Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Delilah needed a hard drink. Or two. Or three.

That was what she kept telling herself as she drove her dusty old pickup into the city limits of Missoula. Her hands flexed on the well worn leather of her steering wheel. After an hour and a half of barreling down the highway well over the speed limit, she was relieved to be so far from Fall’s End.

Two months - that was how long it had been since Delilah had joined the Hope County Sheriff Department. Before that was three months at the police academy. And she had yet to write her first parking ticket. 

When Whitehorse found her and took her under his wing she never would have guessed he was such a mother hen, but damn . 

The other deputies, Pratt and Hudson, got to have all the fun. Well, maybe fun wasn’t the right word. Whatever they were up to, it was better than paper pushing at her desk for weeks on end. 

Pratt was lucky her shift ended when it did. If she was trapped in the office listening to his whining one second longer, she would have knocked his teeth out.

Delilah navigated through Missoula’s narrow streets. Her destination was a bar nestled in the midst of the historical district. Its muddy red brick walls were an eyesore compared to the other quaint businesses and shops on the rest of the block. 

She pulled her truck into the back lot and killed the engine.

Flaking green and purple paint on the back wall spelled out the bar’s name: The Horny Toad .

The joint was a certified hole in the wall - a gathering place for Missoula’s rowdier patrons. Amongst the locals it was known for spawning brawls. Her office never dealt with the calls since it was out of their jurisdiction. Still, the occasional snippet of gossip would drift over to her corner of Hope County.

Whitehorse would chew her ass out for even setting foot in the parking lot. Not that he ever needed to know.

Delilah unbuttoned her shirt - the only discernible part of her uniform - and tossed it on the passenger seat. The bright yellow “Deputy” patch would get her a few suspicious looks. She’d just go in her white undershirt. Blend in better with the locals that way.

She hopped out of her truck and pocketed her keys. Drizzle came down from the overcast sky. Delilah shivered against the chill of moisture on her skin. She walked across the lot and through a narrow alleyway that led to the front of the building, skirting around a dumpster as she went. 

Her boots clumped on the warped wooden stoop. Overhead hung a neon sign of a chubby toad with a bow tie and matching top hat.

A small chiming bell announced her arrival as she pulled open the door. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside. Hazy cigarette smoke wafted overhead, a blatant violation of the no smoking sign on the wall. Waitresses bustled between tables, trays of food and drinks balanced on their shoulders. Most of the crowd was crammed shoulder to shoulder at the bar. 

Some rough looking patrons glanced over their shoulders to size up the new arrival. It wasn’t long before they turned back to their drinks.

Good . 

Sidestepping through the maze of people and tables, she made her way to the cash register at the far end of the bar. Blocking her way to the register was a big burly man. He wore a jean vest. On his back was a patch of a skeletal hand flipping the bird. 

Charming . 

He was turned away from her, guffawing with his buddies and swirling a glass of scotch in hand. She cleared her throat to ask him to move, but he paid her no mind. 

Delilah elbowed him out of the way.

“Hey, watch it,” the man snarled and spun around, his scotch sloshing in his glass. He paused when he found Delilah next to him. His sneer turned into a toothy grin. “‘Scuse me darlin’. Didn’t realize it was you that bumped me.”

Delilah turned away from him, leaning over the scuffed counter. She caught the eye of the bartender, a middle aged woman with graying hair pulled back in a low ponytail. 

“Give me a couple shots of Jack Daniels and a Bud Light.”

“Sure thing, hon,” she rasped.

A whistle came from her right. “Here to party?” the man asked.

Both women ignored him. Delilah pulled crumpled cash out her pocket and passed it to the bartender. 

The man made a show of turning back to his buddies, bumping Delilah’s shoulder with his elbow as he did so. She gripped the edge of the bar to keep her balance and clenched her jaw.

Don’t make a fuss. She released a slow breath.

Six months ago she would have knocked him on his ass.

The bartender set out the shots and a Bud Light, condensation already dripping down the side of the bottle.  Delilah wrapped her hand around the beer, letting the chill of the glass cool off her temper.

“Hey,” the bartender said, “don’t you mind Ted. He’s got a big mouth, but he’s harmless.”

Delilah gave a noncommittal grunt and threw back a shot. She breathed for a moment, savoring the burn, before downing the other. A wave of heat spread from her throat to the depths of her chest. Just what she needed.

“Need anything else, hon?”

“No, thanks.” 

She turned her attention to the rest of the room, looking for a quiet corner to spend her evening. There were none, of course. So she stayed at the bar, nursing her beer and ignoring her noisy neighbors. 

As time passed, the shots had their intended effect. Tingling warmth spread from her chest to her limbs, simmering beneath the surface of her skin. A silly smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She was half tempted to find a group and join in on the fun.

Her newfound enjoyment didn’t last long. 

More and more patrons piled into the bar, eager to get wasted on a Friday night. The atmosphere went from cozy to downright suffocating. Every chime at the door introduced more and more bodies to the mix. Her spot by the cash register was usurped by incoming customers, forcing her to stand closer than she’d like to Ted and his buddies. All of the newcomers clamored for the attention of the bartender who maintained a blank disinterested stare through it all.

Someone got the bright idea to throw a roll of quarters in the jukebox. Country music blared from the overhead speakers, the bass rattling her teeth in her skull. People had to yell just to be heard over the racket. 

Delilah’s smile dipped to a grimace and then a full on scowl. Now she remembered why she didn’t get out anymore.

She debated dumping her beer in the parking lot and heading back to her apartment. Just as she stepped away from the bar, the sea of the crowd parted and she caught a glimpse of a booth across the room. It was tucked back in the corner. Isolated. Entirely out of the way. The red glow of an emergency exit sign illuminated the seat against the wall. 

By some sort of miracle it was empty. 

Delilah made a beeline for the booth, a welcome sanctuary from the raging storm of the crowd. A few people shot her nasty looks as she stumbled a bit too close to their tables. It didn’t matter. She reached the empty booth and slid onto the cushion, her jeans creaking against the stiff red leather. 

Now this was what she-

“Hello,” a man’s voice said.

Delilah whipped around.

Much to her chagrin, the booth was not empty after all.

Across the table leaning against the wall sat a man in a pristine white collared shirt and black vest. His beard was neatly trimmed and his long brown hair was pulled up into a bun. He watched her expectantly through a pair of yellow tinted aviators, eyes bright and curious. 

“Uh,” Delilah said stupidly, her buzzed brain struggling to form an apology. Her train of thought was derailed when she noticed the white leather book in his hands. A black cross was etched into its cover. “Is that a bible?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It seemed he was pleased with her question. “Yes it is.”

“What, are you a preacher or something?”

“Yes I am.”

She blinked, taking a moment to gauge whether or not he was serious. When she realized he was, she snickered. 

“Is something wrong with that?”

“You do know this is a bar right? Not a church?” She leaned on her elbow and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Not really a good place for a holy man to hang out.”

His eyes followed the motion of her hand. “Actually, it’s the perfect place.”

“What about, you know, all the dirty drunks and sinners?” 

“Actually, I’m here to reach the sinners.”

“By hiding out in a corner?”

The man leaned back and steepled his fingers atop his bible. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His thin muscular arms were littered with an array of tattoos and… were those scars? Delilah swallowed thickly. 

What was it with men and their sleeves rolled up that was so hot anyway? And the tattoos?  

Her cheeks flushed and it had little to do with the alcohol coursing through her system.

“I obey by being in the right place at the right time. God does the rest.”

“Ah, I see. So God told you to hide in the corner.” She smiled and took a gulp of beer.

He nodded. “More or less. And now I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

Delilah narrowed her eyes, sizing up his intent. “You gonna give me a sermon or something?”

“That depends. Are you willing to listen?”

Ah . There it was . Delilah's smile turned rueful. The booth creaked as she slid to the edge of the cushion and rose from her seat. “Sorry, preacher. Not today.”

His hand snaked across the table and wrapped around her hand on the bottle. She stiffened, alarm bells ringing in her head. The grip on her hand was light, the pads of his fingers brushing her knuckles. 

His glassy eyes bored her. “I understand. I used to be a lot like you.” 

“Yeah?” Her smile fell.

“Before you go, I just want you to know God has a plan for you.” 

There was something in the look he gave her, a glimmer in his eye that was so open and earnest. For a moment Delilah wished she could believe him. Instead she pulled away.

Her lips parted while she searched for the right thing to say, but the words wouldn’t come. The conversation needed to be over anyway. She turned her back to him and melded into the crowd.

He didn’t follow.

A gaggle of frat boys had taken her previous spot by the bar. At the other end of the room, however, a high top table sat empty. Well, mostly empty. Its previous owners had just left. The tabletop was covered with dirty plates and balled up napkins, but Delilah didn’t care. She planted her butt in the seat and went back to nursing her beer.

It was stupid to admit, but the preacher had gotten under her skin. Probably not in the way he wanted. He unwittingly echoed the same crap her foster parents had been feeding her all those years under their roof. Ever since she’d gotten out of that house, she’d made a point to stay away from people like her parents. People like him.

Repeated glances over the shoulder told her the preacher hadn’t followed her. The booth she had just come from still appeared empty. Despite that she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Must be her imagination.

“‘Scuse me.”

The sound of a new voice made her jump. She turned and found the man from earlier, Ted, standing next to her. 

Earlier she hadn’t bothered to look at him. Now she noticed the confederate flag bandana wrapped around his sweaty forehead and the dingy wife-beater he wore under his vest. He still had his glass of scotch and his other hand rested on the back of her chair. 

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he said. “Do you come here often?”

Delilah pursed her lips. Something about him struck a nerve that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. And it didn’t have anything to do with the dumbass bandana. “Not interested.”

“What, you can’t answer a simple question?”

She took another sip of her beer. A glance at the bar told her his buddies were nowhere in sight. They must have called it for the night.

“C’mon, can’t a guy make small talk?” The table rattled under her elbows as he took the chair opposite her. There was a thunk as he set his glass down on the table.

Delilah fiddled with the bottle in her hand, refusing to look at him. It was almost empty. That was a good enough excuse to get up and leave. Or smash it over his head, if need be. 

The smell of alcohol on his breath wafted across the table and into her nostrils. 

Her eye twitched.

“Y’know I’ve got some sorta thing for redheads.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw clumsy fingers reach out and pinch one of the tresses by her ear. 

In an instant her hand snapped to his. Her thumb jammed into his palm while she pushed on his fingers. Each joint popped as she pressed them back too far. 

He yelped and thumped his elbow against the table. His glass tipped over. Scotch dribbled onto the floor. 

She hadn’t broken his fingers. Not yet. But it wouldn’t take much. Just a little bit farther and she’d feel the snap as each finger gave way. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she said.

He yanked his hand out of her grip and stumbled out of his chair. “Bitch,” he spat through clenched teeth.

“Is there something I can help you with?” One of the waitresses materialized from the crowd. She locked eyes with Delilah. Both women exchanged a knowing look.

Ted muttered something about needing to take a piss. He turned and headed for the restrooms, massaging his hand as he went.

That was her cue to leave.

Delilah gave the waitress permission to clear the table and headed for the door. She took one last glance at the booth where the preacher was sitting. A few college kids were crammed into the seat Delilah had taken before.

She scanned the crowd, wondering if he had found a group of sinners to pester. There was no sign of him.

She pulled open the door and went outside. Cool night air refreshed her senses, washing away some of the lingering buzz from her drinks. She found peace in the gentle breeze, the muffled din of the bar behind her. Until she got a whiff of herself. 

The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol clung to her clothes. She wrinkled her nose. They needed a wash as soon as she got home. 

Delilah rounded the corner of the building and walked down the alleyway, fishing in the front pocket of her jeans for her truck keys.

A hand came out from behind the dumpster and wrapped around her throat. Delilah gasped, but it was cut short when her back collided with the brick wall. She wheezed as the air fled from her lungs. Someone pressed against her gut, pinning her to the wall. The warm stench of alcohol billowed over her face.

“Leaving already darlin’?” Ted asked.

She sucked in as much air as she could, ready to let loose a scream.

His sweaty palm slapped over her mouth. “See, I thought I recognized you. Took me a second, but I figured it out. You’re that deputy bitch that runs around with Staci Pratt. Does that sound about right?”

Her eyes widened. 

“That little prick cost me half of my last paycheck with that ticket he gave me. The way I see it, he owes me. But since he ain’t here you’re the next best thing.” 

Ah, shit. She was going to give Pratt hell for this. But first things first-

Her teeth sank into the flesh of his hand. The metallic tang of blood washed over her tongue.

Ted yelped, pulling away his hand in a flash.

She spat in his face and kicked out with her legs, aiming for his balls. The hand she bit came back as a fist. He clocked her in the side of the head and sent her reeling. 

Delilah opened her mouth to scream again, but his hand was back around her throat, strangling her cries. She clawed at his hand. Then his face. Her nails tore into the flesh of his cheek, leaving red, raw scratches behind.

From between her fingers his eyes gleamed with rage. That gave her an idea. She jammed her thumb into his eye socket. 

He howled. 

She hit the ground like a sack of rocks and then staggered to her feet. Ted was doubled over, clutching at his eye. She grabbed his shoulder and reared back for a sucker punch. He lunged forward, pinning her to the ground. 

Gravel dug into her back. She grabbed a fistful of rocks and threw them up in his face. 

“Fuck,” he spluttered.

Delilah punched him, knuckles popping as her fist connected with his jaw.

He planted his knee on her chest and pulled back his fist. She flinched just before his blow landed. Pain exploded on the right side of her head.

She grunted, twisting and turning, trying to force him off. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head to the side. She turned with the motion, teeth snapping at his arm.

“Crazy bitch!”

He swung at her head again. She ducked to the side, hissing as something sharp grazed her forehead. Sticky warmth spilled down the left side of her face. 

She screwed her eyes shut. The weight behind his knee crushed her sternum. Delilah wheezed, fighting for air. The ragged sounds of her struggle reached her ears and drove her into a frenzy. She thrashed wildly, pummeling every part of him she could reach. 

The edges of her vision darkened and blurred. Veins in her neck were on the verge of bursting. The throb of her pulse thundered in her ears while everything else grew far away. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake him off, couldn’t get enough leverage-

His weight vanished. 

She gasped. Oxygen flowed into her lungs. The black tide around her vision receded.

A few feet away was a grunt and a dull thud.

Delilah scrambled backwards, putting distance between her and her attacker. Blood trickled down her face from the cut on her forehead. Her arms gave way and she dropped back into the dirt, coughing and heaving for air.

The crunch of footsteps on gravel approached.

“Are you alright?”

Delilah opened her right eye and found a pair of yellow aviators staring down at her. All she could muster was a groan.

The preacher dropped to his knees. He pulled a handkerchief out of his vest pocket. “This might sting.” His hand cupped her cheek as he blotted at the cut on her forehead. 

Blood soaked into the white fabric, turning it red.

“Sorry,” she rasped, throat burning from the effort.

“What are you sorry for?”

Her finger twitched toward the handkerchief as he tucked back into his pocket. “Stains.”

Instead of replying, he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her upright. Delilah did her best to stand on her own. Still, the preacher bore most of her weight with one arm wrapped around her as she swayed on unsteady feet. 

Cold wind swept through the alley. She shivered at the chill and realized her skin was slick with sweat. A glance down told her she was an absolute mess. She was covered in dirt. Her arms were littered with scratches and scrapes. A sizable welt throbbed on her head.

Ted was flat on his back some yards away. He looked about as worse for wear with scratches trailing all over his arms and face. The eye socket she’d jammed her thumb into was swollen and turning purple.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“He’s unconscious,” the preacher said. “Come.” 

Together they walked out of the alleyway and into the yellow glow of the lamp over the bar’s back door. He let her prop herself against the side of the building and cupped her face in his hands.

Delilah flinched at his touch, but he paid it no mind. He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. She stared back like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Mmm,” he hummed after a moment. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Delilah Rookwood.”

“Joseph.”

“Huh?”

“My name.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Do you need a ride home, Delilah?”

“Probably.”

“Would you be comfortable if I drove you?”

She paused. A more sober, less beat-up version of herself would say hell no. Then again that version of herself wouldn’t need a ride home in the first place. The preacher, Joseph, had been kind to her so far. If he wanted to hurt her, he could have done so by now. “Guess so.”

He put his arm back around her and led her across the lot to a shiny white pickup. He opened the passenger door for her, going so far as to help her up into the seat and grab the seatbelt for her.

Delilah mumbled her thanks. She leaned her head back against the headrest, overcome by the dull aches all over her body. Pain radiated from her sternum with each breath. Adrenaline had vacated her system, leaving her exhausted and shaky. 

Her reflection in the rear view mirror looked like hell. Strands of her bangs stuck to smears of dried blood on her forehead. Angry splotches of red and purple blossomed on her throat. Dust and dirt clung to the sweaty patches of her skin. 

Something dangling below the mirror caught her eye. It looked like a necklace. It was a simple leather cord tied around a cross - the same symbol, she realized, on Joseph’s bible. It wasn’t a typical Christian cross; its arms were an equal length on all sides, four extra points came out between each arm, and in the center was a small circle.

Joseph hopped in the driver’s side and put his key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Pull out and take a left. Then a right at the four way stop,” she mumbled, eyes never leaving the necklace. 

Something about it was familiar. Like a logo or something she’d seen before. She just couldn’t remember where.

Joseph followed her directions without complaint. Her apartment wasn’t far, just a few miles down Scott Street. Somewhere along their journey he turned on the radio. 

The station he chose sounded like gospel hymns. Delilah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he didn’t listen to normal music. On top of that it sounded like they were almost out of the signal’s range. Most of the songs were lost in garbled static. 

A couple minutes went by before it truly got on her nerves. She glanced at him, mouth open to tell him to change it, but the words died in her throat when she found him staring back. He reached for a dial on the dashboard and turned down the volume.

“Is this something that happens often?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The fighting.” He gestured to the hand that was clenched in her lap.

She flexed her fingers, feeling the ache of bruised knuckles. “Oh. Yeah.” 

He turned his attention back to the road. They came up on a red light and crawled to a stop. Traffic lights reflected on damp pavement, coloring the moisture clashing hues of red, yellow, and green.

“I didn’t start it. Not really,” she said. “I never do.” She bit the inside of her cheek, hating how much she sounded like a little kid.

“I know. I saw what happened inside.” 

The light turned green and his truck lurched forward. 

“You were watching?” 

“Mhm.”

“Oh, turn left here.”

Joseph followed where she was pointing, pulling in front of her apartment complex. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t get into trouble.”

Her face cracked into a wry grin. “Did I give you the idea I was trouble?”

“Yes. In a way.” He pulled up to the curb and put his truck in park. 

“You think I need to lay off the drinking?”

Joseph turned to face her, eyes wide and somber behind gold lenses. “I think you need saving.”

Her smile faltered only for a moment. She forced her lips back into a grin, a hollow cheerfulness that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll see you around, Joseph.”

“Goodnight.” 

Delilah eased herself out of her seat and shut the door behind her. She trudged around the front of the truck, feeling Joseph’s eyes on her the whole way. It was the same feeling she had in the bar, like pinpricks on the back of her neck. 

She took the stairs to the second floor of the complex, legs shaking from the effort. No doubt she would be sore tomorrow. 

Bright yellow beams from his truck illuminated her front door. It gave her just enough light to fumble with her keys and stick them in the lock. Only when she opened the door did the headlights pull away.

Chapter Text

Delilah sat at the kitchen table. Back then her legs were too short to reach the floor. She kicked away in the empty space between the chair legs. Mom paced behind her while she pretended to study the wood grain on the tabletop. 

Mom heaved a sigh. “I mean honestly, Delilah, what were you thinking?”

“He put gum in my hair,” she murmured. 

The chair to her right flew back with a screech. Delilah flinched.

Mom leaned over and hissed in her ear. “The principal said they might have to expel you. Do you know what that means?” 

“No.”

“If you keep pulling this crap, they’re not going to let you go back to school.”

Delilah’s small fists balled up in the fabric of her shorts. “I don’t care.”

“You should.” Mom prodded her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She clenched her jaw, gaze stubbornly fixed on her lap. 

“I said look at me.” 

Cold fingers dug into her cheeks. Mom wrenched her head to the side, forcing her to look her in the eye. “What is it that I always tell you, huh? What do we say in this house?”

Angry tears welled in her eyes, turning Mom's face into a reddened blur. 

“That God has a plan for us.” Delilah hated how her voice shook. Hated how her bottom lip stuck out and quivered.

“And do you think God wants to use someone that acts like you?”

Delilah opened her eyes. 

The kitchen vanished. In its place was the gloom of her bedroom. 

Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes. She nestled her face deep in her pillow, a vain attempt to quell decades worth of shame burning in her chest.

Hitting up a bar was the wrong choice. She should have known trouble would find her there. It always did.

If Whitehorse found out she was as good as fired. She wanted to believe he was a patient man, but that had to end somewhere. Especially for someone with a reputation as shady and messy as hers. 

Her only saving grace was the fight went down far from Fall’s End. As long as nobody tattled, she could pretend it never happened. Whitehorse didn’t know and that had to be good enough. 

Faint gray light washed through her window, signaling another rainy day. The hiss of cars on wet pavement outside told her the rest of the world was awake and moving. On her nightstand the alarm clock read 11:00 a.m.

Delilah sat up, grunting when all her injuries protested at once. With gentle fingers she traced the bruises along her throat, evidence of her attacker’s wrath.

She still smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. When she got home the night before, she’d collapsed into bed instead of changing into clean clothes. What a mistake that was. The stench had spread to her sheets and pillowcases. 

She stripped her bed and pulled off her pants (by far the dirtiest and smelliest offender) and threw the whole bundle in the wash before trudging to the kitchen.

Breakfast consisted of a lopsided omelet. Delilah had yet to develop a proper egg folding technique but it was still tasty. She sat on the couch with her meal, her bare legs sticking to the cold leather. While she ate she watched the local news on the tv. 

Rain, rain, and more rain forecasted for Missoula. She chewed thoughtfully, watching the little green cloud on the radar miss Hope County by a hair's breadth. 

Someone knocked at the door.

Delilah froze, mouth full of egg and hot sauce. 

Another knock, this time more persistent. 

She swallowed. Her eyes narrowed. Who would stop by now? Who would stop by, period ?

Delilah got to her feet, padded to the door, and squinted through the peephole.

Standing outside, distorted by the glass lens, was Joseph. He wore the same aviators and had his hair up in the same bun. A fitted gray suit jacket clung tight around his shoulders.

Struck by surprise, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Joseph?” she croaked, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Good morning, Delilah. I-” He paused, eyebrows raising a fraction as he glanced down.

Delilah followed his line of sight and realized she still wasn’t wearing any pants. She gasped and slammed the door shut.

She tore through her apartment and into her bedroom. She clawed through her pile of laundry and pulled on a pair of athletic shorts then dashed to the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. 

God, she was a mess. Red hair stuck up at all angles. The remnants of yesterday’s eyeshadow left dark smudges around her eyes. She ran her hands through her hair, scolding herself.

Idiot! How many times are you going to embarrass yourself in front of this guy?

She splashed cold water on her face to get rid of any lingering dirt. When she was satisfied she looked halfway presentable, she raced back to the door. A glance through the peephole told her Joseph was still there.

“I am so sorry,” she said after opening the door. “You surprised me. I - I wasn’t even thinking.”

He shook his head. “No need to apologize.”

“So,” she huffed, eager to change the subject, “what brings you here?”

Joseph stepped to the side gesturing behind him. “Your truck.”

Her eyes followed where he was pointing. Sure enough, her pickup was parked in the back row of the lot. Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t have to do that! How much do I owe you? I can write a check-“

He put up his hand, silencing her. “You don’t owe me anything.” He smiled. “You didn’t tell me you were with law enforcement.”

“How did you know?“

“You left your uniform in the front seat.”

She blushed. “I, uh, was just trying to lay low. My commanding officer says he doesn’t want us out drinking so much.” He didn’t need to know that rule only applied to her.

“I’m inclined to agree with him.”

She grimaced. “Listen, about last night, please don’t-“

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“You haven’t?”

“Some things are best handled privately.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Mmm.”

They watched each other for a moment.

Joseph cleared his throat. “Most of my congregation is actually based in Hope County.” 

“Oh, I see. I work for the Hope County Sheriff Department.”

“I know.”

“Ha, right.”

“We hold services every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening.”

She tensed. Not this again.

“Our doors are always open,” he added.

“Thank you for the invitation, preacher . And for getting my truck. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She tugged the doorknob.

Joseph caught the door in his hand, looking down at her over the top of his glasses. “Have a blessed day, Delilah.”

“Uh, you too.” 

She shut the door and lingered, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade.

The rest of Saturday she spent holed up in her apartment, pressing ice packs on the worst of her bruises and watching tv. Sunday was much more of the same. Despite Joseph’s oh so subtle invitation, she wasn’t in the mood to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. Nor was she willing to drive two hours to sit in a stuffy church pinned shoulder to shoulder between stuffy people.

Monday morning arrived with an ungodly blaring from the alarm clock. Delilah rolled out of bed with a series of pops from her stiff joints. By the meager light of dawn coming in through the windows, she made her way down the hall to the bathroom.

It took an extra ten minutes during her morning routine to slather on enough concealer and foundation to cover up the dark bruises on her neck. Thankfully, her bangs were long enough to hide the scab on her forehead. She’d keep her hat on in the office, just to be on the safe side. 

Outside her apartment, the surrounding cityscape was shrouded in thick banks of fog. She jogged to her truck. Goosebumps formed on her arms from the morning chill and puffs of her breath were visible in the air. When she got in her truck, she grabbed her uniform still sitting on the passenger seat.

She buttoned her shirt and vigorously rubbed her arms, willing her truck to heat up faster. As she reached to put the clutch in drive, a yellow object stuffed in the cup holder caught her attention. It was a folded piece of paper.

Delilah grabbed it and opened it. Scrawled in pencil was a phone number followed by:

If you ever need me 

- Joseph

A wave of heat crawled over her skin. 

Was he… interested?

She shook her head abruptly, cramming the note into her pocket. 

No . He was a preacher. A preacher trying to get her into church, no less.

Commuting up the long stretch of highway was duller than usual thanks to the downpour. The normally scenic landscape was lost in sheets of rain. Pattering on the roof of the cab and the sway of her windshield wipers lulled her into a meditative state. 

Despite her better judgment, her thoughts kept circling back to the preacher. The soothing sound of his voice, the gentle touch of his hands, but mostly the obnoxious way his faith intruded on every conversation they had.

Ever the disappointment of her foster family, she hadn’t set foot in a church in years. And that was by choice. Getting involved with Joseph would be like third wheeling with him and a whole congregation. 

Just the thought made her cringe. 

Maybe he’d ask her to come to church again. Knowing him, he probably would. His face would light up if she said yes. They’d meet in the parking lot before Sunday service and walk to the front door together. Maybe get some innocent flirting in. Then the crowd would turn and stare in shock when their beloved pastor brought her heathen ass through the door. Dozens of self-righteous scowls formed crystal clear in her mind and made her shudder.

As she drove through the mountain tunnel into Hope County, her fingers began to itch for the note in her pocket. Maybe she should throw it away and forget about it. It was probably for the best. 

Her truck crested the lip of Holland Valley. The surrounding hills and fields were bathed in the golden hues of early morning sunlight. A welcome relief from the clouds that had been hanging over Missoula for days. Nestled below in the middle of flat farm ground was Fall’s End.

Unlike Missoula, Fall’s End was small, quaint. Local businesses were crammed along the central Main Street. Storefronts were dated but clean thanks to diligent owners. At the southwest end of town was the church. Its steeple towered over the rest of the buildings like an old faithful sentinel. On the east side of town was the Sheriff’s Office. 

Delilah pulled her truck around to the back of the tan brick building, parking between Hudson’s jeep and Pratt’s car. She grabbed her baseball cap from the glovebox and put it on, tilting the bill down to better hide her forehead. 

Finally able to scratch that itch, she pulled out Joseph’s note and unfolded it in her lap. 

She should rip it up and throw it away.

Her fingers tensed, pulling the paper taut.

Joseph’s handwritten message stared up at her. Friendly. Innocent. The only item of goodwill she had been given since she moved all the way out here.

With a huff she folded it back up and stuffed it in her pocket. What she was actually going to do with it, she had no idea. But that was a problem for later.

She got out of her truck and went to the office.

Two steps into the back door and Delilah knew something was up. To her right, Whitehorse had the blinds of his office windows drawn. Most mornings she’d walk in and he’d give her a nod from behind his desk. Not today.

As she walked by Whitehorse’s door, it opened.

“Sir,” Delilah grunted when the sheriff himself appeared.

He barely looked her way. “No hats indoors, Rook.” He took his own cowboy hat out from under his arm and put it on.

Delilah opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She took off her cap, fixing her bangs to hide her cut.

“Yeah you should know better than that, Rookie,” came a jeer from Pratt down the hall.

Delilah ignored him. 

Whitehorse brushed past her and went to the back door Delilah had just come from. “Keep an eye on things for me, will ya Joey?” he called over his shoulder.

Hudson gave a muffled reply from the other room.

“Where are you going?” Delilah asked.

The sheriff didn’t answer. The door swung shut behind him without another word.

Delilah rolled her eyes. Typical . She continued down the hall and headed for her desk. Pratt followed, whistling as he went.

Hudson and Nancy were standing by Hudson’s desk. 

“Morning,” Delilah said.

Hudson lifted her mug in greeting. “Hey, Rook. If you want any coffee, this is the last pot. Old Faithful went and died on us.” She gestured to the coffee maker sitting in her trash can.

Nancy turned toward the new arrival, flashing a broad smile accentuated by bright red lipstick. “Good morning, sugar! If you need, I can run out to Russel’s for ya. They have the best breakfast in town.”

“I’m good. Thanks, Nancy.” Delilah took a seat.

Nancy turned back to Hudson. “Well, I better get back out front. Don’t want to miss nothin’.” She walked past Delilah’s desk, a cloud of perfume lingering in her wake.

Everything was just as she left it Friday, save for the nameplate on her desk. Someone (Pratt) had stuck a sticky note over her last name, covering up the ‘wood’ in Rookwood and replacing it with ‘ie’ in black sharpie. 

“Don’t I get a good morning?” Pratt leaned on the wall of her cubicle, cheap laminate wood creaking under his weight.

Delilah glared at him from under her bangs. She snatched the sticky note off her nameplate, crumpled it in her fist, and flicked it at him.

It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor.

Hudson snorted and tossed her dark braid over her shoulder. “She doesn’t like you, Staci.” 

He threw up his hands and made a show of going back to his desk.

A stack of reports that needed filing sat next to her keyboard. Why Whitehorse insisted they keep everything on paper, she couldn’t understand. His obsession with storing records went above and beyond legal requirements.

Delilah dove headfirst into the mind-numbing task of placing the documentation back into the filing cabinets. While she moved about the office Pratt found it necessary to babble. She grit her teeth, her patience hanging on by a thread until-

“Maybe if you file the reports real quick this time, Whitehorse will let you take a ride with us.”

She slammed the cabinet drawer shut a little harder than she meant to. The bruises on her neck ached in protest.

“You know, I don’t get why you don’t have your own squad car already. Hudson and I got ours two weeks in.”

“Staci,” Hudson warned.

“What? I’m just saying it seems a little unfair -”

“I ran into your buddy, Ted, by the way,” Delilah interrupted. “Said he was looking for you. Sounds like he wants to catch up on some things.”

Pratt’s eyes went round.

Delilah smirked. “I wonder, does the sheriff know you and Ted are such good friends?”

“Where did you say you ran into him again?” Pratt shot back.

“Just out and about.”

“Not anywhere Whitehorse wouldn’t want you to be, I hope?”

She took a step toward him. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Hey,” Hudson piped up, “cool it.”

Delilah bit her lip. She could play nice. For now. 

Pratt played it off, running a hand through his long dark hair. “Well, whenever Rook finally gets to do another ride-along, I call dibs.”

“I already called dibs.” Hudson looked up from her monitor and shot Delilah a wink. “She’d rather ride with me anyway.”

Pratt rolled his eyes.

With tensions somewhat eased, the deputies fell into silence. Clacking from Hudson’s keyboard and the quiet rumble of the air conditioner was a pleasant enough backdrop for the task at hand. Eventually, every file was back in its drawer. And Delilah was only mildly bored to tears.

On the way back to her desk she saw Pratt constructing a precariously balanced tower of old soda cans in the space between his keyboard and monitor. 

She bumped his desk with her hip. The tower tumbled down. Cans clanged against each other and bounced off the desk.

“What the hell?” Pratt yelped. 

Delilah grinned. “Whoops.”

“Whoops my a-”

“Pratt, you better get that cleaned up,” Whitehorse barked. 

Both of them flinched. Delilah looked over her shoulder, surprised she hadn’t heard the sheriff come in. 

Whitehorse stood at the door to his office, hands on his hips. And he wasn’t alone. Lurking behind him was a middle aged man with a shaved head in a navy button up and black slacks. 

“Uh, yessir,” Pratt said. 

Whitehorse shook his head and muttered something under his breath. He opened his office door and ushered the stranger inside.

Delilah turned to Hudson. “Who was that guy?”

“Hey, are you gonna help me clean this up?” Pratt whined.

Hudson shrugged. “Reckon that was the marshal.”

“What the hell is a marshal doing here?”

Pratt snickered. “You and Whitehorse haven’t told her?”

Delilah rounded on him. “Told me what?”

“Look,” Hudson said, “you should probably just-“

The sheriff's office door swung open. Whitehorse peered around the doorway. “Deputies, let’s huddle in the office.”

“What haven’t you told me?” Delilah pressed once Whitehorse disappeared.

Pratt stood up and cuffed her shoulder. “Hold your horses Rook.”

Delilah bit back some choice words and followed them into the office. 

Crammed in the center of the room was a round table and a few folding chairs. The marshal stood by the sheriff’s desk. Whitehorse was busy ripping documents from a cluttered bulletin board on the back wall. 

Delilah took a seat at the table between Pratt and Hudson. 

“This your whole crew?” the marshal asked. He smirked as he looked them over.

“All except for Nancy out front,” Whitehorse explained. “She’s on dispatch.”

The marshal gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “We don’t need her for this.”

“On the end is Deputy Staci Pratt, middle is Junior Deputy Delilah Rookwood, and then my most senior deputy, Joey Hudson. Deputies this is-”

“U.S. federal Marshal Cameron Burke,” the marshal interrupted. He flashed a smile, looking more pleased with himself than anything else. “Sounds like you all have quite a situation out here in the sticks.”

Whitehorse fiddled with the brim of his hat. “All due respect, sir, but you haven’t seen what we’ve seen.”

Delilah narrowed her eyes. She glanced at Pratt and Hudson, but they were both frowning at Burke. Was anyone going to explain what was going on?

“Oh I’ve seen a lot of things, sheriff. I doubt this’ll even make my top ten.” Burke clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He pinched the first paper off the stack and tacked it to the bulletin board. 

The slip of paper in question was a yellowed front page of the Hope County Chronicle . The title read “Project Eden’s Gate Arrives in Hope County.” Underneath was a group photo, too grainy and to make out any one person.

Whitehorse cleared his throat. “The Project first arrived in April of 2003. They gave folks the impression they were just a rag-tag group of missionaries from Georgia. Most of ‘em started out coming to church here in Fall’s End.”

“Were there any disagreements? Any tension with the locals?” Burke asked.

“Well - er - no, there wasn’t. Not at first.”

Burke tacked up the next paper; another news article. The headline read “Project Eden’s Gate Funds Veterans Center Restoration.” 

The marshal snorted to himself. “So, they restored a historical landmark?”

“Yessir, just a few years after they showed up.”

“I see. How… sinister.” Burke shuffled through the rest of the papers, reading some of the highlights aloud. “ P.E.G. Saves Local Restaurant, P.E.G. Funds Irrigation in Henbane, Project Builds New Church, Peggies Repair Radio Towers. ” Burke chuckled. “Well damn, Sheriff, it sounds like this Project is really cleaning up the place. You sure you want to get rid of them?”

“Peggies bought out most businesses, sir,” Hudson deadpanned. “Restaurants, tourist traps, construction companies.” She shrugged. “Locals didn’t take kindly to it.”

Delilah side-eyed Hudson. This was the first she was hearing about any of this.

“That isn’t a crime, Deputy,” Burke said. “But the big boys in D.C. must have believed whatever you told them, cause I got your warrant.”

“We have a few years worth of reports,” Hudson declared stiffly. “They’ve been trying to twist everyone’s arm into joining them. There have been countless claims of blackmailing and harassment. All in the name of their religion.”

“Around this time last year, a few locals up in the Whitetails went missing,” Whitehorse added. He shuffled through his documents, pulling out several photos and pinning them to the board. 

The scenes in the pictures were disturbing. Upturned furniture strewn about a room, muddy footprints tracked all over the carpet, and a small splatter of blood on a door frame. Delilah could only make out so much from where she was sitting, but amongst the chaos one detail stood out. Etched into the wood paneled wall was a black cross. Just like the cross in Joseph’s truck. And on his bible.

Delilah’s blood ran cold. It seemed so familiar then and now she knew why. She remembered seeing it everywhere. It was in the windows of businesses, on flags hanging from front porches, stuck on car bumpers, painted on silos. Something so common it wasn’t worth noticing.

“See, there’s more than one side to the Project,” Whitehorse said. “The newspaper is only what they want you to see. The rest ain’t so easy on the eyes. Those hunters weren’t the last of ‘em, Marshal. Five construction workers disappeared from the Henbane last fall. A farmer and his family - right here in the valley - up and vanished. Him and all three of his boys.”

That seemed to give Burke pause. He leaned against the desk, rubbing his chin.

“And at the center of it all is our fugitive.” Whitehorse pulled out another picture and slapped it in the center of the board.

Her lips parted, an oh shit on the tip of her tongue. Yellow aviators stared down at her, pinning her in place, the eyes behind them all too familiar.

Joseph .

“Joseph Seed.” Whitehorse tapped the picture. 

A shiver ran down her spine.

“We tried to deal with the Project on our own, Marshal, but this little sheriff department ain’t gonna cut it. They’re not your average cult. They have money, lawyers, a hell of a lot of property, and Lord knows what else.”

Whatever they spoke about next, Delilah didn’t hear them. The floor might as well have opened beneath her and sucked her into a black void. Did Whitehorse say cult? Her nails sunk into the armrests of her chair.

He knew her name, where she lived, and saw her in her goddamn underwear . He also knew her truck license plate. Hell, he’d been inside her truck. That was how he left the note-

Oh God, the note . 

Her hand strayed to her pocket, his note an unbearable presence burning against her thigh. 

He knew she was a deputy working for the same sheriff department that had it out for him. But he left a breadcrumb anyway. And because no one had bothered to tell her what the hell was going on, she’d fallen for his friendly preacher's schtick hook, line, and sinker. 

No, more than that; she’d entertained the thought of him hitting on her -

“Rookie?” Burke asked.

Delilah snapped out of her trance, suddenly aware of sweat beading on her forehead. Everyone was staring at her. Watching her drown in turmoil. She bristled at Whitehorse’s worried frown.

Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? she wanted to shout.

“What?” she asked, failing to hide the bite in her voice.

“I asked if you have any leads, Rookie .” Her nickname rolled off his tongue like an insult. 

The picture of Joseph watched her over the marshal’s shoulder, like he was staring into her soul and taking measure. He saved her in the alley. Not that he knew who she was then. But even after he put the pieces together and had more than enough dirt on her, he didn’t do a damn thing about it. She just didn’t understand why.

Some things are best handled privately , his voice whispered in her ear.

Was that a threat? Or a hint?

Her fingertips brushed past the hem of her pocket, ghosting over the folded piece of paper.

“No,” she lied. “I got nothing.”

Chapter Text

Whitehorse knocked his knuckles against the top of his desk. “Hudson, why don’t you take Pratt and show the marshal what we’ve got on file? I’d like a word with my Junior Deputy.”

Delilah remained in her seat while everyone else filed out of the office. She scowled, a thin veil hiding the fear that Whitehorse knew she was lying about not having any leads. Her hand hovered over her pocket, fingers drumming on her thigh.

Pratt pulled the door shut with a soft click.

Whitehorse sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Del, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You know, you can be ornery as all get out, but you’re a bad liar.”

She shrugged. “Cops are supposed to be honest, right?”

He waggled a finger at her. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Seems like everybody in the whole damn county knew but me.”

“You’re not seasoned enough.”

“I’m not going to get seasoned if you keep paying me to sit on my ass,” she spat.

“This situation is a lot bigger than I thought. When I found you and brought you on, it was never my intention to put you in harm’s way. Not like this.”

“When you found me , you saw I could handle myself.”

“Officers that lose their temper don’t last long, Rook. They get into trouble.”

Not if trouble always finds them first . 

She ground her teeth. Any of the choice words racing through her mind would only prove the Sheriff’s point.

“You’ll get your chance, Del. I promise. But for now I’m asking you to sit back and watch. Let Hudson, Pratt, and the marshal do their thing. Do you understand me?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” It was too late for that. Not that he actually knew. She stood and went to the door.

“Follow orders and we’ll all get through this just fine.”

“Yessir.”

Delilah returned to her cubicle, arms crossed and pouting. 

The marshal and the other deputies were huddled around Hudson’s desk, discussing their business in hushed tones. She leaned back in her chair, straining to hear them over the rattle of the air conditioner, but it was no use.

A whole two months she’d worked in this shoe-box of an office and Whitehorse still managed to keep any reference to the Project hidden right under her nose. Thinking back, not a single report she handled had any mention of suspicious activity. It was all run of the mill garbage. Noise complaints, parking tickets, expired licenses. As if any of that helped her learn a damn thing.

Rustling paper caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Pratt unfurling a large map of Hope County on a nearby empty table. Marshal Burke brought over a red pen. Hudson pointed to locations across the county and he would rub his chin, ask a question or two, then circle them.

Most likely they were trying to figure out where to catch Joseph. If the cult owned as much property as Hudson said, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Not to mention the vast expanse of wilderness north and east of Fall’s End. What’s more, Joseph might not be in Hope County to begin with. He had been prowling Missoula when Delilah ran into him by chance. 

The absolute irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. There she sat, only a few yards away, a direct link to their fugitive folded up in her pocket. Not that she could do a damn thing about it.

If she tipped them off, they’d ask how she got such information. Then she’d have to explain she went to a bar (when Whitehorse told her that was off limits), had some drinks (also off limits), got into a fight (beyond the concept off limits), and let a stranger she just met drive her home (not off limits, but a questionable judgment on her part). She’d be lucky if she came out the other side of that conversation with her hearing intact.

Still, she could go over there. If not to offer advice, then at least to absorb as much intel as possible. Just in case Joseph really was after her. The more she was aware of what was going on, the better chances she had of staying out of his way. 

She inched away from her desk and craned her neck to see over her cubicle wall. Even though Whitehorse told her to back off, a little peek or two wouldn’t hurt anything.

Nerves sparked along the back of her neck, warning her she was being watched. She spun around just in time to catch the blinds in Whitehorse’s window snapping back into place.

“For crying out loud,” she muttered under her breath.

Mother hen. Of course he was watching. Always watching-

“You say something, Rookie?” Burke called.

“Nope. Just minding my own business over here,” she said a bit too loudly. 

“I see.” He put his hands on his hips. “Well, how bout you get off your ass and do something useful.” 

Hudson and Pratt exchanged a wide eyed look. 

Delilah’s jaw dropped. “What did you just-”

“It’s gonna be a long day. How bout we start with coffee? Black. None of that frilly caramel crap.” He turned back to the map.

Hudson gave her an apologetic shrug. Pratt blinked like he couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. 

Delilah snatched her truck keys and stormed out of the office. She slammed the door shut behind her.

She hopped in her truck and thunked her forehead against the steering wheel. 

“ Coffee ?” she growled at the dashboard.

That smarmy fucker .

She peeled out of the back lot, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The rear tires of her truck screeched on asphalt, filling the cab with the smell of burnt rubber.

If she was going to be ordered around like a glorified intern, she’d at least take her sweet time doing it. 

There was a diner on the west side of town. Some tiny local joint Nancy was always gushing about. Ray’s? Raymond’s? Whatever. It was a short jaunt down Main Street. Between the four way stops and red lights along the way, Delilah’s temper cooled by the time she parked at the curb out front.

Russel’s was its actual name, flashing in jagged neon letters atop the roof of what looked like a shoddy log cabin. The building hadn’t been updated since the 60’s and it showed. A man in a camo jacket with a mullet smoked a cigarette by the front door. Delilah brushed past him, waving her hand to keep the stench of smoke out of her nostrils.

Inside was… remarkably empty. Lines of brown wooden booths and bar stools with no bodies to occupy them save for an old man hunched over a newspaper in the back corner. Stuffed deer heads lined the walls, staring down at her with sightless black eyes. The clock on the back wall read 11a.m. A bit too late for the weekday breakfast crowd. Maybe a bit too early for lunch?

The greasy smell of fried food wafted from the kitchen, making her stomach growl. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast this morning. Maybe she’d have a bite before going back to the office.

“Hello,” a woman materialized at her side.

Delilah nearly leapt out of her skin. The woman was a waitress. White apron, white dress, and a shiny little gold name tag pinned on her chest. She gave a wide, friendly, smile. Gold waves of hair framed her delicate face.

“Table or booth?”

“Uh, booth.”

The waitress led Delilah over to her seat. After a quick glance at the menu she ordered the country fried steak special and three coffees to go. 

If the coffee got cold while she ate, too bad. Maybe Burke wouldn’t send her out again.

While she waited for the meal, her thoughts drifted back to the meeting in the Sheriff’s office that morning. For the second time that day, she pulled the note from Joseph out of her pocket and read it.

If you ever need me …

Delilah narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher just what the hell he thought he was playing at. It had to be a trap of some kind. But what kind, she couldn’t decipher. If his church - Cult? Whatever - was actually kidnapping people, he could have taken her already. Multiple times in fact.

The thought made her grimace. 

She pulled out her phone and entered the number from the note into her browser. After a moment (thanks to a shitty phone signal), the search results loaded.

The area code was from Georgia.

Odd .

Other than that, no reports for fraud, no business association, nothing. 

She typed Joseph Seed in the search bar. The only things that came up were for Project Eden’s Gate. One of them looked like an official website for their “church.” Delilah tapped the link.

