“Are they gone?” Rarity asked in a whisper as Jack peeked over the upturned bus, doing her best to ignore the stench of the pitch black freeway tunnel.

“Shut up,” Jack snapped in a hiss, looking very carefully at every gap and inch of room that the field of wrecked cars provided. Seeing nothing, she ducked back down behind the bus.

“I think we’re good.”

“Then… should we go back out?”

“Out and where? Back into the woods? Are you insane?” she barked a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, wait; I forgot who I was talkin’ to.”

“How dare—”

A cracking noise came from deeper in the tunnel. Jack froze, all the muscles in her body bunched and ready. She slapped a hand over Rarity’s mouth, perhaps slightly harder than necessary.

“Mmmsph! Muphs muh!” Rarity said, furiously.

“Shut up!” Jack hissed. “Shut the fuck up.” She tilted her ear towards the deep end of the tunnel and waited, but heard nothing more.

“I heard somethin’,” she breathed to Rarity. “We’re not alone.”

She lowered her hand away from Rarity’s face, quickly but quietly throwing the pack off of her back.

“Here.”

She pulled out the NVGs, handing one of them to Rarity. She strapped hers onto her head, still somewhat clumsily.

When her vision swam with green daylight, she stared ahead. The tunnel was long, ridiculously so, and the cars looked like a scrunched ribbon laying the entire length of the road.

She saw movement—a faint shadow from behind a car fifty feet in front of them—and froze, glaring daggers at it. The woman waited ten, twenty seconds.

“Jack—“

“I said shut up,” she repeated.

“I just... fine,” Rarity replied, her tone harsh despite its minuscule volume. Jack gripped the pistol in her hand, staring at the spot a moment longer, then scowled, placing her gun in Kody’s holster.

“There's somethin' over there. Swear on it,” she growled out.

“Why put up the gun?” Rarity asked.

“I smell a lotta gas.” Jack reached behind her, pulling out the machete. “I'm scared we could blow the place up.”

“Does it work like that?” Rarity asked. Jack gave a frustrated shrug.

“Hell if I know. It'd make sense. Same reason ya don't use a lighter 'round a propane leak.”

“That's an open flame, Jack. There's a dif—”

“Enough with the words. If it's what I think it is, it's heard us by now anyway. An' it's one of the few things now I ain't too scared of.” Reaching into her bag again, Jack handed Rarity a walkie-talkie, keeping the other for herself. “Get up onto the bus. Guide me, and keep a lookout for any more. Don't shoot yer gun, even if it looks like I'm in trouble. If that happens, run back the way we came. Okay?”

“I won't let you get—“

“Rare,” Jack interrupted yet again, her tone authoritative.

Rarity sighed, shaking her head in meek agreement. She took Jack’s hand and squeezed once. “Just... be safe. Please.”

“Yeah, sug. You do the same.”

Jack dropped down onto the asphalt. Licking her painfully dry lips, she clutched her weapon in a firm, calloused hand and rose to her full height, foregoing stealth. Jack nodded over to Rarity, and the woman started the clumsy climb onto the side of the upturned bus, clawing at the rubber of the rear wheel until she hoisted herself up. Crouching, she scanned the field from her vantage point, then brought the walkie-talkie to her lips.

“Straight ahead,” Rarity instructed. “I see him now. Behind the car.” She sneered in disgust. “Having a meal.”

Jack listened. Sure enough, she heard the sound of faint wet smacking, a noise not unlike that of when she sank her teeth into an apple back on the farm.

The woman paused, briefly struck dumb at the comparison. She missed the farm. Missed when the worst thing she had to worry about was hauling shit to sell at the town square. And now...

She shoved the thoughts away bitterly, focusing on the present. It was thinking, distracted thinking like that, that got you killed.

“Move a bit to the left, next to that van, and you’ll be able to see him too,” Rarity told her.

Jack did, then paused, squinting. The silhouette of the creature was at the very tail-end of her vision. It paid her no mind, feasting on its meal of a half-stripped corpse. Jack held her breath and touched the front bumper of the car that she stood next to.

“Looks like a Waddler.” She said to Rarity.

“Good. Nothing to worry about, then.”

“Unless there's more than three and they start to use their fucking tactics on me,” she muttered to herself. She snuck forward, weaving and bobbing around and behind cars until she was about twenty feet away from the thing.

