Chapter Text
Tommy's exhausted, he’s hungry, he’s limping, and he’s overall just fucking cold.
He ran out of food a few days ago, and he’s had no luck with hunting. He’s realized much too late that he does not have the appropriate outerwear for a Wyoming Winter, and the fucking toes on his left foot are freezing because of the hole in his boot.
He’s out here in bumfuck nowhere Wyoming because on his way up from Austin, he’d heard rumors of some sort of community out here trying to make it on its own without FEDRA, and since he was no longer with the Fireflies, he figured why not take a look and see if it was real.
But now Tommy’s kicking himself because he only has a vague idea of a location for this place and no plan on what to do if he doesn’t find it.
He’s not going back to the Fireflies so that he can be a terrorist masquerading as a freedom fighter. He doesn’t need to make that mistake more than twice. He is definitely not returning to Boston so he can watch his brother, the man who had basically raised him, become more of a monster than he’d already been when Tommy left him seven years ago.
So if this place doesn’t pan out, Tommy is high and dry with nothing else to keep going for.
Tommy’s never been the type to give up, but the years since the outbreak have started to wear on him, and he feels like it just might be easier to lie down in this heavy snow and let himself drift off to sleep.
Maybe he’ll get to see Sarah before he has to make his way down to hell, where he belongs.
Tommy tries to shake off the image of his niece's face as he pulls his bag up his shoulder for what feels like the 100th time today. The one strap had broken yesterday when he’d gotten his foot caught on a tree root hidden under the snow and ended up rolling down the hill he had been trying to make his way down, thus his limp.
At least he still has his Rifle, but he’s only got two bullets left, and he’d lost his pistol last week when he’d slipped into the river her was trying to cross and taken a dunk under the cold waters. He’d only managed not to freeze to death because he’d found a lovely indigenous couple in a cabin nearby willing to feed him and let him stay with them until his clothing had dried out by their fire. Maybe he should say the wife was nice enough. The husband hadn’t been too keen on letting him in, but ultimately, his wife had won out.
They had tried to dissuade him from going West with stories of mysterious bodies showing up on the river's borders in that direction, but Tommy had just thanked them kindly and continued on his journey.
Now he wished he had listened to them. At this point, he’d take some crazy raiders to fight if it meant he could get more bullets. If not, at least they might give him a quick death so he doesn’t have to keep trudging towards the nothing that seems to be all there is out here.
That’s when he hears the hoofbeats and realizes he might not be as ready to die as he thought. He goes to grab his rifle but admits he’s already surrounded by a group of ten horsemen with masks, and his best bet at this point is just to raise his hands and try not to look threatening.
“I ain’t lookin’ for any trouble,” He calls out.
“Drop your weapons, and then get your hands up.” A woman in the front of the group says, pointing her rifle at him.
Tommy slowly drops his rifle on the ground by the strap and puts his hand back in the air.
“Have you been near any infected?”
“No, Ma’am,” Tommy responds. It seems like the woman is the group's leader since the rest of the people on the horses are looking at her. Suddenly she pulls her horse closer to him and seems to lean forward. Tommy almost wants to step back under her intense gaze, but he stands his ground, afraid of what might happen if he makes a wrong move.
“What’s your name?” She asks.
Tommy’s gotten into the habit of not giving his name out since working with the Fireflies, but what has he got to lose here? It's not like there is anyone out here who could possibly know him.
“Tommy, Tommy Miller.” He says.
He’s shocked when the woman jumps down from her horse and removes her mask. A memory from long ago creeps out of the recesses of his brain of a woman with beautiful brown skin, a gorgeous smile, and a commanding presence. Time has been kind to her in that she has only a few more wrinkles on her face than she did the last time he saw her, but she’s just as beautiful as she was on that day almost seventeen years ago when he’d knocked out the man who’d attacked her while she was waiting tables at the bar.
“Maria?” Tommy asked, lowering his hands just a little.
“Yeah. Tommy, it’s me,” and there it was, that megawatt smile he remembered.
Shit, maybe his luck was turning around.