The site that loaded looked like a typical church website. At the top of the page in cursive font was their mission statement:

To reach communities in need and build a better future.  

That sounded nice at the very least.

Below that was a picture of what looked like a gathering of people robed in white on the banks of a river. Standing out in the water was a familiar figure. Delilah pinched the picture and zoomed in to confirm her suspicion. 

Waist deep in the water was Joseph. He wore a blue and white shirt with a white sash draped about his shoulders. His arms were spread wide, a faint welcoming smile softened his intense  features.

He looked so… normal . As normal as a preacher could. 

Further below was a calendar of scheduled sermon times. All on Wednesday and Sunday, just like Joseph told her. A contact phone number at the bottom of the page didn’t match Joseph’s. 

She backed out of the site and skimmed through the other results. They were articles from the Hope County Chronicle. Many of the headlines were the same exact ones Burke read aloud in the office. 

Aside from that, there was some random Yelp review from two and a half years ago.

Best service I’ve been to in a long time! 5/5 

-nancygal1971

Delilah chewed her lip.

Not a hint of negative press anywhere. Not a single stain on their image- 

The kitchen door burst open. Out came the waitress, a steaming plate and coffees balanced on her tray. 

The tray landed in front of Delilah with a slight rattle. She murmured her thanks before digging in.

“I’ll be back with your check in a bit,” the waitress chimed before skipping back to the kitchen.

Delilah cut into her steak, appreciative of the crunchy exterior. The gravy was a little watery, but she couldn’t complain. A warm meal was better than nothing.

As she ate and her stomach’s complaints diminished, the fact she hadn’t found any clear information on Joseph’s number disturbed her. If it wasn’t a scam or part of his church, did that mean it was a legit phone number?

She chewed thoughtfully. Whitehorse had said something about the Project showing up fifteen years ago. If they came from Georgia, that might explain the area code. It was also a strong possibility Joseph had given her his personal phone number.

If it was for his cellphone, she couldn’t call it from her phone without giving him her own number. That wasn’t a link she wanted to establish. Especially not with the warrant out for him. 

Whitehorse’s orders and her own common sense said the same thing in her head: stay out of it .

She gulped.

But she was the only one with a way to reach the center of all the conspiracy and confusion. 

The waitress returned, humming a faint song under her breath. She set a small tray on the table with the receipt and pen.

Her return gave Delilah an idea. 

“Hey, uh. “ Delilah read her name tag. “Faith?”

She smiled. “How can I help you?”

“Does the diner have a phone I can use? My battery went dead.”

Faith nodded. “Just over there by the counter. If you need anything else, please give me a holler.”

Bingo .

Delilah left a few bills on the table and told the waitress to keep the change. She grabbed the coffees and got up from the booth. 

Where Faith had pointed to a red corded phone was mounted on the wall. Filmy grime clung to the plastic and some of the paint had chipped off. It looked as old as the building itself. 

With quivering hands she pulled Joseph’s note out of her pocket. She took a deep breath and dialed the number. 

Her heart pounded against her ribs while a low tone blared from the receiver.

Play it cool. Just play it cool. Everything is normal. Just-  

“ Hello? ”

She fumbled with the handset. Her mind raced a mile a minute. That was Joseph right? His voice sounded deeper over the phone. 

“Is this Joseph?”

“ Hello, Delilah. ”

“I found your note,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. 

“ Mhm .”

“I wanna know what you’re playing at.”

A pause. 

Then, “ I’m not exactly sure what you mean. ”

She clenched her jaw. “Let’s just say I heard some things about your Project.”

“ I see .” There was hardly a change in his tone. His voice was smooth, calm, like still water. “ Is that why you’re calling me from the diner? ”

Fear lanced through her, stuttering her already racing heart. She whirled around and looked out the front windows. Her mouth moved of its own accord while she frantically searched for him out in the street. 

“You knew I was a cop and you gave me this number anyway.” Her eyes roved over several parked cars. All of them empty. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“ Consider it a gift. I thought you deserved a chance to explain yourself. ”

“What? What is there to explain?”

“ Have you ever read the biblical book of Judges? ”

Despite her distress she rolled her eyes. “Can’t say I remember.”

“ Surely you’ve heard the story of Samson and Delilah. ”

The old man got out of his seat and rustled his newspaper. She nearly dropped the phone at the sudden noise.

Joseph continued. “ Samson was one of Israel’s great warriors. A living legend of his time, slaying droves of Philistines left and right. No matter what the Philistines did, they could not defeat him. He was too strong. Blessed and protected by God. So the Philistines came up with a plan. They sent Delilah. ”

Delilah’s grip on the phone tightened. All her instincts screamed that whatever she had blundered into went way over her head. She opened her mouth to argue, but Joseph continued.

“ She seduced him. Lured him into a false sense of security so that he let down his defenses. When Samson divulged his one weakness to her, Delilah betrayed him. She handed him over to the Philistines and they sapped away his strength. Tortured him. Blinded him. ”

“Listen- my name-  it’s just a coincidence, Joseph.” She had to talk him out of wherever he was going.

“ There is no such thing in God’s plan. You came to me in that bar and I knew it was for a reason. The more I learned about you the more I understood. Your name. Your occupation. Your very nature. It is all a warning of what is to come. ”

“I didn’t come to spy on you,” she insisted. “Look, whatever you think is going on, I’m not a part of it! I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“ For what it’s worth, I believe you. But your part in all this is not for you or I to decide. ”

“Alright,” she snapped. “Cut the crap. I just wanted you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“ Come and see .”

The line went dead. A dull tone emanated from the speaker.

Delilah hung up and left the empty diner. Once outside she looked both ways before racing to the driver side of her truck and hopping in the door. She nearly spilled Burke’s precious coffee in the process.

She pressed the lock button twice and threw another cautious glance around. Just empty parked cars and storefronts. No man-bunned preachers lurking in the shadows.

Delilah started the engine and pulled out into the street, making a u-turn  and heading back for the office. On the short drive she tried to puzzle out how he knew where she was. It was incredibly unlikely he had the diner’s number saved in his phone. Or maybe with her atrocious luck she stumbled into his favorite local joint. 

Then there was the matter of his Samson rant. He said that everything about her was a warning.

A warning for what?

Beyond her windshield, beyond the skyline of Fall’s End, was the majesty of the mountain range surrounding Hope County. And beyond that was an endless blue sky. It was picturesque. Perfection. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Unless Joseph meant his impending arrest. But Whitehorse made sure she had as little to do with that as possible. If she followed orders she wouldn’t have anything to do with it at all.

When she walked into the sheriff’s office, Burke was on her ass in an instant.

“Where the hell have you been, Rookie?” He had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot in a way that made Delilah wonder just who the hell he thought he was.

“Getting coffee. Like you asked.” She set the styrofoam cups down, each with a soft thump on the table. They were still warm. Mostly. 

“What, did you drive across Montana to get it?” he pressed. “No place closer than that?”

“Fall’s End is a small town, marshal. It really wasn’t that far.” Delilah turned her back on him and sat down at her desk.

His hand appeared in the corner of her vision and snatched a cup. He muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like kids these days.

Hudson reached over her shoulder and grabbed a cup. “Hey, thanks for the coffee, Rook.” 

“No problem, Joey.”

“Hey, uh, you doing alright?” Hudson murmured. “You walked in here looking like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

That’s what Delilah kept telling herself the rest of the day. Even when Burke pulled the other Deputies and Whitehorse into a secretive meeting in the sheriff’s office, her temper didn’t stir. She was preoccupied digging through every scrap of a news article covering the Project online, revisiting what she found in the diner.

All the while Joseph’s last words rang in her head.

Come and see , he taunted over and over. 

She compiled a list of addresses. All of them for business purchased or “assisted” by the Project. All of them scattered far and wide in the big bowl of Hope County. 

What to do with this information was lost on her. What was she going to do, walk up to a place of business and ask if they were a front for a cult? Sounded like a good way to find trouble one way or the other. 

Before she knew it, the clock in the bottom right of her monitor read 5 p.m. The gaggle of officers filed out of the sheriff’s office and gathered their things up. Ready to call it quits for the day.

Dread settled in her stomach as she realized that meant she had to go home too.

Go home to what? The answer could be a lot of things, most of them unpleasant. 

Hudson, Pratt, Nancy, and the Marshal said their goodbyes. Delilah managed to sneak her pistol out of her locker and stuffed it in the waist of her jeans when they weren’t looking. She felt safer with it on hand. Just in case of unwanted visitors back home. Only Whitehorse lingered by the time she headed for the door.

She paused by his office, wondering if she should say something before she left. Maybe fess up to all she’d done. Or warn him in case she randomly disappeared one day. Not that it would matter all that much. 

He stood by his desk, putting some paperwork into a brown leather satchel. “Can I talk to you for just a second, Del?” he asked without turning around.

Her heart did a flip. “Uh, yeah.”

“I know the marshal has a bit of a uh - a bit of a knack for picking on you. It’s just ‘cause you’re green. It’s all meant to be good natured.”

“Sure.” She leaned against the doorframe. The cold grip of her pistol dug into her hip.

What a load of crap .

“I wanted to thank you for being a good sport. I know it’s not easy to put up with. Especially this being a big case and all.” Whitehorse turned around and smiled, the corners of his mustache raising a fraction.

Delilah shrugged. “No problem.”

“And I just wanted to say - privately - to watch yourself. The marshal has a level of authority we don’t, but that doesn't mean he can push you around. You hear? You’re my Junior Deputy so the shots I call are your priority.”

“Understood, sir.”

“You keep following the rules and maybe toward the end of this deal we can let you join in. Get some experience under your belt. Might even get your name in the paper.”

“I…” Shit . She couldn’t get involved. Especially not now. God, she was so naïve for ever considering her involvement to begin with. 

What would Joseph do if she was part of the squad that kicked in his door? 

He raised a brow. “Something the matter, deputy?”

“Uh, no,” she stammered, “I mean - it’s just - I did some thinking about what you said this morning and basically I think that maybe you were right.”

Whitehorse ran a hand over his mustache and rubbed his chin. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“No,” she blurted then immediately grimaced. 

Suspicion creased his brow. Delilah bit the inside of her cheek, overcome with shame. Her thoughts were racing, looking for any scrap of information she could use to patch up the wall between her and the sheriff. As long as he didn’t see through her she could stave off his disappointment. If she played her cards right he never had to find out. 

“Alright,” she sighed and ran a hand over her face, creating a buffer so she could gather her thoughts. “I did some research while the others were busy today. I didn’t find anything exactly, but I remembered how you said we were in over our heads and I guess I just started to worry.”

The sheriff nodded, his suspicion crumbling away with a sad smile. “Aw, Del,” he sighed. He walked over and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Delilah swallowed back the burning shame. She didn’t like lying to Whitehorse. Especially not when he was being so nice. Whatever sympathy he had to offer she didn’t deserve it.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m not gonna lie to you and say that this’ll be easy. I’m expecting things to get a little scrappy before we get to the bottom of this. But that’s what the marshal is here for. We got the warrant, we follow the rules. That’s all that matters.”

Delilah nodded, staring at the brown tiled floor between her boots. “I know, sir.”

“Now you go home, get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

She turned on her heel and rushed out the door, eager to get away from the sheriff’s watchful eye. As soon as she was in the privacy of her truck her shoulders sagged. She scratched at the scab hiding under her bangs.

Damn it, what have I gotten myself into?

Just another fight she hadn’t asked for. That was the only bitter answer she could come up with. 

She pulled out of the parking lot, foot heavy on the gas pedal. Most days she was eager to leave the office to free herself from boredom. Today she couldn’t get out of town fast enough for an entirely different reason.

Driving through Fall’s End was an entirely different experience. The Eden’s Gate cross lurked everywhere. It was etched in graffiti on buildings, waving on flags in front yards, stuck to street signs and store windows. 

Delilah eyed each pedestrian she passed, half expecting to find Joseph standing on a street corner preaching to the masses. But there was no sign of him anywhere.

Only when Fall’s End was in her rear view mirror did her grip on the steering wheel relax. Maybe she was just being overly paranoid. 

The route home took her back through the mountain tunnel. Rain clouds greeted her on the other side. 

She kept throwing cautious glances at her rear view mirror, checking that she wasn’t being followed. Each time she looked, the mountain range grew smaller and smaller.

By the time she pulled into Missoula, the gloomy gray sky had darkened further. Somewhere beyond the thick clouds the sun dipped below the horizon. As she approached her apartment complex, her nerves got worse and worse. If Joseph or his truck were in the parking lot she had no qualms with turning right around and finding a hotel for the night.

Unless his bunch owned all the business in this town too.

She made one pass by her apartment complex and scanned the parking lot. There was no white pickup. Feeling more at ease, she circled the block and pulled into the lot.

What she had missed on that initial pass, however, was the sleek black Camaro parked next to her usual spot. And the man pacing along the sidewalk in front of it.

Delilah put her truck in park and stared. She didn’t recognize him or the vehicle.

The blue patterned trench coat he wore swirled about him as he paced, dress pants and polished black shoes peeking out from beneath it. His dark brown hair was slicked back and he had a neatly trimmed beard to match. One hand held his phone up to his ear while the other gestured emphatically as he spoke. His shoulders were hunched as if he were agitated by the conversation.

Something was off about him. Delilah could sense that much. 

The man turned and they made eye contact through her windshield. His face lit up when he saw her.

Before she could do anything he strolled over to her side of the car, waving like he was excited to see her.

Delilah rolled the window down halfway, hand poised over the gun in the passenger seat.

“Hey, hey!” The man flashed a toothy grin. “Delilah, right?”

“How do you know my name?” she demanded.

“Easy now.” He put up a placating hand. “How about we start with the basics? My name’s John. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chapter Text

Delilah snatched her pistol from the passenger seat and shoved the barrel through the gap in her window. “I asked you a question.”

The stranger, John, threw up his hands. “It’s alright!” His smile remained stubbornly on his face, though a vein swelled on his forehead. “You’re safe with me.”

“You with the Project? Did Joseph send you?”

“Joseph is one of my clients. I offer him legal counsel from time to time. So, yes, you could say he sent me. Now would you mind putting that down?” A twitch in his fingers betrayed his nerves. 

She lowered the gun.

“There, that’s better,” he cooed as if he were soothing a cornered animal. 

She pursed her lips. “Why are you here?”

“It’s my understanding that a warrant has been issued for my client’s arrest.”

Delilah opened her mouth to ask how he knew that.

“No need to confirm or deny it.” He waved his hand. “Of course the charges against my client are based on gossip and hearsay. Between you and I, you won’t find any actual evidence. Of that I can assure you.”

Two can play at this game . “Look, John , whatever you’re here for, I’m not going to discuss anything without my own lawyer.” 

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t ask such a thing. Especially considering your personal involvement with my client.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she snapped.

He frowned, donning a mask of concern. “Don’t you remember? The bar? I have several eyewitnesses that can attest to you meeting Joseph Seed there last Friday. Somehow, one of them wound up in the hospital with a nasty concussion. What an odd coincidence.”

Delilah’s mouth fell open as she floundered for something to say. What the hell?

“Anyway, that’s not entirely relevant, right?” He reached inside his jacket and dug around for a moment before producing a small white card. “Consider this an olive branch of sorts.” He offered her the card through the half open window.

Delilah took it and looked it over. Printed at the top of the card was an Eden’s Gate and below bold black text that read:

Seed Family Ranch

Faith | Love | Family

Counseling Available by Appointment

1 Prosperity Lane Fall’s End, MT 59808

John rocked on his heels and peered over the top of the window. “My client is extending an invitation for you. You have free reign to poke around. No warrant required.”

“Joseph is inviting me… to his house?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“As I said, the accusations flying around are baseless,” he insisted. “Just rumors from jealous locals. The Project has nothing to hide.”

“Alright. Then tomorrow I’ll bring my team and-“

John tsked and wagged a finger. “Ah, there’s a caveat. The Sheriff, Deputies, and Marshal have their own agenda. You and I both know that. So, per my client’s request, come alone or don’t come at all.”

“And what if, hypothetically speaking, the marshal just so happened to show up with a warrant?”

“The marshal’s warrant is for the arrest of Joseph Seed. And hypothetically speaking , there’s a good chance Joseph won’t be present should the marshal come knocking.”

Delilah huffed. “Fine.”

“So we have a deal?” John offered his hand through the window.

She leaned away from it, noting the many tattoos along his fingers. “I’ll think about it.”

“The choice is yours, Miss Rookwood.” The lawyer withdrew his hand.

Delilah fidgeted with the card between her fingers, watching John as he got into his Camaro. He slicked back his hair, gave her a wink, then backed out of the lot and disappeared down the street.

-

Tuesday morning Delilah walked in the office, stomach swirling with apprehension. Joseph’s note and the card John gave her were both tucked away in the folds of her wallet. It weighed her down like a brick in her back pocket.

Burke’s muffled voice came from Whitehorse’s office. Pratt and Hudson’s cubicles sat empty. Must have decided to hold an early meeting. 

Delilah sat in her chair and powered on her desktop. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to start another day of research when the door to the front lobby swung open. Nancy poked her blonde head around the corner.

“Good morning, hon!”

“Morning, Nancy.”

Nancy shook a brown paper bag. “I went out and got coffee this morning so the marshal wouldn’t send you on a wild goose chase again.”

“Oh.” Delilah blinked. “Thank you.” Internally she cringed, wondering what was said behind her back.

“I even got an extra one for you!” She walked over to Delilah’s desk. 

Her eyes watered from Nancy’s strong perfume. “I appreciate it,” Delilah said, taking the offered cup. 

Sleep had evaded her last night. A little caffeine might be a good pick-me-up. She took a tentative sip. A bitter, earthy taste washed over her tongue.

“So, have you been kept out of the loop with everything that’s going on?” Nancy asked.

She grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

“Don’t feel bad, hon. You’re not the only one.” Nancy pursed her lips. “The marshal’s been leaving me out and I just don’t know why.”

“Maybe he’s just an ass.”

“You might be right about that,” Nancy giggled. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he took credit for this whole thing.”

“That’s probably why he’s here in the first place.” Delilah rolled her eyes.

“What has he found so far? Anything juicy?”

Delilah shrugged. “Not as far as I know. He didn’t think the Project was a threat to begin with.”

Nancy leaned forward, tapping her acrylic nails on the cubicle wall. “And what do you think about that?”

Delilah leaned back in her chair. “I think…” she trailed off. “I don’t know what to think.” It’s not like her talk with Joseph gave her much of a clue. And, as much as she hated to admit it, there might be kernels of truth to what John had told her. “I haven’t seen enough evidence myself to say for certain.”

“Makes sense to me.” Nancy sighed and picked at her nails. “It’s almost like you’d have to go dig around yourself. See things in person.”

Delilah hummed in agreement, her thoughts returning to the card in her wallet. 

“Anyway, I better go back out front,” Nancy announced. “See you, sugar.”

“Yeah. See you.”

After a couple hours in the sheriff’s office, the other deputies finally showed their faces only to be pulled into another secretive huddle by Burke. This time she didn’t take offense that she wasn’t invited to join in. Instead, she focused on her research.

She combed the internet, looking for any scrap on intel on the Seed Ranch address. There was a record of it on a local real estate website from 2015. Used to be a vacation home for some rich aviator from California. It sold for three million.

Delilah did a double take.

Three million? Was Joseph worth that much?

If the Project was buying up everything around town like Hudson said, then they must have some money.

She switched to a satellite view of the property. The estate sprawled over most of the hilltop. Its property line extended into the woods beyond the massive lawn. In the center of the clearing sat a large house. Off to the west was what must have. been a small hangar. Jutting out from the hangar was a runway, a bit of an eyesore in the midst of the natural landscape. 

Nothing suspicious to be found. Though, depending on when the photos were taken, things might have changed. She wouldn’t know unless she went there herself. Just like Nancy suggested.

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson materialized over her shoulder.

Delilah flung her cursor over the screen and closed her browser window. “Uh, yeah?” She turned and leaned on her desk, trying to play off her surprise. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know we’re taking a drive up to the Whitetails to check some things out with the marshal. It’ll just be you and Nancy here holding the fort down.”

“Sure.”

Hudson smiled and hiked her backpack up on her shoulders. Delilah watched as she headed for the back door. At the click of the door Delilah rose from her seat. She followed Hudson’s steps and peered out the window. Whitehorse, Burke, and Pratt were all piling into Hudson’s jeep.

This was her chance. Her heart leapt in her throat at the thought. Chance for what? Blunder headlong into Joseph’s house and find God knows what?

She swallowed and tugged at the collar of her shirt. Whitehorse told her not to get involved. She swore to herself she wouldn’t get involved. But it wasn’t like she went looking for the lawyer. He found her.

Maybe, just maybe this was all some elaborate misunderstanding. Sure maybe the bible talk was a little weird, but there was a decent chance that’s all it was. Being a religious nut wasn’t illegal. If that were the case her foster parents would have been tossed in a cell decades ago.

Her eyes followed the jeep as it trundled across the parking lot. Burke was in the passenger seat, twirling a pair of handcuffs around his fingers. They pulled into the alley and disappeared.

Maybe she could put this whole thing to rest before things got ugly like Whitehorse afraid of.

Delilah raced back to her desk. She clipped her holster around her waist and took the pistol from her locker. This was the best chance, maybe the only chance she had to do something like this. She dug through her wallet for the card John gave her and typed the address into her phone’s GPS.

Estimated travel time was only fifteen minutes. 

Not bad .

She pocketed her phone and went out to the front lobby. Nancy was sitting at the desk, a dispatch headset nestled in her blonde curls. 

Delilah waved.

Nancy flinched in surprise and pulled the headset around her neck, country music warbling from the speakers. “You scared me, Del!”

“Sorry.” She forced a smile. “I’m going to take an early lunch if that’s alright. Uh, everyone else just left.”

“Sheriff Whitehorse told me they were leaving.” Nancy nodded. “I can hold down the fort while you’re out.”

“Great.” Delilah turned to leave.

“Hold on. How ‘bout you take a squad car? Keep an ear out for dispatch calls that way.”

Delilah faltered. “Uh…” She’d only ridden with the sheriff a handful of times. And that was much less than handling a dispatch call.

Nancy didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed a set of keys off a hook on the wall and slid them across the desk. Delilah caught them before they fell to the floor.

“That’s for Pratt’s car.” She winked. “Cruiser 29.”

Delilah looked down at the keys. A flicker of confidence sparked in her chest. “Thanks, Nancy.”

The feeling stayed with her as she walked out the door. Until she got behind the wheel. A console cluttered with buttons and switches stared back at her.

Well. At least she knew how to drive. 

Classic rock blasted from the speakers as soon as she turned the key. Delilah winced at the guitar shredding her eardrums and searched frantically for the volume knob. She found it on the top right panel of the chunky dispatch radio and turned it all the way down. 

God, was Pratt trying to go deaf?

She propped her phone up on the dash and pulled up the GPS directions.

Driving to the ranch was straightforward. There were only a few main highways winding throughout Holland Valley. A southbound four-lane curved right past Fall’s End, Rye and Son’s Aviation, and finally Prosperity Lane which was a blacktop tucked away beneath a looming canopy of pines. 

The driveway inclined sharply and wound around the hillside. At its end was a patch of gravel - a makeshift parking lot of sorts. A surprising number of other vehicles were parked there next to a stone retaining wall. All of them white with the Eden’s Gate cross emblazoned on the hood.

She put the squad car in park, hand lingering on the gear shift. Any lurking doubts she suppressed resurfaced in unfamiliar territory. 

Maybe this was a mistake. 

There wasn’t much time to debate.

Three people emerged from the tree line behind the lot. Delilah spotted them in the rear view mirror, dressed in plain white shirts and dusty jeans. Each of them carried rakes, shovels, and large black trash bags. They froze when they saw the squad car.

Delilah pushed open the door and eased herself to her feet, trying to appear as confident and nonchalant as she could muster. First impressions and all that. The gold deputy badge pinned to her shirt glimmered in a stray ray of sunshine.

“What do you want?” A bearded man with graying hair spoke up. Delilah didn’t miss the way his shovel trembled in his grip. Hostility creased his brow.

Her fingers twitched, ready to pull the pistol out of her holster if-

“It’s alright, Brother. She’s with me,” a familiar voice said.

Delilah turned and found John perched atop the retaining wall.

“Deputy Rookwood,” he called, spreading his arms in welcome. “I’m glad you decided to join us today.”

He waved her over and she obliged, meeting him at the top of concrete stairs cut into the wall.

She raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was coming?

“Just a feeling.” John shrugged. 

“Where’s Joseph?”

“Out at the moment. Let’s start the tour shall we?”

He put his hands in his coat pockets and started down the stone walkway without so much as a backward glance. Delilah followed. The path took them uphill and out of the shade of the pines. Trees gave way to a wide sprawling lawn. If it could even be called a lawn. A web of stone walkways interlaced with carefully arranged landscaping consisting of rocks, wildflowers, and tall grasses. In the middle of it all sat the crown jewel of the estate, a large rustic log cabin.

“The Project has a great amount of respect for native horticulture if you can’t tell,” John offered over his shoulder.

Delilah gave a noncommittal grunt.

Other workers were milling about amongst the landscaping, pulling out weeds and heaps of dead leaves. All of them wore the same plain attire. They threw suspicious glares Delilah's way when they saw her badge and holster. She took the scrutiny with tense shoulders and a sour frown.

“How long has the Project had this place?” Delilah asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Bought it off some bigshot from Los Angeles a few years ago. It was impeccable timing, really. He used the ranch for a summer home of sorts. Liked to come out and fly on the weekends. But then he had this freak accident - really hurt his back and leg. Said he didn’t feel so comfortable flying after that.”

“I see.” She watched John out of the corner of her eye. His expression remained perfectly neutral.

“Over this way is the hangar.” He pointed to another log building some thirty yards away from the house.

It seemed, aside from the yard work, not much had changed in the last three years.

Around the west side of the building the hangar door was wide open. Inside sat a glossy black plane with white accents. A cross was painted in silver on the panel behind the cockpit.

John walked up to it and patted its side as if it were a beloved pet. “This is the Affirmation .”

She shrugged. “Neat.”

“Neat?” John huffed. “No, neat doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He tapped the hull with his knuckles. “ This is an AdjudiCor FBW.”

He launched into a rant about engine diagnostics and configurations. All of it went way over Delilah’s head. 

She let him ramble while she snooped around the hangar, peering inside toolboxes and opening a few closet doors. Nothing besides a fuse-box, tools, oil cans, and cleaning supplies. No weapons, contraband, or anything out of the ordinary to be found.

“Do you want to take her for a spin?”

Delilah paused, nudging away a box of screws with the toe of her boot. “Me?” Her eyebrows shot up beneath her bangs.

“Do you fly?”

“No. Absolutely not.” In fact, Delilah was of the strong opinion that she belonged on the ground at all times. 

John shrugged, looking more put out than she thought he had any right to. “You should try it sometime. An adrenaline rush with a view… I promise there’s nothing like it.”

He led her out the back of the hangar and across the lawn to the front door of the house. John held the door open and let her enter first. 

Inside was a wide open living area. In the center of the room a massive stone pillar doubled as both a central support and fireplace. A black leather L-shaped couch and resin wood coffee table took up most of the central space. Various taxidermy animals hung on the walls including an elk, deer, and several sets of mounted antlers. Lining the right wall were several glass display cases chock full of Eden’s Gate memorabilia. The smell of cedar, leather, and floor polish hung in the air. 

“What do you think?” John asked. She sensed the smug smile on his face without even looking at him.

Delilah pursed her lips. It was the nicest house she’d ever been in. Not that she was about to give him the satisfaction. “Mind if I look around?”

“Of course not.” His tone soured ever so slightly. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

She set out for the other areas of the house, gritting her teeth when John doggedly followed her every step.

“There’s refreshments in the kitchen if you’d like. Water. Peanuts. Unless you have a nut allergy?”

Delilah ignored him.

Off the living area was a kitchen. Nothing of note there except a tacky assortment of P.E.G. magnets on the fridge. She went back out and crossed to the other side of the fireplace, ignoring the bulk of the dining room in favor of the door below the stairs. 

Through the door was an office. The shelves behind the desk were crammed full of various religious texts. A little eccentric, but definitely not illegal. An Eden’s Gate bible was laid open atop the desk as if someone had just been reading it.

John folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “You know you don’t sound like the locals. You’re not from around here are you?”

“Grew up in Kansas,” she muttered. She skimmed over the passage in the open bible. Seemed to be a discussion of a verse from Revelation. She couldn’t quite grasp it. Apparently her meager Sunday school education wouldn’t come in handy with this bunch.

“Do you regret leaving?”

She looked up from the desk. Were all lawyers this nosy? “Is Joseph coming at some point?”

“I let him know you were here.”

Her mouth formed a grim line. She couldn’t decide if it would be better or worse if he showed up. Her patience with John was starting to wear thin. She brushed past him in the doorway, getting a whiff of musky cologne as she went.

In the dining room was a long table that looked more suited for business meetings than family meals. Hanging from the rafters was a massive chandelier made from deer antlers. Delilah’s gaze swept the room, looking for anything suspicious or out of place. She paused when her eyes landed on the fireplace.

Hanging above the mantle was a massive portrait. Four sets of eyes stared down at her. Two of them she definitely recognized. In the center sat Joseph, hands resting on his knees, posture blurring line between rigid and relaxed. Over his left shoulder stood John, a smug smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. There was a third man on Joseph’s right. His eyes blazed with intensity. There was something stony about his expression, like he couldn’t be bothered to smile. And lastly, kneeling in front of Joseph was a woman in a white dress with golden wavy hair.

Delilah stared at her serene expression. A warning bell chimed in the back of her mind. She’d seen her before, she just couldn’t place where-

“Something the matter?”

She dragged her eyes from the picture and found John standing next to her. Watching her.

Delilah shook her head, ignoring the shudder that ran up her spine. “Joseph isn’t just your client,” she said, feeling stupid for not noticing the familial resemblance before.

“Seems I forgot to mention he’s also my older brother. What gave it away? Same charm? Natural good looks?”

“Obnoxious confidence,” she deadpanned.

“I see.” He ran a hand down his beard, the cryptic tattoos on his hand distracting her eye. “But we all have flaws to work through, right?”

Delilah frowned, unsure where he was going with that line of thought. “I guess.”

She moved to go up the staircase running along the back wall. John sidestepped with her, cutting her off. She raised an eyebrow.

He folded his arms and looked her up and down. “Hmm. If I had to guess I’d say… anger issues?”

“What?”

“Your flaw.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

John took a step toward her. “He told me how he found you in the alley,” he murmured. “Bloody. Fighting like a wild animal.”

She bristled. “I don’t know what Joseph told you, but you weren’t there, so it’s none of your business.”

“My brother’s business is my business.” His face crumpled into a sneer, the façade he wore folding in on itself. “And whatever my brother sees in you, Deputy ,” he said, voice cutting through each syllable like a knife, “I can’t say I see the same.”

Delilah glared, uncertain if he was trying to offend or intimidate. “I have no idea what either of you are talking about.”

The front door creaked as someone entered.

In the blink of an eye, his smile returned. “You’ll see soon enough.” He turned on his heel and rounded the fireplace. 

Queasiness in her gut warned her of who just arrived.

“Joseph!” John said, confirming her suspicion. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Delilah followed, lurking a few steps behind. 

There he stood, a wanted fugitive, dressed in a gray suit like he just got home from church. If she had the warrant, she could whip out her pistol and cuffs and take him under custody in the blink of an eye. Instead she watched him embrace his little brother.

Joseph murmured something to John before turning to Delilah. “Hello, Deputy Rookwood.”

She swallowed and nodded, the only form of greeting she could muster.

“I trust John was able to answer any questions you had.”

“Actually, uh.” She paused to clear her throat. “I didn’t get to look upstairs yet.”

Joseph blinked.

John turned a deep shade of red. 

Delilah’s eyes darted between the two of them, unsure what landmine she just stepped on.

“What Deputy Rookwood means is we didn’t finish the tour of the house,” John cut in. “I didn’t expect you would arrive so soon.”

“I see,” Joseph said. He turned to Delilah. “I take it you’ve come to find out the truth about the missing families. The hunters from the Whitetails and the farmers from Fall’s End” 

“Joseph,” John began.

Joseph held up his hand, silencing his brother. “You won’t find them here.”

“Then… then where are they?”

“Safe. They will be kept far beyond the reach of what’s to come. And so could you.”

Delilah reeled at his admission. Her heart skipped a beat, then a few more, struggling to find its rhythm.  “Wait. Wait. Did you- did the Project actually take them from their homes? Against their will?”

“Only those willing to atone for their sins shall pass through Eden’s Gate.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” she snapped.

“I do what I must to save others. Even from themselves.”

“So you did take them.” She clenched her fists to fight the cold terror lancing through her veins.

“The world has turned a blind eye to my message, despite every warning I have given.” 

“Your message?”

“We are on the verge of a great cataclysm. A collapse which will bring to an end everything our society has built. Those unprepared will suffer unimaginable agony as the world burns. Those of us that are cleansed and absolved of our sins will survive and emerge to find the world transformed into a New Eden. This task of preparation was given to me by the Voice of God.”

Silence followed. 

“You’re out of your fucking mind ,” Delilah said at last, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Sorrow crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You deny the truth. As I expected.”

Her hand strayed to the pistol at her hip. John took a step forward, reaching toward his brother. 

“Don’t move,” she barked.

“You can leave in peace, Deputy,” Joseph said.

“Only if you let those people go.”

Joseph shook his head. “They’ve atoned for their sin. New Eden will be theirs. They don’t wish to leave.”

“That’s bullshit. What, did you brainwash them or something?” 

John jabbed a finger at her. “Watch yourself, Deputy.”

“I can’t expect you to understand.” Joseph held up a placating hand. “Not while you still walk in sin.”

“You’re damn right about that.” She jutted her chin at him. “The marshal is coming for your ass and we’ll find those people you took.”

“The marshal may do what he wishes. What is to come has already been set in motion. Just as I have foreseen.”

Holy shit, he really was delusional.

Delilah circled around the living room, keeping distance between herself, Joseph, and John. Her hand clenched her pistol grip. In the back of her mind she knew she was hopelessly outnumbered, but it was a last resort she was willing to use.

“Joseph,” John warned.

“Let her go, John.”

She couldn’t get out the door fast enough.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Delilah,” Joseph called as the door swung shut. 

She sped across the lawn as fast as her legs would carry her without breaking into a full on run. The workers - no, cult members - eyed her curiously as she went. She gave them her best stay-out-of-my-way face. 

The squad car was still parked where she left it. She pulled open the door and was immediately taken aback by the racket coming from the dispatch radio.

“- report immediately. Deputy Rookwood this is Dispatch requesting a status report .” It sounded like Whitehorse.

Delilah slid in the car and scrambled for the receiver. “I’m here, Sheriff.”

“ What in the hell do you think you’re doing? ”

Good question . “Just out on lunch, sir.” She jammed the key in the ignition and started the car before throwing it in reverse.

“ Did I give you permission to -“

There was a pause. A muffled voice that sounded a lot like Nancy chimed in. Delilah couldn’t quite make out what she said over the rumble of her tires on the gravel. 

“ You what? ” 

More muffled chatter.

Whitehorse cleared his throat. “ Hm. I see. You and I are going to have a talk later. ”

“Sir?” Delilah asked. She whipped the steering wheel and careened down the hillside.

Several cultists - what looked like the group from before - skulked in the undergrowth. 

“ Not you, Rook. You just get that yourself and that squad car back here ASAP. No detours. You hear me? ”

One of the cultists flipped her off. She blanched at him in the rear view mirror as he picked up a stray stone and hurled it at the car. It dinged off the back bumper.

“Loud and clear, Sheriff.”

She slammed the receiver back in its holder and floored it, peeling out of Prosperity Lane and onto the open highway. 

Even barreling down the road at eighty miles an hour, she kept a knuckle white grip on the steering wheel. Her eyes darted to the rear view mirror every few seconds half expecting to see a squad of Eden’s Gate vehicles on her tail. 

There were none. Just a redneck in his pickup that honked when she swerved around him in the passing lane.

Once she made it back to Fall’s End, her panic eased by a small margin. Until she remembered Whitehorse was pissed. What she forgot to consider was Pratt.

As soon as she stepped through the back door, Pratt was in her face.

“Have fun on your little joy ride in my squad car? You know, back in my old unit we’d get fired for pulling that kind of shit.”

Delilah blinked, struggling to form a coherent thought. 

“Back off, Staci.” Joey materialized behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It ain’t the same as the big city out here.”

Pratt shrugged her off, muttering something about Delilah owing him gas money.

“Sorry,” Joey muttered when he was out of earshot. “Things got tense while we were out.”

“What happened?”

“We went to scout out the Whitetails and while we were on the road Marshal Burke got some intel back from D.C. I think we’re going to make the arrest soon.”

A cocktail of relief and terror roiled in her gut. “What sort of intel did he get?”

“Satellite overview. The sheriff thinks it’s the central compound of Seed’s operation.”

Oh, God . “Where’s the compound? What kind of operation?”

“We’re meeting in Whitehorse’s office.” Joey turned and took a few steps down the hall. She paused to look over her shoulder. “Come and see.”

Chapter Text

Delilah followed Joey into Whitehorse’s office. Pratt, Whitehorse, and Burke hovered around the table, flipping through large glossy photographs. Nancy had one hip perched on the Sheriff’s desk and filed away at her fingernails.

“Hey girlies!” Nancy smiled at Delilah and Hudson.

Delilah peered over Pratt’s shoulder. The photo he held was an overhead view of an island in the middle of a vast lake. Pratt caught her standing close and butted her away.

She shouldered him back and stepped on his toes under the table, ignoring his pained grunt. “What did you find, Sheriff?”

Whitehorse pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “Project has a compound on the northern island out in the middle of Silver Lake.”

“Never thought to check for satellite intel?” Burke raised an eyebrow. 

“Never had the option , Marshal,” Hudson shot back.

If Burke noticed her animosity, he didn’t show it. Instead he flashed the photo he was holding for everyone in the room to see. It was the same island Pratt was looking at, but a much higher resolution. “Looks like we’ve got seven or eight structures here. One with the green roof looks like a church. Shacks must be living quarters for the followers.”

“Okay. So we’ve got the location” Pratt said. “Why don’t we just arrest him now?”

“He might not even be there, Deputy,” Whitehorse said. “The peggies still have a lot of property in this county.”

“But it’s a cult right?” Hudson shrugged. “Religious nuts gotta hold service at some time.”

“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings,” Delilah muttered.

Everyone turned to look at her. All of them wore varying shades of surprise and confusion, save for Nancy who appeared rather nonplussed.

“Uh, just something I saw on a flyer while I was out and about.” She bit her lip. Please buy it .

Burke nodded. “Tomorrow night, then.”

“Wait,” Delilah blurted. “Don’t you need to call in backup or something first?”

At that he puffed out his chest. “I am the backup, Rookie.”

Delilah thought about the cultists she just ran from back at Seed Ranch. That was sketchy enough and she could only imagine what waited for them at the compound. All her instincts screamed they were about to be eaten alive.

Her doubt must have been obvious because Burke cocked his head. “Tell me something, Rook. Have you ever made an arrest?”

She glared at him. What kind of dumbass question -

“What do you think?” she snapped.

“You know what it all comes down to? This.” He whipped his badge out of his pocket, polished gold glimmering under the fluorescents. “You have to have faith in this.”

Whitehorse spoke up. “The Marshal has dealt with cases like this before. If we get in and out quickly, we’ll be fine.”

Burke launched into specifics about the plan for the next evening. Most of his questions were directed at Pratt who would be flying them to the compound via chopper. With no more value to offer to the conversation, Delilah drifted away from the table and leaned against the wall.

She thought about what Joseph said before she left the ranch - that they would be seeing each other again soon. It bothered her to think that he was right. Her only consolation was a sympathetic smile from Nancy who seemed to sense her unease.

-

Wednesday came and brought with it a bundle of nerves. Everyone was on edge, keeping to themselves or rummaging through the gear they were bringing along for the chopper ride. Even Nancy was less chipper than usual and kept to herself by the dispatch radio.

Delilah sat at her desk, staring at her rippling reflection in her coffee mug. 

Her eyes burned from exhaustion. Last night was spent staring at the ceiling, agonizing over whatever was awaiting her team at the compound. What Joseph might say when he saw her alongside the marshal serving his warrant.

Caffeine from her coffee only agitated the dread rolling around in the pit of her stomach.

In the moments of silence she could hear the buzz of the overhead fluorescents and the tick tick tick of the clock on the far wall.

She held out hope that Whitehorse would give in to his inner mother hen and ask her to stay behind with Nancy. From 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. she waited. And when the others began holstering up and donning their bulletproof vests, she got her answer.

“Hey, Del,” Whitehorse called, “time to suit up.”

She complied. Her stiff limbs went through the motions of unlocking her desk, pulling out her holster and pistol, checking to make sure the gun was loaded and the safety on, and looping the belt around her hips. Hudson came over and wordlessly offered her a vest. Delilah put it on. Its weight offered no comfort, just another burden on her shoulders.

No going back now.

Everyone piled into Hudson’s jeep. Save for Nancy who was to remain on dispatch at HQ in case everything went south.

When everything went south . A small voice in the back of her head corrected.

Hudson drove them to the helicopter landing pad on the outskirts of Fall’s End. Behind a chain link fence, the chopper awaited them.

As soon as her feet touched the asphalt, every fiber of her being shrieked for her to take off running for the hills and disappear. God , she hated heights. And being trapped with Burke. And Joseph. Actually, every bit of the situation could go to hell.

Pratt hopped in the cockpit and donned a headset. The rest, along with Delilah, piled into the fuselage. She took the seat next to Hudson and across from Burke. Hudson leaned over and checked her seatbelt after she buckled it, as if she were some helpless little kid.

Delilah waved her hands away. “I got it.”

Pratt started the chopper. The blades cut through the air, stirring up a wind that whipped Delilah’s short hair against her face and stung her cheeks. She scrambled to put on the headset, eager for it to dull some of the noise.

Her stomach lurched as they lifted off the ground.

“Alright. One last check,” Burke shouted into his mic.

Delilah winced.

“When we touch down, Pratt stays in the chopper on standby. Hudson, you and I are going to take point. Sheriff will bring up the rear. And Rookie?”

Delilah squinted at the marshal, the flash of his smile barely visible in the sun’s fleeting light. 

“You get the honor of cuffing the bastard.”

Ah, shit . 

“Why me?” she shouted, a hopeless cry both for Burke’s order and the way everything in her life had gone off the wall since she went to that shitty bar.

“Gotta get broken in at some point. And this is one hell of a way to do it.”

Her nails sunk into the fabric of the seat for most of the ride. She couldn’t bear to look at the rocky hillsides flying below them at a breakneck pace. Instead she kept glancing between Burke, Whitehorse, and Hudson. Each of them fidgeted with their gear or looked out the windows like they couldn’t stand to sit still. 

As they passed over the Henbane River, the chopper entered a cloudbank. During her two months working in Fall’s End, she’d never wandered beyond Holland Valley. It never occurred to her that it had been by Whitehorse’s design. And now she was in unknown territory. Curling waves and wisps fog surrounded them in all directions and Delilah wasn’t sure if this view was better or worse. 

“Get a load of the view on your left, Marshal,” Pratt chimed in over the radio.

The chopper broke through the patch of fog. On the other side more fog awaited below. And to Delilah’s left loomed a massive figure. She blinked, not quite believing what she saw.

Amidst the clouds at eye level with the chopper stood a massive stone statue. He wore a suit and held an open book. His left hand was raised as if he were beckoning them. 

Joseph .

“What the hell?” she breathed, fear and awe constricting her chest.

“You say something, Rook?” Whitehorse asked.

Instead of answering, she was distracted by Burke. His eyes bugged out of his head for an instant before he rolled his shoulders and settled back against his seat.

“What a bunch of fuckin’ weirdos,” he said.

Pratt circled them around the right of the statue and took off north through another bank of clouds. When they next emerged they were above open water, the last light of dusk shimmering on the waves.

They crossed over an island and pitched lower. Low enough that the tops of the pines bowed in the chopper’s wake. Delilah clenched her teeth and pushed her feet against the floor, resisting the bile rising in the back of her throat.

The island passed below, then a stretch of water, and soon they were above a second smaller island. Lights gleamed between the trees. Soon the compound was distinguishable from the surrounding forest - a series of shacks propped up near the water’s edge. In the midst of them stood a church, its steeple poking up amongst the pines like a shepherd watching over its flock.

Pratt brought them low, setting down in the center of a muddy clearing littered with tire tracks and footprints. Peggies made way for them, circling the perimeter of the chopper’s gust, throwing up their hands and pointing. Whatever they were shouting, their words were lost in the wind.

“Go time,” Burke shouted.

In one fluid motion, Whitehorse, Burke, and Hudson removed their headsets and hopped out of their seats. Delilah followed suit, her fingers fumbling with the buckle of her harness. 

The chopper blades wound down enough for the cacophony of the peggie compound to break through. Dozens of voices cried in outrage. Dogs barked incessantly and threw themselves against the maze of chain link fences. Delilah’s boots squelched in the mud. She scanned the crowd, expecting to find Joseph calm and collected amongst the sea of faces. He wasn’t there.

Whitehorse appeared at her shoulder. A gentle prod at her elbow urged her to follow Hudson and Burke who had withdrawn their pistols.

“ This is a holy place! You don’t belong here! ”

“ Leave us, sinners! ”

“ Snakes don’t belong in the garden! ”

Delilah kept wary eyes on the crowd, unable to pair any of the insults hurled their way with a screaming face. The peggies ebbed and flowed around Burke and Hudson like a raging tide ready to overtake them in the moment’s notice. 

A few of the bolder ones took out their firearms, brandishing them at the officers. Burke aimed down the sights of his own pistol, shouting for them to stand down. They complied, but only just.

As their small squad crossed the compound, something reached Delilah’s ears. A strange hum lurked at the edge of her hearing until they neared the center of the camp. It was singing. Muffled by the walls of the old church, leaking out through the seams into the night air. 

Its harmony ebbed and flowed, like a beating heart drawing blood to its center. In the undercurrent of the sound was a voice, low and steady, but rising fervently as Burke and Hudson set their hands on the church doors.

Burke looked over his shoulder and winked. “Y’all are about to get your names in the paper.”

