Wow, already post-Groundhog Day/Sup...Big Game Sunday!
My apologies for the long delay between updates, and my sincere thanks to everyone who has stayed with this story. It's almost time to bring this particular take on post-2011 PV life to a close. I've got an idea for how to approach the ending, but it may take some time to get everything in place. A (fingers crossed) proper conclusion WILL be forthcoming, though, so stay tuned…and thanks again!
####
"Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?"
It was the first night in so long he'd been able to enjoy the comforts of his own bed. Spending the night partaking in those comforts with his wife had seemed like a damn fine idea. Unfortunately, the woman who called him had other plans.
Now here he stood in some rat shack straight from the bowels of Hell, surrounded by a collection of women the Steel Magnolias franchise would envy. Heading up this rag-tag little group was the unexpected ally who'd given him some needed guidance on the overseas adoption process.
When Erica Kane called in a favor, she really went the extra mile.
"In here," she said, as if no other explanation was necessary. No observations about their new digs. Not a word in acknowledgement of the familiar little bundles perched on shoulders. Sighing, Jake obliged, following Erica through the door.
At the sight of the bleeding boy and his frightened companions, questions were replaced by directives and techniques as familiar to him as breathing.
When Erica and the others left with apologies, he barely noticed. Nor did he offer much acknowledgment when his young helpers refused to leave with the women, opting to stay by the fallen boy's side instead.
"Jesus, Ty…"
Only when Randi Hubbard and the scared young man Jake recognized as Reggie Montgomery dropped to their knees beside them, and only when they took the struggling boy's hand did the doctor attach a name – and an untold story – to his patient.
####
"I would advise you to stay where you are."
The truly sick thing was that some unburied part of him responded with a faint 'yes' to that commanding voice.
Only a dull, dim flicker made him aware that this time, the command wasn't directed at him. It was for the small collection of people gathered at the bottom of the stairs: lions ready for their feast.
JR, meanwhile, remained where he was. Still. Useless, except when he wasn't….
Except when he wasn't.
"You may have had touching reunions with some of your charming children, but not all. Correct, Mr. and Mrs. Martin?"
Tad's barely controlled breathing spoke for them all.
"I'll tell all of you fine individuals how this is going to go."
Perhaps because half of JR was still trapped by the ghosts, he was more aware...ever aware of how fragile a grip the present held, and how the far more powerful pull of the past could tear someone apart, piece by piece.
It was him who heard the soft footfalls first, and it was him who first laid sight on their newest guests.
The sight that compelled him most, that shook him back to reality, was a fearful but steady set of eyes - the eyes of the bravest person he would ever know.
He tried to hold Kathy's gaze, but familiar chaos ensued, ripping him away again.
Half of the crowd quickly rushed upon the new arrivals. A few stayed behind, moving quickly up the stairs, ready to take their bite from the fumbling man who'd finally fallen from power.
Or so it seemed.
The lone figure - Hayward - advancing behind Espinoza was shouting as he smashed into the man, knocking something from his hand in the process
It landed at JR's unmoving legs.
Horrifying realization gave his voice the power the rest of him no longer possessed. "He's got a –"
The light was brilliant, amplified….and so very, very blinding.
####
"Stay here with them."
Jenny's sight traveled from Liza to the two children still - against all odds - sleeping peacefully in their makeshift car seats.
Liza's eyes, in turn, moved to the ever-sprawling mansion. She knew better than anyone not to be fooled by that silent shadow.
Better than anyone.
"Fine. See what's happening with Erica and her posse, but at the first sign –"
"I'll send up the bat signal," Jenny said.
"God, you really are stuck back in a bad eighties -"
The ground coughed violently underneath them, stealing the words.
In the distance, the slumbering dragon awoke, breathing fire.
####
He recognizes it immediately. No matter if it's a few rudimentary wires intertwined underground or a fancy fusion of the worst chemicals known to man, the outcome's the same. And it's not the ground giving way or the booming aftershock in his ears or the smothered shouts that take Brot back.
It's what comes after.
