𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗬 𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦

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SHE AWOKE at midday with the sun hot on her face, peeking through the blinds. Hardly ever had it felt so difficult to peel her eyes open. There was this burdensome weight to her body, as if it were part of a sinking ship. Her head throbbed. She pressed two fingers to her temple, groaning. She was seeing stars.

Her squinted eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. Twelve thirty. She blinked.

"Fuck!" She pushed the thick covers off of her and scrambled to the bathroom. She teared off her clothes—scented with liquor and a perfume that wasn't hers—and began her routine with alarmed swiftness.

Blake had told her be at the station by eight in the morning. Eight in the fucking morning. She was more than four hours late, on her first day. She didn't know what that entailed — if she became wont to perform in a bad quality, would they kick her out of the town? The most she could get in Jackson was an earful from Tommy, but she had no ties here, wasn't privileged nor her place secured in any way.

While changing, she tried to recall some of the events from last night. She failed to register any coherence. Her memories were muddled, as if they happened by dream and not reality. There were misty faces, familiar voices, yes, but everything was scrambled and the only thing she remembered as clear as day was the loudest music she'd ever heard.

In a previous time she wouldn't have bothered eating anything before leaving, but right now she couldn't afford skipping meals. She prepared and devoured a sandwich as fast as she could. Being late already; might as well eat.

It was smoldering hot outside once she took off. The sky was bare, cloudless, only complemented by the prying sun, which struck her face so brightly it worsened her headache. She didn't bother running toward the station — there was a line that one crossed while being late, where one just resigned and let things unfold. She had surpassed it.

The station appeared before her after ten minutes of walking. She went in, relieved at being shielded from the outside heat. There were more people here today than last time. It was Monday, so perhaps that meant something. As soon as the receptionist saw her, he beckoned her to get closer.

   "Hey, newbie," he called. She walked over to him. "To Blake's office immediately."

   "I already knew that."

   "Just in case," he went back to silence.

She started for the door to Blake's office, and wiped the beading sweat off her brow before stepping in.

It was wonderfully fresh inside the room: the large windows were open and a gentle breeze was blowing through them. The pleasant atmosphere didn't dissipate the tension Ellie felt in her bones, though.

The head of the St. James family was—as always—sitting on the desk, writing something down on a small piece of paper. She didn't acknowledge Ellie's presence until she was done and put the paper away inside a drawer, after which she motioned to the leather seat in front of the desk.

   "Take a seat."

Ellie sat down, and spoke up before Blake could do it again:

   "I know I'm late, and that it's damn irresponsible. It won't happen again."

Blake stared at her for a moment with those tired, dark eyes. After a few seconds she simply gave a small shrug.

   "I'll let it slide because it's your first day. Don't worry too much about it," she replied. "I wanted to speak to you about something else."

Something else? Ellie frowned a little, quizzical. She said nothing, allowing the other to simply unfold.

   "I'm supposed to accompany on your first day, as is always the case with newcomers. But I have decided to leave you to the care and guiding of my best man instead."

   "Why?"

   "You want me to leave you alone, do you not?" She folded her hands on top of the desk. Ellie was nonplussed. What the fuck is she talking about?

   "Where did you get that from?"

   "You said it yourself last night."

   "I did what?"

   "You were in a deep drunken state. It's understandable that you don't remember."

Ellie's mind was swirling, she tried to scour it for any semblance of clarity, but nothing came. She just saw a faint flickering light and a wide, empty street.

   "I said that?"

   "Not exactly. You said: «Leave me alone, fucking pervert»."

Ellie was aghast. She clenched her jaw, teeth gritted. She had no reason to doubt Blake's words — she knew she had been drinking and it was clear she had gotten drunk based off the looseness of her memories. What she couldn't comprehend was why she had said that. It was true that their last interaction had left her deeply unsettled and uncomfortable, but she knew it was more on her fault than Blake's.

   "Holy shit..." she finally uttered. The horror was plain on her face.

