"A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in." - Greek Proverb
The night came and went. After a modest eight-hour rest, the Angels found themselves gathered in the small, desolate Blackwell parking lot. The lot was a square of open space, and on the south side of this space was a low wall, where the ground rose to accommodate the gymnasium, and the dorms, and Blackwell's main building. The girls took their spots along this south wall, desperate for protection from the morning gusts that swept amongst them with frigid passion. This Monday's morning was truly grey, and cold. Clouds above gave no quarter to the sun's insistence for light and drowned them in the sea of dull greys and blues.
Olivia was reminded of her relative's home, which sat along the quiet stretches of the western Irish coast. It was nothing but green fields, gentle slopes, and the ever-constant grey of the clouds. Henderson was not too fond of the rain, dreary and drizzling as it was, but she appreciated the beauty it gave once the clouds would retreat from their siege of the skies, and the victorious rays of the sun would bless the Earth once again.
Here, it was hopeless to believe such things. The empty grey above was ordained by the blessing of Nature and reigned with absolute supremacy over all the lands below.
"How the hell are you not cold? You made out of ice or something?"
Olivia turned to the chuckles, as Grace gladly answered the question, "My family hails from the coldest parts of the Russian Far East, it is in my blood to not be bothered by this warm weather."
The inquiring soul scoffed at the notion of warmth and hugged herself tighter, clutching her rig and the shaft of her shovel with shivering hands, "Warm—warm weather my ass! I knew it was gonna be cold, but not like this," then she scooted to the closest source of heat, another soul adorned in their own jacket, "Alyssa, you gotta shield me from these winds, man—I'm gonna g-get frostbite at this rate."
"You'll be fine, Stella," Alyssa calmly replied. She adjusted the grip she had on her own shovel so the metal blade would not scratch her friend's side, "We'll be toiling soon enough. Then you won't be so bothered by the winds."
Olivia and the others knew what the stocky girl was pointing to; the orders they received from Chase and Caulfield. The Angels were ordered to support the construction of a defensive line, one that had been initiated by a volunteer force of militiamen and boys from Blackwell, just to the north of the campus grounds. It was why they all held shovels and buckets, why they were issued spare granola bars in the mess hall for breakfast. The scheduled time for eating breakfast would be spent working the earth and would continue until the order came to work on something else.
"What'd they say it was this morning, upper forties, lower fifties?" Dana inquired, fidgeting with her ponytail of auburn hair, "I'd like to think it'll get better later in the day, but then again, the weather always had a mind of its own."
"Yeah, ain't that right," Juliet muttered, rubbing her own mittens together, "I bet it's going to rain today, twenty bucks says so."
No one was foolish enough to take the bet, and Watson scoffed, taunting them, "What, am I gambling too much?"
"Nah holmes, we just know better than to go against your intuition," Stella jested, a smug look to her despite the cold, "maybe when it comes to picking good food places, I'd dare to bet against you, but otherwise—"
"Hey, I still stand by that!" The bronze-brunette lamented, miffed by the lighthearted jeers being sent her way, "you guys wouldn't know a good panini if it smacked you in the face."
"You think I know what a panini is?" the ebony brunette cackled, and the others cackled along, laughing at the incredulous nature of the question. And Olivia had to wonder just what the hell a panini sandwich was, for she'd never tried one before, never even seen one in her whole life. Was it one of those flatbread sandwiches, or was it more like a normal sandwich? Until she could see one of these elusive panini sandwiches, she may never know the truth.
"Hey, guys," Brooke's voice cut into the giggling, "check it out."
The Filipina pointed, and the others looked to the two Squad-leaders lugging a chest towards the midst of their squads. The chest was rectangular, with two dove-tail grips on each side and was painted a very dull shade of grey. Its lid was secured by a single lock hatch, which was pulled open once Victoria and Max set it down. Their sisters-in-arms gathered close and were addressed by Victoria—
"Madsen has provided us some spare helmets, to give us some means of protection from the cold and the rain," Chase bellowed to them, "Second Squad, we will be using the round green helmets, First Squad will use the grey ones. This will make identifying each other easier, depending on which squad you're with," and so the pixie blonde picked a helmet of her own and placed it upon her head, careful to not mess up her hair, "Once you've got the right helmet, follow your squad-leader, we're moving out!"
The girls picked their helmets and marched quickly, falling in step to their respective squad-leads. They marched past the concrete sidewalk and into the shrubbery and the trees.
The pines shielded the blessed light, and what dull grey colors were compounded by the shade, as branches snapped and rustled underfoot. Specks of light that pierced this cold and dreary landscape would shine with poor concentrations and leave the girls longing for brighter days. Indeed, trudging through this forested height brought the Blackwell Angels a sense of desolation.
When Victoria and Max made first contact with the trenches, they found themselves stupefied: the main sections had already been dug. The line was built on a treble system, a zigzag winding its way around heavy rocks and clusters of pines. Granted, this line in the dirt was barren of any details. The things that Madsen had informed Caulfield and Chase of—trenches running back to make for a quick insertion of men and material, parapets to assemble a firing line, drainage ditches, a shelter to store any supplies brought forth—none of these things were here. The girls still had their work cut out for them.
Yet Chase wondered aloud, "Where the hell is…?"
"What, where's what?"
"Madsen told me that we'd be greeted by one of the militiamen, that he'd fill us in on the things we need to work on. Nobody's here."
Max looked around then, looking for any sign of life besides them. Nothing caught her eye, nothing except the dreary shapes of the pine trunks, and the dull green of the shrubs.
