Chapter Text
It’s your first patrol rotation, and your gut is tangled in knots. Tension racks your every muscle, and your entire body is on edge, but it has little to do with the very real threats lurking outside the walls of Jackson. No, your fear is rooted in the danger your traveling companions pose.
-
Your roommates were ecstatic when they learned you’d be accompanied on your initial shift by the best of the best, the settlement’s most vicious pair of protectors, the Miller brothers. You, however, were terrified.
Joel and Tommy were highly respected members of the community. Always willing to lend a helping hand to their neighbors and volunteer their time, skills, and services when shit went south, they were a godsend. It certainly didn’t hurt that they were both impossibly rugged and handsome.
Tommy was happily married to Maria, so he was considered off limits, but the commune’s womenfolk swooned over the gruff, brooding, and mysterious Joel. He was often the topic of conversation around the dinner table.
You lived with five other women, girls really, and they were obsessed with the older Miller brother. You knew better. You recognized something dark and sinister behind his soft, brown puppy-dog eyes. You sensed Joel’s inherent bloodlust and insatiable hunger, and it made your skin crawl. You saw the same depravity lying dormant in Tommy.
Sure, everyone had done sketchy shit to survive, compromised their morals, used violence when it was the only option, but the Miller men were a different beast entirely.
At thirty-three, you arrived at Jackson’s gates leading a trio of horses. You had spent the first twenty years of the outbreak holed up in remote eastern Idaho with your two middle-aged aunts, Molly and Margo.
You were thirteen when the world went to hell. Your father was an avid conspiracy theorist, and when he heard whispers in chat rooms about a mysterious illness spreading through South America, he somehow convinced your mom to ship you off to live with his sisters on their farm for a few months. The plan was for you to hang tight. When things died down, you could return to Minneapolis. You never did.
The last time you spoke to your mother, it was to share your “good news.” You woke that morning to the “gift” of your first period, and at your aunts’ insistence, you called home. Your mom lost her goddamn mind, squealing so loudly you had to pull the phone away from your ear.
“Oh, sweetie! Congratulations! My little girl is all grown up. You’re officially a woman now!”
But the end of the world was no place for a woman.
Your aunts successfully shielded you from the brutality of men and monsters for two decades. They had several PhD’s between them, and were both master gardeners. They treated you well, kept you alive, and taught you everything they knew. There was a freshwater spring near the house, you ate what you grew, and you trapped small game for meat on their sprawling 640 acre property.
Your contact with what remained of humanity was all but non-existent. Your only friends lived in your aunts’ extensive collection of books.
When Molly caught wind of a collective of families that had established a compound in Western Wyoming, it was decided the journey there would be worth the risk, for your sake. You deserved the chance to experience a life that resembled something akin to “normal.”
The three of you set off on horseback a week later, armed to the teeth, with a bounty of meticulously preserved seeds sewn into your clothing and tucked in your packs and saddle bags. You were the only survivor. Your aunts had abandoned their horses to fiercely protect you from a ruthless group of raiders thirty miles away from freedom. They fought like hell, but were both killed in the process.
The Jackson community welcomed you with open arms, although, you’re confident your horses Ozaawadowe, Makade, and Omiimii, your weapons and ammo, your gardening expertise, and your seed library sealed the deal.
You introduced yourself as “Lark,” a sweet moniker Margo had bestowed upon you, an homage to her favorite Idaho wildflower, Delphinium bicolor, or Little Larkspur. For your own sanity, you decided to take your birth name to your grave, effectively closing the chapter on the innocent, wide-eyed girl you had once been.
The town council set you up in a three-bedroom house that had been designated for single women. You had at least ten years on your new roommates, all post-outbreak babies, and the rowdy, slightly feral crew gave you the honorary title of den mother. You took your role to heart. Jackson was relatively safe, but not entirely.
Jackson had men.
Men were predators before the world went to shit, and after, well it became clear the real aberrations weren’t the infected. No man could be trusted. Sure, a handful may seem kind, paternal even, might promise you protection, but they always want something in return, and you never, never turn your back on them.