"I need everyone to stay calm." The world's biggest hypocrite, when his own heart is hammering his throat and his mouth can barely coat the words.
The words he should have said on that other night: that night when chaos reigned, that night he froze….
Not tonight.
####
A white-hot, unforgiving jagged arrow slicing through every part of him. Every part.
He pushes it back because it doesn't matter.
The beam swinging, crashing toward her – that's his whole world.
Traces of tiny pink bows and sweet baby powder, faded but still strong: his motivation.
His drive.
JR launches himself forward .
####
(2011)
"Stay with me. Please just stay with me, okay?"
Except it won't happen. Even as Jake Martin pushes her away, even as she holds tight to a trembling hand vowing that she won't let go, Bianca knows, she 'knows' that she will.
#
(Present)
"Bianca, don't…." All she hears, before she defies.
She throws herself on this numb ground, this untouched spot hanging by a thread over Hell. It's so cold, why is it so cold when the world had been on fire only an instant before?
"Mommy."
"Shhh, Gabs., its…." 'Okay.' She can't say it. "I have to find her." The only truth that matters now. "I have to find your sister."
That woman grabs at her again. "I think –"
"I don't give a damn what you think!" She pulls her arm away , hissing into the last face she wants to ever see –
And following the finger that is zeroing in on the one face she hates more than Krystal Carey's.
JR lies on the ground, motionless. Someone is knelt before him.
"Good, I hope –"
The figure above him pulls, and a smaller figure emerges from underneath JR.
Bianca's capacity to breathe is as destroyed as her ability to run to her daughter.
Miranda.
####
.0005. He calculated it once, that tiny band of time needed to change everything. They called it a split second, but under the right circumstances, it stretched endlessly.
He'd seen it too many times to count. If she had only left a moment later….
If his calculations had been off by a fraction….
If they had only tightened the clamp a breath's instant sooner…
If, if, if….
If he had been quicker, stronger, better, then maybe he would be visiting his children's homes instead of their gravestones.
.0005: that's how long it takes for the world to become a swirl of dust and deafening roars and bright lights followed by infinite, infinite darkness. When he's wakened by the searing heat on his arm - his ghost reignited - and the pleas of a girl, his familiar cross to bear….when David wakes up to a world on fire, he's at least grateful that time has ceased to matter.
####
He'd broken his leg in elementary school. Not on the playground kicking around a ball. Not showing off for his friends playing monkey in a tree. Nothing normal like that. He'd heard Mom talking on the phone (back when they still had cords; she was gripping the looped string for all it was were worth). The next day, real early, he'd started off at the base of the mountain. Gotten about half a mile before stepping on a rotted branch he thought would hold steady. Like most things he'd thought, he was wrong. When the guy with the gun and the boots found him half an hour later, he allowed himself to believe for a minute that this was the guy. This was the treasure on his map. After he got back home, Mom laid a switch on him and never talked about it again. Forgotten….
That leg still tended to ache on rainy days. He was pretty sure now, though, that it'd have a companion – if there were more rainy days. Any days at all, for that matter.
The funny thing was – he might even laugh if it wasn't for the fistful of smoke forcing its way down his throat or the broken rib – the last time he'd been in this kind of position, he'd almost wished his father into existence.
Now, Miguel is pretty sure the world has indeed ended. Because - standing side-by-side, working together, close enough to touch - he has two fathers.
####
"Hang on, We can do this."
You can do this.
The numbness creeps up her arm, sharply cutting off the screaming ache that joins her hand to her father's.
It's all about strength. Strengthening the connections. They're not broken. Just weakened. Build them up.
Once before, her world had collapsed beneath her in this house.
Build yourself up.
Now, again, she quite literally dangles over the unknown. The numbness and the ache battle, and her fingers slip.
Strength.
"I can do this," she mutters.
With a determined yelp, she swings her other arm up, latching more fully.
The ache in her arms explodes, overpowering.
Strengthening.
She's never felt a sweeter pain in her life.
With her Dad as her anchor, Natalia pulls herself out of the abyss.
