"Let every man remind their descendants that they also are soldiers who must not desert the ranks of their ancestors, or from cowardice fall behind." - Plato

"For what is the life of a man, if not interwoven with the life of former generations by a sense of history" - Marcus Cicero

The line slowed. Vehicles crawled to a standstill, only to inch their way forward but a few more feet to then stop again.

More and more, she saw the edges of the highway lined with abandoned vehicles. People couldn't stand to wait for the traffic to dissipate, and they took matters into their own hands. Entire families would take as much as they could carry and leave their vehicles behind, choosing to walk on foot. Word spread that some people didn't have any other choice: not everyone had the opportunity to fill their tanks before the fires broke out, and so when there was no more gas left to use, they packed their bags and began the trek farther south.

Grace Bennet looked over the rail of the truck bed she was sitting in, and watched as another couple families passed by, the fathers hauling the luggage and the mothers holding the hands of their children. They would be the ninth and tenth of all the families she's seen come walking past; she wonders how many have ditched their vehicles ahead of where she was, hoping to just keep moving farther along the road.

"I'm telling you dude, you always hit on an eleven. Never call a bluff when all you've got is an eleven."

"I know that, I just haven't played much is all."

She blinked, and her tired green eyes settled back to the other occupants in the truck bed, a group of three boys sat close together with a box laid between them, a number of cards laid atop its surface. There was the dealer with the cards in his hand, a clean-shaven brunet with a crew cut who went by the name of Adrian. He was the son of the family who owned this truck, they who offered her a place to ride along so that she wouldn't have to go out by herself. He had a cheeky smirk on his face.

"Yeah, you're telling me a dude like you who spends all day with no TV, no cable and some cheap-ass McDonald's tier Wi-Fi doesn't know how to play cards? That's some bullshit right there—"

"As if I had any cards to use!" the accused defended himself, his eyes aglow with indignation. His hair was trimmed short, wavy and black as night, but a five-o'clock shadow went down to his neck and his brows were strong lines on pale skin. A blank baseball cap sat loosely atop his head, the only thing to protect him from wind and rain. His name was James, and he quipped back to Adrian, "You should've seen the kind of dumb shit my parents kept around the house. They had one of those The Price is Right board games from the fuckin' 1970's, but not a single pack of cards! I remember when my aunt and uncle visited this one time, and my parents were tag-teaming on how cool it was to have this niche board game that basically nobody knew about, but when they were asked if they wanted to play cards they got all fucky about it."

"I dunno man, sounds kinda like cap to me," Adrian smirked, and relished the miffed glare being sent his way, "Hey Zeke, you think he's capping?"

Grace glanced to Zeke, the only other blond amongst the lot of them. The boy's hair was curly and went down to his shoulders. His demeanor had not changed since she had first met them: a subtle emptiness befitting the silence more than the banter. Even now, no happiness shone in his stare.

"Nah, I can vouch for that. His parents are nice, but I've been around them enough to know they're weird as hell."

"See? Lay off me then for not knowing the intricacies of Blackjack," James asserted, and Adrian relented with a shake of the head, and the flipping of a card from the deck.

"Aw shit!" the unkempt lad hyped himself, for a nine of spades now complemented his hand, "Let's fucking go, twenty! Let's see your hand try to beat that!"

"Actually, I think I got a pretty decent chance," Adrian countered, his own hand being a seven of hearts and a five of cloves.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, because not only have I got the luck of the gods on my side," a card from the deck yielded an eight of diamonds, bringing him to a tie with James's hand, "but because your dumbass just jinxed yourself, and now that I've evened up the score, I'm gonna get an ace on my next draw and you're gonna be sitting there with your foot in your mouth wondering where it all went wrong."

"Bullshit," James countered, his eyes alight with arrogance, "See if you're right then; Go on, draw."

Anticipation boiled under skin. Zeke's concerned gaze flickered between them and Adrian's hand on the top of the deck. Even Grace, though beside herself, took interest to whether prophecy would favor Adrian or James.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, the card was drawn. It inched forward onto the table, still faced down, and was held there. Seconds passed by, one after the other.

"...y'know, this is your last chance to admit you've got a skill issue," came a chuckle. James scoffed at Adrian's joke.

"Motherfucker, will you just flip the damn—!"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," an ace of spades on the box sealed their fates, and Adrian dramatically raised a pointed finger to the sky, "FORTUNE SMILES ON ME ONCE AGAIN!"

"Are you fucking kidding me—"

Zeke threw back his head in laughter, whilst James hung his own in bewilderment. Blessed was Adrian by fate to give his homie's pride a taste of its own medicine.

