That My Two Arms Could Give Me Wing (4/4)
Waking up in an empty bed brings all the memories from last night rushing back. John's reminded of the terrible blowup they had before Q-Tip left the 'ville, and it's clear that things are pretty fucking bad between them now. On top of it, he kicked Q-Tip out of his own damn room, and that's not going to earn him any points.
Nothing like feeling terrible to jump-start your morning, right?
He has to throw on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday and take a swig of water to dull the sour taste in his mouth, and then he sets off in search of the man himself. It doesn't take long. He finds Q-Tip asleep in the tiny, cramped common room, and instantly feels even worse.
When Q-Tip is hungry, he gets snappy, and he'll probably be angry and tired when he wakes up. John gets to the kitchen just as breakfast is opening up and convinces Rudy to let him take a breakfast (muffins, fruit salad, and juice) in a container to go. It's what John presents when he wakes Q-Tip up, and it softens the look on Q-Tip's face just a bit.
"I can't believe I kicked you out of your own room last night. I am so sorry," John says.
"Yeah, that was kinda an asshole thing to do. This couch isn't as comfortable as you might think, either." Q-Tip rubs at the back of his neck, which makes John feel bad when when he wonders, just for a second, if the move is real or to guilt him. "Breakfast would go a long way in helping your case, though."
"Right, of course," John says, handing over the plastic and bottle. "Can we talk about what you were telling me last night, maybe? I didn't listen as well as I probably could have." Q-Tip nods from around a mouthful of berries, so John takes that as his cue to start. "I think you're still adjusting to being here, and it's not everything you expected, so you want to be somewhere else."
"That's fair," Q-Tip admits. "Lilley told me all this stuff, and then I got here, and it's passive resistance or whatever. Boring."
"Have you talked to the LT about how you feel?" John asks. Q-Tip shakes his head. "Have you talked to anyone besides me about it?" Another negative. "Okay, I don't think you really want the hassle of having to find another community. And leaving just sticks you right out there in the open to be brought back to the city and reeducated."
Q-Tip makes a horrible face, curling his lip and accidentally letting a piece of muffin fall out of his mouth.
"Right," John continues. "I might still be the new guy, but you haven't been here that long, either. Can you promise to stay another month? If you want to spend the whole time planning what you'll do when you leave, that's fine. Just...stay?"
For once, he's leading the situation, and it feels weird. Good weird. Q-Tip chews.
"'Cause you guilted me into it," he says with that sarcastic smile John's come to love. "You know, my neck really hurts from sleeping here last night. You might wanna fix that."
*
Attempting to hide what they're doing is useless, given the close quarters. Brad's the first to notice it, and Nate's the first to acknowledge it. People seem happy for them, especially with how long the whole thing took.
The rule about not starting conflicts is always present in John's head, because his relationship and Kenton are both bigger than each other and he's not going to let one ruin the other. But he's not sure where the line marking him and Q-Tip becoming an issue is.
With any luck, their two big fights will be the only ones they have for some time, and they can relax, because John really loves it: stealing food from each other's plates at breakfast, bumping hips as they work if they're lucky enough to have the same shift in the same place, curling up together during rest hour, their bodies close but barely touching as they drift off to sleep.
A lot of times it's kind of like how it was before, only they'll get a little closer during a pickup basketball game, or John will distract Q-Tip from his sketching with a hand on his thigh, and at the end of the day, they squeeze into one of their beds and get each other off. Plus, they're already used to each other's habits and quirks, so there are no unpleasant surprises. He's basically dating his best friend, and it's sick.
Nothing's ever so perfect, though. Q-Tip spends a ton of time researching other communities like theirs, as John's allowing, and his desire to leave doesn't seem to be fading. He doesn't ever mention John when talking about options. It becomes a point of contention, especially when all John wants to do after a long day is relax, and this only makes his insecurities about being younger and inexperienced (not good enough) worse. Except he's learning that's what relationships are: a constant push-and-pull. It's not just sex and hanging out together; it's work, and John puts the time and effort into things that are important to him.
*
Maybe two weeks into Q-Tip's probationary period, so to speak, everything between them gets calm. Q-Tip stops talking about leaving at all, and they really seem to be working well as a unit, not two people half-trying to coexist. John wonders if maybe it's the eye of the storm, then decides he doesn't care.
He's doing minor repairs on the grounds, which is fine. Anything that leaves him with enough energy at night is fine. Changing out old doorknobs, his current task, gets this weird black grease all over his hands, but he tries not to complain about anything.
Out of nowhere, there are three electronic-sounding beeps, and then a slightly muffled version of Nate's voice over some kind of mass comm system John had no idea was even out here.
"There will be a company meeting at 0200," he says. "Attendance is mandatory. There will be a company meeting at 0200 in the common area of the main building. Work schedules will be shifted accordingly tomorrow."
John looks up at the sun. Whatever it is must be important, because he's never heard an announcement on the system except for about mealtimes. He guesses it's around one in the afternoon. More alarmingly, Pappy either doesn't know what's going on or won't say; he may be quiet, but he's a fucking infinite source of knowledge.
Lunch is almost silent, tense. People are worried without knowing the cause; no one wants to eat much, except Rudy doesn't allow food to go to waste. John chokes down his meal, the food making his throat dry and painful.
It's back to work after an hour or so, which is a wash. John can't focus, and when he sees Stiney come out of the fields, set his sickle in the storage box, and head toward the main building, he follows. Though it's not yet time for the meeting, there are at least a dozen people settled on the couch and in chairs, or too nervous to sit.
