SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 8

The Humvee had remained untouched throughout the night, and as far as Troy could tell from a quick inspection of the area, so was the gas station. Troy was surprised given the vehicle itself wasn't quiet and would be heard halfway across town. It made him wonder why—if there were survivors around—it hadn't been picked up already and kept for exploration missions. Did the unseen group lurking in the shadows of the small town know something about it that the three didn't? Or was it that the town itself hadn't seen people since the world started changing?

If Troy believed that for even a second, then the town would have more dead and those fences he'd seen on the way in wouldn't look as if they saw regular maintenance.

What were they waiting for? Why hadn't they appeared to get a better look at who was intruding on their town?

Troy was still mulling it all over when he pulled up to their hideaway and saw the Clarks exit. He stopped beside them, patiently waiting on them to get in. When they did, he started a slow drive through the town toward the Municipal Airport.

In the backseat, Alicia gazed out the window, watching the small town of Sonora go by. She briefly wondered what it had looked like in its glory days – before the dead had taken over the world and left most cities like these no more than ghost towns.

Some of the establishments they passed still had a rugged kind of charm, Spanish-style storefronts, and decoration that could easily transport you into a fantasy of a western.

But most of the houses were looking shabby now. Uncared for and unloved ever since their people evacuated. The lawns had gone brown. Patio furniture had been destroyed by the weather – or the dead – and were scattered around the front yards like toys.

Alicia briefly wondered what her house looked like these days. If it was even still standing.

It didn't take many minutes before Troy pulled up outside the airport. Like the town, it was nothing fancy either. Small and barren. The gate had been torn down at some point. Several cars were abandoned along the makeshift parking lot.

Alicia leaned forward, resting an arm on the side of Nick's seat to get a better look up ahead. "Any dead here when you came?"

Nick shrugged and pushed the door open, climbing out. He started past the gate and up the cemented runway. He could see an airplane far ahead and wondered if it was by any means operational, and what it would take to convince Troy to drop the idea of flying around on that rusty little can.

His thoughts switched the angle when he looked around and, after a momentary consideration, turned right across the runways towards a cluster of buildings. There could be some things to pick up unless it was picked clean before. In either case, it was always worth it to check.

Troy was a few steps behind them as they walked the flat landscape of the airport, hyperaware that they were out in the open and that there was no direct place to hide and take cover with should someone start firing on them. This also worked in his favor as Troy wasn't concerned when Nick broke away from him to get a better look at the hangers, small prefab units without windows. That meant no one could see in – as well as out.

He jogged the distance toward the abandoned plane, eager to see the damage, frowning the closer he got, his steps losing of their enthusiasm when he noticed the bullet holes.

"Fuck," he cursed, disappointed. The Cessna 150M would have been a perfect means of travel, used as a teaching tool to help students familiarize themselves with the air and panels. When Troy had first started taking flying lessons, it was one of the first he'd flown. Unable to help himself, he made work of checking the integrity of the plane's engine.

Alicia followed in Nick's wake, eyeing the various hangars and what had to be some sort of administration building. She didn't truly like the way Troy was fussing over the single plane left in view, the thought of him stuffing them all inside and trying to take off enough to make her stomach flip with anxiety. Her last experience with an aircraft hadn't been pleasant and she wasn't keen to repeat the experience anytime soon.

Once they'd reached the buildings, Alicia swerved in the opposite direction from her brother, looping around the largest one to check for any open doors or breaks in the wall. The first one she tried was a no-go, a red steel door locked up tight. The next, an identical one with an old emergency sign that had seen better days, opened.

She paused to listen in the doorway, gaze on the hallway in front of her, and when no immediate dead jumped out, Alicia drew her knife and carefully ventured inside.

Nick looked after Alicia pensively, momentarily worried to let her roam on her own, but forced himself to walk on and around the long beige building that turned out to be a motel. Alicia had been without his supervision for a while and now was not any different. Only for them in his regard, but that was his pet peeve and his only.

There were a few skeletons dressed in dusty torn clothes lying around the inner yard, but none were walking. The army, Nick supposed, had taken care of it before they left. There were some dead inside, as well, and still, the place didn't seem to have been cleaned. The towels, the little shampoo and shower gel bottles, the small pieces of soap wrapped in plastic and marked Motel 6 – all those lay untouched in the storage room. Nick picked a blue roll of trashcan bags and began to salvage what was still intact.

Troy realizing when he was defeated, turned away from the Cessna, all thoughts of flights home forgotten as he took another look around. He started in the direction of the hangars, stumbling upon Alicia, surprised to find that she was alone. He'd expected that through their deal, one or both of them would always be with Nick in case his running streak of bad luck kicked in. Not that Troy felt there were any immediate threats hovering around – not here. How could he know for sure? Someone was watching and if anything that crazy bitch had come upon them like black smoke. Troy didn't want to tempt fate any more than was necessary, after all, it's not as if she was the only threat in the world. She was one of many, and always would be.

He left the hangar without a word, going in search of Nick.

"Finding anything of interest?" Troy asked as he stepped into the motel.

Smirking, Nick showcased the trash bags, mini-bar bottles clanging in one. "Yeah, soap for girls, booze for boys. How's that plane?"

