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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

May 11th, 2018

“Do you want me to talk about me - distract- or do you want to talk about you?” Betty asked, and from her tone, Veronica can tell it was the second time she’s asked.

“Console, you mean,” Veronica whispered, sitting rigidly on the bed, facing forward, trying to unravel a riddle with no answer. 

“Yeah.” 

Veronica didn’t answer. She didn’t know. She didn’t think she would until Betty starts. 

“Well,” Betty inhaled, “Jughead asked me to be his Serpent Queen.” 

Veronica turned back toward her best friend. She watched how Betty bit her lip, holding in something like excitement, and how Betty’s eyes shined. A very, very, very long time from this moment here, Veronica will stand and remember this moment. But they are eons away from that moment; from when they’ll be different people, entirely changed by a world too cruel for either of them, yet, they’ve still survived it.

“And that means…?” Veronica asked, at that moment in time. Veronica has tried to stay clear of much of the Serpents. She knew that Jughead had fallen into them, and brought many new faces with him. She knew that Betty had integrated herself as part of the community, but frankly, the specifics are fuzzy on what this question is. Is it akin to a promise ring, but one that comes with thugs, drugs, and violence? 

“I think it means…” Betty trailed off. Veronica tried not to let the twinge of a smile appear. Yeah, even Betty wasn’t sure, “Jughead just really opened up, though. It’s a big step.” 

Veronica didn’t doubt that. 

At that moment, she knew what she needed.

Betty did too. She reached forward for tissues even before it began. Veronica's eyes filled with tears as she thought about all the amazing things she thought she’d be doing with Archie this summer. Just like that, poof, it seemed those were all gone.

It has only been a few hours, but Veronica missed Archie. And is she is already mourning. 

“Oh, god, V…” Betty shook her head, “I’m so stupid.” 

“No, no,” Veronica reached for her tissue box. She hated how much her hand was trembling, “I thought I was okay.” 

Betty’s jaw clenched. She knew this wasn’t true and Veronica knew it too. She wouldn’t have asked Betty to stay here with her tonight if not. Veronica knew that Jughead was setting himself up outside the Police Station, or attempting to. Keller says that Archie can’t see anyone until he’s been processed, which won’t be until tomorrow morning. Veronica would be screaming outside the police station too if she thought it would help. She knows it won’t. 

Veronica clambered for the remote. Just to turn something on in the background, anything, as white noise while she tries to make sense of this. 

“What can I do?” Betty asked. 

“Go downstairs and get food. I can’t bear to see my mom or dad right now,” Veronica choked out. She was not hungry, but she knew she should eat. 

Betty leaped up, nearly tripping over the blankets to fulfill Veronica’s request. 

The TV in the background was on a news station. 

“And there have been strange reports of unwell people taking to the streets in New York City; acting very strange. Hospitals are overwhelmed with cases of biting, strange fevers, and-,” 

Veronica heard none of it. 

She will argue later that, to her, there seemed like much more pressing things. Like her boyfriend being accused of murder.

But even if she had been watching the national news, or if anyone in Riverdale hadn’t been glued to their TVs to hear news about the Golden-Boy-Turned-Murderer, would it have made a difference? 

The timing, though.

Veronica wonders about the timing often.

By the time Betty reappeared with some sandwiches it’s clear Betty had made them herself and not with any of her parent's help, the news station was talking about a drug trial for something or other. Betty made a face and clicked through the channels until she found The Office. 

“Much better, huh?” She nudged Veronica, “Eat.” She said, refusing to take a bite until Veronica took her few bites. It tasted like cardboard. 

“We will figure this out. We have to.” 

Veronica knew that Betty was already likely making lists in her head of who to contact, what laws to double-check, how to motivate the students at Riverdale High to protest for their once-future student body president…and usually, Veronica would be right there with her.

But tonight, Veronica wanted to go and shake the bars of the jail and scream at the top of her lungs.

Which would help no one. 

She remembered a quick glimpse of her father as they hauled Archie away. A ghost that was not supposed to be there. A self-satisfied smirk.

That smirk was on replay in her head.

On her vanity is a perfume bottle her father gave her for her 11th birthday. Very expensive and rare.

Veronica stood up suddenly and before Betty could make a squawk of surprise, Veronica hurled it at the wall.

“Fuck you!” She shouted. She hoped her father would hear. 

Now that she’s found her outlet, she couldn't stop. Betty watched, startled like a deer in headlights, as Veronica threw half of her room at the walls and just screamed.

Maybe Betty thought it was therapeutic. It did make Veronica feel better, but only for a second.

As she came down from her explosion of emotion, she felt an emptiness, the loneliness of Archie being gone that was stronger than ever before. And anger; white-hot anger towards her family. There was also a small tingling of frustration at the pile of shattered goods on her floor. Someone will have to clean that up. Many of those things were close to priceless. It would have been a bigger middle finger to her father to donate them to some very poor people, or to Archie’s lawyer fees. Shattered necklaces and half-empty perfume bottles have no value.

