Finding Winterhome was an achievement, but it hardly felt like one—not to Jack and Walter, at least. The reality of the city's devastating fate weighed heavily on their shoulders. Delivering such news to New London felt like delivering a blow to the fragile morale back home. They had to tread carefully; hope was scarce enough as it was.
Jack broke the silence, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Let's hold off on the news for now, Walter," he insisted. "No one back in New London will be happy to hear what we found. They don't need to know about this right now."
Walter turned to Jack, his face set but conflicted. He understood Jack's reasoning but couldn't shake his own feeling of unease. "I understand your concerns, Jack, but they're going to find out sooner or later," he said slowly, as though weighing each word. "What's the difference between telling them now or later? And the Captain—do we have to keep this from him too?"
Jack exhaled, knowing Walter had a good point. He wanted to preserve whatever small glimmer of hope New London still had, but there was no escaping the truth forever. He could see Walter's resolve and felt the weight of the decision pressing down on both of them.
"We'll tell the Captain first, at least," Jack finally said. "But let's give New London just a bit more time, maybe until we have more to report than just… this." He gestured to the desolate, frozen landscape around them, making it clear why Jack wanted to delay the news.
Walter sighed, his usual stoic expression softened by a hint of resignation. He reached for his radio, pausing to give Jack a final look and a firm nod. "Just the Captain first," he confirmed.
"Just the Captain," Jack echoed, meeting his gaze.
Walter turned his attention to the radio, static crackling faintly as he adjusted the knob to get a clearer signal. Once he'd found the right channel, he positioned his index and middle fingers over the push-to-talk button, bracing himself before delivering the grim news.
"Scout team one to New London. New London, this is Walter, do you copy? Over." Walter paused, his hand steady on the radio, waiting.
"New London to scout team one, copy loud and clear. Walter, what's your status? Have you reached Winterhome? Everyone here is anxious for the good news. They're all wishing you good luck on your travels. Over." Benjamin's voice was upbeat, unaware of the gravity on the other end.
Walter looked away for a moment, his gaze lost in the bleak landscape. He flexed his fingers, then pressed the button again. "No, not yet. Listen, I need to have a word with the Captain, alone please. It's urgent. Over."
"Copy that. Stand by, getting the Captain on the line. Out."
While they waited for the Captain's call, Jack stepped forward, his face tight with annoyance. "It feels wrong to dodge Ben's question about Winterhome."
Walter met his gaze with a steady look. "Nothing wrong with a little lie every now and then, Jack. And I thought that we've already agreed that this news doesn't go beyond the Captain—not yet."
Jack folded his arms, still visibly worried. Boris pops his head out of the bag and innocently whimpers to Jack, nuzzling his nose.
Walter's voice softened, but his expression remained firm, "I still think the news should be heard from everyone back home. They will know about it anyway."
"I get it, Walter. But sometimes, protecting hope means holding back the truth… at least until we know how to handle it. It's like setting a fire up too early, we need to set it just right so we don't burn ourselves." Jack said.
Just then, the voice of the Captain speaks out from the radio, "Walter, this is the captain, what's your status on your mission? Any sign of Winterhome? Over."
Walter pressed the button on his radio, speaking in a measured, steady tone, "Captain, this is Walter. We got some news for you. But you have to keep this between us. Make sure no one else is there with you, over." Walter requested.
After a brief crackle, the Captain's voice came through. "Alright Walter, it's just me in the room now. Go ahead, over."
Walter glanced once more at the bleak remains of Winterhome before continuing, "We've reached Winterhome, but the city is… non-operational. The generator is destroyed, and we have survivors here." He paused, carefully choosing his words, the nervous tightness in his throat threatening to betray him. "The situation is critical. Requesting further instructions on how to proceed. Over."
Lowering the radio, Walter took a deep breath to steady himself. He looked at Jack, who remained silent, waiting alongside him for the Captain's response.
The silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. Each second felt like an eternity, the tension building with no answer from the other end.
Walter broke the silence, nodding toward Jack. "I think the Captain might be panicking too. What are the chances he tells everyone back home, even though we asked him not to?" His tone was flat, but the concern in his eyes was evident.