"Fucked. It got caught in the crossfire of whatever happened here. There might be a chance to repair it if I can find some parts – I'm not sure it would be able to fly."

Nick considered him. "Did you need that so bad? To fly?"

"Yeah. There's freedom in being able to go anywhere we want. No matter the distance."

"In this broken world it's a better chance of dying than making it around in cars, man."

"There's also a chance of dying stumbling over a rock," Troy retorted. He meant that. As much as he loved playing with the dead, he also knew how easy it was to lose – it was also part of the thrill. "You're scared of flying?"

"In this reality here - maybe. Even before the world ended, planes crashed regularly. Look, back on the ranch you lot could afford it, but now it's not just a new toy you'd get - it needs fuel, maintenance, a place to be stationed, and any group with guns could bring it down like the Indians did your chopper."

"Walker was a special case. He had a reason. A plane in this day and age is a commodity, but a plane this small—" he gestured to the door behind him, as if Nick could see what remained of it and understand Troy's argument, "—it would be ideal. You'd hardly hear it coming. Not that arguing the logic behind it matters. It's dead. Whoever shot it made sure of that."

"The army shot it before they left," Nick muttered, walking past Troy and out the door.

"Right." Troy hadn't even bothered to make those connections although there were recognizable signs of their presence. He followed Nick outside.

"You got your Humvee, so be happy about that," Nick said, hauling the bags onto his shoulder as they strolled toward the road.

"Yay," Troy said behind him, deadpan. He liked the Humvee, it was comfortable and would get them far (although heavy on fuel), but a plane would have been a true win.

"Have you seen Alicia?"

"She was over at the hangars." Troy fell into step beside Nick, gesturing to the black bag he was carrying. "Need help with that?" There was still his friend's injury to consider and Troy didn't want him further aggravating the wound. It would take longer to heal.

"I'm fine. Better go find her if you want to help."

Troy nodded, breaking away from Nick as he continued his way back to the main gate. The stretch of road was a long one so Troy didn't have to worry about him getting lost.

Alicia wondered if she'd ever get used to it – the silence of the new world. So eerie. So lonely. Except for when you could hear the low hum of the dead in the distance.

This office had none. Not even a trace. A few chairs lay scattered on the floor as if its earlier inhabitants had fled in a rush. The desks by the large window facing the runway still had half-full cups of coffee, long gone moldy and gross.

There wasn't much of worth to take with her, but after a thorough search, Alicia had grabbed a stack of post-its and markers, two unopened boxes of saltine crackers, and whatever bandaids and cleansing wet naps she'd found in a first aid kit.

She'd even opened the tiny fridge in the kitchen nook, only to be met with a stench of abandoned food that was so spoiled she wouldn't be able to identify what it had once been. Gagging and regretting her decision, she'd closed it up and once her eyes stopped watering, pushed through to the smaller office at the end of the building.

Only one desk resided there, most of it covered by a large radio system, probably once used to contact the control tower in the distance.

She paused, one hand toying with the microphone stand. Radios and walkie-talkies had seemed like such a blessing once the world went to shit, but after recent events, it also felt like a contraption able to put a target on their backs. A beacon.

Alicia promised herself not to use the communication system again unless it was absolutely necessary. Who knew what kind of people they might draw to them next time?

Ever since Sonora, Alicia hadn't heard a peep from Strand or her mother. That must mean they were out of range because Alicia had left Madison high and dry in a panic over Nick. There was no way she'd ever let that go.

She briefly felt a sting of guilt for not having been able to let their mother know Nick was safe. Madison must have been losing her mind with fear at this point. But what could Alicia do?

Alicia gathered her loot in her arms again and made for the door.

The look of dejection didn't go unnoticed by Troy when he found Alicia exiting one of the hangars, helpfully holding the door for her out of automatic consideration. "Everything okay?" As she passed him, Troy peered inside to see if she'd encountered anything.

"Yeah." She was surprised to see Troy back so soon. "Plane a no-go?"

"Nope. For now, we're still grounded." Troy closed the door behind her out of habit and then started to subtly guide her in the direction Nick had continued so they could catch up.

"Food supplies are mostly cleared out," Nick told them when they caught up to him. "So we gotta get back to the truck with those boxes if it's still there."

Alicia emptied her measly winnings into the backseat, bracing her hands on her hips as she regarded the boys. "How far is it?"

"A couple of miles," Nick said, pushing past Troy into the driver's seat. "If it's still there. Only first we probably need to sweep the cars here for gas. We need as much as we can get in the long run."

"We need jerry cans for that. A few." Troy had left them in the trunk in the car at their current base. "Also a hose." With Nick driving, he climbed into the back along with Alicia's booty and gestured in the direction of town again. "It'll be a quick pickup."

Nick sighed, mildly annoyed at how disorganized they were being, and turned the ignition key.

"It's crazy!" Strand pushed out a heavy exhale, his arms akimbo, as he watched the entrance of the church. "You hear me? They're not here! They weren't here yesterday, they weren't here the day before, and they won't come back to this godforsaken place tomorrow! And we can't keep doing this!"

"You don't get to tell me what I do or don't do, Victor," Madison snapped, appearing in the doorway, a hammer in her hand. "If you wanna run – go right fucking ahead, I'm not holding ya. But don't tell me I should leave my kids behind to accommodate your panic."