"It's my father, I just know it. I just know it and I feel so helpless," Veronica felt her legs collapse out from under her and she slumped like a puddle to the floor. She looked up to see Betty’s face frantic; something about Veronica’s attitude was freaking Betty out, but she did not have the energy to figure out why.

Veronica crawled over to where the pile of items are, unsure what she was trying to grab. Whatever it is, she did not manage and just cut herself in the process. Veronica stared at the welling blood, sniffling, feeling so young and helpless. She knew you were supposed to feel helpless at this age, but you’re also not supposed to be dealing with shit like this.

"Veronica, Vee…" Betty's voice was soft. "Hey, leave it for now. Mayor McCoy is going to do all she can for him, right? And his mom is coming down tomorrow, so there's that. He can't go through this. There's nothing, okay?"

Veronica crawled onto the bed. She had never liked people touching her, but when Betty pulled her next to her and started petting her hair, Veronica let her. Her shoulders were shaking and she just couldn't stop. It’s like the fear has chilled her heart and it threatens to never let it go. She knew the certainty in Betty’s voice is manufactured, but she closed her eyes and pretended it was real.

"Let's go to bed; in the morning, it will all be better."

Betty clicked off the light and pulled the blanket over the both of them.

Impossibly to Veronica, Betty fell asleep. 

Veronica did not. 

Veronica stayed awake for what she was sure was the entire night.

May 12th, 2018

Morning came through the blinds and spilled light onto the carpet and the end of the bed. Veronica was sure she hadn’t slept more than a few moments here and there. It wasn’t her choice; whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the fear on Archie’s face as he was led out of the gym. She was sure he wasn't sleeping right now, scared to death in that jail cell, so hell, what right does Veronica have to sleep? 

If Veronica wanted to see Archie, she should go now. Before her father stops her. 

Veronica considered waking Betty. Betty would be upset that she wasn’t invited to go too; she loves Archie just as dearly but in an entirely platonic way. 

She doesn’t not invite Betty out of unkindness. Rather, Veronica felt like she has undergone a transformation. As of today, Veronica is an adult. She is no longer a child.

She knew the moment Betty woke up to this world, a world where friends were arrested and you realized that your choices and ability to help were slim, she too would be an adult.

Veronica, kindly, didn’t want to force that upon her early.

Everyone in Riverdale will grow up too fast today, of circumstances that no one saw coming. But she is not to that point yet.

It was maybe 6 am, perhaps earlier. Veronica stared at her ashen face in the mirror, at her ratty hair, at her makeup making dried riverbeds on her face, and the bags that lived under her eyes. She considered doing her make-up, to show Archie that she had not broken, but her hand rattled so much that she oped to just clean her face until she looked somewhat well-rested.

She chose dark colors, not dissimilar to what she might wear if he died. It was pair of black jeans and a black tee-shirt. She cannot summon the usual thrill that fashion brought her before, feeling ill as she tugged her clothes on. 

The last thing she does is jot Betty a quick note and post it on her mirror hanging on her bedroom door, sure that Betty would awaken and find her in a few hours.

B, gone to the prison! Join me when you wake up. Have faith; we’ll survive this. Love, V. 

Veronica wondered if her little encouragement at the end was a bit too much. She also had a feeling Betty will realize it was more for Veronica’s sake, to convince herself than it is for Betty.

The entire house was silent as she crept away.

She walked all the way there. The town had not yet yawned and lifted itself from sleep. Only the cafe is starting to open its doors, but in such a small town, even the coffee shops didn't open for another hour. 

Except for the jail; crime never sleeps, isn’t that the expression? Someone was always there, at the police station, because it seemed Riverdale has added quite the collection of evil-doers since Veronica arrived here. Betty talked about it once; saying how once, there were so few people being arrested in Riverdale that the jail cells were borrowed out as livestock pens. 

It sounded like a town urban legend, but then again, she felt as soon as her father touched his hand on the town, evil began to seep everywhere, infect everything. 

By the time Veronica arrived at the Police Station, she expected to be the first person there, sans maybe Jughead.

It took a moment to recognize the flop of black hair frantically pounding on the glass front of the station. It had been a year since she last saw this person, and she had never been very close to him from the start.

“Joaquin?” She squinted. She thought she recalled Kevin telling her that he’d hopped a bus out of town. Of course, people can hop back on buses, but it’s still strange.

“Ver…oni…ica…” The name was drawn slowly out of Joaquin too, as he furrowed his brow and stared at her.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” She asked with her arms crossed, “Are you filling in for Jughead?” 

Joaquin blinked, “What?” Then, he shook his head frantically, “No, no, I’m looking for Kevin! The world’s gone mad. The world’s gone.” Veronica felt a shiver run down her spine at those words.

A second later, Sheriff Keller opened the door.

“Morning, Lodge. I should have known,” He said with a weary sigh. His gaze slid to the other person, “Joaquin?” He sounded entirely shocked to see the other teen at the door front. 

“Is Jughead around?” Veronica breezed inside, and she expected to see his hat-wearing head slouched in a chair somewhere, napping away. 

