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The deputy is wracked by guilt.
I thought about killing them. As a mercy. But I will have them understand my forgiveness. I will have them know what it is to be judged as they have judged.
And when they do, when they crawl out of themselves with nothing left but hunger, I will tell them who they are.
God has a plan for them yet. And so do I.
-----
The world ended two weeks go.
Or had it been longer? Grace tried her best to keep track of the days inside the bunker, but it wasn't like she had a window to look out of. Instead she went by the two small oatmeal-like meals that Joseph spoon fed to her, presumably in the morning and at night. Her stomach ached with hunger, which pushed away thoughts that it might feel degrading. She had taken to biting her thumb with her canine and using the small beads of blood to make a tally marks on the wall. Joseph had took notice of the small red smears when she first did it, but made no comment on it. He wasn't exactly willing to give her anything sharp enough to make proper scratchings.
Her first week in the bunker was spent handcuffed to the end of this same bed, waking up on the floor as the bunker shook with the tremblings of the world being burned away above them. Grace found herself wishing she had remained above ground to be burned away like everyone else. She had remained in such shock that after Joseph gave his whole spiel about how he was right, that for a few days she'd simply stared at the wall across from her. At least he had the decency to remove Dutch's body from the room, she didn't want to know what he'd done to dispose of it.
Grace had never seen a mushroom cloud before. There was nothing as terrifying as that blast wave hurtling towards them, mowing down everything in its path. It was still hard to believe this wasn't all a dream. That Joseph had been right.
The world was on fire, and it was her fault.
Most of her friends had been at Joseph's compound when it happened, but after the initial bombs landed they had shoved him into the back seat and raced towards Dutch's bunker. Were the others able to make it to a prepper bunker? Her thoughts flashed to a snippet of memory, Joseph carrying her over his shoulder from the wreckage of their crashed truck. Fire everywhere. Hudson, Pratt and Whitehorse - if they hadn't been killed by the crash then the flames will have consumed them. Maybe no one else made it, maybe it was just her and Joseph.
At first she refused to cry in front of him, not wanting to chance any look of smug satisfaction or excess attention in general. Routinely, once she was sure she heard him going about things in the other rooms, then was the time she let the tears fall. Her cheeks would be drenched, chest aching both from the effort to keep her sobs quiet and from the thought of her infant god daughter she would never get to hold again. Of Nick and Kim, Sharky, Boomer. All up in flames.
Towards the end of that first week she had been crying to herself from her spot on the floor. She was resting her forehead against her handcuffed wrists, now irritated and swollen from the pull of her body weight. Joseph had walked up so quietly that it took her a few minutes to realize he had been standing in the doorway. Grace was about to turn her head away, about to get angry and embarrassed that he caught what she had tried to hide. But she didn't, not when he wasn't watching her with satisfaction or smugness, but understanding. It was the first time since she had seen his eulogies where his pain was visible on his face.
Things had been silent between them since that first day, so when he crossed into the room and knelt in front of her she wasn't prepared for him to clasp his hands together and begin to weep with her. Seconds of disbelief ticked by as she tore down the assumption of what his attitude would be with her, replacing it with his actions instead. As always she had expected the worst, but he had saved her, fed her, never hurt her or yelled at her in their time here. With the realization that she was trapped down here with a man who would not punish her when she felt she actually deserved it - needed it - finally she let him see, as he let her see. Her face crumpled and she allowed herself to be heard as she hung her head and choked on her anguish. She didn't know how long they cried together for.
After that he had let her move from the floor to the bed. If she had to go to the bathroom she would call for him and he would escort her to it, but that was the only time she was uncuffed. He really had nothing to fear, she wasn't keen on spending the apocalypse going insane on her own with no one to talk to. If anything she feared him, sometimes the way he looked at her made her think he was contemplating what to do with her, but in the end he never did anything. He should really just kill her. It would make things easier on him. Instead he remained infuriatingly gentle with her, but Grace must have started to go crazy because she found herself wishing he would give her a reason to be angry.
