Same disclaimers as before.

Chapter 13: Pitstop

They flew in relative silence for a few hours, using the sun to guide them west. Despite the glaring heat of the sky and the lack of clouds to block it, the air felt colder somehow. Silas sat in front, followed by Elizabeth and then Booker. While Silas stared unflinching into the distance and Booker watched the flatlands beneath them go by with a bored expression, Elizabeth was left to glance back and forth between the men she was sandwiched between. Every time she looked over her shoulder at Booker, all she could feel was the heat of Columbia burning into Washington. Meanwhile, she couldn't help but feel a gleeful flutter when her eyes traced up Silas's defined spine and muscled shoulders, both quite visible through his ragged clothes.

"We'll have to buy you new clothes," she realized aloud.

Silas looked back at her. "What's that?"

"We have to buy you clothes. You can't rightly go around in these old rags."

Silas slowly nodded. "We should also get some food," he suggested.

Elizabeth felt her stomach convulse at the mere mention of food. "Agreed."

"And weapons. The guys that arrested us in Columbia took my rifle."

"And my pistol," Elizabeth realized with a groan. "Booker, you didn't by any chance think to grab some weapons for us before you blew up Columbia, did you?"

"Nope," said Booker with a soft smirk. "I was too busy figuring out the best places to plant the explosives in order to destabilize as many islands as possible."

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment before turning back. "There!" she said, pointing to the south where a small town was nestled among the seemingly endless cornfields. Silas tapped Melody's neck and she banked to the left with a cheerful chirp. They outside the town on a paved, dusty road. Silas instructed Melody to wait there for them before they walked towards the buildings.

As they drew closer, it became apparent this was more of a hovel than a town, in fact it was probably just a place for local farmers to congregate than an actual municipality. It consisted of a church, a diner, a general store, a post office, and what looked like a few official buildings, all built around a pair of roads that intersected in the middle. There were a few people walking about, but they seemed to be doing their own thing and didn't look like threats.

"So," sighed Booker, looking around, "what's first on your impromptu itinerary?"

"Food," groaned Elizabeth, clutching her stomach as it rumbled again.

"We have money here, right?" asked Silas.

Booker reached into his bag and pulled out a fistful of cash. "Most universes take the classic American dollar. Nothing suggests this one is any different."

"Good enough for me," said Elizabeth as she set out for the diner. The boys followed closely behind her. The diner was a simple rail-car style restaurant with one long bar with several stools and a few booths along the far wall. There were a few exhausted looking men scattered about, but it was largely empty. The only noise came from an old television above the bar and the occasional sputter and cough from one of the patrons.

Elizabeth settled at the bar. Silas and Booker settled in on either side of her. A single waitress came out of the kitchen, a pot of coffee already in her hand. "What can I get ya, sweeties?" she rasped, the scent of her most recent cigarette filling their noses.

"Coffee and a short stack," requested Elizabeth.

"I'll take fried eggs, sunny side up, a side of bacon and an orange juice," said Booker.

"I have no idea what any of that is but I'll have what they're having," said Silas with a confident smile. The waitress gave a disgruntled snort, wrote down the orders and turned to go back into the kitchen.

"Wait!" gasped Booker. "Um, do you mind turning up the TV a bit?" The waitress sighed and reached for a remote. Elizabeth glanced up at the television. It was set to a news channel and was running near-silent footage of Columbia in flames. Shaky, amateur cameras showed mobs of people fleeing in terror as repeated explosions rocked several floating islands and they started falling out of the sky.

As the volume went up, an anchor's voice could be heard over the horrifying footage. "-Comes from various phones and cameras recovered in the wreckage of Columbia and Washington. While it was previously unclear exactly what caused the floating city to fall out of the sky, recent reports from the few survivors, most of whom were luckily on Monument Island at the time, confirm that this was indeed an act of terror. Some of them were able to give descriptions to the FBI which have resulted in these portraits."

Elizabeth groaned as three stenciled drawings appeared onscreen. They weren't completely accurate, her eyes were a little too small, Booker's nose was poorly sloped, and Silas's brow wasn't so slanted, but they were close enough for them to now be recognized. She gently knelt her head down, but kept her eyes on the TV. "Former Secretary of Commerce now Acting President Jack Ryan is about to give a statement in New York concerning the development."