"We could just start without them, if you want," she offered, and Chase nodded in agreement.
"Might as well. I'll have my squad start working on the shelter, probably somewhere over there," and she indicated a nice patch of earth, not encumbered by pines and rocks, "I'll leave you and the others to get the rest sorted out."
"Sure thing," Max affirmed, and called to her girls, "First Squad, listen up! We'll be working on expanding the trench, and digging up any low spots we find, follow my lead and I'll show you!"
Olivia and Grace followed the path of Juliet's posse, as they and the two of Caulfield's friends started down the trench line, shovels and buckets clanging together as they moved.
"Second Squad, form up!" Victoria commanded and thus waited for the rest of the Angels to gather close. Taylor and Courtney were already at her side, ready and waiting, but the others were sluggish. Only Sara the brunette seemed attentive enough to what she would say, but this didn't hold the Queen back, "We will be constructing a square-like shelter, right beside the trench line. I will guide you all on how wide and how deep it needs to be dug, and we'll go from there."
Tired, bitter faces nodded, so Victoria quelled the pang of doubt in her heart and directed her charge to where the shelter will be dug.
Shnk, thwum.
Shnnk, thwum.
Shn—tnk, thwum.
Sh—
Alright, fuck this.
Another shnk came, as a shovel was speared into the dirt, and a grumbling voice accompanied it, "Been at this shit for hours now, and you would think that there'd be at least something worth shoveling by this point, but no—there's nothing but these goddamn roots!"
"Maybe you're just on a bad-luck streak with the tree roots," came an innocent reply, and River set her agitated gaze onto the source of this offensive rebuttal, "I'm not hitting as many of them as you are, I could help you out once I'm done with my side here."
Schwartz had the temptation to cuss them out but held her tongue. Her gripes meant nothing, as she's been so generously reminded about. Nothing that may come from her bitching could ever hope to pull her from where she stands, standing here in this earthen pit, shoveling the damp clumps of dirt and these stubborn roots. She sighs, and grumbles, "It's fine. Sorry, I just—these things keep getting in the way, and my shovel can't cut them out that good."
"It's alright, I don't blame you. Roots can be annoying when you're doing anything under the surface, gardening especially," and they turned to River, and asked of her sincerely, "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?"
"River, River Schwartz," the pony-tailed blonde answered.
"Nice to meet you then, I'm Steph," and the auburnette extended a hand to her, "I don't think we've met before."
"No, we haven't," Schwartz accepted the hand, "nice to see a friendly face around here."
The two of them got back to it, shoveling and loading the couple buckets they had, waiting for pickup in the form of a wheelbarrow that was acquisitioned from Blackwell's inventory. The base of the shelter had been dug far quicker than they expected. After digging past the twigs and leaves of the surface, the top layers were true to their assumption—soft, homogenous dirt, easy for shoveling. The problems arose when expanding outwards, to the edges of the shelter's walls, where the tree roots invited themselves into the fray with sinister intentions.
The end result was a slow-going process to clean up the walls of this freshly dug pit, and this responsibility fell onto the two newfound friends. Chase and the others of Second Squad were now occupied with other trench works, an endless list of tasks the pixie-blonde squad-leader seemed to have an endless supply of.
Steph chuckled at River's quip, "Y'know, I've been on Victoria's bad side before, trust me; it's horrible."
"You too?" River inquired.
"Oh yeah—it was a long time ago. We were in the same class together, and I had the misfortune of being one of her partners for this project or something. Let's just say that project came out well, but at the expense of our sanity."
"Sounds like she's been a rotten bitch her whole life," Schwartz mumbled, picking at the roots with her shovel still.
"I don't think she could be. I know she's got a heart, somewhere," and when Steph was finished with her portion of the wall, she edged closer to the root-infested portion River was working at, and whispered to her then, "I also know Victoria doesn't get that mad at someone for no reason. What was she talking about, at the church?"
The pony-tailed blonde pinched her brows, "I…I was asking something of her friend, Max. She got in my face about it and made a spectacle of me in front of everyone," and the shovel struck at the roots one more, slashing through those dastardly limbs with a livid force, "That bitch used me as an example: to put me in my place, so to speak."
"What were you asking of Max?" Gingrich poked, curious.
River hesitated. This auburnette knew of the Queen, well before she or the others had. What was to say, that this girl here was close to Victoria, had a friendship, or something beyond what she'd admitted?
But Steph calmed this doubt, "Dude, if you think I'm friends with Chase, then spare me. We couldn't be friends even if we wanted to," and she joked to Schwartz, "She'd probably sell my soul for something in her favorite brand if she got the chance."
That got a smile out of the blonde, and so she opened up, "I was asking her—Max—if they could help me. There's this girl in our squad, the one with fluffy black hair—her name's Emilia. The poor girl's a loner, she doesn't have any family members after the Reds took them all. But that's not the end of her troubles; I think—I know—Emilia's being targeted by Sara, that brunette with long hair. I met Sara amongst the many people fleeing the Reds, and she's..."
River tensed, and quickly looked around. Steph found it odd to see this pony-tailed blonde become so nervous over another of their sisters-in-arms, and she watched with concern as River stepped close and lowered her voice to a whisper, "She's an opportunist. She sucks up to people, makes them feel like they can depend on her with everything, only to use those dependencies against them."
An eyebrow was raised, "...did she do that to you?"
There was something about the way River's gaze went cold that cued Steph in, as the blonde replied in a sour tone, "She...she tried. Didn't get that far. I had family with me and wasn't desperate for her company."
"...but that doesn't explain why Victoria made an example of you."