They were on the second week, now.
She couldn't hear him, but it was probably getting close to the time he would stop in and sit near the bed, reading excerpts from his book. Those were good moments, a break from the quiet of her own breathing in her ears. Their shared mourning must have been a step forward, and as small a step it was she was grateful. His voice was soothing and she soaked up the words, eager for something to focus on besides her self loathing. Sometimes she would cry, he would brush her hair back with a look akin to pity, and continue reading.
Another day alive when she had doomed everyone else. How could she have known? Grace had just seen what she thought was injustice and tried to stop it. By doing so she had brought this upon everyone. Every single decision she had made in her life was analyzed over and over, like watching a train wreck in slow motion and not being able to stop it. In the stillness of the bunker, stuck in one room, there was only so much she could occupy her thoughts with before they circled around and tormented her.
When those thoughts became too overwhelming, mostly at night when she could not fall asleep, Grace would break down into gut wrenching sobs. She would thrash and yell, throwing a small tantrum that stretched out her unused muscles. Guilty and stir crazy, she'd break the still quietude that made her want to claw her eyes out - she would call out to Joseph. She would ask him to kill her, tell him to just end her, letting him know how sorry- I'm so sorry- she was and that she was hell incarnate. Not deserving of the life he had saved by bringing her with him. It was impossible for him not to have heard her, but he never came, letting her tire herself out until she slipped into sleep.
Some nights were the a little better when she could feel the reverberations from more blasts when she was trying to sleep - really, how many bombs did it take to ruin everything? But on those nights Grace would press her spine against the wall, willing herself to feel every undulation as if she were on the surface. But those instances were getting fewer and fewer, the war outside slowly ebbing into bleak nothingness.
On the fifteenth day she woke up and yelped in surprise, opening her eyes to the sight of Joseph standing over her with his head tilted. She almost missed those obnoxious yellow aviators as his blue eyes bore into her with a look she couldn't decipher.
He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a wet cloth, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing her hand. Confused, she opened her mouth to say something but found she tasted copper and salt. Blood? She looked at her fingers as he took the cloth to each one and wiped the dried red fluid off them. Grace blinked, befuddled. Had she gnawed on her fingers last night? When he finished he looked over the damage on her wrists from the cuffs, considering. Moments later he let her hand go and she felt the warm, wet cloth start gently wiping the blood from her lips and around her mouth.
Grace couldn't cry anymore, not now at least. Last night had been a particularly energy-depleting outburst. He made no mention of it, eyes on her lower face as he cleaned her.
"I'm sorry." She croaked. He paused for a moment before finishing up and taking the cloth away, leaving her in the room once more without a word. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pleaded to whatever higher power there was to help her. Help her heart, help her mind from slowly driving herself into guilt ridden insanity. There was no answer, except for Joseph walking back in with the key to her cuffs and finally setting her loose. Grace lay there as they looked at each other, him waiting to see if she would immediately lunge for him, and her for him to change his mind about letting her move freely.
She lay still, non threateningly. Eventually he left again and she could hear him moving around the kitchen to put together another bland-tasting oatmeal breakfast. Grace sat up, moving her arms around and stretching them blissfully, just having that movement restored gave her a rush of dopamine. Her wrists were sore and irritated but it could have been worse, she hadn't struggled against them except when they got pulled during her tantrum-sob sessions.
Swinging her legs off the bed, she slowly stood up, bracing an arm against the wall as she got familiar with the motion again. When she was steady she paced some slow circles around the room, joints crying out in relief. This was a definite step forward, the foundations of trust had been laid. They would tentatively trust each other not to kill one another.
-----
"If I am the hell that followed the white horse, then why did you save me?"
They sat on the couch next to the fish tank, the room dim except for the blue light emanating from it. Some cards lay strewn on the coffee table in front of them, earlier that day Grace had found out Joseph was better at rummy than she would have thought. He looked up from his book and lowered it into his lap.