"Seriously?" muttered Silas with a small smile as the camera switched to a man at a podium. He looked flustered under the sea of cameras and microphones in front of him and pale from the events of the last 24 hours. Elizabeth squinted and cocked her head to the side in confusion. The man did vaguely resemble the Jack Ryan she'd met, but he looked fuller, more filled out somehow, and had a more hooked nose.

"Why does he look different?" she asked.

"Probably for the same reason he looks like he's in his early forties," said Booker with a shrug. "My guess is that instead of a genetically grown monstrosity, he's actually the biological son of Andrew Ryan and whatever poor woman he managed to seduce and was born a few decades later than we typically see him."

"We refuse to be intimidated by this act of extreme terror," said Jack on the television, not sounding like he believed a word he said. "We will recover as a nation and rebuild that which we have lost."

"Your grandpa sounds like a generic bullhorn," muttered Booker.

"He was the Secretary of Commerce," Silas pointed out. "And now he's the President. He just lost most of his coworkers and saw a city fall out of the sky onto another city. I imagine he wrote this speech on a cocktail napkin on the way to the conference."

"Okay," sighed Elizabeth, "so to be clear here, we're now wanted terrorists one of whom caused a mass, multi-dimensional genocide."

"Sounds about right," said Booker with a nod as the waitress returned with their half-cooked meals. "Now keep your damn voice down, will you?"

Elizabeth gave a slight nod and took a long draw from her coffee before diving into her pancakes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Silas hesitantly examining a piece of bacon. "Eat," she recommended. "Never had bacon before?"

"Most of what I've eaten over the course of my life has been nourishment packages that were dead-dropped from the wall," said Silas. He took a bite and his eyes widened in shock at the taste.

Elizabeth grinned. "And I'm guessing that's what bad bacon tastes like," she said. "Good bacon will blow your mind."

"Too late," groaned Silas before he jammed the rest of the strip into his mouth and greedily devoured it. He looked down at the two plates before him with renewed awe and vigor.

"Try the pancakes," Elizabeth told him. "But just one bite at first." Silas complied and closed his eyes in legitimate pleasure. As his eyes were shut, Elizabeth reached over to drizzle syrup over the rest of the plate.

When Silas opened his eyes, he stared at her. "What did you do to them?"

"Just trust me. I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I?"

"Can't say you have," admitted Silas as he tried another bite. "Wow. Oh, wow."

Elizabeth chuckled to herself and leaned on her elbow as she watched Silas eat for a moment. His face transformed with every bite into one of wonder and pleasure. She wondered briefly if her grin was as big and obvious as it felt. Next to her, Booker grunted. "Oh, you got it bad," he muttered.

"Shut up," Elizabeth replied curtly. "I only take criticism from people who have body counts lower than triple digits."

"Honestly, once we're done in the first world, you guys can make as many time-displaced babies as you want," grunted Booker. "But until this is done, I need you both sharp and focused on the problems at hand."

Elizabeth turned to him and fixed him with as piercing a gaze as she could muster. "And why exactly do we have such a strict timetable?"

Booker rolled his eyes. "I already explained it to you back in Kiln City. We need to kill Comstock before he makes the crucial decision that may or may not lead him on the path to torture you which would, in turn, make you hate me so much that you'd want to spend ten years traversing the multiverse to try and kill me."

"But in this world, Comstock didn't create Columbia," said Elizabeth. "In this world, he lives in Kiln City. What possible decision could he make that would hurt me in this universe? Do I even exist in this world?"

"Don't know, don't care," Booker replied crisply. "But the long and short of it is the sooner we kill Comstock the sooner we take the choice out of his hands. But since we don't know when or how he'll make that choice, we need to kill him as soon as possible."

"To someone who has only the flimsiest grasp on this whole ordeal," said Silas through a mouthful of food, "that sounds like sound logic to me." Elizabeth nodded and continued to eat. Her stomach slowly began to unravel as it filled. The coffee wasn't very good but refreshing nonetheless. It was a good reminder that no matter what universe she traveled to, a good shot of caffeine was as effective as any other.

Thankfully nobody in the diner took notice of them and they were able to eat and pay for their meals in peace. They left the diner and Silas suggested they get new clothes next. There wasn't an exact clothing store in the town as far as they could see, but Booker discovered that the general store had a small section of semi-formal wear.

