The ride back to camp occurs in silence. Ritchie drives, one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the window. Irin stares out her window the entire way, hands folded together in her lap. Freen stares straight ahead, right at the back of Ritchie's headrest, Becky thinks. She doesn't say a word. And Becky's more nervous than ever. She knows her mom can handle herself. That doesn't stop her from worrying about what the Pioneers – what Ginny – could do to her.

They're parking just as Heng's truck pulls up. Heng and Nop hop out with quite the supply of fish, and Nop grins widely as Becky walks over.

"Hey," he greets. He pats the cooler he's hauling. "I caught more than Heng did, believe it or not."

"More than Heng?" Becky says. "Impossible."

"Apparently not," Nop says. "Heng wants me to go with him again. Says I'm lucky. But hey, who cares who caught more, right? At least we're gonna eat well tonight." Becky musters up a smile, but Nop sees right through it. "What's wrong?" he asks. He sets the cooler down. Becky almost wants to ask why they bother bringing the fish back in coolers if they have no ice but figures there's no point. Besides, the answer is probably just that this is the easiest way. "It didn't go well?" Nop guesses.

"No, it was fine," Becky says. "It's just – I have a lot to think about. There's a lot of stuff to process, and I just –"

"No, I get it," Nop says quickly. "Look, if you wanna talk later, you know where to find me. I'm gonna get this cooler over to John and we're gonna start cooking, so make sure you show up on time so I can get you the best fish, alright?"

Becky nods. "Thanks, Nop."

"Yeah, of course."

"Do you need help with that?" Becky asks, motioning to the cooler.

"Nah, I got it."

"It looks heavy."

Nop shrugs and lifts the cooler with a grunt. "It is," he says. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

He could've just said yes to get her to spend more time with him, but he's willing to give her the space she needs. And he's more than capable of carrying that cooler by himself. Becky has to tear her eyes away from his arms and remind herself it's impolite to stare. Even if it's in admiration. She watches Nop meet up with Heng by their fire pit, watches Heng wave his arms around as he explains what they're going to do. Nop grins and nods the whole time before they get to work, and Becky finally stops staring and heads to the van.

Freen's already there, seated with a notebook in her lap, scrawling away. She doesn't look up as Becky enters, only acknowledges her presence with a muttered, "Hey."

Becky feels heavy. Weighed down. How much of it belongs to the knowledge she now has and how much of it is actually physical, she doesn't know. So she starts stripped. She removes the holster and the Glock first, dropping it to the ground and kicking it beneath her seats. The gun barrel goes under the seat next. Then her boots. She sheds her jacket, throws it on top of her denim jacket. Freen doesn't seem to notice what Becky's doing until she's working her way out of her jeans.

"Hey," Freen says sharply. The notebook closes. "What're you doing? Keep your clothes on."

"I can't," Becky says. She leans over to pull her jeans off and kicks them aside.

"You see, this is why people think we're together –"

"Now's not the time for jokes, Freen!"

Freen holds her hands up in surrender, watching Becky warily. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"About what?"

"Everything that happened at the coffee shop?"

"Do you want me to cry on you?"

"Not...really?"

"Then we shouldn't talk," Becky says. She yanks her T-shirt over her head, and Freen turns around, exhaling in exasperation.

"Please, put something on."

Becky shoves her blankets off her set of seats and drops down onto them on her stomach. She inhales sharply as her skin presses to the cool metal, but it's a nice feeling on such a hot day. "You can look," Becky grumbles. "I don't give a fuck."

"Okay, well, I do. At least throw a blanket over –"

"It's too hot for blankets."

"A tank top? Some shorts?"

"Would you feel better if I was wearing a bikini instead of underwear?"

"Is that a trick question?" Freen asks.

"I'm just saying it's no different," Becky says. She closes her eyes. "So there really shouldn't be a problem."

"Well, when I do the same thing, you don't get to complain," Freen says.

"Just go back to writing." Becky's eyes pop open. "Wait, what are you working on?"

Freen smiles wryly from across the aisle. She flips her notebook back open and picks up her pen. "I'm filling in the gaps, Becky," she answers. "Madison is alive. She didn't want to talk on camera, so I'll explain it. To do that, I need to actually remember what was said. At least enough to paraphrase."

"That's what you're worried about?"

"It is my job, Becky."

"Right. Most people stopped doing their jobs when they stopped needing them to survive under capitalism."

"My job was never about that. My job is still important. Even if only to me."

