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Rook followed the trail away from the camper cabins and the anachronistic, culturally insensitive decorations, and all the bodies they didn’t have time to bury, ignoring the bone-deep ache in their legs and keeping their rifle at the ready. Clearing out the main campsite would mean nothing if there were more Peggies stationed further up the mountain, waiting to take it back, and that counselor cabin Sharky’d mentioned would be an excellent vantage point for returning Resistance to keep lookout. So, that was it. A job needed doing, and as much as their back and nerves and everything was screaming for rest, they couldn’t quit until it was done.
So their boots slipped across the fine gravel trail, and their aching lungs filled with the smell of pine and sun-drenched stone, soured with the undercurrents of sweat and blood that even showers and changing clothes couldn’t dispel. Sharky was tired too, lagging a few yards back and diverting the energy usually spent mouthing off towards the climb. They chanced a look over their shoulder and couldn’t help but laugh at the aggrieved slackness of his mouth.
“What’s the matter, Shark?” they teased, waving their elbow at the distance between them. “Don’t want to be close to me?”
He snorted, flashing them an exhausted grin. “Nah, Dep, just-just enjoying the view from back here.”
“That’s not fair.” They came up to a hairpin turn and groaned, tackling the steeper incline reluctantly. “You gotta move in front so I can have a turn ogling.”
“Dude. My heart is ‘bout ready to bust as it is,” he panted. “Can’t go faster’n this. Had a hundred Peggies taking shots at me today, and this fuckin’ hike is gonna be the thing that does me in.”
“You gotta stop?” they asked, finding a relatively level stretch and leaning against a tree trunk, wiping their forehead. “We can take five if you need it.”
He shook his head, managing the slope with a heroic grimace. “I stop, I’m stopping for a good three or four hours. Probably gonna black out, too. Gotta power through.”
“You’re a champ, babe.” They waited for him to catch up, then ducked in under the bill of his cap and kissed his flushed cheek. He laughed, turning a deeper shade of red, his free hand reaching over to catch theirs, squeezing briefly before pulling back to adjust his shotgun strap.
They smiled, a slight burst of energy reinvigorating their tired limbs. Couldn’t be much further, after all—rest was close. Or death. Either way, at least they wouldn’t have to move.
The trail wound around the hill face, opening over a fast-flowing river. The sun was glaring down—a merciless fixture in the clear blue sky, the light and heat beating down on Rook’s shoulders with physical force as they squinted against the brilliance. A narrow bridge stretched across the emptiness between their hill and the next one over, and the coward within them quailed at the distance. Surely the cabin wasn’t that far off.
Below the sound of rushing water, the grainy crunch of their footsteps, and the sweet, brief trilling of invisible birds, they caught something else. Low and brown, a melancholy burr. They touched Sharky’s shoulder to slow him down.
“Careful—you hear that?” They whispered, and waited while he listened, but he returned a perplex shrug. “Guitar. I think.”
“If it’s that whiny ‘Help Me Faith’ bullshit, things are gonna get ugly,” he shot back in the hoarse stage whisper that was as quiet as he could manage.
They nodded, taking point and readying their rifle, edging further along the path and doing their best to peer around the turns before committing. The notes became more obvious, and they could pick out vocals as well, although the individual words were still indistinct—a slightly nasal tenor that cut through the air, singing something sad and slow. The occasional streak of calloused fingers changing chords, the tremulous hesitation of a vocalist who wasn’t sure they had the lyrics fully memorized, were such undeniably human and painfully normal sounds, that Rook sagged against the rocky cliff face, swallowing against the sudden lump in their throat.
Not a Peggie song. They didn’t know the title, but they were sure they’d heard it before. They slung their rifle over their back and trudged up the last few legs of the trail. Sharky had apparently arrived at the same conclusion, because as the weathered wooden eaves poked into view overhead, his arm linked with theirs, fingers twining with unspoken familiarity.
They walked around the side of the cabin, the view of the valley and glittering river opening up before them. Despite the heat, a small fire was lit in the cookpit, crackling cheerfully on its diet of once-white jacketed copies of the Word of Joseph while the guitar player they’d heard sat on a stump nearby. He nodded at them, but didn’t pause his music. Two other resistance members stood close to the cabin, holding onto each other and revolving slowly, the corpses of two Peggies piled unceremoniously behind them. They didn’t look up as Rook and Sharky approached, clearly lost in this rare moment of peace.
Sharky squeezed their hand, and when they looked over, he was smiling. He tilted his head at the dancing couple and raised an eyebrow. They grinned and nodded, stepping in and gently embracing him, relaxing as his arms curled around their back while the music played. They rested their head against his, eyes sliding shut, and focused on the pounding of his heart and the heat rising from his skin, and the familiar bunching of his cheek as he smiled. They craned their neck, planting a kiss behind his ear. Tasted like salt and sweat.
“You smell so bad, dude,” Rook whispered, and grinned at the shudder of his back as he laughed.
“You smell like where bad gym socks go after they die,” he mumbled back, hugging them closer and nuzzling against the short patch of hair at the side of their head.
They laughed, harder than they really meant, but there was a wobbly feeling in their chest, sunk deep in the middle of a vast gray cloud of fatigue, and laughing was the only thing that was preventing them from being swallowed by grief and fear. He must have caught the edge of it, and held them tighter, humming along to the stranger’s song and letting them focus on the buzz of his chest.
“Love you, Shark,” they said, voice thick and inadequate.
“Love you too, Dep.”