Winded, she laughs into Jesse's shoulder. Not a chuckle, but a full-blown laugh.
She laughs until the first voice compells them back to the crevice.
Calls them back to duty.
####
"We're OK. We just have an – " Brooke surveyed the woman beside her, who was currently busy with more manual labor than she'd likely experienced since she was a teenager, then the woman working alongside her – the one who in other circumstances might be a bitter foe. Then her eyes swept to the similar collections of individuals surrounding them, all somehow creating a cohesive unit, their commander one determined detective. "—interesting project that is keeping us busy. It'll make for a helluva headline when we get out of here."
The half-hearted joke did not quell the quiet urgency that pulsed through their current quarters, an immense expanse reduced to one dark cavern.
"How is…." She considered the question, unsure if she wanted the answer. "How are things up there? Is everyone OK?"
What about Adam?
The last question stays with her.
Sometimes, event the reporter wanted to avoid the answers.
Jesse, though, cannot provide those answers anyway.
"We don't know yet," he says honestly. "We're going to account for every last person, and we will get you out of there. All of you."
"We know." A winded but determined Angie steps beside her. The doctor had been busy examining the gash in her young photographer's leg, among other thankfully small injuries within their group. Brot soon joins.
Brooke leaves the two with as much privacy as can be had in their collapsed underground prison, once known as the Chandler wine cellar.
Soft exchanges are followed by one clear, firm command: "Go."
Brooke removes another brick, another tenuous link in their pathway to freedom.
It is when the glass slices into her finger that she hears the sharp, unmistakable gasp originating not from her, but from the other side of the destruction.
####
"Kathy?" It's more cough than question.
He's only ever seen the girl from a distance, but he's become expert at identifying from afar. The rapidly mounting smoke makes it not matter anyway. David rips both sleeves, douses them in a dirty puddle he can only hope is water. He hands one to the girl, presses the other over his own nose and mouth. She follows suit and he nods, crouching down to the floor. Assured that she's again done the same, he grabs debris of what was once a million-dollar floor. The smoke pours from one yawning cavern. He doesn't want to think about what waits, growing, inside that dark hole. Ignoring the searing slice in his arm, he pauses only briefly when another set of hands joins him. Together, they feed the beast until its mouth overflows. The wave of grayish mist has dulled to a trickle, but it won't hold for long. David puts the back of his palm against the barrier and the heat brands him immediately. Gifts him his first - and likely last - tattoo.
Crouching again, he leads Kathy to the other wall (if it could be called that), fighting against the burn in his eyes. Their space is barely larger than a prison cell. Five minutes, tops, before –
Maybe, maybe before….maybe he could see them just once.
He needs you.
You're needed.
You're loved.
Each whisper, each familiar tug, coaxes him from that inviting dark corridor.
A smiling face jolts his eyes open….
Focuses them on another face, this one unsmiling.
This one expectant.
Determined.
He removes the cloth, nods to the wall behind them, and speaks only four words: "We're gonna make it."
His small companion nods back, spits into a hand, and offers it to him.
With a smile, he offers his own.
Seals their pact.
We're gonna make it.
For once, he believes it.
####
That one figure, that one shadow just out of reach that'll never reveal its face. It was there with every lash he endured, it's been there for every bust he's ever made, and it was sure as hell there - watching, waiting - that night.
When the darkest piece of the night tries to slip away and flee, Jesse follows.
He stumbles from the wreckage, not glancing back. Not because he's afraid he'll turn into some pillar of salt, but because he might be drawn back, unable to do what he needed to do. Espinoza is lurching toward their car. Limping. Even the Boogeyman has his weaknesses.
Jesse has no such obstacles. Only pure adrenaline and unchecked hatred coursing through his veins. He closes the distance in four bounds.
Espinoza turns, sneer on his face. "Is this the point where you handcuff me and beg –"
Jesse doesn't give him the chance. The air whooshes from Espinoza and past Jesse's cheek in one rush. When they hit the ground, the thud reenergizes him.