"You're right, it doesn't."
Sounds came from a gentle breeze, and they both looked up to the top of the dugout. The sounds of rustling leaves and twigs gave way to Samantha whistling a solemn tune, walking with the wheelbarrow. The source of the ruckus they heard was the two empty buckets brought with, clanging against the wheelbarrow's tub as it crossed the uneven ground. Myers parked the wheelbarrow beside the dugout, and looked down at them with tired excitement, "Hey there guys. Victoria says that it's only another hour 'till lunchtime, then we can stop working."
"Amen to that, I'm fuckin' starving!" Gingrich agreed to the sentiment, "Here, I'll help you out."
The buckets were loaded only half-full because a full bucket of dirt and roots was too heavy for them to carry, even despite the diminishing volume of their digging. It made carrying them out of the pit all-the-more bearable. Once the wheelbarrow was ready, Sam passed them the spare buckets and was off to offload the dirt to where it was needed, somewhere along the expanding trench line.
River waited a moment before continuing, "You're right. Victoria made an example of me for not agreeing with a decision she made, about who would be in either squad."
"Then what's Sara got to do with it?"
"She's trying to snatch up Emilia, be all buddy-buddy with the poor girl, but it's because she's a puppet master who likes controlling people for her interests. Emilia doesn't know that's what Sara's like. As far as she's concerned, Sara's just another girl who happens to have friends and seems friendly enough to be around, but I know better," and Steph could sense the worry creeping into her friend's voice as she shoveled away, "I begged Max and Victoria if they could help me keep her from Sara and her schemes, but I couldn't tell them that outright. It…it felt wrong, to introduce myself as someone who wanted to bring separation instead of unity."
Gingrich mulled over what was said, hacking away at the last of the pesky tree roots. She finally decided, "You probably should just tell them."
"You think I don't know that?" River snapped, "I...I can't just walk up to them and say it. It's not that easy—"
"Look, if you want to get them on your side against this Sara person, you gotta be up-front with them about it," the auburnette interrupted, topping off another bucket with the last of the roots, "I'd do it quick too, if I were you. The longer you let a weed grow, the more of them you'll be picking."
Then Gingrich had the gall to then toss her shovel aside and make her way out of the pit, calling over her shoulder that she was going to get some water from her canteen. And she left River standing there, thinking too much or too little about what she said.
Either way, she was right, and River silently hated her for it.
Her shovel struck at the ground, and with effort she pulled the dirt from its place of rest and laid it in the bucket beside her. Setting the shovel against the trench wall, she heaved up, and the bucket was taken into the hands of another soul, who took this bucket and dribbled its contents just before the top of the trench, then patting it down to create a small berm of earth.
They had been at it for hours now, despite the gloom, despite the oncoming pressure of the rain. This "firing line," that Chase had instructed them to build would extend on specific portions of the trench, a place where one could remain inside the trench yet be able to fire over the top and down onto the hypothetical enemy. To be able to fire from the trench without being in cover would be very difficult, and this problem was compounded by the Angels being usually shorter than the trench's six-foot depth.
It didn't make the shoveling and stacking any easier, as Emilia continued striking at the trench floor, cleaning up any excess forgotten during the initial dig.
"I just…I feel like she's not telling me something," she murmured.
This other soul with her silently smirked, and wondered out loud, "Perhaps she's doing what she does best: leading people on, only to leave them when they serve no use to her," then the concern crept forth, "River's had a habit of doing these kinds of things, when she was travelling down south with us. I've seen it myself...and I should have told you sooner."
"It's fine, Sara," Greenock deterred, "It's just—I don't get why she'd be so adamant on…doing the things she does. I wanted to talk to her, to see if she'd tell me why, but my luck is just fockin' terrible."
A chuckle then, "Fockin'? Are you Irish, by any chance?"
The shovel struck the earth and laid another helping of dirt into the bucket by the hermit's side.
"Nope, Scottish mostly. I've lived in the 'States all my life, so I don't have the strong accent that my parents have," and the solemn tone piqued Sara's interest, as Emilia began to open up, "My Mum's always told me that I should be proud of my heritage. I mean, I am proud of it, but it's hard when I can barely understand what my own parents are saying at times, the accent makes it seem like a whole 'nother language."
And Wilson, ever attentive of this opportunity, giggled at the notion, "Ah, I'm sure it isn't that bad. I would be proud of my heritage too," and when Emilia looked up to her with those green eyes of hers, glistening in the midday grey, it reminded Sara of the way his beautiful green eyes shone in much that same manner, "It's like loving yourself, but taking it to a greater extent."
"You…would, be proud?" Jacob's sister asked.
There was a pause, as a gust rustled the branches of the pines, and the quiet chirpings of the sparrows could be heard.
Sara looked away, "I don't…necessarily care for who I am. I'm not hateful of myself, obviously, but I don't care for where I come from. It's…it's a privileged mindset, in my opinion, and I'm just not privileged enough."
Emilia tilted her head at the idea, even more dumbfounded, "Privileged?"
"You know what—I'm just rambling now, forget it," a wave of the arm crushed any chance to elaborate, "The point, is that River's being a bitch to you, and you should stick up for yourself."
"But I'm not mad at her, though."
"You're not?" Sara chided her, "I sure would be! And you're just going to let her pull you along like what she did before?" and Emilia looked up from her spot in the trench, to see Sara's frown, "I've been around Schwartz, and you are far better of a friend than she could ever be."
"Anyone could be a better friend, all they'd have to do is try," and another shovel-full of dirt fell into the bucket, as Emilia muttered again, "River's…being a bit weird about it, I'll admit that much, but I think she wants to be friendly. I think she's trying."
