Ellie stands in one of the stalls, looking down the range at the target. Her rifle rests on her shoulders, one hand hanging from either end. She's been waiting for a while already.
Jackson's small shooting range is a strip down on the far Southwestern side, behind a fifteen foot embankment on the other side of the greenhouses that blocks most of the sound from disturbing the rest of town. It's used most frequently by patrollers and guards, but unsurprisingly gun handling is popular amongst most of the survivors who've made it here. And once Oxnard got the bullet press working in his shop, shooting became pretty popular.
It's early Friday, so right now it's only Ellie, old Tom and Ronnie out here shooting, and they're not doing much talking, which suits her fine. She's expecting company anyway.
Company she's start to think might not show up. She's been here for a half hour already, and they agreed on nine.
"Careful, Ellie," she hears a familiar voice, "you'll stress the bolts."
She turns to see Wyatt and Lyle approaching together, and she has to suppress her displeasure at seeing Wyatt.
"Well," he continues, "good morning to you, too."
She notices they're both armed, something that surprises her after the debacle yesterday.
Wyatt palms the handle of his revolver. "If you're wondering about this, we're clear with Dinas, don't worry. He said he was thankful I was there yesterday, in fact."
Ellie has a notion that that's a straight-up lie.
"And a little practice can't hurt your chances of survival," he says, setting a rifle he was carrying down against the stand.
The left side of Ellie's jaw clenches. She puts her rifle down next to his. "How's camp treating you two?"
"Just fine, same as anywhere," says Wyatt.
"Yeah, well, 'anywhere' doesn't serve pancakes with actual syrup," says Lyle.
Wyatt smirks like he wants to say something, but can't.
"No long gun?" Ellie asks Lyle.
"Nah. Came here to watch, not to shoot."
She looks at him incredulously. "You're not gonna shoot?"
"Naw, I came to see how you shoot, Ellie."
She screws up her face.
"Oh, don't be so cross, Ellie," says Wyatt. "If you're looking for competition, it's right here." He holds out his arms to present himself.
She screws up her face even more.
"I heard you're a bettin' woman," says Wyatt with a gleam in his eye.
"Only at shoes."
He chuckles. "Oh, I doubt that."
She's gonna have to listen to this fucker talk all morning? That it? She's here to see Lyle.
"How about it? First to ten points takes it all." He means strikes on the eye. She still doesn't like his attitude, but as far as wagers go, that suits her fine.
"All what?" Ellie asks.
"Well, what's your wager?"
I win, you leave and never come back.
Ellie squints against the midmorning sun. "I win, you buy all my drinks tonight."
"Oh-ho! I like that! I wager the same." With that, he picks up his rifle, cocks it shoulders it and sends off a crack without even hardly aiming.
Ellie looks, of course. He missed the bullseye by about an inch. A very good shot, but she was sure he intended to put one on the eye real easy and intimidate her. Didn't work, though, did it?
She puts on a slight smirk.
"Well, don't get too excited now," he says, "that was my warm up. Let's see it."
For his part, Lyle just leans against a light post a few feet behind them.
Ellie picks up her rifle and cocks it. She looks at the target, taps her instinct, raises and fires.
The bullet strikes damn near center of the eye.
Now she's got a full smirk. "That's one," she says.
She can tell Wyatt is a little irritated, but he holds to his smile. "Don't get too cocky. I wasn't even trying before."
They go a few more rounds with little exchange between them. Lyle holds his peace entirely, only lighting a stinky cigarette and watching the show. She can't help but notice old Tom eyeing Lyle's smoke with envy.
The target is only fifty feet, and neither one of them has any trouble putting shots on the bullseye when properly aiming. It's five to four in Ellie's favor–due to Wyatt's misguided first shot. He puts down his rifle.
"Oh, you give up?" Ellie asks.
"Oh, no, Ellie, you must not know me too well." He draws a 9mm pistol. "Handguns only now."
Ellie frowns. At the rate they were going, her victory was assured. "That wasn't the deal."
"What deal?" he asks her. He takes aim and fires of a shot, his body scarcely moving under the smaller force of the handgun. He gets a shot on the eye. "Rifle ammo's expensive, after all."
Fifty feet is a hell of a lot farther with a handgun, and Ellie knows she won't get every shot on the bullseye. She sucks at the corner of her mouth.