Jack shrugged, pacing slightly, his arms crossed. "Maybe he's just trying to process everything. But I don't think he'll tell anyone—at least, I hope not. That'd cause a panic." His voice carried a faint edge of worry.
As if on cue, the Captain's voice returned over the radio, slightly shaky and betraying his own unease. "Walter, do you copy? Over."
Walter quickly pressed the button. "Read you loud and clear, Captain. So, what do we do now? Over."
A pause followed, brief but weighty. Then the Captain's voice came back, measured but still strained. "Is there anyone in charge among the survivors? Over."
Walter glanced back at the group of survivors. The Colonel and the Reverend were still working to calm the uneasy crowd. The Colonel stood tall, one hand resting on his hip while the other was raised in a steady, open-palmed gesture, commanding attention and urging the people to settle down. His authoritative presence was unmistakable.
The Reverend, in contrast, exuded quiet reassurance. He stood with his hands clasped together, nodding gently as the others voiced their concerns. His demeanor was calm, almost meditative, as if absorbing their worries rather than dismissing them.
Walter observed them for a moment, weighing his words carefully. Returning to the radio, he pressed the button and spoke, "Two men seem to be in charge here. One's a U.S. Army officer, the other's a Reverend. They're keeping things under control for now. Do you want to speak to both of them? Over."
A brief pause followed before the Captain responded. "Yes, can you get both of them on the radio? I think it'd be best to plan our next steps directly with them. Over."
"Understood, standby. Over and out." Walter ended the conversation and stood up, "Colonel, Reverend! Our captain wishes to speak with you on the radio." He calls out to them.
Respectfully, both leaders gave their acknowledgement and dismissed whatever they were doing and gathered over to meet Jack and Walter by the radio.
As the Colonel and the Reverend approached, Walter handed them the radio. Before the conversation could begin, the Colonel gave him a pointed look.
"This might be something best discussed between leadership," he said.
Walter hesitated for a moment, glancing at Jack, who frowned in response.
"You sure?" Jack asked. "We're the ones who scouted ahead. We found you."
"Yes, and we are grateful that you did," the Reverend replied kindly, "but let us speak with your Captain first. Some things are best left unheard by your ears."
Walter was not fond of keeping secrets, but neither he nor Jack were in any sort of authority to disagree with the Colonel's request. They were only a scouting team. He clenched his jaw but nodded. "Alright, we'll be nearby once you're done." Walter said.
Stepping away from the radio, Jack and Walter stood just far enough to give the two leaders some space but still close enough to watch.
Jack crossed his arms while Walter stood nearby, "I don't like this, Walter. I understand their secrecy, but in a time and place like this? I don't think secrets have a place in this world no more. We have a right to hear it." Jack said as he tried to find comfort from Boris, who kept nuzzling every chance he got.
Walter sighed as he continued to stare at them, "Me neither, but we are in no shape of any power to disagree on it, Jack. For all we know, it might not be a secret, they might just be talking about Winterhome."
"New London, this is Colonel Robert J. Grant, acting captain of Winterhome, and Reverend Cort, over." the Colonel said into the radio.
The Captain's voice came back, steady but cautious. "Colonel, Reverend, before we discuss the next steps forward, I need to know—what's the real situation on the ground? How many people do you have? What resources remain? And how many are… fit to travel? Over."
The Colonel took a moment to gather his thoughts. "We have over a hundred left. There were more before the riot. Our reserves are near empty, only leftover rations and wood before the collapse. Without the generator, most of our buildings are shut down and we can't make more food."
The Reverend added, "Many are also sick. Most won't make it far without proper care. Our last dreadnought left before the generator failed. We don't know if they followed the main convoy."
"That's a lot to take in, can you explain a little further on the situation?" The captain wanted to know how to better assess the problem at hand.
/-/
Minutes passed as Walter kept glancing back at the Colonel and the Reverend, "They've been talking for a while. All this waiting is making me anxious." Walter said in frustration. Jack nodded, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Yeah… Hope it ends soon. We need to do something for these people."
The distant sound of the broken automaton was still audible in the background, "I say we should recover any tech still working. Its steam core will die out if we don't do something." Walter suggested.
"There's barely enough heat to get these people alive. Most of them are too weak to move. We should help build some fire pits or braziers at the very least." Jack suggested his own idea.
