The Greens of Jericho

It began at the end.

No one was calling it the end, as they exchanged hugs, painful smiles, and quiet words. But Bonnie Richmond knew it was there, underneath everything that warm, breezy day.

They kept themselves from saying anything about the end as she leaned her head on Mimi's shoulder, Mimi held Stanley's arm, and they looked down at her parents' graves. They joked, sighed, felt the wind rustling their clothes, and said nothing about how it was all about to change. Yet they knew it was a goodbye of sorts.

The real goodbye, between the three of them, was more painful. Yet they said nothing about how hard it would be, how hard it was, parting ways at this moment, not knowing if it was the last time. Bonnie tried to smile as her brother's arms squeezed her tightly, as always, and she averted her eyes politely as Mimi held him once more. They stood together, watching him walking, his gun over his shoulder, back towards his friends, before getting into the truck that would take them back to town. Bonnie watched the farmhouse, the fields, the place she'd run barefoot until she'd known every inch of it, growing smaller as they drove away. She forced herself to keep from crying.

When they'd reached their destination, Town Hall, which was bustling with restless activity, Bonnie found again that everyone was silent about the end that could be coming. People were streaming into the building, carrying the few possessions they were allowed to bring, and dropping some at the door as those organizing the shelter deemed them unnecessary. Those ready with guns were being given positions around the building, and assigned the tasks of barricading the weak points the best they could with office furniture.

Bonnie exchanged another painful hug, with Mimi, inside the building. This one was more tearful, as neither hid their fears as well this time, but it was wordless as before. Even Mary Bailey, who Bonnie had known for years, was silent as she gave her a quick hug and retreated down the hall. Mimi followed her friend a moment later, ready to resume their task of organizing the incoming townspeople, throwing one quick, steely glance over her shoulder at Bonnie, and disappearing around the corner.

Then it was still. Bonnie waited in the room she had been assigned, facing the broken windows that lead to Main Street, leaning against a wall. She wanted to think about her brother, about Mimi, about their friends and neighbours, but she couldn't bring their faces into her mind without feeling the cold truth hit her like a tidal wave. The thing no one was saying, but Bonnie felt under every glance, shuffling of feet, and gesture. This could be their last day. This could be the end.

It was an all consuming, swallowing-the-world-whole kind of truth, and that's why no one was saying it. But standing by herself, waiting for the end, or at least, the end of waiting, Bonnie couldn't help but feel it.

New Bern was coming. They wanted everything that Jericho had and its neighbours didn't. They had more guns. More people. The Richmonds' farm was the smaller town's big stand. If that fell, Bonnie's family as she knew it was gone. But, it would be worse. Town Hall was the last stand, if everything else fell. Everyone who could hold a gun but wasn't very practiced at shooting had been put there, the last line of defense between the neighbourly invaders and the most defenseless people crowding into the shelter below. Bonnie didn't want to think of how it would be then, if the end came to Town Hall, knowing everything and everyone she loved was slipping away. But it would be an end to this painful waiting, thinking.

Fighting to keep herself from giving in completely, she still saw their faces flashing through her mind. Their faces the last times she'd seen them, forever frozen in her memory, for when...She tried to focus on something else, besides the inevitable. She glanced around the room in which she now found herself. Only one other person had been stationed in this small room. A girl Bonnie had seen around town, this year, but had never spoken with. She'd picked up a bit of gossip in town, despite the fact that she usually steered clear of the epicentre of the teenaged information network that seemed to operate out of Gracie's market. She knew a name. Hawkins.

The Hawkins girl was sitting still, staring out the window. She held her gun in one hand, her other hand gripping the windowsill. Her expression was steady, yet intense, and Bonnie wondered at how she kept it up so effortlessly. By all counts she'd heard, the Hawkins family had come from the city. She wondered to herself what sort of upbringing would teach a city girl to shoot a gun, to hold a pose so still. Bonnie had been hunting many times, but she'd seen how difficult an adjustment Mimi had when she was expected to pitch in. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the family member she had so reluctantly claimed, now worrying her and weighing on her thoughts as much as Stanley out at the battlefield. Instead, she focused again on the city girl in the room.

The Hawkins girl wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was half pulled back, strands of it curling behind her ears. Nothing special. The same look sported by everyone in Jericho, these days, when necessity had replaced style and freedom of expression. Passing her on the street, the Hawkins girl would look no different from anyone else.

But there was something different, Bonnie couldn't help but think to herself. She wasn't sure what it was, but she sensed it as she watched. The way she sat, holding her gun with a lot more ease than Mimi had an hour earlier, staring steadily in a way Bonnie doubted Skylar Stevens, or any other girl from school could have. But these were superficial differences that set her aside from the people Bonnie had grown up around. What was it that made her seem so different? Bonnie pondered this question, until she was interrupted in her thoughts by a sudden flurry of activity.

There were men coming in the door, several of them, and Gray Anderson was in their midst, a sombre look on his face. Bonnie glanced quickly around, wondering if something was happening, but it was impossible to catch their conversation, as each frantically spoke out of turn, spinning around, taking in their surroundings. Gray Anderson's face was ashen, and he held a hand to his chin as he spoke, seemingly trying to steady it. Bonnie squinted, trying to see what they were saying, but no one even looked in her direction. She glanced around the room, to see that the Hawkins girl had heard, was running over, and was soon dashing down the hallway, as the mayor and the others retreated in another direction, towards the office where Bonnie knew they'd been planning and carrying out this defense.

Then the room was empty, and Bonnie wished desperately she could run after them, find out what horrors had transpired to send the mayor home from the battlefield, find out what no one was saying in her direction, but she knew she had to stay put. She waited in agonizing stillness, suddenly overly aware of the feel of the gun against her shoulder. She watched in stillness as the Hawkins girl dashed by the doorway again, followed by several people, including Mimi and Mary, their guns slung over their shoulders. The people who were guarding and leading the group downstairs, Bonnie knew. And they went in the direction of the office where the stony faced mayor had gone. To hear the bad news, away from the clamouring crowd. Bonnie shuddered, again wishing she could go. She stayed.

After an eternity, the Hawkins girl reappeared in the room. She said nothing to Bonnie, but went back to her post, her expression as steady and mysterious as before. Bonnie said nothing either. She had been desperate for information, but now with a source so close by, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She watched the Hawkins girl in silence, waited and thought, and tried to keep from thinking about what Gray Anderson had seen. She watched dully as the shelter leaders walked by again, this time more slowly. She noticed Richard Donahue had a sombre expression similar to Gray's, Allan Mocker was discussing something rapidly with Susan Hess, and Mary Bailey, walking a few steps behind them, looked as though she were going to cry or had already cried. Bonnie looked frantically from her to Mimi, who was close behind her, and Mimi glanced over at her. Bonnie's fears were eased for a moment as Mimi gave her the smallest of smiles. Though it didn't extend to her eyes, Bonnie understood that at least, their own worst fears were not yet realized. Mimi's expression turned serious again and she gave Bonnie one last nod before she followed her group down the hall.

Breathing carefully, Bonnie turned to the Hawkins girl, the only other person left in the room. She needed to know what had caused the scene she had just witnessed. For the first time, she spoke out loud.

"Who?"

The Hawkins girl turned, a look of mild surprise flashing across her features. She raised her eyebrows.

"Please tell me," Bonnie continued, raising her own eyebrows sadly. "Who?"

The girl understood, it seemed, as a grave look stole over her. "Johnston Green," she said carefully.

Bonnie took a moment to process this strange information. She had been expecting news like this for hours now, but it still felt bizarre to actually hear that someone she knew was dead. She quickly felt a sharp sting in her eyes as she thought of the man who'd always had a kind word for her, who'd been a friend to her family her whole life, who had been friends with her parents before she could remember and who had always been ready to provide guidance to her brother in the time she could remember. Her mind flashed sorrowfully over all the Greens as she thought of them out there at her house, right now.

She looked up and noticed that the girl was saying something about the tank, the one that had been housed in the Richmonds' barn until recently. Bonnie shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it of some of the haze that had settled there.

"Sorry, I didn't see what you said," she said, grimacing apologetically.

"Oh, right. Sorry," said the girl, a little apologetically herself.

"I've known him my whole life," Bonnie continued.

The other girl's face, which had been so carefully arranged all this time, now bore the traces of her sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said.

Bonnie nodded. "My brother's out there. And our friends."

The girl nodded back, realization calmly taking over her expression. "I think he's okay. The woman with dark hair, his, uh -"

"Mimi?" asked Bonnie.

"Yeah, her. She asked about him. They said he's okay."

Bonnie closed her eyes a moment, and opened them again, to find the Hawkins girl still looking at her. She was surprised, and more surprised when the Hawkins girl spoke again. "My dad's out there too, I think."

Bonnie raised her eyebrows in surprise, and in question. She wanted the other girl to keep talking, to fill her head with something besides images of the former mayor, his family, and hers.

"He's..I don't know what he's doing," the girl finished. "But I'm sure he's up to something."