Reluctantly, she puts her rifle down and draws her 9mm. She aims carefully this time. She also wants to make sure her posture's good so her shoulder moves as little as his did. She lets out a breath and fires.
She's wide by three inches.
Her eye twitches. She aimed too long. Asshole is fucking with her head.
"Mm, little stiff there, Ellie."
She's annoyed, then she turns to him. "Don't hide the fact you've been waiting this whole time for a chance to critique."
He cocks his head, taking aim.
"And don't complain when I keep you waiting."
He fires another shot and his the very edge of the eye. He looks sharp at her, as if daring her to tell him it's out.
"It's good," she says, almost bored.
She looks back at Lyle. He's not looking at either one of him. He seems to be admiring Snow King mountain outside town.
What is this? She didn't come out here to compete with this clown, she came out to talk to Lyle.
Lyle turns to her.
"Plenty of room," says Ellie, gesturing to the stall next to her. "You don't gotta join in the wager." She looks at the gun on his hip.
He looks down at it, too, but shakes his head. "I'm not much of a sportsman, that way."
"Must need some practice now and then, don't you?" Ellie asks.
"Don't worry about Lyle," says Wyatt.
Ellie blinks. He calls him 'Lyle?'
"He knows what he needs and what he doesn't," Wyatt continues cryptically. "Now shoot."
Ellie suppresses a scowl. She turns and looks at the target. She imagines Wyatt's face.
She strikes two inches from center.
"Damn, that's alright," says Wyatt under his breath.
The game continues and they both miss one of the next few shots. It's nine-nine.
"Alright," says Ellie right as Wyatt's about to aim. She holsters her 9mm, and pulls out her revolver. She's had a few over time, having lost some in the shit and traded others, but her current piece she's quite proud of. A clean, wood-gripped Smith and Wesson .357 with a five inch barrel.
Wyatt can't hide his admiration and arches his brows.
"Last shot's gotta count, don't it?" Ellie asks.
He twists his lips but refrains from arguing. He holster his 9mm and walks back to Lyle.
Lyle eyes him for a second, then unclips his own holster and hands Wyatt a Colt Python with a six inch barrel. It is not as clean as Ellie's, with a few scratches on it, but it's a fine gun.
It bothers her that he got it from Lyle, for some reason.
Wyatt takes aim. The shot roars louder than the rifles, and the bullet reams the board, but at least three inches Northeast of the eye.
Wyatt cocks his head. "Not how I imagined spending this ammo."
Ellie takes aim. It's not her most comfortable weapon but she has a feeling this one is in the bag.
"Jackson maintenance might favor you on this one," Wyatt comments.
Ellie stops. Jackson maintenance, huh? He's suggesting she has an advantage due to the resources she has in town to maintain her gun. Trying to downplay her victory already. Well, that gives her an idea.
She breaks posture, uncocks the .357 and holsters it. Wyatt looks at her strange. She holds out her hand.
That, of all things, finally wipes the grin off his face.
Wyatt looks to Lyle, but Lyle only wears a subtle grin.
Reluctantly, Wyatt hands over the Python. Ellie resumes her posture. She feels cool, then. Real cool.
She squeezes the trigger and the gun kicks so hard she almost has to take a half step back.
The bullet explodes through the center of the eye. That's ten.
Wyatt does that thing again where he looks down, his hat obscuring everything but his smirk. "Well done there, Ellie." He holds out his hand and she returns the gun. He taps it. "You know I'm gonna need compensation for that ammo."
She scoffs. "You think you get a complimentary box cause you lost?" she asks. "Get real."
Wyatt opens his mouth to argue.
"Fine shooting, kids," says Lyle. "Real fine. Now, I do believe you lost, Wyatt."
Wyatt shakes his head but doesn't argue.
"So I expect we'll be seeing Ellie later on tonight at the Bison." He looks at her, and she nods. "Now, Wyatt and I do have a few more discussions to be had at the trade house. Business first, after all. And we intend to be heading out tomorrow, so."
Ellie looks at him sharply. "Isn't that a bit soon?"
"Soon?" Wyatt asks mockingly. "It's long as hell. We rarely hole up in a place for more than a day or two. We're only here till Tony, Julio and Lemmy get back with the goods."
Ellie looks to Lyle for confirmation.
"He's correct," says Lyle. "Still, that gives us time to swap a few stories. We'll see you down at the Bison, no later than five." He turns to go, flicking his cigarette butt into the dust. Wyatt follows him.