Grace looked on to the spectacle, then turned her gaze back to the long line of cars stretched ahead of them. It was nice to be distracted from the crushing weight of reality, but there was only so much one could do to alleviate that gnawing feeling in their stomachs. Dread was her true enemy, and his assault on her sanity was proving successful. The line had yet to move for some time now, and it was edging Grace into a panic.

"Hey," Adrian called, and Grace turned back to him, "You don't gotta sulk in the corner for the whole ride. Why not join us, I can show you how to play."

It wasn't his fault for how awkward the situation was. The boys knew each other well enough, but she was here only because she had nobody left to rely on. It was through misfortune that she ended up here instead of at her family's home in outer Seattle, where at least she could find comfort in being with her own parents. But this was not how it was, and so Grace was here, sitting in this truck bed, her knees drawn up and her short blonde hair shielding the right side of her face. Her guilt at being a liability to him and his kind family was what made her shake her head and draw up into herself.

Adrian frowned in apology, and muttered, "Alright, suit yourself then."

"...what's got you so messed up?" James asked, but it wasn't for her. Zeke was also observing their surroundings.

"The line hasn't moved for a while."

"Nah, I'm not talkin' about that," then James tapped his buddy's shoulder, "...you still trippin' about Jacob?"

Zeke huffed, his blond hair swaying as he shook his head in frustration, "I'm telling you dude, something's real-fucking-wrong with how he hasn't shown up. Nobody I talked to has seen him since last night—I even talked to his sister and she hasn't seen him at all since! You would think of all people, that Jacob would at least tell his own sister where he's going or what he's up to, but no—he's vanished into thin air. An' I don't like that one fuckin' bit."

"What, you think he got jumped, maybe sent to the shadow realm?" James wondered.

"I think someone tried to murder him."

Eyebrows were raised, and Adrian inquired worriedly, "You for real right now?"

"I'm dead-fucking-serious," came the reply, "Last time me and James saw him, we were chilling in one of those shops in that place we stopped at, and Jacob was there with us, just hanging out. All of a sudden, he gets up and is out the door before we can blink, and you know what? I stood up 'cause I wanted to say goodbye, and he was holding hands with some blonde chick we met earlier on the trip."

Grace listened to their conversation, wondering as well about this mystery. Zeke was adamant in his assumption, and drove his point home by concluding, "Next thing I know, she's pulling him out of sight, and that's the last time I saw him. I don't know about you guys, but if anyone knows where he's gone, then it's gotta be her. I haven't seen her since, but I know what she looks like, so hopefully I can ask her about him."

"Good luck finding her, man," James grumbled, "But you gotta be careful, in case she's the one who made Jacob disappear. Who knows, maybe she's got a knife or something on her."

"Jacob's not dead."

It wasn't a question, and it wasn't a mere statement. Zeke's furrowed glare made it clear that it was as true as the clouds in the sky. He was not dead, and until they found out otherwise, they had to hope—assume—that he was still within their reach.

A staccato of car horns sounded from down the line. All four of them rose from their spots and looked over the cab and down the street. The left lane, as expected of interstate highways, is the lane of opposite travel, where one would drive northwards. It was needless to say, but rather than head toward the fires of revolution engulfing the cities and surrounding towns, the road was packed with cars heading southbound, even with the left lane being utilized as a secondary. But now, it seemed as though these people had a change of mind, and they tried funneling back into the right lane, their car horns demanding they be given a chance to filter into the traffic.

The reason became apparent quick enough: the right lane was moving, faster than it had been. The four of them ducked back down to brace as now their truck rolled forwards, picking up the momentum.

"About damn time," one of the boys cheered, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief. Their next stop couldn't come soon enough.

They were ordered by Madsen to head for the hospital, at the northeastern edge of town. The girls wasted no time; it didn't matter much where they were directed to, at this point they simply wished to be away from the show of panic erupting at the harbor.

So they went, and with Chloe's ever-faithful metal steed they pulled into the parking lot of the Arkadia General Hospital, an eight-story colossus that towered over the smaller four-stories and even smaller houses in the town.

They had kept silent during this ride over. No one had a way to bring up conversation beyond what they'd seen. They let the truck's engine do the talking for them, and once Chloe switched the engine off, they handed this responsibility to the gentle breeze as they got out. The chill of autumn nipped ever so at their skin as they made their way inside.

The waiting room was large, and spacious. A great number of chairs were lined up in perfect rows all along the wall to their right and extending along its adjoining side. Some rows of these chairs were lined up back-to-back and took up whatever space in the middle of the room. Beyond these chairs on their left, the girls could see the receptionist's desk, with a single occupant sitting tiredly at the post.

Though what caught their attention first was the trio of familiar faces sitting in some of those guest chairs—it seems that Chase and her two aides were visiting someone.

Max called out softly in greeting, "Victoria!"