"You think it's just about me?! You really think so? I never took you for a stupid woman, Madison, but now you suddenly wanna be one. Maybe you're really struggling to see the whole picture. Well, I can rehash it for another bazillionth time, no problem. Here goes: we can't keep coming here and stick to this fucking spot hoping for a miracle because we're sitting ducks. Your precious Nick might never even cross their minds – he was on the damned top when it exploded! It's us, us, Madison, that got out. They'll want me, and you. And maybe Alicia. Do you understand?"

"No, it's you who fails to understand. Maybe they already got them! And if they did, I swear to God, Victor, I will trade your ass for them."

He laughed; it was a harsh sound in Madison's ears, like someone was sawing metal. "You don't get it, do you? At all! It's not how it works with them. They won't be satisfied with one cash pack when they can get the whole bank. They were willing to let you – just you! – go when they were about to get the Dam, but now? Now that they've lost it, just my ass strung up won't do. They'll want the whole pack. If we get all together, it will compromise us. You will compromise your children instead of saving them, Madison. We're better apart for now, at least just for now. We have to lay low and let the storm fade a little—"

"It's been two months," she said, her eyes full of steel boring into him, her fingers flexing on the hammer's handle. "You suggest I forget my children exist for what, a year? Two? Ten? That's the crazy you mentioned. Right fucking there."

Strand sighed, closed his eyes momentarily, feeling too worn for this. "Madison—"

"You were there, you heard her on that radio," she continued in the same quiet, cold voice, pacing the words as if she was hammering them into him with her weapon of choice. "Something's wrong with them. It's been days, it might be bad, and I have to try and help them. I have to. You'll never know what it's like to be a mother, and hell if I can explain, but I don't give a damn about Proctors or death or wars or whatever until I make sure my kids are safe. If you're not good with it – the road's open." She fished a set of keys from her pocket and chucked them at his chest; they jingled and plopped down in the dust at his worn shoes. "Take the car, I'll manage."

She turned to go, but he caught her by the arm. Her hammer-wielding hand jerked up on instinct, and Strand ducked a little, but didn't let go. "Please, listen to me. Very carefully. I do understand that you feel how you feel – I do. I had a heart once upon a time, whether you do or don't believe it. You wouldn't be here if I hadn't. But it's beside the point." He sighed, focusing. "You need to understand that I'm trying to help us all here, okay? You don't know what kind of band they are. They will hunt you down until there is not one of them left. Not a single one, you understand? They will give it their all and more because it's how they are. We crossed them, real bad, Madison. We declared war by screwing them over. I did by fucking up their deal, and Nick did by pushing the buttons and sending their prize down the drain. I don't want any of us to get killed. But to avoid it, we have to get away, we have to move. Your children are smart, Madison, they're survivors. You know that better than I do by now. Please, trust them to be okay, and make the same effort. They're not coming back here. It's madness. We can't stick around any longer for nothing."

"You don't know that," she whispered, her eyes narrowing.

He released her and spread his arm with a smile. "Look around. It's dead. Everything around you is dead. There is nothing here for them. They might've been here back then, but I'm sure they left the same day because there is. Nothing. Here." He let his arms flop back down to his sides; he gave her a softer look. "It's time we move on, let's head east. If they're smart and doing the same, we will find them."

She looked back at the church, tears welling up in her eyes. She made a few uncertain steps, fighting the lump in her throat, then squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, sucked in a sharp breath. She held it for as long as she could, then let it out; her eyes snapped open. She hastily wiped her cheeks, and turned to march toward Strand, her face stern and focused. She picked up the keys from the dust and went for the car.

Strand smiled, and followed.

The Clark siblings and the surviving Otto managed their detours in an hour, quickly sweeping through all the remaining vehicles abandoned around the airport, then checked the few at the motel and diner before setting on their way. The sun was on its decline path, spilling over the empty highway, and despite the peaceful scenery, Nick couldn't shake the sadness of what the trip was about. A part of him couldn't stop wondering what he would have done in Alicia's place, but he still was trying to escape the answer.

"Have either of you heard anything on the radio from Mom?" Alicia asked casually, one foot resting on the dashboard in front of her. She wasn't entirely sure either would have told her if they had – Nick being eager to create distance and Troy carrying grudges.

Nick shot her a glance, frowning. "Why, she's around? You two know something I don't?"

Troy set his elbows on the back of their chairs, leaning forward like a nosy child side eying his parents, shaking his head. He hadn't heard from Madison since they got Nick back and he was grateful for it as his usual desire to talk to her had waned. He'd once seen her as a kindred spirit, someone who understood him without his trying or making an effort – only to find that she was worse. He'd let her play her games, accepted most of what others would have scoffed at, but he'd given her far too much freedom, and the ranch paid for it. There were days he wished at times that he'd never tried to rescue her at all. Where would he be? Back at the ranch? Jeremiah still kicking? He sat back, reflecting on his father, on his brother, and their conflicting relationships.

"What's to know? She's looking for you. She's always looking for you."

"Not after the talk we had," Nick shook his head slowly. "Unless something happened. So what is it? Lisha?"

