Chapter 2: A Pact

Without taking the main roads, Christian predicts it will take a day or two to the next settlement. Although walking on roads was preferable, the risk of being ambushed or sniped was too high. Traveling by vehicle when alone, was not only expensive, but also presented high risks of being heard and targeted. It simply wasn't worth it when traveling alone.

By staying moderately close to the road and using a compass, Christian knew he could safely traverse the landscape quietly and relatively safely — granted the weather was kind. Today Christian had nearly 15 pounds of extra carrying weight after José's rounds of .22. That weight and his backpack and rifle hiked it up to 30 pounds. It was manageable, but still a burden when traveling across the state.

Remington generously gave him about a quarter pound of salted pork and a chunk of bread for the journey. He wrapped them up and stuffed them in a tin can to keep them dry. He still didn't want to risk it going off, so it'd be better to eat it sooner rather than later.

Christian's preference for traveling was on the countryside because of the empty roads, but coming down to the coast was a necessity. As such, the road was still littered with rusty cars clogging up the freeways and being the canvas to nature's weeds and ramblers. Keeping on the side of the road still had him cautious, the possibilities for cover were endless.

About four hours into his trek, a spattering of rain kicked up. He paused at a pine tree and tried to look at the sky through the canopy above. It doesn't look good, but he really didn't want to stop. He peaks at the road as a reference point and walks further into the forest. He finds two spruce trees with good cover that are perfect for setting up a tarp. He manages to rig it up with some sticks in the general area and the rope he brought along. It's shoddy, but it gets the job done. He uses his blanket for the floor and his backpack as a pillow while waiting out the rain. Hypothermia and pneumonia were a real risk if one traveled while wet.

Christian knows if his father was there, he wouldn't stop unless they were soaked to the bone. He thinks back to the last time he saw him — at Bar Harbor in Maine. As hardened as his father was, he got caught up with the promises of a better life in Wales. Wales of all places. That was eleven years ago. Maybe he never made it, maybe he would always be soaked to the bone.

He could have gone with him, but their strained relationship, if one could even call it that, had had enough. He was 17 at the time, but they'd been traveling together his whole life. He didn't feel like he had a father, he felt like he had a dog trainer and nothing more. His departure meant that he was ready to let Christian survive on his own, for better or for worse. Christian isn't sure which one it was yet. His father would surely be apathetic either way.

The rain hasn't stopped and it looks like it will continue for the foreseeable future. With the pattering of rain and slight breeze, Christian dozes off.

When he wakes back up, it's still dark. He glances at his wrist watch, it reads 4:27 AM. In the moonlight, he shifts pine needles off of the dirt floor and makes a pile of sticks. He grabs the flint from his backpack and his hunting knife. Shortly after he has the kindle going, he lights a small fire. From his backpack he pulls out the salted pork and breaks off a piece to cook in the fire. He has a pan, but uses a stick for the time being. This won't be a full breakfast.

Shortly after, he puts out the fire by kicking dirt over it. He chews on the hot piece of pork while breaking down his tent. He is finally back on the trek.

He makes good time for the rest of the day. The dusk is settling in and he sees Whitingham on the horizon. He makes it to the entrance and hears a raspy voice belch, "State your business!"

Christian peers through the rusty fence at the bald man in a biker jacket, "Christian, here to see Taylor."

"Check on it." The bald man orders a blonde woman posted behind him.

She jogs off and returns quickly with the answer, "Let him in."

The fence rolls open and Christian makes his way towards Taylor whose already approaching. They shake hands and half-hug. Taylor is all smiles, "It's been too long Mr. Grey."

"Please, just use Christian now, Taylor."

Taylor can't quite shake the formality of their past life.

Once they're in a private room, which Christian presumes is Taylor's living quarters, Taylor speaks, "I'm sorry you had to travel all this way, I can't risk using comms."

Christian settles on a small table in the corner of the room, kicking up his feet, "Is something wrong?"

Taylor stands on the opposite side of the table, "The Phoenix Abolitionists, they took over Sioux City last week. I don't know if it's safe to be here anymore."

"Are there plans to move up North?" Christian crosses his arms.

"I can't say, but it was Colorado three months ago and Missouri before that. I'm seeing a trend here." Taylor is visibly stressed as he begins to pace back and forth.

"They had to have recruited another group, I don't know where these numbers are coming from." Christian keeps his voice even, but this is a cause for concern. Their former militia group, the Phoenix Abolitionists (P.A.), looks to have been on quite the campaign.

"This is easily thousands strong. I'm not sure what you're planning on doing Mr. — Christian, but I'm getting the hell out of here and you should too. We could try Canada first and maybe a port to anywhere else."

Christian motions at the nearest chair, "Take a seat, you're making me anxious."

Taylor ignores the request, stopping in front of Christian, "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Have you prepared for the journey?" Christian is displeased by the short notice.

"I've got enough if I take a route through settlements."

