"How're you doing this morning?" Charlie asks timidly, and Emma grits her teeth.

"Fine," She replies gruffly.

"Really fine or just 'angry' fine?"

"'Wish you'd stop asking me how I'm doing all the time' fine."

Even though her anger isn't directed at me, I flinch. It's been five days, and Emma's still just as angry at Charlie now as she was when Jackson and I met up with her and Paul. I can't exactly blame Emma for being mad. I've, to no one's surprise, cried a lot when I thought about just how many people were hurt or killed by Charlie setting off that EMP to save me.

I had thought the thing that's still in my head would have just killed me, because if I died and it destroyed my brain stem, I would be useless to Lawrence, and it would have put a dent in Soleil's plan. I thought that was why Charlie was apologizing...

I know it's self-preservation instincts, but it doesn't make me feel any better knowing I felt a bit relieved when she said she was setting off an EMP instead of blowing my brains out.

Charlie sighs, half out of annoyance and half out of guilt. "I'm sorry. I just... I can try to explain it all again."

Emma's face puckers in anger. "There aren't really any explanations that will help, Charlie!" She runs a hand through her hair. "I've got to take some time with it, okay? Me and Paul got captured. They were talkin' about doin' something weird to my brain, which wasn't what I expected when I agreed to do you a favor. There were prisoners in that place we were held too. They were doin' bad things to them.

"I even thought I saw Jo at one point. I think they're doin' some kind of testin'. There was a lot of screamin'. And then we get out and we find out you've shut off the whole of Europe, and probably killed thousands of people. So, forgive me for needing some time to process it all!"

"Guys!"  Jackson shouts, and Emma and I both jump. We thought he and Paul were traveling behind us. When did they catch up? "Could we do this later? The Burn is at our heels. We need to find some place to lay low."

"Jackson's right," Charlie says, which causes Emma to scowl. "There's uh, I think-yes. There's a farm up ahead. A house, a few outbuildings, a barn."

I wrap my arms around myself, biting on the inside of my cheek. "Are we sure we should stop? I mean, that would give the Burn a chance to catch up. I know that... we don't have anyone tracking us now, but... don't we need to get these devices to Geneva before some mysterious thing that is somehow even worse than thousands of people dying happens?"

I don't like the smug look that appears on Jackson's face. "We'll be doing that in style, Eva-"

"Don't call me that," I snap, harsher than I meant to. It appears neither of us have forgotten what Foster said, even though I've tried to. I've been trying to block every bit of that from my brain. I don't want to think I could have possibly been involved and just can't remember it. She had to have mistaken me for someone else.

And the picture... I can't explain it, but just because I can't doesn't mean there isn't an explanation.

Jackson tsks but doesn't argue. "Anyway, we'll be getting out in style as long as we make it to our rendezvous in two days. CIA's sending a chopper for us."

While Paul and Emma exchanged shocked and awed expressions, I simply stare at Jackson with furrowed brows. How did he manage to contact any of his people in the CIA after the EMP? And why are they willing to let us use a chopper to get to Geneva when Jackson doesn't trust Charlie? He may see the Burn as a worse enemy, but I don't see why he would be willing to help us get this military tech to Geneva when he doesn't trust the person we're listening to.

I don't say anything, but I make a mental note to ask Jackson some subtle questions about this chopper, and why the CIA is alright with helping us when they don't know why we need to get these devices to Geneva or what Charlie is going to do with them.

I let out a sigh, hating how skeptical I am of everything now. I've always been a bit paranoid, but I used to be a happy person, a more trusting person.

But trusting Lawrence is what nearly got me killed, and it got Stanton killed. No one's really talked about it, but we all know things would be much easier if she was here. She was mean and bossy, but she knew what she was doing most of the time. And I think she would know better than I if Jackson was hiding something from us.

"I can't quite believe it," Paul says with wide eyes. "A helicopter?"

Emma nods in agreement. "It just doesn't seem real."