“I sent him home around 3 A.M. That boy needed sleep. Threatened public loitering charges,” Keller replied with a sad, almost knowing smile, “I’m sure he’ll be back. Now you, son-,” 

“Is Kevin here? He’s not at home,” Joaquin interrupted, “Sir, this is very important. It’s the end of times. I came from Greendale and everyone there is dead and-,” 

“What are you on, boy?” Keller demanded, his kind expression growing stern and furious. 

“Nothing! I swear it!” Joaquin ground his teeth, fists in balls, “Where is Kevin? Sir, just turn on the radio, or the news, or-,” 

Veronica slipped past the pair of arguing men, knowing where the jail cells were already. 

“Archie.” 

Her heart leaped as Archie startled, looking like he’d gotten no more sleep than she had. 

“Veronica, you’re here,” He whispered reverently. He came and laced his fingers in hers, and they just barely touched foreheads through the bar cells. 

“I didn’t-,” 

“Shh,” Veronica shook her head, “I don’t care. I know, I know. It’s my father, of course, it’s him,” Veronica whispered in a shaking breathe, “I’ll get you out of here. Me, Betty, Jughead…none of us will rest, you know that right?” 

“Oh, how moving.” 

Veronica snapped around to see Hal Cooper pacing in the other jail cell. In the swiftness of everything happening, she had forgotten it had only been a couple of days since apprehending Betty’s father as a mass murderer. Archie reached, as though trying to shield Veronica from him, even from where he stood. 

“Ignore him,” Archie whispered, “He’s been baiting me all night. No use, of course.” 

Joaquin came through the door and Keller followed a second after, not leaving much more time to talk.

“Veronica, you can’t just-,” Keller made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head, “There are rules to visitation.” 

“Let them out! They’re coming, sir,” Joaquin insisted vehemently, “They’ll be sitting ducks in there!” 

“Who? Who is coming?” Hal demanded, jumping on the opportunity. 

“This boy here has an over-active imagination, it seems,” Keller sent him a heated glare, “And we’ll be booking him in a moment for illegal drug use.” 

“I’m not on anything!” Joaquin insisted again, jerking his arm away. Veronica felt like she was pretty good at reading people. When she looked at Joaquin, she saw true fear behind his eyes. Even if he was high, whatever he was seeing, he was genuinely afraid of it. 

Something clanged about in the front of the station. Everyone froze, maybe a little freaked out by Joaquin’s words, even if people like Keller didn’t want to admit it. 

It sounded like a bull shouldering through a china shop. 

“Just one second,” Keller said, his eyes narrowed into thin slits, “Probably some town trouble makers. Damn Ghoulies or something,” He muttered under his breath, “I’ll handle this. You; stay here,” He pointed to Joaquin, “And you,” He pointed to Veronica, “Once I return, we’ll do this properly, ya’hear?” 

Veronica nodded glumly, her fingers tightening in Archie’s. She wanted to scream and defy Keller, but she had to do this right if any of them wanted a chance.

Keller crept out to the front of, hand on his holster. 

His words were difficult to make out back here, but there was some yelling and sharp commands thrown, a confrontation with someone.

Then, everyone felt the hair rise on the back of their neck as Tom Keller screamed. 

Chapter Text

May 12, 2018

It was as though someone went and hit ‘mute’, for it was so silent afterward that Veronica could have sworn she was dreaming. It was only when Joaquin started backing away from the entrance door, shaking and almost crying, and whispered, “They’re here,” that Veronica heard a noise. 

Someone grunted and dragged themselves around outside. It sounded like someone was eating something. It was a terrible sound; sloppy, gnashing, squishy. The sort of sound of a group of high school students chowing down on sloppy joe’s in the lunchroom, but there was something eerie about this, something that told Veronica something’s not right. 

“What’s here?” Hal demanded, his voice now echoing off the empty space that surrounded them.

“Shhh!” Joaquin spun and shushed him so violently that it shut everyone up, “I don’t…know…” He admitted, rubbing his arms, “Things. Evil. Demons. I don’t know what they are.” 

Veronica held in a snort. Riverdale was always at the center of some weirdness, and she was sure this was no different. Usually, it was far less scary than it was made out to be.

“I’m going to check,” She announced, rolling her eyes, despite her gut feeling.

As she said; it was always something incredibly stupid. Her gut feeling had been wrong hundreds of times. 

“You are not!” Archie hissed, reaching out for her to try to stop her. Veronica shot him a loving glance.

“I’ll be fine,” She said with a soft smile. 

“If she wants to check…” Joaquin motioned with a wave, “Then she’ll see I’m not crazy. Or on drugs.” He said with a flare of his nostrils. While Veronica didn’t think he was on drugs, ‘crazy’ was just about relative. She did think she’d find something, but she thought it was unlikely she’d corroborate Joaquin’s tall tales.

She carefully tip-toed to the front of the police station, the strange noises growing louder with each step forward. She covered her mouth and nose with her own hand to keep the sounds to a minimum - a gut reaction from having so many instances of needing to stay quiet- and peered curiously.

Veronica nearly threw herself behind the wall in terror. 

She sunk down to sit, biting the flesh of her hand to keep from screaming. Her legs would not move, no matter how much she tried to urge them to crawl, crawl, crawl back to safety. An eek of a scream slipped out, like air escaping a balloon, and she screwed her eyes shut, feeling a terror unlike anything else she’d ever felt.

