"It's the truth I'm after, and the truth never harmed anyone. What harms us is to persist in self-deceit and ignorance." - Marcus Aurelius
The sky was a deep blue. The sun had yet to peek from across the horizon to signal the coming of the new day.
"I promise I'll be back soon," she spoke with finality, and didn't wait to hear the reply before trotting off to the shops farther down the street. Her mother was only half-awake, and barely recognized what was happening before falling back asleep in the passenger's seat of the truck.
River's father was off doing militia work again, so she'd decided this hour to be the perfect moment. The less distractions the better.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she skipped anxiously towards where she last spotted him go. Even despite taking Sara's advice to heart, the measure of confidence to follow through was monumental to conceive, and River doubted still if it could be done.
But it has to be done. It must be done.
She would not take rank with the indecisive, no matter how doubtful she was. It would do her no good, to not admit what she felt was true.
The shop was still open, despite it being in the early hours of the morning. A number of refugee families were interspersed in their respective vehicles and makeshift campsites, all situated along the street and right outside the shop. Stepping around these campsites brought River to the front of the shop, where she peered through one of the glass windows into the lit interior.
There he was, together with his friend Zeke, and a couple other young men like them. Jacob was sat amongst his brethren, where talk and drinks were passed around with merriment.
But even from where she stood, River could see the pinch in his brows, and the pondering look adorned on his face. Something was troubling him.
His eyes turned up and found her, and so he excused himself, stepping quickly out the shop and into the frigid morning air.
"Sheesh, it's cold out," he chided himself, fumbling the sleeves of his jacket on, "So, how're you holding up?"
"I'm good," she replied, anxious, "I uhm...I wanted to talk to you about something."
He nodded, "Sure, what's up?"
"Not here," River mumbled, unappreciative of how many people surrounded them. She wanted this to be a confession for him, and him alone. She offered a hand to him, and asked, "Follow me?"
He looked at her hand, then into her eyes, and cocked a smirk, "Why, you're not gonna kidnap me or something, are you?"
"No!" she blurted, then when the glares of those awoken to her outburst turned their way, she cringed, "I just—"
His chuckle stopped her from making an excuse, "It's alright, I'm just joking. Lead the way," he smiled again, his light radiating in the morning gloom.
She took him down the quiet path, to where the only noise was of the flowing water, and the rustle of leaves in the wind. The creek had a sheen of light painted across its surface, as the sky was slowly transitioning to a brighter blue shade.
"What is it, Rivy?" he asked her, and she turned to him.
You can do this. Straight to the point, don't hesitate. Here goes nothing—
"I...um," River mumbled, her hands fidgeting nervously, "I wanted to talk to you about...something I thought about, about..."
"...yeah?" he encouraged.
"...about the, uhm," she gulped. Doubt was suddenly clutching her heart, and she was floundering, "this...well, I mean, it was more of Sara's idea, but I just thought about what she said and y'know, it's kind of a silly thing to begin with but I couldn't be sure if this will be the last time that we'll be seeing each other ever again so I—"
"Wait," he commanded with a wave of the hand, and she bit down on her lip, trembling with anxiety, "Slow down there for a second, just relax," he gestured for her hand, and she held it there for him to take, "Don't be scared. Just take a deep breath and try again."
Inhale. Exhale. Clear the head. Focus.
"Ever since I first met you, you've been different from everyone else I've come across," she began, tapping into her heart, "Where everyone's got a frown, you've got a smile. Where everyone's depressed, you're carefree. I know that doesn't mean you're happy about being here, but the point I'm trying to make is that even though you don't want to be here, you try to help people stay strong despite everything. That's what it is—you try," she gave his hand a squeeze of affection, "I was a stranger when we first met, and yet you found the time to talk to me and help me out even when you didn't have to."
"I know we've barely known each other, but I've got no clue how bad this...this situation's going to be. I don't want to think that I'll lose my mom and dad, I don't want to think I'll lose my friends, and now," she locked her gaze to him, and he reciprocated, "I don't know how I'd feel if I were to lose you, too. It only seems right to stick together, to help each other when we can. You've given me something to look forward to when I couldn't find anything to be happy about. I just hope you feel the same way," she finished, and ducked her head. She couldn't look him in the eyes anymore.
Instead, she kept her attention on their hands, clasped together. Her hand was placed in his, and he was not pulling away. Her heart felt spurned and exposed, as if the cold air was touching it and freezing it over. What would he say, what would he do?
Jacob smiled. It was a solemn smile, small and distracted. It was gone almost immediately.
"River, I...I didn't know you felt that way about me," he stumbled at first, "You're right, I don't have a lot to be happy about. I've lost my home, my parents, my dreams—you're right about it all."
Doubt plagued his words, there was a sad glint in his eyes. She looked back up to him worriedly.
"I'm...I'm sorry, but I don't feel the same way you do," Jacob confessed, "I hope you understand, I haven't known you for longer than a couple days, and I...I'll be honest, I'm just as messed up from this as anybody else."
The world caved in around the two of them, banished from the periphery. River was shocked still, anguish roaring in her ears to where she could barely hear him speak. It is only now, of course, that the weight of what she had confessed strikes her in the gut and she physically recoils from the blow. She couldn't handle the shame that burned her so viciously and turned to run.
"River—?!" Jacob cried after her, giving chase as the pony-tailed blonde tripped over herself, "River, wait!"
Tears stung her eyes. Her heart was assailed by a pain she couldn't fathom.
You fucking idiot.
In her haste to not be left without an option, she had blundered into another terrible fate; to be completely and utterly rejected. She hadn't even begun to think of the idea of rejection, that maybe it was a foolish idea to give one's feelings to another so soon after meeting, but she had found herself so smitten, so drunk on the idea of being his beloved. Her nervousness was a warning to herself, but she walked into this mess willingly, of her own accord. There was no one to blame but herself.
She didn't care where she went, just so long as it was somewhere else. This place was tainted by her ignorance and would not bring her comfort nor peace.
Dirt transitioned to rock, as she trekked dangerously over the path that crossed the creek. Though the water had slowed from its previous torrent, the rock was still wet and slippery. She doesn't care—let it be that she slips and is swallowed by the black creek, 'tis a fate worthy of her failure.
A hand catches her own, stopping her escape. With glistening, bloodshot eyes she turns back to him, ready to push him away.
"River, wait!" he calls, "hear me out, please! I know it hurts, I know it feels god-awful and it's hard to think about anything else, but please, listen to me!"