Jackson still has that smug look on his face. "Believe me, it is. You're precious cargo. We want to get you where you're going as safely as possible. But the rendezvous is fixed for two days from now."

Paul hums. "So, we need somewhere to hide for the night?"

He nods, looking at the little house and barn about a half a mile away. "This looks like a pretty safe place to hole up for a little while. Just 'til the soldiers go past."

He's right. It looks like a nice, maintained little house. Although Charlie hasn't claimed for it to be one of her safehouses. That means if it's maintained, it might mean it's not abandoned, which could be a problem. We can't exactly just barge into a stranger's home and expect them to let us stay for two days.

"Walker, there's something off just a few meters ahead, just off the side of the path. Can you see it?" Charlie asks, and I squint. There's a sort of depression in the ground.

"Give us a minute, Jackson," I say, and although he doesn't look happy with my request, he stops when Emma and I do. I cock my head to the side at all the churned-up earth. "What do you think it is?"

"Could an animal have done it?" Emma asks Paul, and he shakes his head after examining it for a moment.

"No. It's too big."

Jackson crosses his arms, blue eyes unimpressed. "And uh, animals don't usually use spades. Look at the straight lines. Someone was trying to dig something."

I inhale sharply in realization. My throat burns.

Emma blinks. "What? Like a flowerbed or somethin'?"

Paul looks at her in sympathy. "Emma..."

"No," He replies. "Something a little bigger than a flowerbed. These things are normally six feet deep."

The color slowly drains from her face, her jaw going slack and her eyes widening in horror as it hits her. Paul notices and grabs her hands.

"Come on. It looks like the trees open up ahead. The farm can't be far. We should keep moving."

He drags her off before she can really say anything, and Jackson doesn't seem interested in studying the attempted grave any further, so he moves along as well. I trail behind them, my stomach turning.

It's not the first time I've seen death since all this started, but that doesn't make the knowledge of one any easier. It's painful and scary. If someone was digging a grave, it obviously means someone died, but we have no idea how. They could have been murdered. We could be walking into hostile territory.

I clench my fists to keep them from trembling. I should have known the five days of semi-peace, of not being on the brink of death, wouldn't last. I wish I had savored that time a bit more. I'm beginning to see what people mean when they say to be grateful for the little things.

Jackson and I end up catching up to Emma and Paul. Emma's doing a poor job at swallowing down her terror, but I'll give her credit for trying. It's not like I'm doing any better. With how hard my heart is beating, I'm surprised it hasn't given out. There's been so much death since this all started, and the more I think about it, the more I can almost taste the blood in the air.

My shoulders shake as I take in a deep breath, trying to keep calm and focus on my steps, where I am. It's something my therapist told me to do when I got overwhelmed. He said focusing in the now keeps you from worrying about the past or the future, and that one is gone, and the other is determined by what we do in the present. He's always been good at keeping me calm, even if some of his methods concerning my hallucinations are a bit... harsh.

"Walker, Emma, I'm seeing something up ahead," Charlie says, and I tense. "There's someone in one of the fields near the road you're on. Whoever it is, they're not moving... This doesn't feel right."

I bite my tongue, wanting to ask when any of this has ever felt right.

Emma nods slowly, her brows creased. "Okay. Let's take it slowly. It could be a trap."

"I have an idea," I say. "Jackson and I can stay on the path. You and Paul can head around the edge of the field. A sort of-"

"Pincer movement," Jackson finishes, looking at me both impressed and surprised. "I like it."

"Just be careful," Charlie urges, and Emma purses her lips, not saying anything. A second later, she and Paul are walking off. Jackson murmurs that I should keep my eyes peeled as we continue walking again, but I mostly ignore him. "Walker, don't let on, but I've been running some more checks on Jackson."

I quirk a brow in interest.

"I've drilled down into the deepest databases-military, intelligent services, you name it. There's not a shred of data on him. I know he's CIA, so of course he'd keep his tracks covered, but I've never seen a cleaning job so thorough. Jackson's work must be some seriously secret stuff."