It had only been a mere glimpse, but that image would haunt her for all time. She would close her eyes and remember the first moment where she truly understood the danger they were all in, where yes, her world did change, even if she could not make heads or tails of what she saw.

Here’s what Veronica saw; Tom Keller was eviscerated on the floor, his guts spilled out and his blood leaking out around him. There were people that seemed to be tearing, eating, his flesh away, wholly interested in this meal. The utter gore of it was straight out of a slasher film, but a great one with a high special effect budget that made you walk out of the theater feeling squeamish.

But this wasn’t a movie.

This was real life and Sheriff Keller’s blood puddled and spread to the point that her hands could almost touch it.

Tom Keller was dead, or god, she hoped he was. If he was alive, she couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. 

She crawled back to the jail cells slowly, dragging her legs more or less behind her, every audible inhale or whimper she produced sending a jolt of fear through her that whatever those things were would hear her and she’d be next. 

She pulled herself to walk through the doors where the trio waited to hear back from her, but as soon as she was safe, she turned and shut the door behind them and locked it with every lock that she could. 

“What did you find?” Joaquin asked, but hell, he already knew, didn’t he? Is this what he’d seen? How was he still talking, not balled in his bedroom and crying? Had it been someone he knew? Someone he loved? 

“They were…eating him….” Veronica managed to stutter out, knowing she was seconds away from breaking down completely. 

“What?” Archie shook his head, “What do you mean by ‘eat’? Cannibals in Riverdale?” 

“It was more than that!” Veronica insisted, “Joaquin’s right! It was…unholy. Deranged. They weren’t right!” She felt bile rise up her throat as she recalled the sounds they’d made as they snacked on Tom’s innards. 

Joaquin found her a bucket and she barfed up the espresso she’d had this morning, hiccuping quietly to keep herself from full-out crying. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go to bed.

She wanted Archie and her mother and even her father. 

“Bath salts?” Hal offered, his expression one she knew well. She saw it on Betty often, whenever she was taking on a problem that needed solving. It was nearly uncanny. 

“No, maybe, I don’t know,” Veronica threw her hands up, wiping the back of her lips. Why did she suddenly have answers? She had none.  “They wouldn’t listen to reason, whatever the case. I don’t want to try it, you know. And Tom is for sure…” She forced the words out, “Dead. He can’t help us.” 

“Well, Jug will be here soon. Probably with FP or Alice or Betty. Someone will know what to do,” Archie said, looking around, hoping for someone to agree with him. 

“Get us out,” Hal said, “I’m not going to wait here to die by some junkie who thinks I’m a prime rib!” 

“His keys…” Veronica stuttered, “I’m not going out there. I can’t, I won’t!” She pushed herself away from the locked door. She hated how cowardly she was being right now. 

“Do you have a bobby pin?” Joaquin asked, looking cautiously at Hal. 

“Don’t let him out! He’s a serial killer, haven’t you seen the news!” Archie spat in his direction. 

“Then you want me on your side! I have no qualms with killing a few idiots if they come knocking,” Hal reasoned, “I’m much more useful to you out there than in here.” 

“Are you going to kill us?” Veronica asked, wiping away her tears. She had to be strong right now. 

He tilted his head, then paused, “No. If that kid unlocks me, I’m in his debt. And you two…Betty would never forgive me,” He said simply. 

“Like you care about Betty at all,” Archie snarled. 

“I do, whether or not you choose to believe it. I always have.” Hal looked almost amused by his protectiveness. 

Veronica stared him down, then her expression twitched, “Get Archie out first. Then him.” 

“What, babe, you can’t be serious!” Archie’s face was red with anger, “He shot my father! He deserves what’s coming to him!” 

“And we’re three teenagers with nothing!” Veronica lowered her voice, very aware and afraid that they would hear noise back here and be summoned, whatever they were, “I don’t want to die today, Archie Andrews and I suspect that neither do you.” 

Joaquin looked between them. Not waiting for Archie’s choice, but not quite deferring his command to Veronica either. He just looked scared. Like a scared little boy too far in over his head. To think he’d been complicit in many ways in Jason’s murder, and she’d thought he was so different than everyone else. But here he was, looking like he was two seconds from shitting his pants or wailing for his parents.

“Fine,” Archie spat out, interrupting Veronica’s assessment of Joaquin, “But only because I have a moral compass,” He said as a slight toward Hal, “And I’d feel shitty if we left him in here to die. Like you said; Betty would never forgive me. Even if she’s mad at you.” 

“Joaquin, well you-,” 

The things began banging on the door, cutting Veronica off. She inhaled sharply, taking four automatic steps back. Archie’s eyes grew wide and Joaquin dropped the hairpin.

“Shh…shh…” Veronica said, making a lowering motion with her hands, “Whisper; be quieter,” She said, her words scarcely audible. 

Hal just laughed, “You’d better work quickly. Seems as though time is not on our side anymore.” 

Veronica shot him a furious glare. She knew it was embarrassing to defer to a teenager, but seriously? 

