Off The Beaten Path

Ignorance is Bliss

Spring came quickly in March. It was a mercy that the winter, though ferocious, had been short. The anxiety and depression had been a terrible bedfellow and all were glad to be out in the wet dirt and fresh air. The weather was at that awkward time between seasons when the grass and flowers hadn't quite come in yet. Mornings and evenings were blistering cold while afternoons would get unbearably hot with the chores of tending to livestock and planting the crops.

On the first sign of truly good weather Bernell dressed in her uniform. It was many times patched and mended by now; her fingers caught and snagged on the memories sewn almost seamlessly into the fabrics. She slid on her belts and straps, the ODM gear was spotless despite being a Frankenstein's monster of many other parts from many other machines. She found herself dismayed by the odd personal attachment to her gear. She had a fondness for it like she did for Cerberus and Butter. Strapping it about her waist, the cinching of the belts; it all was familiar and elicited a jolt of adrenaline and eagerness. They settled at her thighs comfortably now; a part of her like her hair was. Absently her hand trailed to the braid that reached to the small of her back. She frowned, a memory unbidden of Tom running his fingers through her hair rose to the surface. She could nearly feel him touching her again, sensations running along her scalp in a familiarity that made her shudder. The memory slipped away and she couldn't help but wonder if she was half-mad by now; the tactile feelings coming more frequently since her last run-in with the Survey Corps.

Ezra walked up beside her as she strode down the small path towards the heart of the forest, one of the goats following at his side like a puppy. "You going out Momma?"

Bernell smiled and ruffled his hair, "Yes baby. I need to make sure the area is clear of titans before we let you guys run around."

He frowned, his little child hands knitted in the coarse coat of the small doe. "Will they kill you?"

She reared back, shocked, "W-what? Why would you say that?!"

He shrugged, looking up at her again. "That's what happened to Dad." his voice went low and he dropped his gaze again.

"Oh." Her voice was a whisper. Heavily she crouched down to his level, the gas canisters banged on her boots as she put her hands on Ezra's shoulders, "Honey, I am so sorry about Dad. I know you miss him. I do too." Tears welled in her eyes, "But I-"

"No." He interrupted, shaking his head, "I don't really remember what he looks like. I don't remember him. But I don't want you to die too."

The admission struck Bernell hard in the chest. It had been nearly three years. Her boys were young men now. Of course they couldn't remember Tom. She pulled Ezra to her chest, the doe complaining with a sharp bleat when his hand left her. Bernell held him close, kissing his forehead.

"Honey, I promise I won't die." Not yet at least. Her mind added bitterly, thinking to what awaited her upon the return of the military.

He nodded against her neck, his small calloused hands knitted tightly behind her head. It hurt her to remember that before all this happened he had been in a carrier, on her back. While she hung laundry to dry. Something in her shifted in that moment, something painful and hard. Something angry. Ezra pulled away.

"I love you mom." He waved as he ran towards the goat pen, the little doe trotting after dutifully.

Bernell waved before moving out further from the house, further into the forest. If something happened she for sure did not want her children to see it; whether it be her arrest or her death. A tingle rushed up her spine as she launched the grappling wire for the first time in months, rejoicing in the rush of air that blew her hair out of her face. She tucked her legs under her, curving her spine as she launched the second wire, retracting the first. Using the dial she adjusted the degree by fractions to miss the trunk of a tree. The complicated process of angling both her body and the ODM mechanisms that shifted her position was an art she felt in her bones, mastered by time and error and a natural talent for the multitasking process of it all. To constantly have to re-navigate herself and consciously keep in mind how much she had moved, how much she needed to change her path as she was moving. It was a thrill to her. Maybe a death wish; her darker impulses taking over and tempting fate the faster she moved. As though daring the universe to take her with any mistakes via speed and directional misstep.