Dread settles into my chest like dead weight. If his work was seriously secret stuff, and he was sent to befriend me and the others because of the devices, then why is he and the CIA just going to fly us to Geneva without asking more questions first?

"There," Jackson whispers, pointing over to a hunched-over figure. The figure straightens a second later, and Jackson grabs me and drags me into the hedges. The rustling gets his attention.

"I see you!" The figure shouts as he starts stomping over to us. As he gets closer, I can see the deep wrinkles in the older man's face, although I can't tell if they're from age or rage. "I see you right there in my bloody bushes."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Great. We're hiding from a freaking curmudgeon."

"Get off my property right now! Go on! Get lost!"

Jackson sighs and helps me out of the bushes. "Come on, Walker. This is dumb." He raises his hands to show he means no harm. "Easy there, old man. We're just trying to find somewhere to rest-"

He stops when the old man grabs the shotgun he'd been holding at his side, pointing it at Jackson.

"Woah there!" I choke in panic, although all that does is get him to aim the shotgun at me.

"I said go away!"

"Sir, I am an agent of the US government," Jackson warns, and I shoot him a glare. "Place you weapon on the ground immediately or there will be consequences. That's an order."

I groan internally, shrinking back when I see the rage in the old man's eyes.

"Oh, an order? Bloody Americans! What good are your orders now, aye?" He looks at me. "Let me guess, you're an American government official who has orders for me too?"

I shake my head frantically. "N-No! I mean, I'm American, but not a government official, and you're the one with the gun, so I don't think I'm exactly in the place to give orders."

I send a cold look at Jackson as I say that last part.

The old man huffs. "At least you're got some sense about you. But still, you're both coming back to the house. Let's see what the police say about your trespassing."

•

"Walker, be careful," Charlie warns. "Skin changes tell me that man's heart rate is through the rood. He could snap at any minute."

I keep silent, knowing that's my best option. I don't want to antagonize him any further than Jackson has. My dad told me CIA agents always had their own little power trips, but I didn't think Jackson would be so stupid as to say some shit about his position to a man who is clearly unstable and has a loaded weapon.

"Where's he taking us?" I whisper. "All I see are fields."

"There's a barn up ahead, and a house a bit further on."

"Walker!" Emma shouts, and my eyes widen and snap towards the sound of her voice. "What's going on?!"

"Stay back, Emma!" Jackson shouts just as I whisper angrily,

"Charlie, why didn't you warn her?"

"I'm sorry! I was too focused on making sure you didn't-"

"More of you!" The old man snarls, although I see how pale he's gone, how he's shaking. "You all need to stay where you are! Just stay back! Just... please leave us! Leave me be!"

His voice is wavering, as if he's fighting to keep it steady. His hands are trembling so badly he can barely keep hold of his shotgun.

Emma stands beside Paul, nodding slowly. "Look. It's okay. We'll leave your farm and be on our way."

I look at Jackson hopefully, but that hope dies when I see the stony look on his face as he leans to whisper to me, "I won't turn my back on a man with a shotgun." As expected, he pulls a pistol from his waistband and points it at the old man, who was distracted by Emma and Paul. "We're doing nothing, sir, until you lower your weapon."

The man turns to look at him. Have his eyes always been this red and puffy?

"Or what? What're you going to do? Are you going to shoot me? Leave me dead like you did her? Is that what you want? Are you going to kill me too?"

Paul looks at us in confusion. "What's he talking about?"

"Just drop the gun, sir," Jackson demands.

"Guys, shut up!" Emma yells, glaring at Jackson. Her features soften when she looks at the old man, who's trembling so badly he looks like he might fall over. "Are you alright?"

He shakes his head, his face crumpling as tears start to fall from his eyes. "I couldn't save her!"

He falls to his knees and sobs, the shotgun slipping from his hands. Jackson dives to grab it.

"I've got the gun," He says, and I glare.

"Forget the gun!" I head towards the old man, who's still sobbing. Emma's already kneeling at his side, her hand on his shoulder as she promises we aren't going to hurt him.