"Max," the Queen reciprocated, and nods came from the two girls sitting beside her. There was no bad blood now, Max surmised. They had no reason to look down on their fellow sisters-in-arms.

"Glad to see I'm not the only one willing to go to a hospital today," the royal quipped, and the whole group of them snickered at her dry tone, "what's bringing you three here?"

"I imagine you haven't seen what's going on down by Main Street."

Taylor and Courtney simultaneously raised an eyebrow, and Chase voiced their concern, "What, did something happen?"

"There's a big-ass caravan of people, hundreds of them," Chloe spoke up, "they were coming from the north, and they were lined up all the way from outside town. Lotta vehicles too, but they were nothing compared to the amount of people we saw."

It became easier to talk about such things with those the girls trusted. And indeed, their sentiments were shared, as the Queen became wide-eyed at their account.

"You cannot be serious," the royal blonde muttered.

"That's not all," Kate worriedly piped up, "we were having breakfast at the Two Whales while those people were moving along, and there was this man, he's the leader of this group of people—a messenger of his had come running into the diner, saying that there were even more people coming from Tillamook down south, something about fleeing from the Reds."

"The Reds?"

"That must be what they're calling them, the ones who're causing all kinds of havoc in Portland and Seattle," Max postulated, "They seem to be spreading out past the cities, but we don't know much about it. Madsen knows something about it though, that's why we're here—he told us to come here and wait for him, or something."

"I'll be damned," Chase swore, and this was concurred by the two beside her.

"So, uhm…what're you doing here, Vicky?"

"Well, Price, if you're that inclined to know," and the four other girls looked at each other, knowing what was coming, and agreed on the inevitable tussle between the Queen and the Pirate Captain, "I've been waiting to see if I could visit Dana. Juliet had invited me, and it's the least I could do for them."

"Y'know, that's pretty respectable of you," and a wicked grin was spreading, smug and sinister, "I think you ain't as bad as you were before, Icky Vicky."

"It's Victoria. Not—"

"Icky Vicky, Dicky Vicky, or even Bitchy Vicky, I know, I know," Price finished, and Chase was glaring daggers at her, "I promise I'll refrain from calling you anything but your real, honest-to-God name," and perhaps the Queen would have believed her, if not for the terribly devious grin that Chloe sported.

"Sure you will," Victoria muttered sarcastically, as if daring her.

"I swear on it!" and Chloe crossed her heart on this promise, "From now on, I'll only call you Vicky, nothing more, nothing less—" and the four others snorted at the royal blonde's face shriveled up, incredulous.

"I will fight you in this lobby, Price, don't make me go there," and those emerald daggers made themselves known, but they held an equally conniving glint to them. It was as if these two had been awaiting this moment, and their friends on either side were growing more concerned as to how far this feud would go.

"Yeah? Go on then, do it Vicky, no balls," the punk baited, smirking.

"As if you'd ever have the balls to finish what you start, Kari."

That got Price's attention real quick, "Come again, Itchy Vicky?"

"I think it's only fair that we find a fitting nickname for you too. Unless you want me to call you Blueberry of all things—"

Snickers arose from Max and Kate, as they could clearly see Taylor try to hold back a laugh, and see Courtney try to stifle a sudden cough.

"Ah, now that's just cold," Chloe chuckled out, "A'ight, fine Vicky, you got me this time."

Even the Queen could tell when a victory was too easy, but with everyone giggling around her, she wasn't sure if demanding a rematch was a good idea. The receptionist was poking their head over the counter, giving them an irritated look, before settling back into their spot behind that polished counterspace.

"When are they going to bother letting others in, it's been hours now," the royal blonde grumbled. Their merriment had died down and was replaced with the sudden sense of apprehension.

"Why? Haven't they let Juliet and the others through?" Max asked, but Victoria shrugged, "I haven't seen them at all since we arrived, not since—"

The entrance to the hospital opened then, and they looked to see the newcomers. The six of them were steadily surprised, as a great number of people began entering the building, making their way to the chairs. The absolute majority of these newcomers were girls much like them, with several being younger by a few years at most.

Where did all these people come from? Are they from the caravan?

As one of the last to walk in, David Madsen came marching his way straight to the receptionist's desk, and he was followed closely by two adults in white doctor's cloaks.

"Hey guys, ain't that the one Blackwell nurse, Miss Barenchi?" Chloe asked, and they hummed in confirmation. They had no clue of the other doctor, a clean-shaven man with short, slicked back hair and a stony brow, but they all knew of the sole nurse responsible for their well-being at Blackwell Academy: Dr. Ann-Marie Barenchi. A proud woman she was, with curls for her deep brown hair, and a small, rounded pair of spectacles on the bridge of her button-nose. The girls had few interactions with Miss Barenchi, but each memory served itself true: an honest nurse, a woman who well and truly cared for her students.