"You aren't from here," said Bonnie. She watched the other girl's reaction. The Hawkins girl slowly nodded, for a moment something flashing across her expression before she made it neutral again.

"No," she said quietly.

"How come you're fighting for this place?" asked Bonnie. It seemed like a silly question, but she had a sense it might have a complicated answer. They were fighting an uphill, losing battle, and someone not as invested as fourth generation farmers might not stick around to lose.

Sure enough, the girl answered in a rather conventional way. "Yeah, we're not from here. But it's where we are now, so we need to do our part to keep it going," she said.

Bonnie sensed there was more, and wanted to keep talking, but she also sensed she would not get any more information on this topic. Instead, she tried a simpler statement. "I'm Bonnie."

"Allison. Hawkins," said the other girl, and Bonnie smiled because she'd known all along, but still, she nodded her head and exchanged the appropriate courtesies for meeting a new acquaintance.

Allison smiled back at her new acquaintance. For a moment, it seemed like she was removed from the strange movie her new life seemed to take place in, and back in an ordinary life where people introduced themselves politely and you made friends in a new town instead of learning dark secrets. As Bonnie Richmond continued to talk to her, she couldn't help but smile wryly at the thought of what her father would think about her discussing her past with a stranger. She'd been drilled so many times in the details of her supposed former life before Jericho that the answers fell from her lips naturally, but something about this smiling stranger with the friendly eyes made her want to answer more truthfully.

"St. Louis?" Bonnie was asking. "Was it exciting? Living in the city?"

"It was alright," answered Allison. City life had been exciting, in DC. She still missed her life visiting museums and galleries, eating fried pizza, meeting friends at the park, riding the metro by herself, though she tried not to think about it too much. But on this hazy day, none of that seemed real anymore. She reminded herself as always that the uncomfortable, dangerous present was what was real now. "We went hiking a lot."

Bonnie laughed at this. "That's something we can do here," she said. "And I always thought we were missing out, away from the exciting big city."

Allison smirked at this. "And country living is so much more exciting, I guess?"

Bonnie shrugged. "We have fun. So why'd you move, if you liked the city?"

It was Allison's turn to shrug. "My parents wanted to get me out of the school I was in." She smirked as she heard herself reciting her story. It all seemed so pointless now, really. "We weren't going to stay here forever. Before the bombs anyway."

Bonnie frowned. "Didn't think you could last forever in a small town?"

Allison smirked. "My mom was afraid I'd find a country boy and never leave."

The other girl's expression grew serious.

"How about you?" asked Allison. "You plan on settling in the country, or did you think of going out into the world too?"

Bonnie shrugged, though there seemed more to the story than her simple answer "I like it here."

Allison glanced up at the ceiling. "I guess it was better before the bombs."

Bonnie smirked a little herself now, and looked appraisingly over at her. "It's still not bad." She smirked again at Allison's look of doubt. "Well, what have you gotten to see of the town since the bombs?"

Allison sighed. Her father had maintained, since they had gotten here, that the best way for them not to be noticed was to stay out of other people's way. Allison was fairly certain the fact they had kept to themselves would be cause for speculation, at least among the young people missing their gossip magazines. Certainly, the way Bonnie was now raising her eyebrows would indicate that Allison's absence in the Jericho social scene was conspicuous.

"Well," she shrugged, nonchalantly. "I went to a party. At Skylar Stevens'. Before she went...rogue."

Bonnie wrinkled her nose. "That's all you've gotten to do? No wonder you don't like it here."

Allison studied Bonnie. Not having been immersed in the teenage social scene herself, she couldn't say she knew anything about where this girl fit in. She'd led with the tale of her one time attendance at Skylar Stevens' house, assuming it was one of the hot tickets in town, but she somehow wasn't surprised that Bonnie wasn't impressed by something so obvious. She continued to look back at Bonnie, unsure what to say, and puzzled when the other girl's smile returned.

"If we get out of here alive, and New Bern doesn't force us all to leave, you'll have to come out to my farm. I'll show you what we really do for fun around here."

Allison wanted to pretend to be dubious about how much fun could be had on a farm. The truth was, she was curious. An afternoon on a farm seemed so removed from this tense meeting room, or from the rooms of her own house, so changed since that horrible night Sarah Mason had shown her true colours. It seemed so far removed from any future she could imagine, even though, as she'd hugged her mother and brother goodbye this morning, they had pretended it was an ordinary day, as if she were going off to school and would be back before dinner. Even though her father had talked gruffly about keeping her head up, that he would see her later, as they had walked together to her assigned location. Imagining a day on a farm didn't really seem any more bizarre than all of that.

"Sure," said Allison. Why not? They probably wouldn't have ordinary days again, but if they did, she'd get to see what the natives actually did for fun. "Can I hold you to that?"

"Yeah," said Bonnie, smiling, and nodding simply. And that was that.

They passed another hour in an easy conversation. Bonnie wouldn't remember what they'd talked about later, only that she had felt strangely calm, removed from the war she knew was going on around her. She'd focused on the strange city girl, and though thoughts of her brother, and Mimi, and the former mayor, and the town were still churning underneath everything, she felt a little lighter.

Allison would remember the topic of conversation later as she watched the crowd stream out of town hall, through the wreckage of their barricade, dazedly embracing family members and friends. They had talked about the things they had never done. The things they still wanted to do, in this life.

Allison had talked about unimportant things. Things like seeing the rainforest or riding the triple loop rollar coaster at King's Dominion park again. Things she wanted, that had been daydreams, not things she'd really seriously desired in her thoughtful moments. While it had been easy, to talk to her new friend about those sort of things, and laugh at Bonnie's dreams of sampling sushi and pomegranates before she died, she hadn't been able to say out loud, for herself as much as her audience, the other things she sometimes found herself thinking about. The experiences she used to take for granted as a part of her future, that seemed out of the question now that her life had taken a drastic, serious turn. Moments and feelings she had once expected, but now seemed whimsical, compared to the grainy, real picture of her life after learning to shoot a gun, learning to defend the family in her father's place, learning the real dangers that lay out there. She couldn't put those into words, but she found herself still thinking about it, as she watched calmly the confusion unfolding on Main Street.

The people at Town Hall had been informed that the army had arrived, and that the war was over, but they milled about, passing frantic misinformation among themselves, rushing into the arms of the family members beginning to return from the battlefield. Allison stood, her gun still held at her side, watching the friends hugging, adults and children crying, men and women kissing. She watched, calmly, as a scene that she was not a part of unfolded, and tried not to think about her own family or place in this world. She was thrown off from this concentration for a moment when she noticed someone waving at her. Bonnie. Her new friend flashed her a smile, nodded as if to say goodbye, and turned back to the tall man with the same hair as hers, and the dark haired woman Allison had seen her exchanging worried greetings with back in the building.

Allison smiled back, and remained smiling, for reasons unknown to her, until her father found her amidst the crowds of people who seemed unsure whether to celebrate or mourn. As she always did, she turned serious eyes to her father, recognizing the expression on his face, but realizing he would tell her what was going on after they'd left this crowd behind. She followed him quickly, without a word, only turning back to glance at the people openly embracing on the street once more.

In the days that followed, the frenzy in the town began to calm. Though there were dead to bury and grudges to hold, the news that help had arrived, that the rebuilding was about to begin, had infected the people and they seemed to gain a new sense of hope, amidst all the grief and fury still being shouted after dark in many houses.

Allison knew something else was happening beyond these early promises of renewal. She'd seen it, in both of her parents, that first night she'd gone home. Something grave, heavy, dangerous looming ahead of them. She'd wanted to ask, demand answers, but they had been weary, warning, and as she had so often, since that night she first shot a gun at someone rather than something, she remained silent. The tension that had always seemed to fill her house seemed even stronger, with all the new unspoken secrets, in those next few days, and she found herself wanting to leave the house as often as possible. She began running errands for her mother. Walking Sam over to the Taylors' house. Checking to see if the promised shipment of fresh coffee was in at the store. Finding out, as unobtrusively as she could, the latest news being broadcast from this new government.

It was on one of these trips, on her way out of Gracie's market, after a casual exchange with Wes Federer behind the counter on the new president, that she ran into her battle-station friend again.

Bonnie caught her attention, waving and saying "Hi, Allison!"

Allison nodded back. It was nice to have someone her own age greet her by name in public. It seemed like it had been so long since any had. "Hey Bonnie."

"Taking a walk?" asked Bonnie.

Allison shrugged. "Sort of. They don't have coffee yet at the store."

Bonnie made a grimace of mock disappointment. "My whole trip was for nothing," she said.

Allison could tell she was joking, though she had noticed, in the short time she knew her, that Bonnie's jokes could be very convincing.

"Well, Mimi will be disappointed. But I was just checking out that J&R office. They're supposed to be signing us up for appointments, to figure out how to rebuild the farms." Bonnie smiled and shrugged.

"Nothing yet?" asked Allison.

Bonnie shook her head. "So," she changed her expression as she surveyed Allison. "My afternoon is free. What are you up to?"