"It's Caroline," He cries. "My Caroline. She's... the barn. I couldn't help her. I couldn't do anything."

Before I can kneel beside him, Paul is grabbing my arms. "Did you see his fingernails?"

"What about them?"

"Full of dirt, like he's been clawing at the ground."

The man sobs. "Oh, Caroline..."

Emma looks at Jackson. "Help me get this man to his feet. We'll take the short way 'round and get him back to his house."

Jackson nods, although he still looks skeptical, and he goes to help Emma. Paul looks at me.

"I think you and I'd better check out the barn. Whatever the old guy's upset about, I think we'll find it there."

I look at the sobbing man as he's practically dragged along by Emma and Jackson. Each ragged breath he takes is followed by an agonizing wail. I watch him for a moment longer with furrowed brows, unsure if I should feel pity for him, but doing so anyway, before walking towards the barn with Paul.

We don't say much. Paul was kind enough to not ask many questions when it came to what happened in Man-o-War, despite how shaken up I was. I did show him and Emma the picture, telling them the truth, that I know it's me, but I have no memory of the place or the devices.

I wish I could have told them I was not the Walker picked for this and that I got the device by mistake, but I can't really do that with Charlie now constantly with me. And I, unfortunately, can't risk digging the audio device out from the base of my skull.

Paul hums when we reach the barn, eyeing it with a studious gaze. "Wait here a moment. I know barns like this. We had one at the..." He trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. "We had one where I grew up. There's a back entrance. I'll go in that way, so we'll surprise anyone who's in there."

I nod, watching as he walks off around the other side of the barn and disappears.

"Just watch your step in there, Walker," Charlie warns. "I can't quite see what's inside the barn, and who knows what traps crazy old shotgun man left lying around?"

"I don't think he's crazy," I reply.

"He's hysterical."

I frown. "And I've been hysterical multiple times since this all started. Do you think I'm crazy too?"

She doesn't say anything, and I scoff to keep from revealing how much her silence hurts.

"Oh my God!" Paul suddenly shouts. "Walker, get in here!"

"What did I tell you?" Charlie says as I open the front barn doors and rush inside. A terrible smell hits me, and I clap my hand over my nose. I skid to a stop when I see what's lying in the hay.

"Sorry, I... I didn't mean to startle you," He says, his posture stiff. "I walked in, saw... that."

"Oh..." I mutter. "Who puts a corpse in the barn?"

By the look of the body, the woman can't have been dead for too long. She's not decomposed enough, although the smell indicates maybe a few days.

"Look." Paul points to her left hand, and on her finger is a wedding band. "This is why he was freaking out. This must be his wife."

"His wife?" Charlie repeats, switching to the device's speaker so Paul can hear her too. "The shotgun wielding lunatic keeps his dead wife in the barn? You must get out of there. God knows what he's going to do to you."

Paul rolls his eyes. "No need to be so worried. I don't think he did it. I can't see any obvious injuries on her."

"And a shotgun wound would be pretty obvious," I state, and he nods in agreement. Sympathy stabs me in the chest. "Poor thing."

"Can you just... Walker, can you just get to where I can see you again?" Charlie asks, and my jaw clenches in annoyance. Her pestering is starting to be a bit much.

"Is something going on at the house?"

"Well, no. Emma and Jackson have everything under control, but... I don't know. I don't trust that man. This whole situation, it doesn't feel right."

That statement gives me the same 'there's something I don't want you to know' vibes as the phrases of her wanting me to not look in the rooms of Man-o-War. Paul must know I'm going to argue, because he quickly speaks up.

"Come on, Walker. We need to ask that bloke some questions, don't you think?" He gives a tight smile when I nod. "Let's go."

"Yes," She agrees. "You need to get moving. Grab Emma and Jackson and get away from here as fast as you can."

My shoulders stiffen. She's definitely hiding something. Either that or that man is an actual danger, since she's kept dangers from us as well since she 'didn't want to worry us.' I remember her telling me and Lawrence that when the bankers had captured Paul, Emma and Stanton just before they captured us.