Now as to why she accompanied the Head of Security and had a terribly worried frown on her face, the girls were hesitant to know. Already had this big cluster of strangers come from nowhere, yet now there were even more happenings afoot.

"Wait a second, Steph? Is that you?" Price suddenly called out, and without waiting for a reply she leapt to her feet, a grand smile on her face, "Holy shit—Steph, you're alive!"

"Damn right I am, still kickin'," and Max singled out a brunette with an auburn hue to her short hair, donned with a white beanie, easy to spot amongst the rest of the surrounding groups. Caulfield couldn't help but feel a sudden, invasive feeling in her heart, watching Chloe and this stranger—Steph—embrace each other, like the best of friends. The mousy brunette had never met this girl before, and despite Chloe not mentioning her once, it seemed so apparent that they knew each other well.

"Where've you been? I haven't seen you in months!"

"I've been doing my thing—you remember how I was looking to transfer up to some school near Portland?" Chloe nodded, and Steph continued, "yeah, anyways, I was living it up, and I ran into a familiar face, if you still remember her," and to Max's bitter chagrin, another girl was beckoned over; she was a slightly shorter, immensely shier brunette, with smooth hair that traveled down to her shoulders.

"Samantha, what's up?" Chloe greeted.

"Hey Chloe, it's good to see you," Max could barely hear this brunette squeak out over the din of conversations, and her heart sparked with agitation as her best friend swung an arm around this Samantha character, as if they were close.

Stop, Max. Jealousy brings nothing good.

"So Sam and I were in Portland for a while," Steph explains, "but those protests kept getting worse, so we decided, 'Screw this, we're taking an early vacation out of here while we can,' and sure enough, when we started up and made our way for Tillamook, the radio stations were blasting this EMS warning, saying shit was going down," the three long-time friends made for some seats, and Max could finally listen in on what was being said without eavesdropping, "We've been meaning to come back down sometime, catch up with you and all that, but with what's going on I suppose we're gonna be staying here for longer than I expected."

"You know I got your back, Steph," Chloe immediately assured, "you and Sam need anything, I'll hook you up."

"Thank you so much, Chloe," Samantha replies, and Max could not help but feel her brows pinch in suspicion. She found herself enamored by a sense of unease, but whisked it away with a shake of the head.

Get over yourself. Don't be rude.

"Ahem," and they turned to the Queen and her two royals, who commanded their attention, "It's nice to see some familiar faces around here, Gingrich. Myers."

Her greeting was met just as formally, "Victoria, good to see you."

"Ah, yeah—guys, these are some friends of mine," and Chloe directs their attention away from the amused Queen to Max and Kate. The spotlight was on Caulfield now, and she froze up, unsure how to introduce herself.

Luckily, Steph made the first move, "Nice to meet you, I'm Steph, and this is Samantha."

A hand reached out to Max, and she took it earnestly. An honest friend of Chloe's was a friend of hers, even despite her feelings about them, "I'm Max. This is Kate," and Caulfield nodded to the blonde beside her, who gave them a small wave and a smile.

"Nice to meet you Max," Sam gushed, and brought a bright smile to her features.

Max nodded. She did not smile back.

Instead, her attention was suddenly captivated by a small group of figures coming from one of the hospital's halls, and her eyes widened with relief at seeing Juliet's trademark bun and jacket.

"Juliet!" she called and waved the reporter and her group over to theirs.

"Max! Glad you made it," the bronze-brunette greeted, and took notice of their now significant group, "Oh wow, the gang's all here—how's it going guys?"

A chorus of heys and alrights replied, but one voice rose out from the rest.

"Is that you, Watson?" Steph welcomed, a cheeky grin on her face.

"Is this me?" the reporter answered back, and met halfway to Gingrich's embrace, "Damn, it's been too long, Steph."

Max felt herself acutely out of place, what with how seemingly everyone was long acquainted to this new-coming auburnette. Caulfield turned to Kate, her last bastion of familiarity, and was assured in the blonde's clueless shrug; it seemed that she wasn't alone in being out of the loop.

"You got that right, Jules. I've been meaning to come back down here, catch up with everyone—is this your crew?" and Juliet introduced her group to her long-known friend, "Yeah. You remember Brooke, she was the sound-editor in that one play we did way-back-when—and this here is Stella, and Alyssa."

"Nice to meet you guys," Steph smiled, "I'm Steph, and that's Sam over there," and the auburnette gestured to that shy brunette sitting amongst Victoria and Max's group, smiling brightly. The girls greeted her in kind.

"So, Jules, where's Dana at?"

And just like that, the heads of everyone turned to the question, unbeknownst to Steph, and the easy-going smile was wiped from Watson's face, "What?"

"Where's Dana? I figured you'd know," but the mood caught up to Gingrich then, and she dared to ask, "what, what's wrong?"