   "I take no offense by your words or feelings, you are entitled to however you may feel," Blake said. "But let me make something clear, because it seems you didn't understand it the first time." She leaned forward. "My actions the other day did not come from a place of lust. I'm sorry that you felt uncomfortable, but I won't have you believe nor insinuate again that I'm some sort of... sexual deviant, or whatever it is you think. I respect my workers too much—and anyone else for that matter. From now on, if you still feel at odds about me, please keep it to yourself. And I would recommend not letting Aaron give you any more liquor."

   "Fuck, I really don't... Just forget..."

   Blake cut her off with a hand. "I'll, once again, let it slide because you're new. Just wanted to put it out there." Even though Blake had all the right to be upset, she never let go of the composure that came with her demeanor. No screaming, no insulting, no frowning, nothing. Unchanging — as if she had just been speaking of the weather.

Ellie was mortified and this time she couldn't even hide it. She brought her hands to her face and groaned into them, in utter disbelief of her foolish, drunken acts. Her flesh was ablaze. The clock on the wall ticked away amidst the dense silence.

   "That is all," Blake continued. "Please wait in the hall for Tyson, who'll be arriving shortly."

Ellie, at last, looked up. She waited for a moment, considering her choices, before nodding and standing up. Once at the door, though, she hesitated.

   "Yes?" She heard the other ask.

   "You know," Ellie turned to her. "I'm sorry. And I don't actually mind if you come with me."

   A silent beat, before Blake answered: "I'd rather not. Allow me to doubt the truth of your words, considering we've gotten off to a bad start."

Ellie put a hand on the doorknob, resigned.

   "However," the other went on, which made her stop for a moment. "I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't needed. All was forgiven from the start."

   "... Thanks."

   "Have a nice day."

Ellie exited the office. Outside, she released a long exhale, walking to nearby chair. Why was it that every time she entered that office she would be met with the most uncomfortable moments ever?

A tall man of color entered Blake's office, followed by a sweet-looking, honey-haired girl. A few minutes after, they came out and approached Ellie. She had been staring off into nothingness, arms crossed, unconsciously frowning. Her eyes drifted up to him. He was a bulky man, wide-chested, with a clean goatee and dark aviator glasses.

   "Hello," he stuck out a hand for her. "Name's Tyson. You'll come with us today."

The young girl waved at her, offering a shy smile. She was slightly red-faced. Ellie took the man's hand and he pulled her to her feet after shaking it.

   "A pleasure," he said.

   "Yeah. Uh, same." She replied, and looked over to the girl. "To you too."

   "Thanks, likewise."

Tyson led them to an underground parking lot, full of vehicles, and toward a black car. It was well-kept, clean, like all the others.

   "Do all of these work?" Ellie motioned to the rest of the cars.

   "Yes," Tyson replied, opening the door for her and the girl. "We have lost vehicles before, of course, but we have disposed of them." They entered the car.

   "Where do you get the fuel?"

   "All these vehicles run on Diesel. Homemade. Y'know, the Sanford family," he looked at her through the rear view mirror, and must've seen her clueless face. "Aaron not tell you about them?"

   "Probably did," she crossed her arms and looked through the window as he began driving. "I think I forgot."

   He chuckled. "The Science Guys, we call them. Their base is at Sanford Lab. We owe much and more to them."

   "Sounds cool."

   "I have a friend from the Sanford family," the girl interjected. Ellie turned her head to her. "His name's Miles and him and his family are incredible. Sometimes he takes me there to show me stuff. I'm Emma, by the way."

Emma? Ellie felt as if she'd heard that name before, but couldn't find the source of this inkling.

   "I'm Ellie."

Tyson drove them out the town and up a winding hill. The ride was nice. It had been some time since she'd sat in a car. The vibrations were relaxing, and the wind on her face even more. Looking to the outside, she found it surprising how clean every area was. No infected in the slightest. At some point during the ride Tyson had told her they'd cleaned everything up — but that sometimes they had to deal with hordes appearing once in a while.

   "They never truly end, these things," he had said, with a tone that spoke of fated doom.