"You really care," Becky says.

"You sound like that's hard to believe," Freen replies.

"No, I mean – you really care about our story. My story. My mom's story. Ritchie and Irin's stories. It's not a job. It's your life."

"It took you that long to figure it out?"

"No. It took me that long to actually believe it."

"I do care," Freen says. "And I know I won't be the only person that cares when all of this ends."

"How can you be so sure it'll end?"

"The dead haven't wiped us all out yet," Freen says. "And humans can be pretty resourceful when we have to be. I'm sure it'll end. Might even be in our lifetime. There are people who are making sure we'll have a future."

"The Pioneers."

Freen grunts. "Maybe they're one. Jury's still out."

"Then...you mean whatever group Isabelle is with."

"Possibly."

Becky sits up. "You really think someone's going to be here in the future. Someone's going to study this period of time in a high school history course."

Freen laughs and scratches the back of her neck. "I mean, sure. It might take a few – or many – decades, and it probably won't be exactly the same as before, but I'm sure it'll happen."

"How can people think about the future?" Becky wonders aloud. "I can barely think beyond tomorrow. I'm too worried about staying alive in the moment. Thinking about the future is..."

"Is what?" Freen prompts.

"Dangerous."

"Some people need the idea of a future that's worth living for to keep themselves going," Freen says. "They need to believe it's possible, otherwise why not just off yourself right now?"

"That's a valid question."

Freen smiles. "I did take some philosophy courses in college, you know. We thought about what the meaning of life was."

"Did you? Sadly, I never got the college experience, so I never took a philosophy class." When Freen doesn't say anything, Becky takes the bait. "So what's the meaning of life?"

"That's the thing," Freen says, grinning mischievously. "There is no one meaning of life. Hell, maybe life has no meaning at all. That's up to you to decide. There's no right answer."

"If life has no meaning, why live at all?"

Freen points her pen at Becky. "Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"You keep living," Freen says. Her eyes lock with Becky's. Freen tucks the pen behind her ear and leans back, crossing one leg over the other. "You get up, day after day, even though the world is the shittiest it has ever been in all of human history. You keep living. Why?"

"I don't know."

Freen shrugs. "I think if there was no meaning in your life, you wouldn't bother."

"Maybe I won't."

Freen snorts. "No, you will. I know you, Becky. You aren't one to put a bullet in your head and quit. Not when the people you love still need you. Not when you still need them."

"Is that the answer? People? People give our life meaning?"

"Maybe," Freen says nonchalantly. "I told you. There is no right answer."

***

Becky's glad she never got the chance to take a philosophy course. Her brain hurts. The metal beneath her warms up before long, and now all her exposed skin sticks to it, which is pretty nasty. But the worst part is, she can't stop thinking. Not just about the meaning of life – if it has any meaning – but about the Pioneers. Her mom. Her mom's place in the Pioneers. The fact that Ritchie guessed – and probably with a lot of accuracy – that Madison literally cannot leave the Pioneers without severe repercussions. But even with all of that, one thing keeps coming back to Becky.

She's afraid.

She should be.

She needs to free her mom. She doesn't have the slightest idea how she's going to pull it off, but she can't leave her there. If it were Becky, Madison wouldn't give up. She would die trying. But Becky hopes to avoid dying in the process. She's going to free Madison, one way or another. She'll get her back. But she has to be smart about it.

"Maybe you should've been a philosopher instead of a journalist," Becky says. The only sound in the van is the persistent scratching of Freen's pen on paper, and it's starting to drive Becky nuts.

Freen scoffs. "Why? So I could teach philosophy at a university and publish a few papers? Pass."

"Sounds like you enjoyed philosophy, though."

"I enjoy journalism more."

"Yeah, but what does that even consist of?" Becky asks. "Publishing some papers?"

"A lot more than that."

"Like?"

"I was in literal warzones, Becky. Getting the story. Shit, my brother died without me because I was off investigating the country's use of the National Guard when they started firing at the fucking Army. Or maybe the Army started firing at the National Guard. I couldn't really tell who started it, but it was happening. And I got the story."

"Wait, what?" Becky says. She sits up, making a face as her skin peels away from the warm metal of the van. "They were firing at each other? Where?"

Freen pauses for a moment, thinks back. "San Diego."

"What?"

Freen nods. "Meanwhile, my family was dying in Houston. Lucky me. But I got the fucking story." Freen huffs and shakes her head. "Sure did me a lot of good, didn't it?"