"That's more people that can talk."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Pack more and stop less. I can't leave, I got business to settle in Rushmere. You should go on without me." Christian preferred traveling alone anyways and he did promise José he'd return.

Taylor looks crestfallen by this information, "Business? Christian, they'll do worse than kill you if you're captured. We're defectors. You know what we did to defectors." Torture, mutilation, starvation.

"I know." Christian looks away from Taylor. This was one of the many reasons Christian left.

"Come with me." Taylor insists.

"The earliest I can leave is a week."

"I can't."

"Then this is it."

"You're not thinking of going back are you?"

Christian scowls, "For what possible purpose?"

"Elliot really admired you Christian. He gave you everything you wanted. Maybe you should consider giving it a shot seeing as you're so keen on staying in the states."

This instantly changes the atmosphere of the room. Christian drops his legs off of the table. This isn't casual anymore. He is seething at the implication, "Everything I wanted? If that were true, he would've stopped. Stopped the raping, stopped the thievery, and the utter bullshit coming out of his mouth." Christian's memories sift through the atrocities of the so-called "abolitionists", under the guise of freeing work camps, but turning out to be even worse than the original perpetrators. Christian stands up, "I joined to finally turn my life around, instead I'm the same man I always have been Taylor." Christian snatches his rifle off of the wall and slings it over his shoulder again. Grabbing his backpack, he turns to leave.

Taylor softens his tone, "I just know you have a chance Christian. You be safe now."

Christian has no response, he would be heading back to Rushmere.

A mere day and a half later, he makes it back to José's quaint town in the late afternoon and is promptly accepted into the gated community. He's led to José to hear about this next job offer. If it wasn't within his timeframe, he would be heading up North to follow his past comrade Taylor.

"Welcome back Christian." José has a twinkle in his eye when he spots him.

"José." Christian lets himself into José's debriefing room, glancing around at the ham radio and haphazardly placed maps.

"I got a huge favor to ask this time" José motions him to the table towards a map he has laid out.

Christian looks down and sees one hell of a route. Starting in Rushmere all the way to Duluth in Minnesota, it's over a thousand miles.

"José, this is a cross-country trek." Christian looks at José as if he's made a terrible mistake, "I can't double-back from here, it'd take me two months."

"Look, you know the roads there. We'll pay you handsomely for being a guide and someone to help oversee the trade." José has to suppress the urge to smirk. He could offer practically anything, but wouldn't have to pay up in the end.

"Define 'handsomely'." Christian takes a seat in front of the map, mulling over modifications to the paths marked.

"What are you interested in? Alcohol? Weapons? Food? Women…?" He allows himself to smile at the last option. Hey, you never know what a man's motivations were.

Christian ponders this. This is a substantial job. He could think of barely anything worth doing the task for, but in all honesty he was meeting up with Taylor in North Dakota anyways and this was in the right direction.

"How will you deliver it to me?"

"Can you wait in Minnesota? Within three months we should have someone coming back up."

"I want a copy of your bullet molds. 22 LR and 40 S&W and I can wait in Canada, right above Minnesota — there's a town called Brandon there. "

Under normal circumstances, José would've refused this request, helping someone to have the ability to make bullets was not in his favor for many reasons. Having someone to trek out to Canada was also a price in itself. To humor him, he would agree… reluctantly.

José pauses as if contemplating. He didn't want to appear to make this too easy, "Would you be satisfied if we gave you four cases of each caliber?"

"The bullet molds or nothing."

José sighs, feigning defeat, "You've got it. We'll make a copy while you're gone." José holds out his hand.

"What are we transporting?"

"20 bottles of antibiotics. I made a deal with a trader up there, he should be paying me in full down the line. You don't need to know the rest." José frowns. He didn't like the idea of letting go of such a valuable amount, but this trip needs validation.

Christian shakes it, "When do we leave?" Having bullet molds would allow him to finally bunker down at practically any remote place of his choosing.

"Tomorrow morning. Eat up for now, you can stay in my guest room again." José slaps him on the back, "Thank you Christian. You've been a big help."

"Do you mind if I mark up this map?" Christian points to the table.

"Please do, take it with you."

The next morning, Christian finds himself standing at the front gate. He is unsurprised to see Remington and Ethan join him, but then the woman he'd met before, Anastasia, is an unexpected addition. He doesn't know her well enough to know if she's capable or not, so reserves his judgement for later. He would not tolerate anyone slowing down the trek.

Even Ana is familiar with the outside roads of Rushmere, but five hours out things start to become unrecognizable. Remington and Ethan are used to long journeys to neighboring states, but nothing of this length or nature. All three know that Christian surely is holding back information they all need.

Their journey begins slowly, walking on the edge of roads for at least eight hours a day. Ana finds it to be a grueling change of pace, but the constant work she had to do at home has kept her in shape.