"Trying and being are two different things, Emilia," Wilson reminded her, as she was handed the half-full bucket of fresh dirt, "If all River can offer you is an attempt of being a friend, then she's not worth your time. Not when you're being true to her, and she's not being true to you."
The shovel in Greenock's hands paused just before burying its blade into the ground.
"If you want someone who's actually got your back, who will actually be your friend, then let it be me, let it be us."
The long-haired brunette leaned closer, one hand clinging to the bucket, and the other reaching down to the hermit below. There was more to this offer, more than could ever be said, and they both knew it.
She'll just use you, like she's using them.
Emilia held her shovel rigidly, hesitating, "I…I'm sorry, I'm just—"
"Do you trust me, Emilia?" Sara cut through the stammering and stared her down. Every second passed at a snail's pace, as Greenock then slowly reached her hand out, reaching higher, and higher.
And her hand wrapped its digits around the lip of the bucket, and gently tugged it out of Sara's stunned grip.
A silence followed, as the fluffy-haired hermit continued to shovel away, and not once look up to see the bewildered glare. The opportunity had come and gone.
"Sara!"
Someone's voice cut through the ambience, and Wilson looked up in acknowledgement, turning back to see someone that Greenock could not.
"What, what is it?!"
Emilia heard it more clearly this time; she heard Jenny's voice shouting back, "It's lunch hour, we're going back to the school!"
"Alright, give me a second!" then looking back down, she reached her hand out again, "Well, come on, I'm not gonna leave you down there."
The brown gaze of the brunette was dulled, deterred, even when Jacob's sister took hold of her outstretched hand, and was hoisted from the trench.
Lunch was over within an hour. Grace noted that it was not by the insistence of Old Madsen and his many assistants and advisors that brought this efficiency, but rather the cafeteria itself. The native girls were exceptionally quick to finish their meals and flee from the large mess hall, leaving the outsiders to follow them post-haste. This meant that Grace was stuffing down her own lunch as she and Olivia followed behind Juliet's team, wondering all the while why there were so many mops and wet floor signs around the cafeteria's tables.
They were gathered before the entrance doors of Blackwell Main. The doors had been propped open and were left that way to allow for easier traffic in-and-out of the school. The rain that was expected since morning had shown itself and was beginning to drizzle in earnest. Their shovels and buckets laid outside in this rain, so they relaxed in the open hall, watching the perspiration shower the limbs of the few trees on the quad.
"There better be some sunshine and rainbows after this," the ebony brunette muttered, "at least then it'd be worthwhile to go out there and dig again."
"Again?" came a rasp, and the Filipina stopped cleaning her glasses to look back at Stella incredulously, "I thought we'd be working until midday, and that's it."
"We were, but the rain's gonna change that," Juliet spoke up, "Dana and I got most of the drainage ditches done, but they don't have anything to reinforce the walls. They'll probably flood, and that means we gotta fix it. Max said something about going it slow, but I just want to get this over with."
"I thought the boys were supposed to be digging the lines," the cheerleader snarked, miffed at the possibility of wading through mud, to toil in it, to be anywhere near it. A preposterous idea! To think that they were resigned to a task as menial as this!
But the sentiment came with an answer, as Alyssa replied, "They are. They're building another trench just down the slope of the hill. I saw them from that giant slab of rock we had to work around."
"You think they got anything to stop the rain?" Olivia asked, curious.
"I'd say no, but I'm not sure," Anderson replied, "I'd hate to be them if they didn't have something done. No one likes wading in mud up to their knees."
"It's the little things that make life," Stella smirked, smacking one of her boots, "Like having some good boots to keep the mud out! Count your blessings girls, and count 'em well!"
And they all smiled, for she was right: them having boots to trudge through the earthly sludge awaiting them was better than having nothing at all.
But Grace felt like there was something astray from this idle chitchat. There was something in the way none of them looked away from each other or the rain, something about how they all faced away from the hall leading back to where they'd just been. Even Olivia was gripped by this aura of discomfort, and sat crisscrossed on Bennet's right, facing towards her. It made turning to the curly brunette and catching her eye all the easier.
"What's up?" Olivia asked her, and the stoic blonde took her time to answer, "You're troubled by something."
Henderson blinked, then blinked again, "I'm alright Grace, honest."
"You all are troubled by something," Bennet rose her voice, and now Watson and the others turned to her, "I just want to know what's bothering you, if you'd let me."
And Henderson sputtered quickly, "Grace it's nothing—there's nothing wrong, don't be so worried about—"
"Hold on."
A hand was held out, and Olivia quieted at Juliet's behest. The rest of Watson's group had despondent looks about them as the reporter looked over the blonde, "We…we've agreed to not talk about it, but if you really want to know, then…I'll tell you."
A peal of thunder rolled, low and smooth. The rain poured evermore.
"There was this tyrant here at Blackwell, his name was Nathan Prescott. He had a mob of hounds to do his bidding and was de facto prince of this school. On the day the Reds rose up, so too did he, and his hounds took the whole school hostage. We were held in the cafeteria, and…we knew it was only a matter of time for us. Prescott had a vendetta against the whole town, and probably would've burnt it all to the ground."
The rest of Watson's friends had far-away looks in their eyes. Grace could see them stare at nothing, entranced by the monologue. Where Bennet may only see what is described by the words, these girls could see it, they could touch it and taste it, these moments crystalized to perfection.