She was on a balance. To be torn by his words, or to be torn by her grief. She didn't know which to pick.
"I can't take back what I've said, and I can't change how I feel about you," he admitted, "But it doesn't have to be like this—it cannot be like this. We've got to stick together if we want to make it through this, for our sake, for the sake of those we care about. We can't let this get between us, not now, not when we have to look out for others besides ourselves."
"You mean something to me, River," he concluded, his hand firmly clutching hers, "I don't know where we'll end up, but I'd rather be there by your side than be alone."
She was numb, and yet so racked with pain. Emotions lived and died in the blink of an eye, burning and buzzing in her head. What a blazing fury it was that tore through her; furious bouts of grief, of longing and resignation—she couldn't help herself. With tears running down her face, being unable to speak lest she begin to sob, she collapsed into him, clinging tightly to him.
In all her eighteen years of living, she had never felt such things as this, had never felt so alive and dead at the same time. There lived no more doubt, no more was death and destruction hovering o'er head. All that was here, on this quiet early morning, was her and him, alone yet together.
She laughed at the absurdity of it, of how cruel fate was. She disengaged from the hug, choosing to keep him at arms-length. He was right, however much she didn't like it. To burn bridges like this would do neither of them any good. There were people that relied on her, and to give up on them was more dreadful than any matter of rejection. She couldn't be overwhelmed by her grief, she just couldn't.
And that's when she heard the groaning of splintering wood.
River glanced up to the top of the cliff, some ten feet above, and saw a silhouette roll something over the edge. A tree stump, its gnarled roots black against the backdrop of the early morning sky, came tumbling down upon them, and River could only gasp as she was shoved back by Jacob the second before it came down, the roots snagging him and pulling him down into the creek's tar-black water.
She couldn't hesitate, and so she dove right in after him, the icy chill biting her skin as she reached for him. Through bubbles and froth, she managed to grasp his arm, and tried pulling him up—but he was stuck. The stump clung to him just as doggedly as she did and refused to let him go. River yanked again, pulling with all her might.
His arm still clutched tightly, she yanked and finally pulled him free, quickly orienting herself upwards to the surface. The water was heavy as she swam, barely inching her way back up. Her lungs burned from exertion, and she reached out for the light glimmering above them in this cold, dark abyss.
Hands not of her own pulled the both of them from out of the water and set them down along the embankment. A towel was quickly draped over her shoulders and another over Jacob's body, only his head was left uncovered. He had yet to open his eyes, had yet to give a sign that he was still alive, but this didn't stop River from checking. With chattering teeth and shaky hands, she tried to find a pulse, tried shaking his shoulder, tried begging for him to wake up and come back. The blur of motion and feelings carried her consciously through the whole ordeal.
It was only once Sara crouched beside her that River realized she'd been helped by her friends. The shock was so persistent, having been coupled with the chill of the ice-cold water, that she hadn't realized they were there. She couldn't focus much on anything anyways.
Jacob's hand was cold, and clammy. She still held it despite her own distress, she still willed his hand to grow warm by her touch, so that he might rise from this frozen stupor and smile for her one more time, just one more time is all she's asking for oh God, please—!
She sat there, shivering and sobbing, for a couple hours. The sun's brightness was dimmed by rolling, dark grey clouds. A thunderstorm was approaching from the north.
Her clothes were starting to dry. Though she still shuddered from the cold air, long gone were the tears. To replace this sadness was a dull, lifeless grief. He had not moved at all since they pulled him from the water.
The other girls had left to get help. This was over an hour ago. Unless it was taking some serious convincing, they should've been back by now, right...?
Terrible thoughts swirled in River's head. These thoughts felt not of her own but were conceived out of the emotions boiling under her cold skin. Something wasn't right here; something was awfully wrong. And thinking back on when that tree stump had come falling down the slope, River remembered how he'd decided to save her by pushing her away, then seeing him tumble into the black water, the sudden vertigo of diving into the cold oblivion below to save him.
She remembered looking up, and seeing something else there, atop that cliff. She swore to herself of witnessing the silhouette of a human figure, they with long, smooth dark locks of hair—
Lightning crashed, striking beyond the mountains in the east. Honey-brown eyes snapped up to the crackle and glimmered with sudden realization.
It was them.
They knew exactly where to find her and Jacob. They had planned for this. They had killed him!
They—
They stood in a semi-circle, surrounding her. She hadn't heard their footsteps. The thunder and the wind hid them well enough.
"River?"
Schwartz locked her gaze to Sara. The brunette was doe-eyed, and her voice was rotten with compassion, "I know it's not easy to talk, but I don't want you to feel like you're alone. The truth is, you're not—you've got us to hear you out. Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault—"
"You knew."
It wasn't a question. Sara hesitated, and that was all River needed to know.
"I—I'm sorry?"
"You knew. You all knew we were going to meet at the waterfall," thunder rolled ominously as River spoke, "It's how you knew where to aim that tree stump. It's why your two little minions were able to pull him out of the water so quickly. It's too perfect to be true."
"I don't know what you're going on about River, but blaming others is never a good idea," Sara replied, as though she were a therapist speaking to a newly admitted patient, "It's a very destructive path to take, and will leave you without anyone to help. If you push others away, you'll doom yourself to solitude—"
"I saw you up there, you lying bitch!" River snapped, trembling with anger, "I know it was you! It took you so long to climb back down from atop the cliff, and I could tell your hands were dirty—but that's not what's pissing me off, I want to know why!"
Maybe it was an illusion, maybe she was truly lost to her grief. It didn't matter. River stepped closer to Sara as she delivered her accusation and ended it with a pointed finger in the brunette's direction.
"Why the fuck did you do it?! I thought you were friends with him, I thought we all were on good terms—so then why the fuck did you kill him—why the fuck did you kill Jacob?!"
Sara raised her hands in defense, her worried facade having been replaced by tension. She waited until River had expended the last of her anger, letting that accusation be carried off through the echo of the thunderclouds.
Was this all Schwartz had left to do; to blame others over what was most likely an accident? How long had River spent getting to know these friends, only to turn her back to them and label them as culprits to a crime they couldn't have committed? Tears swelled in her eyes again and flowed relentlessly.
And though these tears hindered her vision, River saw the moment Sara blinked, and watched her demeanor shift. Gone was the furrowed brows and placating gestures, in their place was a blank stare. Sara's irises were tinged black by shadows, and a snarl curled across her lips.
"I didn't want to get rid of him. I wanted to get rid of you."