Each night on the road, Ana observes Remington and Ethan attempting small talk with Christian about their adventures out in war-torn America, but Christian is not very forthcoming. So far, we know he's aware of most of the settlements on their path and is paranoid about traveling on predictable routes.

She had to give it to them though, that tidbit of information was more than Ana had managed so far. She only received one sentence from him during the last three days and that was "Watch your step." Next to a few brambles.

Ana didn't know what she was expecting, but it definitely felt like being a female made her the odd one out. She even found she was hindering some of the conversations Remington and Ethan were having, apparently they had had forays in some of the towns they stopped by in. Even this opportunity to flex his prowess in the bedroom didn't make Christian budge an inch. He simply listened, Ana wouldn't even say he was being arrogant or awkward about it — she could tell he was an attentive listener by his facial expressions and eyes. Occasional amusement flashed across them, sorrow for tragic stories, and another expression she wasn't quite sure of yet.

She could tell the lack of progress was already wearing Remington and Ethan down. They still had practically a month until Duluth. Patience. Ana thought.

Ana didn't have to wait too long for more information. On their fourth night, Remington and Ethan tucked in for once instead of hounding Christian, leaving Ana and Christian at their makeshift fire. They had managed to make a circle of tarp tents to hunker down for the night and had just finished eating some jarred stew, courtesy of Mrs. Jones.

"How bad is the cold this time of year, up North I mean?" Ana wonders out loud, she grips the lapels on her green wool jacket. She's cold.

"It only gets worse." Christian bears the bad news, he's sitting against a tree. He squints at their map with only the fire as a source of light.

Ana frowns, looking up at the night sky as if Christian's words would queue in snow.

"I had a friend freeze to death because nobody stoked the fire." Christian flips over a corner of the map to look at Ana's reaction. He hopes she takes his story seriously, "It sneaks up on you, so we have to take all necessary precautions."

"Were you there?"

"Yes."

"And nobody bothered to watch the fire?"

"I was traveling with a group, we took up two cabins. I got the lucky one."

"An entire cabin and nobody cared?" Ana doesn't think the story adds up.

Christian seems perturbed by all the questions, "He wasn't the only one who died. There were three dead by morning, and two more from hypothermia later. I don't know what they were thinking, perhaps they weren't. You can lose your mind out there."

Ana wonders if he's talking about the Phoenix Abolitionists. For a moment she's gleeful that the bastards froze to death, but appalled at herself for taking pleasure in such suffering.

Christian can see Ana is having an internal struggle and wants to ask, but decides against it. He didn't want to explain the story further. The whole event was a shitshow that resulted in him being promoted to Captain after the last poor fella was amongst the five deaths.

Ana finally responds, "I haven't had to travel anywhere beyond Virginia. I've been in Rushmere as far back as I can remember."

"Can't say the same. It's been nothing but traveling." Christian lifts himself up, dusting his pants off. "You better get some rest, it's another long day tomorrow." He effectively ends the conversation, retreating to his sleeping area.

Ana was hoping for more, but is glad he spoke at all. She heeds his directions and moves off to sleep.

Although Ana is asleep, Christian finds himself lost in thought. He remembers the start of his first lone trek.

—-

October 12th, 2032

Far out in the alpine tundras of Humphrey's Peak, a young Christian finds himself trudging behind his father. Mr. Grey had started the day early and by sunset, had taken his son out to the highest elevations of Arizona. The biting cold and lack of vegetation was a stark contrast to the complete beauty of the untouched wilderness.

Christian wanted to ask his father the purpose for their trip, but knew he would be met with silence. Yet, faithfully he followed Mr. Grey's steps as the integrity of the landscape became more and more precarious. Loose rocks and patches of dirt could easily result in fatal injury. At such a young age, he could barely keep up with his father's large gait. At one point, Christian was positive they wouldn't find any animal worth hunting on such a barren area. The boy kept his opinions to himself.

Confusion clouded his thoughts when his father chose a spot to set up camp with harsh drafts. With unspoken coordination, the two set up a sturdy tent with firm pegs in the ground against a rock to take the brunt of the wind off of their structure. Christian was hungry and glanced at his father in expectation, this was usually the part where they would start a fire and fix something to eat. However, Mr Grey instead looked out over the horizon and said the first words he's said since waking up, "Sometimes, no matter what skills you possess, no matter the strength that you have, you cannot escape fate."

Christian followed his father's gaze, looking to the sun slowly sinking, he wondered what brought on his father's mood. Christian thought about it briefly before falling asleep that night. When he woke up, he got his answer. His father was gone. A piece of parchment, ripped from a journal was tucked underneath Christian's backpack with one word: Holbrook.

A sinking feeling in his gut settles in as the realization dawns. His father had purposefully left him here to trek back on his own.

—-

Christian looks back in disdain. He still hasn't forgiven his father for leaving him, a fifteen year old, in a tundra alone. He made it back to his father of course, haggard, but alive. He wonders why he gained an affinity for traveling alone with such an awful start.