“You can open ‘em quick, right?” Archie said in a quiet, now frantic tone, as though realizing that death could be seconds away for all of them. Even if they got Archie and Hal out, Veronica wasn’t sure what was next, but it was better to have four against however many there were instead of two against. 

“I can pick locks,” Joaquin said, his bright blue eyes flickered up to Archie’s face, and that seemed to calm Archie.

Not Veronica.

“You didn’t answer the question, though.” 

Joaquin pursed his lips, “Wouldn’t you rather want me working on getting them out than answering asinine questions?” He asked in a sharp tone, and his cleverness surprised Veronica, though it should not have. He was a Serpent after all, and frankly, most of the ones she had met were not dumb. Maybe not the most book-smart, but none were stupid. 

Veronica raised her hands and backed off, and for six agonizing minutes, while the pounding, groaning, and moaning grew progressively louder outside, there was silence in the jail cell as Joaquin worked. Veronica watched a thin film of sweat covering his forehead and chin, and she was about to step in and snap something out of fear, but then there was the tell-tale click of a lock releasing. 

“Thank god,” Archie sighed, and as soon as he could, he came bounding out, “We need to find weapons.” He said, grasping Veronica’s wrist and leading her further back into the cells as Joaquin began work on Hal’s. 

“What?” Veronica stuttered, “This is meant to be entirely non-weaponized! It’s literally the worst place to get stuck.” 

Archie grabbed a guard’s chair and awkwardly placed it in Veronica’s hands, giving a stressed sigh, looking around for something that he could use. 

“Gotta fight with our bodies. And besides, anything can be a weapon if you try hard enough,” Hal said. It was jarring. Veronica hadn’t known him much before this, but Archie looked ashen-white. He sounded like a father, giving sound advice. He sounded normal, even if the words were not. 

Hal had not been ostracized before this. He must have been well-liked. For years, no one even had a clue he had such vile thoughts brewing under the surface, and more than that, the town had seemed shocked when all was revealed. It was easy for Veronica to think of him as such a bad person, but even when Archie’s father had been shot by him, Hal had been his neighbor for years and it was clearly like whiplash to the teenage ginger.

“You might have to give us a crash course,” Veronica said, starting to see dents in the metal door. What were these things? Were they actually demons, as Joaquin claimed? She knew the jokes from Greendale well enough; magic, witches, voodoo. Had something actually happened? Was this an honest-to-god spell gone wrong? 

Hal’s lock clicked open and he moved in front of the kids protectively. 

“Got any weapons on you, kid?” He asked Joaquin. Joaquin offered a shaky knife from his back pocket. Hal beamed in pride, “Good one!” He sounded like a proud father and Joaquin sort of beamed from the praise. 

“It was the best I could do before I ran,” Joaquin whispered, “Though not much good.” 

“Oh, it can be very good,” Hal said with a wide smile. He laid out his palm and Joaquin, with far less hesitation than Veronica would have, handed it. Hal weighed the weapon before turning to Archie, “Take that stool, Andrews. Time to put your football muscle to good use.” 

The doors burst open and some ungodly creatures blew in. They limped, not as fast as Veronica would have thought, but fast enough to be terrifying nonetheless. There were only two, and here’s what struck Veronica as the most horrible thing; they looked human. Not humans high on something, but human-like. It was tickling her danger signs and the Uncanny Valley warning sirens in her brain. They looked human, but they obviously weren’t. 

Though ludicrous, her mind was putting more stock in her Greendale theory.

They also were familiar. She was just trying to figure it out when she heard Hal take a sharp, stuttered breath. 

“Bernard Klump?” He whispered. Veronica knew now who he looked like; Midge. Was this her father?

“And, isn’t that Ginger Lopez’s older sister?” Archie whispered frantically, “Scarlett! It’s Archie!” 

“I don’t think they’re those people anymore,” Joaquin was the first to say what Veronica knew was on all of their minds. It was true. Their eyes were glassy. Nothing going on behind them. Not just dumb, but non-present.

Bernard lunged, or maybe fell, towards Archie on the outskirts and Archie swung the chair hard. It maybe wasn’t meant to do much harm, but it sent Bernard’s head flying. 

Everyone stood in horror, except the Scarlett-not-Scarlett, as the body just slumped over and stopped moving forward. It was still twitching. 

“Oh my god, I didn’t…mean to…” Archie dropped the chair, “I’m never going to graduate high school. I killed Midge’s dad!”  

“It’s not human,” Joaquin whispered in anger, perhaps frustration, “Look!” He pointed towards the detached head. 

It was still moving.

First off, normal humans weren’t decapitated by a mere chair. Second, their jaws for sure didn’t chomp after such activities and their eyes weren’t still rolling around. 

“In that case-,” Hal kicked Scarlett back with a foot just as her grimy, blood-stained hands were reaching for him. As she started to flail, Hal pushed the knife deep into her skull. Veronica had never killed anyone, but it seemed to sink in far easier than it should have.

Scarlett jerked like she’d been electrified before slumping to the ground. 

“Easy, eh?” Hal said, taking the knife out. It was covered in a black, goopy substance, “Yuck.” 