So does the crunch.
####
She holds tight to AJ's hand as he pulls them both toward the quintet a few feet away. She'd literally walked through fire for this boy today, and she'd do it a thousand times more.
"Is she okay?" he asks, eyes on the girl Bianca is cradling in her arms.
"She'll be fine, thanks to him." Cara smiles up at the boy briefly before turning her attention back to his still-unconscious father.
"And what…" A.J never finishes, but the way his gaze fixes on JR completes the question.
"We're going to do the best we can for your Dad." This time, Cara's eyes do not meet AJ's.
They do, however, turn to her, full of something that Krystal understands too well. "I…I need to go."
I need to find my boy. The unspoken truth.
She gestures toward the blood-soaked cloth pressed against JR's side. "Can you stay with him?"
Can you help him?
Krystal locks eyes with Bianca, and they both look down at the man who took a sledgehammer to their lives.
The man whose life they now must save.
####
"Let's get a move on."
The words barely leave him before every person in their "room" is at the pile of rubble, clawing at it. Oddly, but not surprisingly, the smaller members of their group – Erica Kane and Greenlee Smythe – are making the most progress.
Brot cups his ear to the crack. A tiny yet steady stream of smoke is already sifting out. "How is it?"
What he really needs to ask is How bad is it?
A moment's hesitation, and when the voice on the other end begins to speak, it is hoarse and rough in a way they can't blame on the barrier separating them.
"Not good, Detective. And if we – if all of us – don't get out of here soon…." A cough that carries a dark prophecy.
Brot glances over to the rusted machine, then back to the coil of smoke. The crumbled ruins might have been a barrier, but right now they were also a fortress - the only think keeping a far more deadly match from being lit.
A ghostly flash nearly doubles him over, and with it the thick odor of burning….burning….the pain would come next, not so much pain as the ignition of every nerve in his body. He battles it back by fixing on each face, each individual depending on him.
His squad.
"Detective?"
"Is anyone with you?"
Another beat, and his own heartbeat doubles.
Another gray snake slithers from the hole.
Triples.
"The Martin kid. Kathy."
Before he can react, a pair of hands pushes him aside.
"Sweetheart?"
"I'm okay, Dad. Doctor Hayward's helping me."
As the air in the room visibly eases from the collective sigh of its occupants, Brot guides Tad to face him.
"Stay calm. We can do this, together. "
Tad takes his own evaluation of their ragtag crew, and he must see something in that unified gaze.
Blowing out a shaky breath, he nods. "Together."
####
Sour-sweet blood fills his mouth, and he's his own vampire. He grabs at skin, pants, hair - driving his fist into any warm surface it can find. A heat-seeking missile. The temporary darkness explodes into another brilliant light when his head pistons against the unforgiving pavement. The world whirls past twice, and them with it. Drawing his knee back, Jesse connects. Espinoza crawls toward still-smoking embers , toward the gun that's fallen from his grasp.
Jesse s screaming ribs settle for a hiss as he struggles to his knees.
He advances on Espinoza, determined that if it will end here, it will end for them both.
Someone beats him to the punch.
####
He's back on the mini-"Vet," standing strong – except for the shaking knees – while that kid Briscoe (or was it Brenner?) rounds third. He's not standing there because his team's up by one or out of some sense of Chandler pride. He's doing it so he can protect 'his' moment: that image of his parents, both standing side by side for once, calling out his name. It's that nickname he hates, but he doesn't care. Doesn't care at all because it's finally rightside-up.
He can even smile the second before the collision turns the lights off.
Then the crowd's gone and the quiet takes over, quiet except the last note of his just-crafted lullabye. It's not the best, but it seems to do the trick because now her breaths are soft and steady against his shoulder. And he can't really remember a moment before this one; they've all been robbed of their relevance. It's 3:02 in the morning but his eyes are alert, projecting images of a future that he cannot wait to find. It is this palpable feeling of possibility that overtakes him, to which he will willingly surrender a thousand times over, even when the sweet face changes but the dream remains, inextinguishable...
