𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 , 𝐫. 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

eighty six -

EPISODE TWELVE
"you don't know me anymore"
SEASON 8

GREY KINGSTON

we walk in silence back to the blocks, the padding of our shoes against the pavement falling into rhythm with the guards' march.

everyday for the past week jensen has brought me out to the range at the farthest chain-link fence of the sprawling courtyard. a few walkers are tugged in at a time for us to greet the snarling things with a bullet or blade to their skull.

any prospects for the colony's troops are to train in the range for a group of watchful eyes. the next excursion sets out in 48 hours, and the uniform black jacket dangling from hand is my ticket on that helicopter.

i glance up at the sky, at the whooshing sound of the black fighter jet tearing through the blue, its wings seeming to spear the milky clouds. the jets and small planes and helicopters are all property of the colony, white Cs painted on them to claim possession of the aircrafts.

it hurts my stomach each time i see one in the sky and know two of them flew over virginia almost four years ago—right over the vast fields near hilltop, right over alpha's herd that was sprayed and annihilated by the colony's bullets, leaving me and my group to run for our lives in the neighboring trees.

the planes that mystified us all as we saw them emerge from the clouds, they were from this very community in the state of new jersey, miles and miles north of alexandria. the very same planes rick and i made plans to hunt down when the time was right.

i hate that it's just me alone finally finding them.

the sunlight dims around me as i step into the east wing of the blocks, the whoosh of the jet in the air leaving my ear drums as i fall into step beside jensen down the long hallway.

huge, skylight windows cast warm sun down on the hexagon-shaped foyer in the middle of the east wing. four floors of twirling staircases meet here.

the other guards and residents behind jensen and i fan out, their footsteps fading as they head off to return to their appropriate wings. but as we continue down the main hall, nearing the foyer, voices travel across the middle.

over on the second floor, two male guards are cornering two male residents into the wall, their hands on their guns that are strapped over their broad, padded chests.

on a mission to not draw attention to myself, i drag my eyes away and force myself to look forward again, but as i do, i notice the voices of the guards caught not only my attention, but jensen's too.

he watches over his shoulder, over the rail and down below. i allow myself to look back once more, just in time to see the flat end of one of the guard's shotguns pound into the resident's chest. jensen curses under his breath, both of our eyes averting to the hallway in front of us.

i spare a glance at him beside me—my old friend—and because of who he used to be to me, i understand the tick in his jaw as he forces his eyes to remain forward and not on what's happening two floors below us.

"you hate that." i whisper, and the flinch in his face confirms it, that i still know him. at least well enough to know his innermost layer of morals hasn't changed, no matter the state of the world.

jensen can't hurt people and hates those who do. so it's a wonder how he earned himself a just as highly respected role as his brother's in one of the three leading ranks of the colony, because as soldiers and guards and protectors of peace, sometimes you have to hurt people in order to save others.

jensen shakes his head, "those two men, those residents, they're on restriction. they've been sneaking out of their wings at night. it's for their safety, making sure they don't leave their common area until their restriction period is up."