John picks at the calluses his hands have developed since he got here, for lack of anything better to do. Today, he knows, Q-Tip is on guard duty, so he probably won't show up until the last minute.
Nate comes in right on the hour, Q-Tip flushed and out of breath behind him, trying to find a seat without being too much of a distraction. John glances over at him, then faces forward when Nate clears his throat.
"Thank you all for coming on time," he says with a curt nod, "and thanks and apologies to Gunny, who'll be the one rejiggering the schedule. What I'm about to say isn't meant to alarm anyone, though it most likely will. We want you to be informed as to what's going on, so…" he pauses, giving an unsure little shake of his head. "There are new regs about defectors, and 'harmless' doesn't mean what it used to. We should expect a raid."
The room goes from silent to deafeningly loud in a matter of seconds. People are yelling. Gunny's baby gets scared and starts wailing. John can't make out any words or conversation; everything runs together. Then the panic kicks in for him, too. As a recent runaway, he's basically fucked.
"If everyone could just settle down," Nate says. "I know, I know, but fear isn't helping the situation. We've known that something like this would happen eventually. Godfather's been tracking us for almost ten months. Now, apparently, we're a bigger threat than we used to be."
"That rich fuck," someone interjects. There's general agreement from the group, and John remembers that Godfather's the code name for the head of the Special Ops. "We haven't done anything differently."
"Doesn't matter to them," Pappy offers.
"What matters is that we got the intel in advance," Gunny reminds everyone. "They could come in three days or in a month, but we sure as shit can get ready to fight them. And we'll be comin' up with a revised evacuation plan, failing that."
"Now more than ever is the time to be calm," Brad puts in. "Do you know what their main advantage is? Intimidation. They control people who practically shit themselves at the idea of meeting them. And we might not have all their high-tech equipment, but they'll be coming to us. That really does give us the upper hand, but that doesn't mean we can walk into this shitstorm blind and expect to come out unscathed."
"A strategy's being devised," Leila assures them. "Caroline's taking ideas. We should have something within the next few days."
"What if it happens before then?" Spots of pink appear on Nate's cheeks.
"We're working as fast as we can. If there's an immediate strike, we'll make sure everyone has directions regarding the emergency escape tunnel," he says, face paling out. "In the meantime, everyone's daily routine is going to change a bit. Rudy and Brad will be implementing a physical training program, and those doing non-essential tasks will help with strengthening our security."
"I'm sure everyone is anxious about this. I am too," Nate continues. "We're reaching out to some friends to see about alternate living spaces, and we have a contact on the inside trying to find out more information and possible consequences. You shouldn't be concerned with anything else, though Gunny and I are happy to speak to anyone with questions individually. We're going to cancel the rest of the day so families can discuss this more privately. Thanks."
Some people leave immediately, in anger or fear or something in between, and others hang back. John pushes his way across the room to Q-Tip, grabbing his arm so they stay connected in the disorder.
"Fuck," John says. Q-Tip, whose face went unusually pale who knows how long ago, scrubs a shaky hand over his hair as some kind of acknowledgement. "Do you want to go back to your room?" he asks, and Q-Tip lets John carry some of his weight all the way back.
They have sex. It's desperate, like touching a raw nerve. Q-Tip cries out the first time John pushes into him-the only noise he makes. His eyes stay closed. John probably comes too fast.
After, they don't talk about it, though John knows Q-Tip must be a mess inside, worried that his record will screw him over if they're raided.
*
Days pass with everyone on edge, the alert high. Something could happen at any minute. It definitely affects work, meals, rec time. His relationship, despite their best efforts, is suffering. Watching an old movie on one of the media players will devolve into arguing; a game of pickup basketball will end when someone gets bored. There's no concrete thing to pin it on; all he knows is that if things don't work out, it won't be because he didn't care or try. Maybe they're just cursed with shitty timing, destined for a better go in another life, or maybe they were shoved together by circumstance and aren't meant to work out in reality.
"John," Leila says, and his eyes refocus, remembering he's not on his own time. "Are you all right?" He nods, handing her the two-by-four she must've asked for several times. He probably isn't, really, but now isn't the time. They have to prepare.
Even in the middle of all the craziness, Nate calls John in for another meeting. It's supposed to be a second heart-to-heart about Q-Tip, which it is, while doubling as an enhanced PT session. John nods and agrees where he thinks he's supposed to. Nate does have good advice. He just can't imagine the situation improving until the threat level goes down.
The constant threat of attack isn't helping anyone. It's a psychological mindfuck. They could be raided tomorrow, or in a few months, or a year. It might not happen at all. There's only so much they can do to get ready.
*
Slowly, though, Q-Tip starts to open back up. John has no idea if it's the threat of impending doom, or just him growing up, but it's a welcome (if gradual) change. Q-TIp will lightly touch John's back or hip in passing, and he's more chatty. One rainy day at lunch, he opens up a lot more and explains his fear of getting caught, what he'd do if he left, some stuff about his past. John feels a lot more connected, like he actually deserves to know what's going on. No one's looking at them, so he leans in, touching Q-Tip's jaw, and kisses him, soft and restrained.
There's a loud yell for the LT that breaks the moment. Like everyone else, they both look at Rudy, who's quickly moving from the back window to Gunny Wynn. Rudy whispers something to him, and Gunny's face instantly goes stern and serious.