"It was Max and her friends that saved us. I don't know how they did it, but they snuck in—they caught the guards by surprise and managed to let most of the school escape before Prescott and his hounds knew what happened."
"…most?" Grace asked, and heads dipped down in sorrow.
"Some of the teachers didn't want to leave, they were more worried about the students, about getting the police up to Blackwell," Juliet explained, her voice was hollow, "When the hounds realized what was going on, they rushed for the cafeteria. The whole lot of us were hiding in the other rooms by then, so all we heard was them coming down the hall, getting closer, and closer, and then…"
The rain poured.
Branches swayed, as a slight gust of wind swept across the quad.
Juliet's hand was clenched into a fist, shaking ever the slightest.
"It's why we don't talk about it much. It's why we try to stay away from that cafeteria," Dana eventually continued, "It hurts to think about it, to be reminded of it. It's better to let it go, to not dwell on it."
Grace looked to all of them once more, and silently nodded. She knew when to let it go.
It became quiet amongst the lot of First Squad, quiet enough that they heard someone come shuffling down the hall. They beheld the sight of Kate as she turned the corner, fiddling with her stahlhelm's leather chinstrap. She was adorned with a cloak, colored a dull olive green and draped over her shoulders, shrouding her figure near-entirely.
"Hey Kate," the most of them called, and she answered them back with a shaky nod.
"The rain-cloaks are just down the hall, Victoria's handing them out," she did not slow her pace as she spoke, and before they could inquire Marsh had stepped out into the rain, the drops pittering off her helmet and soaking the shoulders of her rain-cloak.
"The hell is she doing?" Brooke wondered, watching as she made her way to the shovels and buckets, grabbing one of each and marching on to the forest.
"I'm not sure," Juliet murmured, worried, "She really shouldn't be out there alone, but…"
Olivia nudged Grace's shoulder, suggesting they follow on, "C'mon, we shouldn't let her go off alone," and she addressed the rest of First Squad, "Grace and I will keep an eye on her, don't worry guys!"
So, they did. Once they'd taken a cloak for themselves, Olivia and Grace rushed outside, grabbing shovels and buckets of their own to meet Marsh at the trench-line.
"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Grace called over the downpour, trudging behind Olivia's excited gait.
"Yes, I am," she called back, "I sure as hell wouldn't leave you out here to work alone, it's the least we can do for the others."
"While I'd like to meet new friends, I'd very much like to do so whilst not getting poured on," Bennet complained, adjusting her helmet as a gust of wind swept the rainwater to attack their sides.
"Once we reach the trees, it'll be alright, come on!" Henderson beckoned her onwards, past the stretch of the parking lot, over the short brick wall at the perimeter, and then into the shrubs and pines.
It was slightly less torrential. The wind was not as powerful here, in the denseness of the tree trunks, but rain spilled from the branches in small waterfalls, dunking on their cloaks with random severity.
They made it to the trench line and witnessed it with frustrated brows. It was true, the drainage systems that were dug were doing what was meant of them, but the water was pouring too much, and mud flowed easily in great volumes on the trench floor. Rainwater was streaming out from the rear-line entrances and pooled in many sections of the line.
And in the middle of a section between a slab of rock and a cluster of large pine trees, the two found Kate slaving away in the trench, taking her bucket and scooping out buckets of water. She was frantic, oblivious to the two above her, oblivious to the uselessness of her efforts.
"Hey!" Olivia called down to her, "What are you doing down there?"
Wide, bloodshot hazel eyes looked up to them from under the rim of a stahlhelm, surprised by the company. A second passed where nothing was said, then Kate went back to it, desperate to alleviate the water's damage to the trench. Olivia and Grace glanced at each other, wondering if this poor soul had been possessed.
"There's too much water in there, it's not worth it!" Olivia called again, and Grace backed her up this time, "Kate, it's not worth the effort! We can fix this once the storm let's up!"
"I have to fix it, I have to!" Marsh shouted back to them, and the two glanced at each other again with exasperation.
Thunder rolled, loud and ominous, and they all looked up as the rain was now pummeling the earth, splashing in mighty droplets and soaking the ground. There was a solid sheen of water coating their cloaks, and the waterline was steadily rising in the trench. Grace could see that Kate's boots were almost lost to the rising water levels, squelching and splashing as the frantic blonde kept at it.
"You're gonna drown at this rate, get out of there!" Henderson hollered one last time, and when no response was given, they were driven to action. When Marsh heaved the bucket over the berm, the two struck, and wrapped their arms around her own. Before she could fight it, they pulled her from the trench, and Kate's cloak was lathered with mud as she was dragged up the trench wall and onto the ground above.
"Let go, let me go!" She begged to them, reaching for the bucket she'd dropped, "I'm not done, I'm not done!"
"It ain't worth it Kate, just wait it out!" and they fought with her all the way to the relative shade of a pine tree, where the branches protected them from the divine showering. It was there when Kate finally surrendered to their rescue and sat down with them to wait out the storm.
"You're fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" Olivia swiftly chided her, "What would've happened had we not come out here to help you, huh? You would've gotten soaked to the bone, and then you'd get sick because of hypothermia or somethin', and then we'd have to take care of you!"
Grace observed Kate, watching as the blonde tucked her head down in shame, and said nothing. Her boots were caked in mud, reaching up to an inch's worth below the top. The ragged blonde shivered, even despite the many layers she wore, despite the exertion of muscles. Her bangs were wet with sweat, and her breathing was short and raspy.
"Did Max tell you to go out here, alone?" Bennet asked, then Kate looked at her and rasped just over the din of the rain, "No, she didn't. I…I just couldn't stand being there any longer."