“Jack?” Rarity said over the coms, her tone worried. “Another further on.”

The creature in front of Jack paused. After another moment it shuffled up, rising from the body and turning towards the machete-wielding woman. Jack glared at it as it rounded the corner of the car.

The creature's hands groped blindly forward, shambling soundlessly towards her, finally coming close enough that she could see his face. It seemed human enough, save for its lack of nose and dozens of boils covering where its eyes should be. His heavy jowls shook with every labored breath, the flayed skin hanging off his torn cheeks looking like strips of dried jerky. Shadows clung to him as if he wore an enormous, ink-black tarp that warped and distorted his unnatural girth, but even with the darkness hiding him, she could almost envision its dozens of cracked and chipped teeth, could almost swear she could see its stomach distended from swallowing whatever it could get its hands on.

When he got only a breath closer, Jack swung an overhead blow, her height and weight letting her bury the machete deep into the center of his skull. His mouth twitched; Jack snapped a foot forward into his stomach and kicked, dropping him to the ground where he gurgled once and lay limp. Jack grimaced once the action was done. Over the couple of weeks since... whatever it was that happened, she had gotten used to the smell of death. Corpses of survivors, the ones that hadn't vanished without a trace in the 'flash,' and the bodies of some of the creatures that had sprung up afterward, but these fat bastards took the cake. She held her breath, freeing her weapon with one hard pull of her hand.

“Got 'em,” Jack announced. As disgusting as Waddlers were, the things were slow and not nearly as frightening as the Swarmers, which in turn paled in comparison to the Rooters.

“Good work,” Rarity answered. She turned, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding when there wasn't anything behind them. “Still one ahead, however.”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Fat bastard'll take a bit ta come towards us.” Another pause. “How much juice is left in the goggles?”

Rarity fumbled briefly with some of the buttons on the binoculars side, before swallowing as a percentage popped up. “Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five?” Jack spat out, incredulous. “Have ya been drainin' the battery?”

“Do I look stupid enough to do that?” Rarity answered. “I doubt Karl replaced the battery for a couple of months.”

“Not to mention that fucking stunt you pulled last night, making us travel through the woods,” Jack muttered to herself, moving over to the door of the wrecked car she stood by. Peeking into the vehicle, she frowned. It was like most of the cars here: empty, the keys still in the ignition, the gas long gone and the battery drained as if the vehicle had bled out like a shot man.

Jack froze. In the backseat was a children's seat, empty, save for a bib. Daddy's boy, it proclaimed. Feeling a sharp pain in her stomach, she looked away, staring into the endless darkness and trying to swallow around the lump in her throat.

“Anyway, we’ve still got two fresh batteries,” Rarity reassured.

Jack said nothing, merely shaking her head. “Next one close?”

Turning her head, Rarity looked deeper into the tunnel. “Eleven o'clock, I suppose. About... sixty feet? Next to a police car.”

“Any others?” Jack asked, whipping the machete through the air to flick away a bit of the puss from her last kill.

“No. At least none that I can see.”

“Then I'll take care-a him,” she replied, pressing on.

Rarity glanced down at her dirty hands and dirty coat. All the dirt and mud made her want to scream and lash out at something, but she kept herself calm, willing a pond or lake to appear on the other side of the tunnel. If she didn't bathe soon, she would go crazy. Granted, what she really wanted was a hot bath and a washer, but unless they found another home running on well water and a generator, she doubted they'd have that luxury for a long, long while. The towns were getting sparse, now: some of them twenty or more miles apart from each other.

A wet slap broke through the silence of the tunnel, then the heavy thud of a large object dropping to the ground.

“Got 'em,” Jack announced, panting a little with exertion over the coms. Rarity looked towards the dark, her binoculars off for the moment.

“Good work,” she said once more, then sighed. “Are you by the police car? Do you suppose...?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think it might,” the farmer agreed. Tilting her Stetson back she peeked through the car's windows and smiled for the first time that day. “Get over here an' pick this damn lock.”

“Does the word 'please' mean anything to you?” Rarity replied over the coms, but within a minute the tailor was by Jack’s side.

“Look at this,” Jack ordered, tapping at the reinforced glass.