He is certain - as the images grow further out of any reality's realm - that he must be falling under a fevered delirium. Or maybe this is the Hell he deserves: these two faces hovering above him, representatives of all he has destroyed. The final reel in this film with the inevitable unhappy ending. Except –
"Hold on."
"Thank you…"
And craziest of all is the small hand that has slipped into his own.
"Daddy."
JR squeezes, and it's not so cold anymore.
####
"Nice…..shot," The first word comes when formerly mousy little Jenny kicks the gun from underneath the bleeding man's grasping fingers. The second - when that same foot promptly roundhouses the guy's chin.
"Kickboxing classes," Jenny retorts.
Liza crouches to check on Jesse. who – despite the fact that he looks like Hell warmed over – still has managed to make his opponent look worse. "We've gotta stop meeting like this, Chief."
"What an interesting group we have here."
Liza knows that voice before she even turns. "Crazy bitch," she mutters, just in time for the unmistakable click of a gun to echo across the lawn.
"Why, thank you for the compliment," Vanessa says.
####
Natalia holds the revolver close, sinking further into the bush. She'd gladly take the poison ivy, because right now it is the only thing shielding her from the showdown several yards away.
Vanessa Bennett moves closer, not a trace of the handcuffs they'd used to secure her in sight.
"How does it feel to be the heroine of the tale, my dear?" Espinoza has swayed to his feet, suddenly bolder.
Natalia lifts the barrel, but her aim is unsteady.
"I knew that you would fully utilize your resourcefulness," the man continues, directing his attention to Vanessa. "I'm afraid Alexander may not have been so fortunate, but then again, this was always going to be a two-man operation in the end, was it not?"
He turns to the three people behind him, the broad smile on his face evident even from this distance. "Ms. Gardner, I think you'll be coming with us, along with those two charming children in the car."
"You're not touching any of them," her father and Liza say in unison.
"How….sweet. The two lovers finish each other's sentences now."
Natalia only quirks an eyebrow, her focus on the gun that's weight has multiplied by ten.
"Joaquin, dear, could you be a gem and face me, please? I really want you to see what happens next."
Natalia counts. Her target settles on the woman with the gun.
Espinoza faces Vanessa. Jesse moves in front of the two women just as another woman flashes into view.
Vanessa fires.
As does Natalia.
####
"Listen, you old bastard. I know that the scrawny ass under that monkey suit can get the job done when needed. So unless you want my boot up said –"
"Stick it in your ear, Grizzly."
"There's the Chandler I know and loathe."
The last word is lost in a grunt and accompanied by the biggest sonofabitchin' pain he's ever felt in his life. But at least he can lift his arm up to scream into it now. Plus, he can actually feel the pinpricks in his leg. Miguel laughs through the pain, and seeing the identical expressions on the faces of his – the hell with it – on his two dads' faces, he laughs until the tears come.
"Are you…okay?"
Wiping the water – and a few streaks of dirt - from his cheek, he hitches a breath. He can't be sure if they're talking about his physical or mental state, and that almost sets him off again.
"I'm A-OK, thanks to my heroes." That little observation does him in again, and damn if he doesn't see those twitches at the corners of both their mouths. "I could use a hand, though."
"Can you get up?"
He responds by extending both hands expectantly.
One man grabs each hand, and within seconds, he is hobbling across the last remnants of the staircase, propped up by one senior citizen in a torn suit and another in a sorry plaid shirt.
Quite the trio.
They almost make it to what used to be the door when a huddled mass of humanity stops them cold.
One of the people on the floor moves.
Miguel closes his eyes, certain that when he opens them again this whole room, this whole day will just be a nightmare or a bad hangover.
"JR."
The support on Miguel's left is gone.
His eyes open to the sight of Adam rushing to another fallen son.
####
Alejandro is nowhere in sight, and two people lay bleeding on the ground. The shots still ring in her head, and Cara struggles not to go back. One of the gunsmen – or gunswomen, to be precise – is being tended to by the other, who has emerged like a ghost from the dark. The injured woman nurses her shoulder but - other than being deprived of her weapon - seems to be okay. The same could not be said for the man lying before her, flanked by three figures who have made no motion to help him.