"I'll bring my appetite," Ellie taunts, but her spirit's not in it.
"Didn't say nothing about food," Wyatt makes clear.
They walk up the embankment without turning around, leaving her alone down there.
Should she follow? Bother after them? She could talk her way to the negotiation table, probably. What else does she have to do?
Don't get your hopes up, she hears in Joel's voice.
Ellie blinks, an ache in her chest. It's something Joel said to her a lot, to temper her expectations.
She sniffs, kicking the sand with her boot.
And it was always about the time that Joel was saying that was when she would start to get ideas.
Ellie walks up to the stable, trench on, wide brimmed hat, probably still smelling like gunsmoke. Old Clem is washing his hands at a faucet by the entry door. She hails him.
He looks up at her from his bent over posture. "Hey there, Ellie. Odd time for you to come by, innit?"
"Had some time, just want to check on Barthas."
"Check on him? Well he's doin' fine. I just let 'em back in from free time."
"Yeah, I'd just like to see him myself for a few minutes."
He gives her an odd look. "Well, that's a lucky horse, I s'pose. Go ahead then, you know where he is."
Ellie does not elucidate on her purpose, she slides open the stable door and enters the darker, cooler space inside, closing the door behind her.
She figures by this point some of the stable hands or Clem or Maitland suspect that she talks to her horses, but she tells herself it don't matter what they think and she's gotta do what she's gotta do.
She's gotta talk to someone about all this, after all.
Barthas is surprised to see her, too. He's chomping on some hay from his feeder, and he looks up at her.
"Hey, boy," she says. He lets her stroke his cheek. "Can I come in?"
He snorts comfortably.
She unlatches his gate and steps inside. She brushes his auburn shoulder. His coat is gleaming already. She looks down at his cannons. There's some dust and straw on them. She grabs the hand brush and the bucket, sitting down to work on them.
"Have fun out there?" she asks him.
He snorts contentedly.
"You're not bullying anyone, are you?"
He tosses his head in indignation.
The silence carries for a little while, just the soft sound of her brush on his lower legs. He lifts his legs without resistance as she cleans them one by one. While she's at it, she chips away at the dirt on his hooves as well. He's obviously used to be being fastidiously groomed.
"Can I tell you what's going on?"
He doesn't respond and it actually gives her pause, until she looks up and sees he's watching her intently. It actually makes her feel kind of small. She takes a breath. She should spit it out.
"I'm pissed at Wyatt. Again." She screws up her face. That's not really it, but… "I'm pissed… I'm pissed at how he made fun of me. When… when I said they were gonna leave so soon. He says 'soon? It's long as hell.' He says that like—"
She catches on a feeling and she covers her mouth with her hand for a second, just thinking.
She stops brushing, and the silence of the stable broken only by the occasional shifting of hooves and snort.
"But that's not what bothers me most," she admits.
Barthas doesn't follow, but he's stopped chewing, listening.
"What bothers me most is they're leaving and I have no idea if they will ever return."
How close did we come to that particular fate? Lyle, on the shallow graves outside Jackson.
She stares at the polished wooden handle of the brush she's holding. "They probably won't."
She's trembling, in the hands, the shoulders. Her guts feel tight, stretched. She takes another deep breath, trying to get level. She winces.
"It's like—" her voice breaks and she doesn't wanna do that right now so she stops looks down at the floor of the stable beneath her.
Barthas is more agitated now. He whines a little bit. She strokes his leg. She waits until she can say it straight. She looks up at him.
"It's like they're running into sisters and daughters all the time out there and it doesn't even fucking matter." Her voice falters again, just a little. "Like I don't matter."
Barthas snorts more angrily this time.
"How can they…"
They're drifters.
She stares at the straw-covered floor, brow furrowed.
It's what they do.
A painful hole opens up in her middle and she starts talking. "Yeah, but what if… what if it's different?"
She looks up at Barthas but he just stares back at her.
"What if… what if this could be different? This isn't just any other town, they've got me here… I'm valued here, I… I could make…"
Ideas start to bloom inside her. She stands up. A feeling of hope surges in her.
"I could—"
You can't change them.
A coldness blankets the hope that had been growing in her chest. She looks around, and shakes her head.
Don't try to force it.
"I don't have to force it…" she mutters.