Booker elected himself to find them new weapons while Elizabeth and Silas purchased their outfits. "Look at all this stuff," murmured Silas as he pursed through the few racks of shirts and pants. "I saw this kind of stuff back in the quarantine zone but it was usually torn up and we'd either have to stitch it back together or use it as something else. It was rare to find a full shirt of jacket."

"Well then consider this an opportunity to find out what suits you fashion-wise," said Elizabeth, holding a long skirt up to her waist to see how it would fit.

"You're sticking with a dress?"

"It's not that I have a thing against pants, but what can I say, I prefer the swirl." She twirled to show off how her current skirt spun around her. Silas's eyes lit up for a moment and Elizabeth had to stop herself from giggling when she saw him swallow down a gulp. "I like that I can do that to you," she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what she was talking about and blushed furiously.

Silas grinned at her and moved closer, pinning her between himself and a rack of blouses. "I think you're going to have to be more specific. Do what to me, exactly?"

Elizabeth's heart beat harder and faster. It was getting hard for her to take deep breaths, but she forced herself to anyway. "We can't do this here," she murmured. "We need to get clothes and get out."

Silas lifted his hand, reaching for her face. Elizabeth felt a queer shudder run through her body. Her stomach was knotted again, but this time with a molten heat she couldn't quite describe. "Couple things," said Silas, his voice husky. Each syllable made Elizabeth feel a new and hereto unfelt level of pressure in her chest. "First, you started this. Second…" His hand reached past Elizabeth's face and she frowned in confusion when he pulled a white t-shirt from the rack behind her and held it to his chest. "Does this make me look fat?"

Elizabeth gave him a half-hearted push. He laughed as he stumbled back. "You're an ass."

Silas grinned. "I like that I can do that to you."

"Ass!" Silas's cackle was infectious and Elizabeth couldn't help but smirk as she pulled out a dark blue skirt and a clean, white button-up shirt, both in her sizes. She purchased them and went outside to change behind the store and wait for Silas.

She didn't have to wait long. He emerged in short time with a white v-neck shirt, a thin black vest, and a pair of jeans that Elizabeth couldn't help but noticed did wonders for his legs. "I splurged," he said as he approached. "I hope that's okay." He held out a bag to her and Elizabeth took it with a cocked eyebrow. Reaching inside, she pulled out a long-sleeved blue waistcoat with embroidered pockets and a white, faux-fur fringe around the collar. "You looked cold when we flew and they had this in the back of the shop and I just thought that maybe you would need something to keep warmer."

Elizabeth realized she had a blank face and Silas was rambling because he didn't know how she felt about the gift. With a small smile, she slipped it on. The fringe tickled the back of her neck, but the jacket itself was warm. "Thanks," she said. It was one word, but for some reason it felt like there was a moment of calm that accompanied it. The accumulated tension between them from the last few days broke like a dam. Not in explosion of furious kisses and whatever lay beyond that, but in a silent second of peace and acceptance where both of them were able to simply appreciate the other.

Then, as if it was a growing habit, Booker came along and ruined the moment. "Yo!" he chirped as he approached. "I got god news and I got bad news."

Silas grimaced. "Good news first?"

"Sure thing." Booker reached into his bag and pulled out a long rifle with a scope that looked far too large for the container he pulled it from. "Turns out we're in Kentucky," he said, handing the sniper gun to Silas who quickly slipped it over his shoulder. "Where the guns are cheap but the bourbon is expensive. FYI: I got both. Also, turns out we're only about a three hour's flight from Wyoming."

"The bad news?" asked Elizabeth.

Booker handed her a particularly large handgun and she took a moment to admire the weapon's craftsmanship. "I got spotted. Had to kill a couple people. We need to leave."

"Dammit Booker!" Elizabeth groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Can you stop killing people for five goddamn minutes?!"

"Maybe but what's the point of life if you aren't ending others?" said Booker with a soft shrug. "Now less blaming me and more running to the giant metal chicken."

"We'll discuss Booker's apparent fetish for murder later," grunted Silas as he started jogging back towards the edge of town where they'd left Melody. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and followed, her new skirt just short enough that she wasn't tripping over it when she ran.