"You were in California?" Becky asks. "At the very beginning?"

"Yeah. The whole country was falling apart, but the west coast was exploding with these strange outbreaks. Of course I was there. Why?"

Becky falters. "I don't know. It just seems weird. You were only a couple hours from where I was when this all started."

Freen pauses, her eyebrows pulling together. "Yeah, I guess that's weird," she mutters. "I don't know how the hell you got out of LA. I barely made it out of San Diego before the bombs dropped."

"Ritchie," Becky says. "He had a boat. We managed to get to Mexico. Ended up in Southern California. It's a long story."

"Seems like a lot of the stories are long now, huh?"

"Long and fucking unbearable," Becky groans.

Freen surprises her by laughing and saying, "I'll give you that one," and Becky manages to smile. "You ready to put clothes on yet? Or are you going to our next meal in a bra and underwear?"

"I'll do what I want, thank you very much," Becky retorts.

"You're gonna let Nop see you like that?"

"I – good point. I will put something on."

"Not that he'd be the only one staring."

"Don't be gross," Becky whines. "I already said I'd put clothes on."

"I'm just saying. I know Heng loves Nam, but –"

"That is more than enough," Becky interrupts loudly. "Look. I've got shorts on. I'm finding a shirt. You've made your point."

Freen snickers and closes up her notebook. She locks it in her safe with her camera and tapes. "C'mon. Let's go eat. Socialize a little. We can talk about what happened when we get back."

"Even if I threaten to cry?"

"Yep. There's a box of tissues in here somewhere."

***

"Your plate, my lady."

"You need to work on your British accent," Freen says. Nop rolls his eyes and hands the plate of fish to Becky. 

"Thanks," Becky says. Before Nop can reply, Freen grabs an apple off the pile and takes a loud bite out of it. She accepts a plate from Heng and drops into the nearest seat. "I think your accent was decent," Becky says. 

Nop grins. "Yeah?"

"Okay, no. Not at all."

They both laugh, and Becky hates how flustered Nop can make her feel. She hates that her ability to feel something for someone didn't die with Jake. 

"Even though you think my attempt at that accent was bad, I still saved you the best fish. As promised."

"Stop flirting. Some of us are trying to eat here," Freen says. She easily dodges the strawberry Becky throws at her and continues eating her apple. Nop shrugs when Becky turns her attention back to him, and she wishes she could be as carefree as him when it came to this stuff. She wishes she could just let it go, brush it off, refuse to let it get under her skin. At least no one else seems to have heard Freen's comment. 

"She's just jealous anyway," Nop says. 

Freen's eyebrows raise at the same time that her back straightens. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Freen finishes the last bite of the apple and throws the core over her shoulder as she stands. Becky's eyes quickly look Freen over for any weapons, and she easily locates her typical handgun and trench spike, both on her belt. Nop similarly packs a gun and a knife, but even as they size each other up, neither reaches for a weapon. Freen and Nop are a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them.

"Okay, you guys don't like each other," Becky says, shoving her way between them. "We get it. No need to show off."

"Everything alright over there?" Heng calls. 

"Fine. It's – we're very good," Becky stutters. 

"Okay," Heng says warily. "You call me if you need something."

"Sit down," Becky hisses. "Both of you. You're making a scene."

"I just call it like I see it," Nop says. He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and shrugs. "And you're acting jealous."

Maybe Becky shouldn't stand between the two of them. Maybe she should move out of the way and let them take a few swings. She's glad paper currency is useless now, because she doesn't know who she'd bet on to win, especially if a weapon gets pulled. Becky knows she won't be able to hold Nop back, and she's not entirely confident in her ability to hold Freen off, either. Maybe she should call for Heng.

"And you're acting like a dick," Freen replies. "You just have to push my buttons, don't you?"

"So it's working? Should I call you jealous again?" Nop taunts.

Freen's hands close into fists as Becky's hands land at her shoulders, pushing Freen back a few steps. That's all she manages before Freen digs in and stops budging. "Don't," Becky breathes. "Please. Don't do this."

"He wants to go," Freen says. "We can go."

"Saint hasn't had to handle conflict within the group yet," Becky says, speaking quickly and keeping her voice low. "Nothing serious. If you fight, especially over something stupid, Saint will have to do something, and it probably won't be good. Please. Don't do this."

After a long moment, Freen uncurls her fists. "He does it on purpose."

"I know. But just – keep your cool. Please."