Allison had promised to play soccer in the backyard with Sam but she hadn't promised a time. Her mother didn't say much these days as Allison came and went from the house, since she always came back before the designated time she was expected home, and, she had a feeling, her mother's mind was on other, larger worries than what her responsible daughter could get up to in a small town. "Nothing," she said, looking back at Bonnie.

"You want to come back to my place? I'll show you the farm."

Allison paused. Though she had been irritated with her father's rules and codes of behaviour those early days in Jericho, she had followed them closely herself the past few months. Much as she'd hated being trapped in the house with her secretly estranged parents and inquisitive brother, she'd come to understand the dangers of the outside world, and she had come to regard it warily. It seemed strange, and oddly freeing, to say "I don't know...I guess..."

Bonnie leaned her head sideways, rolling her eyes good naturedly. "Come on. I promised I'd show you there's something to like about living here. Don't make me break a promise."

Allison told herself that Bonnie was persuasive, that she had thought it out carefully before she followed the other girl to her truck and got in. In truth, it was easy to accept the invitation. She couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her to go somewhere, had wanted her company, and after being careful for so long, saying yes felt like getting back on a bicycle at the beginning of spring. Easy. Exhilarating.

She paid attention, for the most part, on the drive to the Richmond farm, nodding and smiling as Bonnie pointed out such landmarks as the sharp turn in the road where Stanley lost a load of pumpkins off the back of the truck or the abandoned shack where she and the neighbouring kids used to hunt for ghosts the summer she was eleven. She paid less attention to the odd, tingly feeling of being away from everything else, in the company of someone easy to talk to, playing hooky from her life. It was a farm, but it could have been Vegas or Antarctica or Neverland, or wherever people ran away to. She grinned when the cheerful farmhouse came into view.

Bonnie parked the truck and jumped out, motioning to Allison to follow her around the side of the house.

"We can take the horses. You ever ride before?" Bonnie was asking as they approached the barn.

"I went to horseback riding camp. Once," answered Allison. It had been years ago, before her father left, but she still remembered the feeling of flying along the trail, the hot, pounding life beneath her.

Bonnie was walking ahead of her, and so couldn't see her, and Allison knew by now talking would be pointless. She took in her surroundings instead. The yard with the tire swing. The boarded up fruit stand. The sandy haired man bent over the tractor.

"This is Allison," Bonnie was saying, poking her brother's arm. "Stanley. My brother," she motioned as she looked back at Allison.

"Hey, good to meet you, Allison," he said, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth. "I'd shake your hand, but..."

"Yeah," laughed Allison. "I'm good."

Stanley smiled at her a moment, looking back at Bonnie. "You guys checking out the barn?"

"The horses," said Bonnie.

"Have fun," said Stanley, grinning once again at Allison. "And really, good to meet you. I'm glad Bonnie's making some new friends..."

He trailed off looking over at Bonnie, and when Allison looked at her, she noticed Bonnie was signing something rapidly at her brother, a look of what seemed to be exasperation on her face. He rolled his eyes, but signed something back, with an apologetic smirk.

"Come on," said Bonnie, taking Allison's arm and leading her into the barn.

Once out of view of Stanley, Bonnie rolled her eyes again. "My brother. Was excited to see you because he thinks I'm upset about breaking up with my boyfriend."

Allison nodded, standing with her hands in her pockets as Bonnie stepped towards the horse stalls.

"We broke up just before the whole war with New Bern. And it wasn't bad. We just decided we wanted to cool it a bit. You know how it is."

Allison nodded again, though she couldn't quite say she knew.

"We still want to be friends," continued Bonnie, glancing at Allison before leading out a chestnut mare. "Sean's got stuff he wants to do right now. I saw him yesterday, and he talked about trying to find his dad, now that the country's rebuilding."

Bonnie made a face and handed the reins of the horse to Allison. "You remember how?" she asked.

"Think so," said Allison, though she wasn't sure.

"And I'm okay with it. Sean's a great guy, but I really...don't mind. I've got other things I want to do now. We had fun, but I don't think it was going to be much more. So I'm not upset. But Stanley was worried I would be. After all that time he just wanted to get rid of Sean himself." Bonnie smiled to herself, leading the other horse out of his stall. "He just doesn't get it. But he tries. You know how they are."

Allison chuckled for the first time. She had imagined at first that growing up with a brother as a parent, the way Bonnie had described it, would've been easier than with the two vigilant parents she'd gotten, but it seemed some things were always the same. "Yeah, I know."

"So ready to see the place?" asked Bonnie. Allison nodded.

Bonnie hadn't been completely honest about her feelings concerning her recent distancing from Sean Henthorn. They really had decided to be friends, and she really did feel she wanted a break, and a chance to do other things. She had been glad to hear Sean's plan to find his father, who had been driving his truck on one of his routes when the bombs went off, and she hoped his plan to track him down with the help of the J&R reps who offered help locating relatives was attainable, and not one of his far-fetched schemes. She was glad of her decision, and his, but part of her felt uneasy, apprehensive.

Everything was changing. It had been so since the bombs, she supposed, and back then, it had been scary, and sad. Now, she supposed she should be happy. Things were moving forward, and the world was slowly getting put back together. Going back to normal. Not normal, she reminded herself. It would never be the same again. But getting better, surely.

The early days after the bombs had been difficult but they had been simple. It had been about hanging on. Making it through each day without giving into her desires to crack another joke at Mimi's expense or eat the entire bowl of sprouts when she knew it needed to last. Now, things were changing. Things were expanding, getting more complicated. Rebuilding meant looking at things head on, planning for the future, a more complex survival. She was happy about most of that. She could sit home at night with her family, they were going to find out what was going on beyond Jericho and New Bern, they were going to get food and lights and communication again. Stanley and Mimi would have plenty of opportunity to continue embarrassing her with their displays of affection, and she'd have plenty of opportunity to keep teasing them. The shift that was going on around her was good. But she still felt strange.

As she rode through the fields with Allison, she felt herself let go of all the questions that had been running through her mind since the news had come that the war was over. She laughed, pointed things out, and raced her new friend to the corner of the property. Allison was game for any challenge Bonnie suggested. She was obviously not as comfortable on a horse as someone who had been riding as long as Bonnie, but she agreed fearlessly to any turn in the path Bonnie would suggest. She sat upright in the saddle, with an ease Bonnie wouldn't have expected. Though at first it had seemed she was teasing Bonnie about all the charms country life had to offer, it seemed she really was taking in the sights with interest. She laughed at Bonnie's stories, and though she told few of her own, Bonnie felt there was something open and straightforward about the way Allison listened and talked.

Later, after she had driven her new friend back into town and was sitting on the porch, watching the summer light begin to fade in the sky, Bonnie wondered how her afternoon had passed so quickly. It had been so simple, yet, so free, compared to those other uneasy afternoons she had recently spent, and she wanted to hold onto it. Sitting around the table with Stanley and Mimi that evening, she paid less attention to their discussions of the news of the day, as it was filtering in from Cheyenne. She imagined herself still riding through the sunlight, talking with her new friend.

"So Bonnie has a new friend," Stanley was saying, when Bonnie finally hazarded a glance away from her plate. She glanced from her brother to Mimi, who was giving her a far too interested smile. Afraid Mimi would jump on the 'glad Bonnie isn't moping around without her boyfriend' bandwagon, Bonnie prepared to roll her eyes, but Mimi just gave her a nod. "Good."

"One who's not bad with horses," continued Stanley. "For a city girl." He signed the last words.

Mimi caught the sign, and pretended to swat at him, to laughs from the others. "City?" she returned the sign at Bonnie, her eyebrows raised.

Bonnie nodded. "St. Louis."

Mimi nodded, chewing her food in silence for a moment. "Guess she'll have lots of interesting stories to tell you."

"Not as interesting as the ones someone from DC would tell, I'm sure," said Stanley, with a flourish. Mimi rolled her eyes, and smiled. She signed something at him that everyone around the table caught, and the three of them laughed again.

"But seriously, Bonnie," Mimi continued. "I'm glad you're making new friends. God knows we've earned a chance to have fun and spend time...not killing chickens and washing clothes." Stanley smirked, and Mimi continued. "I've learned how important friends can be, this year."

Bonnie nodded quickly. So had she. She'd developed a friendship with someone she thought she would always resent, and it had been surprising but she wouldn't trade her friendship with her new 'sister' for the world. "Yeah, I know," she signed.

"And speaking of our friends..." Mimi said, her expression changing, slightly less pensive again. "Want to hear what I overheard when I dropped by Bailey's today?"

Bonnie vaguely paid attention to the conversation as it switched to the exchange Mimi had witnessed between Jake and Eric Green. She was thinking, again, inexplicably about riding horses through the sunlight.