When the doors swung, the song fell apart, notes scattering like dust in the wind. The speaker, however, carried on. He paid the intruders no mind, pacing atop the altar like a caged beast.

“Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you? We are creeping toward the edge and there will be a reckoning.”

Whitehorse and Burke stepped forward, their footsteps thumping in the stillness between Joseph’s words.

“That is why we started the Project. Because we know what happens next. It will come. It will try to take from us our freedom, our faith… our family. But we will not let them.”

Delilah found herself unable to look away as he spoke, though he had yet to acknowledge her. His shirtless form gleamed with sweat, haloed in the light of the cross shaped lantern behind his pulpit.

“Not their greed, their immortality, their depravity!” he shouted. 

Across his skin was a constellation of scars and tattoos, each one a glimpse into the persona on display. Sloth tucked where his chest met his right arm, Greed etched into his bicep, Wrath on his forearm, and Lust nestled in the dip of his waist. A pair of swallows perched below each collarbone. A crown and mountain on his chest were barely visible in the shadows.

“We will not let them hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering on-”

“Joseph Seed,” the marshal barked.

The congregation turned on the officers, spitting and snarling. Delilah froze, not sure whether to grab her pistol or handcuffs. Whitehorse ran forward, placing himself between the Marshal and a group of men brandishing bats and assault rifles.

Burke whipped out a slip of paper, holding it up in his gloved hand for all to see. “I have a federal warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Joseph paused, wide eyes sweeping over the paper, Burke, Whitehorse, and finally landing on Delilah. His mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile as if he were pleased to find her there. “Here they are. Locusts in our garden. Come to take me away from you.”

Shouting erupted from the congregation. Several of them leapt out of their seats and ran towards the altar. They threw themselves between Joseph and the intruders, baring their teeth in warning.

“But we knew this moment would come.” Joseph approached the edge of the altar, setting hands on his follower’s shoulders. “We have prepared for it.”

Reluctantly, the cultists shuffled out of the way, shooting anxious glances between the officers and their Father.

Joseph raised his arms, looking to heaven. “ I saw when the lamb opened the first seal and I heard, as if it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, ‘Come and see.’ ” He turned and pointed at Burke. “ And I saw . ” Then he turned to the sheriff. “And behold it was a white horse. ” Finally, he turned to Delilah. “ And hell followed with him .”

Cold terror crawled up her legs and rooted her in place. She was faintly aware of three shadows looming over his shoulder, their eyes glued to her. Expectant. Anticipating. Living breathing replicas of the portrait over the mantle in the ranch.

“Cuff him, Rookie,” Burke said over his shoulder.

Joseph’s eyes were earnest - just like the night they met - as he offered his hands to her. For a moment she was back under that gold light behind the bar and he was holding her bruised and bleeding face. 

“God will not let you take me,” he said, his faith bolstering every word.

Delilah moved, though she no longer felt in control of her own body. Burke had told her to have faith in her badge, in the power of their position as law enforcers - an empty sentiment that echoed in her head, as hollow as her faith. She watched her hands, still and steady, bring the cuffs out from her holster. Her legs carried her of their own accord and met Joseph at the altar. She tightened the cuffs around one wrist, then the other. 

Whatever came next, a badge wouldn’t save her. She sensed that more keenly than the dozens of eyes boring into the back of her head. An overwhelming wave of dread washed over her, shaking her to the very core. It told her that what she had done could not be undone and that nothing would ever be the same. 

He watched her through yellow tinted lenses and gave a near imperceptible nod she chose not to acknowledge.

She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to stand in front of her. His skin bled warmth into her cold fingers. Gluttony stared up at her from his shoulder blade.

They shuffled out of the church, following Burke while Whitehorse brought up the rear. Their footsteps creaked on old floor boards. The congregation stood silent, in shock, but only for a moment. Delilah guided Joseph through the threshold of the doors and wailing rose up behind them. 

Hudson joined them at the door. “We have to get out of here. Now.” Her hand clenched the gun in her holster. She looked Joseph up and down, lip curling in disgust.

“They’re taking our Father!” A hysterical woman shrieked.

Delilah made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. The congregation was piling out of the church. Whitehorse waved his arms, ordering them to stay back. Shouting erupted from all directions.

More bodies piled out of the haphazard shacks, shoving against each other to get one last look at Joseph before he was taken away. Grubby hands outstretched and clawed the air. They sobbed and pleaded for their Father to do something. Some returned to singing their hymn, their voices buzzing like a swarm of locusts.

Delilah’s arm shook as she urged Joseph to go faster. But he would not comply, content to linger and observe the chaos around him.

They rounded a corner of one of the shacks and the chopper was in sight.

Some of the cultists hurled rocks and globs of mud. A stone sailed from the crowd and struck Burke in the temple. He staggered, blood gushing down the side of his face. 

Hudson ran to his side. Delilah thought she heard her ask if he was okay.

Burke raised his pistol and fired into the crowd. 

A man in a stained white shirt and ragged jeans clutched his stomach and fell to the ground, blood swelling between his fingers. Delilah watched the life drain out of him, mingling with muddy water.

Burke staggered forward without a backward glance. He fired his gun into the air and the crowd scrambled out of his way. Delilah instinctively ducked and followed with Joseph in his wake. Hudson ran ahead, joining Pratt in the cockpit.

Whitehorse took Joseph from her and together they climbed into the fuselage.

“Hurry the fuck up, we gotta go,” Pratt whined from the cockpit.

Helicopter blades whirred overhead. Peggies slung their ammunition at the chopper, stones cracking against the metal hull. A few of the bolder ones rushed to cling to the rails on the underside as it lifted off the ground.

A woman with wild dark hair and an Eden’s Gate cross painted on her glistening forehead scrambled up. Her hand wrapped around Delilah’s pant leg. Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“ Sinner ,” she spat through clenched teeth and sunk her nails into Delilah’s calf.

Delilah gasped and shoved against her forehead, black paint smearing onto her palm. The cultist wouldn’t let go. She kicked the woman in the gut. Once. Twice. The woman fell and landed with a splatter of mud.

Another man hanging on the underside wasn’t so lucky. Burke shot him point blank in the chest. Blood spewed into the night air, scattered by the wind. He fell, mouth open in a surprised oh .

Delilah turned away, reeling from the look on a dying man’s face. 

Joseph sat in his seat, head lulling against the headrest with his hands folded as if he were deep in prayer. Delilah watched, unable to comprehend his calm. He opened his eyes as the chopper tilted forward. Delilah strained against her harness, grunting in surprise. 

Up in the cockpit Pratt and Hudson swore.

A peggie clung to the windshield, pounding against the glass with his fists. The shift in weight pulled them off course. Pratt yanked back on the controls in an attempt to correct them. The man launched upwards from the momentum. 

Thump thump thump .

Limbs flew in all directions. Blood and chunks of flesh splattered across the windshield.

The chopper careened to the right. Smoke and burnt metal tainted the air. 

Pratt gagged. Vomit flew across the cockpit.

Hudson and Whitehorse screamed, incoherent in their panic.

Delilah bit her lip and felt the rush of blood and bile in her mouth.

Burke shouted into his headset. “Dispatch, send assistance. We are going down. I repeat-”

Joseph closed his eyes and bowed his head. His lips mouthed thank you .

They were in a downward spiral, the force of it pulling Delilah against the harness and crushing her chest. Tree branches cracked and broke, showering them with splinters. All at once the world flipped upside down and everything went black.

-

“ Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? ”

Delilah opened her eyes and found the world was still upside down. Her temples throbbed from the blood rushing to her head.

“ Sheriff Whitehorse? Marshal Burke? ” Nancy called from a speaker.

Delilah blinked, clearing away the blur of tears and the sting of smoke. Her headset dangled from its cord, just within reach. She stretched for it, her harness straps cutting into her shoulders like razor blades.

A hand seized her wrist.

Joseph stepped into her line of sight, glasses still perched on his nose, cuts and scrapes bleeding down his face. He brought a finger to his lips. “Sshh.”

Delilah looked around the remains of the battered chopper. Smoke poured from the cockpit and flames creeped over the seats. There were no signs of Whitehorse, Burke, Pratt, or Hudson. She was alone. 

Joseph pulled the headset mic to his mouth. “Hello? Dispatch?”

“ Oh my god .” Nancy took a shaky breath. “ Where are the others? Where’s the Sheriff? ”

“Everything is just fine here.” His eyes drifted to Delilah. “No need to call for backup.”

She parted her lips, finding them caked over with dried blood. She struggled against Joseph’s grip on her wrist and reached for the headset.

“ Y-yes, Father. Praise be to you .”

Joseph grabbed the headset cord and gave it a yank. It snapped free. He leaned in close, showing her the frayed copper wiring between his fingers. “Did you hear? No one is coming to save you,” he murmured.

Delilah was speechless, stunned from Nancy’s last words. She was one of them ? The whole time? Her mind raced through the last two months, searching for all she had been missing. The signs, the clues, hints in their conversations-

Joseph cupped her face, his hands clammy on her cheeks. “I warned you of what was coming,” he said. “And now a seal has been opened.”

Somewhere beyond the wreckage shouting and rustling came from the undergrowth.

“Father?” a gruff voice called. “Are you there?”

Joseph paid them no mind. “Our trial begins now.” 

“What did you do with the others?” Delilah rasped.

A woman - no, Hudson - shrieked in the distance. “ Fucking let go of me! ”

Delilah shook her head, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Panic welled up in her chest. “What are they doing? Let her go!”

Joseph reached up for her waist. Delilah bared her teeth and tried to slap his hands away. His fingers found the harness buckle and released it. She fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

He grabbed her arms, but she shoved him away and scrambled out of the wreckage on her hands and knees. Her fingers dug into the carpet of dead pine needles covering the cold hard ground. She emerged in the middle of a clearing. 

“Look! Father found another sinner!” A voice shouted from the tree line. 

Delilah whirled around and spotted a group of cultists stumbling over sheets of warped metal and fallen trees.

Joseph lifted his hands. “God has spared your Father from the enemy. As He told me He would.”

His followers flocked to him, putting their hands on his arms and shoulders and gaping in awe.

With a sudden whoosh the chopper was engulfed in flames. The Father and his followers stood as black silhouettes against bright flickering orange. 

Joseph looked over his shoulder at Delilah. Firelight glowed through yellow lenses.

Delilah staggered to her feet. She took a step back. Then another.

“This one is not ready for New Eden,” Joseph said. “Not yet.”

“She needs to Atone,” one of the peggies agreed.

She bared her teeth. A warning for them to stay back. 

Burke was right about one thing . Fuckin’ weirdos.

She turned and darted for the trees as fast as her aching legs could carry her, ignoring the shouts from behind.

Chapter Text

Branches whipped against her face and pulled at her hair as she tore through the undergrowth, feet pounding against muddy ground. Gunshots cracked farther back in the trees. Shouts echoed after her. Louder than it all was the pounding of her own heart, fluttering against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage.

Beams of moonlight filtered through the canopy of pines, a pitiful light to guide her path. 

She had no idea in hell where she was. Every direction she looked, the landscape was the same. Boulders, pines, more boulders, and more pines. Even if she knew a damn thing about navigating Hope County, she didn’t know where they’d crashed to begin with.

More shouting erupted ahead. She bounded down a steep hill and leapt over a creek. Instead of heading toward the voices, she darted right. 

Her hand strayed to the holster at her hip only to find it empty. 

Shit . 

Her gun must have fallen out in the crash. Or maybe when she was hanging upside down. 

A bullet whizzed by, ricocheting off a boulder with a zing . Delilah ducked and zig-zagged. At any moment she was prepared for a stray round to bite through her flesh.

She raced uphill, stumbling, grabbing tree trunks and branches. Pines thinned into a clearing. Tucked amidst thickets of undergrowth was a small log house and a shed with white tin siding that stuck out like a sore thumb.

Houses had doors. Doors with locks that could stand between her and peggies. And just maybe there was a replacement pistol somewhere inside.

She sprinted across the drive and around several stacks of firewood. All the windows were dark. Nobody was home. She stepped onto the porch.

A glance over her shoulder told her no peggies were on her tail. The shouting and gunfire grew distant. Maybe they were searching in the wrong direction.

She grabbed the door handle and pulled. It was blessedly, mercifully, thankfully unlocked .

The screen door clattered shut behind her. 

Guns . She needed a gun. What kind of Montana hick wouldn’t have a gun in their house? Peggies had them. If she got one they would be on even ground-

The unmistakable ch-chik of a pumped shotgun sounded from her left.

She threw up her arms, a vain attempt to shield her face.

“Holy hell. Rookie, is that you?”

Burke . 

Delilah blinked. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw the marshal peering over the kitchen counter.

“Marshal?” she whispered, heart beating in her throat.

“Oh my god, you got out? Shit. I thought I was the only one.” He motioned her to join him behind the counter. He nodded toward the kitchen window. “They following you?”

“Think they lost me. What happened to the others?”

“What do you think?” he snapped. “Fuckin’ peggies took ‘em. Probably took the people in this house too. I mean, look at this shit.” He pointed at the walls, at letters etched into the wood paneling that she couldn’t be bothered to read.

“I heard Hudson,” she said. “They got her.” Reality hit her like a sack of bricks. They took Hudson. They took everyone. She brought her hands up to her face, searching for answers in the gaps between her fingers. “Nancy is one of them. She talked to Joseph over dispatch. Called him Father.”

“Fuckin’ Nancy ,” Burke spat. “I knew that bitch was trouble.”

She lowered her shaking hands. “How?”

“Someone was leaking intel out of that office when I showed up. Telling Seed what was up so he knew to run when we were on his trail in the Whitetails.” He rolled his eyes. “At first I thought it was you.”

“Me?” she cried. “The fuck did I do?”

“You were the new - hey - no - listen, it doesn’t matter. You and I are going to get out of here. Then we’re going to get back-up.” He put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

“Wait a second. I thought you said you were the back-up.” She jabbed a finger at him.

“Hey, kid, I made a mistake. I didn’t think-”

“A mistake?” she scoffed. Something ugly welled up in her chest. “You call this a fucking mistake?”

“Would you keep it down-”

“This is a hell of a lot bigger than a mistake, Marshal.” She shoved the shotgun against his chest, backing him against the counter. “Pratt and Whitehorse are gone . Lord knows what they’re doing to Hudson.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, surprised to find hot tears in the corner of her eyes. “Fuck, I should have gone after her. I should have-”

“You’re spiraling, kid. You gotta get a grip.”

“Get a grip? Get a grip? You’ve fucked us over.” She punctuated her words with another shove. “You had a chance to do the right thing and you didn’t and you want me to get a fucking grip? Whitehorse warned us. He warned all of us and I didn’t - no - you didn’t-”

The kitchen window exploded. Burke hit the floor. She threw up her arms. Glass shards cut into her skin. 

“I heard you in there, snake,” a man called.

Delilah scrambled away from the window, boots crunching on broken glass. Burke took cover on the floor near the sink. He motioned for her to be quiet and then fumbled with the pistol in his holster before sliding it across the tiled floor.

Delilah grabbed it and flipped the safety off. Burke frantically motioned for her to go cover the front door while he checked the window.

She complied, crawling on her hands and knees, ignoring the stinging scratches on her arms.

Once she was kneeled by the door, Burke rose to his feet. Slowly, steadily, aiming down the barrel of his shotgun.

Delilah kept her finger poised over the trigger. Every nerve in her quivering body prepared for the first sign of the enemy.

Footsteps creaked on the porch. Where exactly on the porch, she couldn’t determine. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead.

Burke sidestepped as a shadow passed by the window. He put his finger up to his lips.

“Why don’t you come on out?” a gruff voice called. “The Father’s got a message for you.”

She didn’t dare breathe. The voice came from right outside the door.

In the darkness she heard the door handle click and watched as it began to turn.

She pulled the trigger. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. Muzzle flash left white starbursts in her eyes.

She kept firing. Again. Again. Again. Gritting her teeth until all she heard was the click click of an empty chamber.

“Rookie. Rookie! Stop!” Burke hissed.

Through the holes littering the door was a glimpse outside - a man’s face flecked with blood, the look of surprise frozen on his pale features. Something she didn’t quite understand possessed her to kick open the door and check her handiwork. 

“Get your ass back in here!”

She ignored the marshal and stepped outside.

The peggie lay dead, staring up at the night sky with sightless eyes. His chest was reduced to a bloody pulp, assault rifle clutched with white knuckles.

Delilah stared at what she had done. Any moment she expected the weight of the world to come crashing down on her shoulders. But it didn’t. Instead there was the heady rush of adrenaline. Blood in her veins raced from the promise of a good fight. And it had been a long time since she’d had a good fight.

“Wh-what the- you killed him!”

She looked to her right. Another peggie stood a few yards away, his hunting rifle shaking in his grip.

“You,” he gasped, face contorted with anguish “you aren’t fit for New Eden.”

Delilah cocked her head. Funny how everybody kept saying that .

He raised his hunting rifle to his cheek. His finger curled around the trigger.

Somehow she reached him before he could pull it. She struck him with the butt of her pistol. There was the crunch of bone followed by a tooth flying out of his mouth. He staggered, eyes wide with shock. 

Delilah barreled into him. Her shoulder caught him in the chest and they both crashed into the ground. Before he had a chance to struggle her hands were wrapped around his throat. She squeezed his windpipe. His pulse fluttered against her palms.

“Where are they? What did you do to them?” she bellowed.

“Rookie!” Burke shouted somewhere from within the house.

A stream of blood and saliva trailed from the corner of his mouth down to his scraggly beard. Blunt nails dug into her wrists, trying to pry her off.

She lifted him up and slammed his head back down against the floorboards.

He grunted and gurgled.

Shouts of alarm came from the tree line, but she couldn’t be bothered to look.

“Whitehorse?” she slammed his head again. “Pratt?” Again. “Hudson?” Again.

Blood pooled around his head, a black halo glistening in the moonlight. His eyes lost focus, looking at something far away over her shoulder. The hands wrapped around her wrists went limp.

“There’s the stray,” a woman called. 

Pap, pap, pap . An assault rifle fired from her left.

Bullets cracked against the side of the house, showering her with splinters. She shoved herself to her feet and stumbled backwards for the door. She had enough wherewithal to snatch the gun off the first peggie she killed as she went. 

As soon as she was in the house, an engine revved outside. Headlights shone through the kitchen window, painting the living room wall pale gold and illuminating the writing Burke had pointed out before. Bible verses, dozens of them. Delilah skimmed over them with unseeing eyes, only able to determine they were carved by a crazed and fanatic hand. 

More shouting and gunfire echoed from the front yard.

“Burke?” Delilah called.

No response.

She ducked and ran through the kitchen, half expecting to find him riddled with bullet holes on the floor. But he wasn’t there.

Must have left her to fend for herself. 

Fuck him, then .

She hefted the AR up to her chest and checked the sights. 

On the other end of the kitchen was a side door. Her first option was to sit and wait and probably die. Her second was to risk walking out and maybe get the element of surprise. 

She stalked over to the door. If she was going down in this shit-show then she was taking as many peggies with her as she could.

The door swung open. She stepped out and aimed left, squinting into blinding light. A man and a woman stood behind the stacks of firewood, haloed by the gleam of headlights. White baggy sweaters hung from their thin forms. They all wore the same stupid sweater .

She opened fire.

The woman fell behind the stack of firewood. Delilah swung her sights to the man and pulled the trigger. His head exploded into red mush. 

She grit her teeth and rolled her shoulders. Recoil hurt like a bitch.

Footsteps thudded behind her. Delilah turned just in time to catch the silver glint of a… shovel?

She ducked. A cold whiff of air tickled the back of her neck.

The peggie’s shovel clanged against the door. He swore under his breath.

Delilah shoved the barrel of her rifle into his gut and pulled the trigger. Flecks of warm blood splattered over her face and neck. She stepped over the body, kicking away the hand that clung to her pant leg.

She turned back to the truck only for something to thud against her chest. Delilah wheezed at the sudden pain radiating from her ribs. A gunshot echoed in the clearing.

Her eyes roved the tree line for who shot her. She found him ducking for cover behind the shed. She emptied the rest of her mag in his general direction. Gunfire ate through some of the tin siding. Only when she saw the spray of red did she stop.

Delilah took one tentative breath, then another. Her shoulders, her legs, her chest, everything ached. But there was no warm trickle of blood down her front. When she looked down she remembered her bulletproof vest. A ragged silver bloom stared up at her, remnants of an otherwise lethal shot.

How many had she just killed instead? She counted five - no, six - while her numb fingers picked at the bullet lodged in her vest. It wouldn’t come out.

Silence in the clearing was brief. A whining ATV came from the other side of the clearing carrying two more men. One armed with a bat. The other a pistol.

Before she had a chance to blink, the shed door flung off its rails with a godawful screech. A black pickup came roaring out and slammed into the ATV with a crunch. The peggies were thrown by the impact, landing in the gravel several yards away. 

The passenger side window of the truck rolled down. 

“Rookie. Get your ass over here. Now! ”

So, he hadn’t left after all . 

Delilah ran to the pickup and hauled herself into the cab. 

Burke floored it and she was tossed back in her seat.

“You and I are getting out of here.”

“Which way is out of here?”

“South. To Missoula.”

He whipped the steering wheel to the left, drifting them out of the gravel drive onto a rugged blacktop. Tires squealed. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air.

Delilah glanced at herself in the side mirror. Damn . And she thought she looked rough last  Friday night. Soot, dirt, and blood were smudged all over her forehead and cheeks. Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck and smeared her concealer, exposing the sickly purple and yellow bruises beneath. Beneath her bangs, her eyes were wide and blazing with a fury she couldn’t quite rationalize as her own. 

She didn’t have long to ponder it. Three white trucks careened into view of the mirror. And they were gaining on them fast.

“Marshal,” she warned.

“Found a couple extra mags in the shed.” He patted them in the middle seat. “Hope you got in some good practice at the range.”

Delilah fumbled with one of the mags, swapping out the one she emptied. She planted her butt on the dash and her knees on the seat before hunching over and squeezing her top half out of the window.

She looked down the barrel of her rifle. Keeping a steady aim was near impossible.

“Best bet is probably to aim for the tires,” Burke offered.

Delilah ignored him, opting to shoot out the windshield. It wasn’t long before the peggies returned fire.

Burke whipped the truck left and right, nearly spinning out in the process.

“What the hell are you doing?” Delilah spat.

“Trying not to get shot! What do you think?”

Delilah ducked back into the cab. A few shots pinged off the side of the truck with a shower of sparks. She peered back out and took a wild shot at the truck leading the pack. 

She must have hit the driver, because he took a sharp swerve to the left. Too sharp. It tipped on its side and rolled over. And then it kept rolling. Shrapnel flew everywhere as the truck shredded itself apart on impact. The two vehicles behind slammed into it, unable to hit their breaks in time.

She ducked back inside.

“Hold on!” Burke shouted.

She didn’t get a chance. They slammed into, well, something . Delilah wasn’t entirely sure what it was. But she flew forward and got a faceful of the seat’s headrest. All the force smashed the bridge of her nose. She yelped, her voice muffled by the cushion. Tears formed in her eyes of their own accord. She peeled herself off the seat only to find blood dripping from her nostrils.

Out the back window were the splintered remains of a roadblock and several peggies scrambling to get on an ATV.

She swiped at the blood with the back of her hand. “Wha-”

“In front, Rookie.”

Delilah looked over her shoulder and saw two more trucks and a four wheeler come skidding out of the forest and onto the road. “Where do all these assholes keep coming from?” She slid off the dashboard and back into her seat. 

Burke handed her one of the spare mags, his other hand still tight on the wheel. “Sheriff said the whole county was crawling with peggies. I didn’t think he was serious.”

Delilah chucked the empty mag out the window, hoping it would hit one of the peggies on the four wheeler. Instead it sailed past them into the ditch. 

With a click , the new mag was in place. She leaned out the window. But the peggies were prepared.

The woman on the back of the four wheeler pulled something out of her satchel. Delilah squinted through the hair whipping in her face. It was very bottle shaped . The peggie pulled out something else and with a flick of her thumb a small flame appeared in her hand.

Was that a…?

“Roll up the window,” Delilah shrieked.

“What?”

“Roll up the goddamn window! ” She fumbled for the button on the door handle. 

The window slid upwards, but not fast enough. An ignited molotov shattered against the window with perfect precision, scattering its contents on impact. Delilah threw herself across the cab and slammed into Burke. A whoosh of flame and unbearable heat poured in through the broken window. Sparks singed her hair and her exposed skin.

Fire crawled over the windshield and exterior of the cab. Delilah stamped out the flames that coated where she was sitting the moment before.

Burke’s elbow dug into her back as he made a sharp left, sending them off the road and plunging into the undergrowth. They rumbled along on uneven ground, branches and stalks of grass beating against the hood.

Delilah grabbed her rifle. Gleaming headlights caught the corner of her eye. The peggies weren’t about to give up. Two trucks bounced over hills and smashed through rotten logs, hot on their trail.

“Marshal!”

“This bunch just doesn’t know when to give up.”

Delilah grunted and aimed back out the window, careful to avoid lingering flames and what was left of the window. Her finger poised over the trigger, aim swaying over the faint outline of a peggie behind the wheel.

Something else caught her attention. A dull roar came from behind, growing louder and louder every second until it drowned out the chaos of everything else. A long black shadow swept over their truck. Delilah looked up and her mouth fell open.

A sleek white plane soared beyond the tops of the trees, arcing upwards to pull back around. Matching peggie crosses flashed proudly on the ends of its wings.

“They got air support too?” Burke asked.

Delilah didn’t reply. She looked between the plane, the trucks, and then back up to the plane.

No one is coming to save you , Joseph had warned her.

If she didn’t believe it before, she certainly did now.

She swore and fired again at the trucks. A voice in the back of her head told her it didn’t matter, that she and the Marshal didn’t stand a chance.

The plane circled back with a vengeance. A low rumble emanated from guns mounted below the cockpit as they spun up and fired. An awful grinding sound pierced her ears as the rounds ate up the earth, throwing up plumes of dirt in their wake.

Burke weaved them between a thicket of pines. It was just enough to get out of the line of fire.

“We gotta get back on the road,” he said. “The bridge across Silver Lake is up ahead somewhere.”

Delilah shot at the plane as it circled back around overhead, but it was no use. There was no way to tell if she was even hitting the damn thing. She just had to hope Burke could keep dodging their fire.

They swerved right and launched back onto the road. Cracks blossomed on the windshield as peggie bullets flew through the cab. Both Burke and Delilah ducked below the dash.

Something whacked into the hood. Delilah peered over the dash just in time for a deer crossing sign to come flying through the windshield. She flinched as it sailed through the cab and out the back window, taking the seat headrest with it.

“Hold on, Rookie. Bridge is-” 

The roar of the plane swooping back overhead drowned out his words.

Burke hunched over the steering wheel and corrected their course. Ahead she could make out the railings of the bridge and the long straightaway over glittering water. They sped forward as Burke pushed the pedal to the floor.

Delilah risked a glance out the back window and was surprised to find the peggies lagging behind. And that didn’t make sense. Not when they were so close just a moment ago.

The plane made another pass. As the roar of its engine faded, it was replaced with a high pitched whine. Delilah looked at Burke. But he was already looking at her, confusion narrowing his brow.

“What-” she never got a chance to finish the question.

A flash of dazzling white heat engulfed the bridge, the truck, everything. The world went silent. 

Delilah was floating. Above was the canvas of stars scattered across the wide Montana sky. Below, the infinite emptiness of space.

In slow motion the burnt husk of the truck buckled around the bridge railing. Shrapnel and broken glass scattered in all directions.

Dead. I must be dead. And I left my body .

She reached out and grappled with the air, engulfed by the sudden fear that she would be adrift forever. Shrill ringing in her ears told her she was alone and always would be. It’s what she deserved after all.

In the next instant she plunged into a cold black void. Shock stole the breath from her lungs. A flurry of bubbles rose from her lips. She sucked in a breath only for her mouth to fill with water.

No, not dead. Drowning.

The orange glow of the fire, distorted by rippling water, helped her determine which way was up. She thrashed her limbs, fighting her way to the surface. Her head broke through the waves. She wretched and coughed.

Her limbs quivered with exhaustion. She kicked to tread water but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough, no matter how much she urged them to.

A cry for help was on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t ask. Who would hear her if she shouted? Peggies that wanted her dead?

The current tugged her back under. It carried her wherever it willed and she was unable to fight back.

The lack of oxygen became painful. A bottomless need burned in her chest and darkened the edges of her vision. Her back brushed against the pebbled riverbed as a gentle wave pushed her farther along. 

Maybe this was God’s way of dealing with her. His way of punishing her for her mistakes. For the way she lied to Whitehorse. For the bar fights. For the fuck-up she was even before she ever ran away to Montana. And how fitting it was, to give her hope and then take it all away. 

Delilah closed her eyes and surrendered, accepting that this was what she deserved.

Something tugged at the collar of her shirt. She drifted on the edge of consciousness, barely aware of its presence.

Her back was scraping against the pebbles much rougher than before. Delilah grimaced. A muddled thought crossed her mind about why her last moments couldn’t be more peaceful.

Suddenly something crushed her chest. She gagged in surprise. Water spewed out of her mouth and dribbled all down her front. 

“There were two in the truck,” a man shouted. His voice carried over the water. From which direction, she couldn’t tell.

“No! Get off me! I am a United States Federal Marshal!” That was Burke.

“This one needs a little Faith. Take him to the Pilgrimage,” said the man.

The weight thumped against her chest again. Her eyes flew open. She rolled on her side and coughed, her body using every last bit of its strength to squeeze all the water out of her lungs. Waves lapped at her legs and sand from the shore stuck to her skin. Between coughs she sucked in gulps of air. 

“You’re lucky I found you when I did,” a voice muttered.

Someone, presumably the owner of the voice, nudged her and rolled her onto her back.

Delilah squinted through bleary stinging eyes. Above her stood the silhouette of her rescuer. His glasses glowed with the light of the wreckage burning on the bridge.

For a moment she swore she was back in the alley behind the bar and everything else was just a bad dream. If that was the case she knew who was standing over her now. She knew who had saved her.

Joseph .

It brought her a shred of comfort to know at least she wasn’t alone. Her head lolled to the side, cheek pressing into sand, and the world gave way to darkness.

Chapter Text

Delilah sat under the shade tree on the edge of the playground. Sunshine filtered through the branches above, creating gold shapes that swirled across her legs with the billowing leaves. Her hands sat on her lap and fiddled with the end of her auburn braid, a distraction from the gaping void in her gut.

Through her bangs she watched the other kids run and skip with each other. They jabbered and shrieked with glee, caught up in their games. Dozens of faces passed by her every day and she couldn’t match a name to any of them. At her old school people knew her name and she knew theirs. 

Gnawing hunger and dirty clothes she could deal with, but loneliness was a different beast.

“All alone again, huh?”

Delilah leapt to her feet and planted her back against the rough bark of the tree. Amongst all the kids she didn’t know there was one exception. She didn’t know his name, but she knew him . Dusty blonde hair, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose, and a pointed glint in his cold blue eyes.

He hated her. As for why, she could never figure it out. Maybe she gave him the wrong look in the hall. Maybe she stepped on his toes or spilt ketchup on his favorite shirt. Whatever it was, he just wouldn’t let it go. And hunting her down on the playground for a round of punishment was his daily routine. No matter how many times they got pulled into the principal's office, he kept coming back.

“Go away,” she said with as much venom as she could muster.

He pulled something out of his ratty jean jacket, a bright green pack of chewing gum. “Want some?” He smiled, showing a pink blob already between his teeth.

She narrowed her eyes, wondering what the gimmick was today. “No.”

“Aw c’mon. It’s good, I promise.” He took a step toward her.

Her fingers curled around the bark of the tree. “I don’t want any.” 

She scanned the crowd of kids for a teacher she could run to if things got ugly. There were none.

“I really think you should try it,” he insisted. “Here, you can have mine.” He lunged for her. 

She yelped and tried to duck out of the way. Her foot caught on a tree root and she got a face full of grass and dirt. The heel of his sneaker dug into her shoulder blades.

Something wet slapped against her back. Delilah shuddered. A small sob escaped her lips when his hand tugged at her braid, running down the length of it and pulling viciously at the roots of her hair.

“Get off!” she shrieked. 

The weight on her back lifted. She rolled over and got to her feet, swiping dirt off her chin with the back of her hand. Saliva, warm and sticky, trickled down the back of her neck. Her hand found the base of her braid and the gum tangled in it.

Delilah thought of her mother - her real mother - and the last morning she spent with her. She hummed a broken melody under her breath as she weaved Delilah’s hair into a braid. Her fingers shook with the effort. They always shook when she was trying to get clean. The last memory Delilah had of her before… before…

He laughed. A raw raspy sound came from the back of his throat as he doubled over in glee. He pointed at the hot tears rolling down her face.

Delilah saw red.

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. He looked down at her, a smile still crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

She reared back, nails digging into the palm of her hand, and socked him. Knuckles collided with bone. Something crunched on impact and the next thing she knew he was screaming bloody murder.

He fell to the ground and clutched at his face. Blood dribbled down to his lips and stained his teeth as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

Delilah didn’t care that he hurt. She didn’t care that the teachers came running. She didn’t care that they were yelling for her to stop. His whining grated on her ears and she was going to make him shut up. 

She planted a foot on either side of him while he writhed beneath her. Then she lunged for his throat.

Something dug into her wrists. Delilah opened her eyes and found her hands zip-tied to a rusty bed frame. She instinctively pulled back, hissing when the plastic rubbed against the faint burns on her skin.

“Took a good beating, hm?” 

A man sat in a metal folding chair across the room. Bald, white beard, baggy camo jacket, and glasses. 

Memories of the crash came back in fragments. An explosion, plunging into cold water, then being pulled ashore. She remembered staring up at those glasses and mistaking him for Joseph.

This man was definitely not Joseph. She swallowed back a shred of embarrassment.

He pulled the chair close, legs screeching on the concrete floor. The sound bounced around the confines of the room, making her wince. She took the opportunity to look around. It was a small room cluttered with various essentials. Bed, stove, cabinet, storage lockers, and an American flag hanging from dark green pipes running along the ceiling. 

Delilah's gaze returned to the man. He stared back. They sat in silence for a moment, sizing each other up. 

“So, Deputy Rookwood , wanna tell me why I ain’t ever heard of you before?” He leaned back and crossed his arms.

A clock ticked in the quiet that followed.

He didn’t look like a peggie. At least, he wasn’t wearing the same dingy white attire the rest of them wore. And he looked like he bathed a little more frequently.

“How’d you know my name?” she asked at last.

“Found the badge in your pocket.”

“And you tied me up anyway?”

He drummed his fingers on his bicep. After another moment of scrutinizing he grunted and pushed himself out of the chair. He crossed the room to a radio sitting on a small metal table.

“This might be interesting for you to hear,” he said over his shoulder.

He fiddled with the dial until a grainy yet distinct voice filled the room.

“- must give thanks to God. The day I have prophesied to you has arrived. Everything I’ve told you has come true .”

That was Joseph’s voice.

“ The authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of our Family. Save for one .”

The old man shot her a pointed look.

“ But this Wayward Soul will be given a choice; to embrace us or reject us. We will endure the trials God has set forth for us and prepare ourselves for New Eden. And when the time comes, we will all march through -” 

He shut the radio off. “You know what that shit means?” He jabbed a thumb at the radio and didn’t give Delilah a chance to answer. “It means they’ve cut off the outside. Mountain tunnels, phone lines, radio signals. Nothin’ is getting in or out of Hope County. And that means we’re all fucked.”

“How long was I out?” she rasped.

“‘Bout thirty six hours. Long enough for them to kick off the goddamn Collapse.”

Delilah remembered what Joseph said when he met her at the ranch. And before that when he warned her in the diner. All of it sounded so cryptic and delusional, and yet-

“They all think the world’s about to come to an end. Fifteen years they've been stewing in this here valley, just waiting for the right people to come along and kick off their goddamn Holy War.” He sneered and shook his head. “Well you sure as shit kicked.”

“We didn’t- we were just-”

“Just what? Following orders? Let the feds roll up from DC and push you around?” He huffed. “I don’t want to hear it.”

She set her jaw and glared at him through her bangs.

“You know, the smartest thing for me to do would just be to hand you over.”

Hand her over? To the cult? To Joseph?  

She curled her fists. The zip ties rubbed against the raw skin on her wrists, but she pulled at them anyway. “Why don’t you fuckin’ try?” 

The sour line of his mouth didn’t move an inch. Another tense silence passed between them. The little folding chair creaked as he shifted his weight forward. A long-suffering sigh escaped his nose. He muttered a string of swear words under his breath before getting up and stooping over where she was hunched over on the floor. He pulled a hunting knife out of his pocket and cut the zip tie.

Delilah withdrew. She curled in on herself and traced the tender pink burns on her arms.

“Better take off that uniform of yours,” he grunted. “We’ll need to burn it.”

She looked down at her shirt. As bloodstained, dirty, and singed as it was, she couldn’t say she’d miss it all that much.

“Got a shower in one of the other rooms. Change of clothes in the locker here. Take care of all that, then we’ll talk.”

-

The concrete floor was cold on her bare feet as she wandered the cramped halls of the bunker. At least, she was almost entirely certain they were underground. 

She rubbed the damp ends of her hair with a raggedy old towel. The hot water in the shower almost lasted long enough for her to get scrubbed clean. Remnants of dirt still shone black under her fingernails. And none of that did anything to help with physical exhaustion nor the swollen bridge of her nose.

If the crabby old man didn’t want to chat, she would have passed out on the floor again.

She followed the sounds of radio static and swearing through a narrow passageway that opened up into some semblance of a dining room. Against the far wall sat a small aquarium. Its lights tinted the entire half of the room a rich teal. A small school of orange fish flitted in and out of bright pink corral. In the center of the room was a brown couch and coffee table and behind that were metal shelves crammed full of canned and jarred goods. It was homier than the bedroom she woke up in, but only just.

The old man was sitting on the other end of the room. He hunched over an old ham radio, fiddling with the dials. Behind him was a reloading bench piled high with gun parts and boxes of ammunition. On the wall behind him was a bulletin board like the one in Whitehorse’s office. In fact, as Delilah got closer, she noticed a similar arrangement of newspaper clippings arranged across the board.

“Find some clothes to your liking?” he asked.

She glanced down at her outfit and pursed her lips, wondering if that was supposed to be a joke. A worn leather belt hiked far up her waist kept a pair of men’s jeans about two sizes too big in place. She was practically swimming in a baggy gray crewneck. Yellow stains suspiciously similar to mustard tainted the faded American flag on its front.

“Used to have some of my ex-wife’s shit around, but it probably wouldn’t have fit you much better.”

Divorced. Shocking.

“What are you doing?” She gestured to the radio in front of him.

“Real personable sort, aren’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“It’s a joke, kid.” He ran a hand over his mustache and shook his head.  “You can call me Dutch, by the way.”

“Rook,” she offered. Her wrists were still tender from the zip-ties and that didn’t warrant establishing a first-name basis.

“Well, Rook , peggies took out the phone lines. Thought I’d try my luck reaching out to other folks-”

“So where’s my crew?”

Dutch held up a finger. “If you’d let me finish . I thought I’d reach out, see who else is still kicking, but the peggies took out the tower on the southeast end of this island.”

“No intel then,” she huffed.

“Nope. And we ain’t getting any until someone fixes that tower,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She frowned. “I don’t do heights.”

“These old knees don’t do ladders,” he shot back. “Besides, I got a little present to help you out.” He rummaged around in the crates under the reloading bench and pulled out a handheld radio. “As long as you stay in range, I can give you directions from this.”

She grabbed it, surprised by how hefty it was for a hunk of plastic. “So you’ll just sit here on your ass while I do the work, is that it?”

He shrugged. “Someone’s gotta be here to make sure the signal’s coming in.” 

-

Delilah stumbled through the undergrowth, keeping a hand over her eyes to keep out stray rays of sun. After the cool depths of the bunker, the world above was too hot and too bright. She looked up through the web of tree branches for any signs of the fabled radio tower.

“ Find it yet? ” Dutch’s voice came from the radio dangling at her hip.

She unclipped it from her belt and rolled her eyes. “No.”

“ Island ain’t that big, Rook. Keep going south. You’ll find it. ”

“How do I know I’m going south?” she snapped, kicking a clump of ferns out of her way.

“ Did you turn left out the bunker door? ”

“Yeah.”

“ Then you’re going south .”

“But you told me to turn right after that.”

“ When? ”

“Three minutes ago,” she spat through clenched teeth.

“ Okay, so if you went south and you turned right which way is that? ”

“I don’t know. You’re the one with the goddamn compass!”

“ It’s west ,” he sighed. “Damn, didn’t they teach you kids nothin’ in school? ”

A vein swelled in her forehead as she squeezed the radio. She stared down at the green blinking light on the gray casing, debating whether or not to hurl it into the weeds and forget about it. Instead she took a breath, counted to three, and pressed the talk button. “If the tower is southeast, why did you tell me to go west?”

“ You wanna give the trails and ranger tower a wide berth. Might be peggies lurking around. ”

Delilah attached the radio back to her belt and ran a hand over her sweaty forehead. Fuck the peggies and fuck that old coot . She turned herself around, figuring approximately which way southeast was, and set off in that direction.

Dutch had been kind enough to lend her a 1911 pistol which was her only means of defense should she get caught. With that in mind, she proceeded as carefully as she could manage. She stopped often, listening to the sounds of the forest for any signs of people nearby. There was nothing, save for chirping birds and the breeze rustling through the pines.

She remembered flying over the island not more than two days prior. It didn’t look nearly as big then as it felt now. Her chosen direction took her uphill. She clambered up steep inclines and over boulders. 

Without warning her stomach growled. It would have been smart to grab a bite to eat before she left the bunker. Not that Dutch offered.

Maybe he was a cheap old bastard. He seemed the type. Maybe that was why his wife left him. That and the weirdo hermit hole he built in the ground. She’d encountered a handful of the doomsday prepper locals and he seemed to check all the same boxes.

Her internal monologue paused when she caught a glimpse of a tall white structure through the trees. Must be the ranger tower Dutch mentioned.

She crouched and hobbled her way around the edge of the clearing. At first she thought it might be abandoned despite the obvious cult symbols painted in black on its walls. There were no nearby vehicles. Nobody was looking out the windows up top.

Her knees ached and shook. She considered standing back up and going on her way. But just when she rose, the door to the ranger tower creaked open. Delilah dropped back to the ground. Her pulse started to race. Through the gaps in the undergrowth, she watched two peggies leave the tower, their boots clomping down the wooden ramp.

Delilah leaned forward, straining to make out their voices.

“-other end,” one man said. “We should check out the boathouse that way.”

“What about the shrine?” asked the other.

“Our brothers and sisters are already there. We can meet them there after.”

The voices grew louder. They were getting closer. 

A twig snapped to her right, just a few yards away.

Delilah stilled, not even daring to breathe.

The radio on her hip crackled to life. “ You find that damn thing yet? ”

Fuck .

“What was that?” one of the peggies barked.

Footsteps crunched through the undergrowth.

Delilah fumbled to hike up her baggy shirt far enough and drew the pistol out of her holster.

“ Rook? ”

“Hear that?” the peggie shouted again, this time too close for comfort. He rounded a tree, a baseball bat poised above his shoulder. An Eden’s Gate cross was painted over his face in black, smudging paint. He locked eyes with Delilah. “Hey-”

Delilah pulled out her pistol and fired. The shot drove through his chest, knocking him flat on his back. 

“Brother?” the other man shouted.

The man writhed in the thicket, clutching at the hole spurting blood from his chest. A wild fearful look swam in his watery brown eyes that took Delilah off guard. She blinked at him, wondering what he saw when he looked at her.

“ Rook, you better answer me .”

She bared her teeth, annoyed with Dutch’s persistence. Without thinking she raised her arm and put another bullet right between his eyes. She rose to her feet, confident the other man would meet the same fate.

“Sinner,” came an outcry somewhere behind.

She turned to face the man. Same stupid paint on his face. Dingy white sweatshirt and ratty jeans. Long tangled hair and beard. Why did they all look the same? She raised her pistol.

He threw up his arms. “Don’t sh-”

Bang .

The body hit the ground with a thud. Crows cawed and fled from the branches overhead.

“ Rook, you better answer me or I’m coming out of this bunker -”

She pressed the talk button on the radio. “I’m busy ,” she growled.

Something on the edge of her hearing caught her attention. Another voice.

“-heard shooting that way!”

“ What was that? ” Dutch asked.

Delilah looked down at the radio. “If you want that fucking tower fixed, you stay quiet until I give the all clear.”

The shouting grew nearer as did rustling in the undergrowth. Delilah angled her head toward the sound. For a moment she stood still, her fight or flight instinct at war with itself.

There was no telling how many there were. Or how well armed they might be.

In the end, flight won. She darted across the clearing and under the legs of the ranger station. If she was lucky, they’d find the bodies and wouldn’t know where to go from there. 

As she ran the voices grew fainter and fainter. She could go on undetected. Mostly. For now.

Traveling down the east end of the island was easier than she anticipated. The hill, which seemed to crest under the ranger tower, sloped downwards. At the base of the hill, the tree line thinned and she found herself on a gravel road flanked by the forest and a rocky shore.

Silver Lake’s waves lapped at the rugged shoreline. In the distance, beyond the opposite shore, and even further beyond those hills loomed the mountain range encasing Hope County. But more eye-catching than the scenery was the towering metal giant she had to crane her neck up to see.

She thought about calling Dutch, but decided she liked the peace and quiet without him. And she wanted that peace and quiet for what was to come.

A few times she circled the base of the tower, stomach rolling with apprehension each time she approached the silver rungs of the ladder. Up above - way up above - a few vultures circled lazily amongst the clouds. A stray rope dangled near the tower’s summit, swaying in the wind.

She grit her teeth and grabbed the ladder. 

It wasn’t so bad at first. Delilah kept her eyes fixed on the rungs. One passed by, then another. And another. And another. She had a smooth rhythm going. Until she looked down. Then the poles of the tower seemed to wobble and the world started to sway.

She screwed her eyes shut and pulled herself close to the ladder. Even then the spinning didn’t stop. Her legs turned to jelly. Above, below, and in every other direction she could sense the empty expanse of space. It gave her the same eerie feeling as when she plunged off the bridge… Her stomach flipped at the thought.