Freen nods and knocks Becky's hands off her shoulders. People have started to stare. Mostly it's Heng and Nam stealing worried glances, but Emily's gawking at them, seated alongside Annie, Dylan, and Max. Everyone else is too distracted by the fish, "Which is cooked just perfectly," Faye announces. "Cheers." She taps her bottle of beer against Tack's so hard, it stands a chance of shattering. She laughs when it doesn't and downs most of it in one gulp. Thank God for Faye, who distracts almost everyone else in the convoy and is likely the only reason they didn't notice the oncoming fight that Becky has just single-handedly thwarted.

"Stop it," Becky says, turning to Nop. "Stop antagonizing her." Jesus, she sounds like her mother.

"Nicholas Clark, knock it off! Stop antagonizing your sister!"

"But Mom, she took my video game controller!"

"Only because he said he was going to flush my Barbie down the toilet!"

Becky shakes the memory off and refocuses. "It's not funny," Becky says, motioning between Freen and Nop. "Seriously. This fighting is getting on my fucking nerves."

"Okay," Nop agrees. "It'll stop."

"Yeah," Freen says.

"Thank you."

But Freen's jaw clenches, and she shakes her head. She finishes what's left on her plate while standing then takes off for the van. Becky forces herself to eat, mostly because she can't remember what the last thing she ate was, and her stomach commands her to clear her plate.

"I'm sorry," Nop says. "I didn't think –"

"Yeah, you didn't think," Becky agrees before he can finish his sentence. "She's my friend. You don't have to like her, but can you just not mess with her?"

"I'll stop. I swear."

"It's been a hard day, okay?" Becky says. "Hard enough without this mess, too."

"I'm sorry. I thought seeing your mom went well."

"She's trapped with the Pioneers," Becky snaps. "And I can't figure out a way to save her."

"We'll figure out a way," Nop assures her.

"We have one chance or else they'll kill us," Becky replies.

"They might kill us anyway."

"Exactly."

***

Becky doesn't linger after she's done eating. She thanks Nop again and tells Ritchie and Irin she's turning in for the night.

"Are you okay?" Irin asks.

"I'm fine," Becky says.

"You don't seem fine," Ritchie says.

"Yeah, well, my mom's alive but she's stuck with the Pioneers, so I'm as good as I can be under the circumstances," Becky hisses.

"And you broke up a fight between Freen and Nop," Ritchie comments. He shoves a forkful of fish into his mouth and chews pointedly. "What's their deal anyway?"

"It's a long story," Becky says.

"You'll have to tell it sometime," Ritchie replies. "I'm intrigued."

Irin rolls her eyes. "Mind your own business, Ritchie. You should get some rest, Becky. It was a long day."

All the days are long, but Becky just smiles and nods. As she starts to walk off, she hears Ritchie tell Irin, "I'll mind my own business when it doesn't involve Becky. I made Madison a promise." She doesn't hear whatever Irin says back.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Becky blurts the moment the van's doors close behind her.

"Maybe," Freen concedes. "It's been a while since I've killed someone. I'm not sure I can still do it, actually."

"Don't even start."

Freen cracks a weary smile. "Not in the mood for jokes?"

"Seriously?"

"Right. Anyway, I know I said we were going to talk about what happened earlier, but I forgot I'm on watch tonight. Speaking of being on watch, you should probably talk to Saint about getting into the rotation now that you're capable of killing walkers again."

"Hey, it's not my fault he hasn't asked," Becky says. She looks at Freen's arms, left bare by her tank top, and mutters, "You should probably put something with sleeves on if you're going on watch."

"Look at you, acting like you care about me. It's cute."

"I said I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"I didn't actually fight him. And I probably wouldn't have."

"You were prepared to fight. Close enough."

"If you're gonna be grumpy, you should take my shift," Freen says. "I need to finish up my notes."

"Do it while you're on watch. Take a flashlight."

"Or you could just take my shift."

As if Becky will be able to sleep anyway. "Fine," Becky agrees, snatching the flashlight Freen's holding out of her hand. "Who replaces you?"

"I'm pretty sure Faye gave her shift to Ritchie after she had her third beer. So Ritchie should get you at three."

"Where do you sit?" Becky asks.

"Sorry?"

"When you're on watch," Becky clarifies. "I always sat on my truck, but I'm pretty sure a bunch of kids live in it now. I don't think they'd take too kindly to me sitting on their roof while they're trying to sleep."

"I sit on the hood of the van," Freen says. "You'll have to climb up there, though."

