SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 11

Alicia had returned to her drink and book by the time she heard the front door rattle.

"Nick?" she called out softly, getting up again to inspect. From atop the landing she could see her brother enter and she greeted him with a smile, as always relieved. "Did it go okay?"

Nick cast an absentminded glance her way, still thinking things over. "Yeah, got some fuel, we talked." He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and rummaged around in the drawers where Alicia stored the food.

"And?" Alicia leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him. "Did he know anything about the Proctors?"

Nick sat down at the table with a can of sweet corn and told Alicia the things Logan knew.

Alicia was silent for a long while, her gaze stuck on the uneven pattern on the floorboards.

"That doesn't bode well for us."

Scowling, Nick got up to dispose of the can and take a bottle of beer from their new stash. He opened it and set it in front of her. "When Troy's up, we probably should move further east. Though we all know there's no safe place in the whole world. I bet there are some eastern very own Proctors. And running forever is senseless."

"Run, avoid, not much else we can do unless you want to face them head-on. Which–" Alicia gestured around them, "–with what we've got would lead to certain death."

Nick lit a cigarette. "I realize we can't fight them. Especially when it would mean we'd have to wipe them all out. But being afraid for the rest of our life – that's not even life, anymore. I dunno, Lisha. Looks pretty damn bad so far."

Alicia took a sip of the beer, thoughtful and contemplative. "Well, as long as we're alive there's hope. As long as we're alive we can stumble upon a solution. Just have to be open for it."

He looked at her, sardonic. "You believe there is a solution that's not about killing them all before they kill us?"

"No," she said. "I just believe that there may come a day where we'll be able to do just that – kill them. We can hardly be their only enemies. Especially in this new world. Someone else will want them dead as well."

He chortled, letting out smoke. "They pick their battles, and that day may never come. And until then we gotta run and hide? Surviving already feels like eating shit. If we add running and looking over our shoulder and fearing every new person we come across to it – well… Hope alone is not enough."

"That's what we have to do – Proctors or no Proctors, Nick," Alicia reasoned. "It's what we have been doing even before the dam. And it's not the optimal way to live, I agree. But to live we have to stay alive." That was obvious. "Maybe it's not so much about running away as it is running towards something better. My point is, no matter how bleak our chances look, we can't give up."

He reached for the bottle in her hand, took a sip, and replaced it. His mouth twitched with the subtle sad smile. "Something better… If you've found that hope for something better within you someplace, Lisha – I'm not there yet. I'm not saying I'm gonna walk out that door to blow my brains out in five minutes – it's not gonna happen. I'm just sayin', it's hard for me to hope for something surreal. And I'm only telling you this 'cause you wanted honesty. It's honest."

"Honesty is always better," Alicia said. "I don't need sugarcoating, Nick. Better to know what I'm dealing with." She took the cigarette from him for a quick drag. "I'll carry hope for the both of us for now."

He smiled. "I think you've been carrying too much from the go, for all of us. It's not fair. I'm sorry."

"Hope isn't a burden," she shrugged, returning the smile. "Hope is what keeps me going. Always has been."

Nick wondered how much hope was still left there in her to carry on. There wasn't much when they got her from the ranch pantry. She was better now, but what she had been through was still there. It was still there in all of them, in all their dreams.

Nick jerked his chin toward the stairs, "How's he?"

"The same," she sighed. "He's been dreaming. Or having nightmares, I think. You know how fevers are."

"I do," he mused. "Gotta check if it dropped when he wakes. How long ago have you checked on him?"

"About half an hour. I'll go again now. He's been hot as hell, but the shivers haven't started yet. Might need to help me dress him if they do."

Nick clicked his tongue, amused, and got up. "I'll do my best."

They climbed the stairs and walked lightly into Troy's room. He was still in bed, snoring away due to his stuffed nose. Alicia reached for his forehead, a gentle touch.

"Less clammy," she whispered.

"He needs more fluids," Nick said, considering Otto. "He didn't drink anything after I was gone?"

Troy's lids fluttered, hyperaware that he was no longer alone and someone hovered over him. He couldn't hear who at first, her voice far away, but before long Alicia materialized and made Troy feel a bit more at ease. He didn't speak, his throat still feeling thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the bedside table to see if his bottle of water was there.

"He gotta drink something warm," Nick told Alicia. "Can you make more lemon tea or whatever it was? Try to add sugar or his throat won't be forgiving."

"Sure. In the meantime, try to get him to drink some more water. He needs to stay hydrated." Alicia left the room.

Nick picked the bottle from the bedstand and put it in Troy's seeking hand. "Here, try to drink carefully, don't choke."

Troy took the bottle from Nick and raised himself up on one elbow, sipping at the water. He swallowed, scowling as it still hurt, and then handed the water bottle back. "What are we going to do about the settlement?"