"Don't lose it," he says loud enough for everyone to hear, "but they're here. You can stay and fight, or you can try Green Falls, about seventy klicks south of us. No one's judging you for either. If you're going, go now."
Before John can even take a breath, Q-Tip tugs him out one of the side doors by his wrist. It's bad already. People are coming in from the fields to see what's going on, and there seem to be more people outside than all of the residents combined. And that's just on the ground.
Copters are descending from everywhere, somehow, and not just the regular City Patrol ones-they're sleek and black, unmarked. Specials.
There are really loud alarms blaring and so much noise, maybe more than he's ever heard before, and he thinks someone's screaming. Inside is slightly quieter, even with Q-Tip tearing drawers out of dressers, rifling through clothes and papers, filling a durable canvas pack with items.
"Don't just stand there," he says with a look that screams are you an idiot? "Take this and get your shit." He tosses a bag identical to his own at John. "Meet me at the main common room in a few."
John has no idea what to pack for, but he throws clothes and shoes and toiletries into the bag, hoping he'll be weather-appropriate. It's not difficult, considering he didn't bring anything very personal in the first place, and he sneaks from his room through the garden and to the main building, hoping not being in plain sight will keep him from getting caught.
Not surprisingly, Q-Tip is there already. He's talking to Manimal, who seems to be staying to fight, and they half-hug before Q-Tip steps away and towards John. John gets that there's no time for real goodbyes, but that doesn't make leaving easier.
They walk outside and into chaos. Again. More screaming, so many more Specials, and kids everywhere. Brad's arms and torso are being held back by one sleekly-dressed man, and he's kicking another; John definitely sees spray air contaminants and blinding powder. He's overcome with the urge to stay and help fight off the Specials, even as he knows there's no way his friends are equipped to win this battle.
A hand closes around John's wrist, and he has a moment of panic before looking up and realizing it's Nate's hand. He looks, for the first time ever, lost; he seems much younger now.
"Go!" he yells. John can barely hear him. "Now. If you don't, they'll take you. Find somewhere completely off grid. I'm going to try to get in touch with everyone after this is over, and Brad too, if…" he glances away. "Go, John. And try not to fuck things with Q-Tip up too much." John has to smile at that. They start running, and Q-Tip manages to tell John he's got an emergency pack with stuff to keep them alive for a little bit. He looks scared, which only makes the bottom of John's stomach drop out-and not in the good way. When John turns to see if anyone's coming after them, his part of the housing complex goes up in flames.
*
Over three hours pass before Q-Tip declares them safely out of the kill zone. He's winded, and John wonders if that's the reason they hadn't spoken since leaving Kenton or if the gravity of the situation did that.
"I don't know if you're doing some kind of 'the less I know, the better' thing," John pants, "could you maybe enlighten me as to your plan?"
"We're going to the mountains," Q-Tip tells John. "Past them, maybe. Somewhere away from here."
He listens, because he's always listened to Q-Tip. It happens eventually, and John would have no idea where to go if he were on his own.
What he doesn't say is: won't it be getting cold soon?
What he doesn't say is: neither of us have any idea what the fuck we're doing and clearly too much togetherness is bad for us and it's not like we have directions this time.
He just says, "As far away as possible."
John doesn't think Q-Tip wants him to say anything, so he doesn't. He doesn't really feel like talking, anyway. The emergency pack Q-Tip is making him carry, filled with purification tablets and healing strips, heavier gear for winter and some rations, cuts angrily into his shoulders. It could be a lot worse-like, they could have been killed by Specials or they could've been captured and "interrogated"-which is why he's not saying a word about the pain.
It gets dark, and then cold, and they agree it's time to stop for the night. For warmth and convenience, Q-Tip unzips a sleeping bag so it's big enough for both of them, re-zipping it up as much as it'll go, to keep extra warm. His feet are freezing; he tucks them under John's calves and doesn't let him move.
The surrounding area is quiet, and John falls asleep quickly, hearing only the rustle of leaves and Q-Tip's breath in his ear as he drifts off.
*
Eating, as it was when John was on his journey away from the 'ville, is a luxury that has to be rationed. He's better at it than Q-Tip is, and therefore carries it. The trick is to hold off until you're hungry and eat just at the edge of when the stomach pain makes walking more difficult. The rations are bland, practically tasteless, but they're enough calories to get them through the day.
Q-Tip gives John directions, though he still hasn't said where they're going. He doesn't seem to know the route as well as it first seemed, but a warning about the bumps in the road would've been nice. There's a plunge into the freezing cold ocean; the unregulated temperatures; the spooky ghost town they stumble upon about a mile into one night's journey.
John pulls out a flashlight, only to find that the town's completely fucking abandoned.
"Creepy," he says, shivering. Something about it just makes him feel cold.
It doesn't look like anyone's lived here in years. Many of the buildings are at least partially destroyed; some of them are just outlines of what used to be. There's no sound anywhere. No signs of life. Not even a fucking blade of grass.
On the outskirts, there's a broken-down merry-go-round, a kids' swing. The only thing that's missing are the actual kids. John can't shake the feeling that something really, really terrible happened here.
Almost everything's been wiped clean in the past few centuries-for a 'fresh start,' supposedly-but it looks like a few places were skipped over. John wonders if this happened everywhere, if it was the reason for the globe wipe.