"W-wait, what—?"
"Jenny, Jasmin."
River had lost track of Sara's minions and found them to be right beside her, and she tried to recoil at their sudden proximity. It was too late, however; Jenny had an iron grip around her arm and Jasmin had one hand clamped on her wrist and the other angling something close to her neck.
"I—is that a knife?!" River cried as she noticed the blade angled up, ready to dig into flesh.
"Bring her down," came the command, and as one the two girls forced River on her knees to the ground, the pony-tailed blonde too panicked to resist. Gravel crunched underfoot as Sara calmly strode the couple steps towards them, then crouched to meet River at eye level.
"I should've left you alone, but I couldn't help but take pity on you," the brunette rasped over the wind, "I thought that maybe you'd be willing to join us, together as a part of my team, but instead you decided to fall for my beloved. I gave you a chance to resolve your feelings and get over him, but you force my hand, deciding to meet with him out here. I had to fix the mistake I've made, and now it's come to this."
"You're fucking insane," River realized, "You're nothing but a goddamn psychopath—!"
Cold steel touched the bottom of her jaw, and River clamped her mouth shut.
"I am not a psychopath, I am an opportunist," Sara corrected, "I see opportunities to help me and my friends, and I take them. I took what I thought was an opportunity to become friends with you, but obviously that soured once you laid eyes on Jacob. Sometimes the opportunities we take backfire, and so we have to fix them. Like how you're going to have to fix the problem of being involved with Jacob's tragic demise."
Wide eyes narrowed at the sinister remarks, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's nothing good to be labeled a murderer, let alone with accomplices," Sara noted, her voice dripping with venom, "Thankfully, it's not my clothes that are soaked through with water, it wasn't by my hand that he drowned in that creek. But you, on the other hand—it's not so easy to rule you out, given you were the last person to be seen with him."
A cheeky glint settled in Sara's black eyes, and River shuddered in her minions' grip, "It'd be a shame to have you be the sole suspect to Jacob's death. Not only would nobody trust you or anything you say, but your family would also be among the first to be tossed as fodder for the Reds. The militia might be merciful, however, and just line you and your family up against a wall."
"Y-you wouldn't—!"
"Do you really think I would let an opportunity like this go to waste? Do you really think I'm supposed to let bygones be bygones after what you've made me do? Use your fucking head, River," Sara snipped back, "Even if you try to drag the rest of us down with you, all the evidence points to you before any one of us. Who do you think they'll believe, the three girls caught in the crossfire, or the one with blood on her hands?"
Thunder rolled. Branches swayed with the wind. Salty tears dripped from River's weary eyes. The cold blade was pressed to her throat to keep her from speaking again.
"It's alright, we all know the answer," Sara quipped, and then stood up, "Keep your mouth shut about this, and your family will remain safe. If I hear even a whisper about it, I'll make sure you're the last to bleed, nice and slow."
River kept her word. She said nothing when Jasmin retracted the blade. She said nothing when they got back to the village, the caravan having to pack up and leave much sooner than expected. Whispers mentioned an unexpected advance being made by the Reds, and everyone was to leave within the next hour. River said nothing when she got to her family's truck, choosing to remain quiet even when her mother asked her where she'd been, and her father having to divert her mom's attention back to help him navigate.
She couldn't find it in her to tell them why her eyes were bloodshot, and why her heart was cold.
Dullness below. Dullness above.
The dullness of the evening magenta sky laying upon the horizon of the pine trees, there as night slowly swallowed the daylight colors with its blueish-black maw. How this light cast such shadows over her small company, weary helmet-clad figures that were marching, back-bent, clutching at their shovels and pickaxes.
Then the sky blinked into darkness, and her vision was filled with the tracers, bright red and plenty. They arched in the sky at great distances and zipped past her eyes when close by. A flurry of color, like thousands of little hornets buzzing, ringing in her ears, she could almost ignore the gruesome screams lurking in the depths and at the edges.
She is pulled away, by what she cannot tell. She feels the earth upon her back and watches the trails of orange embers swirl into that black sky, rumbling with storm clouds and smoke. Monsters of terrible shapes and sizes danced in those tremulous black clouds, tears sting her eyes as she wails silently, not knowing of why she weeps, why terror fills her heart so completely.
And here, the lone figure looms from the peripheral and into her view. Flames out of sight brought a beautiful, golden shine to the stahlhelm on this figure's head. Shadows shield their eyes, but their mouth is straight, emotionless, and chin-length hair much like hers sways with the turbulent gusts. In one of their hands lies the sleek shape of a rifle, their other hand is stretched out to her, inviting. The iron denizen of this hellish world, so she believes, stands over her with rifle and an out-reaching arm, with the promise of hope as the world burns around them. Entranced, she raises a hand of her own, and as if seized by a divine essence, she grasped their hand.
So the ash and the smoke were tempered, and the flames were extinguished. Lo! From above, a light dares to pierce the black heavens! And in the single moment of being raised from her fears, she beholds the sight of herself, stahlhelm and all, gazing back at her, so strong and mighty.
Max opened her eyes.
She blinked and turned her head to an unusual sound emanating from the couch, to that strange sound of slight snoring. The morning light, blue and gloomy, now swept through her blinds and gave light to the dorm room. Turning, Max observed the two others in her little abode sleeping on the couch and the floor.
Ah, right.
She shuffled the blankets off and sat up at the edge of the bed, rubbing at the tiredness. She observed her hands. Her digits were there, and she could manipulate them without any problems, but this was why she felt lost. It couldn't be that these same hands had taken life, but she could still smell the tang of the metal that had been in her grip, and the cordite, and the blood—
Stop. Shower, now.
Caulfield rose, silently trekked to the closet, and pulled out a basic outfit. It was beyond her care what she wore now, she just wished the smell—the memories—to go away.
The trip to the bathroom showers was livelier than she expected. Some of her comrades had woken up at the same hour that she did, and now awaited their turns for the showers outside the bathroom's door. Max walked close to a very tired Juliet, with Stella and Brooke further beside the bronze-brunette awaiting their turn for a shower stall.
"Morning, guys," Max muttered to them. Juliet tiredly hummed and nodded, but Stella and Brooke each gave the brunette a smile.
"Hey, Max," Stella replied, "good to see you."
"You too. I thought I woke up too early, but I guess not," and Max took her spot next to Watson, choosing to partake in the comfortable silence. Stella and Brooke were resuming a muted discussion on beans, and which form of beans was truly superior to all others. Judging by how animated Stella was despite the quietness of the early hour, it seemed that the consensus would be long and passionately debated.