"What is there to do?" Nick put the bottle back on the nightstand and sat down on the bed.

"Move on. They know where we are. If they didn't – they do now."

"Hold your horses, man. Do what Alicia says, shake off the fever, and then we talk about it. They're not going out from there, they're scared of infection. They won't bother us."

"How do you know that? Because of their hazmat suits? It could be an act. We met them for half a second, Nick."

"It's not an act. They mean it. They've been sheltered all this time."

"How do you know that?" Troy repeated.

"I have eyes, Troy. And I talked to Logan."

"One conversation means nothing, Nick. Think. What about crazy lady – if she's in the area, it's only a matter of time before she comes for us—you."

Nick gave him a tired look. "We're fine here, no one's coming yet. You need to take it easy and let your body recover. Let's talk about it after you do."

Troy sighed. He didn't have the energy to work this conversation in circles, especially if Nick was deflecting. He hated to think why. He raised a hand to his temple, massaging, trying to rid himself of the headache.

Alicia returned with a mug in her hand, her and Nick's half-finished beer in the other. She handed the mug to Troy, careful not to linger too long in his immediate vicinity.

He looked up at Alicia as she returned with fresh tea, sitting up slowly to take it from her with both hands. He sniffed, setting it aside as his nose started to run. He set the mug down and tried to ease off the mattress to go in search of either toilet paper or some kind of tissue.

Nick held his hand against Troy's chest, keeping him down. "You need to stay down. What do you need?"

"I'm not crippled, Nick," Troy retorted, agitated, a lot embarrassed, and prideful about asking for toilet paper. "I need to use the bathroom." He brushed aside Nick's hand as best he could, straightening up, trying not to lose his balance. He felt something shift and then glanced down at his naked self. He bent over, reaching for the plaid blanket, plucking it off the mattress, tying it around his waist.

Alicia averted her gaze and stepped out of his way, slipping back into her own bedroom to give the two some privacy.

Nick stepped away from his path, his hands raised up momentarily to indicate he wouldn't stop Troy.

Troy was thankful as they stepped aside, giving him room to walk freely. He disappeared to the bathroom. As soon as he was inside, Troy found he did have to make use of the toilet. And did. He washed his hands, splashed his face to cool himself down, his skin still feverish, and padded his way back to his bedroom with a toilet roll in hand. Nick was still there as he entered. He shuffled over to the bed and sat down, rolling off some paper to blow his nose. It didn't help, in fact, his nostril seemed to clog even harder. He sighed, opening his mouth to get in some much-needed air, and then gave up, reaching for his tea, hoping it would help clear his nose a bit.

Nick watched him sympathetically, arms folded. "Try not to blow too hard – it makes things worse. It'll have to run its course, just hang in there."

"I hate being useless." And for right now, that's exactly what Troy was. Useless. It was different taking time off to read and relax. He had no way of knowing how long this flu was going to grip him. He drank half the tea and then lay back down, keeping himself covered this time, reaching for the blanket beneath him to pull it across his legs. He was waving between feeling hot and cold. "I'm still tired. I feel like I'm catching up on years of sleep."

"Maybe you are," Nick said, approaching. "You're not useless. Just sick. Shit happens, man. And in this world shit that happens is usually bad and worse. A little cold is not that bad. You'll rest and be fine. Just let yourself rest without that stupid shame of being useless. Deal?"

"It'll make you stronger," Alicia supplied helpfully from the other room. "Build up your immune system. Think of it like that."

An unpleasant jibe shot through Nick's nerves at Alicia's voice carrying in.

('I'll make you stronger.')

He tried to shake it by focusing on Troy's pallid face. "Think you can eat something?"

He appreciated what they were trying to do for him, but given his life, it was a hard pill to swallow. There was too much history, too many voices in his head that told him any weakness was bad - any show. This was as bad as it could get for Troy. "Yeah, I could eat." He didn't want to, but it was as Alicia had said earlier. At least he thought it was her. It would help him get better faster.

"Good, gonna bring something." Nick snatched the toilet paper and went for the door.

"Hey!" Troy protested when Nick stole away his toilet roll. He didn't have the energy to chase after Nick and his nostril had begun to run in protest. He cursed, focusing on the ceiling, and then closed his eyes.

Nick peeked into Alicia's room, brandishing the roll, "Can you get him tissues? I'll get some food."

Alicia got off the foot of her bed, depositing the empty beer bottle on the window sill for now. "Yeah, I'll grab a box."

She followed in Nick's wake, heading downstairs to the kitchen where she'd put most of the new supplies away.

A minute later, she returned to Troy, placing the box beside him on the bed.

Troy opened his eyes as he heard footsteps and saw Alicia place tissues beside him. He reached for one, plucking it from the box, pressing it to his nostril like a lifeline. "Thanks," he murmured.

"No worries," she replied. "Anything else you want while I'm here? Need more blankets? Pillows?"

