Chapter Text
The cold in the north had a bite to it; a viciousness that scratched down to your very bones. It made Sidney miss the languid heat of Mobile and curse his younger self for bemoaning fifty-degree southern winters. That had been only a chill compared to this.
Sidney blew on his hands, letting the warm air of his breath bring feeling back for a few seconds and stamped his feet in the snow that had dusted the porch of the abandoned cabin. It had been a lucky find. So too, had the old woolen military coats they’d scrounged from a surplus store months back.
“Hey Sid, whatcha doin’ out here?”
Eugene slid up beside him, stamping his feet too; his thin frame was obscured by the woolen trench coat, and the several layers he had underneath. He gave Sidney a small grin, nose and cheeks as red from the cold as his hair was.
“Andy says we gotta split up- we'll lose ‘em that way. Meet up somewhere.”
His friend laughed- the sound suddenly too harsh, too mocking in the quiet of the falling snow and bare trees. Sidney looks out, suddenly uneasy.
Where did everyone go?
“C’mon Sid- you'd never leave me behind.” Sidney turned back.
“’Course not, Ungin-”
Blood trickled down Eugene’s face, spilling out of his mouth as he began to plead, face twisting into a grotesque fear. “You’d never leave me, Sid. Why’d you leave me, Sid?” he pleaded, reaching out with a hand twisted by the cold and decay. In horror, Sid backed away, heart racing until his back hit the rail, and he could go no further, only drop to his knees.
“Why’d you leave me, Sid? Why’d you leave me?” Eugene kept repeating, staggering forward; his accusing dried up eyes in the slowly withering lines of his face boring down into Sidney’s soul. Blood bloomed on the sandy woolen chest of his coat.
“No-nonono- Eugene- I didn’t- please, I’m sorry-”
“You left me. Why’d you leave me, Sid?” Eugene’s soft voice began to rasp, breath rattling into a deathly moan. “They’re eatin’ me, Sid-”
“Eugene- stop, no, no-”
“It hurts so much!”
Eugene’s jaw popped open, and he lunged for Sidney-
He woke up gasping, heart pounding out of his chest. It took Sidney a moment to realize he was not cold, but pleasantly warm under a thin quilt and lying in a queen size bed in the pre-dawn darkness. Sidney cautiously reached out (and with some relief) felt Mary’s shoulders rise and fall beside him. She stirred at his touch.
“Sid?” came the bleary reply. “Everythin’ alright?”
“I’m alright. Just...”
“Nightmares?” She rolled over and snuggled up into his chest. Sideny hugged her close; the anxiety of his dream not quite left yet.
“Yeah,” he whispered into her hair. She sighed- not in disappointment but in understanding.
“’S ‘bout Eugene, hm?”
“How’d you know?” He felt her shrug.
“I heard you talking in your sleep. I reckon you woke me up a bit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’alright. I worry about him too.”
In dark silence they stayed, huddled up together for probably about another ten to twenty minutes- Sidney wasn’t sure. Outside, he heard the trumpeting call of a rooster and groaning, he rolled over and squinted at the dim glow of his watch. Sid was not sure if he should be thankful in that moment that it was solar-powered and still worked after the upheaval of the past three years.
“I gotta head out,” he sighed, then added, “Maybe I can push it for a few minutes...”
Mary poked him in the shoulder. “You’re gonna be late for kitchen duty.”
“Mhmm.” Sidney closed his eyes, hummed, and reasoned that she was probably right. Besides, they had been treated kindly here- too kindly to be rude. So, he pressed a kiss to Mary’s forehead and got up. In the semi-dark of the dawn, he washed himself quickly in the French way: stripping to the waist and scrubbing down with water and soap from a bowl left on the antique armoire. A quick feel of his cheek only revealed a light stubble. No need to shave then. As blonde as it was, you couldn’t really see it at this point anyway. Sidney pulled on a pair of a jeans, and a dark green t-shirt. Another grope for his tennis shoes and the pair of socks sitting inside them, and finishing it off- a cursory comb through the curly blonde hair with his fingers.