Becky nods. "I'm gonna tell Ritchie I'm taking over for you."

"Have fun with that."

***

No one really cares that Becky takes the first shift. She doesn't say anything to Saint about putting her in the rotation, but the look that crosses his face when he hears she took Freen's shift implies that maybe he'll add her without being told to.

"I'll see you at three," Ritchie promises.

Becky sits on the hood of the van, practicing with her butterfly knife. She really doesn't need to practice. She's got it all down again, but it gives her something to do apart from shining the flashlight around occasionally to check for any breaches in their perimeter. It's always deathly quiet at night. She would hear a person or a walker with no problems. The sound of the van's door opening scares the living daylights out of Becky, and she immediately whips around and aims the flashlight in the direction of the sound.

"Trying to blind me?" Freen hisses, shielding her eyes with her hand.

"Sorry," Becky breathes out. "You scared me."

"Didn't mean to."

"What're you doing out here?" Becky asks. "I took your shift so you could work on your notes and sleep."

Freen shrugs and hoists herself up onto the hood of the van, taking a seat next to Becky. "I couldn't fall asleep. I thought you of all people would understand that."

"So you're out here with me."

"Yep."

"Why?"

"So we can talk about what happened."

Becky grunts. "I don't really want to."

"Your mom is a Pioneer. I think we should talk about it."

"Not by choice," Becky says "If she thought she could safely leave, she would."

"She made it sound like she wants to stay, even if she isn't allowed to leave."

Becky shakes her head. "She would leave if she could."

Freen lets it drop. Instead, she says, "Madison seemed really freaked out by the plane crash."

"I don't think she ever considered that her children might die in aircraft accidents once the major airlines stopped operating," Becky says. She closes up the butterfly knife, tucks it into her pocket, and stares down at her palms.

"It's a good thing we didn't tell her about the nuclear power plant melting down, then, right?" Freen jokes.

"She would've had a heart attack. Probably would've strangled Ritchie right then and there for letting me be anywhere near that."

"At least it all worked out."

Becky's eyebrows raise. "Did it?"

"We aren't dead."

Becky snorts. "You know what we should talk about? Your issues surrounding the crash."

"I don't have...issues."

"You totally do," Becky argues. "You said it yourself. You can't let go of the crash."

"The engine wasn't supposed to fail. Everything that happened after that was my fault. Irin's shoulder. Your hands. Nam could've been killed by a walker that we landed on. It was right beneath her. Hell, any of us could've been killed if I'd taken the plane down incorrectly."

"We weren't killed."

"I've seen a lot of shit, Becky. I should be able to let this go. Even if there are reminders everywhere I look." Freen motions toward Becky's hands, and Becky flinches and curls them into fists, concealing the scars.

"We don't get to choose what traumatizes us and what doesn't," Becky finally says. "I had a lot of close calls with death, but the radiated walker fucked me up more than –" She cuts herself off, and Freen looks over at her.

"More than what?"

"Some of the other closer calls," Becky mutters. "I've killed a lot of people, Freen."

"Yeah, but your mom was right," Freen says. "None of our hands are clean. I've killed my fair share, too."

"It's a good thing I don't get many chances to look in a mirror anymore," Becky says. "I don't think I'd recognize myself."

Before Freen can reply, a twig snaps, and Becky swings the flashlight over in the direction of the sound. Her other hand goes to her hip, touching the gun barrel, but the beam of light lands on Emily.

"What're you doing up?" Freen questions.

"Faye's snoring," Emily answers. "What're you doing up? Becky took your shift."

"Couldn't sleep," Freen dismisses. She waves Emily over and pats the space beside her. "C'mon. It's safer up here."

"There's nothing out here," Emily replies. "We'd hear it." Even so, she climbs up onto the hood of the van, accepting the hand Freen offers her for help. Emily sits cross-legged and stares out at the semi-truck she calls home. "I miss beds," she says suddenly. Freen and Becky laugh, and Emily grins and says, "What? It's true. You try sleeping in a sleeping bag in the back of a semi while Faye snores up a storm up front. Tack wakes her up, like, five times a night to try to get her to stop."

"You could ask to move somewhere else," Becky points out. "Heng and Nam would probably take you."

Emily shakes her head. "I like Faye and Tack. And I like all the extra space. It's just the snoring."

"You can sleep in the van for tonight," Freen says.

"It's okay. I'm sure Tack will get her to stop soon." There's a pause before Emily says, "So you saw Madison."

