Chapter Text
Staci comes awake in a roar of flames.
The fire licks up the porthole, burning so hot that the metal groans and twists, the sound of yelling and hooting heard as a nearby background noise. He is… upside down, arms hanging limp beside his ears. The world is noise and fire.
Slowly, groggily, Staci searches and finds his hands, fumbles them to the buckle of his seatbelt. Is someone giving a goddamn speech out there? Confused and hurting, head pounding to the beat of his heart, he twists to look at the passenger seat, where Marshall Burke had been strapped in. The seat is empty, the chopper door hanging limp on its hinges.
“Staci! Staci, say something, damn it!”
Staci fills his lungs with difficulty and grips the belt, “I’m ok, I’m alright, Joey.” He twists to look behind him, but only manages ninety degrees, fire and broken glass in every direction.
“Listen, can you move? I’m, god, I’m trying to free Earl, but his belt is twisted, I need help. I, I think Rook is waking up.” she makes a sound like sobbing through clenched teeth, “Those crazy bastards…”
Above the crackling he hears noise from the passenger’s hold, fabric shifting and tearing. Staci tries the buckle again, fingers uncooperative and sticky. Sticky?
“Joey…?”
“Rook! Just hang in there rookie, I’m gonna get you down, just- fuck! Staci, they’re gathering out there-”
Staci keeps blinking, blinking, to clear his vision. The belt doesn’t butch and he listens helplessly as Rook calls out to Earl, Joey’s profanities increasingly gaining vulgarity. Beyond the fire and empty window frame to his right, black shapes start filtering through, towering above view. Shouting, and the shapes rush towards the chopper, moving like one organism.
Behind him Joey yells, and Staci kicks at the chopper frame to free himself from his seat.
“Joey!”
“Get off of her!” Rook sounds frantic and strained, as he seemingly attempts to keep his co-workers in the cabin. Beside Staci, a boot starts pounding the hatch, one, twice, two more times before it springs open. The noise of an excited crowd saturates the air as a dirty, beaded man leans into Staci’s space.
“Got you now, Sinne-”
Staci gets the man good in his left eye and is drawing his arm back for another swing when the fire suddenly makes itself known again, greedily swallowing the oxygen being introduced through the open hatch.
Staci hisses as the flames swell in front of him, closing off the exit to his right and making the sweat erupt all over his overheated face. Tearing at the buckle, it snaps open suddenly, causing him to drop onto the ceiling landing on his radio. The shell cracks into sharp pieces, black plastic and detriments of torn electronics digging into his hand as he snatches it up, wide eyed, tosses it aside. Staci crawls away from the heat, towards the other exit hatch. The shouting from outside reaches a crescendo and distantly he hears a woman scream.
“Joey!” he gasps and then coughs, smoke beginning to fill the cabin rapidly. The exit hatch hangs slightly open and Staci pushes through it, crashing onto the ground, using his arms to drag himself further away.
Hands grab at him and he fights in vain before realising they belong to the rookie. His face is shiny and red, chest huffing for air.
“They’re gone,” he manages, pulling Staci to his shaking feet, “they took the Sheriff and Joey. Burke… I don’t even know.”
The helicopter is empty Staci sees, taking in gulps of cool air. Covered in blood and riddled with gunshot. Behind it, shapes still move, a man standing tall above them, speaking, chanting. Staci remembers - Jesus, someone propelled themselves into the rotor blades - Joseph Seed singing quietly behind him, the Peggies going into a frenzy below. Fuck , this is way above his paygrade.
Staci can’t hear Joey anymore and Earl is nowhere to be found. Behind the chopper, the Peggies start trying to find a path past the fire, getting visibly agitated.
“We have to go,” Staci says, finally. He can see that Rook wants to argue and Staci almost wants him to, wants an excuse not to flee. Instead Rook clenches his jaw and replies: “you’re right”, with quiet determination.
As the men back up, it seems the Peggies take notice. Several pews ripple through the evening and small dust clouds spring up around him. Staci freezes before he finds himself yanked back. Rook curses and pulls on him harder, snapping him out of it and he stumbles back, falling into a sprint.
Rook and Staci turn tail into the treeline. More shots echo through the dusk and a spray of wood hits Staci’s face as he rushes past a large oak tree. Over the pounding of his ears and his feet beating the soil he hears voices call out to each other, other voices answering. Rook lungs are working overtime where he is fleeing in front of him.
Between the trunks he sees distant fires flickering orange. He skids down a hill, bracing himself on one hand to turn sharply as another round of bullets embed themselves into the ground behind him.
Staci’s mind races, same as his pulse; skipping like a skittish hare. He saw the scene rushing by as in a dream, either courtesy of surrealism or a concussion. He hadn’t been involved in making the arrest of Joseph Seed, but he had seen the effects on his flock, rippling outwards through the compound as people vacated the church. First came the shouted protest, the thrown rocks, drawn guns-
Rook throws out an arm and stops Staci dead in his tracks. Things have been quiet behind them for a while, and they crouch behind a fallen tree. On its other side, a bald man in a grimy white sweater jogs by, reporting into a walkie. In his arms rests a goddamn assault rifle .