"I'm as good as I'm going to get." They'd done a lot for him already, and doubtful there was anything else that would make it better. He hardly felt comfortable in his own skin. All he needed was sleep. "Thanks, Alicia." It wasn't often that he'd been looked after - not by anyone other than Doctor John and Jake, even Jeremiah took a backseat – and that barely changed throughout the apocalypse.

She nodded. "I've got your back." No matter their differences, at the moment they were a team. Troy had earned his place with the two Clarks by continuing to save their lives. "Shout if you need something. Nick might wrestle you if you try to get up again." She gave a small smirk, amused by the situation, and headed back for her room.

Nick tried his best to be quick, but it took quite a few minutes to search through the cans until he got the chicken soup – he wasn't sure if they had more – and heat it so it wasn't scalding. Alicia was back in her room as he passed by. He wondered where she was on her scale of Troy-hate. Whether it changed at all, and if so – how much.

A reverie for another time.

Troy had his eyes closed, but Nick didn't think he was asleep just yet. "Your soup, sir," he said, holding the bowl out. "You eat this, and we're off your back while you doze."

Troy hadn't fallen asleep right away, wavering in and out as he seemed to be doing all day, tiredly glancing up at Nick. He had zero energy to sit up again and eat, but he forced himself to do it, to take the bowl from his friend and to eat it like a human – with a spoon. "Thanks," Troy repeated for what felt like the dozenth time that day. He didn't know how else to express his gratitude. He wasn't used to needing to do it. He spooned the soup into his mouth, smiling slightly. "You actually found chicken soup. I'm impressed."

Nick chuckled. "I'm impressed you actually can tell with your nose blocked."

"My nose might be blocked, but my taste buds haven't given up entirely."

Troy spooned more soup into his mouth, sighing, trying his hardest to enjoy it.

"Good to hear that at least some parts of you keep it together." He smirked and considered Troy. "Still feel too hot for clothes?"

Troy mulled over his question, nodding. "Yeah. I'm somewhere in between. I feel cold, but I feel hot—" His teeth weren't chattering and the trembles that had started seemed to have passed as quickly during his sleep.

"We'll see how you feel tomorrow." Nick took the bowl when Troy was finished. "For now your bug doesn't seem too bad."

Troy ate about half the soup and then set it aside, unable to stomach any more. He took another sip of water and then lay back down, sliding beneath the covers this time, untangling his legs from the plaid blanket so he could try to get comfortable. "You two aren't going anywhere, right?"

"Of course not! No one's leaving without you. Try to relax and sleep it off."

Troy smiled lightly, nodding, pushing aside the inkling of doubt that made him wonder if his friends would disappear on him in the middle of the night. If they wanted to though, he knew they could have done it already. He didn't even know why it was an issue for this very second. He rolled onto his side, hauling his pillow closer, closing his eyes.

Nick observed him getting comfortable for sleep with a subtle smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, then quietly left the room.

"I guess we'll check his temperature when he wakes next," he said, leaning against Alicia's doorway, and glancing at the remaining soup in the bowl.

"Sounds good." Alicia looked up from her book, looking a little lost. "So...what do we do now?" They weren't used to free time anymore and the prospect of it left Alicia feeling restless.

"I'm gonna meet Logan tomorrow around noon. They asked him to help with the burial, and he asked me 'cause they won't bother coming out of their fences, so..." he shrugged. "I guess I also want that closure. Maybe I need it."

Alicia gave a slow nod. "Bring a weapon. And the radio. And don't tell Troy." Precautions had to be taken. She didn't feel like wrestling a feverish and enraged Troy back into bed. Alicia had a feeling she wouldn't win that one.

"I'm not gonna tell him," he murmured, sloshing the remaining soup in the bowl with slow meditative motions. "He, uh… apparently he worries we can take off without him. Asked me if we wouldn't leave."

Alicia shrugged. "Makes sense. In his world, the weak get left behind. They become a burden rather than an asset."

He gave her an ironic look, "Think he deems himself weak?"

"Right now, absolutely. Sickness and injury are synonyms with weakness. Isn't that what they were doing in the basement at the military base?" Alicia looked up to meet her brother's gaze. "Disposing of the sick and injured?"

"Travis and I weren't either," Nick said, detaching from the doorframe, and turned to leave.

"Travis was Maori and you were mistaken for a Latino," Alicia murmured, looking back at her book, letting the truth of that statement hang there because it was infinitely worse than the sick and injured theory.

Nick lingered in the doorway, amused. "They wanted you two and we were in the way." With that, he went downstairs.

