Go back to the suite.

By the time you get back to the suite, Clova isn't just back, but she is about to leave for dinner. She blinks and looks at you. "There you are!"

"Here I am," you smile.

"You're in a good mood. Get done banging McKinley's wife or something?" She pushes past you, going to the stairs.

You shift legs and follow her. "How...did you know about that?"

Clova stops and opens the door to the stairwell. "How did I know about what?" She turns to look at you, confusion over her face.

You piece together she was joking, unintentionally exposing you and your dirty actions. "Nothing...nothing. I wouldn't be...What did you say?"

Clova holds the door open for you, gesturing for you to follow her. "Nothing. It's an inside joke. Forget about it."

...

...

There’s no banter or small talk this time, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Finally, you’re beyond that point of **** conversation. God knows there are things you could talk about, but you don’t want to chip any progress you’ve made so far with something that could wait.

Your plates are filled, and your drinks are collected. In less than 10 minutes, you make it back to the couch you had slept 3 hours in. Clova kicks off her shoes and strips them out of her shirt, only keeping her tucked in long sleeves.

Her hourglass figure indicates training and exercise. She was petite, all considering, but was as solid as anyone else you’ve met thus far. Clova’s breasts were about average size, maybe slightly bigger? She didn’t ever adjust or complain about her bra straps or chest rigs. She also never complained, however.

When you set the movie up, you see Clova watching from the reflection of the TV screen before it flashes to life. You stand up and turn to join her, her eyes are on the screen now, and she’s chewing contently on her mashed potatoes. When you sit down, she moves a few inches away.

She exhales and then tilts her head to you. The ads that play in the beginning are those who make firearms. No longer American Airlines or Pepsi like it “used to be,” according to some of the geeks who studied the land before the war.

“I forgot the last time I was with someone to watch a movie,” Clova says. “Don’t die when we start working. I’ll never watch a VHS again.”

“Likewise,” you nudge her with your elbow as you reach for your plate. “You’re better than I thought you were going to be.”

“What did you think I was going to be like?” Clova asks as her attention goes back to the television.

“Strict. Hard. Emotionless.” You list off.

“Ah,” she has a tight smirk, and her gaze is distant while her mind tries to come up with something to say, you eat. Clova blinks and looks at you. “That isn’t who I am.”

There was a part of you that had hoped something would have happened during the movie. Admission to what unhinged her so much, or why all the other members were dead, and how she managed to survive- something that would get you to understand where she came from. Instead, there was a lot of commentary during the movie, and when it finally ended, she stood up and said she was going to take the plates back downstairs.

You both got ready for bed and went over your weapons more time. Clova’s experience was embedded into her brain, so she mostly watched you take everything apart and then put them together. She **** a loose smile and shook your hand. “Good job, Warren. Keep that up, and you’ll be able to do it all blindfolded.”

“What can I say? I have a teacher that inspires me.”

Her smile disappears, and she steps away. “Hey, whatever. I’m sure your teacher is a genius, and it comes naturally for’em. So have a good night and wake up around 8 o’clock.”

A restless night full of wonder greets you in bed. You toss and turn, bothered by the gossip and the loose strings of history you’ve obtained from Clova. You tried to remember the details about the makeshift Russian operation that partook of North Dakota 30-some years ago, but it was hazy and unfamiliar to you.

You flipped to your back and sighed. You shouldn’t be worrying about the past right now. All that mattered was the future…

A dreamless night passes, and then you’re awoken by Clova. “It’s 9 am.” She says, monotone and dull-faced.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I overslept,” Clova gives you a cup of coffee. You bring it to your lips and realize it’s just the kind the hotel provides. A dark, bitter taste that lingers with every intake. “We’re behind schedule, but I’m not in any kind of particular rush. Are you?”

“Not unless you need me to be,” you get out from the sheets and yawn. Clova scans your body and sighs with worry. You look at and squint, wiping away the tears that welled out from your eyes. “Are we gonna get breakfast, or do you have something else on the agenda?”

“It’d be awkward if someone ran across us. Everyone knows we were supposed to be sent off either today or in the middle of the week. So let’s just get ready and avoid the gossip.”

Once you are out of bed, you get ready for the day. Piss, brush your teeth, and then shower. Clova is found on the couch with her eyes closed, apparently doing breathing exercises to relax. It’s only when you tell her that you’re ready is when she opens her eyes and agrees to leave.