He wiped it off, and gave a half-hearted look at Bernard, “Take care of that, someone, hmm?” 

Veronica was about to ask ‘in what way’, but Joaquin took two big steps away from the group and then slammed his foot down on the still jiggling head. It splattered everywhere.

Veronica hadn’t eaten anything, but anything that was still in her stomach still came back up, whatever was left from the first time she vomited. It just stung like bitter bile. 

She watched Joaquin examine the splatter on his jeans. He looked a bit green himself. He muttered something in Spanish under his breath, before doing the sign of the cross over his chest. 

“Well, with that, it seems I’ve been granted a stay of execution,” Hal said, saluting the trio of teens. 

“What, you can’t just…leave!” Archie sputtered, “You killed so many people!” 

“You think there’s a world anymore to punish me? And kid, I’m sure the police have much better things to worry about right now,” He motioned to the bodies on the ground, “Hey, Joaquin, you ever picked a lock to an armory?” 

“I won’t let you leave!” Archie said, crossing his arms and sliding between Hal and the door to the front. 

“Andrews, you’re a good one. I don’t think you killed Cassidy, I really don’t. Let’s not add an actual murder to your docket.” Hal said simply, patting his shoulder, “Even if you could.” He added with a snort. 

“Archie…” Veronica whispered. 

Hal had years on any of them of fighting and killing. Archie, for all his bravado and foolhardy arrogance, would lose to him. 

Archie seemed to be realizing this too. He looked at Joaquin as if asking for backup, but the Serpent shook his head. 

Archie began to walk away until Hal gave a little laugh of triumph. Before anyone could blink, Archie had turned and punched Hal hard. Hal startled, grabbing his nose. Veronica ran up and pulled Archie back, fearing a full-on bloodbath was about to begin, but Archie wrenched himself away.

“I’m done, I’m done now,” He hissed, “For my dad, you snake,” He spat. 

“Hey,” Joaquin said, “Watch the insults, pal!” 

Hal just patted his nose and shrugged, He just looked past Archie to Joaquin. 

“Kid, weapons,” Hal reminded, pointing to a well-guarded door. Joaquin nodded twice, taking to the locks. Hal moved to Keller’s body, laying out all bloody and destroyed, and began to search. There wasn’t much left of it, not even enough for Kevin to I.D the body. God, Kevin? How did Veronica tell him that she’d watched his dad die and did nothing? 

“I deserved that, I suppose,” Hal said to Archie after a moment. Maybe Archie hadn’t hit as hard as he imagined, “Do you know where Betty is?” He asked Veronica, “You’re best friends, aren’t you?” 

Veronica opened her mouth, but in the split-second it took to reply, her brain screamed not to say. To lie. Veronica just smiled sweetly, apologetically, “No, I don’t. We were supposed to meet here this morning to see Archie, but she never showed.” 

Hal’s face clouded, “Oh no,” He said, pausing his frisking, “She’s strong, though,” He whispered, and it seemed more like a promise or assurance to himself rather than writing her off. He found a key-set, “Let’s see if any of these bad boys work.” 

“I only got through one,” Joaquin sighed, disappointed in himself. 

“Hey, if those things had eaten those keys or Keller left them elsewhere, you’d be invaluable. Because I don’t think any of us would want to go bobbing for keys in their stomachs.” 

Veronica watched as Hal opened the armory with ease. As he was trying the keys, Archie looked at Veronica, fear written all over his expression.

“Do you think Betty-,” 

“Shh!” Veronica shushed him. She sent him a look that said ‘later’ and hoped he understood. 

“Ah, yeah. You’d all be smart to stock up too,” Hal said, pointing outside to where people, or non-people, waddled around. They hadn’t realized there were more people in the police station. 

Veronica was no stranger to weapons. She knew her parents had many stored in the house. She watched as Hal loaded up first, strapping and hiding as many items on his body as he possibly could. When he was done, he stepped back. He seemed to be waiting to see if anyone would say anything, but when no one did, he nodded and laughed a bit.

“Well, I’d say it’s been great, but…my family needs me.” Maybe he meant Betty. Perhaps he meant Polly. Maybe he meant his wife. Or maybe it was just what one said to try to absolve himself of guilt. 

The teenagers watched as he looked both ways and then slunk out of the police station.

“I’m surprised you stayed,” Veronica turned to Joaquin. 

“You have a better chance of knowing where Kevin is.” He said, moving to start to arm himself, “The end of the world makes you realize how you feel about certain people.” He motioned to them, “The Black Hood wasn’t wrong. Start stuffing.” He commanded. 

As they were pushing items into hoods, pockets, and a bag Archie found near Keller’s body, a white van pulled up in front of the station.

“Shit. It’s my parents,” Veronica said, groaning, seeing Smithers driving in front. 

“Veronica!” 

Hermione burst out of the back, her breath catching as she spied Keller’s body. She whimpered, covering her lips. Hiram, however, strolled and stepped over Keller like it was just another day. Violence and gore were no stranger to her father.

“Mija, step away from that boy.” 

