39; HIGHS AND LOWS (original episode, post season nine)
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TRAINING HAD BECOME as much a daily routine as eating at Hilltop. Losing six of their own in the space of a single week had shaken them to the point of no return.
Nobody left the community unless it was absolutely vital to survival. Hunting party outings had been chopped so much that more than sixty-percent of their current diet was vegetables ── a one-way street to nutrient deficiencies ── and Leo was starting to worry.
It was why Aria (under his instruction because he still couldn't bring himself to face Ezekiel) had proposed a trade to the council.
The intention had been for an exchange of food, but the council soon expanded the proposal into a barter of not only sustenance but people ── fighters ── and weapons.
The Hilltoppers took a collective intake of breath, all dreading their name being the one drawn from the hat, but thankfully Ezekiel had entrusted Chase (for some god-unknown reason) and the ginger had tampered with the draw so much that more than half of the names read 'Margo' and another quarter 'Gage'.
Leo was almost glad that he'd be escorting them to Alexandria today ──almost. The only thing snuffing his joy was, well. . . Knowing that he'd have to spend several hours without break in their insufferable presence.
The winding path leading away from Barrington House to the main gates was finally a snow-free zone. Leo had never been happier to hear the tattered soles of his boots slam against concrete. It was a rough winter for all, mostly spent shivering and mourning.
The sun was majestic, to some the most beautiful thing they'd ever see and there was no denying how good the warmth felt beating down on the back of his neck but it couldn't expunge the torment festering deep in their chests ── even nature had its limitations.
Eye aligned with the scraped lens of a decade-old scope, rifle stock pushed into her cheek and finger hovering over the trigger, Trudi Driscoll occupied the right guard's post.
Adjacent to her, on the left one, standing with his back against the rickety makeshift railing was Chase. An assault rifle dangled from the strap slung over his shoulder, but he paid no mind to it. His eyes were locked onto Trudi.
It would've been sweet if the job he was supposed to be wasn't vital to the survival of those residing within the colony's walls.
"Chase," Leo called up to the ginger when he reached the ladder of the guard's post, his innate cowardice preventing him from yelling across the community. "Busy?"
As if he'd been stung by a wasp, Chase violently jerked forward and almost lost his balance, his body immediately weighed down by the heavy rifle now that he had no back support.
