AN: Thanks to my not-logged-in reviewers to whom I couldn't respond personally - it's always inspiring and flattering when you take the time to tell me you're enjoying my stories. Chapter-by-chapter feedback is the great boon of this site, so thanks for the encouragement - I've also picked up my writing pace (meaning I'll be posting more than once a week) as a thank-you for everyone's nice reviews. :-D
Disclaimer: Forgot to put a disclaimer on my last chapter, so this applies to that one too! As a reminder, I don't own Revolution (in case any of you were confused, lol) or Revolution's characters (or I'd be writing for the show and making royalties off them ;-) ).
Wheels
The post-Blackout world never hands you exactly what you want, but what most people don't realize is that it does hand you enough to be happy, if you pay attention.
And Nora Clayton has learned to pay attention.
As she looks around at their ragtag group - Miles, standing in the midst of a family he thought he'd never see again; Rachel, reunited with her two children; Charlie and Danny, together again against all odds, not only with each other, but also with their dead mother; Aaron, alive and with a spark in his eyes she'd bet hadn't been there before this journey - a wide smile creeps onto her face. Monroe and his Militia can throw themselves off a bridge, because this is power, right here: in the connections between people, in simple character tested against insane circumstances.
It's something she'd almost forgotten - actually, before she'd met Charlie. But over the last several months, she'd seen Charlie be selfless when she'd lost everything and everyone she cared about. She'd seen Charlie show mercy to people who would show her none. She'd seen Charlie…be. And in Charlie, she'd seen what she'd wanted to be.
And then there'd been Miles. Charlie had melted Miles, and underneath, Nora had seen a side of him that she'd always known was there but had never been able to unearth.
She loves Charlie for that.
Of course, right now, Miles is back to his usual asshole self.
Which is why it's great that Nora's skill set includes defusing bombs.
"Charlie," she calls, as Miles is still laughing, "Come on. I could use you to help scout a way out of here."
Charlie snaps out of her paralysis and starts toward her, checking on Danny over her shoulder as she moves. She probably doesn't even realize consciously that she's doing it. That girl must have looked out for him his whole life. Nora feels a twinge of something in her chest as Mia flits unbidden into her mind, but she pushes the thought away. As far as she's concerned, this - these people - are her family now. So it's partly her job to protect them.
Miles shoots her a look that's a clear question.
"I have friends in Levittown," she says quietly. "It's only twenty miles. If we steal a wagon…"
"Rebel friends?" Something about the way Miles spits out the word "rebel" raises Nora's hackles.
"Friend friends…does it matter?" she snaps.
Miles jerks his chin at Bass, who has - thank God - finally lapsed into silence, then lowers his voice. "Rebels'll shoot him on sight."
Ah. So he's not just being a stubborn ass. She feels a tiny pang of guilt - really tiny - for snapping at him. "Not if they don't know who he is. Think about it, Miles - how many people recognize you? There are no pictures of Sebastian Monroe. What do they have to go on? Height, build, hair? One of those we can change, and honestly, really think about this: Who's going to think we're actually crazy enough to have kidnapped the President of the Monroe Republic?"
Miles sets his jaw, and for a minute, Nora thinks he's going to refuse. Then he says, "There's a supply depot a mile and a half away at the country club. They'll have a wagon."
Nora grins. "I"ll go. With Charlie and Aaron."
Miles frowns; she can see the muscles bunch along his not quite clean shaven jaw.
Nora busies herself opening her backpack and rifling through her bomb kit. She tucks a stray strand of her wavy hair behind her ear as she matter-of-factly shoots back, "You can't go. Gotta keep an eye on the hostage. Charlie's good with that crossbow, and Aaron's getting pretty decent at explosions. Plus," she continues, her tone devilishly sweet, "you stole the last one."
Miles sighs through his nose, left hand hooking in his sword belt, right hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Fine," he finally says, like it's not. "But we are."
Nora glances up from her backpack, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
Miles mutters his response under his breath, but it sounds like "Actually crazy."
Nora's grin just widens. Crazy is where she does her best work.
Charlie and Aaron trail after her for a mile and a quarter in admirable silence - apart from Aaron's uncanny ability to step on every dry, crackling branch. They cut through the woods for the first mile, then follow the edge of a cleared road for another quarter until, still a quarter mile from the supply depot, Nora raises her hand to call a halt.
The sound of horse hooves and wagon wheels echoes through the trees, and she, Aaron, and Charlie drop flat immediately. Nora and Charlie crawl forward on their bellies toward the road, while Aaron - wisely - stays put.
A few seconds later, an empty Militia supply wagon rounds the nearest bend in the road, attended only by the driver and two Militia soldiers on horseback. Well, she's never been much for planning. (That'd driven her mother crazy, especially when she'd completely winged her act for her first big pageant…and won).
She grabs Charlie by the shoulder and stares straight into her eyes. "The second that wagon stops, shoot all three of them. Start with the two on horseback - closer one first."
Charlie blinks, which is good enough for Nora. She drops her rifle and bomb kit, sneaks as quickly and quietly as she can about thirty feet away from Charlie's position, and then sprints down the hill, crashing loudly through the underbrush, shouting in her best panicked voice, "Help! Help me!"