She stands there with the brush in her hand, Barthas forgotten. He turns his neck and nudges her shoulder.
In the dim afternoon light filtering through the stable shutters, the vaulted ceiling of the stable is a little like a church.
"All I have to do is ask," she says quietly.
"Didn't take you for a fruity drinker," says Wyatt, handing her a berry spritz made by Seth.
"I'm not," she admits, "but cocktails cost more and I'm not buying, so I figure why not?"
Wyatt gives her a fake smile like 'ha ha.'
It's actually Ellie's second drink. She looks back at the table in the middle of the Bison where sits Maedlyn, Abby and Lev. Her stomach twists. These are two worlds she is interested in keeping separate, but it can't be helped tonight. When Ellie had told Maedlyn about the wager situation and that she was going to the Bison, Ellie had tried to discourage her, but there was nothing for it.
"I don't see why my woman wouldn't want me present; wouldn't that be strange?" Maedlyn had given her a piercing look. "And this Wyatt character buying her drinks. Do I need to be jealous?"
One look from Ellie had disabused her of that notion.
So Wyatt's buying her drinks, and Ellie is buying Maedlyn's. Works out. Ellie continues to scrape on yesterday's notes, but she's not dry yet.
She sets down the other berry spritz in front of Maedlyn.
"Oh, thank you, hun," says Maedlyn, taking a sip. She gets a satisfied look. "Ooh! That is fine!"
"I thought you'd like it," says Ellie. Then her expression changes when she sees Wyatt sliding into the chair next to them.
Wyatt catches her look. "Oh, what? Figured you'd take my free drinks and ignore me all night?"
Not realistically, she realizes, but yeah, that's kind of what she was hoping. Or at least that he wouldn't sit down at this table. Her heart is beating fast. She does not want to introduce him to the others. "Make yourself at home," she says instead.
"I do believe I will," he eyes their company. "Wyatt," he says, holding his hand out.
"Abby." She shakes his hand.
"Lev."
"Lev? Like 'Levi?'"
"No, like Levijah."
"Holy, who? I never heard that in my life."
"It's a common name where I come from."
Wyatt's eyes are keener when he turns to Maedlyn.
"Maedlyn," she says, shaking his hand. "Now, I must ask, sir, how exactly did you and Ellie meet here?"
Wyatt purses his lips, a liar's pause if Ellie has ever seen one.
Ellie hasn't told anyone they're related, and they don't seem inclined to, either.
"His dad and I have business," says Ellie, surprising Wyatt as well. "Lyle." She inclines her head toward Lyle's customary place at the bar, where he again seems to be chatting up the local women.
There, now that's out of the way.
"I thought your business was with Tony?" says Maedlyn.
Ellie forgot about that and her stomach tightens.
"Well, I'm sure it is, Maedlyn," says Wyatt. "We all trade separately, unless it's a group interest. Tony does have a private selection of gun parts he carries around."
"He wanted my pistol grip," lies Ellie for some reason. What the hell is she doing?
"The one I gave you?" Maedlyn asks.
"Yeah, that's why he's never gonna get it."
Wyatt is glancing back and forth between her and Maedlyn. Maedlyn notices and smiles a sweet smile that says yeah, say something.
He just chuckles uncouthly. "Well, I guess…"
Ellie's brow hardens. You guess what? It runs in the family?
But he doesn't say that, he says "you know, I don't think I've seen so many young people in one place in quite some time. Since Omaha, probably." His eyes pass over Lev. "'Specially with such… diversity."
"Jackson attracts families that pass through," says Abby, "because we welcome families that pass through. Which makes us stronger. Makes us what we are."
"Ah, yeah," says Wyatt, as if thoughtfully.
"Heard you and Ellie had a little shooting competition this morning," says Abby.
"Well something of one, I suppose."
"How'd that come about?" Abby asks.
Ellie's stomach tightens again.
"Well, Lyle and I were basically wandering about, and we sees Ellie putting some shots downrange. We figure, hey, come take a look. Offers a little critique, one thing leads to another…"
Abby snorts. "Yeah, I bet."
"You know, I'm not sure I was treated fairly." He eyes Ellie. "She kept changing the rules during the bet."
"That's not–" Ellie had been leaning back in her chair, now it falls flat. "Listen here, you were the one who–"
Wyatt just laughs. "Damn, you're so easy, Ellie."