“See you at breakfast,” he whispered into Mary’s ear, giving another peck on her cheek. She hummed in return and patted his head, still somewhat sleepy.
Sidney closed the thick door to the old groundskeeper’s cottage as quietly as possible. He’d heard a creak from the wooden floor above them and figured it must’ve been one of the Welshes, but in case anyone in the old, two-story cottage was still asleep, he didn’t want to wake them.
The farmhouse was not far from the groundskeeper’s cottage; only a few minutes slow walk down a graveled path, and both buildings were in sight of each other. The farmhouse- or the Big House as they all called it- was originally from the 19th century, and it still had retained many of its historical features like a fireplace in every room, and the large windows and thick stone walls. The place had gotten run down some time in the past few decades, but its current owners had purchased it years ago, in a plan to restore the place and homestead. It was a plan that had succeeded, and one that had been very fortunate considering recent events.
Sidney remembered talking to Buck about it, and Buck had added, part jokingly, that co-owner Richard Winters was lucky to have married Lewis Nixon who came with an exorbitant amount of money and absolutely no qualms in spending it to make his husband’s dream come true.
Stepping onto the covered porch, Sidney opened the front door with little issue- it was always unlocked- and stepped carefully around the one or two snoring old mutts in the entryway that always seemed to gravitate right where everyone walked.
The kitchen was towards the back of the house, connected sometime in the past century. As a result, it had been converted into a modern kitchen, but the gas stove and refrigerator were pulled out now and stored somewhere else along with the rest of the modern appliances in the off chance they might be used again someday. In their place, more cabinets had been added in for extra storage, and the rest of the kitchen had a distinctly 19th century feel with an icebox, dried herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling, and the windows flung open to let in the dawn light and fresh morning breeze. Potted herbs were lined up on the counters, a chalkboard hung on one wall with the meals for the week written on it, and a shelf piled high with antique and modern cookbooks. A large metal tub was shoved in one corner ready for washing dishes.
The most notable feature, however, was the large fireplace- original to the kitchen apparently- and the wood burning range installed into it. Apparently, it had been taken out of some historic site nearby, restored and cleaned, and then put to work here. Sidney supposed there were no more tourists anymore to gaze in awe over it.
Leaning over the range and stoking the fire already burning inside, was Smokey. His actual name was Walter, but no one called him this.
“Good morning.”
Smokey looked up, and a grin broke out on his long face; his cheeks were beginning to fill once more. “Mornin’ Sid,” he said in the familiar southern drawl that reminded Sidney of home. “Got the range goin’ nice and hot. Malarky’s bringing in some more wood.” He stood up; rubbing one shoulder where Sidney knew lay the scar of a nasty bullet wound underneath and gestured to his apron. “Whatcha think?”
“Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’,” Sidney read out. “Where’d you get it?”
“Bunny found it on the last run- thought I’d like it and cleaned it up for me. So- whatcha think?”
Sidney hummed a little, as he reached for his own apron hanging on the peg by the door. “Oh, I don’t know...” He grinned. “Give me a kiss, darlin’,” was the reply, with a mock flirtatious wink. The back door banged against the wall, and Malarky stepped in with a pail of firewood.
“Don’t feed his ego, Sid,” he snorted, “or his ugly mug will get so big it’ll float into the sky.”
Smokey grasped a hand to his chest. “Oh, you wound me- so cruel.” But he was smiling.
“Where’s Fran?” Sidney asked.
“Getting eggs- thought we might need a few more than what we had already,” Malarky answered, dropping the pail by the range, and rubbing his eyes. The shadows beginning to form under them testified to a poor night of sleep.
“I think we’re ready to start cookin’,” Smokey announced, feeding another piece of wood into the oven and shutting the hatch. “Sid- can you start settin’ up the dining room?”