Max looked to the slumped reporter beside her and noted with concern the deep exhaustion in her eyes. Something was bothering Juliet, and she's pretty sure about what it is.
"You ok?" she asks, and Juliet didn't do much to acknowledge it beyond tilting her head a bit, then slumping it down again.
"Couldn't sleep well."
A pause, as Stella and Brooke continued arguing to each other, then Max cautiously probed, "…Dana?"
Watson nodded, then sniffled once.
"I just gotta take my mind off it, if only for a little bit."
"...I'm gonna be helping Kate get her room fixed up later today," Max chose to divert the conversation, "would you mind helping us out?"
"Sure," Juliet yawned.
Max said no more. She chose to endure in the comfortable silence. Regret for asking about the obvious mounted, and she brushed it away with a sigh.
"I'm telling you Brooke, if you've ever had a can of those ranch-style pinto beans on a cold winter's day, sitting by a fireplace or something," and Stella gushed at the suggested nostalgia, "you'd know what's up, that's all I'm saying."
"Yeah?" Brooke countered, cocking an eyebrow. Max couldn't help but start smiling as she then took interest in the conversation, "Is that so?"
"Don't gimme that look B', you know what I'm goin' on about—" Stella was giggling now, and Brooke could sense the fuckery that was afoot, "It's just the way it is, I'm not—look, I'm just the messenger."
Brooke's eyebrow stayed where it was, but Max could see her trying to hold back a smile.
"It's the taste, Brooke, the taste—don't make me go all Ratatouille on your ass, you know what I'm trying to say. It's—look, I know they probably got some wack-ass cuisine over there in the Philippines, but I know the truth when I speak it."
"But I haven't been to the Philipp—"
"My momma would pull somma' those ranch-style beans out for Thanksgiving, right? And you take the sauce that comes with 'em, and pour that on some ham, or turkey. Now that…was the best," and ignoring the unconvinced stare being sent her way, Stella swung her head to the onlookers, "Ain't that right guys? You ever had some ranch-style beans before?"
Juliet gave a noncommittal shrug, mumbling something that sounded like a no, but Max was thinking of when she tried some Texan dish her father had once prepared and spoke truly, "Yeah, I've tried them before."
"See, Brooke? Max here is a cultured individual, who knows what's good."
A deft swack to the arm sent Stella reeling, snickering so madly, "Ey-ey chill! It's just a joke, I'm just fuckin' with you!" and beside the flustered Filipina, Max and Juliet were giggling something fierce.
"You and your stupid-ass jokes, and your stupid-ass beans—"
"Hey! You can diss me all you want, but not the beans. A real one would know better than to diss the beans, 'specially if you've already had some."
"Who's dissing beans, what?" the bathroom door had opened, and Alyssa ventured out, some clothes in one hand and a towel in the other.
"Oh God, Alyssa, you're not gonna believe this—!" and Stella grasped at the towel-clad arm, dramatically asserting, "this wack-ass bitch over here doesn't like beans—!"
"That is not true, you can't just say that I don't like all beans, even if I don't like ranch-style beans specifically!"
"Wait, you don't like ranch-style beans?" Anderson asked indignantly, and they all chuckled at the agitation on Brooke's face.
"You all are fucking evil, I swear," and they rose into a mighty chorus of giggles as Brooke grumbled her way into the bathroom, closing the door.
Max felt her cheek muscles strain at the smile on her face, and with this feeling came about a sudden warmth in her chest. She laughed with her sisters-in-arms then, so happy and unburdened.
It was a daunting task, that much was true. Not many could entertain the idea, and even fewer could try it. And Max didn't want to think the obvious was true, but it was apparent to her more so than anyone else, that having to climb over one's friend whilst not causing them to stir was a form of practice, and not just a simple skill. Such was the brunette's inner thoughts as she witnessed Kate trying to tiptoe her way over Chloe, who was still asleep at the foot of the couch. The punk was an erratic sleeper, and when tossing and turning had made herself into a serious obstacle for the blonde. It didn't have to be as much of a deal as this, but Kate was adamant to do it without stirring the bluenette, and an unspoken bet between her and Max took form.
Caulfield chuckled at her favorable odds, seeing the blonde very hesitantly extend a leg over the sleeping bluenette, and whilst silently pleading to the Lord to not curse her luck, did Marsh try to hop over the blanketed mass on the floor.
A flurry came as Kate stuck the landing, but whilst in mid-flight she smacked her bare ankle on one of those dastardly table legs, and the blonde gasped so terribly. So, Max tried not to burst out laughing as Kate silently, passionately hopped on one foot, cursing herself.
Oh, that's gotta hurt.
"How about you try to do that, see how it'd go for you!" Kate whispered harshly to her, unappreciative of the snickers.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Max smiled, so definitely not sorry, "You could've just woken her up, y'know. Chloe doesn't bite if you wake her up gently."
"Well, I was trying to be considerate here," Kate had hopped her way to Max's bed, and sat down next to the mousy brunette so as to inspect the damage, "Lord knows I'd wish for more sleep."
Max was half-ready to wake Chloe up herself, but something irked her about what Kate had said. And she looked to the blonde on her bed, nursing the slight blemish at her ankle.
"Wait, did you sleep well?" she asked, genuinely.
Kate hesitated, and then, softly, "I…not really, no. I woke up sometime during the night, and I must've passed out again, somehow."
Max looked down to where the wood had impacted flesh. The girl's ankle was fine, but she still clutched closely at her leg, clinging to it.
"...nightmares?" the brunette inquired.
The sun was shaded by the clouds today; the light from the blinds came forth with sub-par strength. This lack of brightness brought a slight dimness to the room, and with it, a dimness in Kate's hazel eyes, "…yeah. It was…I was—sigh—I was down there, again."
Max brought a hand to her shoulder and held it there. She already knew.
"I had a weird dream, too," Max distracted, and Kate willingly listened, "It was like some, uhm—like a movie, I guess. It kept cutting to these random scenes, as if it was a broken timeline. There was an evening sky, then these…these tracers flying everywhere in the air," Max's brows furrowed as she tried to remember these little details, "and then there was…there were—"
growl
Max flushed, and smacked an embarrassed arm around her grumbling stomach, and Kate softly chuckled at her, "and there were what, some fluffy, golden, soft-as-the-heavens pancakes?"
