Chapter 10

It was ironic to Grace that Weaver had dug Jimmy's grave in an abandoned playground. Jimmy had left his childhood behind a long time ago, but here he was, lying in between the swings and the merry-go-round. It just made Grace want to cry all the more.

She helped lower Jimmy into the ground with Weaver and Tom. Draped in a red sheet, he fit snugly into the muddy grave. It wasn't the grandest funeral, but it was the best they could manage. At least they could say goodbye.

Grace watched the crowds form around Jimmy. So many people had come to pay their respects, including a few of the Berserkers. Grace ignored them. A couple of hours ago they were laughing and hollering as Pope and Tom beat each other senseless. Now they had decided to be respectful?

She took comfort in the knowledge that Pope was long gone. Outraged by Weaver's refusal to punish Tom over the fight, Pope had opted to leave the Second Mass for good. The captain didn't waste his breath convincing him to stay. Funnily enough, the rest of his gang decided not to follow him out the door. But Anthony did go with him. She didn't understand his decision, but she didn't really care anymore. Whether he still thought he owed Pope or it was some other silly reason, he had made the decision to align himself with the degenerate thug and he would live with the consequences.

She sighed and looked down at the old compass in her palm. She had polished all the blood and dirt off it, but a few scratches still remained. She felt Tom appear behind her, kissing her on her head.

"We're almost ready to start," he said quietly. "You sure you don't want to say anything?"

Grace looked up at him and gently nodded. She had never been good with words, particularly when she felt emotional like this. Besides, nothing she could say would quite encapsulate what Jimmy meant to her or the impact his loss would leave.

"Okay then." He paused for a second. "I'm sorry about earlier...with Pope...I shouldn't have done that, especially in front of you."

"Dad, it's okay. If you didn't do it, I would have."

He smiled ironically. "That's what I was afraid of."

"It's done. We got Jimmy's compass, and Pope's gone. At least something good came out of it."

He smiled sadly before looking over to see his sons join them at the front. Matt nestled in next to Grace as Hal and Ben stood together nearby. She tried hard to hold back her tears as Captain Weaver stood by Jimmy's grave and began his eulogy.

"How do you measure somebody?" he asked, straight-faced. "How do you define their worth? A year ago, Jimmy was just a boy. Just a little boy. And then it all changed. His world fell apart. He had to step up. He had to leave that little boy behind. He had to become a soldier. He had to learn how to fight. And he did. And he is now defined by those of us who owe him our lives. He is measured by his bravery."

Grace felt her lip begin to tremble, the lump in her throat seemed to be growing. Her eyes were stinging, holding back a flood. She was putting so much energy into not breaking down in front of everyone, but every time she thought of Jimmy, the little boy Weaver spoke of, she feared it would all come spilling out at any second.

"This day came too soon," frowned Weaver, looking down at the grave. "He died too young. But he died a hero to me. And I am proud to have served with him." This time he looked up towards the sky. "Jimmy...we'll remember."

Grace closed her eyes. She pictured Jimmy's face the last time they spoke, how excited he was about the dragon breath rounds. That eager grin. She'd never see that face again. A small sob escaped Grace's lips. The flood was breaking through; she couldn't hold it back any longer.

Before Weaver finished off his speech, Grace made a hasty exit, hurrying away from the crowd. She wanted to be alone, so she could let the flood wash over her.

Grace gently smoothed her thumb over the glass of Jimmy's compass, her nail catching in the thin grooves left by the damage. She had been sitting outside the airport since the funeral, head in her hands, hiding as everyone began to pack for their departure. She watched as Avery's plane flew overhead, on the way to her next venture. It was a shame she had met them under such tragic circumstances. Grace had been so enthused at the idea of a new US Capital, but right now she didn't care where they went.

Every time she thought she had run out of tears, another would fall until they cascaded down her face like a waterfall. She half expected Jimmy to plop down next to her and cheer her up with some terrible pun or corny joke. It was hard to describe how powerless his loss had made her. The fire that had ignited after her mother's death was now extinguishing. The fight felt pointless if the people she loved had to pay the price. Who would be next? Her dad? Her brothers?

She hugged her knees to her chest. She was ashamed. She felt like she was letting Jimmy down all over again. Hearing footsteps, she turned away to hide her tearful features. She felt a figure slide down beside her, sitting with her. She was surprised to see it was Captain Weaver. He didn't speak, just sat with her quietly. Grace swiped at her sore eyes and nose, trying not to let him see the state she was in. Then she remembered the compass. She held it out to him.

"Here. Jimmy would want you to have it back," she sniffed.

He took it from her, examining it for a few seconds before smiling. "My father gave me this when I was an eagle scout. I always meant to give it to my daughter Jeanne but never got a chance."

Grace wiped another tear from the corner of her eye. "It meant a lot to Jimmy."

"He was a good soldier, that boy, but he had no sense of direction," smirked Weaver.

Grace laughed through her pain. Then Weaver placed the compass back in her palm. She looked at him, confused.

"You keep it," he said. "It feels right you should have it."

Grace closed her palm around it, feeling the cool metal against her skin. "It isn't fair," she whispered. "Why does this always happen?"

Weaver looked away from her, letting his gaze focus on something in the distance. "I ask myself that every day. And you know, I don't think there's an answer. We can't control how we die. We can only choose what we do in life."

Grace breathed shakily, trying to let Weaver's words reassure her. But they didn't.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye over these past months," Weaver continued. "But you're a good fighter, Grace. The Second Mass needs you. Your family needs you. Don't let what happened to Jimmy take the fight out of you. He'd want you to keep going. We owe it to him to stay in the fight. That's why I'm sending us to Charleston."

She looked over at him. "You are?"

Weaver nodded slowly. "We need to get back in the war. Charleston seems a good place to do that."

She forced a shaky smile. "I think Jimmy would have thought so too." Her eyes sailed downward before a sob escaped her lips. She thought about Jimmy alone in that grave. "I don't want to leave him here."

"You're not leaving him," Weaver told her, gripping her shoulder firmly. "We take him with us, in our hearts and minds. Always."

The tears were sliding down again. "I've tried to be strong. For my brothers, for my dad. But I can't anymore. I'm not strong enough."

"The pain you feel - that we all feel - is just proof that Jimmy was loved. That seems like a good enough reason to cry or yell or whatever it is you need to do. But then - you pick yourself up, you get back in the fight. You live - for Jimmy. And everyone else we've lost. Okay, soldier?"

She sniffed, nodding. Then, she found herself burying her face into Weaver's chest, embracing him. Taken aback, Weaver eventually accepted the hug, placing his hands on her back, holding her. For a few seconds, she wasn't a soldier. She was a teenage girl who had lost her best friend. She let one last tear fall and then she pulled away, getting to her feet. Charleston and the revolution were waiting for her.

"I'm ready, captain."