Walter shot Jack a sharp look. "And don't even think about giving away your food. I know you mean well, but we need to eat too. There's over a hundred people here—your rations wouldn't even make a dent."
Jack sighed, relenting. "Alright, I get it. But this looks even worse than the expedition or that cave incident. At least then, we only had a handful of survivors to worry about. This… this is a hundred people, and most of them aren't even fit to walk."
Walter exhaled sharply, scanning the huddled figures. Jack was right. It reminded him too much of the Tesla Exiles—missing limbs, crutches, makeshift bandages barely holding together. A group this size wouldn't last long on the road.
"This is more people than before, Jack. You really think we can move a group this big?" Walter muttered, shaking his head. "And what are the chances we run into wolves again like last time? We only made it through because our group was small and—frankly—we got lucky. I don't think we can pull that off again." Walter lets his skepticism run through his thoughts.
Jack exhaled, scanning the frozen state of Winterhome. "Maybe there's a way we can get them to safety… maybe there's another dreadnought around here?" His voice carried a hopeful edge, though even he knew how foolish it sounded.
Walter let out a short, dry chuckle. "Right. Because another dreadnought is just lying around here, waiting for us."
Jack turned to him, scowling. "I'm serious, Walter."
Walter sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, then let me be serious too." He turned to face Jack directly. "I don't like this any more than you do, but you are way over our head if you actually think we can save all these people. Take a look at them, Jack. Most of them are starving, half-dead, and barely able to move. With no heat, little shelter, and on their last breaths." He gestured toward the weakest survivors, huddled in the snow. "Unless you're seriously suggesting we walk them all back to New London? Because I guarantee the wolves would have a much easier time than we would."
Jack took a step forward, his frustration bubbling over. "I. Get. It. Walter. But what's wrong with a little hope? Why do you always push yourself down like this? If you're just going to be so—" He paused, searching for the right word. "So damn miserable about everything, then why are you even here?"
Walter didn't flinch. His voice came out flat, almost empty, as he pointed a stiff finger at Jack. "Because I have nothing else to do with myself in this still, cold world. I'd rather die out here than rot in that pit we call 'home.'"
Jack slapped Walter's hand away, stepping in closer. Not an inch of fear was left on his face. "That home has a name, Walter. It's New London—our new home. It's better than having no home at all."
Boris let out a small, distressed whine, shifting nervously beside Jack. The little bear cub could sense the rising tension, his ears twitching as his dark eyes darted between the two men.
Walter let out a sharp breath, his expression hardening. "You call that home, Jack?" He shook his head, his voice laced with bitterness. "I lost my real home months ago. My family is most likely gone, and I'll probably never see them again."
Jack's fists clenched. His breath came out in short, sharp puffs in the cold air. "My family is gone too, Walter. But you don't see me crying like a damn child about it!"
Walter's lips parted as if to fire back, but something held him back. His hands curled into fists, shoulders tight with frustration. Instead of arguing further, he turned sharply on his heel and stormed off, his boots crunching against the ice-covered ground. The cold bit at his face, but he barely felt it—his anger burned hotter.
Jack exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the freezing air. Just looking at Walter left a sour weight in his chest. He turned away as well, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, seeking distance—not just from Walter, but from the argument itself.
Boris let out a small, concerned whimper, watching the two part ways.
Jack stood alone, his breath rising in thin clouds as the cold settled into his bones. The distant murmurs of the survivors and the occasional groaning of the broken automaton filled the air, but his mind was still on the argument. He clenched his jaw, rubbing his arms for warmth, though it did little to ease the tightness in his chest.
Then—crunch.
Jack's ears perked at the sound of footsteps pressing into the snow behind him. His heart skipped for just a moment. Walter? Was he coming back to apologize?
He turned swiftly, half-expecting to see Walter's familiar scowl. But instead, two figures emerged from the dim light of the fires.
Colonel Grant and the Reverend.
The colonel held the radio pack in his gloved hands, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "Where's your partner?" he asked.
Jack exhaled, the tension in his shoulders returning. He hesitated before answering, shifting his weight. "Went off on his own," he muttered.
