12 | Bathed in Flame

After the buffet, Ally follows Rickshaw back to his workshop. She learns quickly that it doubles as his home. The entrance looked more like a storage shed for all various odd and end machines. Patchwork tractors and other behemoths she can't gauge the functions of. Rick hobbles in on a leg that Ally guesses is uncomfortable placing weight on.

"It's not much of a looker, but this is where I do most of my work. I take all kinds of scrap and fix 'em up here into something people can use."

"It's not even that bad," she began, looking around. "You...are much cleaner than the others."

"I call it an organized mess," he laughed. "Everything has a place. It just may not be what everyone considers organized, but I know where everything is. If you want I can find a mattress or something for you and we can toss it in here. He wanders past a dividing wall and stopped. Ally stopped behind him and watches him go deeper in, coming back out with a large slab of metal. "We could probably get something like a mattress to throw on top of this here for support.

"Whatever causes the least amount of work for you, I really couldn't take it if you stuck out too much for me."

He waves her off. "Not the kind of place for those kinds of worries. Most people here are the sticking out kind. Helps the machine run, you know?"

"The machine?"

"Think of Home as one. The more parts that are thinking only of themselves the less the machine can do what it was built for. In our case, that's to be a place for us all to rebuild and reconnect."

Ally thinks it over. It was true that in a sense small communities needed to band together to be successful. It was certainly true of the old settlement she was a part of before. She wondered if the guilt she felt was a side effect of the gratitude at how easily these new people had taken her in. In some sense, they must have been equally as grateful for her taking them in as well. She hadn't quite thought of that before. Each new person that arrives Home is another person to contribute and make it a better place to live.

With those thoughts tightly wound around her fears, she smiled and offers him a look of genuine thanks. "I understand. I will try to be less apologetic for taking up space. I understand that every person helps the greater goal."

Rick offers a grin of his own. "That's more like it. Not to say you have to be jolly all the time, just..apologize when it's really needed, you know?"

Ally nodded in agreement. "Yes, I can do that."

Rick disappears behind the wall again and bustles across loose heaps of metal. If she was going to be sleeping here she would have to find some sort of compromise with keeping Rick's organized mess and being able to walk without jabbing into several different objects. She's startled as he reappears with a bundled up heap of cloth. "Can probably use this for sheets when we find something that can work as a mattress. That part of it might be a work in progress though." He extended the cloth out to her and she took it, holding the bundle close to her.

"Okay, that sounds fine. Where do you think we could find something like that?"

"Rosco should have the ability to whip one up. He worked with a few of his boys with construction jobs. One of the only full families we got here, you know?"

"Oh, they're actually his children?"

"Yep. Three of the little buggers, though, guess when I say little you might be thinking of young young. Two of 'em are probably around yer age. One's older, though. Twenty six...er...seven. One of the two last I recall."

"It's good they all managed to find each other and stay together," she said.

"Yeah, it's fortunate. Specially for Edwin—the youngest Rosco boy. He's a bit frailer than the other two."

Ally could relate. She thought how different things would be if she arrived in the new world with Jaclyn and George Fae. Probably not much. To think of it, George and Jaclyn weren't very...strong people. They were kind and it would have been an easier beginning, but they certainly wouldn't have made it through the raid on their settlement. George would have been slaughtered like the other boys, and Jaclyn...well, she probably would have been raped and killed just like Eileen. Those thoughts didn't bring much comfort to her—and she thinks if she had to go through that...well, she'd be even more fucked up than she already is.

"I'll talk with the Roscos tomorrow. For now just use that there like a sleeping bag."

Ally nodded and the two parted as she began to make herself as comfortable as she could considering the circumstances.

Life stabilized over the next week. Rickshaw fit Ally up with her own living space inside the workshop behind the divider. It wasn't the most private, but it was safe, that she was pretty sure of, and that meant more than anything else. She took under him like a student learning the ways of metalwork. Long hours were spent learning the use of every single piece inside the shop. Soon, it changed from a mess of junk into a marvelous plan laid out before her. Each small piece had a purpose of its creation, some to make cutting easier, some to meld, and others were pieces for larger projects. She was surprised at how quickly she picked up on it. She never considered herself much of a gearhead before, but there was an easy to follow logic that captured her attention.