"She was in the area when you were taken," Alicia admitted. "Overheard us on the radio. She knows you went missing. We didn't have a chance to tell her you're alright. She must be losing her mind right about now."

Nick set his jaw, staring ahead at the road, his fingers tightening on the wheel to make his knuckles go white.

"You want to reach out to her?" Troy asked. He didn't doubt that she was probably where they'd left her, running around in circles, hoping for a shred of information on her son's whereabouts. Alicia too. Although Troy had recognized that there was a vast difference in her concern for the two of them, even if she claimed to be mother of the year.

Alicia shrugged. "Just occurred to me, is all. Can't say I feel good about prolonging her misery."

Nick said nothing, muscles bulging in his cheeks as he gnashed his teeth.

Troy had nothing to add to the conversation, so didn't.

Alicia eyed her brother. "You'd rather she don't know?"

"What exactly would you like me to do about it right now?" Nick asked, never looking away from the road, his fingers flexing on the wheel.

She sighed in response. "Nothing."

"Nothing," he echoed. "And that's why you brought it up – to make me do nothing."

"I brought it up because I was thinking of her," she snapped. "Don't be an asshole."

"I'm not being an asshole! I'm trying to figure out what you want us to do."

"I want to know what to tell her if our radios do pick up her signals," Alicia said. "I assumed I would reassure her, but judging from the look on your face you'd rather I didn't."

Nick gave her a long look and sighed deeply looking back at the road. "I just… sometimes it feels like it'd be better for both of us if she thought I was dead. So she'd let go and I'd be free. I know it's cruel, and I hate myself for it but turns out I come to hate myself much more when she's around. It's like there's gotta be a moment when enough is enough, you know."

"I get it. There's a reason why neither of us is with her right now," Alicia murmured. "But she's still our mother, Nick. I don't want her to do something stupid in a panic and get herself killed."

"Which brings us back to my question: what do you want us to do now? Do you know where she is? Or do you suggest we drive around the states looking for her just to tell her once again that we're going in separate directions? I really don't want to go through that talk again. Not now. Not yet. I can't."

"I told you what I want: Should the opportunity to talk to her ever come, what do we tell her? If anything?"

"Depends on what she knows. Look, you can tell her all you want, but I'd rather stay out of it if you don't mind. Is that okay with you?"

Alicia shrugged, looking out the window on her side. "Sure."

They drove off the highway and followed two smaller roads before the truck appeared ahead of them on the curb as Nick remembered. He slowed down, crawling along the shoulder while trying to see if any ambush was possible. The back doors of the truck were open a crack like when he had left it the day before.

He drew the Humvee to a stop and killed the engine, his heart thumping quicker.

"Alicia, come. Nick, stay in the Humvee," Troy ordered in a way that left little movement for Nick to argue or get any ideas. They'd gone from family turmoil to apprehension in half a second and the tension was written all over the inside of the cab. "You see anyone that looks even remotely suspicious – you run them the fuck over." With that, Troy popped open the back door and jumped out, waiting on Alicia to catch up so she could watch his back before advancing on the truck, his gun drawn, ever ready to put a hole in someone should the need arise.

Nick didn't bother responding and just exited the Humvee after them, his knife dangling from his hand. He wasn't eager to see the empty truck again, but he slowly proceeded toward it nonetheless, his eyes darting around. There were no bushes or trees to harbor his nemesis with dreadlocks, but he had an unnerving, irrational feeling she could materialize out of thin air behind his back and cackle into his ear.

Alicia smiled up at Troy, gesturing after her brother with her knife. "He's in a fun mood, huh?" She followed in Nick's wake, keeping a lookout as he progressed towards his target, ready to stab just about anything that moved.

"Downright sunshine," Troy retorted with quiet contempt, unable to bring himself to smile back at Alicia. It was stupid to leave the Humvee unattended with all their fuel inside.

He tensed as they continued on, staying back, satisfied to let Nick go ahead since he hadn't a choice and for Alicia to back him up.

This was Nick's baby anyway. His trauma.

Nick didn't touch the back doors to make sure the remaining boxes were still inside. He strolled around the truck, his eyes following the concrete and the front tires, the grid. He made himself look at the ground by the other front tire, a part of him certain he would see a pair of cowboy boots, worn and dusty.

There was none. Only dry patches of grass and darker spots marking where the blood seeped from the body. Nick made himself tear his stare off the darker patches and skim over the front of the truck. Wincing, he pulled the door open to peek into the empty cabin. The air was stale; an unfinished sandwich went bad on the dashboard. Above the windshield, a radio was crackling with static.

The blood didn't go unnoticed for Alicia either. She understood the significance and recognized the haunted look in her brother's eyes.

"It's not your fault," she told Nick as he peered into the car, her voice disturbed by the radio static. "In fact, between you, me, Troy, and Crazy Lady, you're the only one who is not at fault."

"It's not all that simple and never will be," he muttered, slipping into the shotgun seat, and reached to peek into the glove compartment.

"I know," she replied, leaning against the truck. "You're going to feel it. For years to come. But I'll be here to remind you: it's not your fault. It's hers. And you need to try and remember that."

He pulled the maps from the compartment and began to skim through them in silence. All their discussions of guilt and faults were like an old broken record that made his head ache.