"Yeah," Becky says quietly.

"How was that?"

Becky exhales heavily. She doesn't know what to say to Emily. Emily, who spied on them for the Vultures and sort of helped cause the fall of the stadium. Emily, who shot and killed Nick in retaliation for Ennis's death. Emily, who Becky tried to kill numerous times but ultimately failed to kill when she finally had the perfect chance. What is she supposed to tell her about Madison, who wanted so badly to incorporate Emily into their community?

"It was okay," Becky says softly.

"She's with the Pioneers," Emily says.

"Yes."

"Will she come back?"

"I don't know."

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Freen pipes up. She grasps onto Emily's shoulder. "That's for us to handle."

"I just – I owe her an apology," Emily mumbles. "More than an apology, really."

"She doesn't know," Becky tells Emily. "She doesn't know it was you. I just told her the Vultures killed Nick. She doesn't have to know."

"I'm not worried about her knowing," Emily says. "I killed him. If she wants to kill me for it, then she should."

"We don't have to worry about that," Freen says quickly. She looks to Becky for help, but Becky stares out at the convoy, lips pressed together. She isn't going to speak for what her mom may or may not do. Just because Madison didn't lose her cool in front of them at the news of Nick's death doesn't mean she didn't return to the Pioneers and lose it. Becky knows you hold it together when you have to. And Madison probably felt like she had to, for Becky's sake.

"Yeah," Becky finally murmurs. "Don't worry."

***

Emily doesn't sit with them for too long. Once her yawning gets out of hand, she decides to give sleeping in the semi another shot and hopes aloud that Faye's gotten the snoring under control.

"Here," Becky says. "I'll walk you back."
 
Becky slides down and offers Emily her hand. Emily has no qualms about accepting assistance and doesn't say anything about Becky walking her back to the semi. Becky leads the way with the flashlight. As they reach the semi, Becky can hear Faye's snoring coming through the front window, cracked to let fresh air in.

"You can sleep in the van," Becky reminds her.

"I'll wake her up when I go in," Emily replies. "If I'm lucky, she'll have a beer and give me a chance to fall asleep before she does."

"You sure?"

Emily nods. "Thanks, Becky."

Becky hesitates. "Come find me in the morning. We'll play a game."

"Okay."

Becky shines the flashlight into the back of the semi to give Emily a chance to get her stuff together. Becky waits for Emily to wake Faye up to tell her to stop snoring before closing the doors and sealing them. Becky returns to the van, mildly surprised to see Freen still sitting atop it. It's got to be getting closer to three, and Ritchie will probably be coming to relieve her soon.

"You're still up?" Becky questions.

"Yeah. It's a nice night. Not hot or cold."

"That's not why you're up."

Freen smiles. "No. It's not." As Becky takes her spot next to Freen again, Freen says, "Hey, listen, I'm sorry about what happened with Nop. I lost my cool –"

"It's okay," Becky interrupts. "He messed with you on purpose. We had a...hard day."

Freen snorts. "And now Ginny thinks we're together too? What's going on?"

"I don't know," Becky mutters. "I can't believe she told my mom."

"I can't believe your mom asked me what my intentions with her daughter were."

They both laugh. "Ginny thought we were handsy," Becky scoffs. "We didn't even do anything."

"I mean, you did hold my hand."

Becky rolls her eyes. "That doesn't qualify as being handsy."

Freen shrugs. "Ginny saw what she wanted to see, I guess."

"And tattled to my mom."

Silence falls between them, and Becky has no intention of breaking it. It's nice to just be able to sit and enjoy the night with a friend. Ritchie shows up sooner than Becky expects, and he takes one look at the two of them and asks, "Why'd you even bother to give up your shift if you were gonna sit out here anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep," Freen answers. "Happens sometimes."

"Ah," Ritchie says. "I see." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. "Come on. Get down. Go get some rest. I've got this."

They head back into the van as Ritchie takes over, and though they both lie down on their respective seats, neither falls asleep. Becky stares up at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach.

"You think Madison will kill her?" Freen asks. "If she finds out. You think she'll kill Emily?"

"I don't know."

"You think we shouldn't tell her it was Emily?"

"I didn't tell her when I had the chance," Becky says. "I don't see why I'd bring it up again."

"But if she asks. Would you tell her?"

Becky sighs. "I don't know, Freen."

"You care about Emily."

"I – yeah. I guess I do." There's a long pause before Becky says, "I'll do what I can to protect her."