“Joaquin? He basically saved us!” Veronica knew her father didn't like the Serpents, but come on.

“That’s not who I’m talking about.” 

It took a second, as though she forgot momentarily the entire rundown of yesterday, but when she did, she felt white-hot rage bursting out of her.

“Oh, screw you, dad!” She gave a dry laugh, “We both know that whatever you tried was just…just…” She threw her hands up, “Take this as a sign that the universe has other plans for Archie…plans where he’s not in jail.” 

“He’s a murderer, dear,” Her father said evenly, “I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“Protect me? Are you kidding?” Veronica slammed a set of knives onto the station receptionist's desk, “Dad, honestly, we have bigger issues right now.” 

“He should be in jail, where he belongs.” 

“You are such a broken record. And we’re just going to leave him to die then? I didn’t know you to be cruel, dad.” Veronica said, which was a lie, but her father’s jaw clenched. He had done an admirable job of hiding his darker side, and it still bothered him that she seemed to know it had been him, pulling the strings of this. Or it bothered him that she was not naive anymore. 

“This will blow over in a day…or a week,” Hiram pushed back his hair, trying to regain control, “Someone else will surely deal with him soon enough.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? One of those things to deal with him?” Veronica gave a dry laugh. 

“Hiram!” Hermione hissed, frantically, showing that she did not think this was as casual an issue as her father did, “Veronica, we’re waiting it out at the Lodge. Get in the car.” 

Veronica looked at Joaquin and Archie. 

“On three conditions.” She said firmly, motioning for Joaquin to continue to clean out the armory. 

“This is no time to be bartering, Veronica,” Hiram began, starting to move towards her. Veronica grabbed a gun, shaking her head at her father. Would she shoot him? She wasn’t sure and he seemed to know this too, because he stopped moving toward her. 

“One; Joaquin comes with us, and we see if we can find Kevin.” She said, smiling at the Serpent. He seemed okay enough, and he had chosen them over Mr. Cooper. Plus, he did have skills that were coming quite in handy. Even her father had to admit that, once he got to know the kid. 

“Two; Archie comes.” 

Her father should have known this, but it still seemed to bother him.

“Three, we try to save as many as we can. The Lodge Lodge has plenty of room. Besides, this will blow over shortly, you said so yourself. Not everyone is so lucky as we are.” 

Lucky, or, in other words…rich, vicious, blood-thirsty, prepared…take your pick.  

“Which means others can find another shelter,” Her father growled.

“No. Those are my terms. Or else I can also find other shelters.” She shrugged, “Your choice.” 

Hiram studied her, looking outside, and then at the two boys. 

“I am your father. I command you to get in the van.” He said with a hard edge to his voice, “You will obey.” 

“Try me,” Veronica said. Was she sure how to win this stand-off, other than being incredibly stubborn? No, she wasn’t sure. However, she was willing to try, especially when it came to Archie.

“Hiram, are you serious?” Hermione hissed, “It shouldn’t be a question in your mind! This should be easy! And her terms are very reasonable.” 

“She is our daughter. We do not negotiate, we expect compliance,” Hiram returned evenly, “If you think you’re so adult-,” 

“No!” Hermione strode in front of Hiram, placing her warm, sweaty hands on Veronica’s cheeks, “Boys, in the van. With the weapons.” She instructed. Hiram made a sound in the back of his throat, causing Archie to pause and waver. Joaquin did no such thing, as he began to bag the armory and bring them outside in quick trips. 

“No, Hiram, this is not up for discussion. Otherwise, I will tell Smithers to leave you. I have other safe-houses you’ve never known about,” She threatened, “And you will never find them.” 

“You’re bluffing,” Hiram said dismissively, as though amused to no end by the thought of Hermione standing up to him or being so bold, but at her face, his expression slipped for just the quickest of moments. 

She watched as her father’s fingers twitched, and then he clenched them quickly, “I suppose that he seems capable,” He said, nodding to Jaoquin, “And as for Andrews…it would be better to keep such a dangerous man close, to be safe.” She knew her father was trying to regain his power as much as he could. She saw Archie smile behind a crooked elbow, as though he was coughing, but he hid a smile. Yeah, the idea that her father was so afraid of a seventeen-year-old didn’t cease to amuse, she supposed. 

Veronica took her victory in small, powerful steps. She pulled herself into the van, totally expecting to see Betty waiting for her with a smile, but the back was empty.

By this time, Joaquin had loaded the weapons and everyone else was getting into the multi-seater. Veronica wasn’t sure why her father had this car, but he owned a lot of strange cars. 

“Where’s Betty?” She demanded as soon as her father entered. He laughed.

“Now, why would I know the whereabouts of your little friend?” 

“Because she was in the apartment?” Veronica said, and then as she saw genuine confusion on her parents’ faces, she felt like screaming or throwing herself from the van right this instant, “She slept over last night. I left her sleeping there this morning. Are you fucking serious? Did you leave her there? She made sandwiches last night! And neither of you noticed?” Well, her parents were not going to be winning ‘parent of the year’ after this one. 