"Shut up you, I'm already hungry as is," Caulfield pouted, much to Kate's cheeky delight, and this time the brunette stood and made her way over to their still-sleeping friend. She wanted food alright, but she couldn't just up and leave Chloe behind, no matter how hungry she was.
"Chlo', wake up," Max called, deciding to nudge Price's shoulder with a sock-clad foot. The bluenette barely stirred, "Chloe, come on, it's time to get up."
Nothing. Max found a golden opportunity for some amusement.
"Wakey-wakey, Chloe-dear, it's time for school~" and Marsh snickered at Max's impression of Joyce, even reaching down to gently nudge Chloe's shoulder again.
"Phuk off," came a slurred mutter, "let a bich sleep."
"Chloe, I'm serious. Don't make us drag you to the Two Whales just for some food."
Another groan, and Price rolled face-down on the floor, adamant. Behind Caulfield, the blonde was trying to halt her excessive giggling.
"You know what? Fine. Be like that," and Max took slow, calculated steps away from Chloe, pointedly raising her voice as she backed away, "I guess were just gonna have to settle with the school cafeteria food, since we definitely can't go to the Two Whales for some of that crispy, sizzling sweet bacon—"
"A'ight, a'ight, you win!" and Chloe hauled herself up from the floor, and Kate giggled heartily at the bedhead the punk sported, "'rather be caught dead than eating the shit they serve here."
"That's what I thought," Max huffed, triumphant, "Now come on Cap'n, we pirates must go onwards, to plunder that which is ours!"
"Aye!" Kate bellowed enthusiastically, joining in on the merriment, "We need our captain to guide us, to adventure!"
Chloe smiled at her crew's eagerness, and so made to stand with them. But something held her from her full height and sapped her strength, and she slumped onto the couch and began clutching her head.
"Chloe? What's wrong?" a concerned Max made her way over, and from the bed, Kate stopped smiling and trekked over as well.
"Headache," Chloe rasped, and Max noticed her breath was tangy, like wine, "It's just a headache, I'm—I should be fine."
"It doesn't seem like just a headache," Max countered with concern, and raised the back of her hand against a part of Chloe's forehead, "and you're burning up badly. Chloe, you're far too hot for just a headache."
"Thanks, Max. Didn't know you were the charming type."
"Not what I meant!" Max sputtered back, as Kate chuckled along to the quip, "Did you get enough sleep last night? Did you get enough to eat, to drink?"
Chloe looked off, thinking about it for a second, and then as if struck by a sweet nostalgia she remembered, "I had some of that wine that what's-her-face had, uhm—I think I still got the bottle somewhere."
"A bottle, what bottle—?" and Max looked quickly around her observable part of her room, wondering where this bottle was. Her thoughts were answered, as eventually Kate reached from under the couch, and pulled out a modest bottle of red wine—that was almost empty.
"Chloe, how much did you have?" Max pressed, concerned.
"Now, look, it's—it was just one bottle, Max—"
"You drank the entire bottle?!" Max cried, and Chloe's brow furrowed at the rise in pitch, "I know you got a tolerance, Chloe, but that's way too much! No wonder you're burning up—"
"Oh quit being such a fuckin' nanny," the punk rasped, harshly, "I ain't drunk, an' I ain't burning up, I'm fine—!" so stubbornly she pushed Max's hand away and made to sit up straight. She only gave the two shorter girls more concern for her health when she slowly slumped back against the cushions, visibly flustered from the wine.
knock-knock-knock
Heads turned to the sound of the soft knocking, and Max took her stride towards the door, opening it up. There before her stood Juliet with a small, solemn smile and her hands clasped together.
"Hey guys," the reporter softly greeted, and the two students reciprocated, with Max asking her, "What's up?"
"We're heading over to the hospital in a few minutes," Watson replied, "and I was wondering if you all wanted to come along."
Max looked back to Chloe, slumped, not looking remotely ready to walk anywhere, and saw no other choice, "We'd do it, but Chloe's not feeling all that great right now."
And at the sight of the sickly bluenette, Juliet became guilt-ridden, "Ah, damn it—I probably shouldn't have given her that whole bottle. I'm sorry 'bout this, Max."
"It's fine," Max dissuaded, waving a hand, "thankfully, she didn't drink any more than the one bottle you gave her."
"The whole thing?" Juliet muttered, bewildered, and Max nodded pointedly in agreement, "I know right? I put my hand on her head, and she was burning up real bad—"
"Guys, I am right here," Price grumbled, and Kate silently tittered at the pouting punk, with her crossed arms and slightly swaying head.
"Sorry," Watson apologized, and made to leave, "Look, I outta go—the rest of us'll be back sometime later today, if you're up for something."
"I tell you what," Max offered to Juliet, "We'll be there soon, just…hold out for us until we get there."
"Alright," and Juliet truly smiled this time, "I'll see you guys there."
The door closed, and a moment passed.
"Oh, she's definitely upset," came a grumble from the couch.
"And why do you think that is, hmm?" Max snarked to the couch-potato, who scrunched her brows in defense, "Hey, I didn't think the wine would fuck me up this bad, a'ight? Lay off me for a minute, Max, fuck—"
"Well maybe someone shouldn't have drunk the whole damn bottle," Max berated her best friend, "maybe then the guilt wouldn't hurt as much."
"The fuck's up with you?" Chloe blunted back, "Why the hell are you so fucking mad about this, you're not the one with the headache."
"I'm mad, because we didn't just go through all of—of that, just for you to drink yourself away!" Max suddenly flared, and now nobody was smiling, "Just…just please, don't—" and her tirade died out just as suddenly as it came, and Caulfield shrunk on herself, head hung low.
"Don't do what, Max?" and there came a sense that Chloe already knew what was being said. Yet she asked again, "What could you possibly be talking about, Maxine?"
"Don't say that," Caulfield bristled, "Don't—just don't, Chloe."
"What, do you think I would do it?" Chloe then asked, low and deadly.
"No—that's not what I meant—"
"You think all it takes is a couple of bottles before I blow my fucking brains out?" Chloe pressed, then louder, "Is that right, Max?"
Kate was looking between the two, no longer feeling like one of the pirate crew. Instead, the two before her held no focus on the outside world and sparred to a degree that Marsh had never seen before. So foreign was this feeling of discomfort, that she stood still and silent.
And Max looked to the bluenette, as if she were pleading, as if she were pissed off, "I'm not losing you to anything Chloe, especially not to something like alcohol. I…I can't just lose my best friend, not after all that's happened, not like this."