***

Emily keeps her word and comes to find Becky in the morning. Becky asks what she wants to do, and Emily shrugs and says, "Heng has a baseball and some catcher's mitts in his truck." Emily retrieves them, and that's how they end up throwing a baseball back and forth off in the field next to the convoy.

"Did you play sports?" Becky asks. She snatches the ball out of the air and flings it back toward Emily.

"Just soccer," Emily says. "My dad and I used to play catch in our backyard."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

Becky laughs. "No. Sports weren't my thing."

"What was your thing?"

Becky smirks. "I was more into reading and writing."

"Writing what?"

Emily sends the ball high, and Becky has to jump to catch it. "Fiction. Poetry. I'd write, like, in journals and stuff. Nothing major."

"You were supposed to go to college," Emily guesses.

"Yeah."

"I was supposed to start middle school."

Becky accidentally sends the ball sailing well over Emily's head, and Emily has to go chase it down. "Sorry," Becky says.

"It's okay," Emily replies. She throws the ball back. "What college were you going to?"

Becky resists the urge to flinch and swallows hard. "Berkeley," she says.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's cool," Emily says. "I was going to try out for soccer in sixth grade. I was thinking about playing basketball if I got tall enough."

"I'm sure you would've made the team."

Emily laughs. "I don't know about that. Do you know what you were going to study?"

"I had a few things in mind," Becky says. "Maybe English. I was leaning toward pre-med."

"You wanted to be a doctor?"

"I wanted to help people."

"Well, you might not be a doctor, but you can still help people now," Emily points out.

"It doesn't seem like there are a lot of people out there dying for our help," Becky says.

"More people will come," Emily says.

"How are you so sure?"

Emily shrugs. "I just have faith."

They toss the ball back and forth in silence for a while. Becky lets her mind wander. She notices the flowers growing not far from where they're standing. They remind her of Nick. She doesn't really want to think about Nick. That always leads her to thinking about how Emily shot him, how he died with her at his side. And thinking about Nick leads to the stadium, leads to Madison, leads to the stadium falling, and Madison's last words. Madison dying. Except it didn't happen the way Becky had come to accept.

"I meant what I said. It's okay if Madison kills me," Emily says abruptly.

"What?"

"I killed Nick, even though he was only ever nice to me. You may not have been able to kill me, even though you wanted to, but Madison can probably do it. And you shouldn't stop her. I deserve it."

"No," Becky says. She catches the ball and holds onto it. "You aren't going to die."

"I can't move on," Emily admits. "I can't – I never should've hurt him. I never should've hurt everyone who loved him. I never should've helped the Vultures."

"You're a kid," Becky says. "You made mistakes, and you can still make up for them. Isn't that what we're doing out here? Making up for our past?"

"I don't think it works like that, Becky," Emily says quietly. "And I'm not scared of dying anymore. My parents died early on. I've had no one."

"You have people," Becky insists. She pulls her hand out of the mitt and drops it to the ground with the ball. She closes the distance between them. Becky grabs onto Emily's shoulders. "You have people here, okay? We care about you."

"I know, but still."

"No," Becky says firmly. "We need you here."

"Madison will come back. She won't want me here when she finds out what I did."

Becky isn't entirely sure why she drags Emily into a hug, but she does it anyway. "I'll worry about that," Becky says. After a few moments, she feels Emily pat her on the back.

"Okay," Emily agrees. "Can we keep throwing the ball?"

"Sure. We can throw the ball until lunch if you want."

***

That's exactly what they do. Becky makes sure Emily gets lunch then finds her way to Freen. "Hey," Becky says. "I think we need to keep an eye on Emily."

"Why?" Freen asks. She offers Becky some of her chips, but Becky waves her off.

"She just...said some concerning things."

"Like what?"

"She said she isn't afraid of dying anymore. Said I should let my mom kill her – that she deserves it. I don't know. It didn't come across right."

Freen nods. "There are always people watching her, Becky. I think the only time she ever gets to herself is when she's asleep."

"Good."

"She'll be okay," Freen assures Becky. Freen nods in Emily's direction. She's seated with Annie, and they're both laughing. "She has friends. Friends her own age, at that."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I am," Freen says. She forces Becky to take her bag of chips. "Eat some of those. You're looking thin."

"I – I am not."

Freen nods as she wipes her hands on a handkerchief. "Sure you are. You need to eat, Becky. What would your mother say?"

Becky rolls her eyes but eats some of the chips just to get Freen off her back. "So what's the plan for today?" Becky asks.