It would be humiliating if the peggies somehow found her now, clinging to the rungs for dear life. She imagined Joseph among them, arms crossed, concerned frown on his face. It wouldn’t be the first time she embarrassed herself in front of him. Maybe he’d have a dozen bible verses on the tip of his tongue.

She opened her eyes. Actually, there was no maybe about it . He most certainly would have scripture at the ready. Probably some shitty little sermon. Behold, the Wayward Soul I told you about. Look how she clings to the ladder in fear. A little lost lamb in need of salvation and all that other crap.

The thought annoyed her and that annoyance was something she latched onto. It gave her the strength to fix her eyes back on the ladder and keep climbing.

Dumbass man-bun. Dumbass glasses.

At last she reached the top of the tower. A switch with a flickering red light awaited her at the top. With quivering hands she flipped it upwards and a generator way down below (she didn’t want to calculate exactly how far below) started to hum.

“ I see you found the tower ,” Dutch said. “ Peggies give you any trouble? ”

Two more men were added to the tally of lives she’d taken. A hollow pang of guilt nestled in her chest. “I handled it.”

“ That’s good cause you’re gonna -”

Dutch cut off and a clatter came from his end of the line.

“Uh, Dutch?”

“ Oh . Shit. Rook you better get your ass back here ASAP. ”

Climbing down the tower went much faster than climbing up. With every step, her distance to the ground grew closer and closer. But this time she was anticipating whatever Dutch had waiting for her back at the bunker. 

By the time she made it back, he was already waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Delilah opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but he put up a finger. Instead he ushered her back into the living room. A chunky CRT TV was propped up on the table. On its screen a grainy image wobbled, but not too grainy to see the man on the screen.

John Seed . 

“ -come true? What if I told you that everything could be overcome if you embraced an idea? ” 

Delilah hunched over the coffee table, glowering as the camera focused on his smug smile. His tattooed hand curled into a fist and thumped against the exposed sliver of his chest. Peeking out from the blue folds of his shirt was a reddened welt of flesh. She thought she’d notice such a large scar when they met in person. He must have had his shirt buttoned up then.

“ What if I told you that freedom from sin can come from the power of just one word?”

The camera panned up to a large sign hanging from a black trellis. It spelled out one word in large black letters.

“Yes, ” dozens of voices cheered followed by a smattering of applause.

Delilah frowned. What kind of corny televangelist shit -

A woman appeared on screen, held up on either side by peggies. Delilah would have recognized that dark braid and green shirt anywhere. Her firsts clenched the loose fabric of her jeans as Hudson looked into the camera. Duct tape was wrapped tight over her mouth and trails of mascara ran down her cheeks. Dark strands of hair around her face fluttered with her breath.

Horrible persistent chanting raced through Delilah’s mind. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault . Hudson’s scream from the night of the crash bounced around in her skull.

“ Yes, I am a sinner. Yes, I wish to be unburdened. ” John took Hudson from his followers and held her before the camera. She strained to get out of his grasp, but his fingers dug into her shoulders. “ Yes… I must be redeemed. ” He put a hand around her throat and she shuddered.

This was her fault. Somehow it was. It had to be. She should have said something to Whitehorse that first day when Burke arrived. Or when they were still trying to find Joseph. Instead she’d played along with Joseph’s little games. Calling him on the phone, humoring his brother, going to his house. None of it helped her team. Not really. It was all to sate her own selfish curiosity. And now she wasn’t even the one suffering for it.

“Is this live?” Delilah croaked, unable to pull her eyes from the screen.

Dutch shrugged. “No way to tell really.”

Delilah got to her feet, went over to the reloading bench, and snatched the AR off the lower shelf.

“Where are you going, kid?”

She grabbed a backpack and began stuffing it full of food rations and spare mags. 

“ If you’re watching this, know that you have been selected. You will be cleansed. ”

She zipped the bag shut and jabbed her thumb at the TV. “To get Hudson.”

“ You will confess your sins and you will be offered atonement. ”

“Well hold on now,” Dutch said, “you don’t even know where they are.”

“I’ll find them,” she swore through clenched teeth. She had to make it up to them. To Hudson and to Pratt and Whitehorse, wherever they might be. 

“ Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything. We will come for you. ”

Dutch crossed his arms. John’s words hung in the air between them. The ends of his mustache pulled down in a frown. He took a tentative step forward as if he were going to stop her. Delilah jutted her chin at him, daring him to try. 

“ Welcome to Eden’s Gate .”

Delilah shouldered the backpack, uncaring that the weight tugged on her sore muscles. She turned her back on Dutch and headed for the door.

Chapter Text

Delilah trudged along the shoulder of the highway, conscious of the blisters forming on the backs of her heels with every step. Traveling on foot hadn’t been part of the plan. The plan was to tear through the valley until she could get her hands on John and wring his neck. But two miles back, the truck she commandeered from the side of the road ran out of gas.

Fuel wasn’t the only problem. She didn’t actually know where John and Joey were - a thought that only crossed her mind after ditching the truck. The broadcast Dutch picked up couldn’t have been that old. It was filmed outdoors in broad daylight and it had only been 36 hours since everything went to shit. She had been a bit preoccupied seeing Joey in obvious distress and hadn’t bothered to study their backdrop for clues. It was too late now.

She paused to readjust her ill fitting sneakers. Dutch had gotten a bit overzealous with the whole ‘burn the evidence’ thing and trashed her combat boots as well as her bulletproof vest. The vest she could understand - with Hope County Deputy stitched to the front and back in bright yellow letters it was a dead giveaway. And of course he wouldn’t lend her his boots.

Cheap bastard .

Maybe she should have knocked him out and stolen them.

Delilah peeled back her socks, grimacing at the raw patches of skin. Just one more inconvenience to the absolute shit-show of the past week.

Aside from the pain that nipped her heels with every step, something else was beginning to nag at her. Her best estimate of how far she’d traveled by vehicle and then on foot told her she should be coming up on Fall’s End soon. And the closer she got to proper civilization, there was a suspicious lack of… civilization.

A long time she’d been walking and she had yet to see another living soul. No traffic, peggie or otherwise, no pedestrians, nothing. Like everyone up and vanished overnight. That wasn’t true, of course, because there were a handful of peggies crawling over Dutch’s island.

Delilah kept an eye on the forest lining both sides of the highway, half expecting a gaggle of cultists to rear their grimy heads at any moment. In the distance she heard the faint rush of water, birdsong and the breeze swishing through pine needles. If it weren’t for literally everything else about her circumstances, she would have stopped to enjoy the scenery.

She limped around the bend of the highway. What greeted her beyond made Delilah stop in her tracks. Her jaw dropped.

A Fall’s End welcome sign greeted her. Painted over it in sloppy dribbling black letters was one word: Sinner .

The outskirts of town were gone. Ashen craters marred the earth. Homes had been replaced with heaps of rubble, some of it spilling into the road like a tide of destruction. The buildings that remained standing were withered burnt husks or peppered with bullet holes. 

On the west end of town, visible down the barren main street, stood Fall’s End Church. A large hole gaped in its eastern wall, as if some great beast had gone on a rampage and gutted the building.

A breeze swept up stray dust and ash.

Delilah took a step forward and then another, stomach churning and twisting in knots.

Mangled human remains clung to an askew road sign, burnt to a crisp. Suitcases were left on doorsteps with no owners to claim them. Bullet casings and chunks of asphalt littered ground. Eden’s Gate flags staked in front yards fluttered in the breeze. Eerie silence permeated the streets as if the rest of the world were some far off spectator.

Dutch had mentioned the phone lines, the radio towers, and the tunnels out of the county. All of them were taken out to prevent any outside contact or hope of escape. But there was no mention of the town turning into a warzone. Maybe he didn’t even know. 

Her wandering led her down Main Street and into a familiar alley. Not that she recognized any of the surrounding buildings. They were all gone. But muscle memory of navigating the same blocks day in and day out told her the single crumbling brick wall that remained standing belonged to the Sheriff’s Office.

She picked her way through the wreckage, over the half buried desks of her colleagues, and through the leaning doorway into Whitehorse’s office. Only the back wall remained, the rest of the office was smothered under crumbling bricks. Something flapping in the wind caught her eye. It was Joseph’s picture, still clinging to the bulletin board. 

Delilah moved towards it and pinned the corner down with her thumb. Joseph stared back, unable to offer her any more than frozen scrutiny.

He was responsible for this. She knew he had to be. If not directly, then by his orders.

She should be angry. As angry as she had been the night of his botched arrest. As angry as when she saw Joey crying on Dutch’s TV. But for once her temper was still.

No matter how much she tried to understand, it didn’t make sense. How could he be kind enough to save her behind the bar and then help her out of the helicopter wreckage, yet cruel enough to destroy a town of innocent civilians? Maybe when she was done with John, when she got Joey back, she would hunt him down next. Maybe try to get some answers-

Bricks clinked behind her.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Hey! You! Don’t move,” a male voice growled. “Hands up where I can see ‘em.”

Delilah raised her hands, risking a look over her shoulder. Through her hair she caught a glimpse of the man. He had a pistol pointed at her back.

Bulletproof vest would have come in handy right about now .

“Sister,” he barked, making Delilah flinch, “we’ve got a stray. Call in the patrol.”

Ah, shit.

There was another shift in the rubble as he turned to look for his companion. That was the split second Delilah needed. She bolted and leapt over the crumbling remains of the wall. 

“Oh, she’s a runner,” the man’s shout followed her as she sprinted down the alley.

Bullets ricocheted off the pavement with a zing , tossing up chunks of dirt.

“Why don’t you show your face, sinner?” a woman taunted. 

Delilah raced down the alley, fumbling with the AR strapped to her back as she went. God, she was getting so fucking sick of running . 

The alley took a sharp left, the road disappearing under mounds of dusty red brick. She clambered over the bricks, her head on a swivel for any decent cover. Her best bet was to run further into town where some of the buildings were still standing. Stone and chunks of charred wood rolled and snapped under her feet as she scrambled down the other side.

“She went that way,” the woman called back to the other peggie.

Delilah hefted her borrowed rifle up to her chest and kept running. Anything to put more barriers between herself and them. 

On queue gunshots cracked from somewhere over her shoulder. Delilah zig-zagged hoping to throw off their aim. She turned left onto a road that led back out to Main Street. 

More gunfire from behind. “You can run, but there’s nowhere you can hide!”

Delilah swung her rifle around, snarling and ready to fire at random. She pulled the trigger only to find it locked in place.

The fuck?!

It didn’t matter, luckily. The peggie chasing her was nowhere in sight. Maybe they were losing her trail.

A half-standing storefront was up ahead. The roof had buckled in and the windows were smashed out, but the lower walls were half concrete foundation, half brick - nice, sturdy, and most importantly they were bulletproof. 

Delilah leapt through the window. Her sneakers slipped on shards of glass and she fell in a heap of tangled limbs before scrambling on her elbows and knees behind an empty shelving unit.

Whatever this place used to be, it was a wreck. A stampede of muddy footprints trailed through the aisles. What shelves remained standing were bare. Smashed jars and cans of foodstuffs were scattered across the floor and the cash register drawer hung open, completely cleared out. 

Outside, the peggies shouted at one another, but she was too preoccupied to listen to their callouts.

Delilah wrestled with her borrowed rifle. The safety was off, yet it hadn’t fired. Something somewhere must be jammed. A shame she hadn’t paid more attention to the maintenance lectures in firearm safety training. 

With shaking hands she pulled off her pack and dug through her rations, searching for a spare mag - maybe swapping them out would fix it. She found her spare - one of three - and wrenched the old magazine out of the rifle and tossed it to the side.

Her sneakers slid on tile as she pressed her back against the shelves, firmly keeping herself out of sight from the windows. She ignored the tingle of sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. The gun and magazine were heavy in her quivering arms. If she didn’t get this figured out quickly she was as good as de-

The crunch of shoes on broken glass reached her ears. 

She flinched instinctively as the male peggie wielding a pistol stepped into the aisle. They locked eyes for a moment before he flashed his teeth and fired.

Delilah flung herself out of the way. Gunfire rang in her ears as a bullet grazed her arm. She hissed at the sting and backpedaled, knocking over the shelving unit with a massive clang. 

She shoved the mag into the rifle, relieved when it clicked into place. She aimed down sights and pulled the trigger. It didn’t budge. 

Fuck .

The peggie was barreling down on her fast. He pulled a knife out of his belt. Delilah switched her grip, seizing the end of the AR’s stock like a baseball bat, and swung as hard as she could.

The barrel thwacked the peggie across the face. A ragged gash split down his cheek. His head whipped with the blow. He staggered and fell to one knee.

Delilah swung and hit the stock against the back of his skull. 

He collapsed. Unconscious or dead, she couldn’t tell and she didn’t care.

“You get her?” the woman called to her companion.

His knife lay just out of his reach on the floor. Delilah picked it up, examining the serrated edge. She swung her rifle on its strap around her shoulder and weighed the knife handle in her palm. It gave her an idea.

She peered out the window. The woman was standing in the street with her pistol at the ready, but not ready enough. 

“What the-” the woman gasped.

Delilah threw the knife. The peggie managed to leap out of the way in time, the knife sailing past her and skidding across the asphalt. But she wasn’t ready for Delilah to come running after it.

She wrapped her hands around the peggie’s wrist and twisted. The pistol fell out of the woman’s grip as she yelped. Delilah followed up with a punch that caught her square in the throat. The peggie staggered backwards with wide eyes, free hand reaching for her neck.

Delilah grabbed her shoulders and threw them both to the ground. She pinned her in place, fingers clutching the woman's cheeks as she forced her to look up at her.

“I’m only going to ask you this one time,” she snarled. “Tell me where John is.”

The woman gagged. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets as she looked up at Delilah.

“Answer me!” Her nails dug into flesh.

“ You ,” she wheezed, “you’re the one the Father-”

Delilah struck her across the face. “I asked you where John is.”

“John will Cleanse you. John will make you Atone.”

Reverence shone in the peggie’s watery eyes and made her blood boil. She pulled back her fist. “Last chance.”

Footsteps thumped on the pavement behind her.

Delilah looked over her shoulder just in time to get a fist to the eye socket. Next thing she knew she was flat on her back in the road, both peggies looming over her.

Blood still oozed from the gash on the man’s face and soaked into his dark beard. He nudged Delilah’s cheek with the toe of his boot. She hissed as it scraped the tender flesh around her eye.

The woman leapt to her feet and grabbed his shoulder. “Wait. This one is for the Father.”

“You sure?” he grunted.

Delilah’s head lolled to the side. Her useless AR lay next to her. Beyond that the peggie’s pistol, forgotten but still within reach. She glanced at the peggies, who were checking up on each other, then back at the pistol.

“Give me your radio,” he said. The woman complied. He took it and fiddled with the dial. “This is brother Andrew. I have information for John See-”

A bullet ripped clean through his jaw and up through the top of his skull. He dropped to his knees and fell over. Dead.

“Andrew!” the woman shrieked, her face contorting in anguish.

Delilah swung her arm over and fired again. Her shot hit the peggie’s chest with a thud. 

The woman swayed backwards and gaped at the red hole in her sternum. Spittle and blood ran down the corners of her mouth before she sunk to the ground. Gurgling came from the back of her throat and she went still.

Delilah staggered to her feet, staring at the bodies and the puddles of red trickling onto the asphalt beneath them. Her ears still rang from the gunfire. She ran a shaking hand over her face, ghosting over the swollen bridge of her nose and her freshly bruised eye.

The tang of blood hit her nose just as she saw a glob of gray matter hanging out from the top of the male peggie’s skull. She doubled over. Stinging bile rose in the back of her throat. Her hand clamped over her mouth while her eyes roved over the cracked yellow paint dividing the street. Anything to focus on to keep her from puking.

Static fizzled from the radio dropped by the peggie.

“ This is John. Report in. ”

Delilah wobbled over on unsteady legs and stooped to pick it up as well as the knife she’d thrown earlier.

“ Brother Andrew, this is John. Do you copy? ”

Despite her nausea a little thrill ran down her spine. This was the man she was hunting for after all. “He’s dead,” she rasped into the receiver.

A pause.

“ Ah. Hello, Deputy. You know, some of our family were doubtful as to whether or not you survived the fall from the bridge. But the Father insisted otherwise. I find it comforting to know that he was right yet again. ”

“As soon as I find you, you’re going to wish he was wrong.”

“ Did you not hear the good news? ” His voice lilted as if he were smiling. “ You don’t have to find me. I’ll find you.”

Delilah opened her mouth to give a sharp retort, but froze when the roar of an engine reached her ears.

“ Sit tight, Deputy. I’m on my way .”

Blood-pumping adrenaline returned to her veins with a vengeance.

Squalling tires caught her attention. She looked up and found a white truck barreling down the road toward her at full speed. 

Delilah raised her pistol and pulled the trigger.

Click .

“For fuck’s sake,” she swore aloud.

The gesture must have spooked the driver, because the truck whipped to the side and came skidding to a halt. All four doors flung open and grimy peggies piled out of the cab, shouting and hollering for her to stand down.

Delilah hurled the empty useless pistol at them. It missed the peggies and smashed through the windshield.

One of the men from the passenger side reached her first. In the chaos she couldn’t tell what he was shouting, just the flash of his yellow teeth and spittle flying from his lips.

In slow motion she watched his hand reach for the firearm at his hip. The knife flashed in the sunlight, guided by her hand as she drew it across his chest, leaving behind a ribbon of red.

Next she watched it plunge into his throat, the hilt of the blade kissing one side of his pale neck while the tip poked out of the other.

In one smooth motion she pulled the knife from his neck and moved to the next target. 

This one put up an arm to defend himself, unable to back away from her in time. Her knife broke the skin by his wrist and she dragged it down the length of his arm.

It was a simple pattern of movement, really.

Slice, stab, wipe the blood from her eyes, repeat.

Outstretched hands grabbed at her, pulled at her arms, her clothes, her hair, but they couldn’t stop her blade from reaching them. 

Sticky warm blood ran in thick rivulets down her arm. It clung to her clothes and her skin. She held her breath to keep the coppery stench of it at bay. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest, her blood rushing from the high of a good fight.

For a moment she was back on the playground, and the young boy was writhing beneath her feet, screaming up at her with a mouthful of red-stained teeth. Delilah let him writhe and shriek, a small part of her reveling in the spectacle. She didn’t care for his pain, only that for the first time in her life she decided to truly fight back she had won .

She blinked and the schoolyard bully was replaced with a grown man, weak and spasming hands wrapped over her fist which buried the knife in his abdomen.

He was the last of the group, yet the cacophony of shouting had not stopped. Delilah looked up and found herself surrounded by dozens of peggies. She didn’t know when they arrived or how long they’d been there.

A silver blur flew from the crowd and pierced her shoulder. Delilah looked at the object, barely registering the pain of a needle sinking into her flesh. It was a thin silver dart with quivering green feathers.

The effects of the dart - whatever it contained - washed over her in mere moments. The sky took on a green tint and the earth itself began to tilt back and forth. Delilah leaned with it, struggling to keep herself upright. The shouting grew distant, replaced with a childish giggle that bounced all around her skull. Thick banks of fog rolled in from all directions and white glittering sprites danced in her vision.

She was faintly aware of her body colliding with the asphalt. Each breath she took, the world slowed and grew farther and farther away.

“I appreciate that you didn’t run off on me,” a voice she recognized slithered through the green haze, curling into her ears like a serpent looking for a place to hide. 

Delilah looked to her right and saw a black boot emerge from the mist. Its heel dug into her blood spattered forearm. She wriggled her fingers and found herself too weak to pull herself free.

The rest of the shadowy figure emerged, sprites swirling away from his silhouette as if frightened by his presence.

John Seed parted his lips in a ruse of a smile. His glittering blue eyes radiated malice. “I told you I would find you.”

-

Joseph Seed hunched over his desk, knuckles pressed against the bridge of his nose. He stared at the sliver of wood grain in the gap between his wrists while his mouth moved fervently in silent prayer.

Lord, be with us. Show us the way to New Eden. All by your provision, all by your will. Bring the lost to the light so that they may find the path you’ve shown me. Amen.

Two hours he’d been locked in his dim office in the depths of his compound, fully committed to communing with God. It was a routine he’d struggled to maintain since the night the Reaping began. 

He rubbed his temples. Many burdens rested on his shoulders and it was only behind closed doors he permitted himself to sag. To be less of a Father and more of a man. 

Preparations were a logistical nightmare. His family needed food, water, medical supplies, clothing, farming equipment, and most of all spiritual nourishment. In spare moments he prayed for the provision of each of these things, for guidance, and perhaps most important of all, he prayed for mercy.

Not for himself. No. He was absolved of his sin. Long ago, he paid that price by carving it into his own flesh and spilling his blood. Instead he prayed for the wayward soul plaguing his thoughts as of late.

On his desk sat a yellow file with her name written in looping black ink. Nancy had been kind enough to deliver it shortly after the First Seal was broken. His fingers fiddled with the corner of the folder while his free hand thumbed the wooden beads of his rosary.

How compelling she was and she didn’t even have a clue. At first he had written her off as an agent of the enemy, but the more he learned, the more his heart softened. It was God’s grace, he believed, that drew him to her and allowed him to see her for what she really was. A lost lamb masquerading as a lion. He would read the file front to back before entrusting its contents to John.

The door to his office swung open. As if his thoughts had summoned him, John appeared. With a flourish of his long coat he crossed the room and leaned over Joseph’s desk. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His fingertips twitched with excitement where they rested on either side of Delilah’s file.

“Joseph,” he said.

“Good afternoon, John,” Joseph replied. He kept his voice even to dull the energy radiating from his brother, a honed response to counteract his rather erratic moods.

“I have her. The Deputy. I found her.”

“I see.”

“She was every bit of what you said. By the time I arrived, those posted at Fall’s End were already dead. There she stood in the middle of it all, covered in blood. More of a rabid animal than a woman. But my Chosen were enough to bring her down.”

“Unharmed?”

At that, he faltered. “She had some injuries from prior encounters. But a single Bliss dart was enough to subdue her.”

“Mmm.” He clasped his hands and pressed them to his lips, pondering for a moment. “Will she be Cleansed with the others?”

John arched his brow. “That is the prerequisite for Atonement, yes.”

“Do you think she deserves such a thing?” Joseph cocked his head.

“I don’t understand what you-”

“It’s a simple question, John.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed while his lips parted and closed as he floundered for something to say.

“You don’t,” Joseph answered for him.

A pause.

“Her sin runs deep , Joseph.”

Joseph frowned. “Deeper than your own?”

“I swear, if you had seen her-”

“I have seen, John.” He rose from his seat. 

John averted his eyes, cheeks blooming red as he read the label of the folder on the desk. 

Joseph rested his hands on his brother’s rigid shoulders. “I have seen it all,” he whispered. “What trials await us. What it will cost us.” His eyes bore into his brother, willing him to see, to understand, but John wouldn’t meet his eye. 

For a moment Joseph was overcome with emotion. In the deepest reaches of his nightmares he had seen his brother die, cast from blue heavens into a red fiery pit. Lord only knew how much longer he had to reach him. His fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket. 

John took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, his way of reigning in his demons. Joseph recognized the battle within him well enough.

“Cleansing and Atonement are for all, John. If it were for the deserving, none of us would be here.”

“Yes, Father,” he conceded through clenched teeth. “You’re right.”

Joseph hummed in agreement. “Pray for the Lord’s strength and you will do well.”

John dipped his head and Joseph let him go. Without another word his brother turned and left the room. Joseph watched him go, sighing when the door shut with a bit too much force behind him.

“Oh, John,” he muttered under his breath. He knew the man meant well, that it was only ever in his heart to please, but in his desires he had a tendency to lose sight of himself and the path he was on. Which reminded him a bit of someone else.

His attention returned to the folder while his hand roamed to his vest pocket. Inside was his handkerchief. He pulled it out, examining the folded square of white cloth and the brown splotches of long dried blood. Her blood. 

He closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. His hand twitched, thumb rubbing circles over the bloodstains, over and over and over, until the cloth grew warm from friction. Something fluttered in his chest, in his head, like leaves caught in a breeze. 

Joseph brought the cloth up to his nose and inhaled deeply, catching the scent of sweat and dirt - lingering traces of her . He opened his eyes, heady with sensations he barely understood.

In the depths of his soul, at the very edge of human perception, the Voice whispered to him.

John will fail .

Joseph winced. How he hoped that wasn’t the case. Though, as much as it hurt, the Voice had never led him astray. 

He folded the handkerchief and tucked it back into its rightful place in his vest. 

He knew what he had to do.

Chapter Text

Delilah woke up to the rattle of a wooden board against her temple. She opened her eyes and found her surroundings were nothing more than dark smudges plagued by the same white sprites from before. Her shoulder and neck ached from being twisted at such an unnatural angle for however long she was out. An involuntary groan came from her lips as she shifted herself upright. 

The smudges formed into more cohesive shapes and she found herself sitting on a makeshift bench in the back of a moving van. Dim light came through black mesh over a small window that kept her from seeing clearly into the driver’s cab. Across the cargo area four people, three men and a woman, were crammed shoulder to shoulder. A couple of them shifted in their seats, pressing themselves closer to the wall and shooting her wary glances. Delilah squinted at them in the dark. They appeared to be normal civilians - no signs of cult regalia on their clothing, no face paint - the first normal people she’d encountered since the night of the crash (Dutch didn’t count).

She was about to ask what was going on when she noticed their wrists bound with ropes and zip ties. She looked down and found a thick rope winding around her own fists which were absolutely covered in dark flaking stains.

Oh . Immediately she was aware of the same itchy sensation of dried blood clinging to her face. Right . A white strip of cloth was also wrapped and tied around her arm - underneath she could feel the sting of where a bullet had grazed her.

She shook her head, trying to scatter the white starbursts from her eyes. A sickly sweet smell permeated the air in the cab. Dangling from a metal rack welded to the ceiling were several dried bouquets of white flowers with dark green leaves. The van jostled as they hit a bump in the road and several petals drifted to the floor, white speckles shimmering in their wake.

“Where’re we going?” she slurred with a clumsy tongue. Damn, whatever was in that dart was strong stuff.  

“Don’t know. Wherever John told them to take us,” one of the men answered gruffly.

“That peggie blood all over you?” the woman piped up. “You go on a killing spree or something?”

“Yeah,” she rasped. “Don’t really remember how many.” That was a lie. Flashes of bloodied dying men and women cycled through her mind starting with the one she shot through the door all the way to the one with her knife buried in his gut.

“Makes you a damn hero in my book. Glad somebody has the courage to stand up to them. Unlike some people.” The woman shot a pointed glance at the others.

“What happened to Fall’s End?” Delilah asked, eager to get the scrutiny off herself.

The woman gaped at her. “You mean you don’t-”

“Hey,” someone snapped from the cab, “quiet back there. We’ve arrived. Now is the time for prayer and reflection.”

On queue the van turned right off of what must have been a paved road and onto rumbling gravel. The captives were jostled around on their benches for a brief time before the van crawled to a complete stop.

“Are they going to kill us?” one of them whimpered.

Nobody had an answer. Though Delilah figured if Eden’s Gate wanted her dead, John would have killed her by now. Unless they had a sacrificial ritual on top of all the other whack shit they had going on. 

That would be the cherry on top, wouldn’t it?

Both back doors to the cargo bay flung open. Several flashlights shot blinding beams into the prisoner’s faces. Delilah winced at the sudden yellow light in her eyes. Beyond the flashlights stood shadowy figures muttering gruff orders for them to stay quiet and keep in line.

A pair of broad hands reached into the back of the van and grabbed Delialh by her bindings. The second her feet hit the dirt, a gun barrel pressed into her back and a hand wrenched her arm into submission.

“We’re gonna take this nice and easy now,” a peggie’s voice mumbled in her ear.

Delilah took a few unsteady steps forward, urged by the prod of the gun against her back. Her legs were stiff and cramped from the ride in the back of the van. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out several other vans lined up at the edge of a tree line. Other captives were being unloaded from the vans, some with wide eyes hollow with fear, others stewing with rage and resentment.

 A man in a stained green hoodie wrestled free from his handler only to be tackled to the ground in an instant by several armed peggies. He gave up the struggle within moments, baring his teeth as his face was pressed into the mud.

The gravel patch where the vans had parked bordered the shore of a river. Dark waves shimmered silver in the moonlight. The sound of water lapping at the shore was lost under the call of treefrogs and the chirping of crickets. Fireflies flickered and danced in springy patches of grass and undergrowth. It would be a soothing picture if not for the figures dressed in white robes slowly wading into the water. They marched in two orderly lines, linking hands and creating a semicircle border in the river.

All at once their voices rose in song. It had all the charm of a traditional gospel hymn, though Delilah couldn’t place the words or the tune. And she had heard many hymns at church with her foster parents. It wasn’t until the swell of the chorus that she fully understood what they were singing:

“ Oh Lord, the Great Collapse won’t be our end. When the world falls into the flames, we will rise again .”

Right. The Collapse Joseph had warned her about. The Collapse the world was supposedly on the verge of witnessing. What a load of -

“Keep moving,” the peggie behind her shoved her forward.

Delilah rolled her shoulders at the press of his hand, letting him know that he was in control, but only just.

All the prisoners, Delilah included, were herded to the water’s edge. They stood in the shallows. Chilling water lapping at their ankles and soaking into their shoes. Slowly, the choir’s voices faded into a quiet hum, continuing the tune of their song.

A familiar nasally voice rang out from the shore. “Sin is pervasive. It drives us to do unspeakable acts.”

Delilah recognized John in an instant. Her captor must have felt her tense because his fingers clamped around the back of her neck and his pistol dug into her spine.

“I know the feelings that drive you. I know them intimately.” His voice grew louder as he grew closer. “But no matter how pervasive the sin, no matter how deep it runs, we must wash it away. And we must expose it.”

Each peggie shoved their prisoner forward all at once. As a unified wave, they moved out into the water until the waves reached their knees. 

Cold fingers hooked into the collar of Delilah’s shirt. The man guarding her, bald with a long dark beard, holstered his pistol and dipped his hand into the river. Delilah took the opportunity to look over her shoulder. John was stepping into the shallows, white bible open in hand. Behind him were a line of armed guards and three peggie trucks, their dim headlights barely reaching the water’s edge.

The peggie cupped his hand and sprinkled a pitiful amount of cold river water down her bangs and forehead. All around her, the others were doing the same. Droplets ran down the contour of her brows and into her eyes, agitating the crust of dried blood on her skin, but she paid it no mind. She was too busy glaring daggers at John.

“We must Atone.” A smug aura clung to him. White sprites that plagued her vision since she’d been shot with that stupid dart danced around him like they were leeching off his pride. “For only then may we stand in the light of God and walk through his Gate unto Eden.”

Just like that, the captors were all made to turn heel and wade out of the water. John met each and every soul at the shore, wiping the water from their eyes and murmuring words of assurance and affirmation that were made hollow by the guns pointed at their backs.

Next it was Delilah’s turn. He looked her up and down, the line of his mouth twitching with disgust. She stared back with as much venom as she could muster.

“Not this one.” He held up his hand and her heart skipped a beat. He snapped the bible shut and handed it to one of his guards and rolled up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. Gone was the disgust, replaced with a forced smile that reminded her of a phony used car salesman. “This one’s not yet clean.” 

Before Delilah had a chance to react, he lunged for her. Hands clenched around her neck and the next thing she knew, she was underwater.

Delilah opened her mouth and cold dirty water swept inside, filling her throat and nostrils. Above her was John, his face distorted by the shimmering surface of the water, but not enough to hide the manic glee on his face. A torrent of bubbles fled from her mouth and the water around her turned cloudy and dark red as blood oozed from the stains on her clothes and skin.

She writhed and fought with all her strength. Her hands found the arm that was holding her under. She dug her nails into flesh, tainting the water with more blood.

The arm pulled her up and she broke the surface. 

She opened her mouth to take in air only to choke on the water in her mouth. John held her in place as she coughed and wretched.

“Mmm, it seems you aren’t yet clean,” he said.

Before she could process another thought, John shoved her back under. 

Delilah had enough wherewithal to hold her breath this time, but still she fought to escape. No matter how much she clawed at his arm and kicked at his body, he didn’t flinch.

He’s going to kill me . 

John brought her up for air again. A mocking grin was plastered on his face. His voice was slightly muffled from the water clogging her ears. “Ah, Deputy, tsk tsk tsk.”

Delilah scrambled for purchase on his arm and the riverbed beneath them. She felt his arm tense to drive her under again.

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?” Joseph’s voice echoed over the water, soft, but firm. 

Delilah flinched and to her surprise John did the same. The hand on her throat slackened. She stretched out her legs and felt the soles of her shoes settle into the pebbled riverbed. 

All the twisted glee John wore on his face a moment before was gone. He lowered his gaze and stepped to the side, allowing Delilah to get a glimpse of the Father. Joseph stood at the river’s edge, his thin form haloed by the headlights of the peggie trucks behind him. 

Delilah shivered and it had nothing to do with the frigid water. 

“No, Joseph,” John began, “I-“

“Shhh. You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.”

Delilah glanced at John, but he had yet to raise his eyes. 

Joseph pointed at Delilah. “Bring her to me.”

Together they sloshed from waist deep water to shore. With a gentle shove, John pushed the Deputy the rest of the way to Joseph. 

A mixture of fireflies and white flecks danced in the air around them. Their soft glow was otherworldly, much like the man who now cupped Delilah’s face. His unblinking stare, yellowed by his aviators, bore into her. The palms of his hands were soft and warm. His touch much like his voice was firm, but gentle. 

“Come with me.” His hands left her face. One hand gripped her upper arm while the other pressed gently into her lower back, leaving no room for argument. He turned her around and they waded back out into the water. 

Dozens of eyes, peggie and civilian alike, bored into the back of her skull. Goosebumps raised on her arms and neck. Delilah dared a glance back at the shore. John stood with his hands folded and head bowed, eerily calm and unassuming. 

Once they reached waist-high depth, Joseph turned back to her and fished something out of his vest pocket. When he spoke, his voice was a low whisper. “Do you remember this?” His fingers unfurled and revealed a stained square of white cloth.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “From the alley.”

At that he smiled. “You were worried about the stains.” He dipped the handkerchief in the water and soaked it thoroughly before wringing out the excess water. “Sometimes we forget the purpose of the Cleansing.” 

Joseph pulled at the rope around her wrists. For a moment she thought he might pull them off entirely. Instead he swiped the cloth over the exposed skin of her arms, the inside of her wrists, then over her palms, and to the tips of her fingers. Everything else, the spectators, the anger, the horror of the past few days all fell to the wayside as she watched him work. When he pulled away, the cloth was littered with splotches of crimson. 

He dipped the handkerchief in the river again and wrung it out. “It’s not about who is the dirtiest. It’s not about who muddies the water.” This time he rubbed the cloth in soothing circles over her forehead, her brow, and the peaks of her cheekbones before cupping the underside of her chin where his touch lingered for a moment. “And it’s not about who leaves the most stains.”

Delilah held her breath. His eyes lost some of their intensity, roving over her face with a heavy-lidded look she couldn’t identify. Something foreign fluttered in her chest. Something so delicate that it would shatter upon examination.

“The true purpose of the Cleansing,” he continued, trailing the cloth down her neck and the exposed lines of her collarbones, “is to find what’s underneath.”

Her gaze followed his hand as it pulled away from her rapidly beating heart. When she looked down she found all traces of blood washed from her skin.

“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation. You are not here by accident or by chance. You- “ he punctuated the word by tapping a finger against her chest- “are here by the grace of God. You have been given a gift. And it is up to you whether you accept that gift or cast it aside.”

Joseph was so certain, so sure, yet Delilah narrowed her eyes. “What did you do to Fall’s End?” she demanded.

The tranquil spell over them broke. Intensity returned to the dark depths of his eyes. “The Collapse is coming. And it will arrive so suddenly the world will be unable to react. They will only be able to watch as everything they know comes crumbling down around them. We took those we could from Fall’s End to prepare and protect them. Some fought back. The destruction you saw is what happens when those lost in their sin resist the call of God.”

She snarled at him. “So just because someone doesn’t agree with you it’s okay to destroy their homes?”

“If they do not join my flock, then they will perish with the rest of the world when the time comes. To refuse is to be denied entry to Eden.”

Tense silence passed between them. Delilah glowered at him, taking a mental note that arguing with him was beyond pointless. His delusion went too far and too deep.

“I can’t expect you to understand. Not yet. You lack proper faith,” disappointment colored his tone as he shook his head.

Without another word he guided her back to shore.

John was still waiting for him. The scratches Delilah had left on his arm were red and raw. Trails of blood circled his skin down to his wrist, but he paid the injuries no mind. His gaze was fixed on Joseph, an apologetic grimace on his face.

Joseph beckoned for John to approach. When his brother came closer he grasped his shoulders. “This one shall reach the Atonement, John. Or the gates of Eden shall be shut to you.”

“Yes, Joseph,” John replied with an earnest nod.

Just like that, Joseph was gone. He left Delilah and John, disappearing into the shadows beyond the trucks and guards. It took only a moment for the savage glimmer to return to John’s eye. 

“You will confess. Every sin you’ve ever committed,” he seethed, “no matter how petty or small… I will pull from you. Then I will make you worthy of Atonement.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” she snapped. 

A rough hand grabbed onto Delilah’s shoulder. It belonged to one of the nearby peggie guards, a man with dreadlocks and dark skin. He led her to one of the nearby vans - not the same one she arrived in - and shoved her in the back before climbing in after her.

There were a handful of other prisoners already sitting, staring in the middle distance through wide glassy eyes. The same white flowers hung from the ceiling, tainting the cab with their noxious perfume. Delilah grimaced at the smell and realized the same drowsy and sluggish sensation she woke up with quickly returned.

The van’s engine roared to life. The prisoners and guard in the back were jostled around by the rough terrain until eventually they made it to one of the highways.

Delilah looked out through the barred windows on the back doors, trying to identify landmarks so she could figure out where they were headed. There were none, just endless winding roads and pines that flew by in a blur.

“Hey,” one of the prisoners, a man in a blue shirt, spoke up, “where are you taking us?”

The guard didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied, tapping his fingers on the stock of his gun and muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath.

Instead, a woman wearing a dirty pink hoodie spoke up. “They’re taking us to John’s bunker. It’s for Atonement or whatever. Fucking torture is more like it.”  

Delilah snapped to attention. A bunker? That sounded like her best bet of finding Hudson.

The man shifted nervously. “If I just agree to confess my sins it won’t be that bad, right?”

Their guard stirred, eyeing the man for a moment before his lips parted in a wide toothy smile. “It isn’t truly Atonement if there is no suffering. The removal of sins is a price we must pay with pain. It is a beautiful thing.”

Delilah flexed her arms, feeling the stubbornly taut pull of the ropes that bound her hands. Yeah, there was no ripping out of these . But maybe she didn’t need to. Her eyes drifted to their guard. She saw the leather sheath of a knife on his belt. 

If she could get hold of that, they’d be able to cut each other loose. Then she could use his gun. Then, the driver would be dead. And bingo, she’d let the other prisoners out and take her stolen ride straight to the bunker. She didn’t care if she had to drive through the countryside in the dark all night long, she had to find a way to Hudson. And maybe give John some payback.

Delilah flexed her fists, her knuckles popping quietly. On the count of three, she’d lunge at the guard and make her move.

One .

Two .

She shifted her weight, preparing to spring when suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. 

Delilah didn’t know how or why, but everyone had flown out of their seats. There was the deafening crunch of metal, the shattering of glass. Bodies collided with bodies. Bodies collided with metal. Glass dug into her skin, leaving scratches down her arms, but her scream was lost in the violent whirlwind. The van rolled and rolled until at last the side of her head struck something hard and all went black.

-

“When the Lord your God brings you into the land you are entering to possess and drives out before you many nations… then you must destroy them totally.”

Delilah lay in the back of the overturned van. Pain clouded her vision. Every inch of her body ached. Especially where she’d hit her head. She became increasingly aware of its throbbing as time went on. She was curled up on the floor, no, the roof of the van in a fetal position, her limbs protectively circled around her belly. Broken glass, twisted metal, and bodies were tangled together, the dead indistinguishable from the living. 

“Make no treaty with them. And show them no mercy.”

That voice… it grew closer. It was confident in the word it preached. Had more peggies come to haul them out of the crash? Fuck .

Delilah rolled over, forcing herself up on her knees. But she wasn’t the only one. The guard lay on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. They locked eyes. He lunged for his rifle. 

As his hands connected with his weapon, the back door of the van flew open.

Bang! The peggie dropped dead.

Delilah flinched at the spray of blood. She turned and looked out the back of the van. A black man, pistol in one hand and bible in the other, was kneeling in the dirt. He didn’t look like a peggie. Instead of cult regalia, he wore traditional pastor’s vestments complimented by a matching black bulletproof vest. 

He reached into the van and pulled her out by the elbow. She grimaced as her cuts and scrapes burned in the cool night air.

“Stay with me,” he said through a smile, “I didn’t go through all this trouble just to lose you now.”

“Who are you?” she wheezed. 

“Pastor Jerome, leader of Fall’s End Church. Nice to meet you, Deputy.” He knelt back down and reached into the van, pulling out the other two captives that survived the crash. He also brought out the peggie guard’s rifle. “Can you fight?”

Delilah took the rifle, ignoring the groaning protest from her shoulders. “How do you know who I am?”

“As soon as Whitehorse got word you’d been captured, he sent us-”

“Whitehorse?” she gasped. “Where the hell is he? Is he alright? What did-”

Jerome brought up a hand to silence her. “I would love to tell you, but right now we need to move.”

“What about the bunker? What about Hudson?”

“No can do, Deputy. We don't have the kind of numbers for that. Not yet."

Delilah bit back her frustration and nodded. "Fine. Then where to?"

"Back toward Fall’s End. We got a few scouts in the area that’ll cover our escape. Dutch and Whitehorse want you back on our side of the line as soon as possible.”

“Holy shit, you’re the Deputy that got away?” One of the escapees, the woman with the pink hoodie, gawked at her, mouth hanging open in awe.

Delilah ignored her. “I’m not letting civilians eat lead just to cover my ass. Uh, excuse the language.”

Jerome’s smile fell into something more apologetic. “Whitehorse said you’d say that. If it helps, they don’t consider themselves civilians these days.”

Delilah opened her mouth to argue, but a bullet whizzed by and pierced a nearby tree, sending a hunk of bark flying. 

“Get down,” Jerome barked. He snatched the woman near her by the collar of her hoodie and pulled her to the ground. Delilah and the other man were wise enough to follow suit. 

Jerome whirled to face the line of fire. He fired a shot up the hill toward what looked like the glow of a flashlight.

Bang! The pistol kicked in his hand. There was a grunt followed by a crash in the undergrowth. It sounded like whoever he shot wasn’t getting back up.

A cacophony of shouting erupted from what sounded like the other side of the hill. Peggies were coming.

“This way.” Jerome waved his arm and took off into the darkness. 

Delilah and the other escapees followed, stumbling over sticks and brambles as they went. With all the ruckus they were making, the peggies would have no trouble staying on their tail. Somewhere behind them Delilah heard the buzz of an ATV. 

“Oh fuck,” the woman hissed as she tripped over a tree root. “My ankle!”

Delilah turned and saw her hobbling to keep up, quickly falling behind the rest of the group.

The shouting was growing closer every second. Delilah hesitated, but only for a moment. Still keeping the rifle in one hand, she wrapped her free arm around the woman and dragged her along after Jerome and the other man. Every muscle in her body screamed for relief and her head throbbed so much it was hard to see straight.

“Jerome!” Delilah shouted, her call nearly lost in all the noise. “Jerome, she needs help!”

Somewhere up ahead, Jerome paused and motioned for them to catch up. When they did he took the woman with his own arm. “You cover the rear, Dep. I still got our point.”

Delilah nodded, swaying on her feet. She could feel the blood pulsing in her head. Why did the ground feel like it was spinning?

“Deputy? Are you good?”

“We gotta keep going,” Delilah said. There were no other options. If she didn’t keep up she was as good as dead.

They kept running as fast as their legs could carry them. Jerome led them through a few twists and turns, hoping to throw off their pursuers. 

“We got a chopper that’s coming to pick us up to the west. Just a little bit longer,” Jerome called over his shoulder.

“I see ‘em!” a peggie hollered somewhere behind them.

A bullet whizzed by somewhere over Delilah’s shoulder. In an instant she turned and hip-fired blindly into the tree line.

“Don’t stop running, Dep,” Jerome ordered.

There was no way to tell if any of her bullets found their mark, but that seemed less important as a new noise approached. Delilah could make out a whirring sound somewhere overhead. It was faint at first, but soon it became loud enough to drown out the rabid peggies.

“Is that ours?” Delilah shouted, throat burning with the effort.

Jerome didn’t answer. Either he didn’t hear her or he couldn’t spare the oxygen.

Delilah dared to glance up. Between the trees that bowed in the wake of the beast overhead, she caught a glimpse of white and a black Eden’s Gate cross. Shit .

The chopper came closer, nearly brushing the tops of the trees. The gust stirred up by its propellers whipped her hair into her eyes and sent dead leaves and pine needles up in a flurry. A searchlight on its underbelly flickered on and circled the forest floor, hunting for its prey. 

Delilah hissed as the beam of light flew over her, leaving a dazzling white circle in the center of her vision. It passed over before quickly snapping back to her position. She’d been spotted.

“Stop running,” a voice blared from the chopper’s loudspeaker. “John’s Atonement awaits you.”

Shit, shit, shit . 

Delilah zigzagged through the undergrowth, ducking around and behind trees, praying for the light to lose her. It worked, but only for a few seconds. Inevitably the light would catch a glimpse of her again and lock onto her position. She purposely split off from Jerome’s group and led the chopper east. Better the peggies catch up with her and let the others reach safety.

The loudspeaker crackled again. “The Deputy is in sight. Make sure she doesn’t escape,” the voice shouted. “I repeat, the sinner-”

A resounding boom came from somewhere to the west. Delilah didn’t hear the rest of what the peggie was saying. She turned in time to see a trail of smoke streaking through the sky straight at the chopper. There was a blinding flash and a wave of heat as a fiery explosion engulfed the cockpit.

Delilah was thrown by the shockwave, her back connecting with the ground and forcing the wind from her lungs. She lay there, unable to breathe or move as the chopper lost control. It tilted to the side and spun out, careening towards the approaching mob of peggies. 