"You will if you keep treating me like that," Price warned, and sat up a final time from her slump, holding a hand to her forehead, visibly in pain, "just…get me an aspirin or something, Max, please."
Max shivered ever the slightest as she sighed, long and tired.
"Okay."
So, the brunette made for her closet, sifting through the drawers beneath the folded clothes, searching, keeping herself faced away from her friends. Kate dared to think she saw Max's shoulders hike up like she was sobbing but chose to look away. Marsh never liked it when people stared at her when she cried, and it felt proper to return that sentiment to her friends.
knock-knock-knock
Another knocking, but this time a bit harder than before, and they all turned their heads to the door. A sense of dread then crept into their hearts, that terribly familiar feeling.
Then Price sarcastically groaned, "Oh, boy. Twenty bucks says the PD's finally after me for my parking tickets," and as Max silently handed her an aspirin and a spare water bottle, she sincerely spoke, "Thanks."
"I'll get the door," Kate volunteered, then she shuffled over and opened to door.
Her head craned up, then a bit higher, until she was looking into the eyes of Madsen, standing a couple feet from the threshold. His presence brought that terrible feeling the girls knew so well, and it only intensified as they beheld the sight of his frown. Kate imagined he hadn't gotten much sleep last night.
"Good morning," he gruffed out, his voice raspy, "May I come in?"
Kate stuttered too much, so Max came to her rescue, "Come on in, David."
He carefully trudged into the dorm room, mindful to not bump into anything and stood a few feet from the couch. The girls took their seats on this couch and awaited what he had to say.
"I wanted to check up on you three, to see how you all are doing."
"Oh, we're doing fine, Sergeant—" and an elbow to the ribs halted Chloe's sarcasm, making the punk glare to the brunette sitting beside her.
"We are all doing fine, sir," Max corrected.
He nodded. He took no notice of Chloe's words. Rather, he was distracted with something, and whatever it was made his frown deepen.
"I would hope so. Coming out of what happened yesterday, I'd hope you all would be okay."
And then it hit them, so suddenly and so overwhelmingly, because it really happened, hadn't it? Not even a whole twenty-four hours have passed, since the terror, since the kraks and the bangs, and the blood, and the bodies. And not even a whole thirty six hours had gone by since the events of the red oblivion, down in that silent hell, with its cold words and its even colder knives. Their eyes might've seen it, their hands may have brought to them the knowledge that they were there, but their minds hadn't yet believed it. Not even a bit.
They had, without realizing it, been existing in a terrible state of denial, a state that Madsen now sent them reeling from.
And then Max and Kate took this moment to realize, that they didn't have to remember these things, that all of this could've been avoided had they listened, had they stopped Chloe, had they just waited for David to come back—
The two girls glanced at each other with a sudden, horrible fright, because now David's frown made sense to them.
"Max, Kate," he quietly asked, and before he could say anything more, Max desperately sputtered, "David, I'm sorry, I wasn't—we're sorry, we should've listened and we didn't, but we tried to stop her—I swear we did! I should've convinced her to stay, I know I should've, please forgive me, I didn't—!" and Max abruptly sobbed, because it was a promise; they had a promise, unspoken though it was, and she broke it.
And just how long had it lasted, just how long did she take to consider just how much this promise meant to David? Not that it mattered, now. This promise to keep Chloe safe was tossed like a piece of trash, tossed so quickly that she felt she deserved what came next, and ducked her head like the coward she was.
"Max, what the fuck are you talking about?" Chloe muttered, now concerned, then she barked to her stepfather, "What the fuck did you do!?"
"I did not do anything—" he started, but Chloe suddenly stood, and jabbed at him with a pointed finger, "Bullshit! You fucking cornered her when I wasn't around, didn't you!? You threatened her, didn't you!? You little sniveling, sizzle-dick piece of shit—!"
"He didn't!" and this small, iron voice startled the both of them, and they turned to Marsh, who shuddered like Max, but held herself up, "He asked us to keep an eye on you. He knew you'd never trust him. We…it's why Max tried so badly to stop you from leaving on Thursday, because we knew it was nothing but danger, but we failed. We—" and Kate's voice faltered then, because she was no less guilty than Max, and with guilt she concluded, "We promised him to keep you safe, and we failed."
Chloe looked in disbelief, first to the saddened blonde, then to Max, with her head down and her hands covering her face, silently weeping, and began to hate the possibility. This small, miniscule possibility that her friends were not lying, that all they did was somehow not because of their own volition, but because David fucking Madsen actually had the heart to care—
She glared at him then, unbelievably enraged, so ready to tear him a new one. It didn't matter that he was far stronger, far more capable of beating her to a pulp, she just wanted one chance, one little justification to knock his teeth out, one chance to knock that god-awful mustache off his face.
One chance to show him that she had waited for a very long fucking time to feel like this, to feel like he didn't mean all the things he says, like he truly cared for Joyce, like he truly cared for her.
His frown was forlorn, and such a foreign sight to her eyes. Price'd never seen this kind of frown before. Her mind, in its fuming, tremulous state, immediately thought it to be pity, and she was about ready to accept it as such. But, and she couldn't quite fathom it at first, but even deep down, a small part of her had always hoped it would show, somehow, someway.
He looked to her with an apologetic frown, so solemn and tired.
"I'm sorry, Chloe."
"Shut the fuck up," she rasped instinctually, and when she did not feel the anger in him boil over, she found herself even more upset, "What the fuck are they talking about?"
"They explained what happened to me. All of it. From when Max first met you, to when you all visited Frank," and Chloe paled so quickly at what he said, "and because I knew you would push me away, I asked them to keep you safe, should you go off by yourself without my help. And even though they might think they have failed, I still believe they have done what I asked, the best they could have done."
Her stepfather directed that last part to her two crying friends on the couch. They seemed unchanged by his pardoning, and she noted acutely that this seemed to dampen his spirits, "I feared for the worst, and I feared correctly," and that pitiful, apologetic fucking frown of his was still there, and her knuckles curled with burning agitation, "I'm sorry, Chloe."
She could feel her brows pinch, then her mouth snake down and her jaw clench. And worst of all, she could feel the tears, those traitorous tears brimming and ready to fall, and she ducked her head away from him. A hand quickly rubbed them away, as she skirted for the door.
"I—I need some air," and she was out just like that, and the door shut so quickly behind her that David hadn't even the time to say something.
He settled for looking down at the two girls he trusted most, who'd become despondent once Chloe had left. He couldn't let this stand the way it was, not like this.