The friendship between Bonnie and Allison continued grow in the next few days, and then weeks. They spent time together out at the Richmond farm, at the small park in Allison's neighbourhood, and in a variety of Bonnie's favourite spots around town. They went riding again, they walked along the river, they sat on the swings outside the school, or picked a spot along Main Street to sit on the curb and watch the people walking back and forth. They talked about unimportant things at first, and then more important things they were thinking and wondering. Allison began to find herself telling the truth. She didn't talk about the big things her father had drilled into her. It was smaller truths that she revealed. How she'd never gotten to go on a date with Joel Stafford. How she felt protective of her little brother, but just a little resentful that she was always the one protecting, and no one was protecting her. The warring loyalty and confusion she sometimes felt when she looked at her parents. It felt like there was something dangerous in telling so much of herself, so plainly, but it was a little dizzying, like a feeling of walking across a balance beam with no safety net. The thing was, talking with Bonnie, she didn't feel like she needed a safety net. She had known her for a few weeks, and logically, trusting her with these details didn't make sense, but she rarely spent time weighing what made sense and what didn't around Bonnie. When Bonnie raised her eyebrows and waited for her to explain something, she felt as though she'd known her forever, and was only telling someone something they already knew, deep down, somehow.

She understood the day Allison told her about how her parents had been separated before their arrival in Jericho. The truths began and they kept pouring out of her.

"I spent so long trying to hate him, for running out on us like that, and trying not to hate her, since I saw what it was doing to her, working so hard to keep us going."

"It was so weird, being stuck in the same house with them, with the world ending, and all the things they weren't saying out loud."

"Now, it's like they never lived apart. I'm happy, I guess, it's what every kid wishes for, and I'm glad I don't have to feel like I'm picking one or the other all the time. But it's still so weird. And it's like they don't need me, the same anymore. They're hiding things from me they didn't before."

Bonnie nodded, interjected, and sympathized. Allison didn't remember anything she'd actually said later. Only the feeling of weightlessness as Bonnie shared one of her most confusing secrets.

As Bonnie found herself getting to know Allison better, she wondered if she had ever had a friend she knew so well. She'd always gotten along with most people, and her elementary teachers were always telling Stanley she was the type of child who made friends easily. She remembered many schoolyard games and afternoons playing with the other kids from the neighbouring farms. But she didn't remember many close conversations, with any of those people she'd grown up with. It had been hard to talk to them, really. Hard to find anyone who could really listen.

"You're easy to read," she told Allison one day, as they were sitting on the grass, at the edge of the football field outside the high school. "Not everyone is."

"Yeah?" asked Allison.

Bonnie shook her head. "I don't know why. Some people are so easy to read. Mimi is. But I used to sometimes pretend I couldn't, to annoy her."

Allison chuckled. Bonnie gave her a wry smile. "Some people I've grown up with are easy, I guess because I know them. But some people are harder. Like Eric Green. I don't know why."

She smiled again, but it didn't meet her eyes. Allison pulled a blade of grass from the field, and twisted it between her fingers. "Is it hard?" she asked.

"Lipreading?" asked Bonnie. "Yeah. I guess. But it's all I have." She yanked up a blade of grass herself. "I'm proud of who I am," she said, her brow knitting as she considered her next words. "I wouldn't want it to be any other way. But..." She considered the blade of grass, and looked back up at Allison. "It's hard sometimes. I don't speak everyone else's language. And they don't speak mine."

Allison nodded, and without saying anything, Bonnie knew she understood. She glanced across the field, and up at the cloudy summer sky, before looking back at Bonnie. "We can learn," she said, with a small smile. She held her left palm up, and mimed grasping something between her right thumb and fingers.

Bonnie smiled, and repeated the sign, her hands raised slightly higher. Allison corrected herself. Bonnie smiled again.

Allison found herself practicing the new language she was learning more and more, and thinking about her new friend as she went about the less pleasant parts of her day. Watching her parents whisper tensely across the room, standing in line to hear what foods were now being offered at rations, sitting around the Taylors' living room while the adults socialized, seemed less difficult when she knew she had other time to look forward to. It was also more difficult, because she knew she could be spending time somewhere else, with someone who wouldn't grow quiet as she approached, who wouldn't be expecting any sacrifice out of her. She felt her frustrations growing, and sometimes, she let them out with Bonnie. Bonnie, of course, sat patiently.

"I just don't understand why they could trust me with all this stuff last year, but now all of a sudden, I'm in the dark about these things. I haven't changed." It was a lie, of course, she had changed, a lot, but she was annoyed, and that wasn't a lie.

"Maybe because they trust each other again?" asked Bonnie, passing her back the bottle of blackberry vodka they had gotten a hold of that night.

Allison took a sip and leaned back. They were sitting in the back of one of the Richmonds' trucks, looking up at the starry sky. "Yeah," she said. "I know. I should understand, and be okay. But sometimes I understand without understanding. Know what I mean?"

Bonnie nodded, and Allison passed her the bottle. She took a swig.

"I should be glad, I guess, that they don't need me. I complain when they do, and complain when they don't. And I know I'm just being a baby, but sometimes I'm just so mad at them." Allison sighed.

"You're not a baby. It's normal. In a family. Sometimes you love each other and want to kill each other." Bonnie signed as she spoke out loud, and grimaced sympathetically.

"Like you and Mimi?" asked Allison.

"Yeah. Stanley even made me promise not to kill her, when he went to New Bern." Bonnie chuckled at the memory. "And she drove me crazy. Even though I understood. She had a hard time, dealing with being here."

Allison nodded, and let out a world weary sigh. For some reason all her frustrations and pains at being stuck in Jericho, Kansas for the past few months seemed to be welling up inside her, threatening to burst out. "I know how that is," she said. Her eyes were suddenly stinging. She reached for the bottle, and took a swig. She made a face. "And this stuff sucks."

Bonnie took the bottle from her, glancing down at the label. "Yeah," she said, sliding it across the bed of the truck, out of the way. She reached a hand to Allison's wrist, and let it rest there. They sat in silence for a moment, and Allison could feel Bonnie's eyes on her. She turned to look at her.

In the dim light, Bonnie signed and Allison could make out the words she'd been learning. "I'm happy you're here."

Allison let out a small, strange sounding laugh, and considered signing back a 'thanks', but instead, pointed to herself and nodded her head.

She laughed again, and wondered if her laugh sounded nervous, thankful that Bonnie couldn't hear, though the way Bonnie watched facial expressions, she could probably tell the difference between laughs. "I mean, me too. I forgot how to sign 'too'," Allison began. She wanted to explain something, though she wasn't sure what, and opened her mouth to say something more, but she was silenced as Bonnie leaned in and kissed her.

At first Allison was shocked, though part of her felt she had been anticipating it, and she felt her own eyes widen in surprise, momentarily. She closed them, giving in to the kiss, and it seemed in slow motion that they broke apart a moment later.

Bonnie pulled back, her eyebrows raised in some kind of question, and she looked as though she was fighting to keep from smiling or biting her lip.

Allison felt as though she'd lost her breath. She stared at Bonnie, her own eyebrows raised, her eyes wide, as if returning the question with one of her own.

Bonnie let out a breath, and her expression softened. She leaned her head forward, her chin down, peering up at Allison, her eyes still questioning.

Allison's eyebrows lowered, and she returned a small, hesitant smile.

Without speaking out loud, they leaned towards each other. As their heads came closer, a lock of Bonnie's long hair fell across her face. Allison blinked, leaned back, and brushed the strand of gold away with a giggle. Bonnie laughed ruefully herself, and Allison kept her hand against the side of Bonnie's cheek as she leaned forward again.



In the days that followed, Allison and Bonnie didn't discuss the night under the stars. They discussed other things, but they didn't seem to need to talk about the change they both sensed was slowly occurring in their relationship. It was so natural, normal, they didn't need to remark about it. Allison continued to feel the growing thrill that she was discovering a world of new experiences each time she kissed Bonnie or let her hand rest on Bonnie's arm, or shoulder, or waist. Bonnie didn't speak of the excitement she had each day she anticipated meeting Allison somewhere, to her brother, Mimi, or Allison herself. She too felt she was discovering a whole new set of possibilities in the world, as she leaned against Allison as they sat on the porch or, daringly reached for her hand as they walked along the river. It was exciting, but it didn't seem to warrant discussion. She was happy just experiencing.

Her family, for their part, were just as excited that she'd found a new friend as they had been that first afternoon Allison had visited the farm. If they understood how different this new friend was for Bonnie than all her childhood playmates had been, they certainly didn't let on. Stanley offered corny jokes and a warm greeting every time Allison came by, and Mimi had met her on several occasions now, smiling and inviting them both to evenings with Stanley and their friends in town that the two politely declined more often than not.

One invitation they did accept was the impromptu engagement party Stanley and Mimi found themselves invited to after the word got around. Mimi promised it was nothing fancy, an evening at Bailey's with their friends, and they just couldn't imagine this first celebration of many without Bonnie, who was naturally invited to bring along her best friend. Bonnie and Allison sat at the bar, sipping the virgin cocktails they had been loudly offered in front of the J&R rep sitting conspicuously taking notes in the corner. Bonnie laughed and teased Mimi as she danced with several of their male friends, in a game that seemed to have been started by Stanley, who danced with several of the women in the room. She and Allison traded theories about why Jake Green sat so sullenly in the corner, how many more drinks Eric Green would consume before the bartender cut him off graciously, and whether Bill Kohler's date realized he was in love with her.

