That same day, all able-bodied Survivalists worked on barricades and strengthening the fences. The work went surprisingly efficient and most were in their element fixing what could still be fixed and salvaged. Cristine put Alicia in charge of the infirmary with Hailey at her side her while she decided to help with the mending of the fences at the front. She needed to breathe and organize her thoughts with other work and helping with the barrier of the enclosed piece of acreages was perfect. Though Cristine had learned of the Ranch life in the Apocalypse it was one of the best places to be right now. Dressed in her fresh laundered outdoor garb and baseball cap, she strode to the next area to fix. She and a few were in charge of the fences. They had lumber to strengthen the weak spots. At the sound of a heavy vehicle drawing close she looked up with a deep frown from concentrating on her work. One of the trucks delivered more wood for the barbed fences and Cristine got up to help unload the planks. As the day progressed, the weather remained the same. Cristine worked until her skin took on a glossy shine on her complexion that bronzed over time under the sun. As she kept fastening the barbed wires together, her mind had considerably cleared.
"I see you're making progress." Cristine tensed in spite of herself, but she turned and with his hands on his hips saw her father. She had the feeling that she hadn't seen him in ages, but the pulling sensation on her face was a stark reminder that he was always close. Keeping herself occupied was the best remedy to not think about him as much.
"We're managing. There's still a lot of work and we have little time," Cristine said and grabbed some lumber and used it as an extra support beam for a frail looking wood stuck in the ground with barbed wire around it. When she dragged the heavy wood with her, her father probably saw it as a chance to help. Cristine didn't protest or acknowledge his aid, she just let him do whatever he thought would make him feel better. She smelled the liquor on his clothing, frowned deeply and ground her teeth together. Another reason why she didn't want to be around her father as much; he'd always be a drunk. He'd say his empty words and this time she wouldn't cling to his excuses to do better and have that stupid hope.
"I thought your plan through and it's solid. Smart. When Walker understands what's happening, he'll surrender." James held the wood with both hands while Cristine began the process of fastening the wood as one with some nails. He avoided looking at Cristine, ashamed of witnessing his outburst in the flesh. At least Cristine didn't fully reject him or shied away from his presence, as tense as she appeared in his vicinity. "I thought, uh… you and I should talk after last time."
"…"
James saw his daughter's silence as a sign to continue and he scratched his throat and talked, voice soft and on the edge of wavering, "lately, I've been having strange thoughts. Of ghosts and sins that wander in limbo and how they're much worse than the dead and it catches up on you. Like walking in a circle and you think you've dealt with them."
Cristine didn't once glance at her father and twisted a fresh roll of barbed wire around the wood. Her father didn't make any sense and she blamed his babbling on the alcohol. Her lips twisted together and the shooting sensation of her face made the corner of her eye tear up. "I'll always love you daddy, but like you said, you won't change; sober or drunk. It's who you are… who you've always been." Cristine her tune was cold and without looking at her father shared her piece. Hard lines etched into her forehead and she really had to bite her tongue to keep the stinging words to a minimum and say anything hurtful back. "So if you won't change that means I'll have to. For me. I meant what I said that night and you can be angry at me for it… but don't ever put your hands on me like that again."
-
It was a few hours in and the fences were considerably strengthened. The vulnerable and important spots fixed first. They couldn't finish everything, but it would have to do. Cristine felt her strained back snap, crackle and pop when she rose to her feet and stretched the muscles. "Good job everyone." Cristine tugged at the double wired barbs with his gloved hand and the extra wood that kept the fence posts up. "We head back to the shooting range to help the others prep before they go out tonight." With the setting sun came a sky of an orangey fire. It was the budding scene for the clear night with stars.
With each stride to shooting range, the smell of blood and viscera intensified. The nascent smell stroked one's nose, promising a hideous sight, but it was surprisingly buckets and containers littered with the excretion of the dead. Glancing around, eyes taking in the blood slicked machetes', knives, arrow tips, and other arsenal of pointed weapons, Cristine wrinkled her nose before her sight set on Troy squatted down while giving his orders. "Make sure you coat your weapons in good. Fill some of those buckets over there and load them in the trucks. We'll need those later. Push your weapons in nice and deep." Twisting his machete back and forth after making sure he drowned the steel deep through the vile, vomit inducing plasma of bacteria and other collections of diseases worse than one could imagine Troy rose. He faced the men and women who would join him tonight. It wasn't much, but it was the best he had at the moment and would have to make do.