And why did they want Mom and me, you think? Alicia didn't comment further as her brother disappeared, trying to refocus on her book even if it did nothing to capture her attention. Too shallow. One of those paperbacks that were included in women's magazines, probably. She eventually threw it to the bed and laid back against the headrest, closing her eyes to see if sleep would come.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

"What now?" Mary muttered, hastily getting out from behind her desk to hurry for the door. The quick rapping was alarming – something definitely happened. And with little to nothing bad happening in Sonora, her hands were shaking a bit when she reached for the door.

The whimpering young woman came all but tumbling in. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy, her cheeks glistening with tears.

"Oh my God, Cindy," Mary breathed, catching the girl in her embrace. She held her shaking body, reaching with one hand to close the door, then wrapped both arms around her. "Hey, hey, it's okay, honey… Hey? What is it?"

Of course, Mary knew what it was. Every resident knew. Everybody mourned Tom.

The crying fit had to run its course before Cindy came down to weaker whimpers and sniffles, and finally was able to detach from Mary, wiping at her eyes. "I'm so… I… I went to see him…"

Mary's face twitched as if in physical pain. "Oh Cindy… God, I'm so sorry. It's so unfair you had to go thr—"

"Hell yeah, it's unfair!" Cindy's red-brimmed eyes showed sparks of wounded anger. "He was too young to die like that! Who's to respond for it? What's to be done for justice?"

Pained expression Mary wore shifted into puzzlement. "Cindy, I—"

"He was murdered out there! And he… he— he looks awful!" She whimpered, close to giving in to her grief again, but then made an effort to keep her fragile composure. "I want justice, Mary! You tell me, tell me now I'm wrong! What's to be done? Please! Tell me!"

"Cindy, listen, it's not as it used to be before the quarantine, you know that. We're doing our very best to hold things together here, but you know how it's getting harder as more time passes. We're trying real hard." Mary tried to keep her voice calm and soft, but Cindy's face didn't want to lose the angry focus. "Of course this matter should be dealt with accordingly, but it's not like we got any police to sign up. His killer is out there, in the red zone, and we can only hope for the Truckers' help—"

Something shifted in Cindy's expression, making her seem almost maniacal with her eyes narrowing and her mouth suddenly forming an unlikely sneer. "What if it's not like what you think, huh? What if it's not just some random killer out there? What if it's all planned?"

Mary scowled, "What are you saying?"

Her sneer got a bit wider. Scarier. In the poor light seeping into Mary's hallway, she almost looked like a ghoul. "You don't see it, do you? None of us see, but I got my head clear now, I see! It's to get to us! They'll want to kill us all and take our camp! It's what they told us about, the gangs and bad people, Mary – they can be those people! And we never knew! And they waited and waited, and when we trusted them, they— they killed Tom! And they'll get in and— and— we can't… we can't, Mary!"

Mary listened as though Cindy had suddenly begun to speak Italian. She took the young woman by the shoulders and made herself smile reassuringly. Made it look believable and collected. "I know you're scared, okay? I know you're angry, and we all are. And I hear you have an idea worth looking into – we will, I promise you. I swear we'll look into it, okay?" She brushed Cindy's disheveled hair away from her face, noticing the tears had almost dried out on her cheeks. "You need to get a little rest, you've been through a lot today. Please, let me help you, and we shall think things through, all together. How about that."

Cindy heaved a sigh, nodded, her breath got out shaky, near whimpers. In a moment, her face crumpled a bit, and her head hung, she shook crying quietly. "He's— God, he's— so… like he's… changed… I can't—"

"Come on," Mary led her into her living room, stroking her back soothingly. "I know, it's awful on you, I know. Sit, honey, sit here. I'll be right back, okay? Just get us some tea, okay?"

Cindy nodded weakly, crying. She covered her face with her hands; Mary hurried out the back door and to the infirmary.

When she came back with Eira in tow, Cindy's weeping stopped instantly as she stared at the two, all defensive.

"I don't need your sedatives! I'm not crazy." She wiped at her cheeks angrily, peering between them. "I'm serious. I'm not out of it, I know what I'm sayin'. Just hear me out and ya'll know."

"Then you need to stay calm," Eira said soothingly, giving the girl a kind smile. "You're not making any sense when you get upset. Help us understand you."

Cindy gave a sneer that reminded the one Mary saw on her a bit earlier. "Am I the only one seeing it? Who would want to kill Tom? What, some psycho out there? For no reason other than killing? Go through all that trouble, attacking a man with a truck and weapons? It's not what you believe, is it? It can't be."

"What do you believe?" Mary asked, folding her arms.

Cindy brushed her hair off her face in an impatient gesture and stared at Mary hard. "Truckers. You're on the council, Mary, we elected you so you'd be our voice among them. You were there when truckers told us about how things are out there, how the red zone's full of people searching to take over any supplies and camps they want, how it's dangerous to trust people. And they made us trust them!"

"It's certainly something to think about," Eira mused, voice still calm and steady. "That's a long game they must be playing. We've been in contact with them for months and months. They must want this place a lot if they're willing to give up so much of their precious supplies."