The Colonel gave a curious glance but said nothing. The Reverend, however, didn't seem surprised. The Colonel extended the radio toward Jack. "Well then, kindly give this back to him when he returns."
Jack took the radio from the Colonel, fingers brushing against the cold metal. He only nodded, but his thoughts lingered on Walter, who was completely out of his view.
Jack shifted his weight, gripping the field radio a little tighter. "What did my captain say? What's the plan?"
The Colonel and the Reverend exchanged a brief glance before the Colonel sighed, adjusting his gloves.
"Well, son," he started, his voice carrying that steady, Southern drawl—calm, but firm. "Your captain wants us to put together an expedition, scrape up what supplies we can, and form a party to make the journey back to New London."
There was a weight in his words, and Jack didn't miss the troubled look on his face. The Reverend, standing beside him, seemed just as uneasy at the prospect.
Jack exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "That's… a little concerning. No offense, but I don't think your people are fit to make the journey." He gestured toward the huddled survivors in the distance.
The Colonel let out a weary sigh, adjusting his coat. "I hear ya, son. Believe me, we tried explaining our situation to your captain. But I reckon he's right about one thing—without vehicles, we're stranded. Walkin' is the only real option." His tone was level, but the weight of the truth sat heavy on his shoulders.
He glanced toward the survivors before shaking his head. "Breakin' the news won't be easy, but… after all we've been through, I reckon they'll understand." He turned to the Reverend. "Ain't that right, Reverend?"
The man of the cloth gave a solemn nod, silent but resolute.
Jack let out a quiet sigh, his gaze falling to the snow. "I see… I was hoping there'd be a better way for these folks. But if that's what the captain decided, then we'll just have to make the best of it." He forced a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
The Colonel gave a firm nod. "Your concern means a lot, son. Not many still got the heart you do. But I reckon you oughta find your partner—we need both of you to get things moving."
Jack's conversation with the Colonel and Reverend was cut short when a faint, desperate cry echoed through the frozen landscape. It wasn't the wail of the wind or the distant howls of wolves. This was human.
The Colonel's brow furrowed as he turned toward the sound. "What in the hell…?" he said as he squinted his eyes at something from a distance.
Then, more voices followed—shouts, sobs, names being called out.
Jack spun around, heart pounding, scanning the snowy horizon. Through the shifting white haze, he spotted dark shapes moving in the distance. The figures stumbled forward, some barely standing, others supporting the weak.
From behind him, one of the Winterhome survivors let out a gasp, then a cry of recognition.
"Oh, my God… that's—!"
Before the words could fully leave their lips, a man broke away from the crowd, sprinting across the ice, slipping and scrambling toward one of the approaching figures. A woman, just as ragged, collapsed into his arms, sobbing as they held each other tightly.
More names were shouted—family names, friends long thought lost. The crowd in the city lurched forward, disbelief giving way to tears and embraces as the returning survivors were quickly swallowed by their loved ones.
Jack felt a lump in his throat as he watched. They had come back. Somehow, against all odds, they had survived.
Walter's eyes widened as a small caravan of weary survivors emerged from the blizzard's grasp, trudging toward the city's edge.
Thirty-five, Walter quickly counted as he too rushed to the noise. He looked around for Jack, catching him standing at the sidelines, watching with joy as he witnessed the events unfolding before him.
Despite Walter's demeanor, he was secretly relieved to see such a reunion in the darkest hour. But he chose not to let his smile appear on his lips.
Families and friends, once torn apart, rushed forward with shouts of joy and tears streaming down frozen cheeks. The thirty-five souls had returned, their faces etched with exhaustion but lit by the warmth of reunion.
One of the older survivors explained through chattering teeth, "We tried to catch the dreadnought… but when it left, we knew we couldn't just abandon our own kin. We had to come back."
Walter watched in silent contemplation, the scene unfolding before him a testament to the strength and stubbornness of the human spirit. For Jack, it was a reminder that even in the darkest times, the ties that bind people together are sometimes stronger than the frost itself.
Jack watched as the Colonel and the Reverend spoke urgently with the returning survivors, their expressions shifting from relief to shock. It was clear that whatever they had just learned was serious.