Cara stands beside them.
"You shot me, you bitch," he wheezes, his neck straining with the effort of looking at the woman who had, indeed, put a bullet in his stomach.
"My family is in there, and if anything has happened to them, you will be wishing I had finished the job." The words are cold, venomous. And Cara has no doubt that their speaker means every last one.
Espinoza's words have dissolved into broken Spanish as he retreats into the safety of his native tongue. Thick blood still seeps from his gaping wound .
"Where is my son, Joaquin?" she asks.
"He's fine; we can take you to him," one of the women says.
Cara nods, the weight easing in her chest. "There's something I need to do first."
Reaching into her purse, she crouches beside Espinoza and flicks the needle she has retrieved.
Two black eyes consume the night, drill into her. "Are you going to finish me off like you did my brother, Medico?"
She leans close enough for the breath to create a warm breeze against his ear. "I'm going to honor my oath and save your sorry life. Then I'm going to watch with a smile – along with the rest of your victims – while the real vultures finish you off." With that, she drives the needle deep.
####
"It's advancing fast."
"We know." He chokes the words out. The broadening blanket of smoke draping over the room validates as much.
They had split into two groups: one (including himself, Pete, and Dixie) clearing a path to the other room and the other feverishly working to remove their primary obstacle. If they didn't take care of that problem, getting Kathy out of that hellhole would be in vain. Everything would be.
That thought, coupled with the brush of Dixie's damp hand against his, fuels him. Tad's fingers, torn and bloody, leave their prints on the jagged rubble.
"Wait."
He hesitates at David's voice. Even the overpowering heat will not let him escape the irony that he is waiting with baited breath for a command from David Hayward.
"The opening might be big enough for Kathy."
The image that assaults him cannot be pushed aside quickly enough. "No, it's too –"
"Trust me, Martin. You know that if nothing else, I'm efficient when it matters."
Trust me.
He couldn't say it was the smoke smothering him now. The burning in his eyes intensifies.
"OK," he says.
"You ready, kiddo?"
The voices on the other side are getting dimmer, but he strains to hear the one thing that could set his world right just one more time.
Tad moves in front of the opening, forgetting the labored breaths, the stench of smoke and sweat, the sweltering blanket - blocking everything but those two pinpoints of light that cut through the smoke. They are attached to a soot-streaked face, the most beautiful he's seen in his life, and a shaky smile he'll remember till his dying breath.
Tad takes half of his world in his arms, and the other half completes their circle. He holds on for all he is worth.
"I love you, baby." Barely a whisper…
….But an echo that chimed time and again. "Love you too."
It was a cherished moment that could have easily been their last, but it wouldn't be.
His baby had a future to conquer and a world to rock, after all.
A small cheer – with a few unmistakable whoops mixed in for good measure – wakened the other side of the tomb.
The smoke rushed forward, revealing a collection of blackened, smiling refugees.
Zach, in another irony, is the first to break the silence. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Tad has never heard a better idea in his life.
The cool chill beckons them, but one small voice keeps them anchored. "What about Doctor Hayward?"
At that reminder, Leo pushes past the others. "Bro, how's it hanging over there?"
No response, and Tad is surprised at the faint pang that silence brings. Until...
"Once this fire gets over there, Leo, you're not gonna want to be within a five-mile radius. Get everybody out of there."
"No way am I –"
"Take your girl and go, Leo. Now."
Kathy's eyes are still fixed on that small, still child-sized opening.
It can't happen. It's impossible.
"Sweetie." Tad knelt. He'd never broken a promise to one of his kids in his life. "Go with your Mom. I'll help him." And he isn't about to start now.
Looking from Leo to Brot, he makes the same silent promise.
Leo approaches the crevice once again. "I'll see you on the other side. And -"
"I know, Leo. And that goes for me, too."
Leo nods , but doesn't say another word. With one final look back, he takes Greenlee's hand and walks into the night.