"The cafeteria?" the Russian blonde asked her counterpart.
Marsh looked out to the trench, seeing the water flow like a stream out of the eroding holes and crevasses, "...yes."
The rain spoke over them, loud and droning in its tones. The wind would give sway to these flat sounds, and branches rustled along.
"I'm Grace," and so Kate looked to the other blonde, and took Bennet's outstretched hand in offering, "Ah, Kate—Kate Marsh."
"Nice to meet you, crazy-Kate," the brunette joked to her, "I'm Olivia."
"Nice to meet you too," and she shook Olivia's hand as well, and bashfully continued, "Thank you guys, for helping me. I don't know what came over me there."
There was a distressed look to Marsh as she muttered this, a look that Grace was acutely aware of. Already was Kate's hand clutched at something by the collar, something small yet shining. A cross, a crucifix of her own.
"It's alright," Grace assured her, "It's better to not dwell on it, to let it go."
"On your own time, you two."
A shuffle came, as the pirate captain and her first mate stumbled quickly to Chase's side, and the three of them began their trek down the slope. It was turning into evening; the sun was past the curve of the horizon and now the town was being slowly swallowed by shadows.
They walked down the quiet stretch of Oak Avenue at a leisure pace. At least, a leisure pace for Victoria. It wasn't her fault her strides were long and consistent, that Max and Chloe could not keep pace, giggling something fierce about some silly joke they whispered to themselves. Far too often Victoria assumed herself to be the butt of their jokes and chose to let her stride display her agitation.
"Yeah, sure thing, Miss Long-Legs," and the punk snickered at her masterpiece of a nickname, keeping pace for the first time this trip, "Oh, now that's a good one, s'pose I should start calling you Vicky Long-Legs, if you don't mind me calling you that."
An eyebrow twitched, her jaw clenched and unclenched. The irony was Chloe was slightly taller than Victoria, and this meant her own pair of limbs were the same length, if not longer than hers. That stupid grin the pixie blonde could see in her peripheral told her Chloe knew this as well.
Max was trying not to chuckle as Chase then side-eyed them and huffed. Price would never change, no matter how much she tried to reason. It was true then, that these two had not truly changed much outside of what life had thrown at them. A realization that made this small excursion to the Two Whales all-the-more brutal to the pixie blonde.
Old Madsen, as Chloe affectionately calls him, had asked for their audience. Once the day was done and the rest of the Angels were holed up in the girls' dorms, Caulfield and Chase were to take a stroll down to the town's beloved restaurant and talk about stuff.
Stuff, or whatever the hell Madsen meant by that. He gave no specifics, and Victoria was not going to pry it out of him. At least, not until she was shit-faced and without a single care in the world to what came after doing something so bold and stupid. Though, perhaps he was not so tight-lipped to the two chucklenuts walking alongside her.
"Price," she suddenly called.
"Hm?" came the smug reply.
"Has Madsen given any details to you about what we'll be discussing?"
It was as they stopped at an intersection and waited for a lone truck to pass that Chloe gave her an answer, "Nah, he didn't. Why would he anyways, I'm not the one in charge here."
"No, you're not the one in charge. You're the one who might be in charge," Chase corrected, as they pushed on to the busier section of Arkadia's main road, "I haven't chosen someone yet, but having a second-in-command may be necessary for what comes next. Things will go wrong, and if there's no one to make a call, it could be the end of us. Which is why you're here," and then the Queen glanced at the bluenette, gauging her, "Also, Madsen's your step-father, so there's that."
Chloe audibly balked in surprise, and Max tripped over herself, "How the fuck—!?"
"I saw you and him in the dorms, the morning after the siege," Chase explained, "You seemed upset, and considering the way you spoke to him, I figured you two were close. I filled in the blanks when Max said something about you losing a parent."
The sobered captain rounded on her now nervous first mate, giving her a nasty look of betrayal, "You told her, Max!?"
Now Victoria was witness to the spectacle, as Max desperately placated her irate captain, "I was with Kate in the dorm room, I didn't think anyone could hear us, honest!"
The punk was sobered up at the idea of Vicky obtaining a juicy piece of gossip like this, but before she could act on this vulnerability, Chase spoke clear over both of them, "Relax, Price. I'm not going to be blabbing this to anyone I happen to come across, as much as I would like to."
"However," before Chloe could mount a retort, Chase beat her to the punch, "I would appreciate it if you would actually listen to what I have to say, instead of just brushing me off—"
"Yeah, yeah, sure Vicky," the punk brushed her off, and Victoria visibly wrinkled with repugnance, much to the other two's amusement, "Did Madsen say anything to you two, yes or no?"
"Nothing I can recall," Chloe quipped, testing her. Victoria knew better than to bite.
"Did he say anything to you, Caulfield?" and this time Max had the decency to hold back her chuckles, "No, I don't think he did."
"Of course, that goddamn melon couldn't bother to give any of us something worthwhile," Chase snarled, and the two beside her giggled at the idea of Madsen the Melon, "I'm losing my mind at this rate."
They were walking down the Main. Some traffic was passing them by, nothing more than a few trucks was out on this road at any given point. Many idle vehicles lined the edge of the road, mostly abandoned or sat out from a lack of parking space. As they passed the restaurants that lined this main street, they noticed these places were filled to the brim with people. The clusters and gatherings extended along Main Street and traveled all the way down to the pier. The great many of these folk were awaiting their turn, once the fisherman's boats would come back for another load of passengers.