There was another deafening crash and burst of flames as the chopper was obliterated on impact. Shards of metal flew in all directions. The tail end of the chopper bent around the trunk of a large pine tree. The blades connected with the earth, tearing it up and hurling chunks of dirt into the air.

Delilah threw up her hands in a vain attempt to protect herself. She wheezed and coughed at the pain in her chest as she sucked air back into her lungs. Rolling onto her chest, she tried to lunge back to her feet only to stumble and fall back to the ground. She clawed through the forest debris, dragging herself into the cover of some undergrowth.

Her ears were ringing. The only sound she could make out other than the shrill buzzing was her own muffled and ragged breathing. She leaned against a tree trunk, cradling her head in her hands. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Everything was too much too fast. Her heart pounded away in her chest like it was trying to break out of her ribs. 

Delilah closed her eyes. After what felt like mere moments, there was a brief flash of red. A light flashing over her eyelids. She opened her eyes as a gust of wind tugged at her hair and clothes. 

It was another chopper. Sleek, black, and beautifully void of peggie symbols. The ringing in her ears prevented her from hearing its approach. 

A rope lowered from the cockpit. Shortly after, a man slid down it and dropped to the ground a few yards from her. It was Jerome.

He ran to her and helped pull her back on her feet.

Deputy , she watched him mouth at her.

She pointed at her ears and shook her head.

He motioned for her to join him by the rope. Delilah looked up at the chopper then back at him. 

First was the helicopter crash the night of Joseph’s arrest, then the one that just exploded behind her, and he wanted her to get in another one?

“No fucking way,” she shouted at Jerome, still unable to hear her own voice.

He shook his head and grabbed her arm. No choice , he mouthed back.

Delilah let him drag her over to the rope. She screwed her eyes shut and held on as tight as her exhausted body would allow. They lurched off the ground, lifted up by those waiting for them in the fuselage. Several pairs of hands dragged her up the last few feet by the scruff of her neck. 

When she opened her eyes, it was too dark to make out the faces of those surrounding her. Just the white flashes of their teeth as they smiled and cheered over her rescue. There were a few congratulatory slaps on her back, which she took with a grimace. She’d been battered enough already.

The chopper pitched forward and carried them away from the site of the wreckage. Delilah watched the tops of the pines fly by at a breakneck pace that had her stomach churning. Slowly, she lowered herself to the cold metal floor and closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

A calloused thumb jammed into Delilah’s eyelid and pulled it open, pinching it back against her brow. Blinding white light seared directly into her pupil. She jerked her head on reflex and slapped the hand away from her face.

“Fuck off,” she mumbled, reluctant to return to the waking world. 

“Yep,” a low voice grunted, “minor concussion.”

Delilah opened her other eye and glared at the shadowy figure standing over her as best she could. A combination of endless pulsing ache at the back of her skull and the flashing green and blue aura on the left half of her vision made it difficult to orient herself. She really had to stop waking up in weird places. At least this time she wasn’t tied up.

“She’s still got Bliss in her system,” the stranger continued. “Though without my lab kit I can’t run any blood tests to see what sort of dosage she got.”

“Anything we can do for her?” That was Jerome’s voice.

Delilah struggled to sit up so she could get a look at him, but the stranger - doctor? - shoved her back down onto the squeaky cot. 

“Give her lots of water, just to make sure she doesn’t get dehydrated. Concussion will heal on its own. But I would recommend waking her up every couple hours just to be on the safe side.”

“You’re sure it’s minor, Doc?” Jerome asked. “It was a nasty wreck.”

“Hey.” Doc, who she could now tell was a large burly man in a grimy wife beater with broad hairy arms, nudged her shoulder. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“They made me get in the helicopter,” she croaked. “I didn’t want to.”

“That sound about right to you?” Doc asked.

There was a pause. 

“Well,” Jerome said, “she’s been in a couple helicopters lately-“

“I remember you, Jerome,” Delilah sighed and closed her eyes, weary from aches and pains all over her body. 

“There ya go. She’s fine.” Heavy footsteps thumped on old floorboards. Doc left the room - wherever they were keeping her - with a quiet creak of a door.

There was a brief moment of silence followed by the rumble of someone dragging a chair across the floor. She grit her teeth at the grating sound.

“Sorry about waking you up like that,” Jerome said. “Doc thought it would be good to look you over since you passed out on us. Need water or anything?”

Delilah cracked open an eye. Dim light filtered into the small bedroom through the open doorway. In the darkness she could barely make out the crease of his concerned brow. “Sure.”

When he left, she made the effort to get back up on her elbows, but the way her head swam and ached made her think better of it. Instead she resigned herself to sinking back down into the cot on top of a bundle of threadbare blankets. 

Only at the promise of a drink did she realize how dry her throat was. She bit her chapped lower lip and watched the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles overhead. The blades were just fast enough to stir up a soft breeze that made her bangs tickle her forehead. Outside the curtain covered window, treefrogs and crickets chirped incessantly. Despite the welcome distractions, thoughts about everything began to creep over her tense shoulders and into her head.

Ultimately, she’d failed to find Joey. That being said, things in Hope County were worse than she’d ever imagined. For a cult preparing for the end of the world, the Project seemed to have a knack for helping tear it apart. Each time she blinked, the rubble of Fall’s End was piled up beneath her eyelids. 

Joseph had told her the destruction was only due to the local’s resistance. Though he made it clear he would take people either way. Go willingly or get dragged along by the ankles seemed to be his philosophy. 

In a weird and twisted sort of way she could respect it. If nothing else, the man stuck to his convictions. And unlike John or her foster family, he didn’t use them as an excuse to be cruel. At least… not cruel to her.

With a pang of guilt she remembered the tears running down Joey’s face and the casual mention of torture by those civilians she got caught up with.

Delilah huffed through her nose and ran a hand over her face. What the hell was she even thinking? Joseph was leading a cult . He didn’t deserve her respect. He and his brother needed a bullet put in them and the sooner the better.

An image of Joseph formed unbidden in her mind. He was leaning over the steering wheel of his truck, illuminated by the warm red glow of a stoplight, rain pattering on the windshield, a deep sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes. Another wave of guilt washed over her and this time she couldn’t say exactly what for.

“Here we go,” Jerome announced his return, his shadow passing through the doorway. “It’s not exactly cold, but-”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” a new voice interrupted. “ She’s the one Whitehorse asked us to find?”

Delilah snapped her head to the side (and immediately winced) to get a look of the new silhouette in the doorway behind Jerome. The unidentified woman stepped further into the room, scowling over the pastor’s shoulder. In the dark Delilah struggled to piece together where she recognized this woman from. She had a mound of dirty-blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and wore a pair of faded blue jeans with a baggy red flannel button up.

“You know each other?” Jerome looked between the two of them.

“Oh yeah I know her alright,” she growled. “Made a mess of my bar when she started shit with five of my best paying customers.” 

Jerome turned back to Delilah. “That true?”

“I, uh…” Delilah wracked her brain all the way back through her last few sprees before she straightened herself out for the police academy. 

She remembered hitting up several bars, most of them in Missoula. There was only one she could recall from Fall’s End. The last one before Whitehorse pulled her out of the gutter. 

Something Eagle … Spread Eagle?

“You know it took me a whole day to clean up all the shit you broke?” The woman shouldered Jerome out of the way and put her hands on her hips. “When I told Whitehorse to talk some sense into you I didn’t think he’d fuckin’ deputize you. No wonder this whole county has gone to hell.”

At that Delilah heaved herself off the cot and squared her shoulders. “Hey, I didn’t start anything with your customers, they started it with me.”

The woman seethed through her teeth, refusing to back down. “Is that how it works when you get wasted? Anything that happens magically isn’t your fault? Must be nice.”

“Mary May,” Jerome cut in.

“You don’t know shit about what happened,” Delilah snapped. “You just called the cops and pointed the finger at me ‘cause-”

“Bullshit. I saw what happened and you-”

“Enough!” Jerome shoved his arms between the two of them and forced them apart. Water sloshed out of his glass and dribbled down Delilah’s grimy bloodstained shirt.

Delilah glared over Jerome’s shoulder. Her blood had reached a boiling point, bubbling hot through her veins and making her head throb like it was about to burst. Mary May gave her a look just as venomous.

“Listen,” Jerome began gently, “I think we’ve all been under an awful lot of strain these past few days. How about instead of letting past issues get the better of us, we take a breather and figure out what we can do to get ourselves out of this mess.”

Mary May pursed her lips, her sharp eyes relaxing a fraction as she pondered what the pastor had said. “Alright,” she said at last.

Delilah relented, taking a step away from Jerome and snatched the glass out of his hand. She sat back down on her cot and took a few greedy gulps, keeping an eye on Mary May all the while. Mary May muttered something under her breath before shoving Jerome’s arm away and turning her back on them both.

“Help me get the Spread Eagle back and we can call it even,” she shot over her shoulder before walking out the door.

Jerome pinched the bridge of his nose and moved the folding chair over by Delilah’s cot. He eased himself into the seat, an apologetic smile at the corner of his mouth. 

“Sorry about that,” he offered. “Mary May has had it rough for a long time now. She and the Project go back years. Way before the Reaping ever started.”

Delilah gave a noncommittal grunt and lowered herself back into her bedding. She couldn’t say she cared all that much one way or the other. “What’s the Reaping?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“Just a fancy title for what it really is - kidnapping. The Project is taking every last resident they can get their hands on.”

“What for?”

“Re-populating. When the world comes to an end, Joseph wants people around to fill it back up. They run them through a gauntlet of baptisms, confessionals, and training. And after they’ve been chewed up by all that they get spat out into one of the three regions to work under one of the Heralds.”

“The Project turns them loose after all that? Why don’t they just run away then?”

Jerome winced. “By the time they’ve gotten through all of it most of ‘em don’t want to.”

“Must be one hell of a routine,” she muttered.

“You… you really have no idea.” He turned away from her then, pushing his glasses up his nose and folding his hands in his lap. “You’re lucky we nabbed you right after the Cleansing. John was all sorts of mad after you took out his patrol. I don’t know if he would have let you live through it.”

“I can believe it.” She remembered the crooked smile on her face while he held her underwater. Hell, she could tell he hated her way back when he was showing her around the ranch. “So John is one of the Heralds then?”

“Mhm. Little brother John here in the valley, big brother Jacob in the north, and sister Faith to the east.”

In her head she imagined the portrait back at Seed Ranch. She had recognized Joseph and John then. The other man she saw with intense eyes was Jacob. That meant the woman was Faith… Delilah narrowed her eyes, sensing there was some key detail she was missing, like a piece of a puzzle waiting to fall into place.

“Well,” Jerome said, slapping his hands on his knees and rising from his chair. “You should get some rest. I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you. Sorry, but I’ll have to keep waking you up. Doc’s orders.”

“Wait a second. Where’s Whitehorse and Pratt?”

“Whitehorse is clear over in the Henbane at the County Jail. I think he’s following some leads on the marshal that was with you all the night the Reaping started. We’ve tried to keep radio chatter to a minimum…”

Delilah frowned. She’d be lying if she said she’d ever given Burke a second thought. He wasn’t part of her team, not really. “So you’re not gonna let me talk to the sheriff?”

“Afraid not. Not until we get a better foothold here in the valley at least.”

“And Pratt?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Deputy, haven’t heard a thing.”

Jerome left her again, this time so she could get some sleep. Delilah rolled over on her side to keep the light shining through the crack under the door out of her eyes. For a while she studied the chipping plaster on the wall, wondering where exactly in the valley they were hiding out as if the elaborate pattern of cracks was a map that could give her an answer. 

Slowly, she forced the muscles in her shoulders and neck to unwind. As long as the breeze from the fan was on her neck and her eyes had something to look at, she didn’t have to think about anything else. Not Joey, tied up and sobbing in the concrete confines of John’s bunker. Not Pratt laying out in the forest, body broken and left to rot. Not Whitehorse ducking beneath bullet-ridden walls, pinned down in firefights with rabid peggies. And definitely not the look in Joseph’s eyes as he ran a damp cloth over her neck.

A shiver ran up her spine. She opted to ignore it, pulling a blanket around her shoulders, and gave way to fitful sleep.

Most of the night she spent tossing and turning, dreaming of an inky black void where voices she recognized faded in and out of her hearing. Some belonged to her foster parents, some her coworkers, and others belonged to people she’d only heard on TV. None of the sentences they pieced together were coherent, just an ambient droning layered over the dull ache of her head.

Jerome visited her like Doc told him to. The first time she rolled over and found him hunched over her bedside, offering her another glass of water. She took a sip, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again he was already back for a second check-up. This time he had a cool damp rag in one hand, and a small radio in the other. He placed the rag across her forehead and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.

Delilah mumbled her thanks and closed her eyes. 

This time the voice that visited her was Joseph’s.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…

At least, she thought it sounded like Joseph. She’d never actually heard him sing before.

That saved a wretch like me .

She wrinkled her nose. He was a little flat, a little raspy. 

I once was lost, but now am found .

She woke up to the gloom of the bedroom, dazed and exhausted. The gray-blue of dawn shone through the gap between the curtains. She stretched her limbs, the cot creaking beneath her as her joints popped one by one.

“ Was blind but now I see .”

Delilah froze mid-stretch as her heart leapt into her throat. Her eyes roved around her immediate surroundings, half expecting to find Joseph kneeling at her bedside. Instead Jerome’s radio was propped up on the chair near her cot, green light flashing in time with the pounding in her chest.

Silence followed. For a few moments she almost swore she imagined it until-

“ I’m not surprised that you ran. ”

She sat up, fingers clenched around the blanket in her lap. He was speaking directly to her. He had to be.

“ I understand what it’s like. To be afraid of your calling. ”

How did he know how to reach her? How did he know she was listening? A spike of paranoia, much like when he called her out in the diner, had goosebumps crawling up and down her arms. 

“ But we will see each other again. And the next time we do, I pray that you’ll find it in your heart to trust me. ”  

She stared at the radio and the radio stared back. Silence followed. Without thinking, her hand snaked out from under the blanket and hovered over the talk button. 

Go fuck yourself hovered on the tip of her tongue. It would be an easy thing to do - a simple, flippant way to shut him down. 

So why wouldn’t her hand move?

“Deputy?”

She flinched and yanked her hand away from the radio as if she’d been burned.

Jerome stepped into the room. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t do anything. I just-”

“Was that Joseph Seed?”

Heat spread over her cheeks. “I, uh, yeah I think so.”

“You didn’t speak with him did you?” There was something in his tone that was off. A bit of scolding mixed with a hint of distrust.

She narrowed her eyes. “No.” Almost .

He gave her a wary look. He crossed the room and picked up the radio and dialed in to another frequency. For a moment he glanced between Delialh and the radio, then back at Delilah. “After we take back Fall’s End, we’d best get you over to Whitehorse.”

She watched him warily, unsure if his words were hinting at distrust, fear, or a mix of both.

“John’s already got it out for you. And if you’ve got the Father’s attention too, well… It would probably be for the best if you just laid low for a while.”

Delilah mumbled her agreement. He offered his hand and helped pull her out of bed.

-

It turned out the gaggle of Fall’s End residents that had managed to avoid the Reaping were hiding out in some rickety old hunter’s retreat - a small cabin nestled between two hills at the base of the mountains on the northwest end of the valley. Delilah wouldn’t go so far as to call it homey. Most of the furniture consisted of lawn chairs and cots in random arrays throughout the rooms. Whatever the hunters had planned for their getaway, they never finished it. Some of the walls were no more than plywood panels and tufts of pink insulation. The room she’d slept in had been cleared out as an emergency medical bay of sorts despite them not having any medical supplies whatsoever.

Doc (who Jerome later explained was not a doctor and was actually a retired veterinarian) offered her a couple ibuprofen when Jerome led her into the kitchen.

“Sorry,” he grunted, “this is all we got.”

Another man that Jerome introduced as Casey was hunched over a wood stove. He mumbled a quick hello and went back to stirring a glob of pale mush in a cast iron pot.

Delilah took a seat at the foldout card table in the middle of the room. Aside from Jerome, Casey, and Doc, there were a few other civilians hanging around. Most of them shot her curious glances from the doorway of the communal bunk room. 

Mary May was bustling around the house, helping collect dirty garments for a wash. She let Delilah exchange her stained clothes for a new pair of jeans and a baggy gray hoodie. Neither one said a word or made eye contact through the ordeal.

As soon as she stepped back into the kitchen and kicked on her sneakers, Casey slapped a paper plate down in front of her. A pile of scrambled eggs, a single sliced hotdog, and a ladle full of rice stared up at her. It reminded her of a meal she would have scrounged up during college. 

“Ketchup?” Casey held the bottle upside down over her plate and squirted it on the hotdog without waiting for an answer. “Sorry it’s nothin’ fancy. We’re trying to ration out what we got until we have a steady food supply.”

Delilah’s stomach gurgled in response. For the first time she remembered she hadn’t had anything to eat since the day before the Reaping. No wonder she felt like shit. Without a second thought she started shoveling eggs into her mouth.

One by one the others filed into the kitchen, got their fair share, and went back to their bunk. All except for one who took a seat next to Delilah and released an eardrum shattering belch.

“Hoo, geez, aw man I’m sorry. Got them morning tummy rumbles you know what I’m saying, man?”

Delilah looked up from her plate, eyes watering as she held back the urge to gag. A bearded man with a blue bandana and a red cut-off shirt sat hunched over the table. His smile quickly morphed into concern. 

“Oh wait a second,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean to go on assuming your gender or nothin’ like that! I call all my buds dude or bro or man or whatever. It’s got nothin’ to do with your penile situation I swear.”

“Uh, it’s okay.”

“Alright, if you say so amigo. If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.”

She turned back to her plate, but had a nagging feeling that he was still watching her. When she glanced at him again she found that was the case.

“My name’s Hurk. Hurk Junior. Or Junior. Whatever. It don’t matter. As long as I know you’re talking to me I’ll roll with it.”

“Deputy Rookwood,” she offered. “But you can call me Rook.”

“Shit I thought I recognized you, man.” He thumped her in the shoulder which she took with a grunt. “You were that scrappy little thing we picked up in my momma’s chopper.”

“You were there?” Delilah’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs. She was surprised they’d let someone like him tag along on such a dire mission.

“Hell yeah, man. You see that peggie chopper get blown to smithereens? That was me and my RAT4.”

With a shudder she recalled the explosion and how it knocked her on her ass. Okay . Maybe she could understand why they brought him along.

“Then after we pulled you up and you was laying on the ground, preacher man asked me to keep you company. So I did. Tried to introduce you to everybody too, but you were O-U-T out of it, man.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. We’ve all been there. But hey after we finish up our grub how ‘bout I take you around and re-acquaintize you with everybody.”

Her stomach rolled. “You don’t have to-”

“I think that’d be a good idea.” Jerome sat down across from Delilah, chipped and steaming mug in hand. “Lots of folks want to meet you anyway. Your bunch was the first we managed to get away from John.”

Delilah had trouble figuring out what to expect as far as meeting those who saved her. Much to her relief there was no crying or hugging. No resentment for putting them in danger for her sake. Just a brief nod from each before a wordless agreement that they would go their separate ways and get back to their business. 

Hurk showed her around the rest of the cabin and then led her outside where he loudly pointed out that she should stay out of the thirty foot “stank zone” around the outhouses. 

“Got a working shower?” Delilah asked, growing self conscious about the own musk she was most likely developing. Getting dunked in the Henbane was hardly a bath.

“Dunno. Haven’t tried it,” he threw over his shoulder.

“Ah.” 

In the backyard were several wash basins and a clothesline. Mary May was kneeled by one of the tubs with a couple other women, though she seemed to be the only one scrubbing. When they spotted Hurk and Delilah they got to their feet. Delilah hung back, wanting to keep as much distance between herself and Mary May as possible.

“Rook!” Hurk turned and smiled. “Remember how I said we picked you up in my momma’s chopper?”

The woman with large hoop earrings and a pink crop top spoke up. “I like to call her Tulip. Of course, she used to have a better paint job. But Grace and Jerome asked me to paint it black. Better for night ops that way.”

Delilah watched and listened until Hurk gave her a nudge. “Thanks. I mean, thanks for saving me. You didn’t have to do that.”

Adelaide guffawed. “Didn’t have to do that? Girl, you had John Seed and his little horde of fuckwads on your ass hotter than my ex on a Nancy Reagan pinup.”

“Momma,” Hurk whined, “you don’t have to bring Daddy into this.”

“No, your Daddy done brought that on himself, Hurk.”

The other woman who had been hanging back stepped forward. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a loose fitting camo jacket. A red cap kept most of her long black hair out of her face. She offered her hand. Delilah took it, surprised by the strength of her grip as they shook hands.

Only when she offered her name, did Delilah faintly remember seeing her face on a billboard along the highway. “Grace Armstrong.”

“Deputy Rookwood. Were you in the chopper too?”

“Nope. I was on the ground providing cover fire.”

Hurk waggled his eyebrows. “She’s one of them sharpshooting sumbitches. Military grade.”  

“Well, now that you're up and around,” Grace huffed and crossed her arms, “there’s something we gotta talk about.”

Everyone, even Mary May, turned to Delilah expectantly. She swallowed thickly, unsure of where this was going. “What’s that?”

“We’re taking back Fall’s End.” She smirked. “And you're going to help.”

Chapter Text

Blue and red lights flashed in Delilah’s one good eye. She sat on the gravel, back pressed against the brick wall of the bar that just kicked her out. With clumsy fingers she poked at her swollen eye. Each time she poked it would sting and she’d hiss through clenched teeth, but she kept testing it anyway. 

The buzz she’d built up that evening was starting to fade. It left a hollow void in her chest that ached and begged for something to fill it. Some other emotion, some other distraction. So she focused on the EMTs and the two cops skittering over the parking lot like agitated hornets.

They hunched over the men she’d knocked unconscious, checking their pulses, taking notes, taking photographs, occasionally talking amongst themselves, then turning back to the bodies.

Delilah studied them, trying to make sense of their little dance, but eventually decided it wasn’t worth it. She decided to fiddle with the shoelaces of her boots and didn’t look up until a man cleared his throat.

A cop with a wide brimmed hat, wispy strands of graying hair, and large wire framed glasses stared down at her. His hands were perched on either side of his belt. By the quirk of his mustache he looked like he was about to give her the scolding of a lifetime.

“Sheriff Whitehorse of the Hope County Sheriff Department.” He gestured toward the gold badge pinned to his shirt. “I’m gonna have to ask you a few questions, Miss Rookwood.”

“Am I under arrest?” she rasped.

He looked her up and down, a mix of pity and suspicion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Did you get into a physical confrontation with the other patrons? The men the EMTs are looking over?”

“Mhm.” No point in hiding it. The evidence was already all over her face.

His eyebrows shot up to the brim of his hat. Maybe he was expecting her to put up more of a fuss. He quickly schooled his expression into professional neutrality and pulled out a notepad. “I’m gonna have to ask you to clarify what happened. As accurately as you can remember.”

“They got drunk and started making a racket - shouting at each other and some of the nice ladies in there. I went over to tell ‘em to shut the hell up.” She glanced at the Sheriff. He was preoccupied with scribbling away as she spoke. “But then this other guy got in my way and we tripped over each other. He knocked some of their drinks off the table and they got all pissed about it. One of the bigger guys started rolling up his sleeves and shit so I said- I said hey! He didn’t do shit, so leave him alone. But he didn’t listen so I fuckin’ decked him.”

“And from there the confrontation moved outdoors?”

“After the bartender lady yelled at us for making a mess.”

“Did anyone else get involved?”

“Nah. Guy that knocked over the drinks cleared out real fast.”

He paused. “You fought them - five men - all by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

His pen hovered over his notepad and there was a look in his watery hazel eyes she couldn’t read. In his large glasses she could make out the reflection of her small form sagging against the wall. It was pathetic. Dried blood on her lip started to itch and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. The motion was enough to break him out of his trance.

“You gonna arrest me or what?” she snapped, some feisty little flicker still burning in her chest.

“Well, that depends,” he mumbled, his eyes shifting around as though his mind were somewhere else. “You just… you wait right here, alright? Don’t go anywhere. My deputy will be keeping an eye on you.”

Delilah shrugged and leaned her head against the wall. She didn’t have it in her to run anywhere anyway. 

The Sheriff walked away and waved to the deputy lingering by the ambulance, a younger man with dark slicked back hair. They spoke for a moment, the Sheriff leaning in and muttering something into his ear. Whatever he said made the deputy jerk his head back and shake his head vehemently. He opened his mouth like he was about to argue, but snapped it shut when the Sheriff waggled a stern finger at him. After a brief stare-down they parted ways, the deputy making his way over to Delilah while the Sheriff disappeared inside the bar.

She could tell he was pissed from whatever they spoke about. He wrinkled his nose as he looked her up and down before leaning against the wall next to her. Her eye trailed up the scuffed leather of his work boots all the way to the glock and taser holstered at his hip.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” he growled.

Delilah craned her neck to get a look at his face. He gave her one hell of a stink eye.

Bastard with an attitude . Wouldn’t be the first cop she met like that.

A few tense moments later the Sheriff returned, plopping his hat back on his head as he rounded the corner.

“We booking her?” the deputy asked.

“Nope. No one is pressing charges.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“You serious?” the deputy scoffed.

“On one condition.” The Sheriff kneeled in front of her and looked her in the eye. “The owner requested that you never set foot in her bar again, you hear?”

Delilah nodded.

His mustache twitched. “Pratt, go ahead and wait in the cruiser. Let Nancy know we got a stray that needs a ride home.”

“But- hang on-”

“Pratt. That’s an order.”

The deputy obeyed, but not without throwing one last scowl over his shoulder.

When they were alone, Whitehorse turned back to her. “Alright, kid,” he sighed, “where’re you from and how’d you end up here?”

“Got an apartment in Missoula.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m from Kansas City. Moved up here a few months back."

“Folks just don’t up and leave a big city like that to build a new life all the way out here. I take it there’s something you’re running away from. Does that sound about right?”

She shrugged, hating the way her chest constricted at his words. “Nothing worth talking about.”

“Hm. Fair enough.” He adjusted the brim of his hat. “You ever think about doing a little better for yourself?”

“What’s that supposed to-“

“Oh, don’t think I don’t have you figured out. You might say this is some dinky backwater town, but word spreads faster than you think. And as far as I know there’s only one redheaded little spitfire running around like a bat out of hell.”

Delilah narrowed her eyes, ignoring the sting as her muscles contorted around her bruises.

“You’ve got a fighting spirit, kid. And deep down I think you know you could use that for good.” He tilted his head and the yellow headlights of the ambulance pulling out of the parking lot flashed in his lenses. “So, if you ever decide to get yourself sorted out, I might just have something for you.” The Sheriff stood to his feet and extended his hand.

She stared at the tips of his fingers, wondering if this was what mercy felt like. She swallowed the emotion welling up in the back of her throat and grabbed his hand.

-

“Deputy? You alright?” Jerome asked.

Delilah snapped out of her daydream and found the Hope County residents huddled around the table staring at her. She rubbed at the bags under her eyes and tucked a strand of grimy hair behind her ear. “Sorry. Head hurts and makes it hard to focus.”

Outside the crickets and tree frogs were chirping again. It reminded her of just how late it was and that made her shoulders sag even more.

Grace eyed her from across the table, her cheek resting in her hand. “Maybe we should wait until you’re a bit better.”

Jerome, Casey, Hurk, and Adelaide all wore a similar look of concern. Mary May’s frown even held a touch of sympathy.

She shook her head. “No. The sooner we get a foothold in the valley the sooner I can find Whitehorse.”

“I talked to Wheaty on the radio,” Grace offered. “He said their group can spare a few folks so long as they don’t have to stick around. Sounds like the fighting is just as nasty up there, but if the Deputy needs to sit this one out, we won’t be shorthanded.”

“I can handle it,” Delilah snapped.

Grace arched her brow. “If you say so. But you better mean it because when we roll up into town, all of our asses are on the line.” She then turned to Jerome and asked something about other nearby groups hiding out in the hills that could also work as backup.

Delilah did her best to pay attention, but in the end found herself running her thumbnail along the wood grain of the tabletop. Discussion points seemed to blur together as to who would take what position and the route they would take through the streets. Not that it mattered to her, she would be in the thick of things either way. She knew the ruins of Fall’s End the best out of any of them since she’d been there last. Everything else fell to the wayside as she contemplated slithering under the table and getting some much needed rest. 

“So, Deputy-”

She snapped back to attention at the sound of Grace’s voice. 

“- when we’ve secured the church, I’m going to the roof and lighting the flares from the bell tower. After that we just have to hope our bunch will get to town before the peggies do.”

“Hold wait a second,” Hurk piped up, “I thought y’all didn’t see any peggies out on your last patrol.”

“That doesn't mean they ain’t lurking around, honey,” Adelaide said.

“What would they want with Fall’s End anymore anyway?” Delilah asked. “It’s trashed.”

To her surprise, Mary May was the one to answer. 

“As best we can figure, they circle through the area on occasion. Probably looking for stragglers to snatch up.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That and I think they’ve been looting. Any scrap of food, clothing, fuel, weapons, whatever they can get their hands on, they’ll take it.” Mary May leaned forward on her elbows and glanced around the room as if she were doing a sweep for any unwanted listeners. “But what the Project doesn’t know,” she murmured, “at least, what I think they don’t know, is I’ve got one hell of a provision stash locked up in the basement of the Spread Eagle. One that could last until the harvest comes in.”

Ah . Now she understood. Her eyes swept around the table taking in the bags under everyone’s eyes and the burdened slope of their shoulders. This wasn’t some petty attempt at retaliation. This was about survival.

“So you all better keep your mouths shut,” Mary May growled. “Cause if Johnny Boy gets his slimy hands on those supplies, we’re all fucked.”

-

“I have their next move,” John murmured as Joseph passed where he was perched upon the armrest of the large black leather couch.

On the opposite end of the couch Jacob hunched over the coffee table, pouring over status reports and supply ledgers. A slight tilt of his head betrayed his interest. Faith, who lingered on the opposite end of the living room near a window with her notebook in hand, appeared completely absorbed in her sketching.

Joseph ceased his pacing and took a deep breath. Absorbed as he had been in his second read through Delilah’s file - which he still held open in his hands - it took a moment to drag his thoughts from her background check and address his brother. “Mmm, I see.”

“That false shepherd, Jerome, was the one that ran off with your Deputy.” John’s eyes flicked from the crackling fireplace to Joseph, the warm light catching a mischievous glint in his eye. 

Joseph snapped the file shut, unflinching under his brother’s scrutiny. 

“My understanding of the man tells me,” John continued, “that he’ll be returning to Fall’s End with whatever flock he’s managed to scrounge up.”

“Need reinforcements?” Jacob grunted without looking up from his work.

“No,” John snapped before covering it up with a smile and shaking his head. “No, thank you. My Chosen are already on high alert.”

“And what orders have you given them?” Joseph narrowed his eyes.

“Not to touch a single red hair on her precious head, of course.” Another pointed look pricked at Joseph’s nerves.

The Voice murmured a warning and a shiver ran down his spine which he disguised with a tilt of his head. His correction the night of the Cleansing hadn’t been enough, that much was clear. It was time for a different approach - one, perhaps, he should have taken from the very beginning.

Joseph extended his arm, offering the file in his hand. John narrowed his eyes. He looked at the file, at Joseph, then again at the file. 

“Take it,” Joseph said.

John obeyed. He opened it and sifted through the first few pages. Several versions of Delilah scowled up at them from grainy black and white photos - various mugshots from various stages of her life.

“Read it. Understand it. It will help you prepare for Atonement.”

Faith materialized over his shoulder, balancing on the tips of her toes to get a look at the pictures. “Poor thing,” she sighed.

“How did she seem when you met her in the diner?” Joseph asked.

Golden curls twirled around her fingers. “A bit preoccupied.” Faith smiled. “But she left me a nice tip.”

-

Delilah hit the ground. Hard. Clumps of dirt went up her nose as she lay there reeling. A rough hand tangled in the hair at the base of her neck and twisted her head around to face them.

A peggie woman with a shaved head and cult tattoos littering her face and arms bared her teeth. With her free hand she pulled something from her belt - a small syringe filled with a dose of some green substance. Probably the same stuff in the dart that knocked her on her ass.

The tip of the needle gleamed in the moonlight as the peggie pulled back Delilah’s shirt collar. A bright green laser swept through the darkness and lined up with the cross on the peggie’s forehead.

Bang .

Delilah flinched. Warm blood splattered over her cheek. She wriggled out from underneath the dead woman and leapt to her feet.

“Grace?” She called out into the shadows of the surrounding buildings, heart pounding in her throat.

“Gotcha covered,” a shout came from a nearby rooftop. “Street is clear. Head for the church and I’ll meet you on the ground.”

She ran a shaking hand over her sweaty forehead and jogged down the street. She traced one hand along the cold brick wall to keep her balance while the other hefted her rifle over her shoulder. 

Things had gone to shit pretty fast when their little squad reached Fall’s End. For starters the town wasn’t as abandoned as they thought. Peggies were holed up in several of the buildings still standing around the church. They started taking pot shots as soon as they set foot on Main Street. 

Jerome had barked out orders, saying they needed to stick to the plan. He split off with his squad to circle around the rubble and take the outer buildings one at a time. The only clues to their progress were the occasional bouts of gunshots from one end of town or the other. Hurk and Adelaide were perched on the nearby hills with Tulip, ready to provide air support or evac in an emergency.

That left Delilah and Grace to pick their way to the church and shoot a signal flare to call in the rest of the Resistance, wherever they were hiding. And Delilah got the honors of being peggie bait. 

She reached the sidewalk where it curled around the building and led down the street. Instead of stepping out in the open she leaned her shoulder against the corner of the building and raised her rifle.

Grace said the street was clear, but before that she had said the alley was clear. And Delilah almost got a needle to the neck for letting her guard down.

The remains of Fall’s End were tinted silver by moonlight - the buildings, the pocked expanse of Main Street, the piles of rubble, and the tufts of grass in the churchyard that swayed in the breeze. Delilah took it all in through her scope, mindful not to let her barrel poke out too far and betray her position.

The crunch of broken glass announced Grace’s approach as she vaulted through a broken window of the nearby building. She joined Delilah at the corner. 

“What do you think, Rook? Make a run for it?” Grace asked.

“Me first or you?”

“You,” she snorted. “I’m a better shot.”

“Fair.” Delilah rolled her shoulders. “Wish me luck.”

She ducked low and darted into the street. When she reached the other side a glance over her shoulder told her Grace was still watching from the shadows across the street. She gave her a nod and dropped her eye back to her scope. 

Encouraged, Delilah pushed the large white doors. The swung open with a groan that echoed all around the empty sanctuary. A few tentative steps forward and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. 

The altar was well lit by the moon’s glow pouring in from the gaping hole in the left wall. Dust sprites danced over the splintered remains of pews cluttering the aisle. Pages from hymnals littered the steps before the pulpit like fallen leaves. The pulpit itself was miraculously intact save for the dark taint of ash and a stray bullet hole here or there. 

Beyond the altar, tucked in shadow, was a doorway that most likely led to the stairwell that went up to the bell tower. Delilah took a deep breath and turned back to signal Grace.

But Grace wasn’t alone. Figures dressed in white loomed behind her, arms outstretched for her shoulders. Delilah opened her mouth to shout a warning. Before she could, pale hands materialized out of the shadows behind the church doors and pulled her into darkness. 

Delilah struggled with her assault rifle which was uselessly pinned between her and her attacker. She struck out blindly with her fist and it hit something bony - shoulder, chest, face, she couldn’t tell. Together they stumbled backwards, tripping over a downed pew and crashing to the floor. But the shadowy figure managed to roll out from under her at the last second.

Hot breath tickled her ear. “John will make you regret that you ran.”

She shoved them away and whipped her assault rifle upright. Muzzle flash lit up the gloom and bullets tore through the rooftop, leaving behind pinpricks of the night sky. The grinning face of her assailant grew closer with each burst of fire until he was on top of her once more and pinned the barrel of her weapon under his arm.

Another puff of breath hit her face. “It’s alright. God’s favor has found you.” He shifted his weight and reached for something at his hip.

Delilah groped in the darkness and caught his wrist with her free hand as it hurtled toward her neck. The sliver of a needle flashed in the darkness. 

“Let go of me, motherfucker!” Grace shouted. 

Several pairs of boots scuffed against asphalt. 

Bang.

A woman shrieked in agony.

Delilah clenched her jaw hard enough for the pressure to ring in her ears. 

“Just let go,” the peggie above her huffed. “You're in good hands.”

Every muscle in her body trembled as he put his weight behind his arm. The tip of the needle inched closer. Sweat ran down the line of her brow and curses tumbled from her lips.

“Deputy,” Grace called, her voice cracking halfway between a snarl and a sob.

Her eyes widened. She barely registered the cool sting of the needle as it pierced her neck. Instead she found herself hanging upside down in helicopter wreckage. In the distance Hudson was shrieking as she was dragged further and further into the undergrowth. No one had been there to save her.

And it was her fault. 

Delilah let go of her rifle which fell useless at her side. Her free hand curled around the syringe. With all her strength she arched her back and shoved. Liquid from the syringe dribbled down her neck, but some had found its mark.

Green banks of fog flooded the sanctuary from all directions as her surroundings grew distant.  The aches of her battered body, her heart pounding in her chest, even the sound of her own breathing sounded like it belonged to someone else. 

She searched for something - anything - to keep her rooted in reality, to keep her from slipping away. 

Outside Grace screamed again.

“That’s it,” the voice above her cooed. “Be still.” Her eyes caught the flash of his smile in the darkness.

Fuck you. Delilah sunk her nails into the peggie’s wrist. Her vision went red. Fuck you, fuck you-

She arched her back again and kneed him in the balls.

He grunted and leaned forward, dropping the syringe to catch himself. Delilah rolled with the momentum into a backwards somersault and flung him off. 

She fell onto her stomach and the world spun. White starbursts cluttered her vision. The urge to vomit roiled in her gut as she fumbled along the floorboards for her weapon. She waved her hands frantically, battering away the fog curling around her knees. Behind her the fragments of pews clattered together as the peggie struggled to his feet. Her fingers found cool metal and she wrapped her hands around the stock of her rifle. 

She stood upright and backpedaled for the door only for the peggie to come barreling out of the dark after her. Now by the light of the moon she could see his shirtless form and the sins tattooed over his snarling face. Wrath. Pride. Envy. 

He grabbed the barrel of her AR and tugged. But not before she pulled the trigger.

Blood painted the floor black.

He staggered. A low groan came from his gaping mouth. Delilah ripped the barrel from his hands and gave him a swift kick in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Out in front of the church Grace hobbled across the street, clutching at her thigh as blood welled between her fingers. Two peggies were hot on her tail. One dove after her, nabbing her by the ankle and sending them both to the ground.

“Dep, you better put a bullet in this motherfucker,” Grace hollered and planted her boot in the peggie woman’s face.

Delilah froze at the top of the steps and took aim. The rifle swayed in her arms, her reticle passing from the peggie, to Grace, to the sidewalk swathed in the same green fog that filled the church. She shook her head and grit her teeth.

Focus, dammit.

The other peggie caught up, bending to reach his companion’s elbow and pull her upright.

A blue butterfly fluttered from over Delilah’s shoulder and landed on top of her scope. It stared down at her with beady red eyes and flexed its wings as if to taunt her.

Delilah flinched and fired.

The butterfly dissipated into green mist.

Her shot hit the man in the chest. He staggered on impact and dropped like a sack of rocks.

More screaming reached her ears, but this time it wasn’t Grace.

The peggie woman lunged forward, clawing her way up the stairs. Delilah swung her rifle on instinct, catching her in the collarbone. The woman bared her teeth and kept coming. Fiery hatred glimmered in her wide brown eyes.

She swung out with her fist and caught Delilah in the temple. A horde of blue butterflies swarmed her vision.

“Just shoot,” Grace bellowed somewhere beyond the hiss of a thousand insect wings beating in unison.

Delilah pulled the trigger. The shot rang in her ears followed by blissful silence. 

She dropped her rifle and furiously rubbed at her eyes. Flashes of white and blue danced beneath her eyelids. When she opened her them again, a dead woman and her rifle lay at the bottom of the stairs. 

Grace still lay in the street, quivering hands clutched around her thigh. 

Delilah stumbled down the stairs and rushed to help her up. “You good?” she asked lamely.

Despite the sweat dripping down her forehead she nodded. “Bullet went through. Don’t think I’ll bleed out, but I don’t want to take any chances. What the hell happened to you?”

“Got drugged again.”

“Ah. We need to get those flares lit and have Doc take a look at-”

A wheeze sounded from behind them. Both women turned and remembered the dying man at their feet. Upon further inspection, Delilah realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that “man” was a bit of an over statement. He couldn’t be a day older than twenty.

Blood trailed down either corner of his mouth as he looked up at Delilah with fearful brown eyes that pinned her to the spot. A black circle spread over his shirt, swelling from the single bullet hole in his chest. Another ragged breath left his failing lungs. He reached toward her with a feeble hand.

“Please,” he rasped.

Delilah felt her blood turn to ice as his finger curled into the loop of her shoelaces.

“Didn’t want to be alone,” he sighed. 

His eyes drifted from her face to the night sky and then to some far off place beyond it all. Another rattle left him and he went still.

Her eyes returned to the bullet hole. Her handiwork. The void in her chest - the one that had been there as long as she could remember - grew a little bigger and a little darker. 

She was faintly aware of Grace tugging on her sleeve.

“Hey, Rook, you gotta leave it. You can’t do this. Not now.” She pulled at her shoulder, a sympathetic frown on her lips. “We follow orders, we sort these things out later.”

Delilah let Grace lean on her and pulled most of her weight up the steps. Once inside, she propped Grace up on one of the pews that was still standing and retrieved both their rifles. 

“Got the flares in my pack. Take ‘em up to the bell tower and light one. Then we just wait and pray.”

“What if more peggies come?”

Grace shook her head. “They might, but our people are nearby. We need to trust them.”

Delilah took the brown bundle of flares with the lighter and began the twisting journey up the stairwell behind the pulpit. Most of the way she led herself by touch. The narrow stairs were obscured by shadow and the persistent green fog that seemed to follow her wherever she went. She knew it was a hallucination, but swore she felt the cool kiss of the mist against her skin.

Every time she blinked the dying boy’s face was there, an image seared into her mind. By the time she reached the apex of the bell tower she desperately hoped the fighting was over for the night because she had no more to give.

With shaking fingers she flicked the lighter. The fuse lit with a sputtering shower of sparks. Then it hissed as it began to properly burn and bathed the bell tower in its ruby red glow. She threw a hand over her eyes at the sudden brightness and turned away. 

Smoke billowed out from under the tower roof, forming a dusky pillar into the night sky. In a matter of moments, dozens of lanterns and flashlights appeared like fireflies, scattered throughout the tree-line and in the midst of the fields. The Resistance emerged from their hiding places, whooping and hollering as they made their way home.

Chapter Text

White tubes of a neon sign depicting a woman in her underwear hung overhead, her thighs spread in a seductive pose. Delilah’s shadow loomed over the doorway into the Spread Eagle as she passed by. What felt like a lifetime ago she made a promise never to set foot in the bar again. It wasn’t one she was about to break now. She continued on her way with her back to the bar, knowing full well that even though she helped Mary May get it back, she wasn’t welcome inside. Not truly.

She was fine with that, she told herself.

The residents of Fall’s End - those that were left - had returned with a vengeance. Within a few days they’d restored several buildings - the Spread Eagle, the church, and a firearm store - into some semblance of working order. The giant hole in the church was boarded up with plywood and turned into a makeshift communal shelter with sleeping bags replacing the pews. Several groups dug through the rubble of ruined homes to pull out firearms and ammo. All of those findings were stockpiled at the firearm store should they be attacked again. 

Mary May’s bar had received the most attention during reconstruction efforts. The massive freezer room beneath the bar was chock full of rations. Mostly smoked or dried meats and canned vegetables. Resistance members had also uncovered a working gas powered generator that, when running properly, meant they could store fresh meat and produce. With that in mind, fuel had been siphoned out of all nearby wrecked cars and stored for later use.

Nobody was bold enough to admit it, but Delilah could tell they all looked toward the distant yet oncoming Montana winter with trepidation. With it came the very real possibility of their little community starving to death, submerged up to the eyes in massive drifts of snow.

There was another thing looming over the budding Resistance, something that appeared in the dead of night. Giant bone white letters perched on the distant mountainside that spelled out Y-E-S. Everyone knew it was John’s doing, though he didn’t announce its arrival with any special ceremony or broadcast (which Delilah thought was eerily unlike him).

At first, their arrival was treated with paranoia. Roadblocks with guards were set up on either end of Main Street just in case any peggie patrols came barreling toward town. Hurk suggested he and Delilah march over the hills and blast the sign to pieces with his RAT4. Jerome and Mary May promptly dashed the plan, saying it was best not to stoke John’s ire so soon after they took back the town.

So the Fall’s End community cobbled together pieces of what it once was, a bustling ant colony at the mercy of a giant peggie boot.

Delilah was eager to clear out before it stomped.

With the Spread Eagle behind her, she strolled down Main Street, hands in her pockets, eyes scanning the groups of people milling about for Grace or Jerome. She thought it fair to at least tell one of them she was leaving. Grace had warmed up to her since Delilah had more or less saved her life and Jerome was always pleasant enough.  

Grace was nowhere to be found, but she heard Jerome’s voice emanating from the doorway of the church. She walked up the steps, deliberately averting her eyes from the dark brown bloodstains on the asphalt, and found him in conversation with Doc.

They had their heads bowed. Jerome’s hands were clasped in front of him. For an awkward moment she thought they might be praying until they turned when she approached.

Jerome nodded in greeting. “Deputy.”

“I- uh.” She scuffed her sneaker against the floorboards, uncertain of how to say her goodbyes. “I’m heading out. I mean, I think I should go find the Sheriff.”

Doc quirked a bushy gray eyebrow while Jerome gave her a sympathetic smile. 

“Feel like you’ve gone rogue without your CO?” he joked.

“Uh, yeah. Sorta.” It was more than that. More than anyone around her seemed to realize. Every fight she lost herself in, she came out on the other side worse and worse off. Whitehorse told her she was better than what her anger turned her into, but she wasn’t. 