“Christ”, Rook mutters as Staci looks at his profile in the low light.
Staci looks around, deeming the forest quiet for the time being.
“Are you good, Rook?” he asks, “No holes in you?”
“Yeah, no, I’m not hit,” Rook answers, padding himself down,” but I don’t think we can keep running, there must be dozens of them out here. Where are the Seed’s even finding this many followers in Hope? Are they like, hired from out-of-county?”
Staci shakes his head, allows himself to lean on the fallen tree, “You weren’t around back when Joseph Seed first rolled in a couple years back. Most of these people are from down south, Georgia, I think. The youngest Seed used to come by the station often, always chatting, wanting to cosy up with the Sheriff I guess,” Staci huffs a laugh,” I used to think he was oversharing, but he never mentioned this .”
“It’s so messed up,” Rook says, “I can’t believe they send only one marshall! And the guy runs off, first chance he gets.”
As if timed, Rook’s radio chose this time to begin screeching, Burke’s frantic voice coming through. Both men curse and grapple for the device.
“ - a bridge leading .. a cabin, does ..nyone read-”
“Shut up!” Rook hiss into the receiver, “stay where you are.”
“And don’t use this frequency, moron,” Staci stresses, peering over the tree into the quickly darkening shades cast by the tree’s crowns. Coast thankfully seems clear.
Rook hangs up the walkie: “We have to go to him. The Peggies will come running.”
“Seems like a good reason to stay away.”
“Staci…”
“No, I’m serious,” Staci doubles down, “this isn’t for us to handle, Rook. Those weren’t warning shots: Eden’s Gate is firing to kill.”
Rook sits back on his haunches, looking conflicted: “Listen, I know I don’t have much experience as a deputy yet, but I know when something just doesn't sit right with me.”
“And I respect that, but you don’t have to waste your life on this guy. You realise he left us to die back there, no hesitation?”
The rookie shrugs helplessly.
Staci sighs, knowing a losing battle.
“How about this,” he counters, “with the Sheriff away, I’m technically in charge. Are you saying that you are willingly disobeying orders from a superior?”
Rook looks a bit put on the spot, but he still meets Staci's eye: “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
“Earl give you a service weapon yet?”
“No, but-”
“Take mine then, here,” Staci unclips his sidearm, despite Rook’s protests, “If you are quick and you stay low, you might be able to make it before any Peggies show up.”
“Yeah,” Rook replies, taking the sidearm hesitantly, “Yeah, okay. You aren’t coming with me?”
Staci shakes his head, no: “You might save Burke’s ass, if you’re lucky, but we aren’t bringing in the Seed’s with the help of only one guy.”
“You want to call in the national guard?” Rook catches on quickly.
“I doubt anything less would suffice,” Joseph Seed means business, as it turns out, “I’m sure dispatch has realised something is off already, so I’ll reach out to her as well once I dig up a decent radio.”
“Maybe Nancy has called someone already,” Rook says wishfully.
“After you get Burke, radio her. She’ll know if anyone else made it out,” Staci urges, “but you have to go now if you want to reach him in time.”
Rook nods seriously and peaks over the fallen tree a last time. The light is low enough that it will be difficult for anyone to spot them in their olive uniforms: but it will be hard for them to spot approaching search parties as well.
“Where are we meeting up after?” he asks uncertainly.
“Just find somewhere to lay low,” Staci instructs, pushing to his feet. They ache with pinpricks while the skin on his temple itches with dried blood: “When I find a long-range radio, I’ll call you.”
“Yeah, fine…”
“Just go, Rook. Don’t… get shot or something,” Staci jokes, gripping the much taller man by his shoulder. Despite Staci being younger by a couple of years, the rookie suddenly appears small.
The grimace on Rook’s face resembles a smile.
“Yeah, yeah, you too Staci.”
Then he is turning and vanishing into the solid blackness spreading between the trunks. Staci waits until he no longer hears the snapping of dry sticks under boots and then sets out towards the river.
o0o
Staci heads for the Barlow residence by the banks of the Henbane. His parents used to have friends living in the house. Their acquaintances moved to a smaller place in their older days, but the young couple that moved in afterwards were small-time preppers; same as many others in Hope County. The woman, Harriet Barlow, is a regular at the gas station that Staci stops by when on late night shifts.
They would chat in the snacks aisle, Harriet telling him all about the construction of the bunker in their backyard, installation of appliances, stocking of lasting goods, long-range radio equipment, the whole shebang. Staci will ask for advice on the tomatoes he is trying to grow in the window sill of his trailer home.