It was obvious to everybody by this point, that the only way out of Arkadia and to the safety of the mainland down south, was via the sea. The Arkadian fishermen held a lot of sway to how many passengers they could allow, and how much fuel would be spared from what was still remaining in the gas pumps, but nevertheless the plan came to a head sometime after the fiasco at the pier.
Once order had been restored, Madsen and his advisors took up a plan to get as many people out of the town as quickly as could be achieved, starting with routine trips from the small harbor to the southerly ports along the coast. The closest of these stops, Depoe Bay, was a good seven and-a-half hours by sailboat, and this was excluding the trip back to Arkadia once the boats were unloaded and sent back to sea. To compensate for this, the trips these fishermen took were staggered. One of the many boats would go first, then another would follow it sometime afterwards, and then so on and so forth, to where they would come back at smaller time intervals.
But this meant that only so many could board the small sailboats, leaving the rest to await their turn, waiting for the next boat to eventually come back. They spent their hours here, waiting, hoping for the next chance to come.
The hundreds of souls here wasted their time with mundane things. It was not to the concern of the three Angels what they did, so they took no notice.
What was to Max's concern, was the stress radiating from the pixie blonde, and Caulfield lost her smile from the previous banter, "Vic, you holding up alright?"
What was expected to be a snappy retort, came as a defeated, tired muttering, "I'm managing. I…I'll be fine soon enough—"
"Bullshit," Chloe cut her off, also straight-faced, "You're looking like shit, you're talking like shit, and you're walking like shit. Had I not known better, I would've thought you got back from a party or something."
Narrowed emerald eyes glared at the interruption but said nothing in defense. Instead, Chase straightened her posture, keeping her chin up high and her walls even higher.
"Vic," Max brought the attention back to her, "If you need help, please let me know. Chloe and I are here to help you, if you'll let us."
"Yeah, it'd be real-fuckin' boring without you around to mess with," and despite the feeling of exhaustion, about every little thing that's gotten under her skin, Victoria couldn't help but smirk at the harmless jest.
"Thank you, guys. I'm glad you'll miss me the most, Max, Kari."
And Chloe took the effort to be quite embarrassed by this nickname and was spurred by mischief to reach out and ruffle the Queen's perfect hair. And when confronted with the visual equivalent of, 'You really have a death wish, don't you,' simply hid behind the small brunette shield placed between them.
They arrived at the Two Whales, only to find themselves in front of something unusual to what they'd normally see. There was a surprising amount of debris that surrounded the small restaurant, and the only way in-or-out of this makeshift defensive barrier of metal and wood was through the parking lot's entrance, lest one felt a desire to hop over the barricade. Once past this, one would come up to the Two Whales proper, and would notice the presence of at least one person standing on the roof. A sentry stood at his post, slumped in his posture and with a rifle by his side, looking down to the many folk and to the horizon of the bay.
Once they entered the diner, they were struck with a dreaded feeling of unfamiliarity. What once was a bustling restaurant had turned into a makeshift operations center. The booths were still in their places, but the tables were removed. The jukebox was nowhere to be seen, nor the shelves and the television that hung on the opposite side of the space. The countertop had lost its desserts previously in the glass display and was swept clean of any cupholders and accessories. Above, the menu boards were removed, and the bleakness of this renovation carried itself to the kitchen in the back.
Though they couldn't see much from the narrow slots, Max and Chloe imagined all the same, that this place had its guts ripped out, and was now a hollow shell of the paradise it once was.
Some militiamen were lounging in the booths and along the counter seats. Most of them were lead-tired and passed out in their places, and those that weren't gave them a simple glance and a nod.
Victoria, the least bothered by these changes, made her way to the right, walking past the booths and the countertop to approach the entryway to the kitchen, a push-door with a circular window placed at eye level.
A guard was stood by this door, and when Victoria approached, he addressed to her, "Identify yourself."
Chase frowned, "I'm here on urgent business with Madsen. Is he here?"
"I said, identify yourself," he repeated, louder this time. Some of the other militia looked their way.
The blonde huffed, "Victoria Chase, leader of the Second Squad, Blackwell Angels. I have important matters to discuss with Madsen and would very much appreciate you standing aside and letting me through."
He seemed unsatisfied, what with his half-lidded stare and his drooping frown, "They with you?" as he gestured to Max and Chloe.
"Gee, I don't know," Vic then leaned forward, and the lad seemed to step back, intimidated. Emerald eyes locked to his own with a vicious, sarcastic fervor, "Tell me then, does them walking in whilst right behind me seem like they're with me? Or do I have to spell that out to you in front of Madsen himself?"
Whatever retort he had, he smothered it with a pinched brow and a grumble. He stepped out of their way, and Victoria marched through the door with Max and Chloe in tow.
"Damn Vicky, you really tore into the poor guy," Chloe teased, and Chase simply replied, "You stole all of my patience already, of course I'm not going to spare any to someone I don't know nor care for."
The kitchen area was to their left and was as they expected. The stainless-steel appliances that hugged the walls were bare, and the large table in the center was lacking in any utensils and dishes. What it was not deficient in were the crates that they'd seen in the shelter underneath Blackwell, and on the tablespace were some spare jackets and helmets. These helmets were unlike the steel pots the girls had and were sleeker and more modernized.
To their right, there was another door, and beside it was a title card. Its former spelling was hastily scribbled over, and was replaced with a very rough inscription—
Office of Commander Madsen, Head of Arkadian Militia
The girls glanced at each other and figured it to be now or never. Chase took the honor of knocking on the door, and after some moments, a muffled 'Come in!' sounded.