Each night she lay on the floor of the chapel, staring up at the bullet holes she put in the roof. With each draft of wind in the creaky old building she swore she could smell the coppery tang of blood. And when she closed her eyes, she could only see that peggie kid - the red trailing from his mouth, and his quivering finger reaching for her. 

The smile fell from Jerome’s face, replaced with a look of concern. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Just worried about Whitehorse.”

“He’s tougher than you think, kid,” Doc snorted. “If anything I’d be more worried about you, considering where you’re going.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Hope County Jail is on the other side of the Henbane. And the Henbane region is the Project’s center for Bliss production.”

“Bliss?” She wracked her brain, only able to recall vague mentions of it before.

“That green shit they’ve been drugging you with?”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’ve only gotten two doses so far. But the more you get, the worse your trips are going to be, you understand? More intense hallucinations and longer recovery time. And trust me, kid, you don’t want to see what’s at the end of that path.”

Before she had a chance to ask what that meant, Jerome cut in. “Just stay away from the white flowers, keep off the roads, and you should be fine.”

With that advice in her mind, Delilah loaded up her pack with what rations Casey said they could spare as well as a few boxes of ammo, tattered roadmap, handheld radio, and extra clothes. She’d traded in her thoroughly stained gray hoodie for a baggy dark green jacket with the idea that it would help her blend in better with the forest terrain. Unfortunately no one had been able to scrounge up a spare pair of hiking boots which meant she had to settle for the shitty pair of sneakers that had already worn blisters into her ankles.

Jerome and Doc radioed to the Hope County Jail, letting them know the Deputy was en route. Some woman Delilah had never heard of, Tracey, responded and said she’d let the Sheriff know when he was back from patrol. 

With all her affairs settled, Delilah slung her supplies over her shoulder, holstered her pistol, and set out from the roadblock on the east side of town. So far she’d been able to avoid any sappy goodbyes, which was a welcome relief-

“Rook!” Hurk shouted. 

Spoken too soon.

She turned just in time to catch the large man barreling at her at full speed. Before she could blink he swept her up into a lung-crushing embrace and swung her back and forth, her feet dangling several inches off the ground.

“Hurk,” she wheezed. “Put me down.”

“Ah geez I’m sorry, man.” He set her back on the ground and gave her a sheepish wave. “Just wanted to say bye to my bestest buddy. We’ll be missing you.”

Doubtful . “Oh, well, I mean, if you need my help I guess I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe with the Sheriff.”

“Next time you’re in town we’re cracking open some of the good stuff Mary May’s got stashed behind the bar and we’re getting wasted, y’hear?”

She pursed her lips. Drinking should be the absolute last thing on her mind. Especially since last time she got into major, major trouble. But… “Sure.”

“Hell yeah. See you around, man.”

Hurk held out his fist. Delilah stared at it for a few seconds before she realized what he wanted. She bumped it with her knuckles and his smile broadened.

Thick clouds hung over the valley. Sunlight reached through the gaps, creating puddles of gold that meandered over the hills and fields. As the day wore on, however, the clouds got darker and heavier, and soon the sun was nowhere to be found. 

Delilah had followed Jerome and Doc’s advice and kept off the roads and under the cover of the forest. Occasionally a white truck or van would roll down the road and she took cover behind  trees and foliage while they passed, just to be safe. She followed the highway as it curved up the steep hills out of the valley, only for it to suddenly switch to a decline that led down toward the Henbane.

She heard the river water rushing against the pebbled banks before she could actually see it. By the time she picked her way down to its shore, thunder rumbled from the east and a stray raindrop landed on her nose.

When she had last seen John and Joseph, they had been on the bank of the river. Then it had been calm and shallow, not the wide rushing body of water before her now. The question was whether the site of the Cleansing was north or south.

There was also the option of swimming across, but…

A fiery blast, a black pickup buckling against a guard rail, and the flurry of bubbles as the cold rush of the current carried her body away flashed before her eyes.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Never mind . 

Rain came down faster as she trudged south along the riverbank, changing from a sprinkle, to a drizzle, then a torrential downpour. She hiked her jacket over her head. Cracks of thunder and the patter of rain against the thick weave of her coat were deafening. 

Crossing the Henbane became less and less of a priority as her clothes grew heavy from water and the cold seeped into her weary body. She gave up walking along the bank altogether and retreated uphill for the cover of the trees. Unfortunately the pines did little to stop the downpour from reaching her. 

After a quarter of a mile of stumbling and slipping uphill in the mud, she found a small shack tucked in a clearing between the river and highway. The shack itself leaned on unsteady walls and the door hung open revealing it was crammed to the brim with fishing supplies and other junk. 

She was too preoccupied cursing the shack’s owners for leaving it so messy to notice the metal latch at her feet and tripped over it. When she looked down she found it belonged to a trapdoor of sorts. With two hands and a strong tug she yanked the door up on its hinges and found a narrow tunnel leading down into the shadows. In the faint light she could make out the pale lumps of a mattress and pillow.

These doomsday weirdos will stick a bunker anywhere .

Once she climbed down the ladder she took inventory of her shelter. A twin sized bed was tucked against the left wall while the right was lined with empty shelves. In the back corner was a small toilet and a shower head protruding from the wall. It made Dutch’s hideout look like a five star suite. 

Flipping the breakers in the box behind the shelves on the right wall proved useless - whatever the peggies had done to the power grid affected more than Fall’s End, not that Delilah was surprised. 

She glanced over her shoulder and stared at the open trap door. Pale light filtered in through the small hole to the surface. It would be smarter to close it, but squatting in the dark all night wasn’t something she looked forward to.

Delilah sat on the corner of the mattress nearest her only light source and tried to get comfortable. She peeled off her sneakers, socks, and jacket before spreading them out along the shelves to dry. Next she dug through her pack for rations. When she pulled out a pack of trail mix she realized she wasn’t hungry in the slightest. Actually, it was more than a lack of appetite. Her stomach was twisted in knots.

She sighed and tossed the pack over her shoulder before grabbing the handheld radio. Jerome had said she could update him on her progress, but she wasn’t entirely sure if broadcasting her whereabouts would be a good idea. She flicked the dial through all the channels just to see if someone somewhere was chattering. Each one she was met with garbled static. 

With nothing to do and no one to talk to, she could only sit and wait for the storm to pass. 

The rain continued to fall  with no signs of stopping. Beyond the gray blanket of clouds, the sun dipped below the horizon and took her only source of light with it. She sat hunched on the corner of the mattress bouncing her leg and listened to the tink-tink of raindrops hitting the metal rungs of the ladder. The knots in her stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Delilah stared at the floor with unseeing eyes. A quivering hand emerged from the darkness and wrapped its finger around her shoelaces.

She kicked the imaginary hand away and ran a hand under her bangs only to find her forehead slick with sweat and rain. The bedframe beneath her squeaked and rattled and in the next few moments she realized it was because she was shaking all over.

What the hell is wrong with you?  

She took a deep breath only for her ribs to stop short. She tried again and again, each time her lungs stopped expanding just shy of what she needed. 

Her thoughts raced back to the crash the night she was separated from her team, the way her heart plummeted as she fell from the bridge, and the burn in her chest when she couldn’t get enough air - the way it burned now.

She leapt to her feet. One hand clenched onto the ladder while the other pressed against her pounding heart. Something was wrong. What was wrong?

Everything .

Hudson screamed, dragged away into the undergrowth with no one to help her. She’d tried to blame Burke for the whole thing. Blamed his eagerness to make the arrest, blamed his cocky attitude, but deep down she realized she was the one to blame. And she didn’t even try to make it right until she saw Hudson frightened out of her mind on that shitty little TV. And even now Hudson was still out there, at John’s mercy. 

Your fault. 

Blood. Everyone’s blood was on her hands. And instead of wiping it off she’d just kept fighting, kept killing.

You’ve got a fighting spirit, kid. I think you could use it for good.

It clung to her skin, warm and sticky while everyone stared at what a monster she was - the way they looked at her as they bled out at her feet. The way that kid - God, she didn’t even know his name - the way he looked at her, dark stain spreading on his chest, fear in his eyes.

Didn’t want to be alone , he whispered.

Tears dribbled down her chin as she leaned against the ladder. The memories, the ache in her chest, the sound of the rain, they were all too loud and too close. She tried to hold it all back like she had been the past few days and save it for later like Grace told her to. But the pressure was too much, too heavy. 

The world, the space around her, was so big, so empty, and she was in the center of it all spinning out of control-

“ Delilah .”

Joseph .

She opened her eyes and found herself back in the hole in the ground, heart still racing. When she looked over her shoulder a small yellow bulb blinked at her in the darkness.

“ Are you there? ”

She snatched the radio off the bed and swiped the tears off her cheeks. “What the hell do you want?”

“ Mmm. Something is wrong. I can hear it in your voice. ”

She should turn to a different frequency. Her thumb hovered over the dial.

“ You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I already know what happened to my people the other night. ”

Silence.

“ Do you want to talk about it? ”

“If you already know what happened, what’s the point?” she huffed.

“ It’s bothering you. ”

She knew she shouldn’t say anything. It was none of his damn business after all. Better to end the conversation than risk revealing intel. That’s what Jerome and Grace would expect her to do. Last time Joseph reached out he was asking for her trust - something she shouldn’t be stupid enough to give. Yet somehow, without her permission, words spilled from her mouth. 

“There was a kid. Young. Couldn’t be older than twenty. And I pulled the trigger. I just stood there and watched while he...” She took a breath and shuddered. “He said he didn’t want to be alone.”

“ I’m sorry.”

She glared into the darkness. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want any of this.”

“ I know .”

Another pause.

“ Can I tell you something? ”

“What?” she asked wearily.

“ I didn’t either. ”

Bullshit was on the tip of her tongue. Until she remembered what he’d revealed in the past - that he saw himself as chosen because of the warnings God sent him. That it was his responsibility to save everyone. That he was compelled to carry that weight even when it got people killed.

“Shouldn’t you be angry with me or something?” she asked instead.

“ I believe you’re angry enough with yourself. ”

She bit her lip, agitated that he was able to sound so detached while he flipped through her like an open book. “Think so?” She tried to play coy even though she sensed she was losing whatever game he had roped her into.

“You’ve been Cleansed, after all. Do you remember what I told you? How it’s meant to reveal the person beneath the dirt of their sin? Now that the layer of sin is gone, you’re exposed, able to feel the pain of all the ways you’ve failed. ”

Delilah was no stranger to being a disappointment. But she could admit this time something was different. It was more than being the family fuck up or the feisty drunk. And it took Joseph’s probing before she was able to fully acknowledge it. 

“ I’ve been thinking about the night we met. I told you that God has a plan for you. I want you to know that no matter what you’ve done, that won’t ever change.”

Even though Joseph wasn’t there to see it, she shook her head. He didn’t know who she was. Not really. He didn’t know the full extent of all she’d done wrong or what she might do in the future. But she was too worn down to correct him.

“ And if you ever need me, ” he whispered, “ I’m here .”

She eased herself back onto the bed, pressed the button to talk, and stared at the speaker. No words would come. She couldn’t even process what that meant - to have someone listen, to have someone to talk to. And to have that someone be Joseph.

“ Goodnight, Delilah .”

“Night,” she said.

She let herself sink into the mattress and walked herself all the way back through the past few days, past everything that went wrong - back to where it all started. 

Traffic lights reflected off the damp pavement outside and a light drizzle hissed on the roof of the cab. Joseph sat behind the steering wheel, bathed in the red glow of the stoplight. 

The look he had in his eye that night haunted her, yet the memory served as an anchor, keeping her exhausted body tethered to the bed. Pattering rain outside served as a reminder of that night and steadied her breathing. Little by little she relaxed her muscles and closed her eyes.

She put herself back in the passenger seat of Joseph’s truck. This time she didn’t want to talk about anything. Not herself. Not what she’d done wrong. Not how the fights started and whose fault it was. 

She just wanted to ride in silence, willing to go wherever he’d take her.

Chapter Text

Delilah blinked up at the gray light of dawn pouring in from the hole over her head. A breeze came down into her bunker and brought the smell of rain. It made her suddenly aware of the damp shirt and hair that clung to her skin. She shivered, chilled as if she had woken up with a broken fever. But she wasn’t sick - not physically, at least. 

She peeled herself off the mattress and rubbed the swollen bags under her eyes. They burned, fed up with her crying and lack of sleep. When she stood and began to take inventory of her things, the smell of rainwater followed her - earthy and musky, not entirely unpleasant, but not exactly clean. The rest of her clothes were on the shelf where she’d left them to dry. They were cold to the touch, but had been shielded from the weather. 

The bed frame squeaked under her when she sat down to pull on her socks and shoes. As she tied her shoelaces she was reminded of her vision the night before - the pale hand reaching for her. The hand hadn’t really been there and she hadn’t been wearing her shoes. 

Am I losing it? She winced as she pulled her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

Yes , was the immediate answer in her own voice, a mental huff of frustration. We don’t have time to lose it.

In the safety of another day, last night’s episode seemed so…

Stupid. Irrational. Pathetic.

Delilah ground her teeth. The sooner she got to Whitehorse, the sooner she could busy herself with whatever he needed and then whatever was going on in her head would have to stay on the back-burner.

What if that doesn’t work?

Her eyes flitted to the handheld radio bundled in the sheets near the impression her body had left. Joseph had been there to talk her down. Something told her that maybe, just maybe, he would be willing to do it again.

Breakfast was a hard pass, though she knew she had to be running on fumes. The sight of the trail mix didn’t jumpstart her appetite. If anything her stomach shrank back in on itself while her mouth went dry.

Everything she’d dragged out of her pack she lobbed back in and yanked the zipper closed. She clipped her radio to her belt and checked her pistol before slotting it in her holster. Then she hauled herself up the ladder. When she reached the world above she brushed the rust and dirt staining her hands off on her green jacket before kicking the hatch shut. It closed with a dull thud.

Though it was no longer raining, what moisture was left dribbled from the pines. With every little gust of wind fat droplets sprinkled her face and jacket and hit the wet earth below with a plip plop. The sneakers she had been so careful to dry under the shelf were soon caked in mud.

Delilah found her way back to the Henbane and a part of her immediately regretted not finding a way to cross the night before. Brown waves lashed hungrily at the shores, carrying leaves, branches, and hunks of driftwood with them. 

Hopelessness swelled in the pit of her empty stomach. Instead of giving in to it, she buried her hands in her pockets and forced her tired legs to carry her south. The only option was to find the calmer waters where John’s ritual had taken place - if she could even recognize it at this point.

She followed the shoreline as it wound between the hills and thick swaths of trees and brush. Eventually the murky waves settled down, the excess water draining out into creeks and ditches. Delilah kept her eyes peeled for any indication that she had reached the site of the Cleansing. It wasn’t entirely necessary - the water was probably shallow enough to cross at any point she chose. But something on the other side of the river had her feeling uneasy.

A certain pale gray figure stood tall, reaching far over the tops of the trees. A statue of the Father in all his rigid glory. It lurked in the corner of her eye and she couldn’t shake the sensation that it was somehow watching her. She avoided looking at it directly, afraid that his face carved in stone would give her that same look he always had.

It was also a sign that once she crossed the other side she would be deep in cult territory. All alone.

Whitehorse is waiting for you. Stop dicking around.

She clenched her fists, set her sights on the other shore, and waded into the river. 

The first few steps were bearable until the frigid water swirled around her thighs. She took her pistol and radio and held them above her head, just to be safe. By the time the water was up to her chest her teeth were chattering. Thankfully it didn’t rise any higher. 

She sloshed along at what felt like a snail’s pace, careful to keep her balance on the uneven riverbed. She could use another bath but getting dunked in the river again wasn’t how she wanted to go about it.

Once she reached dry land on the other side, she realized all her belongings were sopping wet and would be for the foreseeable future. Her socks squelched inside her sneakers, cold water welling up between her toes with every step. The green jacket and backpack now felt twice as heavy with the extra water weight. Exposed once more to the cool air, her teeth ground together more violently than before. 

Was it better to take off the wet clothes or leave them on? She couldn’t remember. And she wasn’t about to get naked in the middle of peggie country.

After another half mile of wandering, when the Henbane river was well behind her, she decided she couldn’t stand the wet socks any more and stopped to kick off her shoes and laid them out on a log to dry. Next came her jacket and socks. Her pants and shirt would stay on , just in case.

Delilah wrung out her clothes as best she could before settling on the log next to her shoes. To pass the time she emptied out her pack, tossed away her ruined trail mix, and flipped through the channels on her radio.

She caught some chatter between Grace and one of the patrols in the valley. Nothing from John and his followers. Nothing from Hope County Jail.

Her eyelids drooped from exhaustion while her mind sought for something, anything, to focus on before all her memories from the past few days could creep back in. She settled for taking inventory of the crumpled leaves on the forest floor, counting all the different shapes she saw. At some point she must have dozed off because the next thing she knew she jolted awake and found herself slumped over on the log.

Delilah grunted and drew her pistol on instinct, unsure what had woken her up. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been out. The sky above was the same overcast gray, though her clothes had dried considerably - 

A scream echoed through the forest. And it wasn’t far off. A gaggle of crows took off from a nearby pine, cawing at the disturbance. Someone, whoever they were, sounded like they needed help.

She looked at her pistol, deliberating its weight in her hand before pulling on her clothes and taking off into the undergrowth. The cries persisted, sounding from somewhere just ahead. Just beyond the trees, just over the next hill. 

Another loud shriek urged her to move faster. The voice sounded like a woman. She was frightened, terrified. 

Delilah reached the top of the hill and clambered over a pile of dead logs. Rotting bark chipped away under her fingernails as she frantically tried to reach the other side. Whoever was there must have heard her coming because they let out a whimper. It was close. She was almost to them. 

She leapt off the top of the pile into the undergrowth. Leafy green vegetation crowded her on all sides, thicker and denser than she expected. It was tall, taller than the top of her head, and blocked her view of the rest of the clearing. She pushed it back with her free hand while keeping her pistol at the ready.

Delilah inhaled and parted her lips ready to call out for the woman. Who’s there? Are you alright?

A blue butterfly danced between the white blossoms and landed on her wrist. 

Wait.

White blossoms. She’d blundered into a horde of them.

I am an absolute fucking idiot.

Sickly sweet perfume poured into her nostrils. Her hand twitched and the butterfly disappeared into a puff of green. When she looked down at her feet she found mist circling hungrily around her ankles and crawling up her legs.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She ran a hand over her scalp and pulled at the roots of her hair. Jerome and Doc had warned her not to get another dose. And they weren’t around to save her this time.

A giggle came from behind her, eerily similar to the first time she’d been injected with Bliss.

Delilah turned toward the sound with her pistol at the ready and found herself face to face with… the waitress from the diner?

The woman pushed away the leaves between them and smiled. “Hello. It’s nice to see you again.”

No, not just a waitress. Recognition came with a jolt of panic. She’d been too occupied to connect the dots between the woman in the diner and the portrait in the ranch, too frightened to notice her lurking behind Joseph the night of his arrest-

Wait a second. Her train of thought came to a screeching halt. So that was how Joseph knew she was in the diner that day. And she’d been too in over her head to know better. Of course.

“Get away,” Delilah hissed and gave the woman a shove. Her hand passed through her body as she disappeared in a cloud of white. She stumbled forward as she met no resistance. 

“It’s alright.” Cold fingers swept along the back of Delilah’s neck just under the fringe of her hair.

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine as she barreled forward. She had to get away and fast. Her eyelids drooped and the fog that came over her had already swallowed the skies. No matter how many flowers she shoved out of her way, more were waiting for her on the other side. She tripped over a root or a branch - she couldn’t tell which - and fell to her hands and knees.

“You’re lost,” Faith said from somewhere above, pity in her voice.

Her radio. She needed her radio to call for help. Clumsy hands fumbled for her belt, for the clip where her radio was attached to her waist. When she looked down she saw the silver ring, but no radio at its end. 

“I know what everyone will tell you about me. That I’m a liar. A manipulator.”

Delilah’s gun had vanished too. She tore through the grass around her looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. The fog that surrounded her began to penetrate her mind. Her body refused to move faster, to get back to its feet and run, no matter how much she willed it to. She hauled herself forward several yards, biting back a shriek of frustration.

Bare feet planted themselves in the dirt before her. Delilah’s eyes trailed upward. Faith stooped over her, pink cheeks framed by golden tresses.

“Let me tell you a different story - my story - and then maybe you’ll understand.” Faith grabbed her arms and guided her to her feet. “There was once a young woman who had been ostracized by her community and by her family,” she whispered. “Bullied. Abused. Does that sound familiar, Delilah?”

She stared at the dainty fingers cradling her dirty bruised knuckles. A lump formed in the back of her throat and left her unable to form a reply.

Faith continued undeterred. “The young woman took to a needle for help. It was supposed to numb her pain. She was all alone. She wanted to die.“ She tugged on Delilah’s hand and Delilah followed.

Something to numb the pain. Faith put to words what she craved. Fear, loneliness, helplessness, failure, all of those things that poured out of the void in her chest on a daily basis had no cure. She could drink it away, could forget about it for a little while if she was busy enough, but it always came back. She found herself clinging to Faith’s arms, searching the sincere depths of her blue eyes. 

“But then she met The Father.” At the sweep of Faith’s hand the fog cleared just enough to reveal the statue of Joseph in the distance. A halo of clear blue sky surrounded him. His arm was raised and beckoning for them. 

Delilah blinked and then in the next instant they were soaring. Or rather Faith was soaring and she was dragged along behind her, the soles of her sneakers gliding atop the prairie grass. A horde of blue butterflies followed them, somehow keeping up with their impossible speed. 

“He gave her hope and confidence,” Faith continued, her voice crystal clear over the rush of the wind. “The Father showed her how special she was, that she was full of love and life. He gave her a new family. One that accepted her just as she was.” 

They were engulfed in a cloud of fog and the butterflies dissipated, mingling with the green atmosphere. When they emerged from the other side, they were at eye level with Joseph’s statue. Faith lowered her gently onto the pages of the book and took her hands again. Her eyes sparkled with rapture and adoration.

“The young woman no longer wished to die. She had been given purpose, ” she whispered.

There was a bright flash and misty wings unfurled from her shoulders. 

“One day the Father brought her here. He asked if she had faith in him. He asked if she would be willing to die for him. The young woman very much wished to live and she was scared. The Father told her this was her test. He would have Faith in her if she had faith in him. So she closed her eyes and leapt. The Father kept his word.” She withdrew and hovered beyond the edge of the book. “The Path to Eden is clear to those that have faith.”

Delilah looked at Faith, then down at the edge of the pages, then back up at Faith. A serene smile spread over the woman’s features and she held out her hands. Her meaning was clear.

A foreign urge washed over Delilah - the desire to let go, to do anything Faith asked of her, because she was beautiful and kind and a light in the darkness. The muscles in her legs stiffened, poised to rush forward and leap. But they were so high up… 

Delilah frowned and shook her head before throwing a cautious glance at Faith, expecting to find her angelic features tainted with anger and disappointment. Instead the woman nodded once and a new figure entered Delilah’s field of vision.

She would have recognized that black vest and shaved head anywhere.

“Marshal?” She croaked.

He looked at her over his shoulder. A smile parted his lips, but didn’t reach his eyes which were blown wide and lacked the spark of recognition. To her horror he stepped toward the edge, not caring to look where he was going.

“Marshal Burke,” she tried again, reaching for him. “It’s me, Deputy Rookwood.”

“It’s time, Deputy. Walk the path.” He turned his back to her, spread his arms, and tilted forward.

“No!” She lurched for him, but it was too little too late. 

He vanished over the edge, taking the fog with him and revealing what awaited beyond. Delilah swayed back and forth, fighting the unnatural urge to follow, to obey. The toes of her sneakers dangled off the precipice of stone. Joseph’s word was solid beneath her feet, but just beyond was the dizzying horror of empty air. Far, far below a ravine split the hillside, its rocky jaws open wide and eagerly waiting to swallow her whole. 

Her arms windmilled at her sides as she took an unsteady step backward. Something solid and warm pressed against her back and steadied her balance, though it prevented her from retreating further. A puff of warm air tickled the back of her neck. 

She whirled around, gasping when a hand latched onto her wrist and tugged her close. 

Joseph was there. His eyes searched hers, mere inches between them. 

Her mind struggled to comprehend where he came from or if he was actually there. The hand wrapped around her wrist felt real enough - wooden rosary beads and the warmth of his palm pressed into her skin. 

“I told you the next time we saw each other you would trust me,” he said.

“Are you real?” she breathed. Her heart hammered in her chest, terrified of the answer. She wasn’t sure which was worse - to be alone or to be pinned between Joseph and falling to her death. 

“Do you trust me?” he pressed. There was something urgent in his tone, as if the question were really a demand.

Her mouth opened and closed several times. Trust him?

Rosary beads dug into her wrist.

What did it mean to trust someone like him? How could I even trust someone like him? 

Was it because he’d never hurt her? Maybe because he saved her behind the bar and drove her home afterwards. Or the time when he got her out of the chopper wreckage before it burst into flames. When he stopped John from drowning her in the river. When he reached out to her on the radio and listened without judgment. How he stared into her eyes and read the mess of her without flinching or turning away.

She swallowed thickly, her answer heavy on her tongue. “I think I do.” It was strange and frightening to admit out loud, like exposing an open wound to fresh air. She tensed, waiting for the sting. 

Instead he circled around her, pulling her arm as he went, drawing her closer and closer until her chest was pressed against his. “Then there’s no reason to fear.”

The heels of his boots scraped against the stone beneath them. She looked down and saw he was leading them both toward the edge. Her blood froze in her veins.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait-wait-”

His free hand reached around to cup the back of her head while the other snaked around her waist. Her chin nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder and she was once again forced to look down at the ravine below. She inhaled and breathed in the scent of him - cedar, incense, and a hint of sweat - but it wasn’t enough to subdue the panic building in her chest.

“Be not afraid,” he murmured into the shell of her ear and sent goosebumps down her flesh.

She shook her head scrambling for purchase with her feet and flailing her arms. There was nothing to hold onto save for Joseph himself. Her fingernails bit into the flesh of his shoulders, not that he seemed to care. 

Another step back and he took them both over the edge.

Her stomach lurched as their feet left solid ground. Wind howled in her ears and lashed her face, bringing tears to her eyes. She could only watch as the ravine rushed toward them, growing deeper and wider with every frantic heartbeat. A scream ripped itself from her throat as she buried her face in his chest.

She’d fallen like this before. But then she’d thought she was dead and when she wasn’t the river was there to catch her. Now there was only Joseph to hold her. 

-

Delilah opened her eyes. Joseph was gone. A yelp left her mouth as she flinched and threw her arms around herself, waiting for the sickening impact to end it all. Instead she found herself on the ground. Intact. Definitely not dead.

Her whole body trembled and spasmed as her sense of reality slowly returned. 

“What the fuck?” she breathed, running her hands along the rocky surface on either side of her.

The last thing she remembered was Joseph pulling her over the edge and screaming as they fell. Or had it all been a vision? Just some fucked up dream?

I really am losing it.

And maybe she was losing it because she’d blundered into a patch of Bliss like Jerome and Doc had explicitly warned her not to do.

She ran a hand over her face and when she looked up again she found two vultures wheeled in lazy circles overhead.

In that same instant she was hit with the smell - rancid, rotting meat - and the quiet hum of flies. Delilah clapped a hand over her mouth, rolled on her side, and heaved. She wretched and gagged, choking on nothing thanks to an empty stomach.

Corpses. Decaying human corpses were strewn about the rocky shelf around her in varying positions, like macabre playthings that had been tossed aside. Thick lines of chalky white stretched out in four directions. Delilah scanned over the gore, trying to make sense of her surroundings, until the shape of the lines suddenly made sense and she knew what it was: the Eden’s Gate cross.

She shoved herself upright on wobbly legs and pinched her nose shut. 

Behind where she had awoken, walls of stone circled protectively around the clearing. In the strip of blue sky between the walls loomed the statue. With dawning amazement she realized this was the ravine she had seen from atop the book. And now she was down at the bottom in one piece. 

Her eyes flitted back to the corpses. Perhaps they were other jumpers not so lucky as her. At least, that was the story her surroundings seemed to tell.

No. It was just a bad trip.

She brought her other hand up to run through her hair, but flinched when something dangling from her wrist bumped against her forearm. When she pulled her hand away her breath caught in her throat.

A string of wooden beads wound between her thumb and forefinger, across her palm, and around her wrist. Some were perfectly smooth and round, some were more well-worn than others, as if their owner had thumbed over them many many times.

It was impossible to tell how much of what she’d seen and experienced was real. But with Joseph’s rosary wound securely around her hand she could be certain that some of it was. He wasn’t part of the hallucination. He had been there with her.

Chapter Text

Delilah flexed her hand around the wooden beads that fit snug in the crease of her palm. She stared down at them, still struggling to believe her own eyes. A part of her was suspicious that it was all just a remnant of the Bliss - that any moment Joseph’s rosary would turn to smoke and waft through her fingers.

It didn’t.

Yet again Joseph had left her with a piece of him. Just like the card he left in her truck from what felt like a lifetime ago. Then he had been toying with her, or so she thought. This suggested something more… intimate.

The notion made her shudder. Anxiety, bewilderment, and anticipation intertwined with one another. 

It seemed he was always finding ways to get closer to her. Cleansing her in the Henbane, talking her through her panic in the dead of night, and cradling her when she was afraid of Faith’s jump.

Delilah had found herself growing to trust him and had admitted it out loud. And yet…

Fuck. She probably needed her head examined.

She pulled on the cross at the end of the rosary and tugged it back around her wrist, unraveling the strands clinging to her arm. If anyone in the Resistance saw her little souvenir, well, they’d have questions. And she had no idea how to answer those questions. 

Nobody could ever know, she decided. If anyone ever found out about her and Joseph - the radio chats, the hallucinations - she’d be locked up in the blink of an eye. 

Once her hand was free she dangled the loose cord from her thumb. It twirled, the faint light of the sun caught the silver accents on the cross. She’d seen this necklace before, she realized, dangling from the mirror in his pickup the night they met. After a second of deliberation she looped it over her neck and tucked it beneath her shirt.

A hiss came from her side that made her heart skip a beat. She spun on her heels looking for the threat only to realize it was emanating from the radio clipped to her belt. And next to it her pistol was back in its holster.

Her eyes narrowed. She distinctly remembered losing them along with her pack before coming face to face with Faith. Before she could question it further a voice came from the other end.

“All patrols in the Henbane, get your ass back to base A-S-A-P,” Whitehorse hollered.

There was a crunching sound followed by several pops that sounded an awful lot like gunfire. Delilah gripped the plastic casing with both hands and stared down the speaker. Not Whitehorse. They already took Joey and Burke. They couldn’t take him too.

“Civilians in the area, clear out if you aren’t pinned. We got peggies lining up on the ridge and we can’t hold ‘em back for long. Not unless we get backup. Anyone armed and willing, do what you can.”

Unmistakable strain crept into his voice, something Delilah had never heard before.

Her thumb jammed into the talk button and she pulled the receiver to her lips. “Sheriff? Whitehorse, sir?” she croaked.

There was a pause. For a terrifying moment she wondered if she was too late, if he had been one of the first to get picked off.

“Del? Shit, is that you kid? Where have you been?”

“I’m near Joseph’s statue. How do I get to you from here?”

“Statue? What the hell are you doing - you know what, never mind. Head southeast then follow the sound of gunfire. Shouldn’t be too hard to find us if we can hold on that long.”

More gunfire echoed in the background.

“I’ll be there. Stay alive.” Her eyes roved over the corpses scattered across the white cross etched in the stone, but she didn’t see them. Her focus was on the mission: get to Whitehorse before the peggies did.

She bounded through the woods, somehow feeling just as light as when she’d flown with Faith, though on foot she wasn’t nearly as fast. Around her was a never ending stretch of undergrowth and thick tree trunks, yet she was certain she was making a beeline southeast. Soon, just like Whitehorse promised, she could make out the pap-pap-pap of gunfire in the distance. 

Delilah hurdled over a fallen log and burst through the undergrowth onto the open highway. The air was crowded with a blend of gunshots, shouting, and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Her pace slowed and came to a complete stop when she was able to make out the gray brick walls of the Hope County Jail nestled at the base of the hill. An American flag swayed stubbornly from the roof while the Resistance hunkered down along the battlements and watchtowers, only peering out to take a potshot or two.

Around the outskirts of the jail parking lot swarmed with dozens of peggies. Most of them huddled behind the cover of their vehicles. A few bolder ones attempted to scale the walls only to get a faceful of lead. 

Delilah pulled out her pistol and assessed her options. Running and gunning seemed like a good way to get shot - either by one of the many peggies or by a Resistance member mistaking her for one of them. Instead she crouched low and began weaving through the undergrowth. With any luck the peggies would be too distracted by what was happening in front of them to notice her creeping behind them.

She circled around toward the west side of the compound. Prairie grass tickled her nose and she stifled a sneeze in her jacket sleeve. Just at the edge of her hiding place a squad of peggies knelt behind the cab of their pickup truck. From the watchtower above she caught the glint of a sniper’s scope. Hopefully the Resistance would catch on to her position and provide cover fire if she needed it. 

She brought the pistol sights level with her eye and held her breath. Three peggies were crouched some yards away - two men and a woman. The dot of her crosshairs grazed over the woman’s head.

Gonna watch them bleed out just like the boy?

Air rushed from her lungs. The pistol suddenly weighed like a brick in her hand. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but it hit her like a truck.

One of the men stood suddenly and took a few potshots at the top of the wall. Bullets ricocheted off stone with a zing . Someone on the other side yelped - hopefully out of surprise, not pain.

Delilah flexed her jaw and forced her breath to even itself out.

Save it for later. Whitehorse needs me.

Her crosshairs crawled up the woman’s spine and hovered over the back of her skull. Delilah pulled the trigger.

-

“I think that went well.” Faith twirled one of her fingers around a lock of golden hair, her back to him from where she perched on the corner of his desk.

“Mhm,” Joseph hummed, unable to drag his full attention away from Jacob’s latest reports. They’d lost far too many good brothers and sisters to the Whitetails. Jacob’s barely indecipherable scrawl kept the details to a minimum. The members of his flock showed up as mere numbers in a column. But Joseph understood he cared about his people more than he let on. That was just his way. 

“You should have seen her face when I spoke to her. It was like she hung on to my every word.”

“You’re a very gifted speaker, Faith.”

“Thank you, Father.” He didn’t look at her, but he could sense her swell with pride.

A moment of silence passed between them, broken when the desk creaked as Faith shifted her weight. He glanced up and found she had turned to look at him.

“It would only take one more dose you know,” she murmured.

Joseph blinked and her smile faltered. She sensed his answer before it passed his lips. “Absolutely not.”

“I would never let her become an Angel-”

“Not on purpose, no. But thank you for handling her with care. It was just what she needed.”

“But it’s not what will bring her home?”

Bring her home. The words sent a small shiver of pleasure and excitement down his spine which he disguised by leaning back in his chair. “She has a long path to walk.” He thought for a moment, running a hand over his beard, searching for a way to make her understand. “Tell me, why does God let bad things happen to good people?”

Faith leaned back as well, bracing herself with one arm and drumming her fingers on her knee. Her blue eyes darted from wall to wall as if secrets hidden in the corners of his office held any clues. The clock above the door frame ticked in the silence while Joseph waited for her answer. Her lip curled in disdain.

“There are no good people,” she said at last. “Not really.”

“But isn’t God merciful?” he countered. “Doesn’t he deliver justice to those that willingly Atone?”

“Yes.” Her frown turned doubtful.

“Yet we still suffer, even before we are aware of what it takes to Atone.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Why?”

A crease formed between her brows. He could sense frustration in the hunch of her shoulders, the slight wrinkle of her nose. His Faith, his most devoted sister, was unable to answer and for that she thought she was failing him. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Fortunately for her, the Father was also the Teacher. 

He shifted approach once more. “Tell me, would you be who you are now without your addiction?”

At that she stiffened. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

“It isn’t. But without it, how would you have found our family? How would I have saved you if you weren’t on the street?”

“You wouldn’t have. I’d still be with those fake friends.”

“Your pain led you to me.”

“It did…” Understanding softened her pale features. “It had to happen, didn’t it? God had to let me...”

Joseph nodded. “And right now Delilah is in pain.”

“The Bliss would take it all away.”

“Mhm.”

“I hope it won’t be much longer. Before she’s ready to join us, I mean.”

The Voice whispered at the edge of his hearing. He angled his head, trying to catch its secrets. “It won’t be.”

-

The clearing in front of the jailhouse was a mass of chaos. Peggies swarmed around the base of the walls and pounded at the gate. Orders from their commanders were lost amongst the screams of the injured and dying. Resistance members dropped from the walls only to be trampled beneath the mob below. Smoke from molotovs choked the air. Grenades bit chunks out of the asphalt and brick walls, showering everyone with stone and dust.

Delilah stared down the barrel of a revolver. The peggie on the other end of the gun wore a triumphant smile as his finger curled over the trigger. In a blur of motion she grabbed the barrel and shoved upwards. The sound of the shot rang in her ear. For a moment he blinked at her, confused that she was alive and unharmed. She reared back and slammed her forehead into his nose. 

Pain blinded her for a moment. When she could see straight she found the peggie on the ground. Blood dribbled from his nose. And his revolver was in her hand. 

He grunted and scrambled against the asphalt to get away. A strangled cry for help came from the back of his throat, but was lost in the chaos around them. No one was coming to his rescue.

Guilt clawed its way through her chest and up her throat, trying to cut off her air supply.

Whitehorse needs me. She chanted it in her head like a mantra to keep the growing panic at bay. 

Delilah staggered after the bleeding man, turned his own revolver on him, and pulled the trigger. She turned away and searched for another target in the crowd, forbidding herself to watch the aftermath of what she’d done. If she got distracted now she was as good as dead.

Ever since she’d taken out the first group of peggies, the Resistance had caught on quickly and the fight devolved into a free-for-all. Peggies scrambled to take cover from the Resistance’s barrage of fire while Delilah weaved in and out of cover, killing as many as she could before ammunition inevitably ran dry. 

Her attention turned to the crowd beating against the jailhouse gate. From sheer strength in numbers, they seemed to be winning the fight against the sturdy sheets of metal. The gate rattled more and more with each shove the peggies gave. Despite the bodies piling up around the walls, the Resistance was still gravely outnumbered. Unless the tides changed quickly they wouldn’t be able to hold for long.

“Don’t let them through that fucking gate,” Whitehorse bellowed from his perch atop the wall.

“One, two, three, push,” someone in the crowd ordered.

She ground her jaw in determination and unloaded her revolver into the mob. Five shots. Three peggies went down. 

Click. Click. Empty.

A quick glance around at the bodies nearby proved fruitless. Any spare weapons had already been emptied or snatched up save for a rusty shovel. Delilah had run out of bullets and therefore options. She hefted the shovel over her shoulder and made a run for the crowd still clawing at the gates. 

A few of the peggies saw her coming, a mix of awe and horror washing over their faces. Whatever they thought at the sight of her was contagious, sweeping over the lot of them. The frenzy came to a stop as all heads turned to stare at Delilah. A few shaking hands pointed in her direction. Even the Resistance members atop the wall stopped firing to look on.

“Run!” someone shouted. 

Peggies scattered like cockroaches, skittering over corpses and cars and into the surrounding tree line. Delilah slowed to a jog, surprised that they would give up so easily.

“Rook,” Whitehorse called.

Delilah found him hanging halfway out a watchtower window. Relief filled her for a brief second before she realized he was waving frantically. The same look of horror distorted his features.

“Get out of there!” He pointed toward her.

In that instant Delilah realized they hadn’t been pointing at her, but something behind her.

She turned around right as a chorus of guttural snarls met her ears. A tidal wave of pale figures thundered up the hill. Dozens of bare feet and hands pounded against the pavement as the new arrivals barreled toward her on all fours. Each was dressed in dingy white rags with matching muzzles that did little to hide the outline of their gnashing teeth.

Delilah stared into their glassy black pupils and found a distinct lack of humanity that chilled her to the bone. As they grew closer a familiar smell hit her nostrils - the sweet and heady scent of Bliss. 

Fear forced her body into action. As the first creature came into range, he leapt, dirty fingers outstretched and ready to tear her to pieces. Delilah swung the shovel. With a clang the flat side of the blade connected with his head. The force of the blow traveled up the shaft and rattled her teeth. He flew to the right and collapsed in a twitching heap.

Another charged her before she had a chance to wind back for another swing. Wiry arms wrapped around her torso and sent them both hurtling to the ground. Her back connected with the pavement and crushed the air from her chest. 

Up close the smell of Bliss was replaced with a putrid stench that made her eyes water - sweat, sewage, rotting meat. Blackened fingernails clawed at her shirt and neck, scoring red welts into her skin. She shoved upwards against their chest in a vain attempt to put space between them.

More of them piled onto her, pulling at her limbs and hair. A strangled whimper escaped the back of her throat while hot tears blurred the writhing mass of flesh that blocked out everything else. She swung her arms and kicked her legs searching for something - anything - to help her fight back. Her hand found the wooden handle of the shovel, but it was pinned beneath another body.

Somewhere beyond the chaos someone started firing again. A bullet thudded into flesh and hot blood splattered her face. She spluttered and screwed her eyes shut. 

One of them began to howl - in pain or excitement she couldn’t tell. The others grew agitated by the coppery tang of blood, clawing each other out of the way to get closer to the scent, snarling and snapping their teeth. A woman’s face suddenly hovered over Delilah, the white cloth of her mask billowed with her breathing. She pressed her face against Delilah’s and smeared the blood along her cheeks as she went.

Several more shots flew into the mass of bodies. More blood splattered the ground and excited the frenzy.

Revulsion crawled down her spine and a shuddering sob tumbled from her lips. Her throat, her face, her arms, every inch of exposed skin burned as blood welled from her cuts and scrapes. The full weight of several bodies pressed onto her sternum and cut off her air supply.

She was going to die like this, she realized. The Resistance probably thought she was already dead. That was why they were shooting. Not that it mattered anyway. She didn’t really stand a chance.

It’s what you deserve anyway, after all the shit you started. Delilah closed her eyes and found Mom glowering at her beneath her eyelids. You think God has a use for someone like you? She mouthed, her thin lips arched in a sneer.

No. I don’t. Resentment boiled in her blood. Happy now?

Hinges groaned and metal scraped against pavement. Shouting was soon to follow.

The woman atop Delilah lunged forward, growling something indecipherable. Delilah gasped for air and pulled at the handle of her shovel. It lifted off the ground. Resentment turned to rage.

More members of the horde abandoned Delilah and headed for whatever new distraction the Resistance had created. In the next instant there were no longer enough limbs to pin her down and she scrambled to her feet, punching, kicking, and swinging as she went.

One of the masked things nearby snarled and lunged at her. She caught him in the throat with the blade of her shovel. 

“Fuck you,” she spat between clenched teeth.

He didn’t get back up. 

She moved to the next target, wielding her shovel like an ax and chopping at anything that moved. Each time her shovel bit into flesh the rage in her veins grew hotter and hotter. Soon there were no creatures left standing to swing at, so she took to hacking at the ones on the ground in case they dared get back up.

“Deputy.”

Delilah ground her teeth and swung again, severing a shoulder from its socket.

“Deputy Rookwood.”

Again. Her hands ached as the blade thudded against bone.

“Delilah!”

She froze. Whitehorse stood a few yards away. One hand hovered over his holster while the other was extended as if he were trying to comfort a wild animal. He wasn’t alone. Several other Resistance members hovered around him, watching her with wide frightened eyes. 

What the hell are you looking at? she tried to shout, but all that came out was a sob. 

The shovel clattered to the ground and Delilah wasn’t far behind. Arms wrapped around her before she hit the pavement. Her fists curled into the coarse fabric of the sheriff’s jacket as she tried to shove him away.

“Don’t touch me,” she whimpered through chattering teeth. Her skin was on fire yet freezing with cold sweat.

“Medic!” Whitehorse shouted near her ear and made her flinch. “She’s going into shock.”

“The medics are with the wounded inside the walls, sir,” a woman offered.

Whitehorse grumbled under his breath as he half carried, half dragged Delilah back to the gate. Corpses littered the ground, most but not all dressed in cult rags. The Resistance members paused to nudge them out of the way, looting any spare supplies as they went. There was another clang and rattle as the gate swung shut behind them.

On the interior of the walls, conditions were little improved. Volunteers were busy lining up the dead near the gate and covering them with spare tarps. The wounded were being hauled on stretchers to the interior offices. A woman in a blue hooded cutoff vest with dark bangs hiding half her face was calling out orders from the stone steps of the jailhouse. 

“Critical injuries get taken further in, minor ones have to wait for treatment in the lobby.”

Whitehorse paused at the doorway while Delilah eyed the over-crowded lobby and strained against his arms. 

The woman crossed her arms and looked them up and down. “Is she critical?”

“She’s in shock.”

“If she’s not bleeding out she’ll have to wait just like the others.”

“Shit, Tracey, you saw what happened to her-”

“She’s still standing. That’s better off than some. Sorry, Sheriff, we don’t play favorites here.”

“Wasn’t asking you to, ma’am.” Whitehorse gave a curt nod before leading Delilah inside. He guided her over to one of the less crowded corners of the lobby and propped her up against the end of the clerk’s desk. 

A colorful assortment of pamphlets stared down at her from a wire rack on the opposite wall. Some were guides or self help and drug rehabilitation while others advertised community service and park cleanup activities. Her eyes skimmed over the words and cheerful scenery while her fingers twitched over the scratches and welts covering her skin.

“You just wait right here, Del. Someone will get to you eventually.” Whitehorse squeezed her shoulder. 

She mumbled some approximation of “thanks” before letting her head loll against the wood behind her. Two medics rushed around the cramped room with various bits of medical supplies in hand. Delilah listened to them call out to one another for gauze, painkillers, and antiseptic. Those that waited for treatment looked on, some unable to withhold a groan of discomfort every now and then. 

By the time one of them was able to reach her, the cuts on her arms and face had stopped stinging altogether. Not that she had the energy to care either way. The blood had also long dried over, forming itchy flaky patches that she thought she should be used to by now.

“Alright.” The medic - a man with watery blue eyes and a receding gray hairline - sat down his kit on the tile floor next to her. She glanced at him and he gave her a frail smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

She held out her hand. 

