Bradley's prompt lit up like the Temple lights, as he was marching silently up I-75. At a junction, he stopped and examined it, then turned toward Grayling.
The signal was strong, and he was pleased. The High Ferrule had not entrusted the wrong person. He would find the ISD and return it to Detroit. He considered that he might receive accolades, but didn't revel in the idea. Idle praise, he thought, for doing a job that should have been completed by his subordinate.
He still felt that Wade's training had been incomplete, due to his own incompetence. Many a rookie had gone out on the Green Bay run with Sigma. Never once had there been a death, or a break in the conditioning. No rookie had ever failed to find placement on another team, or had been executed. Wade was a good engineer, but a poor soldier. Bradley should have taught him better. He might not have englished his conditioning.
When Bradley found the man, he would have to cuff him and drag him back to Detroit. Even if Wade proved to be trouble, Bradley knew he could handle it.
His conditioning wouldn't allow him to feel any differently.
Celia woke the next morning to an ear-splitting snore, jarring her out of a sound sleep. She was used to Lionel's snoring, but not directly in her ear. Why he was beside her, she had no idea―she'd fallen asleep on the bedroll on the floor after agreeing not to leave, repeatedly.
She stuck her fingers in her ears. She felt so much better, now that the air had been cleared between them. Even the horrible things that Lilian had said were behind her now. She knew he loved her, even if he wouldn't say it aloud.
She smiled. She'd realized her feelings for Lionel were deep, but hadn't really understood his attachment to her was just as strong. Then she frowned. It must have hurt him, to leave her to the Royces. Ma had asked her where her heart was. Her heart was with Lionel.
It had become obvious to her, after Jesse's foolish attempt to kiss her, that she was being directed away from Lionel. Unlike the people in Stockton, who had been disgusted by the ghouls, but had no reason to truly discriminate, the Royces were fully against Lionel. Jesse said as much himself, that one day Lionel would go feral, and Jesse was scared of ghouls for that reason. She could see it in his eyes, when he told his stories. Amos had his own reasons, she was sure, and Ma had been so hard on Lionel, she didn't even want to think why.
Celia thought about her escape into Gladstone, how she'd had to steal to get enough money to get home. She sighed. She'd gone to the Vault, and cried her eyes out, and sealed it up permanently by cutting the wires in the hollow rock. No one needed to go back there.
She removed her fingers from her ears, and wiped her eyes. And Wade... she took Lionel's word that he was dead. Not that she didn't believe him, but when Wade had shown up on the rocks above the shack, she'd almost peed her pants in terror. She strengthened herself, now. She couldn't afford to be scared, anymore.
Lionel shifted in his sleep. Annoyed, Celia wondered why he hadn't gone to sleep on the mattress, instead of trying to cram into the corner with only enough space for her.
After the talk, he hadn't let her think about going to Detroit. He told her story after story about his life before the War, but drew the line at talking about the day the bombs fell.
"You have enough nightmares to come," he said, soberly.
Celia wiggled around to face his back, and stared at the back of his head. He was nearly squishing her into the wall. She supposed that was why he slept on the far side of the bed. She looked at his shoulder, where the sleeve of his shirt barely covered the stub. The only time she'd ever heard him complain about it was to Lilian, and she suspected that was for dramatic effect. She ran her fingers over it, gently, then grasped his shoulder and shook him.
"Lionel," she said.
He didn't respond. She pushed herself up and moved around him, then went outside to the little outhouse. On her way back, she stopped and looked over the blueberry bushes, picking a handful.
The shack door burst open, startling her into dropping the handful. Lionel stepped out with his revolver in his hand, a hard look on his face. She sighed, and picked up the berries.
"I'm not going to run away," she said, once she'd gone back inside. "And I'm not going to wet the bed, either."
Lionel had the decency to be embarrassed. "You got to give me a while," he muttered. "After Lilian."
"Well, I'm not her," Celia replied, patiently. "Would you please make breakfast?"
After they ate, she looked at the shelf. "We're going to have to do something about the food situation," she frowned.
"Let me worry about that," Lionel said.
"No, because you don't eat as often as I have to. I'm going to feed myself."
"You'll starve to death," he said flatly.
"Don't go putting me in some kind of ivory tower," she told him. "I'm not worth the effort. I'd fall out the window, anyway."
He chuckled, and ran a hand along the back of her neck, making her shiver. "Gotta learn to deal with it," he answered. He told her another story about Grand Traverse Bay.
At the end of the day, Celia was starting to feel the strain of being penned up inside the shack. "Can't I just go out and try to hunt something?" she asked, curious.
"Stop fighting about it," he grumbled.
"I'm not real good at sitting still, Lionel," she reminded him.
"You're getting on my nerves."
She laughed at that. "They are exposed," she teased.
"That was mean," he said, but his eyes were smiling. "Keep it up, see where that gets you."
"I might," she laughed. "But you're tough. You can take it."
He sighed, painfully, and sat down on the bed. "You're really wearing me out, kid."
"You complain too much," she said. "Way you're acting, what with this forced occupation..." She moved to sit beside him. "Why? Normally, we'd be out doing our own things, not annoying the snot out of one another."
Lionel closed his eyes, and she tilted her head to look at him. "Just a few days," he said. "Then we'll go."
"Go where?" She put her hand through his, felt the roughness. "I didn't know you had a plan."
He breathed in deeply. "It's your plan," he replied, looking at her. "I'm only coming along to try to keep you from getting killed." He looked away.
She let go of his hand and looked at the floor, brooding. "You'd still want to go?"
"We all gotta die, sometime," he said.
"I thought we talked about that."
"I said 'we'," he smiled, looking at her. "But your optimism that you won't get killed is amusing."
"Lionel!" she admonished him, and swatted at his leg.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her backwards, onto the bed. They laid there for a long time. He kept his arm around her stomach, hugging her tightly. "You're terrible," she said. He wouldn't let go.
"Just a few days," he said, again. The lamp flickered and dimmed in the gloom of the shack.
She wiggled herself, turning around to face him, put her arm around his side. "A few days of what?" she asked.
He made a face, closed his eyes. "Making up," he said. "For lost time. Haven't had a good hug in ages."
"But didn't you and―"
"Don't," he said, warning her.
"I want to know," she said, bullheaded.
The room was suddenly darkened as the lamp bulb burnt out with a crack. Lionel swore, but let her go and climbed off of the bed. He swore again, kicking a chair in the dark. She heard him rattling the boxes on the shelf, looking for another bulb.
"Why won't you talk about it?" she asked, sitting up and looking into the darkness.
Lionel sighed, and made a frustrated noise. "If the bombs were divine retribution for our sins," he said, "I got mine."
"What?" She was confused.
It was near silent while he fiddled with the lamp. It blinked to life and Lionel chucked the old bulb outside, shutting the door with a slam. He looked angry.
"I don't understand," she said. "What sin would you have committed?"
He wouldn't face her. "Kid, it's some small wonder if you die a virgin."
She colored all the way to her toes and looked down, embarrassed. Lionel came to sit beside her, working his jaw. "That was stupid, I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"No, you're right," she said. "But I am. A virgin."
He exhaled, long and forced. "I can't help you with that," he said. "So neither one of us is missing anything."
She bit her tongue. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
He didn't reply. After a while, he got up and turned off the lamp, and they slept.