They entered, and were confronted by the attention of several people. Some of them the girls recognized, like Cadet Matthews, and Lieutenant Corn of the ABPD. Max noticed the bearded old man they had seen previously, Donovan Collier. Besides that, the rest of the half-dozen men in the room were just faces without names, unknown to them.
David Madsen, with a heavy, tired brow and a coffee mug in his hand, greeted them in his heavy tone, "Glad you three could make it."
"Sir," Chase acknowledged, and then cautiously asked, "Is…this a bad time?"
"No," he dissuaded, and beckoned to them, "I need you here to know what's being planned, so that we're all on the same page. Have a seat."
There were a few chairs still unoccupied, and the girls took their seats.
"Now, back to the matters at hand," the Bear sighed, "Don, if the number of people being evacuated per day is as we've calculated, then we'll be done within the week. How long can your rear-guard keep them stalled before the Reds reach our town?"
"They're currently somewhere…here," Collier gruffed, and pointed to a spot on the map, laid out across the table, "Somewhere between Brighton and Manhattan Beach. They'll give us a few days at best, but I'd expect the Reds to fight their way here sooner than that."
"Very well, we'll have to hold to our defenses in the meantime," and Madsen turned to the police officers, "Corn, how's the northern defense line coming along?"
"Apart from the one section that's along Third Street, we've got most of it done," and when Cadet Matthews pulled and laid a detailed map of Arkadia atop the table, the Lieutenant indicated to the stretch of line crossing horizontally across the town's northern perimeter, "Thanks to Collier's men, we'll be mostly ready for an attack within a couple days. It's going to become a hassle once they try swinging east, and hit this defense line here," and the girls could see the way the line bent, and followed the curve of Third Street northwards, towards what would be Pan Estates, "We've only got the lines dug, but no battlements. If they hit us here, with enough men and material, then the line will crumble."
"Do we know how many civilians still live north of Cedar Avenue?"
"About one hundred to two hundred people, give-or-take. If you were to count the neighborhoods just south of Cedar, that's closer to four hundred."
"We'll focus first on getting the line finished before the Reds arrive. Do what you must. If that cannot happen, and things get desperate, have the militia help the civilians move from their homes. If they don't have any weapons, spare them some," Madsen then segued to another matter at hand, "Chase, Caulfield."
"Yessir?" they chorused.
"How are the defenses looking on the heights?"
Max was anxious, and nervously fidgeting. She let Victoria talk, "We've begun working on the lines, though most of our progress was held up because of the rain. We'll be finishing up the rest of it by tomorrow."
"Keep up the progress and inform me once they're completed."
"Yes, sir."
A pause, as Madsen looked over the map of their small town, a contemplating frown on his face. It was here, as they all looked to him, that Max could see the bags under his eyes. His skin was pale, and a sheen of sweat glistened under the light. The coffee mug sat idly was close to empty.
Madsen looked like hell, sitting here at the reigns. Max envied him not one bit.
"Then that settles it," he finally said, "Don, I'll leave your men to your jurisdiction. Have them do something, anything they can help with."
"They'll find something to do, alright. You know where to find me, son," Collier stood up, and with some other fellows, made their exit out of the room.
Lieutenant Corn and Matthews follow them out as well, and soon enough, it was just Madsen and the girls. It was here that the frown was dropped, and the tiredness crept up his back and pulled him down.
"Starting the day after tomorrow, we'll be prepping your unit for firearms training. Have the rest of your Squads notified of this, and be ready to assemble at Blackwell, on the front quad, at O-eight hundred hours when that day comes."
"…Madsen, permission to ask."
"I'm not a commissioned officer, Chase," the Bear sighed, "Say what you will."
"Will there…is there a possibility that we'll be fighting, instead of just retrieving the wounded?"
Max and Chloe looked over to Victoria, who held a straight brow and a straighter posture. And where Madsen could not see it, the two witnessed the pixie blonde's hand clenched to a fist, a nervous, shaking fist.
"I've already made it clear, that I will not be putting any of you on the front-line."
"Is there enough militia to hold the line at Blackwell, as well as the rest of the north?" Chase poked at his logic, and the frown returned in earnest.
"There has to be," he gruffed, "We've got most of the men up and armed, as well as the support from Collier's men. Even considering the defense of the town's south, we should have enough to defend the northern line. We will have enough."
"But they're inexperienced," Victoria inquired then, "I know I'm not a genius in military strategy, sir; but without experience, any army, no matter its size, can and will fall. Sooner or later, there won't be enough men to hold the line, and then what?"
Madsen seemed resigned to this, what with how he ran a hand over his aging hair, and sighed a heavy note, "If the Reds cannot break through our lines along Main Street, then they will try to surround us, and will most likely strike eastwards, towards Blackwell. The militia need these lines dug and prepared to be ready for that," he explained, and the weight settled in their stomachs like stones, "Now what's the point to telling me this?"
"I want to be prepared, sir, to tell the others what comes next," the Queen surmised, "I don't want to lie to them as much as you don't."
"I will not go back on my promise, not if I can help it," Madsen countered finally, "If it comes down to it, then I will let you know. Until then, you will focus on preparing for what is needed by the militia."
And that was all he would say of it. So, they left and went back the way they came. It was once the light had truly set, and the night began its tenure, once they had returned to Blackwell that they gave thought to what Old Madsen said. It seemed forced. It seemed like he was more or less telling them something different.
And when Victoria laid her head upon her pillow and stared up at the ceiling, she realized it to be the very thing she herself was encumbered by. A gnawing feeling, a terrible affliction of the mind.
Madsen was dreadful.