Who is she kidding? She dodges tangles of blackberry and downed branches like a deer, placing each foot with the assurance of someone who's spent the better part of her adult life living in the woods. She'll be lucky if the two guards don't shoot her on sight. She leaps to clear a log on the side of the road, misjudges slightly, catches her toe, and lands sprawling in the road ten feet in front of the advancing wagon, which actually probably helps her panicked image. It also knocks all the wind out of her lungs. She's dimly aware of the nearest guard's horse spooking backward, a shout from the driver, and the sound of wagon wheels grinding to a halt. When finally she rolls onto her back and looks up, the two wagon horses loom almost directly above her. One of them reaches its nose toward her and snorts nervously; at that distance, the sound is enough to make Nora jump and roll away.
She rises slowly to a sitting position, favoring her left side as if she's injured it in the fall. It rarely hurts to look helpless. Her hair has come half loose from its ponytail and hangs down in front of her face. She peers through the wavy curtain, coiled, ready to move as soon as Charlie fires her first crossbow bolt.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The nearest guard has gotten his horse back under control and where the hell is Charlie with her crossbow? She'd said, "the second that wagon stops" - she'd looked her right in the eye and said it - and the wagon's been stopped now for a good three seconds and where the hell is Charlie -
The guard points a sidearm at her. It never fails to amaze Nora the way having a gun pointed at you narrows your focus.
The guard's knuckles, cracked and tanned to leather by the sun, tighten around the pistol.
Then - finally - Charlie's first crossbow bolt slams into his back, and he pitches forward off his horse. Nora springs for the reins as the horse jumps back and to the side, slamming his shoulder into the nearer of the two wagon horses. The driver shouts and slaps the driving reins against the horses' rumps and the wagon lurches forward just as Nora leaps out of the way. The second guard falls from his horse and she hears a crash as Charlie sprints down the hill, loading another bolt and taking aim at the driver -
- but it's too late, and the shot's too long, and Nora only hesitates a second before gathering up the reins of the horse she's caught, planting her hand in the mane, and scrambling into the saddle. The horse takes off running before she's got her leg fully over its back, but her other hand finds purchase on the horn and she hauls herself into the saddle at a full gallop.
She catches up to the wagon easily, but her horse darts sideways - and dammit, she hates horses - as she reaches for the wagon horse's bridle, and then she hears the schk-schk of a shotgun round being chambered and throws herself to the side just in time.
A boom, and the shotgun blast rockets past her right ear, setting it ringing. Her horse swerves, her grip slips, and she can see every pebble on the ground in front of her as she begins to tumble -
- and then an explosion - bright and hot and the kind of LOUD you can feel - goes up in front of her. The horses rear, the driver screams, and then the ground slams into her and - black.
Her ears are both ringing when she comes to. She moves both arms and legs; rolls onto her side. Nothing broken, but everything hurts, and her neck has seized up. She can move it about an inch to one side, and not at all to the other. Great.
"Nora!" Charlie comes skittering down the embankment next to her, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder as she slides to a halt next to Nora's shoulder.
"M'fine." Nora winces as she forces her head to turn to look at Charlie. She accepts Charlie's offered hand up and looks around at the chaos.
An explosion has ripped open the road directly in front of the wagon. Thankfully, the wagon itself is untouched and the wagon horses appear uninjured. The other two horses have moved off to the side of the road and are cropping nervous mouthfuls of grass in between stepping on their trailing reins. The driver is dead - with Charlie's third crossbow bolt in his back.
"What was that?" Nora points at the charred former road.
"Aaron." Charlie's grin could fit the sky. "He found the bomb in your pack and pitched it like a pro. "
Aaron trundles up, looking sheepish, and holds out Nora's bomb kit, mumbling, "I used to play on my college baseball team."
She looks up, regarding Aaron with a new appreciation. Then she takes her pack from him and slings it onto her back, giving Aaron a congratulatory slap on the shoulder and mostly stifling a yelp of pain as the muscle under her own shoulder blade twinges and contracts. "Good work."
Aaron blushes under his beard.
Charlie and Nora gather up the two loose horses and tie them to the back of the wagon, working fast. Someone will have heard them blow up a road, and Nora would vastly prefer to be halfway to Levittown before every nearby Militia outpost sends a patrol to investigate the noise.
The wagon horses are in good shape, and they make good time back to the Willow Grove mall. The Militia has always taken good care of its horses; honestly, that's probably due to Miles' influence - he has a soft spot for the creatures that Nora has never quite understood. Every time she's ridden, it's been a symphony of spooking, jumping, jigging, and trying to scrape her off on trees.
Miles meets them at the entrance to the atrium, eyes roving quickly over the group, making sure everyone's accounted for, checking for injuries. The action is so habitual that it's reached the level of instinct; she doubts he even knows consciously that he does it. When he's finished, he gives his "good work, soldier" nod and they all fall to work loading the little gear they have, plus their injured hostage.
Monroe looks pale, and he doesn't do much more than grit his teeth as she and Miles heft him into the wagon bed, which can't be a good sign. Nora doesn't know Monroe nearly as well as she knows Miles - they were both scary bastards back in the day, but while Miles had on occasion frightened her, he'd never made her skin crawl in the way Monroe had - but she does know Miles well enough to know that he's hiding how worried he is for his friend.
Hell, she's not sure "friend" is the right word anymore, but six miles later - Aaron driving the wagon and she and Miles riding alongside - as she watches Miles check on Monroe out of the corner of his eye for the four hundred and fifteenth time, she can't think of any other way to describe it.