The early morning light was spreading across the sky in a magnificent display of colour. Rivers of light hit the hilltops as the men ran towards them. They were so intent, immersed in their training, none of them looked up.
Jogging through the pain in his side, Robert Hawkins stopped to look at the sky. He took in a few ragged breaths, pinching his side and staring at the endless sunrise. Though he had just as much focus on the next mission as he always did, he had returned to Jericho determined to notice every morning sky.
It stung, but he closed his eyes as he breathed in the early summer air. Suddenly, he heard shouts coming from the hill. He opened his eyes, looking over to where his men had gathered. He couldn't tell what they were shouting about, and he didn't care. He ran towards the confrontation.
As he neared them, it took only a second to recognize Stanley Richmond at the centre of the circle of men, shouting and turning red in the face. He was advancing towards another man, Josh Beckett, who was at least a foot shorter than him, but attempting to hold his ground. The other men in the group had gathered around them, and it seemed they were attempting to placate Stanley.
Hawkins gritted his teeth. This would not be the first time Stanley Richmond had interrupted a training session like this. He'd heard that another session had ended with Stanley almost coming to blows with another ranger, and Jake had barely managed to keep the peace. He had confronted Jake about this later, tried to warn him of the dangers of letting that sort of thing happen, and Jake had reacted in typical Jake fashion, insisting that he could handle Stanley. Jake wasn't here today and Hawkins' patience was running low.
He strode into the group of men, not needing to shove his way through as the crowd parted for him. Stanley seemed to be the only one not taking notice of his advancing presence, still walking menacingly towards Josh.
Hawkins stepped around him so that he was standing on Stanley's left. “That's enough,” he said in a quiet voice.
Stanley looked a little startled by Hawkins, but couldn't stop himself from shouting “I'm not taking any more crap from this guy!” He reached out an arm, and Hawkins grabbed it quickly, wrenching it away from the would-be target.
“I said that's enough!” growled Hawkins, in a voice that was louder and no less threatening than his first warning.
Stanley yanked his arm out of Hawkins' grasp, and glowered. “I'm done with this!”
“That's right, you-” Hawkins began, but Stanley was already storming away. He took a step after him.
Stanley reached the bottom of the small hill and stood, his hands in fists at his side. He stayed strangely still for what seemed an eternity, before sinking abruptly down on the hill top.
When it became clear he wasn't moving, Hawkins took a few more steps until he was standing only a few feet away. “Why don't you sit here for a while, think things over,” said Hawkins, in a tone that the others couldn't pick up from where they stood.
Stanley didn't answer, just yanked a particularly tall weed out of the ground and pulled it apart in his hands.
Hawkins turned and went back to his team of rangers. Many were new recruits and while it tried every last ounce of patience in him to do this job, he hadn't been able to say no to Jake. He wasn't in any condition yet to resume his old work, and this was a way to prepare the people for what was coming next. As much as it pained him to hear them exclaim over their 'skills' when they avoided disaster by chance, or to see them waste ammunition as they missed the targets he'd set up for them in the fields, part of him was glad to do this. He had a respect for these people, who had survived the nine levels of hell that had sprung up on their part of the planet. It had been partly thanks to him, he knew, but it had been them too. They'd rolled up their sleeves, pulled food from the ground, made their own light and heat, and carried each other through battlefields.
Though he had put the mission, the greater good, above all else, it didn't escape his attention completely that these were the people for whom he'd done this. The millions who were gone were his loss, his failure. These were the ones who were still here, and he would do what he could to help them survive the next peril ahead of them. Most of them would never know the depth of his skills, his knowledge, and the dangerous truth he had once hidden under their noses. But he would teach them what he could, while he was still able.
He turned to the group of them, standing there staring at him. “What are you looking at me for?”
They had done this course many times. They turned and started running across the field.
He almost ran after them, ignoring the stinging reminder of his recent injury. He found himself turning to look back down the hill. Stanley sat, his legs spread out in front of him, curled arms against his knees. For a moment, Hawkins was reminded of Sam sitting in the sandbox after a temper tantrum, years before any of this started. He immediately pushed the thought out of his head, and began to run after the others.
It kept nagging at him with each step he took, and his side continued to smart with pain, as if to chastise him, but for what, he didn't know. Finally, with a growl of disgust at himself, he shouted to the runner ahead of him that he would meet them back at the base point.