Nick's face was pinched, yet he made no sign of having heard her. Shields up. Alicia turned away, her back against the truck, keeping an eye on the darkened horizon.

Their father had been similar in the end. She could understand the signs now she knew the truth about his death. See things she hadn't before.

She knew he'd been depressed. Just not how much. Now, looking back at all the times their dad would gaze emptily into space while lively conversations were happening around him; how Madison struggled to get him to open up about his work, his days; how he'd almost always shot Alicia down whenever she asked to play… they were all signs.

When she'd hugged him goodnight and told him she loved him, he would always reciprocate. But his eyes were void of life. His mind was locked up tight. Stuck in his own little world.

Alicia could see the same patterns in Nick now they were spending so much time together. And it worried her. Deeply.

"Did he leave any clues as to where their base is?" she asked, knowing she wouldn't be able to open his mind to anything but what was currently plaguing him.

He handed the maps to her so she could see for herself. There were marks here and there, some roads highlighted, but checking out every mark would take a lot of time they didn't have to lose on a mission like that.

"We don't need to find their base," he said, leaning back in the chair, staring ahead on the road. "We just need to warn them in any way possible. And seems like the fastest way would be that," he waved a hand at the radio. "If only she weren't out there listening if she is around. She could be, she could not, and we won't know."

"If she wants the rest of these people as badly as she wanted the trucker, chances are she'll still listening," Alicia said, perusing the maps. "Did she ever say anything about how many of them there were? How many she'd taken out before?"

He sighed and leaned forward to rummage in the compartment some more. "When I tried to get her to talk, she stabbed me."

"I don't really like the idea of broadcasting messages she can hear, but at least she can't track our location," Alicia surmised.

"We need them to track our location, though, before that body gets unrecognizable." Having found nothing else of use, he leaned back and gestured for the maps in her hands. "See if there are any marks near where we are. Near Sonora. We'll stake out the place."

Alicia brought out one of the maps, eyeing it closely for the man-made red marks that had been scrawled onto them at some point. "There are several down Route 10," she said, tracing her finger down the line of the road. "The closest being a rest stop. Want to check it out before it gets too dark?"

He took the maps from her and assessed the sky before looking at the markings. "We got about an hour of light left." He studied the map closely; there seemed to be a few marks around Sonora and Interstate 10, from smallest dots to a checkmark a bit south of town. He pointed to it for Alicia. "I bet this one's important. Can't tell what it is though. We'll have to find out before dark, and we'll take the truck there. That radio can yet be useful."

"All right. Let's go convince Troy," Alicia said, pushing away from the car. She'd only taken a few steps before she paused. "Anything here worth taking?"

Troy, feeling exasperated with the situation and Nick's direct stubbornness, turned his back on the Clarks while they busied themselves checking the heavy-duty truck.

He wandered a short distance away to scan the side of the road for anything to indicate the crazy woman had been there and could return. He found a flattened box worn-torn by the weather caught between rusted wires from what he could assume used to be a boundary fence or livestock fence. He plucked the molding cardboard off the ground to inspect it, flipping it over, catching sight of the faded 'take what you need, leave what you don't' and an accompanying stain that could be blood.

It didn't mean much. In the apocalypse bleeding or being hurt was becoming second nature.

Troy dismissed the remains of the box, dusting his fingers on his pants, his other hand firmly grasping his handgun. He hadn't put it away, loath to relax that much and give someone the opportunity to shoot them in the back.

When Troy saw the movement around the truck change direction and the two start back toward the Humvee, he moved to meet them, taking up residence against the driver's door, waiting on them to catch up.

Nick peeked into the truck where there were about a dozen boxes waiting to be put to use.

"We can take some of it if we need it or simply return it all to them as it is," he said and looked to Alicia. "Are we good on water and supplies without all this?"

Alicia did a quick calculation in her head. "We're better on food than water." And they all knew they could go a day or two without eating, worst-case scenario. Water was harder to part with. "We can take a few bottles, at least. To give ourselves a better chance." She put her knife away and reached in to grab two of the boxes, balancing them in her arms. "Return some, leave some? People still might come by here."

Nick pulled a box out and set it on the curb between the truck and the Humvee. "We can collect water at the house while it still runs," he said, watching Alicia as she passed the boxes to Troy. "I'm driving the truck, you follow," he added, catching Troy's glance. "It's a bit south of town, we gotta hurry to make it before dark." With that, he headed for the truck's driver's door.

Alicia looked between the boys, then followed Nick. "I'll ride with you."

Nick couldn't follow orders, but he sure could give them without consultation. How did he know the truck hadn't been left there for a reason? The woman had poisoned him, who's to say she wouldn't outright rig it or make it so that it could go up in flames? Troy knew a lot of his concerns had to do with his paranoia and that it would be dismissed anyway even if he did air it.

He didn't bother to nod since Nick didn't care about what he had to say anyway, yanking open the driver's door on the Humvee, his handgun slipped into the console in front of him where he could easily reach it should the need arise. He started the engine, waiting on Nick to do the same, prepared to follow at a distance.

Nick climbed into the cabin, closed the door, and observed the dashboard. "Okay, how hard can it be?"