Ellie screws up her face. Wyatt is one of those people who's always got a smart word, and she does not like getting got at. Confoundingly, when she looks Maedlyn has a similar mischievous smile.
"Ellie acts like she's too cool for school," says Lev, "but if you know her a bit you can get her goat."
Maedlyn laughs.
"Lev–" Ellie palms the crown of her head. "Are you serious?"
"You're the one that taught him those phrases, Ellie," says Abby with some amusement.
"Yeah, I had come under that impression," says Wyatt. "So what, y'all are friends. You meet here?"
Ellie's still kind of annoyed, but Maedlyn is rubbing her leg under the table. "Yeah, we did, at least."
Wyatt looks at Abby and Lev. "How about you two? You look like you got a story."
Abby cocks an eyebrow slightly. She looks at Ellie and no words need to be spoken. Ellie shakes her head.
"We met out West and Ellie brought me back to Jackson," says Abby. "The rest is classified."
"Oh, what?" says Wyatt. "You mean like 'secret?' Well nows I gotta know."
"Not tonight," says Ellie.
Maedlyn strokes Ellie's leg with her thumb.
"Huh. Well what do you all do out here to earn your keep?"
"I deliver mail," says Lev.
"Mail?" says Wyatt with disbelief. He scoffs. "Mail where?"
"Around town. Usually it's business stuff, official letters. Some stuff for the folks set up outside the walls. Since it's easy enough to walk across town to talk to whoever you want to."
"Wow," he says. "That just seems a little ridiculous. And you, Miss Maedlyn?" he asks. His eyes are a little too intentional when he looks at her.
Maedlyn gives him a dissatisfied look. "I serve."
He almost spits his drink back out. "You serve?"
Her distaste deepens. "Food. At Guillermo's."
Abby's knuckles are starting to look tense around her whiskey, Ellie notices. Ellie's got a firm grip on Maedlyn's hand, under the table.
"Ah… well I suppose that's some kinda work," says Wyatt. Taking another sip, he offers a glance at Abby. "And you?"
"Patroller," Abby replies. "Peacekeeper."
"Like Ellie."
"Minus the peacekeeper part, yeah?"
Wyatt's got an odd frown on his face. He grimaces at the burn of his drink. "There any men on these posts, or what?" Wyatt asks.
"Enough of 'em, yeah," replies Abby, her irritation plain.
He glances at Maedlyn again. "Not enough, if you ask me."
Abby's chair squeals as she stands up.
"Well, I–" Maedlyn is taken aback. "How do you…?"
The muscles up Ellie's back are tense. "Wyatt," she says, looking at him.
"What?" he says innocently.
Abby's mad. She's actually pissed. It's rare to see her like that. She's restraining herself for several reasons, probably. She's a peacekeeper, after all.
Ellie's not a peacekeeper, but she feels Maedlyn pull on the crook of her elbow. Maedlyn abhors nothing more than violence. Ellie just nods.
"Abby," says Lev.
Abby shakes off his hand. Wyatt's looking up at her now, little smile on his face, as if he finally expects some trouble. The stuff he's been looking for.
"Listen here," says Abby. "I'm a peacekeeper here at Jackson, which means just what it sounds like. And there's no crime against having a foul mouth, not in Jackson.
"However, talk like that does tend to start fights, and that's exactly where I step in, is that clear, Wyatt?"
Wyatt licks lips and blinks real easy, the smile never leaving his face. "Crystal."
"You're a guest in Jackson and a guest at this table. I suggest you act like it." Abby takes another stiff breath, and sits back down.
Wyatt just sits there, eyebrows parked high, seeming to enjoy himself.
"I think you said something about playing some cards before you go?" says Ellie in a controlled voice.
Wyatt looks at her slyly, then finishes off his drink. He looks over to whether several of the other outsiders are gathered around a table playing Hold 'Em. "Well that's true, isn't it? Catch you guys around."
He makes his leave with a spare gesture.
"Wow," says Abby, looking at Ellie.
"Don't look at me," says Ellie. "I didn't want him at our table."
"You're dealing with that guy?"
"I'm dealing with his dad. You know how it is, Abby. Not everyone around has what I would call good manners." She eyes Seth behind the counter. "Or common sense, for that matter. I get what I need and carry on."
Abby shifts stiffly in her seat. She was really ready to deck him. She's got a lot of restraint, though.