By the time Stanley and Mimi were ready to leave, the sky was a deep black. Allison and Bonnie rode in the back of the truck on the way home. When they reached the farmhouse, the couple in the front casually explained that they were going to drive out to Elgin's point to look at the stars for a while. Stanley made the requisite inquiries into whether Bonnie and her friend would be alright at home. Bonnie assured him they'd be fine, she'd stayed home many times before, had recently turned eighteen, and of course Allison's parents had said she could stay over. Bonnie and Allison had waved, jokingly warning the older couple to behave themselves, and watched as the truck grew smaller.

They sat on the back porch, a lantern lit between them so they could talk, but neither said anything for a while. They stared up at the sky, leaning their elbows on the railing. It was a comfortable quiet.

Allison noticed the rumblings first. She poked Bonnie's arm. Bonnie held still, and nodded as another distant rumble of thunder shook the ground. "Storm," she said, unnecessarily. They both turned to watch the sky, and after a few minutes, they could see the light beginning to tear through the clouds.

Bonnie had always found storms exhilarating. There was so much to feel, and experience, in something so strong and powerful. She grabbed Allison's hand, and pulled her along as she stepped off the porch.

Allison almost thought she could feel the electricity in the air, but she didn't feel the vague nervousness she sometimes had when woken by a storm in the middle of the night, as a child. She'd always felt in awe, when she'd seen just how big and unstoppable the world outside was, and herself so small in it. Tonight, she felt connected to it all, a part of the strong, powerful, unstoppable force coming her way. She stood, watching the storm come closer, her hand firmly holding Bonnie's, their fingers intertwined.

When Allison counted four seconds between light flash and thunder clap, the rain began. It was sudden, swift, and they were soaked within seconds. With a shriek of laughter, she glanced at Bonnie, and they ran back towards the porch. They watched the storm for a few more moments, until they were both shivering, and Bonnie nodded towards the door. Raising her eyebrows, then nodding as Allison gave a nod herself, she led the way inside.

They kicked off their wet shoes in the entrance of the house, and still shivering, Allison followed Bonnie up the stairs. She'd spent plenty of time in Bonnie's room before. Talking on the bed in their earlier days, exploring other new things in more recent days. She had a feeling, suddenly, that this time would be different, that she was about to leap into the unknown more completely than she ever had before. She found herself running through the usual list of reasons why she shouldn't, but found that it didn't matter to a bigger part of her, the part that was unafraid as she stood, sopping wet in the middle of the worn rug, staring back at Bonnie.

Bonnie had leapt into the unknown before, but she felt altogether different as she dropped her jacket on the chair, stepped across her room, slipping out of her wet shirt and jeans and perching on the edge of her bed. She looked back at Allison, expectantly, breathing in a rapid rhythm that was vaguely familiar.

Allison stood rooted to the spot for a moment, and couldn't quite name one of the many feelings now flashing through her mind. She felt something springing inside her, wanting to step forward, something else urging her to go back, and somehow she was standing still. Her eyes swept Bonnie's skin, now covering in goosebumps, and met her gaze. Bonnie gave her a hesitant smile. Allison found herself moving forward, aware still of the claps of thunder echoing outside, and her heart suddenly pounding in her ears. And of Bonnie's warm hand in hers, pulling her towards her.

Their kisses were familiar as always, but different tonight, as she knelt one knee against the bed, fumbling with her own wet clothes. Feeling a jolt as Bonnie slipped a hand under her shirt. She broke the kiss, leaning back, trying not to let her face show surprise.

Bonnie raised her eyebrows.

"I've...I've never done this before," stammered Allison.

Bonnie shrugged, and offered her a small smile. "Me neither."

They sat in silence, half dressed, half kneeling on the worn quilt. Bonnie bit her lip, and closed her eyes a moment.

Allison felt her face growing hot, and was suddenly reminded of the night Bonnie had first closed the distance between them in the back of the truck. She had felt paralysed, and yet, she'd known she would never be able to stop herself from reaching forward. She gently tapped Bonnie's arm. Bonnie opened her eyes.

"I...I just wanted you to know."

Bonnie smiled, that way she always did. "I did," she answered. She signed something, and took Allison's hand in hers, pressing a kiss to it as she held it up to her lips.

"I'm not. Worried," said Allison, returning her smile. She pulled her damp t-shirt over her head, and let it drop to the floor beside her. Crawling forward, she followed Bonnie's lead, down, onto the bed, into her arms. The world flashed brilliant and echoing outside and inside.

Allison thought often of Bonnie as the days of summer languished in town. Her thoughts about Bonnie weren't the same kind as her other thoughts. They were pictures, feelings, flashing by, and lingering, and seemed to come from the same place from which the compulsion to follow Bonnie out into the storm had come. It wasn't like wondering what her father was really up to out at the hunting cabin he'd only briefly told her about. Worrying over Sam hanging out with Tyler Dean and those other boys from school he seemed to be trying to impress. The closest thing it was like was that night etched permanently in her mind, as the beginning of this whole other person she'd become. The night she'd killed Sarah Mason.

It was really the opposite, those breathless afternoons with Bonnie, in her bedroom or the cab of her truck or some nights, on a blanket by the river. The opposite feeling, but she could see similarities. The way each held a dazzling impression somewhere at the very core of her being. Each was so small and private, and so huge and life altering, she held it close to her and wished she could tell someone. She told no one about Bonnie. She didn't really need talk to anyone else, when Bonnie was there to experience the dazzling changes along with her. Sarah Mason was another story. She had held that night like a stone tied to her heart ever since, and it had seemed to have a comfortably solid place in her daily life, much as it had tortured her, in the weeks after moving to the shelter, and into the Taylors' house, and back to the house her father had bought before the bombs. Now, it didn't seem to exist peaceably with this new set of feelings weighing her heart, and she found herself worrying about how the two would ever coexist.

She knew that Bonnie understood there was something there, beneath the layers of truth that Allison had begun to reveal to her. She had guarded herself carefully, all along, knowing how important protecting the secret was, and also, she admitted to herself, protecting herself from that look her mother, brother, and father would have sometimes when they looked at her. She knew they couldn't help what they saw, that they loved her anyway, but she hadn't wanted Bonnie to see the part of her that they knew. And all the dangers and complications that came with it.

She fought against herself for a long time. She told herself that she was doing the right thing. Another part of her was starting to melt, her resolve weakening, as Bonnie talked and laughed beside her, always raising her eyebrows with that open, questioning look. She lay awake nights telling herself how important it was to protect them all, while the more primal parts of her warred over which was stronger, her trust in Bonnie or her fear of her lover and best friend seeing her darkest truth.

One day, out of the blue, her trust won out. Leaning back on the grassy riverbank, staring up at a bright blue sky, she turned sideways and told Bonnie the whole story. She left out the gritty details that would give her father a coronary, like the full scope of his job and what she had learned about the state of the country from him. She told the details that mattered to her. The stranger who seemed familiar, who gave her an uneasy feeling. The sick dread in her stomach that night as her mother came upstairs to get her, a tense look of worry on her face. The desperate circumstances she'd found her family in. The constant gnawing at her mind ever since the first time she'd shot a gun into flesh. Bonnie didn't seem to need details Allison couldn't give. She nodded and waited as Allison gave her the details that made her own mind spin, her own stomach churn. She was patient, and wore the same look she always did, her eyebrows raised. Allison watched her with painfully baited breath. Waiting for her revulsion, waiting for a strange awkwardness. Bonnie asked questions. Bonnie offered sympathy. Bonnie brushed her fingers along Allison's cheek, and told her how glad she was that Robert Hawkins had taught his daughter to shoot.

Amidst her shock that Bonnie wasn't running, Allison spoke even deeper truths. Not only what she had done, but the way it had made her feel, from that day on. The constant war within her, the one side knowing how much she loved her family and how glad she was to defend them, the other side wanting to detach from herself completely, not wanting to be a part of what she'd had to become.

"I can't imagine it," said Bonnie, leaning propped up on an elbow, curled sideways along the river bank. "What it must be like, to know you've protected your family like that."

"Well, that's one way to look at it," Allison said.

"That's the most important thing. Knowing they're alive because of you. Does it help make up for it?" asked Bonnie.

"Nothing can make up for it," said Allison. "But it's the reason I'd do it again. Every time I think about it, I end up back to that. I'd do it again."

"You love them and you'd do it again," repeated Bonnie. "You have to hold onto that."

Allison nodded, watching the river with a serious expression.

"I know it's hard," continued Bonnie. "But you're not alone anymore, right?"

Allison nodded, with a small smile that grew steadier, more sure, as Bonnie smiled back.

"I wonder if I could ever do that," Bonnie said thoughtfully. "Do what you've done. I wonder if I'd be brave enough."