"You didn't see the news, did you…?"

"No, I already told—Sam and I were driving out of Portland yesterday when all hell broke loose, we came here as quick as we can. Jules, where's Dana?"

Watson had a solemn look to her, and Max knew that everyone else had that same look as well. Samantha was a bit disturbed by the sudden change in atmosphere as well and looked on to the conversation with anxious interest.

"She got hurt. There's…there was, an, uhm—sigh—there was a shooting, at Blackwell."

Steph's eyes widened to saucers. Sam's did the same a moment after.

"What—!?"

"It's…it's not easy for me to describe, but Dana got hurt when it happened—I mean it's nothing serious, she's not going to die or anything," Watson quickly deterred, "she should be out shortly, the docs are almost through with—"

"You're telling me there was a shooting at Blackwell!?"

The nearby conversations surrounding the twelve girls fell quiet, and even more heads turned to the outburst. Discomfort gripped their hearts.

"I—I'm saying that it's over," Juliet was trying to ease the sudden fright, "Madsen and the police came in, they put a stop to it. It's been over for a while, Steph, just—take it easy, calm down."

Only twenty-four hours, give-or-take.

Caulfield imagined that the ones who knew were feeling the same thing she was, this feeling of dissociation. To which none of them objected to Juliet's fabrication, that all was taken care of by the police, and by David himself, that they had no part in such terror. Steph didn't need to know right now, and neither did all of the strangers surrounding them.

Thankfully, these strangers thought Gingrich's outburst to be a fluke and returned to their own chattering, albeit more hushed and anxious in their tones.

"Guys?"

The twelve looked to Dana, as she moved through the crowd of strangers towards them. Those who were in the know took notice of the plain, bland baseball cap the cheerleader wore, covering her head and the bullet wound, no-doubt. Immediately upon reaching them, was she engulfed into Steph's embrace, and was greeted with the fellow auburnette's fright, "Dana, thank God you're okay!"

Juliet was the one to cue Dana in, and with this she assuaged Gingrich's worries, "Steph, I'm fine, really. It was just a scratch, that's all it was."

Max then focused on the number of doctors and nurses, in their white cloaks and turquoise scrubs respectively, who now gathered at the mouth of the hallways leading into the hospital. Madsen stood among them, frown and all, and was conversing with those doctors. He was in charge, if his gestures and straight brow were anything Max could decipher.

David then turned and cut through the conversations amongst the sea of girls with a single, resounding call, "Attention!"

The din was shut down in that instant, and once he was sure they could hear, Madsen spoke again, "I imagine you are all wondering why it is you are here, and not with your families. I am here to fill you all in, to the best of my ability."

His tone was hard and grating like rocks, but it was clear, and they could clearly hear the bitterness in that voice. Max wondered what it was that was irking him so badly. Perhaps he'd tell them.

"There has been an ever-developing situation in the state of Oregon, and even more so in the neighboring state of Washington," he started, "as many of you who've been forced to leave with your families know, there is a group of people—we have decided to call them the Reds, for simplicity's sake. The Reds are making their way from Portland, and Seattle. We do not know who they truly are, we do not know what they really want. But what we can be sure of is that they are dangerous, and that wherever they go they bring nothing but destruction."

A breath, then, "This town of Arkadia is now in the path of these Reds. It is likely that they will destroy this town, much like they have done to the other towns they've taken," then came the subtle pinching of his brows, as his tone grew heavy and grim, "I will be honest with you all now, and say that there is little chance for us to evacuate everyone to safety before the Reds arrive. The city of Tillamook to the south has already fallen, and with it, the only land route we had to escape from."

Max's fears were confirmed, and so were the fears of her two best friends beside her. The others looked on with perplexed fright, for the truth had come to fruition, in all its terrible potential. She imagined the rest of the strangers surrounding them wore similar looks then, looks of anxiousness, of disbelief.

"This brings us back to the point of you all being here," and Madsen cleared his throat, and solemnly spoke, "no one would demand this of you, and neither will I—I understand that some of you have already lost your homes, some of you have lost friends and loved ones," another breath, "but if there is ever a time to stand for all that which you love and cherish, then it must be now."

Max felt her own brows pinch, pinched with pity. She couldn't imagine having to tell someone they were doomed to fight for something they took for granted.

"If you do not want to fight, then I understand. I do not want this as much as you. But if we are to have a chance, then everyone must lend a helping hand," so that straight brow of his took hold, and he asserted through his obvious grief, "I ask of you all to separate yourselves into two groups, all girls under the age of eighteen, stand over by the wall there," and he pointed to the wall opposite of him, and to the left of their group of thirteen. They beheld the sight of several girls—the young'uns, no doubt—stand and make their way to crowd against that wall. The remainder of the strangers still sitting, seven in total, remained where they were.