At the top of the cabin was a rack with a shotgun loaded inside. Rarity frowned at it.

“We already have a shotgun,” she muttered.

“Sure, but more ammo never hurts.”

Rarity sighed as she fumbled through the dozens of pockets her pack had until she finally pulled out the lockpick set. Selecting the one she thought would work the best, the woman put it into the police car's keyhole, straining her ears to hear the tumblers clicking into place as she jiggled the lockpick, looking for the sweet spot. She found it and gave a pull at the door. It opened without a hitch, sending the smell of stale, rock-hard doughnuts and soured coffee to mingle with the gas and decayed scent of the monster’s nearby corpse.

“I miss doughnuts,” Rarity remarked to herself, not caring how many calories the damn things had. Her figure was the last thing on her mind right now.

Climbing into the car, Rarity gave a curious poke at a computer system on a swivel near the passenger's seat. Unsurprisingly, it remained dead. Reaching past that, she tried the glove box and opened the latch.

A package of crackers, a map, and a pack of cigarettes greeted her amid the pile of otherwise useless papers. She grabbed all three items and froze on noticing a red box the size of her palm under a few other documents. She pushed them aside and took the box in eager hands.

“Jack?” Rarity called out, giving a pleased shake of the half-full box, grateful for the metal rattle that came from its contents.

“What's wrong?” the farmer asked, her footsteps coming closer. Rarity would have turned to them, but the dimness would have made it pointless for her until Jack was a few feet away.

“What caliber is your gun again?”

As Rarity looked through the papers one more time to make sure she wasn't missing anything they could scavenge, she could already guess Jack had raised a brow at the question, like she was wont to do when Rarity asked something Jack thought was particularly dumb or unnecessary.

“.44.”

Rarity paused, the caliber completely different than what she expected. “O-oh...”

“Why?” Jack pressed.

“I found a box of nine.”

“Nine millimeter?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Thank God,” the woman replied, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Yer pistol takes that.”

“It does?” Rarity blinked, surprised at the news.

“I thought I drilled ya on this shit back when we first found ya a gun. Yers takes nine. Did none of that sink in? Were ya not payin' attention?” By her tone, Jack was scowling. “Like usual with ya, never mindin' me.”

Rarity let out a loud, displeased huff. “I'm sorry I had more pressing matters to think of, Jack, than discussing bullet calibers.”

“It's somethin' ya need ta know,” Jack snapped back. “What if I get—“

“Don't even say that,” Rarity hastily snapped, her delicate face twisted in rage. “Don't even consider it a possibility.”

“Rare...”

“We're here because of your insistence,” Rarity said, stuffing the box of ammo aggressively into her vest pocket. “I would have been content with us at Camelot, I'll have you know, so do not even consider giving up at this point. You will get us out of here too.”

“Dying ain't giving up,” Jack spat out, just for argument’s sake. Her eyes stung briefly, and she was glad that Rarity couldn't see her face and what might have been written on it.

There was a stilted, heavy pause. Finally, Rarity quietly said, “Well… you won't do that either.” There was a small intake of breath after her words akin to a gasp, as if she was picturing the possibility of Jack's death.

Or, more likely, Kody.

Jack heaved a sigh. “Ya didn't have ta—“

“Come with you?” Rarity guessed, interrupting her. She grabbed the shotgun and gave it a hard tug, pulling it free. Sitting in the driver’s seat, she checked the gun, holding the release behind the trigger. She gave it a pump and watched a shell fly free. “You know I had to.” Rarity gave another pump, keeping a meticulous count of the shells that came out of the gun as she unloaded it. “Deny me if you will, but if you had left by yourself…” She left the rest of the sentence to insinuation.

Jack took a few steps towards the front of the car and sat. It made her angry. Angry that Rarity was right, angry that Rarity had to be involved. Guilty that Rarity had to be involved. But she knew it was the kind of anger and guilt that she couldn’t swing her fists at, so she let it fold itself inside her, crushing it to save as tinder for another day. Because at the end of the day, there was gratefulness too--for Rarity’s company, for her sacrifice, her support.

“I shouldn't know how to do this,” Rarity whined, swallowing, fighting back pity tears as she gave the gun another pump. “These things are dreadful.”