Lying in wait, the ravenous demon eventually emerges, craving only to conquer and destroy, desiring to steal what doesn’t belong to him, wanting to make you his.
A post-apocalyptic man can justify pretty much anything, can claim he needs it. Needs your food, your supplies, your body. He needs to feel the touch of a woman, needs your softness, needs your comfort. Please, he’s been so lonely and it’s been so long.
If you’re lucky, he’ll offer you a fair trade for your company; feed you a meal, provide you a safe place to stay, keep you warm for a while. In those instances, you’ll at least feel some measure of control. You can lie and tell yourself you consented.
If you’re unlucky, he’ll get the jump on you, overpower you, make you do what he wants. Maybe he’ll be cruel, hurt you, just because he can. Maybe he’ll pass you around, share you with his buddies, have his fun, then kill you. If you’re really unlucky, he’ll do all of those things and let you live.
Most of Jackson’s women had horror stories, some harrowing secrets held more tightly than others. You’d seen evidence of the atrocities that befell women who were unfortunate enough to cross paths with the wrong kind of men. Their mangled scars plagued your nightmares, their swollen bellies haunted your waking thoughts.
You kept mostly to yourself in your new hometown, avoiding the male residents at all costs, only interacting with them when absolutely necessary. You ducked out of conversations, crossed the street when they got too close, refused to make eye contact. Their lingering gazes soured your stomach and sent a chill down your spine.
Ever vigilant, you observed the men from a distance, keeping tabs on where they were in proximity to you, noting the community’s most egregious offenders.
Tommy Miller was the worst kind of man, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, luring women into a false sense of security with his wedding band, his soft smile, and his boyish charm. You saw right through his act, even if no one else could.
Joel was more wolf than man, but unlike his brother, he didn’t bother concealing it. When you’d head to the Tipsy Bison after toiling in the stuffy greenhouses all day, just wanting to relax with a beer in peace, he’d be there, shamelessly drinking you in, licking his lips through a wicked twisting smirk, staring at your tits.
You quickly discovered angling your body away from the elder Miller didn’t deter him. He’d hop to a new barstool or table, forcing you to acknowledge him. When he was confident no one was watching, he’d arc an eyebrow in your direction and palm the crotch of his jeans. You couldn’t hightail it out of the bar fast enough.
Your work in the greenhouses kept you busy, and you took pride in providing healthy, nutritious food and herbal remedies to members of your little refuge within the wasteland. It felt good to be useful, and you didn’t mind having an excuse to be antisocial.
About a year and a half after settling in Jackson, Maria came to see you on your lunch break for a heart-to-heart chat. She was worried about you, was concerned you were still struggling to make friends and adjust to your new way of life.
“It’s time to move past mere survival, Lark.” She smoothed her hand over your bicep while radiating kindness and sympathy. “I wish you’d cut loose every once in a while, kick back and have some fun. I’d hate to see you miss out because you’re scared. It’s not too late to embrace your future. You could fall in love, start a family, be happy. It wouldn’t kill you to go on a date or two.”
You sighed. “I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t if you’re always hiding. The Jackson rumor mill’s been churning. I’ve heard through the grapevine you’ve caught the eye of several men in town, but you’ve ignored their advances. Joel’s sweet on you too, you know. He never shuts up about how beautiful you are. You could do a lot worse.”
Itching to change the subject, you asked, “Was there something else you wanted?”
She laughed and gave you a knowing smile. “I was thinking you could switch things up every now and then, maybe get outside the walls. They can feel suffocating sometimes. Would you be interested in adding a patrol shift to your plate once a week?”
Maria knew you were capable on a horse and your shooting skills were phenomenal. She told you you’d be a natural. You couldn’t say no, not to her, not with everything she’d done for you.
You begged her to pair you with a female partner, and being cognizant of your wariness towards men, she promised you would be, after you completed your training.
Having unwavering faith in her husband and brother-in-law, she proposed the brothers would be ideal candidates for showing you the ropes. “Why not learn from the best?”
You had a million reasons why not, but agreed anyway. You figured Tommy and Joel wouldn’t try any funny business if they were together.