"Why would you even want to know that?" asked Allison, feeling slightly uneasy, for reasons she couldn't quite articulate.

"Protect my family," continued Bonnie. "I know, how hard it was, how it still is. But I hope, if they needed me, I could do it."

"I hope you never have to," said Allison, noticing a tone of warning in her voice, realizing Bonnie wouldn't hear it, and fixing her with a solicitous look. "Believe me, you don't want it to come to that."

Bonnie shrugged, bending her elbows to lean further down in the grass, and glancing up at the sky again. "I know. But I love them, and I hope I could be as brave. About the people I love. That's all."

Allison didn't know what to say to this. Bonnie continued to stare up at the clouds, and so Allison wasn't sure she noticed her saying "I hope you don't have to." She shifted over on the grass, leaning her head against Bonnie's shoulder. Bonnie reached an arm across Allison's chest, and Allison leaned her head to kiss the arm, looking up at the sky herself.

While Allison and Bonnie reveled in the changes to their own small world, they couldn't help feeling the bigger changes in the world around them, Jericho and the places beyond. Bonnie could see a world lifting out of the ashes. Her farm was saved. Her brother was engaged, and behaving like a hopelessly romantic goof ball. Mimi had a new job, and Bonnie's visits to the J&R office always seemed to involve new pictures and words from a rebuilding country, with bustling cities and young people who did more than pick corn and mind their siblings. She noticed some little odd pieces that didn't quite fit the pristine jigsaw puzzle she was piecing together through J&R. Some of her brother's friends seemed not quite as thrilled with the new order, and Stanley was irritated when he came home from a night out with them sometimes. The woman who worked with Mimi, and who, to Bonnie's great amusement, admitted to being scared of her sister-in-law-to-be, was friendly when she talked about city life and opportunities, but became vague and difficult to read when she spoke of the new currency or the exact terms of the dealings with J&R that the farmers could expect in the future. None the less, the future seemed less strange and scary a prospect, now that some concrete happiness seemed to have arrived in Bonnie's life.

For Allison, the future seemed fraught with things much less hopeful. She knew firsthand how whispered secrets could break out and destroy you. She noticed her parents' careful whispers, furtive glances, and knew enough, about everything her father had been through, to be worried about what was happening outside of the small town she'd accepted as her own. She understood her parents' worries, and although they no longer shared the details with her, she knew the scope of them. She knew, too, that as they scrambled to protect themselves, the family, and what they could of the country, they didn't need to deal with a daughter boldly reaching out into her own world. But she couldn't help it. She began to notice that they were noticing her too. The worried glances they sent each other when she asserted that she could stay at Bonnie's again, that she didn't need to be spirited away to the Taylors' house. The way her mother kept trying to suggest an invitation to dinner, to be passed on to Bonnie. Allison understood their worry, and couldn't bring herself to do anything to worry them further, or to assuage them. She could see it coming, therefore, but she was powerless to stop her parents' eventual investigation into what had gotten her smiling at such strange moments, and where she was so suddenly comfortably spending all her time.

Allison knew her father was preparing to talk to her about something serious because he was being especially cautious around her.

She had a good idea what it was he was going to talk about, or who, rather, as he watched her quietly across the breakfast table, sorting through belongings in the living room, or coming in and out of the house in the middle of the bright summer days.

She knew she should have her answer ready. Her logical, unshakable answer that couldn't be torn apart by her father's biting but realistic truth. Yet she couldn't form a defense. When her mind drifted to Bonnie, to those quiet words they'd exchange, those lazy afternoons by the river, those new discoveries she never thought she'd get to make in this world, she couldn't bear to touch any of it with her logical mind.

So, although she could see it coming, she had no careful words ready when her father began, one night after Sam was upstairs, in what he clearly thought was a casual voice.

"You're not going out tonight, are you baby?" he asked.

She was quiet for a moment, looking at him. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, and she was finishing the dishes. She could read on his face, all the questions he didn't need to ask out loud. She was certain he could see on her face, too, the answer. Sure enough, he nodded, and spoke again.

"What are you doing with this girl, Allie?"

She breathed in quickly. Her father caught her expression and continued quickly. "I don't mean...I'm saying, you know the danger here, right?"

"Danger?" asked Allison, attempting to roll her eyes, though she knew as well as he did that there was a truth behind his words, though she couldn't bring herself to believe in it. "She's not a...she's my...friend," Allison finished lamely, but she met her father's gaze with a steady stare of her own.

"That may be," said her father, affecting his usual business like stance, "But you know how careful we have to be. Of any outsiders. You know it's not just you you're putting in danger, it's -"

"It's everyone else," said Allison dully.

He surveyed her carefully. "I don't care what this girl is to you, okay? It wouldn't bother me, one way or the other...but you have a duty to your family. To your mother, your brother. And I want you to stay safe. Understand?"

Allison narrowed her eyes, but nodded. She would not be exploring what Bonnie was to her, in the middle of this conversation. She glanced momentarily over at her mother, who had been sitting at the table, a book open in front of her but her eyes on the conversation. Darcy gave her a quick nod, and Allison understood. She nodded again. "I understand." She strode out of the room, and upstairs to change.

As she quickly rearranged her hair in the mirror, her mother appeared in the doorway.

"Allison."

She turned back to the mirror, but she could see her mother in the reflection, her eyebrows raised, imploring. She frowned.

"Allison, he's not trying to be unfair. We're not."

Allison picked at her fingernails in silence.

"You know, it's not anything to do with her. It'd be the same, whoever it was."

Allison had no doubt.

"I wish it were different, baby. I wish I could just be glad you've gotten close to someone. Glad to see you happy."

Allison could hear it in her mother's voice. She did long to give her daughter that world where closeness and happiness were ordinary things someone could actually hope for. And Allison could feel the anguish, between the two of them, that such things would always be tempered in their world, by the things they needed to do, in the name of safety.

"You've had to lose so much," continued Darcy, coming up beside her daughter, gently touching her sleeve. "I wish I could give it back to you." She brushed a piece of Allison's hair back, and glanced at the mirror. "But the truth is, I can't. We live a life that demands we be careful. It demands we watch what we say to people, who we talk to, how close we let ourselves get to them."

She sighed, looking at herself and her daughter in the mirror, two unsmiling faces contemplating the demands of their lives. Allison was looking too, but a different thought was running through her mind. She felt sad, for her mother, who was unable to share their secrets with anyone, unable to be close to anyone here as she had been with her sister, or her best friend back in DC. She felt a strange, almost giddy feeling at the same time because she knew they were different. She had Bonnie, and she could go to the depths of the tumultuous waves of her life after the bombs, and Bonnie would go with her. Bonnie had gone with her, and had held her, and there was nothing more between them. And her parents would be horrified, to know how far she had let Bonnie go, but they wouldn't know. Even they could not know what Allison had seen, faced, and spoken by the river.

She felt sad too, as she looked at her mother. She remembered, sitting on her mother's bed, back in DC, sipping mugs of hot chocolate, sharing the worn red fleece blanket, talking about school, soccer tryouts and dances, boys and friends. She had shared her secrets with her mother, in DC, and they didn't have that anymore either.

"Mom..." Allison wanted to give her something, but she wasn't sure what to say next when Darcy looked at her, silently questioning.

"Allison," her mother said finally. "I want to be happy for you. Support you. Any other time and place, that's all that I would do. I swear. I'm sorry that I have to ask you to think of our family, all the time. But we need each other, need to protect each other."

Allison sighed. She knew all of this, and felt it, but felt something that she couldn't quite convey to her mother. Thinking again of those days in DC, she made another attempt. "Mom, when I'm with Bonnie, it feels like real life again."

"Real life?" asked Darcy.

Allison sat down on the edge of her bed, folding her hands in her lap and looking at the bedspread as she tried to come up with words that might begin to explain. "Instead of this...everything. Since the bombs. It's like something out of a movie. Or a dream."

Darcy sat cautiously beside her. "Okay. I think I know what you mean."

Allison gave a small nod, and unfolded her hands, looking up. "When I'm with Bonnie,

it's just real life again. Not like it used to be, but real. Good. I feel like things could be good again. Great, maybe."

Darcy nodded, remaining silent.

"And I know you guys are worried, but you don't have to be. I can trust Bonnie. I know I can. And you know me. You can trust me, can't you?"

Darcy sighed this time, and Allison thought she was coming up with her own words of warning. She was surprised when her mother put an arm across her shoulders. "I do. But I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I do," said Allison. It wasn't entirely true. She knew that around Bonnie, she didn't quite trust herself. She found herself saying things she would never have said to anyone else, letting down her guard in a way she never thought she could. But in all of that, she trusted Bonnie. And that part of her life was hers right, now, and didn't belong to the family. That meant she couldn't quite share it, and what it really meant to her. She leaned her head against Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy kissed her daughter's head. "I love you, Allison. And I support you, I hope you know. But I can't say I'm not worried."

"Don't be," Allison murmured. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Allison heard the familiar honking outside.

"I'll talk to your father, alright?" whispered Darcy. "But you might want to talk to him too. Soon." Her usual business tone was there, all of a sudden. "You know, he knows more about how these things go than you might realize."