“They've saved our lives,” Jack replied, seeing through the woman’s pity party. She had been eager to learn about self-defense a few scant weeks ago. But now, all it took was one Goddamn misstep and here she was again, acting like a prima donna. Jack tried to be patient with the woman, though, due to the circumstances of the past few days. “If we had tried ta get anywhere without 'em...”

Rarity shook her head. “I know that. That doesn't mean I can't hate this whole thing, Jack.”

“Hate it all ya want. It won't change the truth of the matter.” Jack glanced from her seat through the front glass of the car at the gun.

Rarity gave another pump. Finally, she pulled, and no more shells came. She counted. Six. “Should we load yours, now?”

“Yeah. Here.” Hopping off the car, she handed the gun over and watched the back of Rarity's head as the woman reloaded the gun, her delicate fingers chambering the shells with an almost uncanny dexterity. “Fer what it's worth...” she said after a drawn-out pause. “I wish ya didn't have ta know this stuff either. But it's...”

“It's what's necessary,” the other said plainly, finally giving a pump to load a shell ready into the gun. “For both of us.”

Jack grabbed Rarity's hand, helping her up from the car's seat, then didn't let go. She wanted to say something to the tailor, something more than what she had already said. Something to make it better, to make up for it.

Except what could she possibly say to accomplish that?

She let go of Rarity’s hand and turned away from her. “Let's get a move on,” she muttered, taking her gun and slinging it by its strap over her shoulder. “Ya good fer a lil' more walkin'?”

“Until we find a spot to rest,” agreed Rarity. “When we do that, I think a few hours of sleep are due.”

They traveled for a long, uneventful half-hour, searching the cars for anything they could grab. They lucked out once more with a bag of groceries. Most had spoiled, but there were a few canned items they readily took. After another hour of slowly making their way through the tunnel scavenging, Jack saw a faint light. She brought the binoculars out and let out a small laugh.

“We made it,” Jack announced.

“Good. I was loathing the idea of staying the night here.” Rarity squinted towards the illumination, pleased.

Jack took another look at the light, noticing its rose-tinted appearance. She put the binoculars away and saw a door as they approached. It read 'Maintenance'.

“Yer jus' gonna have ta deal with the thought, then,” Jack commented.

“What? Why?” Rarity asked, agitated. “We're right there. Why can't we just—“

“If this is what I think it is, it'll be safer. We won't need a watch, meanin' we'll both get some sleep.” She sighed. “God knows we need a full night.”

Rarity pursed her lips but nodded hesitantly. “You're right, of course.”

They tried the door, and it opened without a hitch revealing a small office with a desk covered in spreadsheets and small hand-written notes.

“The guy that worked here was probably a manager of some of the day ta day stuff here. Electric lights, pest control, that kinda thing I bet,” Jack remarked, looking around the drab office before setting her sights on a picture of a middle-aged man carrying a young girl on his shoulders. Shaking her head, Jack blurted out: “Wonder if the guy lucked out?”

“Define 'lucked out,'” Rarity answered, watching as Jack dropped her backpack to the floor and rested the shotgun against the wall.

“What ya think? I mean, was he inside when it happened? That'd be luckin' out.”

“If he was, I would be reluctant to call it lucky.” Rarity rubbed her wrist, rolling it to work out a kink.

Jack pulled out a flashlight, turning it on and watching the light it projected flicker until she slapped its side and snapped it out of its indecisiveness. She sat it on the desk, illuminating the dark office for a moment while she moved to a tall filing cabinet. With a grunt, she lifted it and half-waddled it to the door, bracing it.

“Don't talk like that,” Jack said sharply, breathing a bit heavily from the exertion.

“Why not? It's not like the ones that were outside have to deal with...”

Jack walked back to Rarity, tossing her bag onto the linoleum floor. She put a hand on Rarity's shoulder, right over the strap of the Mosin-Nagant and pointed one of her fingers the tailor's way.

“Yer talkin' stupid. We're here fer a reason.” She pursed her lips, considered her words, her tone, then spoke again, trying to be more sensitive. Understanding. “Look… what we’ve been through past coupla days? Ain’t nothin’ good ‘bout it. But we can’t jus’ drop it an’ give up on the damn thing.” She gave an unsure laugh devoid of humor. “We’re fuckin’ states away from home now. Packin’ up an’ goin’ back jus’ ain’t in the cards now.”