He turned the key ignition gingerly, and after a few coughs, the truck started. They pulled from the curb and drove up the road.

He glanced at Alicia. "Keep an eye on the maps for me, I'd hate to get lost."

"Uh-huh," she murmured, quickly fastening her seatbelt because Nick's confidence in his driving skills hadn't assured her much. "Just stick to this road for now. I'll count the markers."

Nick shot a look to the map on her lap, memorizing the route, then relaxed into his seat, accelerating.

After a while, he gave Alicia a pensive side-glance. "You miss her?"

"Mom?" Alicia shrugged, giving it some thought. "I've missed her most of my life. It's nothing new." She assumed Nick didn't, and therefore chose not to ask.

He shrugged. "Now's different. She really wanted you with her. Maybe you regret saying no. It's okay, she is our mom."

"Yeah, she always wants me with her," Alicia murmured. "But somehow I'm never enough. If you're not there, we're incomplete. And when you are there–" I'm invisible. "I don't regret it. I love her but I'm done being perpetually miserable."

He looked at her for a long moment, then turned back to the road, mulling it over. "You never told me what happened to you while I was gone after the Villa."

Alicia was fairly certain she had, but it was possible Nick didn't remember. So much had happened lately – a lot of it trauma. Served to reason certain details may have slipped. "Not that much to tell. We drove around Tijuana looking for you a good long while until I forced Mom to go back to the yacht. Only it wasn't where we'd left it. Military had taken it, or so Strand said."

"I know you stayed at some hotel or something? You said you overheard her talk with Travis about Celia. Other than that, I don't know much. I asked you back at the ranch, but you walked away to that Bible study, and we never touched it again."

"Rosarito Beach Hotel," she mused. "One of those luxury beach resorts, you know? Or at least it had been once upon a time. There were people trapped inside with the dead. Enemy factions, as strange as that sounds. But Mom managed to mediate.

"We stayed there a while – Mom, Strand, and I. Ofelia left the first day. Without a word. Travis joined us later. You know, after Mom got the huge neon sign to work again so she could signal to you where we were." Alicia smirked. "Just ended up attracting a bunch of other people instead."

A humorless smirk swept over Nick's mouth. He wasn't anywhere around that place, and even if he were…

"Mediate," he mused in almost a whisper. The word had a bitter taste.

She shrugged. "Didn't really work. Strand got stabbed in the process. Had to patch him up. And the sign brought dozens of refugees to our door. We tried to do what we could for them, give them shelter, medical attention, supplies. But they were so many and things started unraveling fairly quickly." She thought back to one specific day – seeing Madison's face and the ocean behind her. "Did you know Dad left a note?"

He darted a haunted look at her, "She told you that?"

"Yup. She said she didn't tell us to protect us. Especially you." Alicia tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Nick had to take a couple of deep breaths, unsure of what he felt, either anger or some weird, cold rage. "What did it say?" he heard himself ask between his teeth.

"That he loved us," Alicia said quietly. "But that enough was enough. Whatever that means." She could think of several interpretations and wasn't sure which she preferred.

Nick almost laughed out loud, but the emotion was as far from any sort of amusement as it went. He felt it could've been his own note. It was: unspoken, it hung in his wake every time he tried to escape the home he didn't perceive as his place anymore.

"Why the hell did she tell you that?" he asked, trying to soften his rage enough to not make Alicia think she was the reason. "What kind of sick plan did she have to deal that fucking card?!"

"I don't know." Alicia snuck a glance at her brother. "She knew I was feeling excluded. Overlooked. Maybe she wanted to entrust me with something she had yet to tell you."

"She wanted to burden you with it! Make you feel like shit whenever you felt like standing up to her for anything. That's what she wanted to do. She's always been finding those little things to pull the right strings, and we never made her stop. It kept working every damn time, one way or another."

Alicia was silent for several beats this time, even giving her enough time to quickly recheck the maps. "Or… she wanted to explain why it was so imperative to her that we found you. Maybe she wanted to make me feel as scared as she was. To break down those walls I put up for myself whenever you went on a bender."

"She wanted to have all she had under her control at all times. Because then she feels like she's getting somewhere, like she's doing the right thing or whatever the hell else she calls it. She had you and Travis, and yet she couldn't settle for it. I don't think her fear for my life is the main part of what's driving her. She says she does things for us, but I think she does them for herself. And we're the excuses."

Alicia couldn't argue with some of that. She knew her mother as well as Nick did. "Whatever her reason, the fear latched on," she admitted, eyes on the map. "She told me she was scared you were on the same path as Dad. And I struggle to get that out of my head."

"Of course you do, because she has that way of saying things that stick. I bet there are lots of things even Troy can't shake that she told him to get her way. It's what she does, Lisha. She gets her way."

"Have you ever considered it? Seriously considered it?" She looked at him, hoping, praying that he would say no.

He frowned, "What?"

"Ending it."

He let out a heavy sigh, watching the road as he turned the truck carefully, steering to not veer off the narrower road. There wasn't any simple answer to that he was ready to offer right away, and he wasn't in the mood to get philosophical on the subject. "Depends on what you mean by seriously. The point of shooting up was to escape the brooding, not dwell on it."

