He wasn't happy. Lilian's reaction to their destination was maddening and Celia's avoidance tactics were depressing. He'd asked Lilian if she wanted to go back to Grayling, alone, and made her cry. It was a low time to be Lionel.
The women didn't talk much while they made their way through the twisting mountain roads toward Petoskey―Toskey, as it was now called, and he remembered the place was a decent town, back in the day. He hadn't been there since before the bombs fell. He tried to remember where he'd been before he came to the rock hideaway outside of Stockton, but his head was foggy. Not enough sleep.
The third night, he passed out on the rocks near the women and woke to find Celia watching the distance, pale and shivering, with her rifle on her knees. He kicked himself for that one. She was scared enough as it was, and it was his fault that they were out here, anyway.
"Shoulda let you take watch," he grumbled, when he'd righted himself.
"It's okay," the girl said, trying to control her shivering. It was colder out here, than in Grayling or Stockton. She wasn't wearing much protection from the elements. Lionel went over the cap situation in his head and realized he didn't have much more than the amount they needed to get on the barge at Toskey.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, awkwardly. It wasn't... in his nature to act like that. He gave it try, though. Had to make up for how terrible he'd been back when Sigma had them captured.
Celia looked at him and he saw her eyes were shining. "We abandoned them," she said.
"Who?" He was confused.
"Calhoun, and the others." She swallowed hard. "Left them to deal with Sigma."
Lionel laughed, rudely. "They've got the robots. I'm sure Calhoun isn't dumb enough to let them steamroll his people."
Celia looked down at her knees. "He's just a politician," she said. "None of them are very good at dealing with real threats."
Lionel moved his right arm in a circle and cracked his neck. He didn't reply. Neither are you, he thought. But at least you had someone competent to watch out for you. He sighed.
"Lionel?" she sniffled again. "What is St. James?"
He worked his jaw, angrily. "A ghoul city," he said. "People went there when they still thought there was a cure for it."
"And there isn't," she said.
"No," he snorted. "It's horse-shit." He leaned back and looked down at his hand. "But people are still hopeful, even now."
She didn't say anything in response, just stared out at the wastes again.
"St. James is not a nice place," Lilian said, drowsily. "I don't think you should go there at all, Celia."
Celia looked over her shoulder at the woman, her face neutral. Lionel shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said.
Lilian sat up. "Lionel?" she said. She looked at him expectantly. He grumbled, looked away. "Well, if you aren't going to tell―"
"Shut up," he said, roughly.
Lilian gritted her teeth and made a frustrated noise. "You want her to get stolen away, or raped?" she asked, loudly.
Celia paled even more and grabbed her rifle, stalking away from the two. "Goddammit, Lilian," he started.
"Why are you acting like this?" she shrieked. "Trying to protect her? What the hell happened with those soldiers?"
"Lilian, calm down," he muttered.
"No, I deserve to know the truth!"
"Like I didn't?" He stood and loomed over the woman. "You jaunted off to St. James every three months for ten fucking years, Lilian!" He clenched his fist.
She glared at him. "I only came to live with you because you were like me!" she started, and got up off the ground. "Because Jennifer thought I needed the help! Doesn't mean I enjoyed your company!"
He was angry, tried to calm himself down. "Didn't seem to bother you too much," he rumbled. "I thought we got along just fine." It hurt a little, thinking Lilian had only stayed with him because they were both ghouls―it wasn't fair to either one of them. If he'd known, he wouldn't have let himself get so invested in her.
"Oh, right," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you couldn't even bother to try to make me an honest woman?"
Lionel let out his breath and clenched his fist. "I tried to explain that," he rasped. "You didn't bother to listen."
"I listened," she said, and he dreaded the next words. "And I stayed, anyway. God forbid that you ever tried to kiss me, or hold me―"
"Shut up, Lilian!" Lionel growled. He got up and walked away from her. She didn't want to go down that road with him. He didn't want to think about it, either.
Jesse wasn't allowed at the mill anymore, which was quite sad. He moaned about it, the whole trip on the water, from Toskey to St. James. It wasn't his fault the machinery was old, or that the supervisor (also old) wasn't very fond of him. And he certainly didn't know how those wires had gotten exposed, shocking the poor man.
This was, of course, one of Jesse's covers. Not that any of the people on the barge were aware. Even the helmsman didn't know him. That was the idea, wasn't it?
Dressed in rags and carrying a heavy bundle, he aped the unlucky worker as much as he dared. The objective was to goad passengers into talking to him, so he could pry information from them. Jesse had made the run from Gladstone to Toskey a few times already, but he was careful to invent a cover that allowed him to speak freely with others. Last time he'd been an effeminate political refugee, claiming he was a patsy. Too bad he couldn't wear a fake mustache again.
Jesse's eyes were sharp, looking out for the vague description of the objective. He doubted the man had come over the water, but ARC orders were not to be played with, ignored, or otherwise made light. Jesse knew this from personal experience, and he knew he wouldn't be allowed to continue taking orders unless he did the job right.
Jesse liked to think of himself as a mercenary, though he was only a junior member of ARC.
He joked it meant Amos Royce and Company, though Amos liked to call it Alpha Recovery Crew. Various people in the area of Gladstone would hire the three Royce brothers to track down errant loved ones, criminals outside the reach of the law, and the occasional former employee. It wasn't glamorous but it kept food on the table at Ma Royce's house, and if Jesse expected there to be food he had to work. Until the dry season, when Amos went back to shear the Delaines, and Avery hired out as a bodyguard or bouncer. Jesse would be stuck at the farm with Amos unless he could find gainful work elsewhere. He never saw much of the money, since Amos would put it back for him. "Planning for the future," he'd say. "Since you're such a scatterbrain."
Jesse smoked a cigarette, looking out at the water.
The return journey yielded no persons of interest, at least not pertaining to his orders. He craned his neck with interest at a ghoul who had one arm, standing with a woman ghoul who was clearly angry at him. Jesse inched closer and tried to figure out what they were talking about, but it wasn't very hard to hear the woman screeching at the guy.
Something about fruit ripe for the picking. Jesse knew enough to understand that they were arguing about the girl who was chucking wasteland gourmet into the lake, down the railing. She looked more sick than sick, or at least more sick than motion sickness alone. He'd never seen it so bad.
The ghoul stomped off down the barge and Jesse watched him take a spot near the starboard side. He clutched the post like he was about to fall overboard. Jesse raised an eyebrow.
Well, his objective, some sleazeball who'd run out on his bills, wasn't here. That meant it was Amos and Avery's problem. Jesse laughed to himself. He might as well relax and enjoy the ride.
Before the barge docked at St. James, the girl withdrew from the railing and approached the ghoul. Jesse watched her touch his missing arm gently, and the ghoul jerked away, angrily. The girl, who was already pale from throwing up, got paler. She sunk down onto the deck and looked absolutely miserable.
Maybe that's one for Amos and Avery, too, Jesse thought. She looked like she was in trouble.
He would follow the ghoul and see what happened, then ride the barge back to Gladstone tomorrow to tell Amos about it.