Rarity puffed up some at that, seeming to want to be angry at Jack, but she promptly deflated, instead sighing, the noise riddled with disgust, anger, and now weeks of frustration. She closed her eyes for a time, considering a few thoughts that had been weighing quite heavily on her mind for what seemed like decades.

“I wonder, Jack.”

Jack glanced over to her as she undid her belt and loosened up a few buttons on her shirt, eager to relax at least a little while they were in a room she’d consider safer than most of the places they slept in. Rarity continued.

“It feels like we’re a harbinger, oi? We have brought disaster after disaster to people that don’t deserve it.”

“Kody was not yer fau—”

“Who else could be at fault?!” she snapped, her voice loud within the room. “He was there, and I… I…” Trembling, she took in a shuddering breath, her face contorted in obvious hurt.

Jack looked towards Rarity, then looked up towards the ceiling as she laid down on the tile. It could be considered callous, perhaps, but she had no idea how to answer the woman, no words of comfort that weren’t mere lip service. She felt a spark of anger within her, this time directed at herself, and once more held no outlet to put her aggression towards. She closed her eyes, trying instead for the peace that came with sleep.

Rarity seemed to collect herself and took off her shoes. She stared at the walls of the room for a time, going over its various knickknacks and notes. A few scattered photos, a calendar, now weeks behind on an accurate date—a date a week prior was circled in red and the word ‘Anniversary. Cake?’ was scrawled within the square—and a framed college certificate hung on the wall.

She smiled bitterly, feeling close to tears again, and spoke, rousing Jack from near slumber and breaking the silence that seemed to flood the room like a thick blanket.

“My father worked a job similar to this before he met mother.”

The blonde gave a weak gaze over to her traveling companion. “That a fact?” she questioned.

Rarity nodded. “Had a degree in... electrical engineering, I believe. Despite his appearance, he graduated magna cum laude from Langston College.”

“Go Lions,” Jack said plainly.

“Mmm?”

“Their football team.”

“Oh. I see.” Rarity shut her eyes and continued speaking after a beat. “After a few years of different jobs, he swapped to his locksmith trade. Met my mother when she left the salon and realized she had locked her keys in her car.” Rarity sighed. “It's almost romantic, in a sense, I suppose.”

“Like he was her knight in sweatpants,” Jack joked, her smile faint and fleeting, but there briefly.

“Don't remind me of his horrible fashion sense. And that mustache of his.” Rarity stuck out her tongue. “Many a night I considered sneaking to him while he was asleep and shaving the abomination off.” The faint sparkle of her own humor died soon enough, and she swallowed. “Did you know how embarrassed they made me? Mother, father, and Stephanie?”

Jack said nothing, letting Rarity talk.

Rarity scoffed. “It's hard, thinking that... that they made me so embarrassed around clients and friends, but... I'd give anything to see them again now, Jack.”

“Yer sister might still be out there,” Jack offered, neither saying anything about her parents.

Rarity took another breath in. Jack didn't have to look to know Rarity was either crying or close to crying.

“You're a lot like him,” Rarity remarked after finally calming down. “Stubborn. Unbelievably tacky, foolish. But a good heart.” She shook her head. “If there's a reason behind it all, Jack. I'd want to know why him, instead of me? Why mother?”

Jack didn't have an answer. She took another breath in and shut her eyes. “I don't know,” she honestly replied.

“You could have said something better than that, you know,” Rarity said, rolling onto her stomach. “That it's part of a bigger plan, or, or—“

“I ain't gonna lie ta ya.”

“Even if I want you to sometimes?”

“Even then. Because yer lyin' when yer sayin' ya want me ta lie,” Jack said, reading the tailor like a book. “I don't sugarcoat anythin' with ya because I know yer hard enough ta take it, even if ya act like a damn catty bitch sometimes.”

Usually, Rarity would have been set off by the words, but now, as tired as she was, she decided to let the insult slide.

“Thank you for putting up with my talking, Jack.”

“Anytime, sug. I mean it.”

“Sweet dreams.”

It took a while, far longer than she would like, but Jack did finally sleep. And Jack did dream.

Next Chapter: Mansfield Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 35 Minutes