"One must not hate their enemies, but love them. I will love you like the family you are to me, now."
"But I killed your actual family."
His muscle in his jaw ticked, eyes hardening at her. Oh, had she touched a nerve? Lately she hadn't been able to shake the urge to trigger him somehow. To get him to hurt her, punish her. Grace had fallen into a routine: eat together in the morning, listen to him read from his teachings, look through Dutch's books, get beaten at rummy, dinner, cry self to sleep. She had thought being given the freedom to wander about would make her feel better, but nothing was.
She didn't feel anything when she ate, or read a book, or fed the small fish in the tank. Everytime she did something to try and make her heart lighter, her brain was quick to remind her that she had taken an oath to protect people and had failed utterly. Grace had just wanted to be a good cop, to stop criminals and help out people who needed it. It was the one thing she was passionate about, and it was gone. Royally screwed up by her misguided actions.
Joseph said nothing to her, bookmarking his page with his thumb and leaning forward to touch his forehead to hers like she had seen him do with John.
"I forgive you." He whispered tightly. Standing up, he left her alone in the room. She listened to the bubbling of the fish tank water and bit at her lower lip, worrying at it hard enough until it started to bleed. Grace lifted a hand to touch where she felt the warm blood trickle onto her chin. She stared at the crimson on her fingers and willed herself to feel anything at all except misery. Joseph was willing to forgive her but she could not forgive herself. It was not enough to be accepted by only one of the hundreds she had let down.
That night before bed she had searched for some rope while pretending to actually care about organizing the sacks of oat and rice on the long racks in the front hallway. When she found some she stashed it under her mattress and went right back on to finishing up what she started. Joseph came round and helped her lift the last few sacks, looking approving of her finally taking on something productive.
If she could feel anything it all it would be shame, because he actually looked relieved that she had taken it upon herself to do something besides wallow away into nothing. It almost made her feel bad for leaving him. Almost. But he would see it was for the best.
A few hours after they had retired for the evening she slid the hidden rope out and stared blankly down at the length of it in her hands. She had been considering many different options, but this one seemed the most reasonable. Joseph had locked away anything that was blatantly a weapon, like the her service pistol, kitchen knives and various sharp tools, into the safe in the radio room. If she broke the glass mirror in the bathroom to get something with a sharp edge, then he would hear it. He had also kept the medicines in the small infirmary under lock and key, so no chance there.
Grace had all but given up hope on killing herself until she had spied this rope. It was perfect. It may not be a quick way to go but it would be silent enough not to draw attention. She knotted the length into a proper hangman's noose, making sure it was tight enough not to come undone. It took her a minute to figure out, mostly just used to different fishing knots. There were pipes along the ceiling of her room that extended through all the halls to supply the bunker with water. So carefully, as not to make much noise, she carried over a wooden chair into the center of the room and stepped up onto it. It took her a few minutes to get measurements right, low enough for her to put her head through and still have length to wrap around the pipe.
After everything was ready she stood on the chair for awhile, listening to the sound of silence throughout the bunker. She imagined Joseph sleeping on his cot, the dead world above them, the faces of her friends. If there was really a heaven then they would all be there, she just wasn't sure where she would end up.
"The world is on fire and it's your fault." She whispered to herself, and brought the rope around her neck.
-----
What happened next happened so quickly that recalling every moment was difficult. Grace remembered the rough rope biting in the the skin of her neck, pulling and choking at her. She willed herself to keep her arms down, but her legs instinctively kicked out when it was clear that air wasn't making it to her lungs. The chair she'd used got kicked away, clattering on it's side to the floor. The metal pipes groaned under the new weight, but held fast.
Her vision swam, black spots appearing and disappearing again like dark phantoms of the fairy lights she saw in the bliss. Her lungs burned, heart beating wildly in her chest and there was sudden a stab of fear cutting through her - the first thing she had felt besides misery for weeks. She would have laughed if she could. As her sight left her she heard the door slam open - followed by a yell of fury resounding in the small room. By the time she felt his hands grabbing onto her she had slipped into unconsciousness.