Emma spent the entire ride fighting sleep, waking up abruptly after seconds of slumber and trying to convince Tyson she had not been snoring. Their bickering was entertaining.

The arrived at some sort of square-ish build, bricks bare and greying. It was entirely surrounded by a metal fence. Tyson parked and they left the car. These posts, as Ellie grew to know, worked very similarly to the ones in Jackson: It was paramount that you logged your time and date of visit, along your name and companions; the building had an upper part from which you could see some of the other posts. Unlike Jackson, though, Ellie found them to have quite an useful feature — there was this red button toward the top, that when pressed, would bathe all the posts in red light. These buttons were only ever to be used in the case of utmost emergency, to beware other posts of the situation.

The place itself and its immediate surroundings were clear, although the wide path that led to the nearest post was slightly disturbed by infected. Tyson wanted to clean it out, and thus they went, him up front and the girls in the rear. He had given Ellie quite a comfortable assault rifle — all the guns had silencers, which made the deal much more orderly. Like Ellie had first thought, the adrenaline rush was welcomed into her with delight. It had always been like this. She found her thoughts to be a bit more spread out — there was space to breathe.

Once the coasts were clear, they returned to the post. Tyson went up the stairs to the third floor, and busied himself with scrutinizing each crevice of the outside using a sniping rifle. Ellie remained downstairs, writing about the day's events in her journal — she drew the mantle clock in Blake's office, as best as she could from memory; and the thickets that lined the post. She didn't try to sketch anyone yet, for fear of disservice.

"What you doin'?"

Ellie closed the journal. She stashed it in her backpack and turned to Emma who had approached her, doe-eyed.

"Just some scribbling."

"Don't worry, I didn't see anything!"

"It's fine."

Emma shifted on her feet a little, before walking to one of the metal chairs that were scattered across the room. She sat on it, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her lap — like a proper little lady. She seemed to ponder upon something.

Ellie leaned against the wall, arms closed in a tense stance, and looked out the window to her left. The sun shed a passionate light, weaving its molten fingers through the coverts. A tender breeze brushed her skin.

   "You've been the talk of the town, you know?" Emma, at last, spoke again.

   "I figured," Ellie replied, hands finding her switchblade and toying with it.

   "Hm. I get it now — you're so pretty."

   Ellie's eyes drifted to her, briefly; there was a vague sense of warmth upon her cheekbones. "Uh, thanks."

   "Don't worry, though! I'm not flirting with you," she sighed in a dramatic manner and gazed into the distance. "You're not my type. My heart belongs to someone else... Tall, dark and handsome."

Ellie was amused by her reply, the corner of her lips quirking upward just slightly. That description reminded her of someone. Then, as if she had asked for confirmation, Emma went:

"It's the head of the St. James family, by the way."

"Wait, Blake?" Ellie blinked. "She's who you like?"

"Oh, yes," she said dreamily. "She came by and helped me build a birdhouse the other day. Always so kind, so giving! I have never met such an intricate soul."

   "Jesus," Ellie put the switchblade back in her pocket. She didn't know why every situation always turned to that person. It's like the town itself revolved around her. "Theatrical."

   Emma sighed once more. "It's intense."

   "Can see that," Ellie crossed her arms again. "Why don't you tell her or something?"

   "Well, I've liked her since I was thirteen. 'Cause she's like... the coolest person ever, but she's never shown interest in me. She says she's too old for me," she laughed humorlessly. "But I won't give up yet!"

Old?

   "How old are you?"

   "Eighteen! Freshly turned last month."

   "And how old is she?"

   "Well," she let out another faint laugh, placing a strand of honey hair behind her rosy ear. "She is a little on the mature side... But what does it matter in this horrible world?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow at her, prodding her to continue. With a wistful sigh, Emma revealed:

"She's twenty-seven."

   "What?!"

She's pushing thirty?

Emma didn't seem to notice that her shock wasn't because of her interest in someone older, but due to the age itself. She quickly tried to justify her attraction:

"It's not..." Her face was red. "It's not that serious! She's still a young soul."