"Does it mean I have to worry? Or can I sleep a little easier at night?" she mused quietly.

He had to chuckle softly. "You don't get to worry about me, Lisha. It's the other way around now."

"Me?" Alicia raised a brow, lips twitching in the smallest of smiles. "Whatever would you have to worry about with me?"

He gave her a 'really?' look, his eyebrow perked, smirking. "Where do I even start, with all the things out there to get my pretty sister? Cults, the Proctors, your own ideas of how it's safer to roam the world alone… You're not all that easy to handle, don't trick yourself."

"Good. I don't want to be easy to handle." She leaned back in her seat with a self-satisfied smile, pointing out the windshield. "It's just up ahead."

"Well, darn, I'd like easy for once." His face got more serious as he looked where she pointed. "Looks like some facility… gas or oil would be my guess." He dropped the speed, and they crawled along, looking around for any signs of trouble. The day was slipping away into the twilight zone little by little.

Troy had no idea where they were headed to or why they were bothering when the day was crawling away from them and they still had a body to bury. The answer didn't become any clearer to him when they approached what looked like a big factory in the distance, the surrounding area browned from whatever chemicals it had been producing over the years.

He slowed the Humvee even further, putting distance between himself and the truck Nick was driving, on the immediate defensive, paranoid about what lay on the other side of the building's fences.

"Guess most would stop here to look for fuel," Alicia agreed, checking the mirror to make sure Troy was still behind them. She surveyed the area visible to them in the car for a while. The sound of the motor hadn't attracted any dead, but it was the living Alicia was most concerned about these days. "Let's stick together, okay?" She put the maps on the dashboard and freed her knife from its holster, opening the door and slowly slipping outside.

Nick wasn't sure what was best – driving in there on the truck or sneaking on foot. Latter was quieter, but he could see from here where he parked the truck on the shoulder behind a tiny gas station that there were a lot of places and bushes up ahead for any ambush.

He sighed, killing the engine, slipped his fingers into his trench knife's brass-knuckles handle as he exited the truck. He refrained from closing the door completely to avoid the noise and looked back in Troy's direction. The Humvee sat further behind – Troy didn't even get up to the driveway turn Nick took in the truck, probably deciding to play it safe.

The light was dissipating gradually, but the area was still easy to survey. Cemented roads between the hangars and warehouses disappeared between the lawns and shrubs and trees, tall piles of cisterns and boxes as if ready to be shipped, cars and trucks still parked around the property made it look like it was just another break for the night, and tomorrow day the place would live again. The CAUTION signs were plastered on the low fences asking not to smoke and wear safety shoes and glasses; sand and pebbles crunched under their sneakers as the Clarks slowly made their way to the abandoned Simons Petroleum gas station. They stopped behind it, waiting for Troy to catch up.

"What are we doing here?" Troy asked, keeping his voice low as he caught up to the two. He'd left the Humvee at the bottom of the road and safely nestled the keys into his pocket.

"It's one of the locations the trucker marked on his map," Alicia whispered, eyes on the tall shadows that seemed to loom from every construction. "Checking it out. Seeing if they're still using it. If so, we might be able to make contact here."

"If they stop here, it's a good place to give them the body," Nick said.

"We're giving them the body?" Troy asked. The urge to roll his eyes was intense. One minute they were supposed to bury him, and the next they were handing him over like a token? What would they even say? 'Sorry, used your man as a bartering chip – he's yours again'. "Why? I thought you wanted to drop a note? Warn them about crazy lady? This is a waste of fucking time. We don't know what we're walking into in here. It's also dark."

"I don't make you stay here and walk into whatever there might be," Nick said. "But I want to do it this way. It's not my place to bury that body – it belongs to his family."

Troy had a point and Alicia knew it. She wasn't all too eager to reveal what had happened to the man to his loved ones. Especially when she and Troy were still in the vicinity.

But Nick needed this. If not to clear his conscience, then at least to ease the guilt ever so slightly.

"Then let's proceed cautiously. Stick together. See what we find. They may not even be here anymore."

"They may or may not be here, but we'll check out the place, anyway," Nick said. "For fuel and whatever we need. If they're here, we tell them we found the truck and the body. No need for details involving you two."

"Right," Troy murmured, falling into step behind them, freeing up his gun, keeping it poised at his side, ready to take down anything in their wake. "Because you having their 'family' member is going to be met with zero questions. Good luck."

"It is the truth, Troy – I did find him on the ground next to the truck. It's just that I know what the writing on his face is, and it's what I'll tell. That's all there is to tell."

Alicia could recognize her brother had good intentions and in his position, she would have possibly wanted to do the same. If it only hadn't been for that nagging sense of foreboding that made Troy's words sound more and more logical.

Not that it mattered. Nick would do what he wanted to, and she and Troy could either fall in line to have his back in case of danger, or leave. Alicia would choose the former and judging by Troy's stance, he felt the same. Even if reluctant.

"Let's get this done before night fully sets in," she said, starting toward what appeared to be the main building. She moved slow, cautious about the multitude of crates and dumpsters stacked atop one another. They created perfect hiding spots, which didn't reassure Alicia about their current safety in the least.

In the distance, she could see a few tankers parked side by side. The thought of being in possession of that much fuel was both a dream and a nightmare. Having a monopoly on resources often made you a target.