"But it doesn't make sense!" Mary argued. "They've helped us when we were in need. They never asked questions, never went inside, they don't know how many of us there are, nor about weapons or anything. They helped with power. Todd's been our in-between man, and he's a good judge of character. He's the man for this job, he's been for years before this. Come on! They have their own place, their own supplies they share with us."

"But they got Tom and Jimmy!" Cindy said. "We never saw Jimmy again. He must've told them all they wanted to know about us."

"We made the deal to keep Jimmy out," Mary reminded. "It's the protocol – we only made an exception for you."

"Cindy, my sweet," Eira said, her blue eyes fixed on the younger girl. "You are grieving." She held up her hands when Cindy's mouth opened, stalling her. "I'm not saying you're wrong. But we need to think this through. Not do anything rash. And for you to help us through that process, you need to be calm and steady. Two things you're currently not. Go home. Try to get some rest. Something to eat. Take care of yourself first. Then we can pick this back up again tomorrow."

Cindy laughed quietly as if they were the crazy ones in this conversation. "I can go home, all right. And then tomorrow you open the gate and give that trucker guy Tom's body. And then the council will want to brush the whole thing under the rug. Isn't that right, Mary?"

"No, it's not," Mary said sternly. "I get you're very upset and suspicious – and yeah, I do admit your guesses scare the shit outta me. But these people, their trucks – they helped us, Cindy. They did help us a lot. We've been going all right because they helped. I mean, I do get your pain, but if we don't ever trust anyone at all – even those who kinda proved their good intentions – how do we go on?" She looked to Eira as if for support.

Eira sighed, running her hands through her hair as she took to slowly pacing. They were all silent for a while.

Until Eira removed the syringe from her back pocket, uncapped it, and smoothly slid the needle into Cindy's left thigh. She grabbed the girl's shoulder and pushed her back to keep her from falling forward and off the couch as the sedatives overpowered her.

"Oh God," Mary gasped, watching Cindy's momentary protest flash and go out as her eyes rolled and her face relaxed. "Was that necessary? I don't think she was raving…"

"She wasn't going to let this go," Eira shrugged, disposing of the empty syringe in the nearest wastebasket. "She's looking for sense in her man's death. If she went out there sharing her new theories, it would cause panic. Get everyone all riled up for nothing."

Mary considered her. "You don't think she's right, do you?"

"I don't," Eira said. "If they wanted, if they could, they would have launched their attack by now. The story those kids told Logan is plausible enough. Lot of shitty people out there who will kill just because they can." She looked at a sleeping Cindy. "Though it would feel better to her if Tom's death had a purpose. If there was the possibility of vengeance..."

"I don't want her to be right, Eira, but… it sounds scary. And scary things sound plausible. What if it's… I dunno, what if there's something in it? Maybe not Logan and his crew – I think you're right, they had plenty of chances. But…" She reflected a moment, her frown deepening. "What if those people who found Tom…" she shrugged, "are a part of a bad group that located us and worked out a plan? Sounds stupid as I say it, but some stupidest things could turn out to be closer to the truth than you'd think. Some evil sneaks in just because no one expects such from stupid things."

Eira shrugged once more, conceding. "Can never be sure. What are we to do about it? Can we truly be more cautious than we are now?"

Mary shrugged. "Cindy said it right: tomorrow we open the gate to give the body to Logan. And then we have no way of finding who did it. Your jab won't make her forget what she told us here, and she can start telling these things to the others, as you said. And then what is there to do if we get people unsatisfied and scared? Our council can not give them – her – what they need. We get no justice without the police. No one will go out there to track the killer.

"And if those three people Logan met are truly a threat – they're right there, and we'll never know until they attack us. Cindy won't let it go until she gets that story straight in her head, and we got nothing to offer. Logan told us what he knows, and we know Logan, we trust what he tells. But we'll never get any semblance of law and order around here if we sweep it under the rug and do nothing. I do believe that now."

Eira considered the third councilor with a contemplative gaze. "Law and order," she mused. "We making new ones or sticking to the old? No offense to anyone here, but I don't see the people of this community lining up to risk their lives out there. Even if we were to catch Tom's killer, what would we do with them? Execute them? Lock them up for the rest of their lives?" She was silent a while, gazing out the far window. "Look, I get you're scared and maybe there's reason to be. I can't say. But as long as we continue as we have, stay in here to avoid the infection, we're fighting blind."

Mary ran a hand through her hair tiredly, her head buzzing. "We can't address sticking a foot outside before we deal with the Tom situation. I get it, Eira, it's true, we are blinded here, but we got no one sick. And people love that, they feel safe here. But Tom is the first we lost since the lockdown and by murder. No one's talking like Cindy for now, but it's just a ticking bomb from now on unless we do something." She drew in a long breath. "I'll need to bring this to council before tomorrow, and I need you to be there and lend your say. I think we need to get at least one of those three in here for questioning. Not to do it publicly, but people will know we're doing something. I think we need this."