"Let's bounce," he says to Q-Tip, who nods, grabbing their packs and hauling ass. Neither one of them says anything until the next day, the town klicks and klicks to their back; even then, it's stilted until John digs out a half-crushed tube of hard candy from the bottom of his pack and shakes some of the pieces into Q-Tip's hand.
That night, John goes down on Q-Tip for the first time. At first he thinks it's because he feels like he has to, but in the middle of struggling to kiss Q-Tip and get his pants down at the same time, he realizes no, he really wants to do this. It doesn't feel like returning a favor in the least. That's enough to make up for the sour taste that lingers in his mouth until he allows himself some water, hours later.
*
As the mountains get closer, the temperature continues to drop. Q-Tip breaks out the thermal jacket he stashed, and they switch off wearing it. The sky's still fucking bright, though, and John's nose turns pink and then red before the skin starts to peel off. Q-Tip laughs at him for it, but until it's healed, he kisses the area carefully and uses what little healing cream they have on it before bed.
Having complete freedom and no responsibilities (besides carrying his pack and keeping up his pace) is great. They wake up when the sun shines across their faces, and go to bed when the sky is full of stars. John decides when they eat, and cleanliness isn't important. They do wash if there's a river available, though. No one's there to interrupt them if kissing gets a little handsy, which is possibly the best part.
Except it can't last forever. John's conscious of their dwindling rations, the way his stomach rebels when the berry bushes disappear from the cold. Living on the move forever isn't an option. Q-Tip must know this; John doesn't tell him. They just walk. Their feet have built up calluses, though sometimes it still hurts. It's the reason why, one day, they're exhausted enough to crash before dark and completely forget about covering their tracks or even sleeping behind a tree.
When they're startled awake by searchlights, John's brain only takes a second to figure it out. Specials are after them, and are dangerously close to finding them this second. He gets to his feet fast, going for the small cluster of sickly-looking trees to buy them some time.
There are definitely people in the not-so-far-off distance who're getting closer by the minute. John swears he sees the light brush over Q-Tip's neck, but then it darts away from them, illuminating foliage and dirt, though not their bodies. It's just momentary relief-the copter's still up there and the agents are gaining on them.
They're both frantically looking around the area, but John's the one who sees it first: a red-painted wood building, too large to be a house, and in really shitty shape. No one would think to look there for anything.
It's their best shot, and only about four hundred yards away. Though it's a pretty easy sprint straight ahead, it'd put them right out in the open, vulnerable to the agents who're after them.
He hesitates, and Q-Tip drags him, pulling faster than John's ready for. Neither of them get shot or even tagged; they collapse just inside the front door, and by some miracle, it's quiet outside.
"Too fucking close," Q-Tip huffs, trying to catch his breath. "Whatever the fuck that was...I don't know if they're after anyone else, but we gotta make sure it doesn't happen again."
"So we'll head west tomorrow, or something," John suggests. "Probably best if we stay here for the rest of the day. And tonight. Keep them off our track."
"Definitely," Q-Tip agrees. "Hey, let's see what the fuck's even in this place!"
The cabin has lukewarm running water that works long enough for them to shower (together, because they didn't want to chance it running out), jars of preserved fruit and long strips of smoked meat. It's a little depressing that it's the best they've eaten in at least a week, but it's pretty decent food.
After a nap in the giant bed, John leaves Q-Tip drooling on the pillow, pulls on his clothes, and goes to see if there's anything interesting on the second floor. Yellowed, torn photographs line the stairwell, and John pauses to look at them, running his fingers over wistful-looking faces and rolling landscapes.
There are a couple kids' bedrooms down one hallway, long abandoned and covered with dust. Everything looks much smaller compared to what he remembers about his own childhood bedroom. All the attic really has is some broken furniture and what look like old appliances, so after stopping in the upstairs bedroom to see if there's anything interesting to read (nope) he goes downstairs, finding Q-Tip up and alert.
"Hey," he says, licking his lips, and though they do stuff almost every night, the signal it sends to John's brain makes it feel like it's been weeks. He lets Q-Tip pull him down by the belt loops in his pants-it's a clean, comfortable, king-sized bed, after all, so why let it go to waste?
*
When they head out again after a good night's sleep, it's on sort of a diagonal away from the mountains. John will be glad if the temperature rises, and Q-Tip claims it's not a hard trip, mostly over flat territory. He's still kind of shaken from what happened the other day, and judging by the way Q-Tip leads them through wooded areas and away from open ones, he is too.
It also served as a reminder that they can't do this forever. Sure, John loves being in nature, especially after years surrounded by metallic, industrial buildings. He and Q-Tip are finally bonding how he wanted.
Eventually, though, there'll come a point when they can't keep this up: wandering through the wilderness, eating berries and food that's made to last years, sleeping in caves and behind trees. Their supplies aren't limitless, and without the supplies to purify water, they're at risk for all kinds of horrible diseases.
Wary of stressing things between them yet again, John holds off on mentioning this until the right moment. That happens to be after lunch when day, when Q-Tip's relaxed and slightly sleepy, the sun shining down on them.
"Most of the other communities, the ones like Kenton, aren't really taking in new people right now. Because of what happened. So we can't really do what I was plannin' on," Q-Tip says, avoiding John's eyes.
"So what does that mean?"
"It means we'll just make our own place to be. The LT told me before we left about some abandoned property that sounds like it might work. We could get there in a few days, maybe more." John sighs quietly, because Q-Tip's lack of foresight and planning seem to crop up at the worst possible times. Might doesn't always pan out. Without an exact location, or a map, they're liable to walk straight into a reeducation facility or something.