The dining room was probably the largest room in the Big House, and until a few years ago, had also been its living room. Like the rest of the common areas, its walls were filled with an eclectic mix of personal touches and decor. Pat Christensen, the resident artist, had his drawings and paintings, interspersed by the less- skilled examples of his ‘students’, competing for space with various other works of art that had been brought back from abandoned museums and mansions. Sidney could only wonder at what their value must have been in the time before. Photographs also had their own spaces- many of the people here at this farm or their families- and a copy of the rules they all abided by hung in a dark oak wood frame. A few pieces of embroidery decorated the walls as well; Sidney couldn't remember who had done them. The most notable wall hanging was a large chalkboard; the Chore Board as it was called because every single person in this place had their name on there and the various chores and duties they were assigned to for the week.
A few folding tables and chairs had been stored in the adjoining closet, and Sidney began to patiently pull them out and set them up to join the permanent dark wood dining table. The wood table was long, but not large enough for the nearly thirty men and women who would soon fill this room eating breakfast before long. Grabbing plates, and cutlery he began to set the tables, attempting to lose himself in the mindless monotony and not think about his nightmare.
“Hey Sid.”
Sidney turned around, finding Malarky holding the bottle of honey.
“You forgot this.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem- also, Smokey wants you to take a plate to Frank when you’re done in here.”
Sidney nodded and began to turn away, thinking that was it until Malarky grabbed his shoulder.
“Sid- I wanted to ask- everything alright? You look tired.”
Sidney gave a wry chuckle.
“Could say the same about yourself, Malark. It’s just-” he looked down, fingers fiddling with a spoon, and trailed off, ending with a vague “y’know.”
“It’s not your fault, Sid. I know what that feels like- it doesn’t go away- this- this-” he seemed to fumble for the word, finally settling on, “grief, guilt. I know it’s hard but you can’t blame yourself for his death-”
“He’s not dead! None of them are dead!”
It came out harsh- harsher than Sidney had intended. Seeing Malarky’s startled expression, he suddenly felt ashamed. He was only trying to be kind. Sidney ducked his face down, staring at the spoon he’d been fiddling with.
“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have risen my voice like that. It's just-” he was fumbling for the right word- “there’s no body, no answers- I don’t think he’s dead- can't be dead. We don’t know.”
“S’alright,” Malarky replied. “I sh- I shouldn't have pushed... Just let me know if you need to- to talk, alright? I get it.” He placed the honey on the table, muttered something about needing to be back in the kitchen, and left. Sidney attempted to focus again only on the task ahead of him. It helped to get his mind off the momentary shame, and all the feelings he did not want to have.
I shouldn’t have done that. He understands- he's just trying to be kind.
But Malarky had looked at him with a flash of pity in his eyes like he thought Sidney was tragically in denial, and it made Sidney’s jaw clench. How could we know they're dead? It’s never been confirmed. We just got separated.
Never been confirmed he- that they were all alive either, a nagging voice bit in. Sidney huffed, shook his head and pushed the thought away. Focus on what he needed to do, that was the important thing.
Soon enough, he’d finished setting up for breakfast, and Smokey was handing him Frank’s plate, with fresh eggs, strawberries, bacon, and cream. Upon the second floor was the office- with a few desks, a filing cabinet, and maps of the surrounding area hung on the walls. A large open window took up one wall, light beginning to stream in from the rising sun, and a gentle morning breeze making the curtains gently sway. Against that window was a radio set atop a flat desk, and a melted down candle left sitting beside it.
At the desk was a shorter man; his black hair combed over, headset jammed over his large ears, and idly reading a book. He turned, pushing the headphones off one ear as Sidney came in, and set the book down.
“Good mornin’, Frank. Brought you breakfast.”
“Mornin’. Shit- I'm starving. Thanks.” he took the plate and the offered fork, happily.
“George already gone to bed?”
Frank nodded, pausing to shove a forkful of egg into his mouth.
“Mh-hm. Switched off two hours ago. Probably dead to the world at the moment so keep quiet when you go past our room.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Big House functioned as part dormitory, with many of its rooms housing a few people each- their names hung on the door. Privacy was a luxury, Sidney had learned years ago now, and you got used to living without it to some degree. He was lucky- he and Mary by virtue of being married (unofficially but honest to God, who cared anymore) got to share a room in the cottage. The other couples shared that cottage with them in the other bedroom on the first floor and the ones on the second.
Sidney leaned over, staring at the dials of the radio set curiously.