I cringe at thinking about Lawrence and Stanton. I've spent the last few days going over it, now that it's had time to sink in. None of us have really said anything about it. I don't think any of us know how.

In a way I'm glad, because it hurts to know that Stanton's dead, and that Lawrence is a traitor. The others are probably angry like they were when they thought Lawrence was betraying us to Jo, but me... I'm sad, angrier at myself than Lawrence because I trusted him so easily. And there's something else, something that I can't tell the others.

Deep down, when it comes to Lawrence...

I miss him.

And the guilt of it is eating me alive.

We make it back to the house fairly quickly. It's a nice little house, one story, enough for an old couple to live in. I'm sure it feels a lot bigger to the old man now that he's alone.

He, Emma and Jackson are on the porch, sitting on a little wicker bench with flower-patterned cushions. He looks calmer now, but there's still so much anguish in his eyes, so much grief.

"It's okay, George," Emma says soothingly. "Just take it easy."

"I didn't mean to frighten anyone," He blubbers. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I was so lost a-and scared-"

"It's alright." Her green eyes flicker to us. "You found his wife, I suppose. Did Charlie tell you how she died?"

"Emma, I was just telling Walker that you need to get away before something horrible happens-" Charlie starts, but she's cut off.

"You did this, Charlie. You killed her."

I gasp, and Paul looks at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"The EMP. It didn't turn off the power grid. It hit everything."

"Now just stay calm, Emma," Jackson says, and he gets a glare in reply. I've never seen Emma look so angry. Her features only soften slightly when she looks back at me and Paul.

"Everything. Every little thing. Caroline had a pacemaker. That little stunt caused it to shut down, and then a few hours after that, she died. The EMP killed her."

I cover my mouth with my hands as Paul mutters a curse in shock.

"I'm so sorry, George," He says.

George sniffles. "I thought she'd drifted off, her head resting on my shoulder. I thought she was sleeping. Just... sleeping."

I let out a shuddering breath before I speak. "So... the half-dug grave by the driveway?"

Emma nods. "His own wife's grave. George was trying to dig it, but he wasn't strong enough. He couldn't get any help. No one came to look after him or take away the body, all because of the EMP." Her lips curl back into a sneer. "Are you hearing this, Charlie? Are you really listening? Do you realize what you've done?"

"I'm sorry," She replies, although her tone sounds more defensive than remorseful, and I'm glad she's switched back to just our earpieces so George doesn't have to hear this. "What more do you want me to say? I had no idea this was going to happen. I wasn't thinking of the consequences-"

"Do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking we need to fix this as best we can."

Jackson frowns at her. "We can't waste any more time-"

"We're not goin' anywhere. Not yet," She responds. "I saw a meadow a little way ahead of the river. A better place for your wife to rest, George. But we're going to need a couple more spades. Come on. We've got a funeral to arrange."

•

"We met as children," George explains as Jackson and Paul lay Caroline's body into the grave we've dug. Her gray hair is fanned out in the dirt, against her baby blue cotton blouse. I did my best to pick the hay off her when we retrieved her body. It was the least we could do since we can't take the time to build a casket for her.

"I'll never forget how she chased me down on the playground. Slapped me hard. Can't say I didn't deserve it." There are tears in his eyes as he laughs. "But I never deserved her love. Fifty-three years at her side. No one deserves that much happiness. Goodbye, Caroline."

He picks a spade and shovels the first bit of dirt onto her body. It looks like it physically pains him to do so, so Paul and I do the rest to spare him from any more heartache.

"We'll stay with you, George, as long as you need," Emma states.

"Within reason," Jackson adds, which makes Paul pause in shoveling dirt to look at the man in shock.

"Jackson!"

He sighs heavily, not seeming disturbed by the other man's disproving tone. "Yeah, alright."

"This is weird," Charlie mutters, to which Emma scowls.

"Not now, Charlie."