"You'll hear no complaints from me," Eira agreed. "I'll get a suit ready for whoever we manage to rope in. Want one for Logan as well?"

Mary hugged herself like she was cold. "Logan should stay out of it. We have to make it seem like just a talk, an interview. We don't want any problems with Truckers. We still need them. And if Logan trusts those three, he might be fooled himself."

Just as the sun crawled behind the horizon, Alicia sought out her older brother.

She'd been busy the last half hour cleaning the dining room of dust and stains, wiping down the chairs and tables until they looked decent again.

The fine china porcelain set she'd found in one of the cabinets had been placed on the table shortly after, along with silver forks and knives. Alicia liked to imagine it had been the previous occupants' wedding china – rarely used, only for special occasions – just like in the movies. It added an air of sophistication neither she nor Nick was used to these days.

Among the provisions Nick had brought home that morning, she'd found a large tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce with meatballs and tiny cocktail sausages, and she'd heated it up and plated two equal portions. It stood waiting for them at the table, along with two bottles of beer. The closest thing to a family dinner the two would get.

She found Nick in his room, gaze glued to the ceiling. "Nick." Her voice was soft, careful not to make it carry into Troy's room where it could wake him. "Dinner's ready. Come downstairs."

He blinked, getting to terms with having to get up even though he had little to no appetite, and turned to look at her. "Sounds surreal, like something from another world." Slowly, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up.

"Well, I doubt my cooking is world-changing, but in my defense, I didn't have a whole lot to work with," Alicia smirked, heading down the stairs and the then dining room. "Thought it would be a nice change of pace from hurriedly scarfing down our food on the go."

"Wow," he drawled at the sight of the table and the room around it, his eyebrows raised and a smile blooming. He gave her an affectionate look. "I don't recall us ever having anything close to this back at home. A Stepford housewife might be dying inside you."

She snorted but was secretly pleased by his praise. "Don't get used to it. It's a one-night deal only, I imagine."

She sat down and had a sip of her beer. "Seeing as we're stuck inside anyway, I figured we might as well make the best of it. Share a meal like a normal family."

"I can do normal." He sat down and took the utensils, directing an amused look her way. "So, Alicia, how was your day?"

She smiled, playing along. "Not too bad. Played nursemaid for an ex-military man, had a few drinks, caught up on some reading, checked the backyard for walking corpses, you know...just normal stuff. And you?"

"Spent half the day shopping, then rode around on that stolen Jeep, raided a liquor store, found the local hospital with piles of burnt bodies on the lawns, shot bodies inside." He took a swig of beer and stabbed his fork into spaghetti, turning it. "No big deal, all normal stuff." He sent the forkful into his mouth.

"How lovely." Alicia chewed. The food wasn't that bad, even if she wasn't entirely sure the meatballs were made of actual meat. Canned food consistency had a tendency to make you question everything.

"Remember when we were little and Mom would serve those god-awful Brussels sprouts with every meal? And you would sneak them into the potted plants when she and dad couldn't see, and eventually, the whole house started stinking of rotting sprouts?"

Nick gave her a grin, "I regret nothing," and forked a meatball. "Besides, don't you remember yourself when Mom switched to being obsessed with broccoli?"

Alicia's lips twitched in a guilty smile. "The piano was never the same after that. First and only time I thought Mom might spank me."

Nick laughed and reached for the beer. "Think that's the reason she never let us have a dog?"

"Could be," she mused. "Though she kept saying we'd never be allowed pets again because of what happened to our goldfish. But I don't think I would have flushed a dog down the toilet."

"I never saw much sense in having goldfish. How can a kid relate to a fish? It should be something smarter. Something you can hug and play with. With all her diplomas, one would think she'd understand that." He drank, his gaze turned wistful. "Dad did."

Alicia's gaze softened. "Yeah. He understood a lot of things." She poked at her food. "Sometimes I wonder how they fell in love. They're so different."

Nick shrugged, twirling his fork slowly in the remaining spaghetti. "It happens. Two utterly different people find those things in each other that they don't have in them, and that interest in new drives them for a while until it ends, and then comes the annoyance. They should've divorced. He might've survived if they did."

"Yeah," she agreed silently, eyes on her meal. She ate slowly, indulging in a swig of beer between each mouthful. "I regret not being better to him. Nicer."

"He knew you loved him. He never thought otherwise." Nick finished with the spaghetti and leaned back, fingers wrapped around the beer bottle. "It's hard to be any better than you, golden child." He gave a small smile and drank.

"I was a brat," Alicia replied with self-awareness. "I wanted to punish both of them for being such shitty parents. I tried so hard to make them see me, hear me, but they just wouldn't. We were ghosts passing each other in the hallways." She drank, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I now understand his reasons were different than hers. But I didn't back then."

