked over at Connor. "I'm sorry about Gene. He was a good guy." I nodded, fighting back tears. "If my mother gets back before… Can you tell her?" I just couldn't. I couldn't face her with that news. Connor looked down before nodding. "I hope you find Miles Charlie." Again I nodded before grabbing my knife from the top of my pack and heading out along the road yet again, this time alone with sorrow filling my heart.
A/N: I wanted to talk over the choice I made to kill Gene. I know as viewers we're supposed to separate actors from the characters they play, but I cannot in good conscience write with him based on his alleged history of sexual abuse. I could not put Gene into the story without Stephen's terrible acts coloring how I wrote him. And since abuse is not something that I feel I can handle in an appropriate way, I made what I feel was the best choice for the story. That being said, I tried to send him off in a way that did right by the character as opposed to fully condemning the character because of things the actor has done. (NOTE – I said alleged because the investigation is ongoing, though I whole heartedly believe his victims.)