Maria assured you they could be trusted. “I realize they’re a bit rough around the edges, Joel in particular,” she admitted. “But they’re a couple of teddy bears once you get to know them. You’ll do great, Lark. No need to be anxious.”
-
The early spring evening before your first scheduled patrol, your roommate Tilly sidled up to you at the kitchen sink. “Guess what Sophie told me?”
“Hmm? What’s that?”
“Middle-aged guy they found out near Alpine Valley last week had a fuckton of cds on him, bunch of old shit. Seth loaded them in the jukebox this morning. Wanna go check ‘em out?”
“Hell, yeah!” you answered, whipping your greasy dishrag on the countertop.
The two of you hauled ass to the Tipsy Bison and you couldn’t believe your eyes. Memories long buried rose to the surface as you perused the new musical selections. There were so many, a veritable treasure trove.
Your throat went taut and a tear trickled down your cheek thanks to one album in particular, U2’s Joshua Tree. With trembling fingers, you pushed the corresponding numbered buttons to one of your mother’s favorite songs.
The lazy drumline and the trill of a harmonica washed over you, soothing your soul and banishing your fears. You rocked back and forth beside the jukebox, bouncing on the balls of your feet while growling the lyrics straight up to the ceiling, dampened eyelashes squeezed shut and fluttering.
Your right hand flew to your heart, fisting the well-worn cotton of your t-shirt, pounding the rhythm out against your chest. You probably looked like a lunatic, but you didn’t care. You were caught up in the moment, the release of endorphins and emotions rendering you unable to give a solitary fuck.
A breathless, raspy baritone suddenly began crooning in your ear.
Angel, angel or devil?
I was thirsty
And you wet my lips…
Broad, callused hands slid around your waist and you stilled, your boots glued to the scuffed wooden floor, your blood running cold. “Hey, there pretty girl,” the man purred. “You got great taste in music.”
You knew that voice. It was Joel Miller. Scraggly facial hair scratched the length of your neck, and his deep, masculine hum made you shudder. His massive frame pressed flush against your back, and you felt his erection prodding you.
He continued singing with his nose nuzzled against the side of your face.
You, I'm waiting for you
You, you set my desire
I trip through your wires…
When he let you go, you turned on your heels, spinning around to glare at him. “What’er you doing? That’s not… you can’t just… you don’t get to touch me, Miller.”
Joel’s tongue darted out between his lips and he shot you a smug grin. “Suit yourself, princess. Can’t deny me forever. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”
Not wanting to ditch Tilly entirely, you bolted to the restroom, rounding the corner of one of the stalls and heaving the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. You stood there with your palms braced on your knees, your clammy skin covered in sweat, struggling to catch your breath, willing your body to calm down. Once your legs could support you again, you stumbled to the sink to splash cold water on your flushed face.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you chanted to yourself, praying it was the truth.
When you lifted your throbbing head, you were greeted by Tommy’s reflection in the mirror. He was leaning against the bathroom door, your only escape route. “You alright there, Lark?” he drawled, false sincerity dripping in his tone. “You’re lookin’ mighty grim, sweetheart.”
“Get my name out of your mouth,” you spat. Your precious nickname, the one that once drizzled like honey and warmed your heart when spoken by your aunt, now coated your throat like poison when uttered by Tommy.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Easy now, sugar. Didn’t mean to offend you. We got a big day tomorrow, and you’ll need to bring your A game. We gotta have each other’s backs, be a cohesive team if we’re gonna stay safe.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. You won’t get any grief from me, Tommy. I’m ready.”
“Good girl.” He opened the door for you. “See you bright and early.” He winked as you scooted past him.
You rushed off to find Tilly. She was out on the dance floor with some fresh-faced boy draped over her, grinding his hips into her ass. You tapped her shoulder. “Um, I’m gonna head out.”
“Aww. Don’t be a party pooper, Lark.” There was a twinkle in her eye and she pursed her lips. “I saw you with Joel. You two looked very cozy. What’s the scoop?”