He took it and gently rotated her wrist, humming to himself as he took note of her injuries. Next he pulled out a rag and generously soaked it from alcohol. “Sorry,” he said, “this is going to sting quite a bit.”

The cold wet rag pressed into her skin and the fire started all over again. Delilah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She stared at the floor, distracting herself by counting the number of gray flecks on the tiles beneath her while her eyes welled with unshed tears. 

If the man noticed her distress, he didn’t acknowledge it. Only when the rag skirted close to the collar of Delilah’s shirt - inches from where Joseph’s rosary was hidden - did she flinch. He must have mistook her reaction for a strong sense of modesty. A half formed apology tumbled from his mouth and he busied himself with wiping her face clean instead. 

“There you go,” he said once he’d finished. “Now if you go through those doors over there-” he nodded to a set of green double doors on the other end of the room- “you can head to the showers and someone will set you up with a bunk afterwards.”

Delilah gave a noncommittal grunt and trudged through the double doors on stiff legs. On the other side a brunette woman in a baggy flannel shirt slapped a clean change of clothes in her arms and guided her to what was once the inmate’s bathroom. 

For a long time she stood in the white concrete stall and let the ice cold water blast the remnants of the day’s violence off her body. Rust colored water circled the drain between her feet as she pressed her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes. With the sting of the high pressure spout between her shoulder blades it was almost possible to forget everything else. Almost.

It didn’t matter that her wounds were wiped clean, that the blood and dirt and grime were rinsed out of her hair. As soon as she stepped out of the shower and got a glimpse of the woman in the mirror, she saw someone she didn’t recognize. Bruises, some fresh and dark, some aged and yellow, covered the bridge of her nose and throat. Her eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion and the bags under her eyes were almost as purple as her bruises. Red welts and cuts littered her body in places the medic hadn’t checked - her chest, her stomach, around her thighs. 

Joseph’s cross was nestled atop her sternum, rising and falling in time with her breath. She took it in her fist and squeezed until the points of the cross pricked her palm. It was crazy to admit, even when she was alone, but she wished she had her radio so she could talk to him. He could listen and help her understand why she felt so empty-

The door swung open.

Delilah snatched a towel to hastily cover her nakedness and more importantly the rosary.

“Sorry, Deputy.” The woman from earlier, Tracey, slipped inside. “Time’s up.”

“Give me a second to get dressed,” she rasped. 

“Sure.”

To her surprise Tracey merely turned around and folded her arms. Delilah scowled and turned her back on the woman before slipping on a tattered pair of camo cargo pants and a coarse red flannel shirt.

“So how long have you been working with Whitehorse?” Tracey asked, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

“Couple months.”

“Really,” Tracey said with sudden exasperation.

Delilah glanced over her shoulder while fiddling with the buttons of her shirt and found the woman pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What’d you do before that?” Tracey asked.

“Odd jobs.” She narrowed her eyes, prepared to go on the defensive. Whatever Tracey was getting at she didn’t owe the woman her whole history.

“Well Whitehorse apparently knows how to talk up a big game so you best be willing to put in the work.” She slipped back out the door and slammed it behind her.

Delilah yanked her shirt collar into place and wondered just what the hell her problem was.

Once she was back out in the lobby Whitehorse found her and led her to some of the makeshift bunks. The Resistance had taken what was once office space for the staff and converted it into a vague approximation of a medical ward complete with blue dividers between each bed. Delilah took a vacant cot in the back corner of the room. Whitehorse lingered near the foot of her bed.

“So, how’d you get out?” he asked.

Delilah stared at him for a moment before realizing he must have meant the helicopter crash. “I…” Joseph let me go. She swallowed back the truth. “I just ran. And I found the Marshal eventually.”

To her relief Whitehorse didn’t press for details. He ran a hand over his mustache, seemingly lost in thought. “Faith has the Marshal now.”

“I know,” she said without thinking and then scrambled for another lie. “I- uh- overheard some peggies talking about it. John has Hudson. I tried to get her first thing, but I couldn’t. Grace and Jerome wanted to hold off raiding John’s place until we had the numbers. I was hoping that you might…” She trailed off at Whitehorse’s pained expression.

“Listen, Del… we’ve all been through a lot today..”

What he meant to say was “not now.”

“Yes sir,” she huffed.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re with us.” He stepped away, throwing a “get some rest” over his shoulder before he left.

Delilah flopped back on her cot and stared up at an empty IV bag dangling from a nearby pole. Several medics were still milling around the room, working late into the evening to tend to their patients. She listened to the dull hum of conversation and the creaking of bodies rolling in their cots. It was all a suitable distraction to keep her mind from wandering too far in any particular direction.

She rolled on her side and tucked her knees up near her chest, doing her best to ignore the itch of freshly formed scabs. Someone had left a small quilt on the floor next to her cot which she gratefully pulled over herself. Compared to sleeping on the church floorboards or a cold damp bunker, her new bedding was every bit a luxury. 

After a quick scan of her end of the room, when she was certain nobody was watching, she reached beneath her shirt and ran her hand over the beads before clutching the cross at the end of the string. As strange as it may be, the fact it belonged to someone she trusted was comforting and she was too tired to give a shit. She focused on the warmth of it in her hand and promised herself the next chance she got, she’d ask Joseph why he left it for her.

Chapter Text

Orange flames licked hungrily along the crumpled remains of Burke’s truck while a dusky pillar of smoke climbed into the night sky. Shards of glass and shrapnel littered the roadway, glimmering like flecks of gold in the firelight. Delilah leaned against the guard rail with her hands in her pockets, soaking up the heat of the flames and staring out at the dark waves of Silver Lake.

This was all wrong, she knew. This wasn’t how it happened.

“You should be drowning.”

Delilah’s head snapped to the right. Joseph mirrored her stance against the guard rail, his bare shoulder inches from brushing hers. Burning wreckage reflected in his lenses, adding another layer of intensity to his soul-searching stare. There was no malice or accusation in his tone - it was merely a statement of fact.

“But I’m not.” She shrugged. The railing which had buckled on the truck’s impact in her memories held firm beneath her now. Even sturdier was the pavement beneath her feet.

Joseph eased away from the guard rail and stepped in front of her. He raised his hands and cupped the underside of her jaw. She ignored the erratic thumping of her heart and held as still as she could manage, curious as to what he was about to do. In his lenses the flames were replaced by her own face staring back at her. Confused. Vulnerable. 

Joseph leaned closer and she held her breath. “Are you sure?”

A groan, a snap, and the railing gave way. In the blink of an eye she plunged into the darkness below. She opened her mouth to scream and warmth rushed into her mouth. No. Wrong. The water was supposed to be cold and deep and black. Instead her feet found the riverbed and when she emerged she was standing waist deep in tides of red. Blood, she realized, and gagged.

Pale figures stood in a circle around her, their hands firmly linked with one another. Crimson waves tugged at the white folds of their robes while they watched her with vacant expressions. All of them bled. Some from bullet holes between their eyes, some from cuts. One had a knife protruding from his gut. As Delilah’s eyes flitted from one person to the next, she realized with a roll of nausea that she knew each of their faces almost as well as she knew her own - especially the boy with the wide empty brown eyes.

“Sin is pervasive.” John’s voice echoed in her ears. 

Delilah turned and found him wading out to meet her, bible in hand. Two ragged holes in his chest seeped blood that turned his shirt black. He didn't seem to notice. None of them did. 

“It drives us to do unspeakable acts.” He flashed a red-stained smile. “I know the feelings that drive you. I know them intimately.”

Delilah watched her hand raise without permission, a pistol heavy in her palm. Her finger coiled around the trigger.

John stared down the barrel of her gun, blue eyes burning with glee. “Tell me, Deputy, do you?”

“Wait-”

Bang.

Delilah gasped, unaware that she had pulled the trigger. Dark rivulets snaked down the bridge of his nose from the hole in his forehead. His smile warped into a sneer. The bible in his hand snapped shut.

A low rumbling growl filled the air. Panic coiled in her chest as the people surrounding her dropped on all fours and sloshed toward her, their eyes black and vacant, teeth clacking and snarling. Before she could brace herself, they pounced. Hands tugged at her hair, her limbs, any part of her they could reach, and pulled her under-

Delilah jolted upright to the sound of a scream. Several pairs of hands pinned her in place. She thrashed against them and snapped her teeth. It took another moment to register that the scream was her own voice. Her eyes stretched wide with panic, taking in the shadowy figures over her cot.

They’re going to kill me.

“I’m here.” Whitehorse’s voice cut through the fear. “You’re alright, Del.” He held her by the wrists and shook until she snapped out of it and took a long gasping breath.

She dropped her head back into her pillow. The legs of her cot rattled against the tiled floor as she shook all over.

“You know, maybe we oughta have our scouts raid that vet clinic and set her up with some horse tranquilizer,” one of the shadows, Tracey, muttered.

“Sorry,” Delilah rasped once she’d caught her breath. 

On the other side of the divider near her bed she could hear people in the other bunks grumbling to each other. It was the fifth time she’d woken the whole medical ward in the last week.

Tracey gave a noncommittal grunt before she and some other man Delilah didn’t recognize took their leave. Whitehorse rubbed at the bags under his eyes and stifled a yawn.

Guilt and embarrassment warmed her cheeks. Another peaceful night’s sleep ruined and it was all her fault. 

“Was it the same one?” he asked. “About the wreck on the bridge?”

“Yeah.” That was all she’d been able to share anyway. Explaining Joseph and John’s recurring appearance would only raise questions she didn’t want to answer.

“Need anything?”

Delilah forced herself to sit up. Sweat pooled in the hollows of her collarbones which she rubbed away with a fistful of her shirt. Beneath the fabric wooden beads rolled over her skin and soothed her pounding heart. “I think I’m gonna get some fresh air.” The cot creaked in protest as she stood and grabbed her jacket hanging from the IV rack.

As she crossed the room stares from a dozen pairs of eyes prickled along the back of her neck. Or maybe it was just the old scabs crisscrossing all over her body that had yet to flake off. She tugged her jacket over her shoulders.

“Don’t go too far from the walls,” Whitehorse called after her.

Delilah entered the lobby and found immediate relief. Cool night air and the faint orange light of the barrel fires in the courtyard poured in from the propped open door. On the stone steps next to the doorframe one of the watchmen dozed off, his cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. A handheld radio lay near his twitching hand. 

A spark of interest drew her closer. An opportunity like this hadn’t shown itself at all the past week. Her eyes darted from the sleeping man, to his radio, and back to the man. Surely he wouldn’t miss, would he? With silent footfalls she approached and delicately slipped the radio into her jacket pocket. 

Once she reached the front gate, the guard echoed Whitehorse’s warning before opening it a sliver wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Outside the safety of the walls the wind tugged insistently at her hair and sapped the warmth from her cheeks. An irrepressible shiver ran down her back, but she braced herself against it and trudged for the jagged silhouette of the forest. 

Wanting to heed Whitehorse’s warning, she made sure to keep the watchtowers along the walls within line of sight as she ventured deeper and deeper into the undergrowth. Once she was satisfied she had found some privacy, she sank into a patch of moss and propped herself against a tree trunk. 

She slipped the radio out of her pocket and tilted it this way and that, adjusting the frequency dial by stray beams of moonlight filtering down through spiny branches. Static crackled from the speaker as she flipped through various channels, searching for the one Joseph had used the night he spoke to her in the bunker. 

When she was certain she was on the right channel, she stared down at the speaker, suddenly at a loss for words. There was no way to tell if he was even listening on that channel, let alone who else might be using it. In the end, she decided to merely call his name. That should be enough to get his attention. He seemed to recognize the sound of her voice anyway.

She pressed the button. “Jo-”

“Alright, Deputy, time to spit it out.”

His name died on her lips while her heart stuttered mid-beat. She hastily switched channels and thrust the radio back in her pocket.

Tracey stepped around the tree trunk and crossed her arms. 

Delilah wanted to search her face for traces of suspicion, but it was obscured by the shadow of her hood. “Spit what out?” she asked, a defensive edge creeping into her tone.

“What’s really bothering you. You and I both know it’s more than some car wreck. Whitehorse knows too, not that he’ll ever press it.”

She opened her mouth to tell her it was none of her business, but the words stuck in her throat.

“You know, he seems to think the world of you and I just can’t figure out why. No offense.”

I can’t either. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Before you showed up he was singing your praises. Said having one of his own on hand would make a world of difference. Just you wait, Tracey. She knows how to knock some heads together. Well, all we’ve gotten outta you is another mouth to feed.” She sank into a crouch, her hands in tight fists on her knees. “Whitehorse has let you rattle around in your bunk while the rest of us are getting shot at just trying to scrape together enough food to get us through fall. If it were up to me? I’d have you start pulling your weight or walk your scrawny ass back to Fall’s End.”

Shame and anger made her shoulders tense. “I didn’t come here just to do nothing and piss you off, you know.”

“So you gonna help or what?”

She ground her teeth. “Yeah.” She sounded like a petulant teenager and she knew it.

“First thing’s first, I want to know what or who the hell got into your head so bad.”

Delilah closed her eyes and collected her thoughts. It was always the same - falling into the lake and standing up in the river only to get ripped apart. Over and over and over, the same faces staring at her with wide coal-black eyes. “Those people that scared off the peggies… they weren’t really acting like people anymore.”

Tracey nodded. “Angels. That’s what the peggies call them.”

“Why are they like that? Like animals?”

“You ever been drugged with Bliss before?”

“A few times.”

“Well that’s what happens when you get too much. You lose yourself and there’s no coming back from it.”

“Oh.” That was what Jerome and Doc were trying to warn her about.

“Stay away from it. Each time you get a dose the trips will get worse and worse until you just can’t snap out of it.”

“You sound like you’ve had some experience.”

Tracey went silent. She folded her hands together and pressed them to her lips as if she were deep in thought. Delilah wondered what awful memories she might have stirred up with her probing. She considered apologizing, but Tracey spoke first.

“I suppose no one mentioned it to you… I was in the cult. Got out not too long before things went to shit.”

Delilah’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs before she forced them back down. She hoped Tracey didn’t notice. “I see.”

“Jerome told me John got a hold of you for a little bit.”

“He did.”

“If there’s one piece of advice I could give you? Don’t believe anything they try to tell you. Not a damn word.”

Delilah frowned, caught off guard by the sudden resentment that tightened her jaw. John was a bastard, that much she knew. She could call his bullshit from a mile away. But Joseph? Joseph was a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. Sure he was cryptic and… honestly, really fucking weird. But not a liar.

“But hey,” Tracey continued, “you already know how fucked in the head they are. You probably don’t need me preaching at you too.” She stood back to her full height and offered her hand. 

Delilah pretended not to notice and got back to her feet.

“Also… I don’t mean to freak you out, but we should probably get back inside the walls. Angels tend to roam at night.”

Together they left the shadows of the forest behind in favor of the jailhouse’s solid stone walls. The radio weighed like a brick in Delilah’s pocket the whole way.

-

Breakfast was watery oatmeal. Even the sweet scent of maple and brown sugar couldn’t redeem it. Delilah shoveled the sludge into her mouth without tasting any of it. She was too focused studying the alternating green and white floor tiles of the medical ward. Sleep had eluded her the rest of the night. Not that she really tried to chase it. Her eyes watered with exhaustion. 

Other Resistance members milled around the room, huddling in their bunks with friends, sitting elbow to elbow on cots spooning globs of oatmeal out of steaming styrofoam cups. She was fine sticking to her little corner of the room.

The first night she’d had a nightmare that ended in a screaming fit a few concerned bystanders had checked on her the next morning. It was unbearable. Now they mostly ignored her. A few glowered at her. It was slightly more bearable.

When Delilah couldn’t stomach anymore mush, she dumped out the remains and headed for the courtyard with the intent to find Tracey or Whitehorse. She didn’t have to search long. Both stood by the main gate, warming themselves from the dewy morning chill over a barrel fire. Next to Tracey stood a man she’d never seen before.

At least, that’s what she thought until she got closer. He was dressed in a green hoodie with a cheeky ‘what are you smiling at?’ printed on the front in thick faded letters. Beneath a blue baseball cap his eyes flitted back and forth between the Sheriff and Tracey like a kid that knew he was in deep shit. She’d seen his grinning bearded face on a few cluttered billboards around the office. It had been printed on a warrant from the U.S. Marshals. 

“Uh… sir?” Delilah deferred to Whitehorse when he turned to look at her.

“Good morning, Deputy.” His hands rested on either side of his belt buckle as he nodded to the stranger. “I’d like you to meet Sharky Boshaw. He’s going to be helping us out quite a bit.”

“I’ve already seen him around. Sort of,” she said, pointing out the obvious in the least rude way she could manage.

Sharky’s eyes widened beneath the brim of his hat.

Tracey cut in. “Sharky here is going to help you help us.”

“How?” 

Whitehorse clapped him on the shoulder, a grin lifting his mustache. “Go on, don’t be shy now.”

“I start fires,” he grunted.

Ah. Yeah, that tracks. Delilah distinctly remembered ‘arson’ in fine black print lurking near the bottom of the page. “Like, on purpose or…”

His eyes darted to the sheriff then back to Delilah. “Sometimes. In very legal situations.”

Tracey snorted and shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about our talk last night, Dep. You have a problem with Angels - we all do, actually. Thing is, Faith needs Bliss to make Angels. Get rid of the Bliss…”

“No more Angels,” Delilah finished for her.

“They got that Bliss shit growing in the old Jessop Conservatory,” Sharky explained. “Cousin of mine tried to get the cult to grow some weed on the side over there but they, uh, told him to fuck off. In a churchy people way.”

Delilah jutted her chin at him. “You gonna burn it?” 

“You’re going to help him burn it,” Tracey corrected. 

A devious smile flashed over his face before shrinking back into a solemn frown. “I got some supplies that’ll come in handy.”

“Where are they?” Delilah asked.

“I got a stash out east. Not too far off from the target, actually. Just need someone to help me lug the fuel to the fields.”

A pointed look from Tracey told her all she needed to know. Pull your weight - did she have to be so literal about it?

Whitehorse waggled a finger. “No gasoline, not if you can help it, y’hear? Every drop of that we save for emergencies.”

“Yes sir.”

A bag of rations and a gruff ‘good luck’ from Whitehorse were all they got before the gate slammed shut behind them. Strict fuel rations meant traveling on foot. Sharky silently took point and led Delilah further east along a stretch of highway that cut through the green slopes high above the river. Twice they crossed over the river. Further down the road, human remains baked in the noonday sun. Neither of them stopped to look. Just pinched their noses and kept walking.

Delilah kept her sights on the edge of the forest, wary for pale masked figures crouched in the undergrowth.

A few times, Sharky attempted to break the silence. 

He motioned toward an abandoned gas station. The tang of gasoline hung in the air and the windows were smashed out, yet his excitement was palpable. 

“Me and my buddy used to come here all the time for-”

Delilah glanced at him.

“Never mind.”

Again, three miles down the road after crossing yet another bridge. “Cousin and I got drunk one time. Came out here to hang out and we…” He glanced over his shoulder at Delilah, lips flapping as he struggled to change course. “We just hung out.”

The third time they trudged along a fence encircling what looked to be a makeshift firing range. Paper targets fluttered from where they were pinned to stacks of hay bales. Brown fragments of glass and faded beer cans sat tucked between tufts of prairie grass. 

Sharky gasped. “Oh no way, this place is still here?”

“What is it?”

“Uh, nothin’.” He shrugged and looked away.

“Alright,” she snapped, and stamped her foot “why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You start to say something then stop and give me that look.”

“Listen man, you already got my warrant. I’m not giving you cops any more shit to work with.”

“That’s what you’re worried about. Right now?” She waved a hand at their surroundings while several birds fluttered from the grass at her sudden shouting. “With everything going on?”

“Aren’t you still on duty or whatever?”

“On duty.” She rolled her eyes. As if the sheriff’s office wasn’t a pile of crumbling rubble. “Hell if I know. Lost my badge a long time ago.”

A loud guffaw from Sharky made her flinch. “I get it, I get it.” He thumped her on the shoulder. “Okay. Maybe you’re alright for a cop.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

They walked on in easier silence until the gold of daylight became the orange of dusk. Down in the southeastern corner of Hope County the mountains towered like giants. Delilah had to crane her neck just to get a glimpse of the sky. But Sharky's focus was elsewhere. He led her off road up a woodsy slope, then down the other side. 

She was about to ask where they were going when he suddenly stopped and held up a hand. They stood on the edge of a small clearing. In the middle sat an overturned rusty wheelbarrow, the ashy remains of a long abandoned fire pit, and dead logs on either side for makeshift seating. 

"Stash is around here somewhere," Sharky offered when she raised a brow. 

He circled around the outskirts of the clearing, digging the toes of his boots into clumps of dead pine needles and leaf litter. A muffled thump when his boot collided with something signaled it had been found. 

"C'mere and help me lift this."

Delilah obliged, sticking her fingers into the mess of leaves and finding a warped sheet of plywood underneath. Together they hefted the wood covering up and shoved it to one side. Underneath the earth formed a shallow divot. Nestled together inside were about a dozen brown moonshine jugs and a suspicious lump of blue tarp. Before she had a chance to ask about the tarp, Sharky pulled it aside revealing two decidedly illegal looking flamethrowers and a little cooler beneath them.

"Are those, uh-"

"All of it's homemade, baby." Sharky puffed out his chest. 

"The moonshine or the flamethrowers?"

A smug grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Both." He sunk into a crouch and slapped one of the jugs. "This'll be the fuel to our fire. You ever seen moonshine burn?"

"No."

"It's real pretty. You'll like it."

"Where are we taking it?"

"We'll load some up in the wheelbarrow and head this way." He gestured for her to follow and led her back up to the top of the hill. "See that across the way?" He pointed through a gap in the trees. In the purple shadows cast by the setting sun she could make out two glass pane buildings atop another nearby hill - greenhouses - lit by security lights. Beyond that squatted an old red brick house. "Those lights turn off just before sunrise. That's when we'll hit it."

Dread turned in her stomach. "How many guards?"

"Haven't seen any big guns walking around. Just farm hands."

"Think they'll be asleep?"

"They'll smell the fire when it starts. I'll need you to drop your torch and cover me if things get rough."

Delilah fell silent, her thoughts lingering on the if. Those farm hands may as well be dead already. When they went back down the hill to camp she sat on the ground against the log and pulled her knees up to her chest.

Sharky whistled a tune - some off-key thing from the classic rock station - and pulled a lighter out of his pocket before starting a small campfire. Soon the grimy red cooler came out of his stash. He brushed dirt and dead leaves off the lid before cracking it open. Stale water and beer cans sloshed around inside.

"Gotta save the moonshine for tomorrow, but if you don't mind warm beer..." He offered her a can.

Whitehorse wouldn't want her to. Not that his rules had really stopped her before. Maybe if she'd listened better the mess they were in wouldn't be so... messy.

Sharky gave an encouraging smile and waved the can enticingly.

Maybe, just maybe, if she drank enough the nightmares wouldn’t pay her a visit tonight.

She took it, popped the tab, and quenched the burn of shame with a large gulp.

Six cans and twenty-some earth-shattering belches later Sharky lay on his stomach snoring with half his face pressed into a pillow of moss and dirt. 

Delilah sat across the clearing with her fourth can in hand. She watched cans one, two, and three twist and contort themselves in the heat of the meager campfire. Normally she'd enjoy the daze and the warm-and-fuzzies fluttering in her chest. Tonight there was only warmth. The fire was too hot on her face, but she couldn't be bothered to move.

The hours ticked by, not that it really mattered since she didn't have a clock to track them. Ugly indistinct thoughts bounced off each other in her head. 

Fuck this county. Should have never come here. Fuck Mary May for giving her shit when she was just trying to help that guy in her stupid shitty bar. Fuck Pratt - wherever he was - for bullying her at the office. Fuck Burke for not calling his backup. Fuck Dutch for saying this was all her team's fault. Fuck John for taking Joey. Fuck Joseph for staring at her in a way that made her feel doomed and hopeful all at once. 

Shouldn't have broken Whitehorse's rule.

Fuck you.

Sleep didn't come. She had decided she wouldn't let it. If she started screaming again the peggies on the other hill might hear. Sharky didn't need the rude awakening.

She poured out the rest of her beer and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. Her knuckles bumped into the radio. She held her breath and her eyes darted to Sharky. His back rose and fell at a steady pace with his breath while his eyes flitted beneath his eyelids. She was suddenly aware of Joseph’s cross beneath her shirt, prickling in her cleavage.

The opportunity from last night had found its way back to her. She pulled out the radio and adjusted the dial. Then she retreated to the far edge of the clearing, just to be safe.

“Joseph?”

Silence.

She closed her eyes and counted three of her own heartbeats in the darkness. 

“Hello, Delilah.” His voice was husky, deeper than usual. She must have woken him up. 

A spark of want flickered in her lower belly. She blamed it on the alcohol.

“How are you?”

“Not doing so good.”

“No,” he echoed.

“Haven’t been able to sleep much.”

“You’ve been drinking.” A note of disapproval lurked in his tone.

Her brow twitched, surprised that he could detect the clumsiness of her tongue. “I thought it might help me sleep,” she confessed. 

“And it isn’t.”

“There’s something I wanna ask you.”

“Mmm.”

In the center of the clearing fire danced, casting wild shadows that touched the edge of the darkness where she stood.

“Why did you give me your necklace?”

A pause. 

“To remind you that you aren’t alone.”

She thought of the glowering Resistance members, of Tracey’s disdain, even Sharky’s suspicion. “Doesn’t really feel that way.”

“Feelings lie at times. Truth is truth, whether you feel it or not.”

She bit her lip. “You get that from a fortune cookie or something?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that.”

“You’re afraid to believe me.”

“No.” It sounded phony, even to her own ears.

“You told me you trust me. Did you lie to me?”

“No.” 

“Then you can tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Truth is truth. The truth was she was going to destroy more of his flock. To pull the trigger and watch them bleed out at her feet. And she had to keep doing it. As many times it took until Whitehorse - until somebody - told her it was enough.

Her hand tightened around the radio as a painful lump swelled in her throat. “I don’t know how many times you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“As many as it takes.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re setting yourself up for.”

“I do know. And I’ve decided you’re worth it.”

Something in her lower belly stirred again. “Wh-”

Sharky snorted and jerked his head upright. “Huh, whazzat?”

Delilah swung the radio behind her back and feigned a stretch. “Just had to take a piss.”

“Mmkay.” He closed his eyes and flopped to his other side, away from the fire.

Delilah didn’t dare take out the radio again. Instead she nestled back into her spot in front of the log and held her face in her hands. She tried her best not to entertain the idea of seeing Joseph again.

Chapter Text

Delilah opened her eyes and found herself curled up in front of the firepit. Tiny embers flickered red in lumps of ash. Her teeth chattered involuntarily as the early morning chill seeped into her bones. She had no idea how long she'd slept. Hours? Minutes? The shade of the clearing had gone from black to navy blue. 

Sharky lay flat on his back, mouth wide open and snoring. The bill of his hat was tugged down over his eyes. She nudged his shoulder with the toe of her sneaker and flinched when he bolted upright.

"Huh? What time is it?" he grunted.

"Dunno." Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like cotton. “Probably time to move.”

He got to his feet as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Gonna check the lights." Then he wandered uphill, leaving her alone in the clearing. 

She stretched her weary limbs, unwinding the stiff tension in her joints, then wrestled the wheelbarrow by the firepit into an upright position. One by one she began pulling jugs of moonshine from the dip in the ground and depositing them in the rusty tray. Physical effort did little to rid her of exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped with the overwhelming desire to sink back down to the ground and sleep.

Crunching footsteps in dead leaves announced Sharky's return. He merely gave a thumbs up and helped her with the last few bottles. And there was something else he pulled from his hiding place, tucked beneath the last couple jugs. At first glance she thought they were two dark scraps of leather. 

He handed one of them to her. "When the crop starts to burn, there'll be a lot of fumes. Unless you want to get high off your ass make sure that stays on nice and tight. These things are like antiques, but they'll do the job."

She turned the object over in her hands and a pair of round glass lenses stared up at her while a bulbous air filter dangled from the mouth. Two straps looped around the back. A gas mask.

“Antiques, huh?” She raised a brow.

“Mhm,” he grunted as he hefted both flamethrowers atop the wheelbarrow. “They work. Used ‘em for a prank one time.”

“Whatever you say.”

Together they pushed the wheelbarrow uphill. Bottles clinked softly in the tray and the singular wheel hissed through piles of dead leaves. Puffs of their breath shone in the morning chill as they rushed themselves across the highway and then into the foliage on the other side.

As they approached the fence row surrounding the Conservatory her teeth stopped chattering as her jaw clenched in anxiety and anticipation. Sharky stayed silent, but kept throwing glances her way. A cautious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Under the cover of some brush that hugged the fence row they squatted near the wheelbarrow and peered at the setup on the other side. Two greenhouses formed an L shaped barrier and behind them loomed the dark second story of the farmhouse. On either side of them were two patches of Bliss corralled by thin wooden stakes and wire. Perfume from the flowers carried over by a gust of wind made the edges of her vision hazy.

Sharky nudged her shoulder. “Probably wanna put the mask on.” He slipped his own over his face and tightened the straps behind his head.

Delilah copied his motions. The leather was worn smooth and wrinkled from use. It smelled slightly of sweat and gasoline and the round eye sockets cut off her field vision. Her pulse fluttered where the mask hugged the underside of her jaw. 

Sharky caught her eye and motioned for her to listen. “There’s two big patches out here,” he began, his words muffled by his own filter, “but we should check out the greenhouses too, just to be safe. If we take two jugs a field and pour ‘em out nice and even that oughta be enough to torch it all in one go. Nod if you get me.”

She nodded, a fresh wave of tension shuddering in her shoulders. 

He slung a flamethrower over his chest by the strap and grabbed a jug in each hand. Delilah followed, holding her breath as they came up on the first patch. Little by little she tasted the air in her mask, wary that she might catch a whiff of noxious perfume and start seeing things again. God forbid she start trying to talk to Joseph or Faith when Sharky was right there. Thankfully the filter did its job - the air was musky, stale, but safe.

She ducked through the fence around the first field. Tall stalks of green pressed in all around her and the leaves tickled her exposed neck. She popped the cork out of the first jug and got to work, splashing the contents over the tops of the blossoms and letting it dribble down to the soft black earth. Wet leaves shone silver in the faint light of the stars as she moved from one end of the field to the other. When both jugs were emptied she peered between the rows at the greenhouse.

After a moment Sharky appeared empty handed and gave her a thumbs up. They returned to their wheelbarrow. The whole way Delilah shot anxious glances back at the house, wary of a light or pale face appearing in one of the windows. But they were empty. If it weren’t for the well-tended crop she would’ve believed no one lived there at all.

Sharky motioned for Delilah to take the other flamethrower. Cold metal sapped the last of the warmth out of her icy fingers as she stared down at its peculiar design. The barrel was long, heavy, with a vented tip. A small canister was attached beneath the barrel, between the foregrip and the trigger. It must hold the fuel. 

“I’ll give you the signal before we start torching,” Sharky whispered. “To get it started you have to twist this little bit here. That’ll start releasing gas from the nozzle. If you pull the trigger after turning the knob it’ll start spitting. These babies have a range of about fifteen feet or so. Safest way to spread the flame is a side to side sweep. But don’t swing too wide or you might cut off your exits. Trust me, you don’t want to make a full circle and end up with nowhere to go.”

“The crop looks pretty green. Are you sure it’ll catch?”

“The moonshine we used is high enough proof it should catch in no time. We might not get it down to ash, but it’ll die all the same. Just watch what I do and you should be good.”

They started on the far side of the greenhouses, taking the advantage of cover for as long as they could. Sharky rested the butt of his flamethrower against his thigh and twisted the knob on the side of the barrel like he’d shown her. Delilah mirrored his movements with numb and fumbling fingers. A faint hiss came from the tip. She nestled the stock between her side and elbow, her hand hovering near the trigger.

Sharky held up three fingers on his free hand and counted down.

Three.

Delilah glanced down at the flamethrower and made sure it was nestled securely against her side.

Two.

Another glance back at the house. Dark jagged mountains loomed over the roof and the treetops, almost as black and forlorn as the windows. Blue early morning light glowed over jagged peaks. They’d have to move fast.

One.

She pulled the trigger.

Flames spewed from the nozzle with a whoosh of heat that prickled against her exposed skin. Flickering orange sparks danced through the air and splattered against wet leaves. A second wave of heat came crashing against her as the moonshine caught fire, tossing her hair back like a strong gust of wind. Blue tongues of fire crawled over the field, spreading from the white petals to the base of the stalks in the blink of an eye. Her jaw dropped.

Wow.

A nudge at her shoulder dragged her attention away from the spectacle. Sharky was nodding at her, chest heaving with laughter. Behind the blue light bouncing off his lenses his eyes crinkled from smiling.

The show didn’t last for long. Soon the alcohol burned away, leaving behind withered curling leaves and billowing clouds of smoke. Sharky led her over to the second field and began his countdown. This time Delilah was prepared for the flash of heat and the dull roar that came when she pulled the trigger.

Another glance at the house, another surge of relief when she found the windows empty. The wind was also on their side, carrying the smoke west, across the front yard running parallel to the house. If their luck kept up the peggies inside wouldn’t smell anything until they were already on the run.

Next was the greenhouses. Sharky motioned for her to shoot from the back doorway while he took the front. She peered inside, taking in the planter trays lined up on wooden racks, bags of fertilizer stacked in the corners, and the tools hanging from makeshift racks. 

Again they ignited their flamethrowers and sent fire cascading over the planter trays. Blue flames shone through the panes of glass, creating wild patterns that shifted and whirled against the gravel outside. 

Sharky must have been thorough with the moonshine because the flames worked their way down the wooden racks and snaked across the ground. Right towards a stack of fertilizer. Which - she noticed with a pang of horror - had a giant red FLAMMABLE warning slapped on the side.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting m-”

Blinding heat engulfed her in the blink of an eye.

Delilah sprawled flat on her back and skidded over a patch of gravel. A speckly afterimage of the bright white flash swarmed across the empty sky like a horde of angry insects. Glass shards rained from the sky, plinking against the lenses of her mask and the coarse weave of her jacket.

I’m gonna choke him - gonna wring his scrawny little neck- 

She inhaled, forcing her winded lungs to expand even when it brought tears to her eyes. Before she could get back to her feet there was another crash - another dozen glass panes shattering all at once.

Never should have trusted his dumb ass.

She propped herself up on her elbows only to find Sharky barreling toward her, holding onto his flamethrower for dear life, terror in the whites of his eyes. Behind him the second greenhouse spewed smoke and flames. Apparently he finished the job without her. He was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear over the crackling roar of the fire.

“What the fuck Sharky?” she shouted, all sense of subtlety long gone.

“We gotta go.” He hauled her upright.

She grabbed the collar of his hoodie and gave him a yank. “The fucking fertilizer,” she seethed in his face, clanking their air filters together. “You have fucking arson charges. Don’t you know what is and isn’t flammable? Didn’t you see the-”

A long blaring note drowned out the rest of her words. It swelled into a frantic pitch, carrying over the tops of the trees and sending dozens of birds squawking from the branches. Sharky dropped his flamethrower and clapped his hands over his ears. Delilah whipped her head around, searching for the source of the racket. 

Peggies - ten, twelve, she couldn’t be bothered to count - stood in the upper windows, mouths hanging open in shock and outrage while their palms pressed against the glass. Then she noticed the siren’s projector tucked under the eave of the roof, hidden in plain sight above the window.

Sharky pulled himself free and took a step back. “I said we gotta go!”

Delilah didn’t hear him. She stared up at the people in the windows. They stared back. Some jabbed their fingers and bared their teeth.

The peggies have us outnumbered - even without backup. Why are they hiding in the house?

Hair rose along the back of her neck. 

Something was wrong.

Howling, guttural and full of rage, broke through the wails of the siren. 

Terror lanced through her chest and pushed her heart to the edge of bursting. She knew that sound. Sharky was watching something over her shoulder, head cocked to the side like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

“RUN!” Delilah bellowed and gave him a rough shove.

His legs caught up before his mind did, carrying him back to the fencerow without a backward glance.

Delilah snatched her flamethrower and held it at the ready. Angels descended from the hill behind the farmhouse, their awkward lunging gait eerily distorted by the heatwaves from the smoldering Bliss. They dug their bare and bleeding hands into the gravel, flinging up stones and clumps of dust with no regard for pain. Wide black pupils in bruised eye sockets locked on to her with a crazed frenzy. She counted ten of them - no, twelve - no, too many.

She twisted the knob on the flamethrower and pulled the trigger. A wall of fire sprouted across the earthen path between the greenhouse and fields. 

A few flinched away from the bright light while some blundered into it, howling and shrieking in agony. Those unlucky enough to catch fire were merely trampled under the rest. 

Delilah turned tail and ran. She clutched the flamethrower to her chest, the gas canister jabbing her in the stomach with every step. They seemed to have forgotten Sharky. She wouldn’t - couldn’t - lead them his way. Wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he was ripped to shreds.

Thick clouds of smoke trailed over the lawn and weaved between the trees. She changed her course and ducked into the haze. It was a gamble, but if the Angels hunted by sight they might lose her. She fought the instinct to hold her breath, praying that the filter in her mask would hold up.

Navigating a way forward was tricky. Tree trunks, bramble thickets, and fallen logs appeared from nowhere and were immediately swallowed up again by shifting tides of gray. The siren died down. In its place was the throbbing beat of her heart and her own muffled panting. 

A howl sounded from her right so she maneuvered left. The ground disappeared for a terrifying moment before cold water splashed around her ankles and stones shifted underfoot. She waded forward, feeling the sloshing chill creep up her pant legs. Another splash and grunting came from behind. She reached the other side and clawed her way up a sandy bank, then sprinted back into the mess of ferns and trees.

Her lungs burned for relief and a cramp stabbed her side while rustling in the undergrowth doggedly followed her every step. Twice she whimpered as something grazed the back of her calf. She didn’t dare turn around and look.

All her nightmares came clamoring back and with it came the coppery tang of blood on her tongue, in her nostrils, clotting in the strands of her hair. Her breath fogged up the lenses of her mask and her surroundings turned into vague smudged shapes of gray and brown.

She considered turning and shooting her flamethrower again. One last ditch effort before they swarmed her. She’d have no cover fire to save her this time. No Whitehorse. Not even Sharky. She was alone.

A sob escaped her clenched teeth.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn to look. A fallen log jutted into her line of vision. An Angel materialized atop it, running parallel with her. 

They locked eyes. 

It leapt.

Gnarled bruised fingers outstretched for her. She ducked. Nails sunk into her scalp as she let out a cry of pain. They tumbled, rolling in a twisted heap of limbs. Something snapped and the tension of the straps around her head disappeared.

Smoke poured into her mouth and burned her eyes. She gagged. Smoldering ashy tang and the sweet taste of Bliss overwhelmed her senses. Tingling crowded her skull and the searing pain around her scalp faded to nothing. Numbness overtook her hands, her feet.

She was curled around something cold, solid - the flamethrower. She rolled to her knees, no longer able to find her footing. The Angel that had fallen with her was scrambling to its feet and lunged at her again.

Delilah threw herself backward and fired. Flames swallowed the creature, burning away its clothes, its muzzle, the patches of hair on its head. A blood curdling scream followed as it halted in its tracks and writhed on the ground. 

A new smell joined the smoke and Bliss - nauseating, putrid, and sweet. She slapped a hand over her mouth, yet it crawled between her fingers and onto her tongue. Her head bubbled like a boiling pot, her mind drifting away with the rising steam.

You need to get away, common sense pleaded with her. But she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. 

Green. Everything was so green, so soft and pale. The new light of dawn shimmered and twinkled between gaps in the smoke. She was on her feet, spinning slowly to take it all in. Was the world always this beautiful? Delilah had never noticed before. Never took the time to appreciate it.

A faint giggle, like chiming bells, tickled her ear. The Angel lay at her feet. It didn’t look right and she couldn’t remember why. Red and blisters and charred black flakes as flames licked along its scalp. It parted its swollen lips. Another giggle tumbled from its mouth. 

She smiled and tilted her head to listen for more. But the Angel fell silent.

Delilah grunted, displeased that her companion had fallen asleep, but she wasn’t disappointed for long. The sound of many other Angels called from beyond the mist and smoke. They sang in harmony - a tapestry of voices weaving under and over one another, each one distinct yet equally perfect. 

One by one they stalked from the gloom, glowing white against pale green. They pressed their masked faces into her, taking in her scent and breathing out their wonderful song. Delilah held still, content to watch and listen. Until one by one they left her side and wandered off into the forest.

Not wanting to be left behind, not after she’d heard them sing for her, she followed. They moved fast and silent, aside from their music. The bright flashes of cloth were a beacon for her between the trees. 

Impulsively she called out to them, asking them to wait, but was shocked when her own voice joined their harmony without effort. She tried again. And again. Each time she sang her voice came out more lovely than the last. It was exhilarating. Addicting. 

Wooded hills gave way to wide rolling meadows of prairie grass. Sunlight warmed their backs and protected them from the chill of the breeze. Blue butterflies flitted alongside them, then in front of them, guiding them along a path.

A thin trail wound between dead sun-bleached trees. Delilah wasn’t sure when the trail had begun. It didn’t matter. It led to the center of the meadow where a tree with lush twisting boughs sat atop a small hill. 

Others were sitting on the hill, shoulder to shoulder, hunched forward in rapt attention. They didn’t shimmer like the Angels, not so bright and pure. Save for one: a woman standing in the center of the crowd  - Faith, Delilah knew that word, that name. It sparked in her mind’s eye with a surge of fondness and adoration.

She raised her hands and the song of the Angels fell into a dull hum, then to a hush as they circled around the outskirts of those already gathered to watch and listen. Delilah joined them, dropping to her hands and knees, peering shyly through the grass though it tickled her nose.

Faith’s way of singing was different, fast, fervent, though not as varied in tone. To Delilah there were flickers of words she understood. Faith. Family. Safe. But the rest of the meaning was lost to the faint beating of butterfly wings as they fluttered near her ears. She closed her eyes, savoring the peace.

Until a new voice arrived. A voice that she knew even better than Faith’s. And it enthralled her. He stood in the center of the crowd, eyes a flaming gold, dazzling like the light of the sun. The butterflies flitted away from her and alighted on his shoulders. She rushed forward to chase them. 

-

“I want you to think about the trials we have endured. Have they not become more intense as the Collapse draws near? Those that are yet lost have tried to take from us all that we have built. Our family. The love we share. But did we let them?” Joseph prompted.

A wave of disagreeing murmurs swept over the listeners. He scanned the sea of attentive faces, pleased to see his own confidence reflected in them. 

“No,” he agreed. “Of course we didn’t. We fought back.” He punctuated each word with a jab of his finger. “And we will continue to do so. Until God calls us home-”

A redheaded blur cut through the center of his flock and barreled into him. Air flew out of his lungs on impact, but he kept his footing. His arms wrapped around her on instinct before recognition sank in.

“Delilah,” he sighed, then smiled. He knew he would see her again, he just hadn’t expected it so soon.

Members of his congregation shouted in alarm, drawing their weapons. Joseph threw up his hand and all fell silent.

Wide black pupils rimmed with blue stared up at him. Her bangs clung to her forehead, matted with dirt, soot, and sweat. She shuddered against him.

His breath caught in his throat. “Delilah?” he tried again.

No answer. Her lips parted as if she had something to say, but the dark depths of her eyes held no understanding. The stench of smoke and Bliss reached his nose.

What happened?

Something shifted in the grass. He glanced up at the sound. Angels hovering around the edge of the clearing peered back at him with that same blank stare, clacking their teeth behind their muzzles.

The Voice rumbled like thunder in the back of his skull.

No. Not her. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

His jaw tightened against an onslaught of fear, the pressure ringing in his ears.

“Is she alright?” Faith appeared at his side, a tremor in her voice.

“Call for a doctor. Now.”

A clear vial materialized from the folds of Faith’s dress. “I use this on Angels to help them sleep,” she offered before turning to a Chosen who was murmuring directions into his radio.

Joseph took the needle in one hand while the other cradled her cheek. She leaned into his touch. Brown beads peaked out from underneath the collar of her shirt. With a twist of joy and anguish he recognized the rosary he had given her.

As soon as the needle prodded Delilah’s neck she flinched. Unintelligible growls came from her throat as she grabbed him by the throat with both hands and dug her fingers in deep. His congregation gasped in horror, some yelling that the Father needed help.

“It’s alright,” he wheezed, more for Delilah’s sake than the onlookers. Don’t be afraid. He blinked and took a deep breath in an attempt to exude calm though his pulse throbbed against her fingers.

Joseph grabbed her by the wrists and wrenched them apart. Faith grabbed the syringe and pricked Delilah’s neck. She shrieked in panic and writhed against Joseph, her fingernails gouging into his biceps and down the Wrath carved on his forearm. Faith pulled away, the syringe emptied, but Delilah continued to fight. Joseph held her against him, paying no mind to the sting nor the blood. 

“I have you. I have you,” he murmured over and over like a prayer, nestling his chin atop her hair and cradling the back of her head in his hand.

Why didn’t you warn me? h e seethed.

The Voice remained silent, placated as Delilah grew weaker and weaker in his arms.

Was this how you wanted to save her?

No answer.

The doctor arrived several minutes later in the back of an armored van - one Faith had called in from John’s convoy. Joseph hooked his legs under Delilah’s knees and hefted her up to his chest. The congregation parted around him as he carried her to the van. Hands reached out and rested themselves on his shoulders and Delilah’s head. The air buzzed with consolations and prayers for healing. Joseph nodded this thanks, numb to their comfort.

A cot was set up in the back of the van, strapped down in the center to serve as a makeshift gurney. Waiting at the foot of the cot was a young man with cropped blonde hair - Daniel, Joseph remembered his name. He had dropped out of medical school in Georgia and migrated north with his new family. Joseph whispered praise to God despite his anger. 

Daniel would help. That was why God sent him.

Joseph kneeled in the back of the van with Faith at his side. Daniel worked in efficient silence, unflinching when the doors slammed shut behind them and the van rocked forward. He took her pulse, then swiped the crook of her elbow with a sterilizing wipe before injecting her with another dose of clear fluid.

“What substances did she ingest?” Daniel asked without looking up from his patient. He produced a thermometer from a worn leather satchel and slipped it between her teeth.