Staci is confident they will open their doors to him, if not by merit of their familiarity, then for their hatred towards the Project at Eden’s Gate.
o0o
He has a few run-ins with Eden’s Gate members before reaching the riverbank.
Groups of armed men comb the woods, sharing information between them in brief shouts. Staci moves slowly and listens, hears them coming from a distance and is able to hide before the peggies come into view: first taking cover in the lower branches of a tree, later by pressing his stomach into the tall grass along a weather bidden fence.
Despite being glad that Rook has a means of defending himself, he painfully feels the absence of the familiar weight of the firearm on his utility belt. The only advantage of it missing, is that a Peggie might be less obliged to shoot at an unarmed man, but Staci wouldn’t bet much on that.
Eventually his luck runs out when he ducks under a branch in his path, and straight into the sharp beam of a flashlight. The eyes above the glowing orb lock onto him and they stare awkwardly at each other, frozen still.
The Peggie reaches for his gun.
So much for being unarmed, Staci thinks later, from where he has squeezed his body in between two moss-covered boulders. His chest heaves from a sprint that took him through fields and dense woods, spooking a herd of grazing deer on one memorable occasion, all the while ducking under rounds of bullets courtesy of a hairy maniac with a red cross painted on his forehead.
By the time he reaches the banks of Henbane River, just beneath the southern bridge, night has fallen properly and the perspiration on Staci’s flushed skin is drying coolly.
He parted from Rook roughly an hour ago, with the detours he had to take to dodge search parties, and the time he spent anxiously hiding in various thickets. His hands are torn open by blackberry bushes and rough dirt. In short: he is about ready to get off his shift and go the fuck home.
Yet all plans of leisuredly crossing the river by bridge and getting through this nightmare painlessly, dies once he gets a closer look at the structure: floodlights illuminate every Peggie milling about on the bridge, carrying supplies, ammunition, weapons. On both ends sturdy roadblocks have been raised, guards pacing steadfastly back and forth in front of them.
Staci looks on incredulously as a white truck is waved through the first barricade. On its load someone has installed a heavy machine gun on a stand. With this level of discretion, he won’t be surprised if a civilian contacts the national guard themselves before Staci gets the chance to.
Either way, his escape route is blocked and it’s time for plan B:
On the bank in front of him stands an old wooden post. Someone has lovingly tied a knitted scarf around it three quarters from the loose rocks covering the ground. The pole marks a spot in the Henbane that is fit for swimming; the river narrow and the current mild. Staci used to come here all the time when he was a kid on summer break. No adults or sunscreen, just him and Joey- not the time, Pratt.
The water is so cold that it forces an airy gasp from Staci’s lungs. Holding his boots high above his head, his legs carry him further into the stream, waterline rising past his knees, then his hips.
Once the water is wetting the curls in the nape of his neck, Staci has to hold his footwear with one hand, lowering one arm beneath the waves to keep his balance. Only his toes touch the soft riverbed. Despite it only being august, the Henbane springs from atop the Whitetail mountains, and it shows by its temperature. By the time Staci is dragging himself onto the opposite bank, he can hardly feel his feet and he’s pretty sure his balls have disappeared within his body.
Biting down a cry of anguish, he sinks onto a patch of grass by the treeline and rubs at his feet, determined to let them dry before attempting to pull his socks back on.
Every inch of him is soaked through, pants sticking uncomfortably to his thighs as he sits and drips into the ground, warming his feet by friction.
“ God , Joey, you are gonna be so smug,” he laughs painfully, recalling every accusation and conspiracy out of her mouth ever since the Seed’s first rolled into town.
‘Mark my word, Stace, those hippies spell trouble’, she had readily declared.
‘Saw that guy John Seed sniffing around the old lumber mill the other day. You guys think he’ll leave one or two properties for the rest of us?’ she’d rage, aggressively tidying her desk.
‘Sheriff, I know you believe that nothing ever happens in this county, but I swear , they are up to something! Staci, back me up here, please.’
Staci had been inclined to agree on one account: Earl disliked “ruckus” and only contacted higher ups once people were calling the department daily, for reasons less harmless than ugly fences rising across the county.
As they awaited permission for Joseph Seed’s arrest, the Sheriff finally allowed Joey to cruise past the communities fenced in properties to gather intel, Staci being sent on long flights over the Whitetails to peak past wired fences…
Now Staci figures that the Seed’s must have been aware the whole time, laughing while the belly of his chopper circled above. Turning a blind eye while Joey snuck close to their churches, peeking through windows to get incentive for a warrant.
No wonder John Seed didn’t show up at the station, waving his fancy lawyer’s degree around, claiming violations of every amendment: Eden’s Gate would have been very busy staging a militant invasion.
Staci falls silent. Just sit still for a while, a little longer. Breathing clouds into the night air, while his feet slowly warm up in his hands.
Above him an explosion rocks the bridge and whitens the sky. A moment passes before a truck barrels through the railing and plummets into the river below.