Ellie furrowed her eyebrows. Of all the ways she could describe Blake, "young soul" would not make the cut. She was the opposite, in her eyes — a more tired, mature, wise sort of thing.

"What do you think?" Emma asked, a hesitant glint to her eye. "It's not that bad, right? I'm already eighteen."

Ellie shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Depends on the person, I guess."

"I know I can win her over! I will," she settled, and Ellie knew the discussion was over. Why did she even ask if she was gonna be this stubborn?

Ellie turned to the window and stared out once more, thinking many things. A fuzzy memory came to her, of Dina and her and their conversations on patrol.

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When it was time to go—the horizon dyed a sweet tangerine color—, Tyson walked down the stairs with a worried sort of countenance, and more silent than before. Emma tried to get something out of him as they walked to the car, but it was futile; he gave no explanation as to why the stark change of demeanor, and merely terminated the conversation by saying it was something he needed to discuss alone with the head of family.

The drive back was imbued with a charged, displeasing silence. Ellie felt a little intrigued, but not enough to utter a word.

After being dropped off at the station, Emma and her bid goodbye to Tyson and walked together only until their paths bifurcated. Now on this silent walk, Ellie let some reflexions pour out. She felt more satisfied with herself now that she had actually done something — she couldn't deny she was eager to settle into a busy routine. These days, too, she had been itching to paint. A crushing weight pressed itself on her ribcage whenever she remembered all the pieces she had left behind at the farm. It still felt very much unimaginable that she veritably forsook it all, no matter how truthful it was. She had to fill her space with new paintings, somehow — bring color to her new memories, place her current life onto canvas.

She turned a corner, absorbed in her thoughts, cold hands deep in her pockets. In doing so, she almost crashed against someone. A cyan flannel was all she could see for a moment, before she stepped back, eyes drifting up. Aaron smiled down at her, lifting the palms of his hands. Beside him was a girl who looked too much like him.

"Sorry," Ellie said. "I was distracted."

"It's fine! We were actually looking for you," he rounded the girl's shoulders with an arm. "This is my sister, Emélise. She made these delicious, to-die-for cookies, and she wanted to give you a batch."

Ellie's lips parted slightly, in surprise. She looked to the girl. Something about her was familiar — and not just because she looked like Aaron.

"Hey, you been doing good?" She asked, with a smile that was nothing if not wolfish. There was a slight sharpness to her face that Aaron lacked; whereas he looked friendly and approachable, she looked beguiling and intense. Before Ellie could reply, Aaron interjected:

"I didn't know you guys had met."

"Oh, yeah, we did, at the party," answered his sister, not tearing her eyes off of Ellie for even the most meager of seconds.

"Did we?" Ellie felt lost, like there was a thing she was failing to figure out.

"Yes." The girl tilted her head, abruptly serious. "You don't remember me?" She quirked her mouth in a way that seemed to splash Ellie with a bucketload of freezing water. That peculiar gesture brought a disorderly jumble of faces and feelings to her head. She cognized, now. This was the girl she had been making out with. She felt her ears go red.

"Er, fuck, we did."

"That was rude, silly," the sister jested, but it seemed humorless.

"Were you that wasted?" Aaron asked now, looking sort of guilty.

"I guess."

"Must've been the boot..."

"Anyway," Emélise turned the attention to herself again, offering up a small basket of woven straw, covered up by a white napkin. "Here they are. I hope you enjoy them."

Ellie took the basket from her small hands, slowly. She couldn't help but smile softly. "Thanks. That's nice." It had been a long time since anyone had taken this kind of detail with her.

Emélise smiled as well, eyes almost entirely closed. "Goodbye, then, Ellie."

"Goodbye, Ellie," Aaron placed a hand on his sister's back and waved to her as they began walking away.

"Bye," she faintly whispered, and looked down at the basket in her hands.

She ate the cookies that same night, right after dinner, and found them to be delightful. She found a small note deep in the basket, that read:

"I hope we can pick it up where we left off. Good eating.

—Kisses, Emélise."

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DEADWOOD

Writing this story is so fun lol
Thanks for reading.