"No, I mean... I've never seen anyone get buried before. I've seen pictures, but never... It's all so final, isn't it? When someone's gone, they're gone." There's a long moment of silence. "I really am sorry. If-if there had been any other way, anything at all, I would've done it."

"You've got a lot of work to do before I'll believe you."

I continue shoveling, only stopping when I realize Paul still isn't helping me finish up, even though he's no longer scolding Jackson. Instead he's just looking at the grave, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, and his eyes snap to me.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just remembering the last funeral I was at. My grandfather's. It was... difficult."

I flinch. "Oh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have had you help me dig-"

He cuts me off with a shake of his head. "Oh, no! No, it's silly. Nothing like that. I was thinking about my dad and how he didn't care. His own father lowered into the ground. The whole thing was weird. I tried to tell him that I loved him and that I was there if he needed me, but all he said was, 'Alright.'"

"That sounds a bit harsh." Emma cringes, and Paul nods.

"That was my dad. Anyway, the whole thing made me realize it was time to move on from it all. The-the whole family thing."

She frowns at that, but Jackson pipes up before she can give Paul a reply.

"Guys, I hate to say it, but time's a-ticking."

My jaw clenches in irritation. Didn't he say our rendezvous was in two days? We were planning on staying here for the night anyway before we ran into George, so what's his sudden rush?

"I'm beginning to miss where you pretended to be an idiot hiker," I mumble.

"So, you've got to be moving on?" George asks, and Jackson nods.

"Before too long, yeah. We need to keep a low profile and... I think we made too much of a splash around here."

He simply chuckles. "Always so serious, you Americans. At least let me cook you dinner before you go. And I have uh, I noticed those earring type things you've got on, Walker. And you, Emma."

We both tense as Emma stammers out a response. "These? They're nothing. Just a little fashion."

"I know what they are," He replies, and I almost have to stop Jackson from reaching for his gun. "There was a woman around here a week or so ago, asking about those things. Said I should send a message to her if we saw anyone with them. She was a bit odd though. I reckon I've got something that might help you, as you've been so kind to me. Come with me just up the hill. I've put it in my old workshop."

Confused but curious, we follow him as he starts walking off. It only takes us a few minutes before we reach his workshop, a little shed that connects to the back of his house, with a wood door that creaks when he opens it.

"Funny lass, she was, asking about those earrings."

"Name of Marianne?" Emma asks.

"Or she might have called herself another name? French word?" Paul adds, but George shakes his head as he heads inside, and we follow.

"No, not that. I can't remember. But she was very insistent on wanting to talk about those earpieces you're wearing. Said they were connected to some kind of device, and that the whole country was at risk if I didn't get in touch as soon as I saw them."

Jackson's mouth tightens. "Must've been the Burn. We'll have to watch ourselves if they're turning the local population against us."

"Thing is, I probably would have trusted her, but there was something odd about her," George hums.

I cock a brow. "Seemed like the kind of person who'd join a cult-like army and try to destroy the world?"

He blinks at me. "No, more uh... She was fine. Nice, straightforward, good girl, right up until she saw a picture of my daughters on the fridge. We had two girls, me and Caroline. I have a photo of them when they were small, holding hands. She looked at it and she... something went funny withher."

"How do you mean, funny?" Jackson asks.

"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd sort of say she, for a bit there, seemed like a little child. No more than seven or eight. She even drew a picture. That's what I wanted to show you." George grabs a piece of paper from an old wooden work desk and hands it to Emma. We all lean closer to her to get a good look at it.

Paul whistles lowly. "Wow."

It's a picture of two little girls holding hands, one labeled 'Charlie' and the other 'Soleil'. The drawing is amateurish, but the features of the girls are just like the ones I've seen in my visions with Foster looking at them.

But the worst part is what surrounds the girls. It's a bunch of disembodied hands, all holding sharp knives.

"Charlie," I say, describing the picture to her. "Do you know what this could be about?"

"I... I don't know," She says, sounding genuinely confused. "I don't know..."

A/N: Here you go, guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please be sure to vote and comment! Thank you and have a blessed day!