“Got anything yet?”
Frank shook his head, and swallowed his food.
“Nah. Give it a bit longer- we'll hear from them before lunch.”
From downstairs, came the sound of Smokey’s voice, yelling about breakfast being ready, and the loud banging of a pot. Then again, but muffled as he must’ve moved outside to the front porch.
“Sweet Jesus- what the hell happened to the bell?”
Sidney shrugged.
“Said he lost it.” Frank snorted and shoved the headset back over his ear.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered, and Sidney chuckled. The excited grin that Smokey wore when he got back downstairs certainly didn’t help his case.
Soon enough the dining room filled up with people- coming from upstairs, from the cottage, others pulling off muddy boots on the porch after feeding thee various farm animals. Winters and Floyd “Bunny” Talbert (Winter’s sergeant from the army days) had been some of the first, finishing their post morning run cooldown before Smokey had ever started banging on his pot. It was soon loud with the chatter of the nearly thirty inhabitants of the farm; as Sidney, Fran, Smokey, and Malarky served breakfast.
If Malarky had anything else to say, he never did quite get the opportunity again that morning. Sidney, for his part, was grateful. Soon enough, everyone had been served, and those in the kitchen now got their plates.
Mary pecked him on the cheek as he sat down in the chair she’d saved.
“Mornin darlin’.”
“Good mornin’- you look lovely today.”
And she did. Round face, cheeks rosy in the morning light, her dark brown hair bouncing in a bob, and pert nose- she was always the beautiful and clever Mary Houston Sidney had fallen head over heels for back in high school. Even if she had been missing teeth, or when she would be old and gray, or grimy and half-starved (which she had been not so long ago) she would still be the most beautiful person in the world, he thought, and certainly one of the kindest.
And like he did every morning, Sidney thanked any higher power who might still be listening even in this day and age, that Mary had made it here- to this sanctuary- with him, alive and well.
The food was good. He ate hungrily- both of them did. Someone, probably Bill, teased them, but they didn’t care. It was hard to break a habit born out of necessity, of survival, when you got what food you could, didn’t question it, couldn't always take your time for it, but was always thankful that you had it. Mary tapped his shoulder.
“Sid- Sid- Winters and the leaders are coming down. Listen.”
Unnoticed, Winters and the other leaders of this sanctuary had slipped upstairs and now the former was clapping his hands, standing at his spot at the head of the table. Attentive silence soon fell over the room with a soft hush.
Winters was a tall, physically fit man with an authoritative and calm air. His red hair was neatly cut short, as put together and clean as the rest of his appearance. Lewis Nixon, his husband and eternal shadow, stood beside him, face and body a little softer and rounder, a glimpse of stubble on his face already. Ronald Speirs stood on Winter’s other side; he carried an aura unto himself, and beside him, was the shorter, funny but slightly mad Harry Welsh with his prominent gap tooth grin. Then there was Renee Lemaire; the Belgium head of what you could call their infirmary, with brown hair braided back into a neat bun, and the quintessential blue head scarf that was the highly accomplished nurse’s trademark. Sitting down was the last member of the so-called leaders; the softer spoken, approachable, broad-shouldered Carwood Lipton. He was a man anyone could talk to, but apparently- or so Sidney had been told- give him good reason to, and he could fuck you up as much as Speirs to protect those he cared about. Except for Renee, they were all former Airborne- army men and officers.
These were the leaders of the sanctuary- the ones who had created the opportunity for a haven in this newly empty world for the rest of them. The only other two people nearly as pivotal, Anna Chiwy who was Renee’s second-in-command (and just as accomplished), and Buck Compton- the law student who had drafted up the farm’s constitution.
Winters cleared his throat, and began to speak in an even voice.
“We’ve gotten word on the radio from our pilot friends. Unfortunately, bad weather has delayed them so they won’t be here until this evening- closer to dusk. We'll be setting up candles and lanterns along the runway later in case of bad visibility. For now, do what you need to do, make sure we have cots set up for them in the library, and a place set for three at the table for dinner. Otherwise, relax for the rest of the day.”
And with that, he was done.