"All of you who are standing now, you are designated to be volunteers to this hospital's staff. You will be asked to help with the doctors and nurses to the best of your ability, including the movement of vital equipment from the hospital to the center of town. If you do not wish to be a part of this, and want to go back to your families, please raise your hands now."

It was slow, at first. A single hand was raised, then another, and another. Max counted some twenty of the thirty-or-so that stood.

"Very well," and they could almost hear the relief in Madsen's voice, "those that wish to leave, you will be escorted by Dr. Barenchi to where your families shall be staying in town. The rest of you shall be led by Dr. Neumann," and David motioned to that stony-faced doctor standing beside him.

"Those of you still sitting, please stand up," and Madsen's baritone carried with it the passive command that they were familiar with, and they all stood, "You all are, to my assumption, eighteen or older. You are adults—barely—but adults, nonetheless. You all are designated to be indirect assistants to the hospital staff—I will go into detail on what that means later. For now, I ask of you all to report to Blackwell Academy within the next hour or so. If you have a car or truck, take that. If not, it should be a thirty-minute walk from here to the school."

By now, the young'uns have made for their places, either outside or in joining the doctors and nurses, so now these twenty girls stood before Madsen alone.

He seemed to check for this privacy, and once assured, he then lowered his bold voice, "I am asking of something from you all, that I would never consider asking if I had the option to. The way I see it, we are all being forced to do things that we are not prepared for."

Yet this solemn note became honest, and dare Max believe it, proud, "but I have my confidence in you all. A great many of you have already proven yourselves—you have stood up to your foes and defended your lives, and the lives of your fellow peers. I will not send you into a situation that calls for you to fight if I may, but neither will I leave you defenseless should all else fail."

Should all else fail. Should all else be sundered and destroyed. Should all else be murdered, and bludgeoned.

"Your fathers and brothers will stand up to the Reds, and they will buy as much time as they can for those who cannot fight themselves," another breath, "you all are asked to support these men via non-combatant roles. If you do not wish to be a part of this and want to go back to your families and loved-ones, please raise your hands now."

No one moved. David had no malice in his frown, he had no anger to give those who'd rightfully shy away from assured peril, but still none of them raised their hands.

The thought of raising her hand crossed Max, but this thought was banished in an instant. She did not push it away because she was scared, no—no, she shunned it because she would not let herself be defenseless, and she found herself gripped by a sudden sense of being, a purpose beyond even her dreams of photography. It swelled in her heart and blossomed into a beating drum, drumming in tangent with her heart and silently sounding its call.

She would not dare leave her sisters-in-arms behind, she would not dare betray her native land, and all the memories she's made, good and bad. She would not betray the pact of friendship she'd formed.

And neither would any of her sisters do this to her. No one raised their hands. The strangers must have felt dissuaded by this steadfast atmosphere, that they did not go against this sentiment. Not Steph, nor Samantha. Not any of Juliet's group, nor Victoria's. Not even Chloe, who hated Madsen's guts, dared to spite him in this moment. And when she turned to Kate, Max found her dear friend to be standing tall, taller than she'd ever seen, with her back straight and a gentle hand on that golden crucifix. A light shined in Kate's hazel-grey eyes then, a beautiful light. It left no room for doubt.

For faith. For folk. For Arkadia.

"Very well," Madsen dragged out, giving them one last chance, then finally, "Report to Blackwell, I will meet you all there. Dismissed."

He then marched for the exit and was outside and out of sight.

"Alright, listen up! My truck, my rules," Chloe declared over the crowd of girls surrounding her personal vehicle, "Max, Dana, you're up front. The rest of you huddle in the truck bed, don't lean too much over the sides or you'll fall off. I'll be going as slow as I can," and the punk opened the driver's door to her weathered pickup, praying that it had enough structural integrity to hold the other seven girls in its bed.

That, and she silently thanked Marsh for giving up her spot for Dana. She'd feel infinitely worse resigning a hospital patient in the back of her truck not even after an hour of being discharged. Whatever Sergeant Pepper had in store for them, it had better be worth this hassle.

She could feel more than hear them clambering in back there. A turn of the head showed Kate helping each of them up, including two girls she knew nothing of. These couple of strangers seemed friendly though, unlike the group of randoms that Chase was taking in her classy BMW. But Chloe felt herself overcome by a sense of responsibility, a doubt of being in the care of this many passengers.

God, I could really use a smoke.

The tailgate was slammed closed as the last of them were hoisted up, then Chloe ignited the engine, letting it purr for a few seconds before gently easing it into gear. It held up, and that was all the assurance she needed. They began their journey out of the hospital parking lot and into the suburbs.

"…hey, Dana?"