“No scoop.” You shook your head. “Don’t even know the guy. He’s just a handsy creep.”
She playfully slapped your back and giggled. “Whatever you say, girlie. Half the town would die to be in your shoes right now. Cat claws will be out after that little display. Meow!” She pulled you in close to whisper, “Bet he’s a real stud in the sack.”
“Ish, Tilly.”
“Oh, get over yourself, mama bear. Quit being such a prude. You need to get laid.” You started walking away, but she grabbed your hand. “Josiah will take me home, no worries. Go get some rest.”
-
You strolled into the stables at the crack of dawn, eager to sneak in a visit with Makade and Omiimii before your patrol shift. The pair received plenty of scritches and nose boops, and they snatched their favorite treat from your back pockets, dried apple slices. You brushed their manes and peered into the dark, dewey pools of their eyes.
Being with your old friends was a comfort, a reminder of the love your aunts had for you, a tangible piece of history you could feel with your bare hands and scrape underneath your fingernails. You weren’t totally alone. Your life did have meaning and purpose.
A teenage stable girl led Ozaawadowe, or Ozy for short to you, all tacked up for your ride. You took the reins from her with a nod and a polite “thank you.”
Ozy was a kindred spirit, could always read you like a book. He sensed your apprehension and knew you were scared. His muzzle nudged your sternum in an attempt to rally your courage. His gentle nickers and sassy snorts were the nearest thing to a pep talk you were going to get, and you were grateful.
You rested your nose on his forehead and stroked your fingers along his throat latch and cheeks. “Missed you too, big guy. You been staying out of trouble?”
You were a newbie to patrols, but Ozy had dozens of treks into the surrounding countryside under his girth. He was popular with the community’s younger riders due to his loyalty and sweet disposition. He loved to give light nips and whisker kisses, and he had a keen ear for sensing danger.
After a quick equipment inspection, you confirmed your Bowie knife was properly strapped to your thigh and your pistol was tucked into its holster at your hip with the safety locked in place. You stepped into the stirrup and hoisted yourself up in the saddle, patting the side of Ozy’s neck before securing your rifle on your back. You double-clicked your tongue, and on instinct, Ozy carried you to Jackson’s gates.
Weather-wise, it was the perfect day, not too hot, not too cold. There was a slight breeze to keep you cool. The sun was slowly rising, but there was ample cloud cover to protect you from its harshest rays. You wanted to believe it was a good omen, but you couldn’t help but feel you were trotting towards your downfall.
The Miller boys were waiting for you, and Tommy called you over. “Mornin’, sweetheart. Just follow my lead, whistle if you need anything. Joel’ll bring up the rear. Hang back if we hit any snags, although I don’t anticipate we will. Astrid and Fred were out there day before last, reported ‘all clear.’ Oughta take us about two and a half hours to get there. Whatever happens, rely on your training and go with your gut. If somethin’ feels off, it probably is.”
You weren’t about to mention something already felt off, namely Miller brother one and two.
A disgruntled sigh sounded out behind you. “She’s a grown-ass woman, Tommy. Quit coddlin’ her and get goin’. There’s shit needs doin’.”
You glanced over at Joel. The lip curling smile he brandished did fuck all to alleviate the knots of tension forming in your back and shoulders.
“You’ll be fine, pretty girl,” he said softly. “Gonna take real good care of you, you’ll see.” His words sent a shiver up your spine.
You clung to Ozy’s reins and tried not to squirm in your saddle. You refused to let Joel know how agitated you were.
“Let’s roll,” Tommy hollered.
The guards cranked open the towering wooden gates, and the three of you set off. You silently wondered if you’d ever pass through those gates again.
-
You haven’t strayed beyond Jackson’s walls since you first arrived, and Maria was right, they can be suffocating at times. The vast expanse of wilderness spreading out before you feels exhilarating, it’s almost like breaking out of prison. You find yourself breathing easier. The air smells different, cleaner and less stale. Unfortunately, you’re shackled to a couple of violent criminals, and you’re unsure of their intentions. Will they keep you safe from whatever you encounter? Will they keep you safe from each other? Only time will tell.