"Well, might is better than definitely won't," John says. If nothing else, a change of location could mean warmer weather and more food from the wild. "Which way?"
Master Post
Nothing like feeling terrible to jump-start your morning, right?
He has to throw on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday and take a swig of water to dull the sour taste in his mouth, and then he sets off in search of the man himself. It doesn't take long. He finds Q-Tip asleep in the tiny, cramped common room, and instantly feels even worse.
When Q-Tip is hungry, he gets snappy, and he'll probably be angry and tired when he wakes up. John gets to the kitchen just as breakfast is opening up and convinces Rudy to let him take a breakfast (muffins, fruit salad, and juice) in a container to go. It's what John presents when he wakes Q-Tip up, and it softens the look on Q-Tip's face just a bit.
"I can't believe I kicked you out of your own room last night. I am so sorry," John says.
"Yeah, that was kinda an asshole thing to do. This couch isn't as comfortable as you might think, either." Q-Tip rubs at the back of his neck, which makes John feel bad when when he wonders, just for a second, if the move is real or to guilt him. "Breakfast would go a long way in helping your case, though."
"Right, of course," John says, handing over the plastic and bottle. "Can we talk about what you were telling me last night, maybe? I didn't listen as well as I probably could have." Q-Tip nods from around a mouthful of berries, so John takes that as his cue to start. "I think you're still adjusting to being here, and it's not everything you expected, so you want to be somewhere else."
"That's fair," Q-Tip admits. "Lilley told me all this stuff, and then I got here, and it's passive resistance or whatever. Boring."
"Have you talked to the LT about how you feel?" John asks. Q-Tip shakes his head. "Have you talked to anyone besides me about it?" Another negative. "Okay, I don't think you really want the hassle of having to find another community. And leaving just sticks you right out there in the open to be brought back to the city and reeducated."
Q-Tip makes a horrible face, curling his lip and accidentally letting a piece of muffin fall out of his mouth.
"Right," John continues. "I might still be the new guy, but you haven't been here that long, either. Can you promise to stay another month? If you want to spend the whole time planning what you'll do when you leave, that's fine. Just...stay?"
For once, he's leading the situation, and it feels weird. Good weird. Q-Tip chews.
"'Cause you guilted me into it," he says with that sarcastic smile John's come to love. "You know, my neck really hurts from sleeping here last night. You might wanna fix that."
*
Attempting to hide what they're doing is useless, given the close quarters. Brad's the first to notice it, and Nate's the first to acknowledge it. People seem happy for them, especially with how long the whole thing took.
The rule about not starting conflicts is always present in John's head, because his relationship and Kenton are both bigger than each other and he's not going to let one ruin the other. But he's not sure where the line marking him and Q-Tip becoming an issue is.
With any luck, their two big fights will be the only ones they have for some time, and they can relax, because John really loves it: stealing food from each other's plates at breakfast, bumping hips as they work if they're lucky enough to have the same shift in the same place, curling up together during rest hour, their bodies close but barely touching as they drift off to sleep.
A lot of times it's kind of like how it was before, only they'll get a little closer during a pickup basketball game, or John will distract Q-Tip from his sketching with a hand on his thigh, and at the end of the day, they squeeze into one of their beds and get each other off. Plus, they're already used to each other's habits and quirks, so there are no unpleasant surprises. He's basically dating his best friend, and it's sick.
Nothing's ever so perfect, though. Q-Tip spends a ton of time researching other communities like theirs, as John's allowing, and his desire to leave doesn't seem to be fading. He doesn't ever mention John when talking about options. It becomes a point of contention, especially when all John wants to do after a long day is relax, and this only makes his insecurities about being younger and inexperienced (not good enough) worse. Except he's learning that's what relationships are: a constant push-and-pull. It's not just sex and hanging out together; it's work, and John puts the time and effort into things that are important to him.
*
Maybe two weeks into Q-Tip's probationary period, so to speak, everything between them gets calm. Q-Tip stops talking about leaving at all, and they really seem to be working well as a unit, not two people half-trying to coexist. John wonders if maybe it's the eye of the storm, then decides he doesn't care.
He's doing minor repairs on the grounds, which is fine. Anything that leaves him with enough energy at night is fine. Changing out old doorknobs, his current task, gets this weird black grease all over his hands, but he tries not to complain about anything.
Out of nowhere, there are three electronic-sounding beeps, and then a slightly muffled version of Nate's voice over some kind of mass comm system John had no idea was even out here.
"There will be a company meeting at 0200," he says. "Attendance is mandatory. There will be a company meeting at 0200 in the common area of the main building. Work schedules will be shifted accordingly tomorrow."
John looks up at the sun. Whatever it is must be important, because he's never heard an announcement on the system except for about mealtimes. He guesses it's around one in the afternoon. More alarmingly, Pappy either doesn't know what's going on or won't say; he may be quiet, but he's a fucking infinite source of knowledge.
Lunch is almost silent, tense. People are worried without knowing the cause; no one wants to eat much, except Rudy doesn't allow food to go to waste. John chokes down his meal, the food making his throat dry and painful.
It's back to work after an hour or so, which is a wash. John can't focus, and when he sees Stiney come out of the fields, set his sickle in the storage box, and head toward the main building, he follows. Though it's not yet time for the meeting, there are at least a dozen people settled on the couch and in chairs, or too nervous to sit.