"Yeah, Max?" Chloe craned her ear to the conversation starting up, even when eyeing the road.

"How's, uhm…how's the uh—" and the mousy brunette gestured to the top of her head, and Dana snapped into recognition.

"Oh, yeah, it's all good. The docs weren't fretting much about it, so I imagined I had no reason to fret either," but where Chloe could only hear what was said, Max could clearly see the worry on Ward's brow, "I just assumed that…that I was gone, y'know? One second, I'm standing up, the next second it's just empty...and then I wake up in a hospital bed, my parents right beside me."

Max had not seen the moment Dana was struck unconscious, but Chloe had, "Yeah, it was fuckin' rough alright."

"...yeah, huh," Dana remembered, "...what happened, right after I got hit?"

Price was making a turn onto Cedar Ave, which would lead to Seventh Street and finally to Blackwell, so she waited until she was in-lane before starting up again, "Your buddy, Juliet, was trying to carry you down those steps, but she wasn't going fast enough. I told her to cover me, I knew I could carry you out of there if I ran for it. So, she did just that, shot those hounds to pieces while I got you to safety."

"Holy shit," Dana whispered. She took a moment to look back, out the cabin's rear-window to see her group of friends, swaying around to the jostle of the truck. They spoke animatedly to the strangers opposite to them, and the one Dana was looking for, Watson, was in conversation with a curly, short-haired brunette.

Even despite having said their greetings once she'd woken up, Ward had not known of what her best friend had done to keep her alive. So Dana wondered what kept Juliet from telling her what happened herself. Perhaps she'd soon ask the reporter about it.

Moreover, the cheerleader's curiosity was carried to the two strangers that her best friend was conversing with. There was this curly, short-haired brunette that Jules was talking to, and then there was a stoic, silent blonde companion sitting next to this brunette. They seemed familiar to Dana, but she couldn't put a name to either of them.

"Do you know who those two are, Max?" she asked, and the mousy brunette spared a glance back to those two strangers in the truck bed. From Max's perspective, they seem to have Kate's trust, if her talking to them was any indication. Caulfield trusted them enough.

"I've got no clue. I think the one Juliet's talking to is familiar, but the other girl I'm not sure about."

The truck gently turned off of Seventh Street and made the steady climb up to the campus grounds. There was the column of militiamen now trekking up the slope, marching on the sidewalk beside the street. Some of these men waved at them kindly, and the girls waved back in reciprocation.

"Madsen's up to something big, alright. Look at all of them," Max muttered.

"He's just utilizing what little useful shit he learned in the military, big whoop," Chloe snarked, "he better know what he's doing, or else we're all fucked."

"What are we supposed to do? He said something about non-combat roles, whatever that meant," Dana inquired, a hand on her chin in anxious thought, "He wouldn't really send us to actually fight, would he?"

"I don't think so," Max assumed, somewhat confidently, "He said he wouldn't, at least. I imagine he wouldn't like that weight on his conscious."

"He fuckin' better not," Price grumbled, as the truck's ascension up the slope was near complete, and they could see the turn-in to the parking lot. The line of militiamen continued on, to where a gathering had formed in the front quad of the school. Overhead, newly formed clouds reigned the sky, and sheltered them from the dim rays of the sun.

Once they had gathered themselves, including the several of those who'd gone in Victoria's fully packed sedan, the twenty girls trekked to the quad and witnessed the bustle of militiamen in this open space. Some men were flowing to and from the entrance of the main building, and those men who exited carried a great number of the weapons and supplies from the school's shelter down below. These supplies were brought to a section of the front quad and were rationed to a line of waiting militia, organized into loose platoons of men; these platoons each took their share and went about their way, down the road and back into the town.

Madsen, who they took notice of immediately, was stood before a group of boys—the many boys of Blackwell Academy as well as a number of their fellow brethren from the caravan—and he addressed them all in his bold and rumbling tone.

"So I ask of you now, boys, men of a new age, to adhere to the memory of your fathers, and their fathers before them," and the girls watched, as Madsen gestured with an outstretched hand to these young men, who beheld their leader with raptured attention, "From these Reds, who terrorize your people and burn your homelands, you shall take victory from them! It is you who shall stand as the shield, you are the ones who dare to defend that which is yours. For all that you have been given, and to all which might be given unto you, by Fate, by the grace of God—stand and fight, men!"

Max felt the sudden spark alit in her chest. She knew that David was not addressing her, nor was he addressing the girls in any capacity. And yet, Max found these words and the sentiment that existed in them to resonate so clearly in her heart. Caulfield had not known this feeling could exist, she had never felt it once before—but here it was, calling out from the depths of ancestral memories. A glowing warmth bloomed in her chest, a kind of feeling that she rarely felt before.