"Max, Kate."
"Yes, sir?" they both murmured, dejected.
"I meant what I said. Don't shame yourselves," and that frown of his dissipated, and they beheld the sight of a tired man, a man with little to be happy of, "you both did what you could."
They did not answer him. Silence settled in that cold dorm room, and David sighed, "I'm going to be driving down to the Two Whales to check up on Joyce, would you three meet up with me there? I'll be paying for breakfast."
Yeah, some food. That was their original plan, wasn't it?
The two of them picked their heads up from their slouch, enticed by the promise of a free breakfast, "We'd appreciate it, David."
"Alright, I'll see you all down there," and he carefully sauntered out, glancing back to them once, before gently closing the door.
And they sat there on that leather couch, unsure what to do with themselves. A terrible glum had gripped them and weighed their shoulders down where they sat.
"We should go get Chloe," Max muttered tiredly, and Kate hummed just as sluggishly in agreement. It was some time before they shuffled to their feet, gathering their phones and bags, and made for the hall.
The rusty pick-up truck clambered its way down Oak Avenue, passing the lines of quiet homes on either side. The whole town had found itself in a late rise, as the early birds could still be seen here and there, going about their day despite the sun rising well over the mountain in the east.
Yet, these little things held not the concern of those seated in the truck's cabin.
"It's just this one time, Chloe, please—"
"If you want free food, then fine, go ahead," a pause, as they slowed at an intersection before continuing down the road, "but it's not something I want to be a part of."
Chloe didn't look over when she said this and kept her eyes on the road and far away from Max's worried gaze. Caulfield sighed, and silently shook her head. Kate glanced to them, concerned, but said nothing as well.
"Fine, then at least drop us off at the hospital after we eat, since you're not up for it," and Marsh doubled her head back, because now Max had her arms crossed, sporting that pout of hers, and Chloe groaned.
"Don't you—don't be like that, this has nothing to do with them," the truck rolled to a stop, as an elderly couple were making their steady pace across the street, "Then what, what's keeping you from wanting free food, from the Two Whales of all things?" Max barbed.
Price's knuckles were white as they clutched the steering wheel, yet she calmly replied, "I'm not doing this here, Max," and when the street was clear, she accelerated at cruising speed, approaching the Main Street just ahead of them.
"It's 'cause of David, isn't it?"
"Max, let it go," the driver warned.
"It's because you don't want his offer—"
"Max," the punk warned again.
"Because you don't want his help, don't you—"
The truck jerked to a halt, and the girls were shaken from their seats, with the startled brunette and blonde evoking a cry of surprise.
But Price was silent and simmered still. Above them was a red traffic light, and that was all she was focused on.
"Do me a favor, Max," she eventually muttered, and the two smaller girls looked to her with their wide eyes, like she had gone mad, "stop bringing up problems, and then expecting there to be a convenient solution for them."
Caulfield didn't say anything then. Chloe sighed in relief.
"Ahm—" and the two bickerers looked to their blonde friend, who suddenly swung her head away, brushing the back of her head nervously.
"Kate?" Max asked, and when she didn't respond, Chloe pressed, "Don't leave us hanging here Katie-kat, spit it out."
Marsh chuckled nervously, and then muttered softly, as if it would scare them, "You guys sound like an old couple, arguing with each other—"
"Aw hell nah—!" the two recoiled at the innocent suggestion, and Kate burst into cackles as they hurriedly dissuaded, "don't even kid yourself, Max isn't even my type—"
"Yeah, I'm not even interested in a relation—" then Caulfield suddenly turned back to Chloe, "wait, I'm not your type?"
"Duh, goofy. That would be hella awkward if you were," and Chloe looked away, chuckling at the brunette's expense.
"Look, Kate, we are not going down this road, so don't—don't look at me like that," Max sputtered, as Marsh eyed her with a smugness befitting the Devil himself, "Mhm, you've sure convinced me, Max," and the brunette scoffed, embarrassed.
"Y'know, I'm starting to think we might not be going down this road," and as they looked to her for an explanation, Chloe pointed to something coming from the stretch of road leading north of town, to their right.
They first noticed a line of shuffling figures, a great many of them, all along the opposite side of the street. This convoy of people were steady-paced and came from the northern road moving southward, down along Main Street and into Arkadia proper. To the girls, who've never witnessed such a solemn parade like this, it became a mesmerizing sight to behold. And what a sight it was: what followed these fleeing masses were a caravan of vehicles, as though in a loose formation, travelling along that same road these folks ventured on.
"What the hell—?" then Max adjusted herself, sitting forward, "What are all these people doing here?"
"There's hundreds of them," Kate whispered, in disbelief.
"Don't know," and their rusted truck clambered forth, as Chloe muttered loudly, "but we outta go now, these guys ain't gonna let me turn once they reach the intersection," so they rolled in line, and drove down the Main. From where they sat, Max and Kate looked out the passenger window, and saw the columns of these people, dreary and tired as they were. These were hunched, sore-heeled groups of people, with the women clinging close to their infants and the men carrying the backpacks, and the spare luggage. Very few children were in their midst, and the ones that were carried themselves like their mothers and fathers.
The blonde and the brunette noticed a few of the men had some rifles of their own, slung over their shoulders. While there existed no fear of these strangers, the girls knew that only the armed came when trouble was afoot, and those armed few gave them all the doubts they did not want.
"We're here," and Chloe took a left, into the small parking lot beside the Two Whales. Once the bluenette had parked in a spot right beside the diner, the girls quickly got out of the truck, wanting to get a view of the still-moving caravan.
Price took note of a sizable gathering of men on the opposite side of the lot who were conversing to themselves. A few looked to her and her friends but paid them no mind beyond that.
Good. Too hungry for this shit.
So she made for the diner's entrance, with Max and Kate in tow.
Unlike the much-changed world outside, the cozy atmosphere inside the diner remained untouched, and this eased Chloe's nerves.
What didn't, was David Madsen sitting at the counter section and nodding to the three of them as they walked in. Undeterred, she glared back at him, and made for her booth far away from the counter, and away from Sergeant Headass.
It seemed a bit too quiet inside the diner, as the punk shuffled into her seat, and snagged a menu from its holder. A few of the usual truckers and fishermen sat at the counter, but beyond that, there was no one else. No one except her and her friends.
A scowl, as Max and Kate were having a few words with Douchnozzle, and she couldn't help but scoff. Whatever ploy he was up to, she wasn't taking part of it, not one bit.