John picks at the calluses his hands have developed since he got here, for lack of anything better to do. Today, he knows, Q-Tip is on guard duty, so he probably won't show up until the last minute.
Nate comes in right on the hour, Q-Tip flushed and out of breath behind him, trying to find a seat without being too much of a distraction. John glances over at him, then faces forward when Nate clears his throat.
"Thank you all for coming on time," he says with a curt nod, "and thanks and apologies to Gunny, who'll be the one rejiggering the schedule. What I'm about to say isn't meant to alarm anyone, though it most likely will. We want you to be informed as to what's going on, so…" he pauses, giving an unsure little shake of his head. "There are new regs about defectors, and 'harmless' doesn't mean what it used to. We should expect a raid."
The room goes from silent to deafeningly loud in a matter of seconds. People are yelling. Gunny's baby gets scared and starts wailing. John can't make out any words or conversation; everything runs together. Then the panic kicks in for him, too. As a recent runaway, he's basically fucked.
"If everyone could just settle down," Nate says. "I know, I know, but fear isn't helping the situation. We've known that something like this would happen eventually. Godfather's been tracking us for almost ten months. Now, apparently, we're a bigger threat than we used to be."
"That rich fuck," someone interjects. There's general agreement from the group, and John remembers that Godfather's the code name for the head of the Special Ops. "We haven't done anything differently."
"Doesn't matter to them," Pappy offers.
"What matters is that we got the intel in advance," Gunny reminds everyone. "They could come in three days or in a month, but we sure as shit can get ready to fight them. And we'll be comin' up with a revised evacuation plan, failing that."
"Now more than ever is the time to be calm," Brad puts in. "Do you know what their main advantage is? Intimidation. They control people who practically shit themselves at the idea of meeting them. And we might not have all their high-tech equipment, but they'll be coming to us. That really does give us the upper hand, but that doesn't mean we can walk into this shitstorm blind and expect to come out unscathed."
"A strategy's being devised," Leila assures them. "Caroline's taking ideas. We should have something within the next few days."
"What if it happens before then?" Spots of pink appear on Nate's cheeks.
"We're working as fast as we can. If there's an immediate strike, we'll make sure everyone has directions regarding the emergency escape tunnel," he says, face paling out. "In the meantime, everyone's daily routine is going to change a bit. Rudy and Brad will be implementing a physical training program, and those doing non-essential tasks will help with strengthening our security."
"I'm sure everyone is anxious about this. I am too," Nate continues. "We're reaching out to some friends to see about alternate living spaces, and we have a contact on the inside trying to find out more information and possible consequences. You shouldn't be concerned with anything else, though Gunny and I are happy to speak to anyone with questions individually. We're going to cancel the rest of the day so families can discuss this more privately. Thanks."
Some people leave immediately, in anger or fear or something in between, and others hang back. John pushes his way across the room to Q-Tip, grabbing his arm so they stay connected in the disorder.
"Fuck," John says. Q-Tip, whose face went unusually pale who knows how long ago, scrubs a shaky hand over his hair as some kind of acknowledgement. "Do you want to go back to your room?" he asks, and Q-Tip lets John carry some of his weight all the way back.
They have sex. It's desperate, like touching a raw nerve. Q-Tip cries out the first time John pushes into him-the only noise he makes. His eyes stay closed. John probably comes too fast.
After, they don't talk about it, though John knows Q-Tip must be a mess inside, worried that his record will screw him over if they're raided.
*
Days pass with everyone on edge, the alert high. Something could happen at any minute. It definitely affects work, meals, rec time. His relationship, despite their best efforts, is suffering. Watching an old movie on one of the media players will devolve into arguing; a game of pickup basketball will end when someone gets bored. There's no concrete thing to pin it on; all he knows is that if things don't work out, it won't be because he didn't care or try. Maybe they're just cursed with shitty timing, destined for a better go in another life, or maybe they were shoved together by circumstance and aren't meant to work out in reality.
"John," Leila says, and his eyes refocus, remembering he's not on his own time. "Are you all right?" He nods, handing her the two-by-four she must've asked for several times. He probably isn't, really, but now isn't the time. They have to prepare.
Even in the middle of all the craziness, Nate calls John in for another meeting. It's supposed to be a second heart-to-heart about Q-Tip, which it is, while doubling as an enhanced PT session. John nods and agrees where he thinks he's supposed to. Nate does have good advice. He just can't imagine the situation improving until the threat level goes down.
The constant threat of attack isn't helping anyone. It's a psychological mindfuck. They could be raided tomorrow, or in a few months, or a year. It might not happen at all. There's only so much they can do to get ready.
*
Slowly, though, Q-Tip starts to open back up. John has no idea if it's the threat of impending doom, or just him growing up, but it's a welcome (if gradual) change. Q-TIp will lightly touch John's back or hip in passing, and he's more chatty. One rainy day at lunch, he opens up a lot more and explains his fear of getting caught, what he'd do if he left, some stuff about his past. John feels a lot more connected, like he actually deserves to know what's going on. No one's looking at them, so he leans in, touching Q-Tip's jaw, and kisses him, soft and restrained.
There's a loud yell for the LT that breaks the moment. Like everyone else, they both look at Rudy, who's quickly moving from the back window to Gunny Wynn. Rudy whispers something to him, and Gunny's face instantly goes stern and serious.
"Don't lose it," he says loud enough for everyone to hear, "but they're here. You can stay and fight, or you can try Green Falls, about seventy klicks south of us. No one's judging you for either. If you're going, go now."