"You can't blame yourself for being a kid, Lisha. Kids don't have to understand everything - they live their life to learn it."

"I'm not blaming myself. I just wish I'd had more time with him. Good time. That's all."

"I know," he said quietly and sipped his beer. He glanced up at her. "You miss her?"

"I miss who I needed her to be," Alicia whispered as if Madison was positioned around the corner with her ear to the door. "Do you?"

"Of course, same here. But I meant now. You miss her now? Or you're just worried about her?"

"Just don't want her to get hurt, is all. Or to have her get other people hurt in her desperation to find us."

Nick gave a long sigh, fiddling with the bottle propped on the table in his hand. "Now that cell phones are sci-fi and everyone gets on radios, there is no safe frequency. If she abuses it, there's a good chance of those we crossed having realized we're all alive and up for grabs. I wish she'd play it safe, but I wouldn't bet on it - not all her plans were safe. I just don't know what we can do to change any of it."

"I know," Alicia agreed. "But I do feel a little lighter having told you. Now we can carry the burden of concern together." A small bitter smile crossed her face.

Nick grimaced. "There's no rest for the wicked as it is." He studied her a moment. "D'you wish you stayed with her and Strand? I see you're not fond of Otto. Maybe being around him is harder than being with her."

"I don't regret it. You know, I worked my ass off for the past few years so that I'd get into a good college on a full scholarship. I didn't just do that for my education. I did it because I needed a guarantee I was going to get away. From her. Travis. That house. The whole situation."

She drank. "There's only so much time you can give someone you love who keeps hurting you over and over."

He nodded, a frown-wrinkle deepening between his eyebrows. It truly sucked to hear she felt like that around her mother.

Alicia reached for him, trying to smooth that wrinkle on his brow with her thumb. "I'm glad we found each other again."

He gave a small smile. "Sorry about college. You deserve the best."

"Hey, I'm learning from the School of Life," she grinned. "And from my big brother. What can be better?"

He laughed quietly. "I don't think I can teach you anything appropriate for a young lady. I'm more on the corrupting side."

"And what is appropriate for me?" Alicia's eyes twinkled with amusement, the beer, and whiskey from earlier mingling to make her body feel warm.

A slow grin creased his mouth. "I wouldn't know. I'm the bad seed who never mingled with the right kind of girls."

"Sounds like there's no hope for either of us then."

"Except for that hope you carry for both of us." He saluted her with his beer, smiling, and finished it.

"Of course!" she agreed with great enthusiasm, getting to her feet to clear the table.

He got up as well. "Lemme help."

Together, they were quick about it, and no later than fifteen minutes, they stood on the porch to get a bit of air.

"Would you prefer to stay here?" Nick asked, opening a new pack of Marlboro.

"Temporarily? Yeah. It's likely one of the safest and most comfortable places we'll be able to find. If we can find some more information on the Proctors before we move on, even better." Alicia took one of the cigarettes in Nick's pack, lighting it before sliding the lighter his way.

"If we stick to indoors, we won't find out squat. Those who move around and contact others find out things. Those truckers do."

"We can still move around with a permanent base. A safe house. As safe as any house is these days," Alicia said.

"That's the thing, though. I don't think this place is safe. Right on the highway, a neat town, an untouched camp with walls and solar panels - how long you think their luck will stretch?" Nick took a deep drag and leaned against the porch railing.

Alicia shrugged. "Not much longer," she admitted. "But we need to allow ourselves a few more days. With you and Troy not feeling your best, I'd rather we didn't move around too much right now."

"I just hope we don't overstay our own luck."

"We already know there's a shitshow in our future. That's the way things are now."

"The point should be to find a new way to live," he mused. "And we're running from one shitshow to another."

"Do you really think that's possible?" Alicia looked up at him from under her lashes. "There will always be someone who wants what we have. And there's not much incentive for them to not try to take it. Not anymore."

He shrugged. "That brings me back to the What's the point question."

"This or death. There's the choice," Alicia whispered. "We're choosing the first."

"There should be a point in the first, Alicia. Just surviving has no point for me. You know that."

"You'll find something. We all will. I just wondered if you believed we would."

"I've issues with believing, but I know we'll have to find a way."

Alicia nudged Nick's shoulder with her own. "There's my optimistic brother."

Nick just chortled bitterly, saying nothing.

Troy was asleep with his mouth open, snores punctuating his intake of air. His face relaxed and defenseless. Nick stood by his bed, watching him sleep and thinking of the old Otto.

('Hell with em. One's a feckless crybaby and the other one's a chip off the old block.')

He watched the subtle winces and frowns worry Troy's features like a lackadaisical breeze strokes the blades of grass in the field. How much did that voice haunt his sleep? How much of it had he been hearing while awake?