Only Tad's two guideposts remain, silhouetted against the moon: bright, full. He smiles and winks, branding the image not in his mind, but somewhere far more important.
When he turns back to the hole, he is met with a set of eyes equal parts amused and awe-struck.
"Just you and me, Doc."
####
Air: cool, crisp. Full of energy, of life. She tends to take it for granted, like a great many things.
Not anymore.
The tiny breeze doesn't wrap easily around them. It slaps them with the strength of a prize fighter, yet they all laugh. Some with tears, some with a nervous edge. It isn't the sweetest of symphonies. It is raw, rough-cut, and it is most assuredly real.
More hugs, more kisses, more whispers meant only for a few, as they find each other again like survivors of war. In many respects, they are.
She is close enough to one exchange become the unlikely but not unwilling eavesdropper.
"Why?"
The woman Erica has detested - the woman who has become the emblem of every painful remnant of her past, the woman who has somehow conquered death - has only one response to her son's question:
"For my family."
In that moment, though she would deny it until her dying breath, Erica feels a kinship, an understanding/ It is not only felt with that woman, but with the son who could never, try as he might, look upon his mother with indifference. Hate is easy, at times easier than love. Not caring, though, that took a will - an effort - of which no child was truly blessed.
She searches the small gathering for her touchstones. When she takes Kendall and her grandsons in her arms, she taps into that inner reserve still not yet diminished, not entirely.
"Where are my other girls?" Her daughter stiffens in her arms, only for an instant, but an instant enough.
"Kendall?" She pulls back so she can look, so she can look upon the truth, whatever may come.
Zach supplies the words his wife cannot. "Cara Castillo left them inside, with Krystal and with –"
"Who, Zach? Don't go quiet now."
"With Junior."
She fights against the firestorm that name still brings for her, for everyone. Nails dig into her flesh, a vice no one has yet discovered. Sometimes, it is her lifeline. "And where are they now?"
"They're still inside. Adam, Caleb, and their kid are missing, too, so we're hoping…" Kendall's lip trembles, a too-familiar remnant of her sister.
Erica is halfway across the lawn before Kendall grabs her arm. "Don't try to stop me, Kendall." When she turns to her daughter, she sees a stubborn determination that is entrenched within herself as well: the same determination born from her mother before her.
"I'm just coming with you."
They reach Jesse., but he makes no move to block them. Not physically, anyway. "I know everything you're feeling, Erica, trust me, but let fire and rescue handle this."
In the chaos, she has taken no notice of the arriving trucks and vans. A group of heavily uniformed men, along with Brot Monroe, are already helping Tad and David emerge from the rubble. Erica's lips tug at the men who represent so much of this town's history,…for good and for bad.
Still standing.
Still –
The world explodes again, cracking open the black sky, robbing balance and reason, and drowning all else, all but her anguished cry:
"No!"
And she is lost, unaware until Kendall's voice finds her. "They're…"
Don't say it; don't say it and maybe it won't be real.
"They're alive." The words tremble in the air, but not from cruel hope. They are tremulous with absolute, disbelieving-believing joy.
Silhouetted against the inferno are ten unmistakable figures.
Survivors.
Moving slowly, but moving forward.
Living.
#
They stand in a loose semicircle around the ruins. Since the crews have at last dispatched for the night, they have been joined by Joe, Ruth, Stuart, and Marian. Now they are, in a strange way, complete. The unified croaks of distant ravens carry through the stagnant air. It's funny. Separately, the sounds are ugly, guttural, fit for a horror movie. But together…
Erica has always thought it a rather unflattering, if strangely poetic distinction: 'unkindness.' That's what they were called: these imperfect, maligned creatures who when united could create and sustain something truly beautiful.
Brooke picks up an object that has defied its dark, ashen surroundings. A faint smile and a single tear is evoked by the sight of the unbroken champagne glass. This Erica does not understand.
But when Brooke speaks, she understands. "It's going to be okay."
We're going to be okay.
She understands.