Before John can even take a breath, Q-Tip tugs him out one of the side doors by his wrist. It's bad already. People are coming in from the fields to see what's going on, and there seem to be more people outside than all of the residents combined. And that's just on the ground.
Copters are descending from everywhere, somehow, and not just the regular City Patrol ones-they're sleek and black, unmarked. Specials.
There are really loud alarms blaring and so much noise, maybe more than he's ever heard before, and he thinks someone's screaming. Inside is slightly quieter, even with Q-Tip tearing drawers out of dressers, rifling through clothes and papers, filling a durable canvas pack with items.
"Don't just stand there," he says with a look that screams are you an idiot? "Take this and get your shit." He tosses a bag identical to his own at John. "Meet me at the main common room in a few."
John has no idea what to pack for, but he throws clothes and shoes and toiletries into the bag, hoping he'll be weather-appropriate. It's not difficult, considering he didn't bring anything very personal in the first place, and he sneaks from his room through the garden and to the main building, hoping not being in plain sight will keep him from getting caught.
Not surprisingly, Q-Tip is there already. He's talking to Manimal, who seems to be staying to fight, and they half-hug before Q-Tip steps away and towards John. John gets that there's no time for real goodbyes, but that doesn't make leaving easier.
They walk outside and into chaos. Again. More screaming, so many more Specials, and kids everywhere. Brad's arms and torso are being held back by one sleekly-dressed man, and he's kicking another; John definitely sees spray air contaminants and blinding powder. He's overcome with the urge to stay and help fight off the Specials, even as he knows there's no way his friends are equipped to win this battle.
A hand closes around John's wrist, and he has a moment of panic before looking up and realizing it's Nate's hand. He looks, for the first time ever, lost; he seems much younger now.
"Go!" he yells. John can barely hear him. "Now. If you don't, they'll take you. Find somewhere completely off grid. I'm going to try to get in touch with everyone after this is over, and Brad too, if…" he glances away. "Go, John. And try not to fuck things with Q-Tip up too much." John has to smile at that. They start running, and Q-Tip manages to tell John he's got an emergency pack with stuff to keep them alive for a little bit. He looks scared, which only makes the bottom of John's stomach drop out-and not in the good way. When John turns to see if anyone's coming after them, his part of the housing complex goes up in flames.
*
Over three hours pass before Q-Tip declares them safely out of the kill zone. He's winded, and John wonders if that's the reason they hadn't spoken since leaving Kenton or if the gravity of the situation did that.
"I don't know if you're doing some kind of 'the less I know, the better' thing," John pants, "could you maybe enlighten me as to your plan?"
"We're going to the mountains," Q-Tip tells John. "Past them, maybe. Somewhere away from here."
He listens, because he's always listened to Q-Tip. It happens eventually, and John would have no idea where to go if he were on his own.
What he doesn't say is: won't it be getting cold soon?
What he doesn't say is: neither of us have any idea what the fuck we're doing and clearly too much togetherness is bad for us and it's not like we have directions this time.
He just says, "As far away as possible."
John doesn't think Q-Tip wants him to say anything, so he doesn't. He doesn't really feel like talking, anyway. The emergency pack Q-Tip is making him carry, filled with purification tablets and healing strips, heavier gear for winter and some rations, cuts angrily into his shoulders. It could be a lot worse-like, they could have been killed by Specials or they could've been captured and "interrogated"-which is why he's not saying a word about the pain.
It gets dark, and then cold, and they agree it's time to stop for the night. For warmth and convenience, Q-Tip unzips a sleeping bag so it's big enough for both of them, re-zipping it up as much as it'll go, to keep extra warm. His feet are freezing; he tucks them under John's calves and doesn't let him move.
The surrounding area is quiet, and John falls asleep quickly, hearing only the rustle of leaves and Q-Tip's breath in his ear as he drifts off.
*
Eating, as it was when John was on his journey away from the 'ville, is a luxury that has to be rationed. He's better at it than Q-Tip is, and therefore carries it. The trick is to hold off until you're hungry and eat just at the edge of when the stomach pain makes walking more difficult. The rations are bland, practically tasteless, but they're enough calories to get them through the day.
Q-Tip gives John directions, though he still hasn't said where they're going. He doesn't seem to know the route as well as it first seemed, but a warning about the bumps in the road would've been nice. There's a plunge into the freezing cold ocean; the unregulated temperatures; the spooky ghost town they stumble upon about a mile into one night's journey.
John pulls out a flashlight, only to find that the town's completely fucking abandoned.
"Creepy," he says, shivering. Something about it just makes him feel cold.
It doesn't look like anyone's lived here in years. Many of the buildings are at least partially destroyed; some of them are just outlines of what used to be. There's no sound anywhere. No signs of life. Not even a fucking blade of grass.
On the outskirts, there's a broken-down merry-go-round, a kids' swing. The only thing that's missing are the actual kids. John can't shake the feeling that something really, really terrible happened here.
Almost everything's been wiped clean in the past few centuries-for a 'fresh start,' supposedly-but it looks like a few places were skipped over. John wonders if this happened everywhere, if it was the reason for the globe wipe.
"Let's bounce," he says to Q-Tip, who nods, grabbing their packs and hauling ass. Neither one of them says anything until the next day, the town klicks and klicks to their back; even then, it's stilted until John digs out a half-crushed tube of hard candy from the bottom of his pack and shakes some of the pieces into Q-Tip's hand.