“Bliss,” Faith answered. “We don’t know how much.”

“Approximately how long ago?”

“Some time between now and four in the morning,” Joseph said. “That’s the last time we spoke. She had been drinking.”

“Her temperature is bordering on a fever. The injection I just gave her should stabilize her breathing for now. I have the proper equipment to run a blood test when we get back to the valley. But depending on the dosage… I’m sorry Father, but we don’t have the resources to treat-”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Joseph interrupted. “You’re doing God’s work here.” He knelt next to the cot and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Daniel muttered an apology and snatched more wet wipes from his kit. He cleared the dirt and soot from her cheeks, revealed dozens of crisscrossing scratches - some pink and freshly healed, some dry flaking scabs. 

Joseph’s eyes roved over the extent of her injuries. His hand absentmindedly stroked the tattoo on his right forearm, though he didn’t dare look at the woman there. Couldn’t stand the reminder, yet couldn’t help ghosting his knuckles over her face all the same.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh… Why? he demanded once more to no avail.

Faith stood at the end of the cot. He could sense the prickle of her eyes on him, though she didn’t dare speak. Until-

“I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t do it. Right, Father?” Her fists were bunched up in the white floral lace of her skirt while tears shimmered in her eyes.

At the sight of her grief his heart softened. “No. Of course not, Faith.”

“I know from the talk we had- I know she’s important to you-”

Important. Yes. The word resonated with him - made itself at home in his chest. 

“And I want you to know that I learned and understood-”

“I know.”

She ran the back of her hand over her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself. Then she knelt next to Joseph by the cot and wrapped her hand around Delilah’s. “This is part of God’s plan, isn’t it? So she can join us in New Eden?”

God’s plan. That’s what he’d promised Delilah from the day they’d met. The fate of an Angel was an existence free of pain, to blissfully wander the world and take in all its beauty before the Collapse wiped it away. God’s gift of mercy to those who would not walk the Path willingly. 

But Joseph - the man, not the Father, selfish and human as he was… wanted more for her. From her. With her. 

Faith was watching, waiting for him to speak. To soothe and provide guidance.

A shiver ran up the nape of his neck as the Voice finally uttered a reply. Do you trust me?

He answered Faith and the Voice at once. Slowly. It burned like acid on his tongue. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

She was back on the bridge, flames crawling over the wreckage of Burke’s truck, shrapnel and shards of glass littering the pavement. Hands in her pockets, she leaned against the guard rail and ground her teeth.

Not again.

She screwed her eyes shut, hoping that maybe if she didn’t look it would all melt away. But the guard rail still dug into her lower back and his presence hovered to her right. Just knowing he was there warmed her cheeks more than the fire ever could. 

And why is that? A small voice asked her. Curious. Innocent.

Shut up.

“You should be drowning.” His breath tickled her ear and sent goosebumps down her arms.

Delilah refused to open her eyes, desperate to savor a last moment of peace before the plunge. Before John came and showed her everyone she ever killed. Before she killed him too and drowned in red waves.

“I…” But I’m not. That’s what she kept telling herself. The words wouldn’t come out this time. They stuck in her throat, couldn’t even make it to the tip of her tongue. 

God doesn’t like liars, Mom would always say, slapping her hand with the kitchen spoon when she was caught telling a fib. God doesn’t like you, was what she really meant.

“I know,” Delilah said, answering Joseph and Mom at once.

A groan, a snap, and the railing gave way. Empty space yawned around her. She refused to look. Was tired of watching the bridge soar out of reach. Her arms stretched out before her, a last ditch attempt to save herself as her feet slipped off the edge.

Please, she thought, though she wasn’t sure who she was begging with. I’m just so tired.

Something warm and solid closed around her wrist. Her shoulder strained in its socket as her fall came to a sudden halt. She gasped and opened her eyes. Below her feet dangled uselessly in the air and even further down the waves of the river churned hungrily, desperate to swallow her whole. Then she looked up and found Joseph stretched over the ledge, hand latched around hers.

“I have you,” he said. “I have you.”

She opened her eyes. A vaulted ceiling with log beams and a lazily spinning fan greeted her. Below a mattress cradled her, so plush and soft she felt like she was drowning in it. Silken bed sheets clung to her skin. Something warm was wrapped around her hand. 

Slowly, as if her pillow were stuffed with eggshells, she rolled her head to the side. Joseph sat in a wooden rocking chair - the kind grandmas always had in fairy tales - cradling her hand in one of his while the other held a bible. She marveled at the sight for a moment. Same signature aviators were perched on his nose. A white dress shirt clung to his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He read silently to himself, eyelashes twitching as he half-mouthed along with the black scrawl on the page. His fingers laced through hers and rested atop her bruised knuckles while his thumb rubbed soothing circles along the side of her palm.

A lump formed in her throat. This was too gentle, too soft for someone like her.

An involuntary twitch of her finger broke the spell. His head snapped at the motion and she was hit with the full attention of his bright piercing eyes. She flinched, heat flaring across her cheeks like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Is this real?” she asked stupidly, her tongue clumsy and dry in her mouth.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “It is.”

She wriggled her way into an upright position and took in the rest of their surroundings. Polished hardwood floors, a stone fireplace tucked in the corner, a bear rug sprawled in front of the hearth, floor length windows propped open an inch that let the cream gossamer curtains sway in the breeze. 

Sure as hell beat the medical ward back at the jailhouse. Or the cold hard ground. Even the apartment she had back in Missoula didn’t compare.

“Where are we?” By the familiar scent of floor polish and cedar she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“Somewhere safe.”

She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Did Sharky make it out okay? Did Whitehorse even know what happened? Was he looking for her?

“You’ve been wearing my rosary.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She cleared her throat and ran her free hand over her chest, feeling the lump of it beneath the baggy gray crewneck. “It was a gift.” And no one ever gives me gifts. “Did you think I’d throw it out or something?”

“I had hoped not.” He squeezed her hand again. “How much do you remember?”

“Just flashes here and there. I remember running through smoke from the-” Oh. Right. She winced and pulled her hand from his. 

“The fire at the conservatory. Yes, I’ve been told.”

Suddenly the heat trapped beneath the sheets became unbearable, but she didn’t dare move. She kept her eyes firmly on her hands as they burrowed into the folds of the bulky comforter. The hum of the ceiling fan carried on in the silence between them. 

“Delilah, look at me,” he said at last.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she braced herself for what was coming next. 

The rocking chair creaked against the floorboards. “Look at me.” This time a finger curled under her chin and turned her head.

She risked a glance. A frown pulled at his mouth.

“Tell me what happened.”

“You already know.”

“I would like to hear it from you.”

Something in her chest tightened.

Silence.

“Del-“

“Yeah I burned it all up,” she snapped. “Probably would have killed the farmhands too if the Angels hadn’t chased me off.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Is that what you wanted to know? Wanted to make me admit it myself? I knew it was going to go bad one way or another and I did it anyway. Go ahead and get mad. I can’t fix any of it.” 

“Why are you angry?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Have I ever been angry with you?”

Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes. She swiped a hand over her face, trying to hide it from him. “No. I guess you haven’t. Not really,” she relented. “Just… you always look so sad. Or something like that.”

“I’m happy that you and my children are safe now.”

“You’re not smiling.”

He leaned back into his rocking chair and ran a hand over his right forearm, flexing it as if it ached. For a tense moment he said nothing. Just stared into space, his mind in another place, another time. “I was worried,” he murmured.

Oh. “I was almost too far gone, wasn’t I?”

He shook his head. “The path of an Angel wasn’t meant for you.” 

Something about his dismissal irked her. “What about the others? The ones that are stuck that way.”

“They are at peace and know nothing different. Faith watches over them.”

“They’ll tear people apart if they get ahold of them.” She held up her arms. Raised bumps from healing scratches caught in the light. “Look.”

“I know.” He angled his left forearm to her. Puckered angry slashes cut through a faded Wrath.

“Did I…?”

“Mhm.”

She swallowed thickly. “Just proves my point then.”

“You needed my help. It was a worthwhile trade.”

A soft knocking saved her from the need to reply. 

Joseph eased out of his chair and answered the door. He murmured his thanks. Delilah craned her neck to see who he spoke to, but the door clicked shut. He turned and came back to her with a steaming bowl wrapped in a potholder.

The aroma of salty broth hit her nose. An enthusiastic growl rumbled from her stomach. 

“You must be hungry.” He handed her the bowl. “Careful. It’s hot.”

She accepted it, peering over the white porcelain edge at the beef chunks and stewed vegetables. Her mouth watered at the sight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal, let alone one with protein. Or vegetables. Or anything that wasn’t oatmeal. Half the bowl disappeared (some of it dribbled down her front) before she realized the broth was scalding her tongue. 

If Joseph was appalled by her table manners he didn’t show it. Just sat in his chair with a bible open on his lap though he had yet to read a word.

“How long was I out anyway?” she asked before bringing another spoonful to her lips and blowing softly. 

“Three days.”

“Hmm,” she grunted through a mouthful. “Long time.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “The doctor said you were dehydrated and malnourished.”

She gave another noncommittal grunt. His eyes on her were beginning to prickle. “Yeah, well, things are pretty shitty out there you know.”

“We share freely with those that are a part of our family.”

The spoon clinked against the side of the bowl. Though her stomach craved more, she placed it down on the bed deliberately away from her lap. 

Joseph leaned forward and picked it up. She watched him and braced herself for a lecture on wastefulness. Instead he held her stare and took a mouthful. Then he pulled the spoon slowly from his lips, as if he were savoring more than the stew.

A different kind of hunger awoke in the pit of her stomach. One that made her lean forward, lips parted for a taste. His eyes flitted to her mouth and she knew he felt it too. They lingered in that moment, teetering on the edge of something impossible. Dangerous. By the time she realized what was happening her head was spinning from vertigo.

“I should go,” she gasped. A thrill ran down her spine at the possibility of him saying no.

“Mmm.” He nodded. “You aren’t ready to accept us yet.” He stood, taking the bowl with him, and left the room.

Delilah tugged at the collar of her shirt, taking a moment to catch her breath. Close call. Close to what, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Moments later a woman appeared in the doorway, a small bundle in her arms. Clothes, Delilah realized as she approached and laid them on the corner of the bed. 

The woman paused and gave a nervous smile. “The Father has a pickup waiting for you down in the lot,” she offered in a thick southern accent. “Gas tank is full and your keys are in the pants pocket. Have a blessed day.” 

As soon as she was alone, she slipped out of the covers and snatched the change of clothes. She tugged a pale woven sweater over the shirt she woke up in. There was no way she was stripping down to her bra with Joseph lurking around. Especially after whatever-that-was.

He’s already seen you like that, a voice in her head pointed out.

Just the bottoms. She thrust her elbow through the sleeve, batting the heat of embarrassment away. So shut up. She kicked her cloth shorts off in a hurry and wriggled into a pair of dark blue jeans. By some sort of miracle they actually fit her properly.

Who changed you into shorts to begin with?

Again. Shut up. 

When she emerged from the bedroom she found herself at the top of the stairs off the dining room at eye level with the obnoxiously large antler chandelier. Just as she’d suspected, Joseph had brought her to the ranch. Her ratty sneakers were waiting for her on the top step. The last time she’d been here, she hadn’t gotten a chance to search upstairs. Now she leaned against the railing, peering past the fireplace into the living area. Joseph was nowhere to be found.

She slipped on her shoes and descended the stairs. The dining room wasn’t as pristine as she once remembered. Handwritten reports, maps, and bundles of coffee cups - some still half full - hid the surface of the tabletop. Her eyes swept over the sprawl of information while her fingers jingled the keys in her pocket. 

Buried in those notes was a treasure trove of intel, she knew. But several pairs of eyes watched her from the portrait above the mantle. That and he had welcomed her into his home. Had her treated by a medical professional when he could have left her to rot.

Damn it. She couldn’t let anyone, especially Whitehorse and Tracey, know where she’d been. They’d never understand. If she handed over anything like that it’d just turn into more blood on her hands. 

She sped through the living room, head on a swivel for Joseph. A part of her agonized over him being angry with her. Though she couldn’t imagine what she would even say if she were to tell him goodbye.

I appreciate you saving my life and all that. Sorry for bolting. Thanks for the soup.

Once outside she took the winding path that led across the front lawn. Armed guards in bulky bulletproof vests lurked in various posts around the balconies of the ranch and hangar. They didn’t pay her any mind as she scurried between clumps of landscaping.

Just as the lady promised, there was one vehicle that stuck out from the peggie vans and trucks lined up in the gravel lot. It was a rusty blue pickup - probably snatched from an unfortunate civilian. She yanked the door open and clambered inside. The engine sputtered and wheezed to life. 

She threw the gear into reverse and hit the gas.

-

“You let her go?” John stopped mid-stride, coat swirling about his knees with the motion.

Joseph stopped with him, halting in the middle of the sidewalk between the house and hangar. His brother had arrived, asking after the Deputy when she had left minutes before. Two of his Chosen coming down the path glanced between him and John before promptly turning the other way.

“She trusts me,” Joseph said. “If I were to break that trust we would be back at square one.”

John ran a hand through his hair. Agitation rolled off him in waves.

“Atonement only comes to those that are willing,” Joseph reminded him.

“I know,” he snapped, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “And when I heard she was with you I had hoped you’d at least let me try-”

“We have time.”

“How much time?”

“No man knows the day or the hour.”

“Exactly.” John jabbed a finger at him. “If she’s so special then why are you willing to gamble with her soul? And- and you know what?” He shook his head and threw up his hands. “Why is she so special, Joseph? For being the one who opened the First Seal you give her a shocking amount of preference.”

Joseph’s hand clamped around John’s shoulder. He pulled him close, ignoring the flash of alarm in his eyes. “By the grace of God there are many things I can overlook, but now you’re starting to make me wonder,” he murmured. “I believe you’ve already Atoned for Envy, haven’t you? And what about Pride? Wrath? Are your scars beginning to itch, John?”

“No, Father.”

Father. The use of it stung, but it was necessary. John had to remember who was in charge. “I gave you her file. You read through it.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Don’t you understand what she is?”

“I’ve seen what she can do firsthand. I just wanted to protect you.”

“And I am trying to protect you. What did Delilah do to Samson? She found his weakness, used it to strip him of his power and handed him over for Judgement. Do not give in to your weakness, John.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked and more. I know what she needs. You just have to trust me.” His little brother’s eyes glimmered with emotion. 

For a split second they were kids standing alongside their parents' drive. A bicycle lay in the grass overturned and forgotten. John’s bottom lip quivered, his hands clamped over a scraped knee. 

Of course he was hurting. Desperate. And it was Joseph’s fault. He was the one that told John that she must Atone in order for him to see New Eden. Little John, always putting on a brave face to make his big brothers proud. Overcome with remorse he pulled him close and touched their foreheads together. 

“I do trust you.” And he meant it. What sort of Father would he be if he didn’t?

The Voice filled the space between them as John pulled away and smiled. 

Listen.  

John mouthed something, but Joseph couldn’t hear it over the roar of an engine and the crackle of gunfire. He blinked. Behind his eyelids came a flash of blue sky, then muddied greens and browns as the earth tilted and came soaring closer. A black gash opened in the earth and from it poured raging fire.

“Joseph.”

Something shook his shoulder.

“Joseph?”

He blinked again and John was in front of him, worry creasing his brow.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He had seen flashes of this before, lurking in the depths of his worst nightmares. But then it hadn’t been so visceral, so clear. 

This is for John to face alone.  

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his forehead was slick with sweat and his fingers dug into his brother’s shoulders. 

Why warn me now?

No answer. 

“Please,” he whispered, “John, whatever you do please be careful.”

“Of course. I’ve got this.”

-

Traveling by car was a luxury Delilah would never take for granted again. It almost felt strange sitting behind the steering wheel and watching the road fly by. If it weren’t for the odd pile of human remains here or there or the sloppy black and white paint jobs covering all the road signs forewarning the apocalypse, she could almost imagine she was driving back to the office. 

Except she skipped the Fall’s End exit and made a beeline east. 

Three times she was met by peggie trucks on the road. Each time the gunmen riding in the bed would stiffen before giving her a stiff nod. Someone - perhaps Joseph himself - had let them know to leave her be. She wasn’t sure if she should feel grateful or paranoid.

How am I going to explain any of this to Whitehorse?

The immediate answer that came to mind was don’t. What the man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Right? There were several glaring things she could think of where that wasn’t the case. But she shoved them to the side, opting to crank up the volume of her radio.

Some happy twangy tune blared from the speaker. She was almost enjoying it until-

“Oh John, bold and brave-”

She turned the dial all the way back. Okay. So that wasn’t going to help. God, did he write that himself?

The road took a familiar turn. Soon she’d pull up to the jailhouse. 

Whitehorse and Tracey didn’t need to know anything, she decided. She was attacked by an Angel, lost her mask, got high, then it wore off a while later. And what did it matter anyway? The Bliss crop was trashed just like Tracey wanted. If anything they owed her something in return. That’s when she’d ask for reinforcements to go bust down the door of John’s place and grab Joey.

A swift mental kick followed the thought. Took you long enough.

The jailhouse appeared around the next bend in the road and her truck slowed to a crawl. She rolled down the window and waved at the snipers perched by the towers. A glint from a scope told her she was being watched. She put the truck in park, stuffed the keys in her pocket, and hopped out of the cab.

“Hey!” She waved her hands over her head. “Deputy here!”

One of the dark figures atop the wall lowered their rifle. When she approached the gate they held up a hand. “Wait right there.” Then they ducked out of sight.

She passed into the shadow cast by the walls, a chill creeping over her as her stomach rolled with a sudden wave of nausea. That wasn’t quite the welcome she’d expected.

On the other side of the gate a metallic clang sounded as the bar that kept it shut was slid to the side. One of the battered doors swung open and revealed Tracey on the other side. She wore a hardened frown, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey, Tracey.” Delilah took a tentative step forward.

A stiff arm reached out and caught her. “Hold it, Deputy.”

“Huh? What for?”

Over Tracey’s shoulder Whitehorse appeared from the jailhouse. He approached, his thumb hooked in his belt near his pistol.

“Sheriff?” Delilah called to him. 

He grimaced. 

“Deputy Rookwood,” Tracey began, “where have you been the past three days?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just be honest with us, Del,” Whitehorse said. “It’s alright.”

Stick with the facts for now. Keep it simple. She swallowed. “Things went wrong at the Conservatory. Fertilizer caught fire and blew up the greenhouses. Then the workers pulled an alarm and a bunch of Angels came running. I tried to run, but they pulled my mask off and I had a bad trip. Didn’t snap out of it for a long time.”

Tracey and Whitehorse exchanged a look.

“Did Sharky make it back okay? He could tell you what happened.”

“Sharky’s fine.” Tracey jutted her chin. “It’s you we’re worried about.”

“I told you I don’t understand.” She craned her neck to look at Whitehorse. “Sheriff, what’s the problem?”

Instead of answering he spoke to Tracey. “How about we just take it easy and bring her inside. We can have one of the medics look her over then.”

“I’m not out of my mind if that’s what you’re worried about.” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. 

Tracey didn’t reply. She tugged her inside and the gate clanged shut behind them. They went into the lobby then right through to the medical ward. Resistance members paused and watched their little procession with wary eyes that made her skin crawl. At the end of the room was a little door into a private office the medics had been using for private checkups. One of the medics she’d seen around - the balding man with the watery eyes - stood at the far end of the room next to a folding chair.

“Have a seat.” Tracey pushed her forward.

Delilah glanced between the medic, Tracey, and Whitehorse before sinking slowly onto the chair. Her arms shook as she rested her sweaty palms on her knees. “I promise you I’m clean. I’m not- I’m not turning into some- “ Addict. She choked on the word.

The medic stepped in front of her, hastily excusing himself under his breath, before pinching back her eyelid and shining a flashlight in her pupil.

She started to babble. “When I got drugged before I would have hallucinations, you know? Butterflies and fog and shit. There’s none of that now, I’m good, alright?”

“Pupil dilation is normal,” the medic said over his shoulder. “I’ll have to draw blood and run a test to see how much is left in her system.”

Tracey nodded.

Cold fingers swiped her arm as he drew back the sleeve of her sweater. It passed the crook of her elbow and he froze. Delilah looked down and stiffened. In the crease of her skin was a small round bruise and a dark red scab. 

“Seems she’s already been treated. Or tested. Perhaps both.”

Delilah barely heard him. She stared and stared at the bruise. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Something tugged at the collar of her sweater. When she looked up Tracey was in her face, cold and remorseless suspicion in her eyes. “I have something to ask you, Deputy. And you better think long and hard about how you answer because you only got one shot at telling me the truth.”

Whitehorse pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing.

“Dutch,” Tracey began. “You remember Dutch? Nod if you do.”

Delilah nodded.

“Three days ago, about seven thirty in the morning, Dutch heard something interesting over the peggie radio. They made an emergency call for a medic out at the meadow west of the conservatory. High priority. Father’s special request. Was that for you?”

“I don’t know-”

Another yank at her collar. “Oh I think you do, Deputy. See after you all ran, Sharky didn’t give up on you. He went after that pack of Angels, found your mask, followed the tracks. They led him further west out to that meadow. He found those Angels - burned ‘em all up - but guess who was still missing?”

Her blood turned to ice. She pulled against the hand holding her in place, trying to get as far away from Tracey as she could manage. John’s Cleansing flashed in her mind - the way his hand wrapped around her throat - and she sensed she was about to be thrust underwater.

“And now you turn up here, in a truck, all cleaned up with a fresh change of clothes. So let me ask you one more time. Where the hell have you been the past three days?”

“I don’t remember how I got there.”

The fist holding her shirt trembled.

“I swear! All I can remember is smoke and then the fog. And then when I woke up they had me. I asked them to let me go and they did.”

“And they just let you walk? Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Why would they do that?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Did they send you back so you can spy on us?”

“Fuck no,” she spat. “I didn’t give them shit and they didn’t ask.”

“Liar.”

Whitehorse piped up. “Tracey-”

Delilah cut him off. “I’m not lying!”

“Joseph fucking Seed called a medic for you. What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she snarled.

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” Tracey’s free hand snaked around the back of her neck and yanked the rosary up to her collarbones.

Her last thread of sanity snapped. She lunged from the chair and smashed her forehead into Tracey’s face. 

Tracey fell back on her ass, hand clamped over her nose, blood welling between her fingers.

The medic dove for the cover of a nearby desk. 

“Deputy stand down,” Whitehorse bellowed, hand on the grip of his pistol. He took a step toward her.

“Stay away from me.” She took a step back, chest heaving with panic.

“You pushed her too far, Tracey,” he huffed. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Isn’t there, Del?” He held up his hand, motioning for her to calm down.

Tears dribbled down her chin. When had she started crying? “I didn’t do anything,” she croaked. “Just let me go.”

The door to the office burst open. All heads in the room turned at once. A Resistance member clung to the doorframe, heaving for breath.

“Sheriff, Tracey,” he wheezed, then froze when he saw Tracey hunched on the floor. “Wait what the fu-”

“Spit it out, son,” Whitehorse said.

“John just put out a broadcast on all our channels. He’s asking for the Deputy.”

Chapter Text

Whitehorse tugged Delilah by the elbow through the crowd hovering around the small radio atop the clerk’s desk in the lobby. A few stopped to stare at the lump swelling on her forehead. Most muttered an apology and shifted out of the way.

John spoke in quick clipped tones. His presence crackled through the speaker like the static before a storm. “-going to make this simple for all of us. How would you like to make a deal, Deputy? I have in my custody someone you are very familiar with. Here she is now.”

There was a clang and the squeal of hinges. Then clinking chains and a scream. “I already told you what I did. Please! Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!”

Hudson. Delilah gasped. Whitehorse squeezed her bicep.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” John cooed. “I know.”

Screaming turned to a sob, then a whimper. 

“Deputy Hudson is still coming to terms with her transgressions. We’ve made so much progress together and her Atonement is complete. But I would be willing - once her sins have been removed, of course - to trade her into Resistance custody. Specifically in exchange for you.”

A dozen heads turned to stare at her. Not that she noticed with Hudson’s sobbing bouncing around in her skull.

“Ultimately this is your decision. But… if you’re willing, meet us at the Holland Valley bridge. Alone.”

Her nails sunk into the flesh of her palms, fists quivering. What she wouldn’t give to have him in front of her now. To crush his windpipe with her bare hands. 

“I think we both know this is for the best. We’ll be waiting.”  

A brief bout of static, then the message began its loop again. Only when Hudson started screaming did one of the onlookers scramble to turn down the volume.

Silence. Only a moment for the rage to come to a boil, to become an unbearable pressure throbbing in her head. 

“I have to go get her,” Delilah said. It was the only option. She’d put it off for long enough and now Joey was paying a hefty price for it. A price that John was going to pay back if she had any say in the matter.

Whitehorse shook his head. “Now hold on just a minute.”

Delilah rounded on him. “Hold on? Hold on for what? Didn’t you hear her?”

“We’d be running into a situation where we don’t know what the hell we’re getting into.”

“Since when did that ever stop us?” she snapped.

A frown quivered on his lips as he held back the grief swimming in his eyes. “If she’s been with him that long… Lord forgive me. I hate to say it, Del, but I don’t know how much Joey there is left.”

“Whose fucking fault is that?” Mine. She never should have left her for that long. Should have made a run for her the night of the crash. Should have come clean that day she had Joseph’s number right there in her pocket. The quivering spread from her wrists to her shoulders.

“Kid, you’re letting your anger get a hold of you again.”

She jutted her chin. “And why aren’t you angry? That’s your goddamn senior deputy you’re leaving to rot.”

He winced. “It’s not a trade we can afford to make.”

“We? He asked for me, didn’t he? That makes it my decision. Let me go.” She pulled against the hand latched around her arm. Let me make it up to her. 

“Let you go?” Tracey growled. She appeared in the doorway of the medical ward, scowling with her bloody swollen nose for all to see. “What, so you can run off and join the fucking peggies? Timing is a bit convenient, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” she scoffed. 

But the damage was already done. The crowd around her shifted a few steps back. Something in the air changed. Eyes narrowed with suspicion. A few hands reached for their holsters.  

“Why should I believe one word out of your mouth? You still haven’t explained what you’re doing with his cross around your neck.”

Tracey didn’t like her from the beginning. Wasn’t ever hard to tell. And now that she had hard evidence, well, it must be nice to feel so justified. But the longer they spent arguing the longer Joey had to suffer.

“I guess you won’t,” Tracey huffed. “Sheriff, take her to one of the cells.”

Whitehorse shifted behind her. “Hold on-”

Delilah wrenched her arm away from him. With her other hand she ripped the pistol from his holster and leveled it at Tracey’s head. “Nobody move!”

“Deputy! Stand down,” Whitehorse warned. “You’re only making it harder for us to work with you.”

Somewhere behind her leather boots squeaked on the tiled floor. She threw her gun to the ceiling and fired. Several people yelped in alarm and threw themselves to the ground. Flakes of plaster drifted to the floor.

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING MOVE!” Gun trembling in her hand, her aim snapped back to Tracey’s furious snarl. 

“You are out of your mind,” Tracey spat.

“You don’t understand.” She swallowed back a sob. “I’m just trying to get one goddamn thing for right once. And you’re going to let me do it.”

“You step out that door and you’re one of them.”

Damned if she stayed, damned if she didn’t. So what did it really matter anyway?

“Del,” Whitehorse said, “you’re much better use to us here than you are out there.”

“Bullshit.” She was no use to anyone anywhere. Not anymore. That’s why she took a decided step toward the door and kept her finger firmly over the trigger. “If the Resistance isn’t there for Joey as soon as she’s out I’m gonna come back and kick your ass myself.”

Those in the crowd glanced between Tracey and Delilah, waiting in stunned silence for either one to make the first move. 

Delilah took one step back, then another. Then through the door into the courtyard before she turned and made a run for it. She shouldered through the gate and made a mad dash through the parking lot to her truck at the end of the drive.

“Hold your fire!” Whitehorse’s voice echoed off the outer walls. 

She leapt through the passenger door and slid across the cab into the driver’s seat. Guards atop the wall scrambled to line up a shot even at Whitehorse’s frantic orders. Before they got a chance to fire, Delilah whipped the truck in a vicious u-turn, squealing the tires and throwing up a cloud of dust. 

Smatterings of gunfire chased her down the road before coming to a complete halt as she swerved out of range. Adrenaline flooded her veins, the thought of her allies turning on her - and so easily - lost in the green blur of hills flying by.

She retraced her path down the winding highway, knuckles white and popping with her death grip on the steering wheel. Whitehorse had a point, common sense whispered in the back of her mind. Whatever waited for her at the bridge, she was out of her depth. But, she was beginning to realize, blundering into the unknown was all she knew how to do.

That and one other thing.

Gas pedal pushed to the floorboard, she rounded the last corner. Sloping hills fell to the wayside. Joseph’s statue stood there, pale in the distance on the right. On the left a convoy of white vehicles cluttered the center of the bridge. Her frantic eyes darted between the two while a chilling dread settled in her gut.

I don’t know how many times you’ll be able to forgive me.

As many times as it takes, he’d replied. 

If she had a radio she’d have called him. I don’t think you’ll be able to forgive me this time. But maybe… if things were different…

No time to finish that thought.

She snatched Whitehorse’s pistol and wheeled the truck onto the bridge, engine whining as it struggled to get back up to speed.

Peggies decked out in riot gear took cover behind their vehicles. Only when it became clear she wasn’t going to hit the breaks did they make a desperate scramble out of the way. Not that it mattered.

Her pickup slammed into the van on the right. In the corner of her eye she saw a peggie fly off the side of the bridge and plummet to the river far, far below. The windshield disintegrated on impact as the hood buckled and she slammed into the steering wheel. Smoke and the taint of burnt rubber and engine fluid filled the cab. 

Delilah kicked the door open, ears ringing and heart pounding in double time to the car alarms wailing in unison. One of the peggies rushed her, black baton swinging over his head. She pulled out Whitehorse’s sidearm and shot him in the forehead. Cracks spread over his plastic visor like a spiderweb and caught the splatter of blood.

The next peggie that came at her was smart enough to duck. Her bullet grazed off the side of his helmet as his bat connected with her stomach. Agony turned the world into a gray blur as she doubled over and tears filled her eyes. 

She raised the pistol and fired two shots blindly. The first took out the wrecked van’s tire with a pop and a hiss. At the second he fell screaming and clutching his knee. She swiped at her eyes. A third shut him up for good.

Pain cut like a hot knife along her lower ribs with each breath, but she didn’t let it stop her. Would end up dead if she did.

Two more rushed her. One battered her back with a riot shield. She clawed against the plastic, catching a glimpse of her own twisted snarl in the reflection. Hit it with the butt of her pistol once, twice. Still her sneakers slid backwards on the pavement while the other peggie swung his baton. 

She ducked. The baton whiffed her scalp and thudded against the shield. She grabbed the baton and pulled. He staggered forward, close enough for the barrel of her pistol to jab his neck when she pulled the trigger. Viscera caked the bottom half of his visor and dribbled down her front. Between the red flecks she watched his eyes widen, then glaze over, the spark of fear gone in a heartbeat.

That left the one holding the shield. He rushed forward, battering her side until she lost balance and fell. She pulled the baton with her, tearing it from the dead man’s hand. 

A boot collided with her ribs, sent another lance of pain through her chest. He was yelling something. Wanted her to drop her gun.

Like hell.

The shield lifted, exposing his legs. She swung at them with the baton. He flinched then stumbled backward. She took the opportunity to roll back to her feet and lunge for him. 

His shield arm flailed while he tried to keep his balance, leaving the rest of him exposed. She swung the baton again. It collided with his helmet. The force of the blow stung in her palm, her wrist, her arm. She dropped it, cursing under her breath, then ripped the shield off his arm. 

He hit the ground. Hard. The back of his helmet collided against pavement with a dull thud. 

Delilah took a second to breathe. Her aching arm curled around her chest. Ribs were bruised or broken, she wasn’t sure which. Whitehorse’s pistol was still heavy in her palm. She counted five shots fired. Or was it six? Six bullets and four men dead. The one that fell off the bridge was a freebie. And the one left alive would come in handy.  

Glassy eyes stared up at her through his cracked visor. She ripped the helmet off of him, flinging it over the van and off the bridge. When she grabbed the man by the collar and heaved him upright. Her ribs screamed in outrage while he shook his head and came to.

“You’re taking me to the bunker,” she wheezed. 

Whatever John was hoping for out of this little exchange it was going to be on her terms.

-

They rode across Holland Valley in tense silence. Delilah sat in the passenger seat while the peggie hunched over the steering wheel, his hands curling and uncurling over the well worn leather. Her left hand wrapped like a vice around the back of his neck while her right pressed the pistol into his chest. 

From time to time the radio fixed to the dash crackled to life. A grainy voice asked if the Deputy had been taken in custody yet.

“Not yet,” the peggie answered, sweat beading on his brow. His Adams apple bobbed when her gun twitched ever so slightly. 

“Report to John as soon as she shows.”

“Yes, Brother.”

They would only buy it for so long. Or he would snap and try to put out a call for help. Delilah muttered for him to pick up the pace. The needle on the speedometer wobbled toward eighty.

Off in the distance, south of the highway, the steeple of Fall’s End Church peered over the trees. She wondered if Tracey and Whitehorse had reached out to them yet and told them what she’d done. Or whatever they thought she’d done.

Doesn’t matter. She shook her head prompting a nervous glance from her unwilling chauffeur.

What mattered was getting her hands on Joey. Or John. She’d be grateful for either one, though the outcomes would be very, very different.

Soon they reached the end of the valley’s flat farmland and the highway took a steep incline as it wound through the hills. Higher up the mountain range the bone-white YES taunted her. Delilah figured they were getting closer to the bunker. It would make sense. Annoying prick probably liked to sit out front with his morning coffee and soak in the view of that abomination.

The van swung left, departing the highway in favor of a winding gravel path. They rumbled along, both captive and captor growing more twitchy with every bump in the road. Delilah clamped her hand around his neck a little harder. Just a subtle reminder of who was in charge.

They crested the hill. At its summit, the gravel once again merged with pavement. A large concrete structure jutted from man-made slopes of earth. It was surrounded by tall fencing topped with barbed wire, though a wide chain link gate was conveniently open. Probably awaiting her arrival. 

The peggie tapped the brakes, slowing the van to a crawl, and took them past the threshold. 

Delilah scanned the nearby guardhouse and the blocky concrete barriers for any hint of movement. But she found nothing.

“Put it in park and kill the engine,” she rasped.

He obeyed with slow, deliberate movements. Once the engine died she had him open the door and slid across the cab after him. Her ribs twinged with the movement, halted her breathing and kicked her heart rate up a notch. They stepped out from behind the driver’s side door. She slammed it shut with her hip, the noise bouncing off the looming fortress.

There had to be cameras and alarms somewhere, her instincts warned her. Some sort of monitoring device she just hadn’t seen yet. If they had alarms wired in a ramshackle farmhouse, they’d have them here.

No doubt he was watching.

“John Seed,” she bellowed.

Her hostage flinched. 

She pulled the man in front of her and jammed the barrel of her pistol against the underside of his jaw. “Bring me Joey you fucking bastard.”

Nothing. Just the wind and the distant squawk of a crow. 

She checked the upper barriers again. Glanced at the piles of supply crates stacked in front of what must be the bunker’s entrance. At least, she thought it must be the entrance given the black Welcome written overhead in sloppy dribbled paint.

More silence.

She wrenched the arm of the peggie. “Was this the meetup spot?” 

He nodded, straining his neck away from her gun. “Yes, it-“

An ear splitting screech cut him off. Delilah spun on her heel, searching for the source of the sound.

“Tsk, tsk, Deputy,” John began. “This wasn’t how the deal was meant to play out and you know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about whatever game you’re playing. I’m here for Deputy Hudson.”

“Do you understand the concept of a trade?” His tone dripped with sarcasm and annoyance. Typically two parties agree to exchange one thing for another. Now you should consider yourself very lucky that I’m willing to uphold my end of the deal even though you’re trying to break yours. I’ll give you Hudson. But in return you’ll have to lay down your weapons and turn yourself in.”

“Bring me Hudson.”

“So we have a deal?”

“If you don’t have her out here in five seconds I’m blowing this poor bastard’s brains out!”

The peggie yelped and mumbled under his breath. “Father save me. Father protect me-“

She shook him. “Shut up!” She couldn’t afford to think about him. Not now.

“Put down the gun, Deputy.”

“Five,” she called out.

“Please! Please no,” he gasped.

“Deputy. Put it down.”

“Four.”

“Deputy.”

“John! Help me,” he wailed.

“Three. I’ll fucking do it!”

“What would Joseph think?”

Something like sadness panged in her chest. “Like I don’t already know.” She could feel those rainy nights coming back to her, but shoved them aside. “Two!”

“Do you really want to disappoint him again?”

No. But- 

“Time’s up!” She squeezed the trigger.

Three things happened at once. Something hard and heavy cracked against the back of her skull and flipped the world on its side. A gunshot rang in her ears while the peggie she held a moment before tumbled to the ground with her, clutching the right side of his face. He howled in agony while blood squelched beneath his palm. The bunker door squealed open and Hudson was hauled out by the elbows, a peggie tugging her along on either side.

Their eyes locked. Delilah’s vision swam, the shapes going murky and blurring together. The last thing she saw was Hudson’s face. Bruised, covered in scrapes and sweat and dirt, black crusty streaks of mascara running down her cheeks and over the duct tape covering her mouth, dark hair limp and greasy clinging to her forehead. Hudson gave a muffled shriek, tape straining against her mouth, and everything went black.

-

Delilah woke up to the dark. Her breath, hot and stifling, billowed against her face while her mind raced to figure out where she was. Before she got too far, the pain returned with a vengeance and sent her tiny dark world spinning. It radiated from the back of her skull, her forehead, her ribs, and dragged a moan from between her clenched teeth. Rough woven cloth brushed the tip of her nose and in that instant she realized she had a sack over her head.

Shoes clicked against a concrete floor, then clacked over a metal grate. She turned her head on instinct then hissed as all the nerves in her neck caught fire. Something coarse and thick woven around her wrists pinned her hands in place at her side - to the arms of a chair.

Cold shocked the breath out of her, soaked through the bag and cascaded down her scalp and shoulders. She screwed her eyes shut. “Fuck!”

“Whoops. I suppose you were already awake. Just wanted to be sure.”

A bucket clanged against the floor. Wet black cloth dragged over her face before disappearing entirely. It fell to the ground with a loud thwap and the next thing she saw was a pair of burning blue eyes.

John’s hand clamped over her cheeks hard enough to make her jaw ache before sliding around her throat. “This has been a long time coming hasn’t it?” A tremor ran through him, quivered in the tips of his fingers. “Sorry for hitting you over the head, but you didn’t leave us much choice. Bliss would have been less painful, but… well, you know.”

“Where’s Hudson,” she croaked.

He rolled his eyes. “Gone. Just like I promised.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hmm. We’ll have to work on that. Come this way, please.” 

His hand snaked from her neck to the back of the chair. He spun her around and pushed her forward, the wheels rumbling against the grate. There was also something dragging along behind the chair, clacking against the plastic legs, clinking as it unfurled.

A chain, she realized.

In front of her was a flash of bright white. She flinched, recoiling at the way it made her head throb. Her eyes adjusted. A projector hummed on a battered folding table, casting its pale glow on a wide concrete wall. Suspicious brown stains lurked near the edge of the light and trailed down to the floor. 

John reappeared in front of her, pushing a cart in front, dragging a folding chair behind. The legs squealed against the floor, a sound as pleasant as nails on a chalkboard. On top of the cart was a manila folder and leather satchel. John took a seat, swiping the folder from the cart as he went. He plopped it on the table in front of him and then leaned forward on his elbow.

He lingered there for a moment. Studied her.

Her temper flared under his scrutiny, though her attention darted between him, the projector, and the file. She was pretty sure she already knew what sorts of things were in the satchel given the stains. Remembered the whispers of torture that night he strangled her in the river.

“Under more normal circumstances I would have led you to Atone shortly after the Cleansing, when the idea is still new, still fresh. Tends to be more impactful that way.” He slotted his thumb into the folder, running it along the stack of pages within. “But I will say this has been a blessing in disguise of sorts. I’ve had a lot of time to learn about you.” He held up the cover file for her to see.

Written on the front was her name in looping black ink. 

What the fuck?

“And I thought it was so interesting to find that we have some rather striking things in common. Did you know that, Delilah?”

“No. We don’t,” she growled to hide the chill that ran through her. 

He raised a brow. “I spoke with your mother.”

Mother. The word knocked the breath out of her and drained the blood from her face. She was more of a presence than a person now. Cold. Sneering. A voice in the back of her head telling her all the ways she fucked up.

How did he know about her?

“She’s not my mother.”

He smiled like he was expecting her to say that, then whipped the top sheet out of the file. “On paper she is. It says right here that Mark and Theresa Anderson obtained full legal custody of Delilah Rookwood in July of 1997. Took you under their roof then right out of the foster system. Seems like a charitable thing to do.”

There was nothing to say. John was right. The words were on the paper, but they were just words. Delilah refused to look at them. Decided to focus on the blank white the projector cast on the wall instead. Maybe if she looked there long enough he’d bury those names back in that file and forget about it.

“But that made me wonder how you ended up in the system in the first place. I went through quite a few homes myself. Did you know that?”

Another chance to put up walls, to cut him off before he dug deeper. “I don’t care.”

Undeterred, he pulled out another slip of paper. “I had to do a little digging for this, but I managed to find your unamended birth certificate. Mother is listed as Lilith Anne Rookwood. No father, unfortunately. Did you ever know your father?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Did you know your birth mother was a heroin addict?”

His curiosity, much like his sympathy, was a trap, she thought. So she held her tongue even though her knuckles flexed and popped beneath her restraints.

“Mmm. That’s what Theresa told me over the phone, anyway. Said that might have had something to do with your… behavior.”

“She’s so full of shit.” The words escaped before she could stop them. A release for the red haze building in her head. “Always has been.”

“And yet she made you what you are. Does that ever make you angry?” John mused. “I know it used to make me angry. Still does at times.”

Silence.

Somewhere water dripped from a pipe. Tink, tink, tink against the cold hard floor.

“Did you know they’ve been praying for you all this time?” he pressed. “Theresa said so. Said they were so glad that you found our church and were looking for help. She doesn’t see the full picture, not like Joseph does, but her heart seemed to be in the right place. So I asked her to send me a few things.” 

From somewhere within the cart he pulled out a thin cardboard box and removed the lid. Inside were dozens of slides with yellowed paper borders. He pinched the first one from the stack and held it up to the light, squinting through its dark center. “I took the time to look through them all. Hope you don’t mind. It showed me some very interesting patterns.”

John flipped through the slides, slotting them into the projector. He shot her an eager smile every so often. She glared at the floor while her stomach twisted in knots. Mom wasn’t the sentimental type. Not when it came to her anyway. She couldn’t imagine what she’d saved after all this time-

With a click from the projector an image flickered on screen. The colors were washed out, pale, but a young Delilah stared back at her with wide doleful eyes. She lingered in the front door of her foster parents home, tips of her red rubber boots on the welcome mat, her small hands wrapped in the end of her braid.

“Atonement might seem like a simple process on the surface - confess your sins, bare them to the world, move on. But really it’s quite deeper than that. Because sin itself is… well, not to repeat myself but it is pervasive. Ingrained. Entrenched deeply within each and every one of us. It begins early in life.” He pressed the button on the projector. “First grade. This was you then, wasn’t it?” 

Another picture flashed on screen. She was still so young, hunched on the living room floor over a coloring book, broken halves of crayons scattered over the carpet. A frown jutted from her bottom lip. The ends of her short hair framed her cheeks, frayed and wild.

“Theresa told me at this age you sent a young boy home with a broken, bloody nose.”

Click. 

“Third grade. Theresa mentioned they moved you to a new school. Baptist. Good for troubled kids. And this girl - the little blonde one... Did you really break her arm?” 

He pointed at her classmate, first on the left side of the front row. The memory resurfaced. Little blondie had rounded up her friends and cornered Delilah in the school bathroom. Spat on her. Said her mom was a druggie bitch. And that druggie bitches went to hell when they died. Next thing Delilah knew the girl was curled up on the yellowed tile, screaming bloody murder, arm bent the wrong way.

Click.

“And on to middle school the pattern continues. Ah, and we can see the other kids are learning to fight back. Did this fight get you expelled? Or just suspended? I can’t seem to remember.”

She was older now. Same short hair hugging the underside of her jaw. Mom’s hand reached around from behind the camera, cupping the mottled purple and yellow bruises on her cheek. A false gesture. Never as tender as it looked. 

She wanted to close her eyes. Didn’t want to relive the memories these pictures were digging up. But in a way she was fascinated. Couldn’t remember which fight those bruises were from. Not the school. Not the reason behind the violence. 

“Then high school. I know high school can be rough. All the hormones and that teenage angst. But did you have to take it out on him? He wound up in the hospital with a damaged windpipe. Missed football practice for three weeks.”

Click.

Not a picture of her this time. Just her foster dad holding up a newspaper clipping - Bronco High’s Football Team Goes to State. His smile was so smug. So proud. She could remember him going to every game. Rooting for that team like he had a son out there on the field. Probably cause he couldn’t stand sitting at home with Mom and the fucked up kid she brought under their roof.

Then, out of morbid curiosity, she glanced at one of the boys kneeling on the front page, features grainy, indistinct. She remembered bits and pieces. Running into him in a back alley after a school dance. They were both snatching whiskey from one of the college kids lurking in the parking lot.

“And as these occurrences build layer upon layer over time, you know, I can’t help but wonder what that did to you. How that rage-” he clenched his fist- “must have hardened and refined itself over the years. Crushed by this pressure - this burning need - to make everyone pay for crossing paths with you.”

Click.  

Mugshots. A dozen or so of them shrunk down and lined up in nice neat rows so they could all fit on one page. Various Delilahs scowled at her, bruised, bleeding. They made her nauseous. She turned away at last.

“I didn’t start any of those fights,” she insisted. “I wasn’t the one looking for trouble.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” A cruel laugh echoed off blood stained walls. “Because all of this suggests you have an uncanny ability to find yourself in the same predicament over and over. Anyone around you can see it clear as day. Myself. Your mother. Joseph. Even Whitehorse.”

She stiffened.