Melody screeched in delight at the sight of them but Silas could only pat her neck for a second before Elizabeth and Booker clambered onto her back. They had barely made it into the air when they heard the sounds of an alarm coming from the town. "That's not good," murmured Silas as Melody swayed through the air, slowly climbing.

Above the alarm came an eerily high-pitched and familiar scream. "Oh no," whispered Elizabeth. Her hands clutched harder at the hand holds in Melody's back. Memories from her youth of that haunted screech flooded her and she had to repress a rush of panic.

Booker glanced behind them. "Silas!" he called, "how handy are you with that sniper?"

"Pretty damn good," said Silas. "Why?"

"Because I think I should fly. You get back down here and shoot." Silas reluctantly crawled down Melody's body past Elizabeth as Booker pulled himself up.

When he reached Melody's tail end, Silas spun around and rested on his back, raising his gun to his eyes. "Son of a…" he murmured in amazement. Two more songbirds were rising from the town, blue and red lights flashing above their heads. On their backs, barely visible in the distance, were several figures in uniform.

"Pick 'em off before they get too close!" shouted Booker over the increasing wind.

"They didn't do anything!" Silas called back. "I'm not gonna kill these guys." A bullet ricocheted off of Melody's armored leg and she screeched in annoyance. Silas grunted and repositioned his gun. "Never mind." Elizabeth felt her heart sink a bit as Silas readied his aim. "Any chance you can keep her steady?" he asked.

"Just take the shot!" shouted Booker. Silas complied. The bang of the gun was barely audible over the rush of wind, but Elizabeth gasped when she saw the glass of one of the songbirds' eyes blast open. The songbird gave a pitiful screech as it fell from the air. It was still low enough to the ground that it landed with a spray of dirt, but none of the uniformed men that flew it seemed to be harmed. In fact, they clambered off the songbird's corpse and took potshots at Melody from the ground.

"We appear to be in luck," Elizabeth called as more bullets clanged off of Melody's belly and wings.

"She was created to be a warbird," reasoned Silas as he refocused his aim. "These songbirds are glorified flying cars. You'd think a world this technologically advanced would have a way to have personalized flying transportation without turning someone into a cyborg. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to pull off the same trick twice." He pulled off another shot at the other songbird. Elizabeth couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in amazement when one of the men on the songbird dropped their gun into the air.

"Nice shot."

"Don't encourage him!" shouted Booker. "Silas, if you keep disarming them they'll still be able to follow us. Just shoot the bird again!"

"We're too high up," Silas called back. "At this height, the fall will kill them!"

"That's the idea!"

Elizabeth glared up at her juvenile father figure. Below her on the bird, Silas seemed to be struggling. Elizabeth could tell he had the songbird's eye in his crosshairs. He grit his teeth and exhaled slowly. "Wait!" said Elizabeth. She leaned over to put a hand on Silas's shoulder. "Switch with me."

He looked up at her questioningly, but she gave him a reassuring squeeze and a sad smile. A bullet sparked against Melody's armored back inches from them and Silas quickly scrambled up while Elizabeth slid down.

He offered her the sniper rifle, but she waved it away. Silas looked down at her in confusion. "What are you planning to do?"

"I still got a little bit of Shock Jockey in me," she said, raising her palm towards the chasing songbird. Silas stared in absolute wonder as the crackling electric crystals formed over her hand. Her wrist twitched and a bolt of electricity spat out of her hand with an audible zap. It slammed through the chest of the Songbird which immediately went rigid and plummeted. The sound of screams hit Elizabeth's ears just as Melody escaped into cloud cover.

"Are you okay?" asked Silas, eyes still wide in wonder.

Elizabeth slowly nodded. The crystals over her knuckles retracted, the last of her salts used up. "I'm already damned anyway," she said softly. "And Booker's right, we wouldn't have been able to lose them."

Silas knelt down. It was his turn to put a hand on her shoulder. "You did what you had to," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the wind but not so loud that Booker would hear. "Thanks."

Elizabeth just nodded. The screams of the falling men had sounded eerily familiar. All it took was for her to look up at Booker to realize that she'd heard them before when Columbia fell out of the sky.

. . .

Welp. I started this story four years ago and this is the first update I've made in about three so I guess you could say my posting schedule has been…inconsistent. I'll see what I can do in the future but the only promise I can make is that I eventually will end it.