Unlike the others, the officers don’t resign within the hotel; instead, they are all shacked up at a building. From the looks of it, it looked to be either a bank or perhaps some kind of government building before since there were a lot of pre-war security installments. There are barred security counters, tall windows, and a cozy lobby with a lit fireplace with a table full of water bottles and other drinking options. Inside the room are men in field gray uniforms that are piped with red and have medals pinned to their breast pockets, giving them a much more “superior” vibe about them, but they don’t seem to treat you any differently than each other. Smiles and head tilts are given, and morning greetings are exchanged.

Clova dodges all conversation and heads straight for the offices. Women in suits are back here, doing nothing since there isn’t anything to do. They seem more stand-offish. Unlike the others in the lobby, they look at you with distrust, almost like you’re a stray dog or something even less to them. Whatever the case, you continue to follow your travel companion until you reach your destination…

The same officer from your first meeting is inside, wearing gray trousers and a white blouse. He’s smoking and overlooking a map. He sees you both and then checks his watch. “Two hours late.”

“Two hours of rest,” Clova sighs, approaching him and the table he’s overlooking. “What’s the contract?”

The officer lets out a heavy sigh and cranes his neck. “We’re trapped here with the Japanese until spring. With the weather taking a shit on us, the last thing we’d want is to be left to the elements.”

“Yeah, I don’t want that to happen too badly. So, what do you me and Warren to do in the meantime?”

“Russians,” the officer says flatly. “They look to move around during the winter and stage positions against local and Canadian strong points.”

Clova doesn’t say anything, but her mouth opens like she wants to make a point. When she didn’t say anything, the officer continued. “We haven’t seen any Russians here or any signs of them, but I’d like to keep them on tabs case there are any. Not to mention, there are always raider groups and bounty hunters fishing around these parts too. Late contracts pay better, and they might try to go after us for ransom… Which I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

Clova’s eyes look lifeless when he mentions that last part. She blinks and looks up at the officer. “Of course, I do.”

She then clears her throat. “So, what are we doing? Backpacking in the forest?”

“Ideally, yes. But, I’m afraid there’s a more pressing matter to attend to before we let the two of you go off willy-nilly.” He points to one part of the map that’s circled. “Deadwood got a few odd reports about this area. A few missing persons and the discovery of an unmarked cave.”

Clova fidgets. “I hate caves.”

“I’m not asking you to go deep inside, just to check it out and make sure it isn’t anything we need to worry about when we departure Deadwood. If it’s bandits, clear them out. If it’s something you can’t handle or something to that degree, report it back to me, and we’ll forget about it.” He looks at you. “If there are no questions to be answered, then I’ll let you get geared up and sent off.”

“When are we expected to leave?”

The officer looked at his watch again and knitted his brows. “I would have liked that to happen right now, but I suppose noon would suffice for enough time now.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She lazily plucks, brushes back her hair with her fingers, and begins to walk out of the office area. She stops beside you takes your wrist. “Back to the Kevlokk’s playhouse. You’ll get everything you need once we’re there.”

There are perhaps 1,000 questions that could be asked, but Clova doesn’t seem social. The morning’s weather is a hard contrast to the mood. Bright, sunny, and warm and clear.

It’s busy at the armory with multiple gunsmiths hunched over the workbenches going over weapons of all types: Glocks, 1911s, M16s, and a dozen other models with different kinds of paint conditions. Kevlokk spots you as you step inside. He throws an oil-covered rag away and greets you. Clova’s back stiffens, and she cheerfully waves at him.

He fixes his gaze on Clova before he gives you a quick look over. “You’re both leaving today then?”

“Well, Kev, we’re not here to drop you off coffee.” Clova crosses her arms and shifts her weight.

Kevlokk smiles. “Let’s get you loaded up and ready then.”

…

…

On your way out of Deadwood, the guards at the gate stopped you. From the way they both looked and talked, you knew that these guys weren’t contractors but were instead regular volunteers for the RTE. They gave you slips of paper with information about who you were. You figured this was mainly for more “official” engagements if you were captured, but you had a sinking feeling these were closer to **** warrants to most of the possible attackers beyond the walls. Clova had mentioned one of her people getting taken for ransom, though you never learned where that happened in the world.

Along with the papers was also a map and some basic instructions. Aside from documents being provided, they also gave you a flare gun with solid metal construction with four flares. 2 red, two green. Each color had its own purpose. The way Clova explained it, it was like this: “Red for when you’re fucked. Green when you’re kind of fucked.” Easy enough to remember. She also said that their flare guns were durable. Got it wet? No problem. Used it as a hammer? It’ll work.

On the road, Clova seemed a bit more like herself but still tense. You were in the open and had no signs of anyone else being around, even as Deadwood became a distant smudge behind you. The silence, however, was killing you…