Maedlyn is a little shaken. She's not used to being treated so rudely, and that was personal. It scared her, and that bothers Ellie quite deeply. But Ellie has a lot of restraint too, believe it or not. And if that's the closest Wyatt ever comes to her Jackson family, it will be close enough. With luck, he'll never meet Dina or JJ.
They spend a few minutes lightening the mood. Lev talks about the new woodcarving project he's working on. Abby talks about trying to fix that wonky glass slider at the back of their house. Maedlyn slowly relaxes again.
Ellie starts to get anxious. It's not her intention to be stuck at the table all night. She glances over briefly, then does a double-take. Lyle is chatting up another middle-aged woman over by the bar, only this one has a curly mass of bright red hair.
Her features slack, Ellie makes some excuse and gets up from the table and walks over.
As luck would have it, Eilene says something to Lyle and turns and walks to the jukebox, failing to notice Ellie.
Lyle notices her approach then. His eyes are unwelcoming, but that does not stop Ellie.
She leans against the bar next to him, looking around casually. "Enjoying the Jackson social life?" She takes a sip.
"Well enough, I s'pose," he says, half looking at her. "You know Ellie, I'm a little preoccupied right now."
"Mm hmm," says Ellie, "I noticed. It's not that subtle."
He gives her an odd half-scowl.
Ellie eyes Eilene, over picking a song from the jukebox. Lyle looks too, then Ellie meets his eyes. "Don't even fucking think about it."
He glowers at her in confusion.
Ellie takes another sip, then looks back to her table with Wyatt and Maedlyn, her own bright red hair tied up neatly in an elegant bun. His eyes twitch.
The Way You Look Tonight by Elton John comes on the jukebox. Eilene comes back to them, practically hopping. She's surprised when she sees Ellie, then she smiles all big. "Oh, Ellie girl! I just love seeing you." She throws her arms around Ellie, who smiles without having to fake it. "Oh, you know I've been thinking of you lately. Every time I see that nice china plate up on my hutch and I think, oh! That sweet girl made this house a little more like home. And I know you two are busy, but you have got to come over Thursday, I'm having bridge and…"
Eilene goes on for a while like she does. After a minute or so, gesticulating and talking at length, she meets Lyle's eyes for a second, and Ellie notices something. Eilene's expression dips, like something's changed. She looks displeased, but Ellie is satisfied.
Eilene talks all the way through her own song, but afterward Rush Rush by Paula Abdul comes on, and Eilene actually asks Lyle if he wants to dance.
He declines, politely, to Eilene's disappointment, saying he only wants to sit back tonight. Little discourages Eilene, however, and she keeps talking, only to interrupt herself a minute later when she sees Sandra across the room. She begs their pardon and hurries over to say hi.
"She's a chatterbox, alright," says Lyle.
Ellie watches Eilene from across the bar. "Yeah. It's a lot, sometimes, but I wouldn't trade her for anything. She gets to be here, in Jackson, where she can be herself without having to worry about infected or any other awful thing out there." She takes a sip. "It's a miracle she made it here, and I'm thankful."
Lyle makes a vague sound of affirmation.
"How about you, Lyle," says Ellie. "Where are you going?"
He looks down at her, thoughtful perhaps. He turns and shakes his head. "You don't get it, do you, Ellie?"
"Huh?"
"I'm not a settler, Ellie. Y'all are settlers."
"So what, you're a rambler?"
He looks down at her disapprovingly. "I'm a road man, always have been. Few times I tried to settle down somewhere is when I found trouble. Sensible folk understand that, about ramblers," he emphasizes for her benefit. He gestures around the bar. "People here understand that, Ellie. No one here wants or expects us to stay. Which is why this works."
It's not that it doesn't make sense, it's that she's not interested, is all. "How do you know your boys are coming back tomorrow?"
"That's how long the trip takes from here. And we're never late."
"No place to be and never late, huh?"
He snorts. "Well, that's right. We're good at what we do, Ellie. And we only do what we're good at."
Ellie nods slightly, because that also makes sense to her. "So you're trying to make the most of your last night in town," says Ellie. "I get that." And she does.
Lyle just nods.
"But I guess I'm trying to do the same," says Ellie. "Since Heaven knows when you two will ever be back."
"Yeah…" he says with a dissatisfied look on his face. He looks at the light outside the window. "Tell you what, Ellie. On account of that, why don't we set out on the porch for a while?"