Allison nodded, and gathered her things, promising to be back the next morning, and to think about it. She tried not to think about worries of her parents and talks with her father as she climbed into the truck, smiled at Bonnie, and drove into the night. As usual, they would escape from the worries of the outside world.

Bonnie had news about the outside world, it turned out. They sat with real hot chocolate on the back porch, a lantern beside them, and she told Allison of her conversation with Trish Merrick, the signing J&R employee. She spoke casually about the job opportunities with J&R, the trip to Cheyenne and the chance to find out what lay beyond, but it was clear she was excited. Allison listened quietly, with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"So what do you think?" Bonnie asked finally, after she'd answered all of the questions Allison could think to ask about the details of the trip.

Allison tried to feign the same excitement that she knew Bonnie was hiding. "It sounds exciting."

"I'm probably not going," said Bonnie, with a casual shrug. "But it was interesting, to find out about it."

"Why aren't you going?" asked Allison, in what she hoped was a casual tone.

"Why would I go? I've got a lot to stay for," said Bonnie.

Allison struggled coming up with her next words. "It's a big opportunity. A chance for you to get out there and see the world. Or what's left of it. Why wouldn't you take it?"

Bonnie swallowed and sat pensively for a moment. "The world can wait," she said doubtfully.

Allison felt a strange dread in her, but she remembered the conversations they'd had, all the things Bonnie wanted to try, all the things she'd done and seen herself that Bonnie had thought she would never get to experience. She had a lump in her throat, but she forced herself to answer. "So can everything else."

Bonnie seemed slightly taken aback. She reached for Allison's hand. "I didn't think you'd say that."

"Why not?" asked Allison, feeling a slight irritation rise in her, for reasons unknown to her. "You think I don't want you to get to do all the things you've dreamed about? Think I don't want you to get to have a life for yourself, outside this place? Think I don't get that this is a big opportunity, and you have to take those when they come?"

Bonnie shook her head. She signed "I don't think that," and frowned. "I'm not sure I want to go, that's all."

"Why?" asked Allison, a pained smile forcing itself onto her features.

Bonnie didn't say anything, and watched Allison with a puzzled, vaguely hurt look that made Allison feel worse.

Allison sighed, pulled her knees up to her chest, and looked down at the porch. She looked back up and Bonnie was still giving her that penetrating stare. "You're not saying no because of me are you?" asked Allison.

Bonnie blinked, and narrowed her eyes as she seemed to be considering her answer. She seemed torn, her eyes getting suspiciously bright but her mouth set in a frown. "Not just you," she said quietly. "I...have other things I have to stay for."

Allison couldn't seem to stop herself from sending her a challenging look. Bonnie brushed a strand of hair back and her hands formed the sign Allison recognized as 'family.' "I have other people to worry about," she continued.

Allison shook her head. "Stanley and Mimi can wash their own socks, you know."

Bonnie raised her eyebrows, not in the same way she did when opening herself to learning more about how someone was feeling, or where they had come from. She seemed to be showing her disbelief at what she was reading on Allison's lips.

Allison felt her insides churn at the pained look on Bonnie's face, but for some reason, she felt compelled to spit out the words that had been running through her head for the past few moments. "They don't need you as much as you think. And even if they did, they shouldn't. You need to live your own life. If you cut yourself off now, if you think you have to live your life for them, you won't be able to get out of it. Believe me. It'll happen because you love them, and you feel guilty about doing anything you think will be bad for them. But you have a chance now, to do something that will be good, for you, and if you don't take it, you'll get stuck. And then you won't be happy."

Bonnie said nothing for a moment. Her silence, her face in the flickering lantern light, unnerved Allison. Finally, she said, "I know they can wash their own socks."

Allison felt nearly out of breath, and realized she was holding her hands in fists at her side. She glanced at Bonnie again. Bonnie had set her face in a hard expression. "I do know that. And I didn't say I wasn't going."

Allison gave a curt nod. She didn't trust herself to say anything else.

"I'm still thinking of going," said Bonnie.

Allison hugged her arms around her knees and said nothing. She was fighting the sudden hot tears that seemed to be threatening to slip from her eyes.

"And I'm going to bed," said Bonnie, suddenly standing, turning, and going into the house.

Allison knew it was no use shouting after her, and couldn't bring herself to stand. She stared out across the darkened fields, and let out a world weary sigh.

She went inside a half hour later, after Mimi wandered out onto the porch and tried, oblivious to Allison's sullen mood, to involve her in a discussion about bridal party colours. She politely told Mimi that burgundy sounded beautiful and went in the house. Bonnie was pretending to be asleep already when Allison came into her room, her eyes shut and her back to the door. Allison knew better than to poke her, and guessed that she would probably sense her in the room, even though she couldn't hear her footsteps on the wooden floor. She slipped into her pyjamas in silence, turned off the lamp, and sat down on the sleeping bag they always kept on the floor, though she rarely used it. She turned herself to face away from Bonnie, laying awake in the darkness until she lost track of time.

The next morning passed in an awkward silence for the most part, after Bonnie announced, over the breakfast table, that she was going to go talk to Trish about taking the trip to Cheyenne. Stanley and Mimi offered excited congratulations and assured Bonnie they were glad she was taking the opportunity. If they noticed Allison's near silence, beyond her quick assertion that she was happy for Bonnie, they ignored it, and behaved as though it were any morning around the Richmond breakfast table. Mimi joked that she was slightly jealous, Stanley joked that Bonnie would have to be back to help with the wedding arrangements, and Allison offered shaky smiles now and then.

Bonnie drove her back to the old Thompson house after breakfast, but they had Mimi in between them in the cab, on her way to work. Allison wished she could think of something to say, and felt slightly irritated that even if she could have, she would have to contend with Mimi's jabbering on excitedly about all the packing tips she would give Bonnie, and all the fashions Bonnie might find in the city, and what souvenirs she might bring back. With Mimi still between them as they drove into the Hawkinses' driveway, Allison merely waved and promised they would see each other soon. Bonnie nodded, and Mimi slid over on the seat, bidding Allison goodbye and then launching into another topic of wedding related conversation before they had even driven off.

Allison stood on the driveway for a while, feeling like her arms and legs had suddenly gotten heavy. She was finally interrupted by Sam, bouncing a basketball by her and saying "What are you still doing out here, Allison?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, stepping finally towards the house.

Bonnie felt she had been seized by a strange new energy, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Part of her was thrilled as she always was when she knew she was about to leap into the unknown. Part of her was terrified as she always was. Another part of her felt horribly bothered by Allison's reaction to it all. Another part felt determined not to be hurt. After all, Allison just had her best interests at heart. There was no reason to be upset, or anything but excited about the change her world was about to take on. And her family was going to be worried enough about her leaving, they didn't need her strange, complicated, impossible to explain feelings to worry about on top of it all. Especially since they seemed to be taking the news she would be going to another state so well. Stanley was making corny jokes, hiding his own bursts of sentimentality the best he could, and Mimi was giving her practical and fanciful tips about the city and the world beyond. They didn't know the conflicted feelings suddenly warring over her, and they didn't need to know.

The night after Bonnie gave them the news, the night after she drove Allison home in a stony silence, she sat with Mimi on the back porch. They leaned against each other in the cool evening air, joking about how Mimi would follow her instructions about taking care of Stanley while she was away. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the evening light on the horizon, and Bonnie was a little surprised when Mimi lifted her head again, and poked Bonnie's shoulder.

"Do you think Allison will be okay with you leaving?" she asked.

Bonnie nodded slowly. "She says she is."

"She seemed to be taking it pretty hard," said Mimi.

"She..." Bonnie trailed off. Part of her knew, of course, though she'd wanted to be hurt at Allison's words. She knew that under her words, something less biting was sometimes coaxed out.

"She's happy for you, but scared she'll lose you. I know how it is," said Mimi.

"It's stupid," said Bonnie. "She won't lose me. We..."

"You have something special," said Mimi. Bonnie turned to look directly at her sister-in-law-to-be, just a little surprise on her face. "You do, and she doesn't want anything to mess it up. I'm guessing you don't either. Nothing wrong with that."

Bonnie opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't quite seem to get any words out. Mimi gave her a knowing smile. "As I said, I can relate," she added.

"You know, huh?" asked Bonnie, her eyebrows raised in slight amusement.

"A little bit," shrugged Mimi. "Kind of hard to miss actually." She grinned, and hugged her arm that was around Bonnie tighter. "Don't worry, Stanley hasn't figured it out, I don't think. But I know the signs, since, I know how it feels." She raised her eyebrows at Bonnie now, an encouraging smile on her face.

Bonnie returned the smile, sitting up in her seat and taking a breath. "I think I love her."

She found herself grinning quite suddenly, and Mimi smiled back at her once more. "That's great," said Mimi. "I'm happy for you."

"I wish she was happy," sighed Bonnie. "I just don't know what to do."

"About what?" asked Mimi.