He was just as surprised at how easily she took it up, and part of her thinks that it was because he saw that fire in her that his teaching reached a new level.

Over the week she started coming out of her shell piecemeal. First it was by attending a congregation held by Father James Grimsby. Ally was hesitant at first to enter any sort of church—she never was much a pious type, but Rick assured her it wasn't like congregations in the old world. It was more similar to a town therapy and healing session.

"It's a time to remember who we were so we can better prepare for who we have to be," he explained. Worded that way, she was more open to going. Her hesitance turned to acceptance, then appreciation. It became a daily activity that didn't take long at all to become habit—to become strange that she'd gone so long without talking about her problems.

Unfortunately, all was not as eden. Eventually the dark cracks would show themselves. Words carried on whispers spoke of dark communion between Father Grimsby and a demon. Those who say don't say twice, and those who wonder don't spare thoughts more than a snide laugh at the preposterousness at the idea.

Ally wondered, though. She wondered a lot. She fought back and forth with letting the hope of seeing one of them again enter. She saw a clear path forward to moving on from her past—finally when some sort of normalcy returned to her she is offered the box yet again—and she knows that if she's given any reason at all to open it—to again stare at the void inside...she'd do it in a heartbeat.

She went to the congregation early and left late each day. Father Grimsby was a gentle man, his soft complexion belied the fact of his survival past an apocalypse. He was the kind of man who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it—forget the reasons why.

And yet....something about him seemed...manufactured. Something definitely was hidden there under the surface. Ally had faced enough to tell. The whispers around her only seemed to grow, to reverberate, and it drove her mad.

She began sleeping less and less—and just as her sleeping quarters started feeling more comfortable, her thoughts at night were again plotting and theory-crafting just what she could do to further her goal of finding the Children of the Night.

Three weeks after Ally touched ground at Home she almost got her wish. She was awake, calculating possible headquarters for the Children if the geography of the land were any amount similar to the world that was before, when suddenly a loud scream outside broke her concentration and gripped her with fear. The last time she heard a scream like that...

She flashed back to the prison and the torture they had put her through before Jace had saved her. Then her thoughts traveled back to Jace, and suddenly, he was there.

"Hey stranger, long time no see." He offers a smile.

"You have the strangest sense of timing," Ally said. "Although, I am going to need your help."

"You're not seriously going out there, are you?"

"I'm not going out defenseless, no." She brandishes a small blade she used largely for finely cutting metal. "I've learned a few things since we last talked."

"A fighting guru, are we?" Jace asked.

"Something like that," She chuckles. "No, not a guru by any sense of the imagination. But I've learned a lot from Rick. He's taken a liking to me I think, as much as I him. We sorta replace what we were missing."

"So he's taught you how to work with metal, I guess that could be handy," he rolls his eyes playfully. "I'm just joking, that's awesome, Ally. I'm proud of you."

"What is there to be proud of? I'm just..."

"Uh-uh-uh, none of that. You're one strong motherfucker and you need to take that feeling and steel it inside yourself if you're going to be going out there."

"So you're not going to talk me out of it?" Ally asked.

"When have I ever been able to talk you out of anything?"

With this thought she smiled smally and grips the blade tight and leaps into the night. She sneaks past the Garvey's and the Hascomb's places. Both men were heavy sleepers—Ally could swear they only woke when the sun was already half set. It made her job all the easier. She skulked and kept her head low, only looking up from her feet to avoid smacking face-first into any walls.

It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. Outside Esmeralda's Grocery on the edge of Home lay a young man on the ground, bleeding profusely from a wound on his abdomen.

His eyes meet hers and in a flash it's like she can feel him clawing away at her mind.

"Help...I'm dying."