He turned and began walking back to Stanley. He did need to give him a warning, he reasoned with himself. He stopped when he was right behind the seated figure, his shadow stretching across the grass.
“Look, I'm sorry,” muttered Stanley. “He's been on my case all morning-”
“I don't care,” said Hawkins. This time, Stanley caught the authority in his tone and kept himself from speaking. “This is not some after-school activity. When you come out here with me, you've got to leave all that at home.”
“I know,” said Stanley darkly. “I know.”
Hawkins shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The pain in his side eased a fraction. “If I've got to worry that you're going to go off at any moment, I can't have you out here.”
“I have to do this!” countered Stanley, emotion rising in his voice.
“That may be, but I've got to put the safety of the group ahead of anything you may need-”
“No, you don't get it. I have to protect this town. After what they've done for me...and I've got a family.”
Hawkins almost threw out a retort, but he paused. This was where his close encounters with these people were making his job difficult. It would be so much easier if he hadn't helped the rangers hide Stanley in the garage. If he hadn't heard Darcy speak about Mimi Clark's surgery and recovery so often.
“I have one too,” he said slowly. “And I've come to learn that the best way to protect them is to do my job. To keep my head.”
“I don't want to be here,” said Stanley. “I just wanted to live my life. I thought we would be happy. Shouldn't have been so stupid.”
Had any of the other rangers or new recruits been present, Hawkins might not have given a kind answer. If he stopped to let everyone lament what their world had become, they would never finish a session. Now, it was only the two men, the hill and the sky. “None of us wants this. We all wish it weren't this way,” he said. “But it's what it is.”
“I thought I could keep them away myself. Scare 'em, stand on the porch with my shotgun. Stay inside, Bonnie and Mimi!” His voice cracked, and he stared down at the ground.
Hawkins was silent. He was much better at dealing with Jake's unpredictable whims, or Jimmy's bumbling efforts. Though he was inclined to give him tough advice, he couldn't help thinking about his own family.
He couldn't explain, not even to Darcy, the way he had once readied himself for the tasks ahead. He'd known all the dangers as he went in, and he had found a way to remove himself from the equation. That meant part of him- part that might enjoy the smell of coffee, laugh at a co-worker's story, or imagine a perfect place to take his daughter and son on a picnic- would have to cease to exist. He had had a sense, since he had begun his mission four years ago, that his time in the world might not go on for very long, so he didn't want to be attached to it.
After the bombs, he'd been focused on protecting his family, and salvaging what was left of his work. Waiting at the rally-point, getting his hands on information at an agonizingly slow pace, and with his family in such close quarters, he'd felt that other part of him rising to the surface. He'd found himself indulging its whims- playing football with Sam, thinking with bemusement at how grown up Allie had become, and staring across the table at Darcy. He'd found a way to suppress it, though, when the army had come, and the mission had accelerated. He'd stolen moments, for sure, but he hadn't let his ties to life get in the way.
Now, he'd been to the brink of death and back. Everything he'd ever expected had come to pass. He'd completed his task, made his sacrifice. The end had come. And gone. It was so strange, to face each morning. Now there was a different set of dangers ahead; ones he hadn't expected, and for which he hadn't completely prepared. There were still the skills he had, the work that needed to be done, the difficult times their country would face. There would be more moments with his children, conversations with Darcy, townspeople worming their way into his life, and sunrises. He wasn't sure he would be able to separate them. He would have to take them all at once.
“You know, maybe you should take some time. Talk with your friends. Go be with your wife.”
Stanley shook his head. “I need to protect her.”
He almost said, “You are not doing that when you lose it over Josh Beckett's ill advised joking,” but instead, he said, “I know.”
Stanley's brow was furrowed. He was still angry, but he was thinking. “Everyone else has lost things too. I'm not just giving up and sitting at home.”
“I'm not saying you should,” said Hawkins. “I'm just saying, take a break. Sort things out. We'll need you, but we'll need you with a head on your shoulders. Go, think about things. Don't lose sight of what you've got.”
Stanley nodded. He was still pulling thick blades of grass apart in his hands.
Hawkins stretched, his hands on his waist, and looked out at the sky. “You know, the sunrise never looked quite like this in St. Louis.”
Stanley glanced up, squinting in the light.
“I've got to catch up with the group. Think about it,” said Hawkins. He turned and ran down the hill.