God, I could go for a smoke.
Max and Kate took their seats opposite of her, and a waitress came by soon after with a tray, topped with glasses of water. The cool bite of the water stifled whatever was left of the headache she'd been feeling hours ago, and Chloe sighed. She needed a better note to start off this day, something more than wine and painkillers.
Perhaps, some bacon is in order.
"Do you think they'll keep going?"
Price looked up from the menu that was in her hands, looking to Kate, then following her gaze to the visible columns marching down the street. They almost seemed endless, a never-ending line of people.
"I don't know Kate," Max piped up, "but I imagine they'll get to wherever they're going eventually."
"I hope so," Marsh sadly mumbled. While Chloe felt the same about it, she said nothing and turned back to her menu. Pity was not on her menu today, and she intended to keep it like that.
The time it took for their orders to be placed and then served was noticeably shorter than usual, and Chloe couldn't be more grateful. No amount of bullshit that came her way can stifle the good vibes of eating to her heart's content.
God, we thank thee for the creation of bacon, and all other wonderful forms of cooked meat, a-fuckin'-men.
A commotion arose, as that group of fellows from the parking lot made their way inside and seemed to converge around the counter. From her spot, Chloe could see they were talking to David Dingleberry, and talking of something grim. In the quietness of the diner, it became easy to make out what they were saying.
A sun-burnt man, who had a long grey beard and a weathered leather jacket, gruffed first to Madsen, "You the guy?"
"Aside from the boys over at the police station, yeah, I'm it," came that equally gruff reply.
"Good to hear, name's Don, Donovan Collier," then came a curt handshake, as Don continued, "We're wondering if you've heard anything about what's going on in Tillamook."
"I haven't heard much from down south, you'd be better off asking Officer Corn about that," Madsen takes a sip from a mug in his hand, "how far have they gotten to?"
"You got a map?" and so David pulled a map from his pant pocket, sparking the attention of Max and Kate, still eating off their plates.
"What are they talking about?" the blonde whispered, curious.
"Sounds like something big alright," and Max was easing herself out of the booth, "come on, let's go see it."
"Max, I don't think that's—" but Caulfield would not heed Chloe's warning, and the punk sighed, long and heavy. No doubt Max was still upset over what she said and was choosing to ignore her. So, Price got up from her seat and made her way over.
No point fighting the inevitable.
"...that's when they circled around our defense line here," and the man, Collier, tapped to a spot on the map now laid out on the counter, "swung in from the east, from Mohler, before we could react, ended up having to go into a full retreat further south. I tell ya, even though they've got no coordination, those red devils have the luck to make any man wary of fighting 'em. So now we're stuck here, trying to make our way to northern California."
"Then what's keeping you?" David then asked him, confused.
"They'll be coming through here. Bunch of rotten devils they are, they set fire to the whole of Astoria up north, just because the militia there mounted up to something more than a couple dozen's worth," and then, more emphatically, "I reckon, with the kind of guns and ammo you got, they'll sack your town either way. I'm sick an' tired of running from them, and so's the rest of us," Collier's men hummed and nodded beside him, "You got boats, and men who know how to use them. We'll cover for you, get your town evacuated and you can head down south with us."
"I like that plan," David agreed, sipping from his mug.
"Them's your kids, Madsen?" a fellow asked, and perked his head over to the trio inching closer. David smiled, and his brow eased up considerably.
"Yes, they are. One of them is, at least. These two here are some of the students I look after," and he gestured proudly to the mousy brunette and the shy blonde.
"Y'all were at that Blackwell place on the news, weren't you?" someone then asked, and whatever elations the girls had was suddenly swept away.
Not even twenty-four hours.
"Y-yes, yes we were," Max stuttered, and like her friends, ducked her gaze to the floor. Some of those strangers chuckled at their embarrassment.
"Now, you men should know heroes when you see them!" mighty Madsen asserted, and extended a hand to little Kate, with her round hazel eyes and ragged short hair, "This girl here saved my life. Without her, I would be dead, and many more would be too, had these girls not took up arms."
Chloe looked to David then, and for the first time in a long while, did not feel the need to scoff at him.
"Pardon me, Madsen, my boys meant no harm by it," Collier dissuaded, "we heard nothing else outside of what those suits in the media have said."
"Don! Don, you in there!?"
Heads turned as sudden movement came from outside, and the diner's entrance was shoved open. A ragged man, with a roughened olive-drab jacket and a rifle slung on his back, stumbled quickly to the counter, wheezing and hacking like a dog. The men began herding him to Don and set him upon a free stool to catch his breath.
"Come on, Lee, spit it out now, what's all the fuss?" and the man coughed some air back into his lungs, then rasped, "There's tons of 'em, headin' up from the road! We've already told the rest of ours to turn back, an' find a place to stay—"
"Who is it? The National Guard? The Reds?" Don interrupted him, and the strangers leaned in the hear their friend's response. The girls found themselves leaning closer as well, trembling in their shoes.
"No, the civvies! They're civvies from Tillamook, I reckon their town's already fallen by now," and this man—Lee—drew another ragged breath, then rasped again, "They've cut us off Don, those Reds have cut us off, an' we've nowhere to go!"
The diner was far too quiet now. Even the waitresses and what few newcomers had gone silent at the horrible news. The girls felt this silence in their hearts, this familiar feeling, not a few days old. Max, and Kate, and Chloe, they all held themselves still, as this fear festered in their hearts.
The fires of revolution.
Another soul came crashing through the diner's entrance, a fisherman by the looks of him, and shouted to all in the diner, "Come quick! There's a scuffle at the pier!"
The few fishermen that were amongst the men moved quickly and were followed by the others. The girls shuffled out behind David and Collier's men, and once they crossed the empty street, they looked southwards down the beach towards Arkadia's small harbor.
Even from the street, a great cluster of people could be seen standing at the entrance to that harbor, their chorus of random voices could be heard even from where the girls stood, a couple-hundred or so yards away. But this was nothing to the spectacle that was happening on the harbor's pier, that which jutted out from the half-mile extension into the bay. On this pier, a handful or so of people had made for the fishermen's boats, with fights breaking out as what few fishermen still at the pier guarded their boats from the refugees.
They were attempting to steal those boats. They knew there was no way out but the sea.
Skin bloomed with goosebumps as Max realized this, and a glance to her friends told her they had reached the same conclusions. This weight in their hearts, having metastasized at the words of Collier's messenger, now grew with intensity at the sight of those desperate souls attempting to flee.