Then, they turned—eyes scanning the crowd—until they locked onto him. The Colonel strode toward Jack with purpose, his voice firm. "Jack, I need you and Walter here. Now."
Jack hesitated. "Uh—Walter stormed off after our argument. I don't know where he—"
The Colonel cut him off, his patience wearing thin. "No, we don't have time for that, son." Then, with a deep breath, the Colonel raised his voice, letting it carry over the frozen camp. The Reverend simply covered his ears.
"WALTER! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, NOW!"
The wind swallowed his words for a moment, but then—somewhere in the distance—footsteps crunched in the snow. Jack turned toward the sound, his breath visible in the cold air. Walter was coming back with haste.
The Colonel cleared his throat. "Boys, we just got news—one of our dreadnoughts is still out there."
Jack and Walter both straightened up, listening closely.
"Most likely, it stopped because it ran out of power—one of its steam cores is broken." The Colonel's expression was serious, but then a hint of determination flickered in his eyes. "But I have an idea."
Jack glanced at Walter before turning his attention back to the Colonel.
"If we can retrieve the steam core from a broken automaton and bring it to the dreadnought, we might just get it running again. That means a chance to get these people to safety." The Colonel's tone was firm, yet hopeful. "Problem is, most of our people aren't fit for a journey like that. But you two are."
He paused, locking eyes with them. "It's a crucial retrieval and salvage operation. Can I count on you?"
Jack's face lit up with renewed hope. "Yes, sir. You can count on us."
Walter gave a firm nod. "We'll do our best, Colonel."
The Colonel smiled faintly. "That's what I like to hear. But before you go, one more thing."
His expression hardened, his voice steady. "I know you two had a little argument while we were speaking with your captain. I don't want that affecting your mission. By my authority, I expect nothing but your best out there. Am I clear?"
Jack and Walter exchanged a look—just for a moment—before responding in unison.
"Yes, sir."
/-/
A/N: This chapter took a while, but I think this should be suitable enough for uploading. I had a difficult time trying to find ways to write this chapter.
First thing is that I changed the names of the Colonel and the Reverend. James Redfield was too modern and I wanted to keep the name more old fashioned. So, Robert J. Grant was the name that came out of a list of names. The Reverend's name is Cort Griffiths. I have taken a bit of a suggestion but changed the name as I wanted it more easier for readers to remember.
I wanted Jack and Walter to face difficult situations whenever they are out exploring. This is one of them, in Winterhome, the news of its demise was important. And the choice of letting New London know early or later is crucial. A choice involving trust, not just between Jack, Walter and the Captain. But also the entirety of New London.
And their argument where Jack once again blurts out his hopes and optimism that made Walter lose his final bit of patience he has left. This argument is not because of simple reasons, it is meant to further build their relationship as partners, with the already dangerous mission of scouting. These two as I have already explained have different values, but both are willing to do the job no one wants to do.
But this was also a way to give more info about them naturally, as in they are too distant to share any personal information despite their team up. I hate it when characters just simply share their personal info like it's a charity (unlike certain mainstream writers).
I want Jack and Walter to learn more about each other through time. It's more fulfilling and earned this way.
As of now, their relationship is slightly strained but this won't be the only conflict they will have with each other. This is mild.
Back on the chapter 18's development. It took a while to find a good way to write out how the characters, especially between the captain and Walter when they were talking about the reveal of Winterhome. The Colonel and the Reverend was an interesting idea. And yes, as someone also pointed out, these two characters would be the foundation of both the Faith and Order factions.
There was a key feature in Robert's character, where he shouted real loud. And I mean loud, I had a friend back in my school days where he didn't look like a loud guy, but somehow his shouts were so loud he would almost startle anyone who was unaware. Anyways, this from the Colonel gives him a commanding presence, that others might agree with him.
As for the Reverend, I have not gotten to show that yet, but there is a reason why he and the Colonel rise up to help Winterhome after the riot.
Now, that would already become obvious to some readers to this new question, "Does this mean that there will be both factions present in the story? Yes, this is also a way to mimic the faction war in FP2, but on a smaller scale.
My little hiatus before this update was also because I was dealing with my personal life. I apologise if my most frequent readers have to wait, forget, or lose interest in the story. I will still do my best.
Thank you all so much for reading.