And this feeling rang so powerfully amongst the ranks of boys, they whose eyes were wide with adventure, longing for the fires of glory. Even despite the assuredness of coming strife, some of these young men held smirks and smiles.

From amongst their ranks, Max could see their familiar faces. There was Logan, Zachary and Andrew—the three who'd stood against the Black Knight—standing with straight brows. There was Evan Harris, his glasses square upon the bridge of his nose, poised with excitement. Luke Parker was standing beside him, his cap shading his stern gaze and boisterous posture. Justin and Trevor, their skateboards in hand, looked on to Madsen's words with a keen interest. Daniel DaCosta was smirking proudly along with his comrades; his sleeves having been rolled up in anticipation.

There was Warren, standing in the middle. Though he had not a smile on his face, though there was no hint of visible emotion to him—his eyes were open, and alight with a burning fire.

That even with their brows furled, these boys teemed with the sense of readiness, of something that Caulfield could only describe by this one term.

Purpose.

"You shall report back here, on this quad, tomorrow at O-Six hundred hours," Madsen called at last, "We will begin coordination and basic training, as well as assign you all the gear necessary. Those of you who are not native Arkadians, I ask that you take quarters with a fellow Blackwell student or find a suitable place in the dorm building. I expect nothing but the best from you, as you expect nothing but the best from me. Dismissed!"

The boys broke ranks and made their way to the boys' dorms, treading past the girls and down the path around the gymnasium. Madsen looked over and signaled to them; the girls took this as their cue and pressed forward into the open space of the quad. The Head of Blackwell Security looked ready to speak for them, to call their attention so that he might speak, but they would not need this. The twenty girls were driven by their own volition, and despite their clumsiness they formed ranks of their own. A great line of them standing shoulder to shoulder stretched before him, and awaited his speech.

He obliged, "I had made a note of bringing you all up to speed on what it is you have volunteered for. I shall do so now," he cleared his throat and spoke loud and clear, "You all have volunteered to be a part of a branch of a newly formed organization. This organization consists of nothing more than the men and women of Arkadia, the many hundreds you see in your everyday life. Your friends, your families, your peers and neighbors—the small business owners and the fishermen, the doctors and the church clergy—all are a part of the Militia of Arkadia, and now so are you."

"Your occupation is simple," and he walked slowly up and down this line as he spoke, "You are entrusted with the task of supporting those wounded in the line of battle. As you may have heard, your fellow men will be the shield meant to stall the enemy and buy us time to evacuate the town of as many people as possible. These men cannot hold forever, and those who fall wounded must be brought to the new field hospital in the center of town, which has been assorted in the office buildings and the town's church."

So that's why they were moving the hospital equipment.

"With manpower already stretched as thin as it is, having you all volunteer means the difference between victory or defeat. For every one of you standing here now, there's a man who can now fight alongside his comrades and protect you and everyone else from the Reds. So, you all have risen to this occasion, and shall operate under the jurisdiction of myself and the head doctors."

"The work that is expected of you is hard and arduous, challenging on the mind and the body. I will not ask of you anything that I have not done myself," so they witness him place a clenched fist over his heart, as an oath, as a promise, "In-between the fighting, you will be expected to go into the defense lines and retrieve the wounded. There will be a chance that you will be caught up in firefights and sporadic attacks by the Reds. You all will be provided with the gear necessary to fulfill your purpose, as well as to defend yourselves."

"Your main area of operations will be here at Blackwell—if circumstances force us, then you all will be relocated to the church, should the Reds launch an attack on the town itself. Living quarters will be arranged in the church building, and in the surrounding structures. Mess time—the time for your breakfast, lunch, and dinner—will be predetermined, and served in either the Blackwell mess hall or the church's nave. Any time not spent resting, is time that will be spent preparing."

A fire burned in their hearts. A gentle flame, a small light amongst the dreary expanse of the world around them. Yet this figurative flame, small as it was, flared so brightly at Madsen's spirited words, "You all have family. You all have this town, this community to call your own. Most importantly, you all have each other. To each and every one of you, comes the need to stand together—to do otherwise would be the end of all you have. So, for the sake of your mothers and fathers, for your siblings and relatives, for your friends—for yourselves, if you must—make your stand. There will come a time many years from now, when all is said and done—that girls your age will look on to you, you brave few who stood for what you love, and dared to triumph against the odds! Give them the purpose you find yourselves with now, and stand!"

And fight, Max completed in her head. Stand, and fight.

Madsen seemed keen to finish up his spiel, and so concluded, "We start tomorrow, at O-Seven hundred hours, here in the front quad. Those of you who are not natives to Arkadia, I ask that you join with a fellow Blackwell student or find a suitable place in the girls' dorm building. That is all."

They didn't break rank however, so Madsen called out, one last time, "Dismissed!"