The site itself was mostly quiet, though it wasn't long before the dull groan of an infected reached them. It was around there somewhere, probably lost in the maze of crates.

"I'm right behind you," Troy reasoned, conveying his agreement by falling a step behind again, his footsteps light, his gaze fixed on the shadowed dead in the distance, his hand resting loosely on the butt of his gun. The idea that the trucks might be worth something and that they would have to be left behind filled him with a deep loathing. Especially if it were fuel. In their former world, it had been in high demand and taken for granted, in this one, it was an absolute luxury that most didn't have anymore. Troy missed the Ranch more than ever. What a waste.

"Don't shoot at anything here," Nick whispered, glimpsing Troy's hand on his gun. "I never aspired to die in an explosion."

They proceeded further into the facility, circling around the fences and containers stacked around the place, watching out for any movements while trying to conceal their own progress in darkening shadows. The sky was getting deeper shades of blue, but the light colors of the concrete and some cisterns made Nick feel exposed as they went.

After about fifteen minutes of roaming around and taking out a walker that seemed as if it had come from half a state away, they bundled up behind a stack of containers surveying a truck similar to their found one parked in a line of petrol carriers.

"The back doors are open," Nick whispered. "I'll check it out, you stay here and see if anything moves."

He detached from the shadows of their hiding place and slowly proceeded toward the vehicle in question.

"Nick!" Alicia hissed in an angry whisper. She understood the necessity of being subtle, but why did it have to be him? Why couldn't Troy play sneaky spy while the one with a stab wound took it easy for once? She all but growled in the shadows, looking up to meet Troy's gaze. "If she pops up, shoot."

"Don't have to ask me twice," Troy stated, removing his gun from his holster, cocking it to put Alicia at ease. Unlike Nick, if Troy had to, he would get his friend out and watch the factory burn – even if it meant taking the rest of the town with it. They wouldn't be staying here anyway.

Nick considered going around the back of the truck, but it was dark enough to doubt whether he'd be able to see anything inside there before that anything could shoot or bite him. He stole along the side toward the front. The driver's door was closed; Nick heard a radio static inside the cabin. The handle of the trench knife began to feel slippery in his grip as his mind kept pushing the images of the big silhouette with dreadlocks that could be sneaking behind him the very second. It took his all not to look behind his shoulder as he skirted the front of the truck to see what was hiding behind its right side and the stacked containers with narrow passages between them. They were dark like cracks into a hellhole, and he paced slower, squinting and perking his ears for any possible noises. He knew the dead wouldn't play it carefully, and they weren't what scared him most.

Alicia's unease rose the harder it became to keep Nick in view and before long her heart was pounding in her ears. Her stomach flipped at every little noise and it was all she could do not to rush after her brother.

She had to force herself to keep her feet rooted in place but already she'd started the mental countdown of when she'd abandon the willingness to give Nick the space he craved in this situation.

Fingers flexing around the handle of her knife, she breathed, rolled her shoulders back, and prepared to follow in her brother's steps.

Troy disappeared before Alicia could and she pressed back into the shadows to remain unseen in case his movements alerted someone to his presence.

But no one came. At least not yet. That left Alicia to watch the boys' backs, to ensure no one snuck up on them from behind.

Playing off Alicia's tension, Troy found himself advancing on the truck ahead, flanking Nick from the opposite side on quiet steps, prepared to jump in as he'd always done should it get physical.

Nick kept his back against the truck as he crept sideways, trying to glimpse any movement between the crates. When he glanced around the back of the truck, Troy's alarmed face peeked from around the other corner.

"You had to stay with her and cover me," Nick reprimanded in a whisper, then gingerly hooked his fingers under the side door and pulled it open.

The inside of the truck was empty of anything live or undead; there were only a few stacks of boxes and two stacks of water bottles wrapped in plastic.

"I am covering you," Troy retorted with a matching whisper, leveling his gun at the imagined threat behind the door.

When nothing jumped out at them or caught his eye, Troy hopped into the back of the truck to get a better look before Nick could. With the sun almost set, it wasn't as easy to see inside to the very back of the extensive trailer, the boxes creating shapes that in a past life would have been considered harmless or a trick of the paranoid mind. Not that the latter thought was fueled differently now.

Nick stepped back from the doors to see if Alicia was all right where they left her. It was getting darker, and before he made out any familiar shapes where he was looking, the truck doors slammed shut.

Startled, Nick raised his hand with the knife on instinct and saw a tall figure locking the set bar across the truck doors, trapping Troy inside with the boxes.

"I don't suggest you do anything stupid," the tall guy said, leveling a gun at Nick, stepping back into the shade between the truck and the stacked crates where Nick thought he snuck up from.

Troy whirled around as the air and remaining light from outside was snuffed, plunging him into darkness. He leapt through the pathway between the discarded supply boxes without really seeing direction, throwing himself at the steel doors with all his weight. The door didn't budge an inch. He had been too slow. He stepped back and raised his gun, prepared to shoot at the lock and deter his captor. At once he lowered his arms again, remembering the fuel. There was also the thought that if he fired a shot, in the tin can it would ricochet. "Nick! Alicia!"