That night, John goes down on Q-Tip for the first time. At first he thinks it's because he feels like he has to, but in the middle of struggling to kiss Q-Tip and get his pants down at the same time, he realizes no, he really wants to do this. It doesn't feel like returning a favor in the least. That's enough to make up for the sour taste that lingers in his mouth until he allows himself some water, hours later.
*
As the mountains get closer, the temperature continues to drop. Q-Tip breaks out the thermal jacket he stashed, and they switch off wearing it. The sky's still fucking bright, though, and John's nose turns pink and then red before the skin starts to peel off. Q-Tip laughs at him for it, but until it's healed, he kisses the area carefully and uses what little healing cream they have on it before bed.
Having complete freedom and no responsibilities (besides carrying his pack and keeping up his pace) is great. They wake up when the sun shines across their faces, and go to bed when the sky is full of stars. John decides when they eat, and cleanliness isn't important. They do wash if there's a river available, though. No one's there to interrupt them if kissing gets a little handsy, which is possibly the best part.
Except it can't last forever. John's conscious of their dwindling rations, the way his stomach rebels when the berry bushes disappear from the cold. Living on the move forever isn't an option. Q-Tip must know this; John doesn't tell him. They just walk. Their feet have built up calluses, though sometimes it still hurts. It's the reason why, one day, they're exhausted enough to crash before dark and completely forget about covering their tracks or even sleeping behind a tree.
When they're startled awake by searchlights, John's brain only takes a second to figure it out. Specials are after them, and are dangerously close to finding them this second. He gets to his feet fast, going for the small cluster of sickly-looking trees to buy them some time.
There are definitely people in the not-so-far-off distance who're getting closer by the minute. John swears he sees the light brush over Q-Tip's neck, but then it darts away from them, illuminating foliage and dirt, though not their bodies. It's just momentary relief-the copter's still up there and the agents are gaining on them.
They're both frantically looking around the area, but John's the one who sees it first: a red-painted wood building, too large to be a house, and in really shitty shape. No one would think to look there for anything.
It's their best shot, and only about four hundred yards away. Though it's a pretty easy sprint straight ahead, it'd put them right out in the open, vulnerable to the agents who're after them.
He hesitates, and Q-Tip drags him, pulling faster than John's ready for. Neither of them get shot or even tagged; they collapse just inside the front door, and by some miracle, it's quiet outside.
"Too fucking close," Q-Tip huffs, trying to catch his breath. "Whatever the fuck that was...I don't know if they're after anyone else, but we gotta make sure it doesn't happen again."
"So we'll head west tomorrow, or something," John suggests. "Probably best if we stay here for the rest of the day. And tonight. Keep them off our track."
"Definitely," Q-Tip agrees. "Hey, let's see what the fuck's even in this place!"
The cabin has lukewarm running water that works long enough for them to shower (together, because they didn't want to chance it running out), jars of preserved fruit and long strips of smoked meat. It's a little depressing that it's the best they've eaten in at least a week, but it's pretty decent food.
After a nap in the giant bed, John leaves Q-Tip drooling on the pillow, pulls on his clothes, and goes to see if there's anything interesting on the second floor. Yellowed, torn photographs line the stairwell, and John pauses to look at them, running his fingers over wistful-looking faces and rolling landscapes.
There are a couple kids' bedrooms down one hallway, long abandoned and covered with dust. Everything looks much smaller compared to what he remembers about his own childhood bedroom. All the attic really has is some broken furniture and what look like old appliances, so after stopping in the upstairs bedroom to see if there's anything interesting to read (nope) he goes downstairs, finding Q-Tip up and alert.
"Hey," he says, licking his lips, and though they do stuff almost every night, the signal it sends to John's brain makes it feel like it's been weeks. He lets Q-Tip pull him down by the belt loops in his pants-it's a clean, comfortable, king-sized bed, after all, so why let it go to waste?
*
When they head out again after a good night's sleep, it's on sort of a diagonal away from the mountains. John will be glad if the temperature rises, and Q-Tip claims it's not a hard trip, mostly over flat territory. He's still kind of shaken from what happened the other day, and judging by the way Q-Tip leads them through wooded areas and away from open ones, he is too.
It also served as a reminder that they can't do this forever. Sure, John loves being in nature, especially after years surrounded by metallic, industrial buildings. He and Q-Tip are finally bonding how he wanted.
Eventually, though, there'll come a point when they can't keep this up: wandering through the wilderness, eating berries and food that's made to last years, sleeping in caves and behind trees. Their supplies aren't limitless, and without the supplies to purify water, they're at risk for all kinds of horrible diseases.
Wary of stressing things between them yet again, John holds off on mentioning this until the right moment. That happens to be after lunch when day, when Q-Tip's relaxed and slightly sleepy, the sun shining down on them.
"Most of the other communities, the ones like Kenton, aren't really taking in new people right now. Because of what happened. So we can't really do what I was plannin' on," Q-Tip says, avoiding John's eyes.
"So what does that mean?"
"It means we'll just make our own place to be. The LT told me before we left about some abandoned property that sounds like it might work. We could get there in a few days, maybe more." John sighs quietly, because Q-Tip's lack of foresight and planning seem to crop up at the worst possible times. Might doesn't always pan out. Without an exact location, or a map, they're liable to walk straight into a reeducation facility or something.
"Well, might is better than definitely won't," John says. If nothing else, a change of location could mean warmer weather and more food from the wild. "Which way?"
Master Post