Ellie's expression softens. The porch? It's usually pretty quiet out there, even when it's packed out here. That sounds… "Good."
They each pick up another drink and head out that way. Maedlyn eyes them from the table but doesn't intervene. She does give Ellie a subtle little pout. Ellie shoots back an apologetic look.
Lyle pushes open the double doors and as they step out onto the boardwalk it's immediately much quieter. There's a half dozen tables out here, but only two are occupied with quieter conversations. Lyle leads them to the far end, away from the others, and sits down heavily. Ellie sits on the other side, both of them facing the dirt street lit by the dying sun.
"Can't say I'm not going to miss a little proper hospitality once we're gone," says Lyle.
Ellie looks his way, taking another sip. "You two have been living the road life for years now, haven't you?"
"That's right."
"It's tough out there."
He frowns. "Ain't news to me."
"You must have lost people."
His expression is stiff, his lips curled. "Been known to happen."
"Lose any family?"
To that, his face hardens even more. He gives her a long, mean sort of look. Ellie doesn't relent. He lets out a long, hot breath through his lips and leans back in his chair, running his fingers over his mustache. "Not lately," he says. "Not on the road."
There's more to that story but Ellie decides not to press her luck. She runs her thumb over the sweat on the side of her glass. "Guess I'm just surprised," she says quietly.
"I thought it'd be clear by now that Wyatt and I know what we're doing."
"Not by that," says Ellie. "That you'd be so willing to move on so quick."
Finally, finally, Lyle's brow twitches and she detects a vulnerability. "Well." He leans back and forth a bit, mulling. "I see why you'd say that."
"How many kids you got out there?" she asks.
"Girl–" Lyle almost loses his temper. He thinks better of it. He leans forward in his chair. "What did I tell you about asking just anything you please?"
"That I shouldn't get my hopes up," she says, "but I'm asking."
He makes a curt issuance from his mouth, covering it with his free hand. He looks down Mason Street. "Yeah, I bet." He sits like that for a while longer.
Ellie's not sure she's going to get her answer, but a little persistence has gone a long way for her in the past. She takes another drink. It worked with Joel. She found a lot of the time all she had to do was let it hang in the air, and eventually she'd get it out of him.
"All I'm gonna tell you is what you already know, Ellie," he says suddenly, "and that's 'I'm not sure.'"
Ellie nods. That is indeed what she expected. "You travel all around, been doing it for a long time," says Ellie. "How often do you meet them?"
He gives her a suspicious look over his shoulder, turning away again. "Almost never."
"Almost," says Ellie.
"What is it you're looking for exactly, Ellie?" he asks her coldly. "'Cause I 'spect you're unlikely to find it."
She shrugs. "Why are you indulging me out here when you could be in there talking to Linda and Eilene?"
He scoffs.
Lyle is not an easy nut to crack. But she has leverage with him, she can tell she does. Or why would he be here?
She chews her lip, thinking of the next line of attack. "Do you suppose–"
"I'm gonna tell you the same thing I wrote in that letter twenty years ago, so you know nothing's changed. I'm not cut out to be no dad."
Ellie's chest drops, her gumption all forgotten. "Okay," she says, and it comes out dry. "Don't be, then. Just be there. Can you do that?"
"Not very good at that either."
Ellie nods because she believes him, and her eyes are getting wet. She looks down the road the other way to hide it. This is starting to look like their last conversation.
Well, not their last, last. If she has anything to say about it.
"Wyatt's protective of you, isn't he?" she asks. She brushes moisture out of her eye and turns back to him. "Out there."
He doesn't seem to like that either, as he side-eyes her. "That he is."
"He's good at it."
"That he is."
"Good," she says. She won't begrudge him that, at least.
"You are the oldest, I've ever met," says Lyle.
That surprises Ellie.
""Swhy I took the interest in you," he continues. He takes another drink. "Older than Wyatt even by a year, or more. And I spent more time in St. Louis than anywhere. I'd never met…"
A kid of mine.
"One that handles themselves like you. What's more, you're part of a homestead–no, a damn city. What's more, you're depended upon. I didn't…" He shakes his head. "I didn't suspect that, but then again…"
He trails off, staring toward the lowering sun, but Ellie will not let him hang it. "Then again what?"
He looks back at her, the sun behind him shading his features. "You are your mother's daughter, after all."