"Just...everything," said Bonnie. "She told me to go. I don't really want to go, but I..."

"Don't want to stay either?" asked Mimi.

"Don't want to miss out," sighed Bonnie. "I really do want to go out there and see things."

"And we all want you to," said Mimi. "To get to do what you want, in life. We're all going to support you, you know."

"I know," said Bonnie. "But, I don't want to leave here either. I'm afraid I'll miss out on other things. She says I should go, and I know she'll be here, when I get back."

"You don't want to leave her now, huh?" asked Mimi. Bonnie nodded.

Mimi sighed and looked up at the darkening sky, a sympathetic grimace on her face. She turned back to face Bonnie, so that she could see her as she spoke next. "Well, I've learned that you have to take what comes up today, because you don't know what will happen tomorrow. Things come out of the blue sometimes, good things, and you have to recognize what they are and accept them. You want to do this, and I think you should, get to do something you want with your life."

Bonnie nodded, as she could see Mimi was about to continue.

"But, I've also learned that love is a gift. A really important one. You can find it in some strange, unexpected places, but once you've got it, I think you've got to hold onto it. You know, it's just so precious." Mimi made a bit of a face at her own cheesy choice of words, but smiled. "So neither choice is a bad one. You've got to do what's right for you, what your heart says, I guess. You know what I chose." She held up her left hand, the ring flashing quickly as it had each time she showed it off over the past few weeks. Bonnie couldn't help but giggle, but at Mimi's raised eyebrows, she nodded with a more serious smile.

"I wish I didn't have to choose," Bonnie said, leaning back against the farmhouse's wall.

"Well, maybe you won't have to," said Mimi. "Maybe you'll find a way."

Bonnie tried to return her hopeful smile.

"Whatever you do, you know I'm right behind you, right? Me and Stanley both. And I promise we'll follow your list while you're gone. If you go."

Bonnie laughed, and Mimi smiled too. "Thank you," Bonnie signed. Mimi gave her a nod. Bonnie leaned her head on Mimi's shoulder again, and they watched the sun set in silence.

The next morning, the Hawkins family breakfast was interrupted by a knocking on the door. Robert Hawkins answered and was slightly surprised to see Bonnie Richmond standing on the front stoop, demanding to know if Allison was home with her most assertive manner. She paid no attention to Allison's father's quick survey of her, but waited, tapping her foot, until Allison came to the door.

"Want to go for a walk with me?" she asked.

Allison looked mildly surprised, but said she would. She glanced over her shoulder at her father, who was watching them closely, and followed Bonnie out into the hazy early summer morning.

Bonnie walked in silence until they were a few houses away from Allison's, and stopped, standing in the shade of a tree, on the deserted street.

"I've been thinking," said Bonnie. "And I have an idea."

Allison was slightly wary, but she nodded.

"I want to go. I want to see what's out there. And I think you do too. So you should come with me."

Allison hadn't expected this. She took this in for a moment, letting her mind race quickly through possibilities and protests.

"Leave?" she asked. "Go? Out there?"

Bonnie nodded. "We can see it all. Together."

"But..." Allison trailed off. It sounded so perfect, and impossible, she didn't want to let herself consider it until she had hashed out the obstacles she could already see. "I can't. I'm not even seventeen yet. Not as old as you."

"That's okay," said Bonnie. "I'm sure you'll be alright with me, and you're older than most sixteen-year-olds I've ever met anyway."

Allison smirked at this. She noticed that Bonnie noticed, and seemed to grow encouraged.

"Think about it. You always say you want to get away. This is our chance. We can eat sushi and live on a crowded street and find bride magazines for Mimi, send Stanley post cards. We can walk down a street, where no one knows us, and hold hands, and people will just think we look happy." Bonnie grew more excited as she spoke. "We could be okay, Allison."

"I just don't know..." said Allison. She wanted to hope. And she didn't want to hope. It was too hard to imagine. And so easy.

"We don't have to go right away," said Bonnie. "I can go next week, and check it out. Find out what's out there. Tell you about it. We can decide what to do later. I just want to know if you might want to. Go together."

Allison gave her a small smile. Bonnie took her hand. "It won't be forever. But you have to take chances when you get them."

Allison nodded, feeling the smile on her face grow. Feeling, once more, the part of herself that followed Bonnie into the field, wanting to say yes, despite all the other parts screaming in protest.

"Yes," she said. "I don't know how, or when, but yes, I like that plan."

Bonnie grinned. "Really?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah."

Bonnie pulled her into a hug. Allison leaned her chin against Bonnie's shoulder, breathing in. She couldn't believe how much the prospect of going to Cheyenne had changed over night. Her parents would never agree, she was sure, and she had no idea how she would try to convince them, but for the moment, she let herself enjoy imagining another summer day like this one, walking freely somewhere with Bonnie by her side. That thought was enough to make the future seem bright, no matter what else it held.

It ended at the beginning.

Bonnie Richmond was imagining the beginning of a new life as she performed the most common of her daily rituals, setting forks and plates out on the table and trying not to giggle as she wondered if Mimi would need a cheat sheet to help her figure out where the forks and plates were kept in the kitchen. When her sister-to-be came in the door, a wild look in her eyes, Bonnie didn't hesitate, as she had once wondered if she would, that day on the riverbank. She didn't think about the future at all as she ran down the hall with Mimi, moments later. Her mind was only on the friend she'd come to accept as her family, and the gun waiting in the closet, their only chance at survival as the men with black shirts approached the house.

Another beginning was happening in the town of Jericho, and though it had been building slowly, noticed by some more than others, it was suddenly thrown into motion with full force that night as Bonnie Richmond fell to her living room floor. Within hours, the whole town felt this new beginning.

The next few days were a flurry of activity, confusion, and terror as the people responded, realizing exactly what was beginning. Two days after Bonnie and Allison made their beginning of a plan on a deserted street, the town of Jericho had transformed.

In the old library, Sean Henthorn tried to remain steady as he recounted the events of the past few days to his fellow survivors who hadn't been at the med centre during the showdown between the patrol and Ravenwood. He wondered if this beginning was as painful for them, as they roared their disapproval for J&R and the ASA, as it was for him.

In a car on Route Forty, Gail Green sped towards her hometown, trying to keep her mind on her sons and the people she could still take care of in the broken place she was imagining as she made the trip home. She tried not to dwell on how much the town was beginning to become unrecognizable to her.

In a crumbling barn, Jake Green strained against his captors and desperately tried to keep his focus. He imagined the people he had promised to lead, and hoped that they weren't beginning any stupid campaign that would make things worse for them.

On a shady street, Mary Bailey quickly walked towards the med centre, a bag of clothes in her arms and news to pass on in her mind. She wondered how she would begin to tell her friend the story of how the rangers and Ravenwood had parted ways in the field this morning.

In a hospital bed, Mimi Clark stared at the window without really seeing it. She didn't bother to wonder to herself when everything she had seen and heard would begin to sink in.

In an old garage far too close to the centre of town, Emily Sullivan and Eric Green avoided discussing the look on their friend's face, trying instead to come up with a plan to rescue their leader from Beck's clutches. Much as each ached for Stanley, they couldn't begin to understand what he was really going through and would support him by protecting him from capture, for now.

Beside an old truck, Stanley Richmond sat, his head in his hands. Certain he could never begin again.

At an old hunting cabin outside of town, Robert Hawkins was leading his family through the door. Sam dazedly cracked a joke about camping as he stepped inside, and his father tried to smile at him. Darcy followed closely behind, telling her son in a hushed tone that she would help him put his bag away in the bedroom. Allison was the last to enter, and she stood completely still, dropping her bag at her feet.

Hawkins watched his daughter with a careful expression. Any time he had seen her for the past two days, she had worn a stony expression on her face. Darcy had told him she'd held Allison in her arms the first night, that she'd cried then, but she'd been silent since. Now, Hawkins struggled to find words to say.

"Allie, I know you don't want to be here," he said, clearing his throat. "But I need you now, to be with your mother and brother. And I need you to be here, safe, while I do some things. You understand, right?"

Allison nodded. She stayed silent.

Her father stepped closer, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. About all of this, baby girl."

"It's not your fault," Allison whispered, in a voice that sounded a thousand years old in that moment. Hawkins wished he could pick her up in his arms, like he had when she was four years old, and tell her things would be alright, and that they'd be happy again tomorrow. He reached his other hand, and gripped both her shoulders, looking her in the eye. She met his steely gaze with one of her own. "You know," he said, in a careful voice. "If I had my way, you would not be living in a world like this."

Allison nodded slowly, looking down, but then meeting her father's gaze again, even as her eyes were brimming. Feeling herself shudder, feeling herself losing her steel grip, she choked out a sob. Her father pulled her into a hug, holding her against him.

"I loved her," she said, into her father's chest.

Robert Hawkins gently held his daughter's head as he leaned to kiss her forehead. "I know," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her again.

Allison gave way to the sobs that were wracking her insides and stood, crying into her father's arms, as the town around her turned its face towards the beginning of a new fight.