"I want everyone to listen up! Our mission tonight is about the element of surprise. We won't be going out guns blazing if we don't have to, but if you are forced to use your gun don't aim for the head, let them turn. Use the coated arrow tips for long range if you can. When you are engaging at close range go for flesh wounds, leave 'em alive and don't kill; let them turn. If you're injured and it's your last stand, take out as many as possible until the end like a real soldier. But don't kill. Go out knowing you did kill them in the end by giving everyone back here a chance." Once Troy was sure he'd conveyed the plan and his orders to his team he continued, "next, we unleash infected on the reservation to do some of the work for us. The dead are meant to distract and overwhelm, but given that they're heavily armed, we'll have to be smart. We use the distraction to hit where it's not lethal and let them turn. We need to give them the idea that we're desperate and it's our last stand… after we've caused enough damage we retreat, go home and wait." The moment Troy finished they resumed preparations. Whilst scrutinizing everything his gaze landed on his partner in crime. Looking around at the busy bodies, Troy walked towards Cristine and joined her in her brief stride away from the others.
"We barricaded as much as we could. We're reusing parts of your old plan and installed a few booby traps." Cristine her cap shaded the front of her face while staring at nothing in particular. Her voice was calm and mellowed out. Her expression remained serious face. "The rest is up to you guys." Cristine was oddly calm about everything and perhaps that was due to the influence of Troy's current mood. When it came to doing what he was good at and preparing for battles and the coming violence, Troy set a model example of a soldier ready for his final battle. He always said it was his purpose in life. Cristine had never met someone who was so at ease and in his element as Troy. He made it all sound so easy and she could only imagine the exhilaration in his veins. People were going to die, maybe he would too. Cristine rubbed her wrists with her fingers at the idea. A heavy sigh betrayed her anxiety. All the details were mapped out and it was a good plan, but plans weren't set in stone. Plans could go wrong. They usually did. Cristine bit the inside of her cheek as she tried not to think with pessimism. She turned her head to look at the person who took one of the biggest risks and asked, "you ready?"
Troy glanced back and caught signs of open concern on her face. It momentarily surprised him, but he quickly relaxed. Complications and feelings were out in the open and he had a hard time to categorize it. Wetting his lips, Troy moved his wide shoulders up, clutching the front of his sleeveless tactical vest. "Yeah. You can say I've been ready my whole life. It kind of feels like a do-over." Troy referred to the plans he concocted only for Jake's diplomacy to ruin it prematurely. "The types like Walker will always be around even if we won the first time. There will be many more who will try to take this from us. It's my duty to protect it. Even if I die in the process."
Cristine's nose moved when sniffing and palmed her stiff neck. Most were on edge and while she was convinced it would be worth it all in the end, she was still anxious. Troy was right and Cristine forced herself to think past the days her betrayal-fueled anger outweighed worry and she scraped her boots over the dirt. "I rather no one dies, but that's wishful thinking." There was a dark haze when looking into bright blue eyes. Most of his attention gauging the true meaning behind her words. "Any day could be your last. You go out and risk your life. Nowadays, even breathing feels like a risk and oftentimes you don't really have a choice. You can only choose what you risk your life for. That's why I need you to do me a favor Troy." Cristine hesitated even making this request. It was selfish, but after acknowledging to herself that she did, in fact, care about Troy. A different sort of care that wasn't platonic, Cristine decided it couldn't do harm to ask him this. It was a fifty-fifty chance survival rate.
Troy arched his brow, eyes of obsidian hard with a severity that made him bob his head down at the woman. Cristine sounded tense, but she wouldn't ask him a request if it wasn't serious. At least, she set aside her issues with him to ask favors. Troy watched Cristine's eyes soften and the rest of her face went taut, her words soft and vulnerable, but thoughtful and said with purpose, "I know you're not afraid of death and would happily give your life for this place, but I don't want you to die. I need you to come back alive." A bout of surprise flicker past Troy's features, a bit taken aback. Her sudden demand messing with him for a beat. For a miniscule second - a wave of complications surged through Troy. The end of his fingertips twitched. Troy's focused and his militant air faltered and he got really quiet. The proof of honesty he detected past Cristine's exterior confusing him more. Again, the invisible weight of her dark stare pulled at his eyes and finding his voice he asked her in a low baritone.
"Why?"
Cristine was confounded by his question, but it was a fair one. Her heart beat all the way to her throat and she watched the open curiosity of blue fade into light puzzlement, darting to and fro her gaze. Blinking, Cristine wet her lips and put on a complicated look, one that silently screamed self-doubt, but dissipated the more neither's eyes strayed from the other. "Because I can't say for sure things will completely go back to normal and I'll always hate what you did, but I-" Cristine organized her thoughts and her words as best as she could. "I don't hate you… I hate some of the things you do, but I do care. Like how you care about our friendship. And I'm open to fix too, ut it takes two for that, preferably alive."