-----
Prayers, fervently whispered into her hair. Raw, shuddering sobs. She heard the voice of the Father, wondering for a moment if she had succeeded. If she was dead and this was the afterlife. Her cheeks felt wet, but she wasn't crying. There were droplets falling onto her face from above her, the smell of sweat and the warmth of body heat against her cheek. She slipped away again.
-----
Her throat felt like it was on fire, it hurt and burned, aching even when nothing was squeezing it anymore. Grace didn't know how long she had been passing in and out of consciousness for when she finally tried to blink open her eyes. With a start she realized she could breathe, inhaling a raspy breath through her mouth. She felt herself being rocked back and forth, gathered up in Joseph's arms. His chin rested atop her head, his loud cries sounding like moans as he despaired. His hands gripped her tightly, digging into the skin of her arm and thigh as he clutched her close to him.
Her limbs felt tingly, specifically her arms. How long had she hung for before he had found her? Long enough to lose feeling in her limbs, which now pricked and tingled as oxygenated blood rushed through them once more. Grace did her best to keep her eyes open, feeling a few more of his tears upon her forehead. Between sobs he was praying, sometimes taking his hand away from her arm to stroke at her hair. She couldn't make out the words, they were a jumbled mess in his sadness.
Taking another strained breath she licked her dry lips and tried to move her fingers.
"J-Jo-" Her voice cut out, only able to get a the first bit of his name. She tried again with the same result, but he heard her that time. He pulled back and looked down at her, giving her a good look at his face as well. His blue eyes were nearly drowned behind tears, they streamed down his cheeks and dripped off of his chin. He had some snot around his nose, his lips mouthing her name a few times before he looked up towards the heavens and closed his eyes tightly - keeping her cradled to his chest as he praised God.
"Thank you, Lord, thank you. Oh Grace, my Grace..."
Grace focused on the sweet feeling of air entering her lungs. So she had failed after all. It seemed the God that spoke to Joseph wasn't willing to let her take the easy way out. She closed her eyes again and turned her head into his chest, letting his rocking carry her to sleep.
-----
It would be awhile before she could make sounds without her throat hurting. Slowly but surely, with Joseph's tending, the rope burns on her neck faded. But there was obviously some damage to her vocal cords and the muscles in her neck that made speaking a challenge. It would be longer, still, before Joseph felt comfortable enough to her alone for more than a few seconds. If she tried to communicate with him he would just tell her of God's plan, of Eden and the future they would create together.
Her depression had become muted in the months after her attempted suicide. Pride wounded by God's intervention in her plans, she resigned herself to living with her pain. She would read Joseph's book, listen to him speak, play cards with him and eat their meals together. Grace decided that despite everything there would now be a chance for her and Joseph to go topside and create a New Eden. One where she could try and protect people again, even if it was from people like herself.
His Word gave her hope, and she clung to him in those next years, accepting God's judgement and Joseph's love. When the world froze over above them, the bunker was cold. One night she slipped into his bed and shared his warmth. His lips soothing her trembling ones as they eventually found comfort in one another. He sang her praises and told her she was meant for him, meant for this. She believed him.
When they emerged after the seventh year the only thing she had asked him for was a mask. If she had to look at what she had wrought she wanted a one so that she may feel new in their flock's eyes. They went to his old compound, John's bunker, and any other location where they might find faithful waiting for the Father. And when Joseph found a beautiful tree with spiraling branches, pink blossoms and ripe apples, he took some of the bark off of the trunk and made her a wooden mask as she had wanted.
Everything he did was good, it was right. The Voice would guide them in the coming days to rebuild. She would stay by his side always, never straying too far. Grace remained silent as a shadow while protecting Joseph and casting his blessed judgement in the new world they found themselves in. The one they would build together.