He turns back to the sunset, and they remain quiet for a while. Ellie finishes her drink, till it's just ice. She rolls the glass once, making soft clinks.
"You still have your question," she says eventually.
He doesn't respond at first. "Eh?" He thinks. "Oh. That."
"You may as well ask it now."
He considers for a moment. "Why don't you take it?"
"Huh?"
"The question, I cede it back to you."
If anything, that hurts, but she doesn't argue.
Ellie feels like she's swimming in a cold, blue fog. It swirls around her, taking the little heat she had to spare. It's dark again. Her chest is a cave. She feels like she's wandering along in the night, like she did on her road year, when she couldn't sleep. Deep hours, those were. Hopeless–or maybe not hopeless, just devoid of hope. Is there a difference, in that?
She may as well ask.
"You know what I think about sometimes, Lyle?" says Ellie. She swirls her drink in her hand.
He looks at her, curious.
She's vaguely aware that she's being loose lipped. She never drinks this much, why did she drink this much? She puts the thought down. "I think about humanity. As a whole. As if it were one organism. It's like we're sick."
She leans forward and uses her hands, trying to put it into words. "It's like we're sick. And when an animal gets sick, it doesn't just kill its leg or its ear, it eventually spreads to the whole animal. If it can't defeat the infection, it dies."
She sniffs. That doesn't quite sum it up.
"And I don't just mean our bodies…" she mutters. She speaks up. "I think about one person." She's thinking about Clint. And his dead sister. And mother. "I think about one person and their tragedy, and it's a hell of a lot of weight.
"And then I think about a family. A town. A country. It's so many people…" The sunset is nothing short of brilliant tonight. A thousand hues sweeping down Mason Street. "Used to be from coast to coast… All that… all that tragedy, an ocean of it. Soaked up right into the land. So much sickness." She shakes her head. "How could any animal recover from an illness that deep?"
She stares a thousand yards away for a second, then comes back to herself. She's slumped in her chair, probably looking drunk. She looks over at Lyle.
He's staring far away, too. He probably thinks she's crazy. She should have just kept her mouth shut. Instead, she vented out feelings she hadn't shared with anyone since she first thought them up months ago. Why would she go and do that, to a man like Lyle? She furrows her brow.
But then, he works his lips. She braces herself.
"We're not. Like animals, Ellie. I don't think." He takes a deep breath, tossing his head. "We're more like bacteria, I 'spect."
She frowns. "Bacteria?"
"Oh yes, Ellie," he says, nodding. "Bacteria colonies are kind of like one big organism, if you zoom out. But unlike an animal, when most of 'em get killed off, the rest don't die. In fact, they can thrive due to sudden lack of competition."
He looks again, and Ellie realizes her lip is hanging open. She closes them together.
"Damn hard to kill bacteria, isn't it, Ellie?"
"That's what I hear."
"Did you know, there are some bacteria that can survive in almost any environment?"
She frowns.
"There are bacteria out there, that will survive the cold desolation of space for an extended period of time."
"I did know that, actually…"
"Did you know, there are vents–hot, sulfurous vents–deep down in the bottom of the ocean, where the pressure would crush your skull flat, and heat coming out of those vents that would melt the skin off your face, and still right around the edge of those vents scientists found bacteria that can survive in such an environment, did you know that?"
Ellie blinks. "I didn't know that…"
"It's what you have to understand, Ellie, for better or for worse, I don't think humanity's going anywhere. Ten, fifteen years ago, I might have thought so. But not now. Not in what I seen since." He inclines his head thoughtfully. "Might not be the best of us, that endure, but we will. Endure."
"Endure and survive," says Ellie.
"Huh?"
Ellie just stares. Her mouth's hanging open again. "Sorry," she says, sniffing. "Sorry, I just never expected you to be such a nerd."
He stares at her in disbelief. Then he starts laughing. "Are you…" he laughs again. "Are you shitting me?"
"What?" Ellie asks, smiling now.
"I haven't heard that word in years, and it's my own… it's my damn daughter says that to me."
Ellie's got a loosened smile, her chest kind of shaking as she chuckles.
"Shit…" he mutters.
That's not really the answer Ellie expected. She knows she drank too much, she knows she's flushing, but who cares, it's getting dark. It's just the two of them. And they're near the end now.
That was a good answer. Good enough to seal the deal.