('You know who you are?')

Do you know who you are, Nick thought, staring down at Troy's face, and feeling the old man's eyes boring into the back of his head. Nick felt it with his skin that he'd see him in that cowboy hat with the pistol in his hand if he turned. And Otto's eyes would be two embers in the dark of the shadows under the brim of his hat.

Nick could almost smell soot; his mouth moved soundlessly, "I know I'm not that."

('Not what I asked, son.')

He let out the breath he found he was holding, and walked out of the room. He didn't look behind him.

Nick wanted to get to the meeting place a bit earlier, not just to be polite he had scarcely ever been before, but rather to not skip it altogether. The temptation was as high as the sun in the cloudless sky. He saw Logan exiting his pickup truck across the street from the wall as he drove closer. Nick felt slightly relieved.

"How you doin?" Logan greeted as he stepped out of the Jeep. "Up to this, ye sure?"

"As sure as I was gonna get," Nick said, feeling he was actually okay – as okay as one could be with a subtly throbbing wound in the side and the pep an Oxy was putting in his moves. For now, he was good to go, and later would be later. He hoped to spend that later somewhere around the airport having a drink and trying to think of nothing until it worked well enough to go back home.

They waited for a bit, leaning against the side of Logan's car; Logan wanted to know if Nick's friend was better, and Nick said it was too early to tell with the symptoms still being an issue. Logan clucked his tongue and said it sucked, and Nick agreed. Logan went on to tell something about the old days and Nick barely listened but nodded in all the right places.

When the gate finally slid open, metal clanged, and revealed two people wrapped in protective white coats and masks holding a stretcher with a body cocooned in plastic. Todd was looming behind them, also dressed in a plastic coat and mask covering the lower half of his face under the cowboy hat; he stepped forward when Logan and Nick approached, greeting them.

"Thanks for this, you guys," he said. "Means a lot, truly. This is a trying time for our town, we all loved Tommy. We appreciate yer help."

"Don't mention it," Logan said.

"Uh, before ye go," Todd said, his body language betraying uncertainty and maybe a bit of restlessness, "I gotta ask ye somethin on behalf of our people. Uh, sorry, son, didn't catch yer name before."

"It's Nick."

"Okay, gotcha, Nick. Well, thing is, this Tommy business' a big deal to us as a community – we're all tight, like a family. And it would make a lot of difference if ye take a time to tell yer account of how it all happened, ya know? If ye could help us like that, we'd be much obliged. Think ye could do that?"

Nick and Logan exchanged half a glance. "What is it exactly you want me to tell you?" Nick asked. "There's nothing more than what you already know."

"I'm sorry to bother you with it, son. But ye know how people are. They need some comfort, some knowin there's somethin more in that than just despair, and things like that. Logan was kind to tell, but ye found Tommy – yer account of that would be a big deal. Our council wants to hear ya and express their friendly feelins personally. Won't take long, just a chat between new acquaintances."

Nick sighed, not feeling it the slightest bit.

"We're a closed camp, as you can see," Todd continued, feeling his doubts. "Not much folks we meet. It would be very helpful for us, if ye don' mind chatting a bit. Think about it. I'll wait for yer answer here when yer done. Bless ya, folks." He stepped aside, and the other two carried the body to the pickup where Logan and Nick loaded it on. The two retreated, the gate closed behind them.

"Whatcha thinking?" Logan asked, pulling from the curb.

"Should I be worried?"

Logan chuckled. "Despite what it looks like, we ain't tight with those people. So hell if I know. But it's not too weird, either. They had those educational chats with folks from my crew who brought their supplies. Just things they wanted to know but – as I toldja before – they hardly believed. Maybe it's you who opens their eyes a bit wider for what's out here, who knows."

"That wasn't my intention," Nick said, watching the roads that had become a bit familiar after his own shopping trip.

"Yeah, well, 's up to you. They won't drag ye inside on a rope, far as I'd tell."

Nick gave a humorous hem. "Placid people can surprise you the most."

Troy's body ached. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in, and if his watch was correct – he was on over nine hours of downtime. His body repelled the idea of that much relaxation, even as it screamed for more. His nose had opened but his throat was no better. He needed more sleep. Troy forced himself into a sitting position and untangled his legs from the blankets, pulling the plaid blanket skirt he was wearing into position around his lean hips. A quick search of his clothes and he'd claimed his discarded jeans. He needed to take a shower, make use of the bathroom and stretch his legs. This lack of movement was murder on his mind. It hadn't escaped him that the house was quiet as he made his way to the bathroom and for a few seconds, that old insecurity cropped up. Had they left? He stopped at the nearest room. Alicia's. Thankfully she was there, curled up on her side, back to him and the doorway, looking as if she might be sleeping. He couldn't really tell, but he also didn't care. The fact that she was still there meant they hadn't abandoned him.