"Saint's been putting together more boxes," Freen says. "I think his plan is to gradually move us toward Humbug's Gulch and leave boxes on the way."

"What about Billy?"

Freen shakes her head. "I haven't heard anything about what we're going to do about Billy yet."

"The Pioneers are still at the fields," Becky says. "We could always try to retake them?"

"Sounds like a great way to get everyone slaughtered," Freen snorts.

Before Becky can reply, the walkie at Freen's belt crackles. "Can someone hear me?" a woman's voice asks. "I – I saw your video. Saint or – or Becky? Are you out there?"

Becky doesn't wait, just yanks the walkie free. "Hey, it's Becky. I'm here. What's going on?"

"We ran out of gas just a few miles from the truck stop with your video in it. We're being surrounded by the dead. We need help."

"Okay, we're coming for you," Becky promises. "I just need you to tell me exactly where you are." Freen acts quickly, retrieving a pen and piece of paper from the van to jot down everything this woman knows. "We'll be there as soon as we can," Becky promises. "Just hang on."

"Thank you. Thank you so much," the woman cries.

"I'm going," Becky tells Freen. "You driving?"

"I'll drive," Freen agrees. "You tell Saint we're taking off."

"Saint!" Becky shouts. She gets his attention and waves him over. "We've got someone," she tells him. "Freen and I are going to help them."

"I think you should take a third person with you. Just in case," Saint warns. "We are in Pioneer territory, after all. Isn't that right?"

"I'll go."

Becky's eyes close. "I don't think –"

"That's a great idea," Saint says. "Show him how we operate, Becky."

Nop grins. "Well? What're we waiting for?"

 ***

Becky makes sure to sit up front. At least if Nop is stuck in the back, Freen can't kill him and drive at the same time.

"Do you know where you're going?" Nop asks.

"Yes," Freen says.

"Don't need help with navigation?"

"I know my way around here," Freen snaps. She glances in the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't take us more than twenty minutes to reach them."

"So we just...what?" Nop asks. "Kill the walkers, give them some supplies, and leave?"

"If they're not interested in joining us, sure," Becky answers.

"Seems straightforward enough."

"It normally is," Becky says. "Now can we please just sit in silence?"

"What? Not in the mood to talk?" Nop questions.

"No."

He accepts that answer and sits back. It turns out Freen really does know where she's going without consulting a map or asking for help. Becky fidgets with the butterfly knife. This kind of stuff always makes her nervous. She still isn't quite the walker killing machine that she used to be. The idea of killing them still sets her on edge.

"What kind of car did they say they were in?" Freen asks.

"What?" Becky says, tearing her eyes away from the side window. She looks out the windshield at the vehicle parked on the road ahead of them. "Uh – she said it was a Ford Explorer."

"Red?"

"Yeah."

"So that's it," Freen says. She puts the van in park.

"But – where are all the walkers?" Becky asks.

"Guys," Nop says. He leans up between the two front seats and points out Freen's window. "Over there."

"Becky, wait!" Freen calls. She makes a swipe for Becky's arm but misses, and Becky's out of the van and jogging over to the side of the road, where at least twenty walkers are laid out in a straight line. Becky's heart hammers in her chest, and she draws the Glock and flicks the safety off. There's no one around as far as she can tell, but every nerve in her body is on alert. Freen and Nop reach her side right after she peers into the Ford Explorer.

Empty.

"What is this?" Nop demands, motioning toward the walkers. "Who does this?"

Becky and Freen exchange a worried look. Nop waits, his eyebrows raised, for someone to answer him. "Who do you think?" Freen finally says.

"They beat us here," Becky says in disbelief. "But how? We left almost right away."

"They must be close," Freen mutters. She draws the handgun at her hip, too, and Nop does the same.

"I think they're gone, guys," Nop says uneasily. "There's nowhere for them to hide out here."

"The truck stop," Becky says. "It's close by here. Maybe –"

"They're probably dead, Becky," Freen cuts in. "Or they've joined the Pioneers. I don't think we can help them now."

"We need to check," Becky insists. "We can at least see if our video is still up."

"It'll be up," Freen says. "This is exactly what the Pioneers want to happen."

Becky shakes her head. "They can't – give me the walkie."

"That's not a good idea," Freen warns. She doesn't stop Becky from taking the walkie from her, though. Becky flips it to channel five.

"Mom? It's Becky," she says. "I need to talk to you."