“Last night I had many business calls to take, and your mother had a headache. We didn’t leave our rooms at all after you returned from school,” Her father said, his words edged and dangerous, but she could tell Hiram didn’t want to admit that he had no idea someone besides Veronica had been present. 

“Oh my god,” Veronica felt faint, “We have to go back! We have to get Betty!” 

“Ma’am,” It was Smithers who spoke nervously, “The roads back to the apartment are filled with…” He paused, unsure how to describe them, “We cannot go back.” 

“But, Betty!” Archie was just as horrified.

“For all we know, she slipped away this morning, to find you,” Hiram said, “She might not even be back there. It would be foolish to waste our time-,” 

“Waste our time?” Veronica was livid, “This is my best friend and his best friend! I will never, ever forgive you if we leave her!” She cried, taking screaming over sobbing right now. She threatened her father with hate often, but this one felt the most real of all of them. 

“Then I will have to live with that,” Hiram said, “I agreed to your terms, but you can’t go changing the contract later, as it suits you. Grow up, Veronica,” He said with a shake of his head, “And listen to Smithers. Back there is done for, at least for the time being. We will not return.” 

Veronica started, as though she was going to open the door and jump, making a run for it, but it was Archie who pulled her back.

“She’s strong,” Archie repeated Hal’s whisper to Veronica, “And smart. Wicked smart. We’ll all have a good laugh about this in a few days, alright? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had the same idea as your parents and will beat us to the Lodge.” 

She turned to see Hiram frowning at Archie, unwilling to thank him or admit he may have been wrong, but all the same perhaps starting to see Archie as an asset to him. As much as Veronica did not want to listen to either of them right now, she made a choice. One she hoped Betty could forgive her for one day.

She chose Archie.

If her father thought Archie could control her, perhaps he’d be more inclined to not murder him in his sleep. 

“Yeah,” Veronica said, and she truly, truly hoped he was right, “She’s probably hot-wiring a car right now, with Jughead, and they’ll find us.” 

“Where to next?” Smithers asked from the driver’s seat. 

“Kevin might be at Pop’s,” Veronica realized, “Melody posted that there was supposed to be a brunch on her Instagram to plan for…” She trailed off, looking at Hiram and Archie. For Archie’s arrest. Veronica had seen the invite, she recalled now, but thought her use would be better for Archie in person, not behind the scenes just yet. 

“You have service?” Joaquin frowned. 

“No, but I did remember. It’s been a busy morning,” She added defensively. Her phone hadn’t had any for hours now. She thought it was a weird glitch or update, but now…now she wondered.

“I have it too. See? Just enough for that. Ooh… It’s kaput now,” Archie showed his phone, which he’d taken with the bag of his intake items from behind the station desk, and there was a flash of the invite before it powered down. 

“Well, most people are probably looting grocery stores right now. It may be a clever move to hit a restaurant for supplies,” Hermione pointed out to Hiram, “And Pop Tate certainly would know how to cook, if we have that need.” 

“Alright,” Hiram relented, “But merely because it is the safe and logical option. Then, Lodge Lodge.” 

Pop’s was on the way out of town anyway. When they pulled up, Veronica felt her stomach sink.

It seemed highly unlikely Kevin was here. There were a few of those demonic not-humans walking around, all people Veronica knew vaguely. None were Kevin, thank god. 

“In, out, on the road,” Hiram commanded, grabbing a gun. 

“Headshots seem to be important,” Joaquin supplied and Hiram gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Archie, not wanting to be left, grabbed a weapon too. When Veronica went to grasp one, her mother held her back.

“But-,” 

Hermione merely shook her head.

There were only three milling about. It was easy work. Three on three, when your opponents were not quite all there, was simple. Too simple, enough to worry Veronica that they were being lulled into a sense of security about beating these things. She had remembered the awful smell and the way those things had clawed and snapped while she was in close contact with them. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Hiram motioned to everyone's left when the things lay motionless on the ground.

Veronica hopped out, pushing open the door to Tate’s. It immediately felt wrong. The smell was off, the lights were flickering ominously, and the whole place put a weird feeling in her stomach.

“Start grabbing. Where’s Pop?” Hiram asked, looking around.

“Awe, fuck,” Archie said, rounding the counter, “Found him.” 

Veronica leaned over to see Pop dead, just like Keller. In slightly more pieces, she realized, since there has been little of Tom Keller left after all was said and done. Pop Tate was undeniably gone, however, lying with an expression of torment on his face.

“Hmm, well,” Hiram seemed unbothered, “This food shouldn’t go to waste.” 

Veronica was two steps behind him as he opened the door to the freezer and two figures ran out, screaming a battle cry.

“Woah!” 

Archie caught one by the arm, “Josie? Dilton?” 

“Oh my god!” Josie was holding a rolling pin, and Dilton was faring slightly better with a butcher’s knife, “You're…human?” 

“Uhm…” 

“Not those things, if that’s what you’re asking,” Veronica said, understanding their inquiry. 

Josie’s shoulders collapsed and she cried out, “I thought we were dead!” She whispered, “I thought…this, this is the end.” 

“Well, why don’t you go in the car? We’re going up north for a few days to ride this out,” Veronica offered kindly, gently taking the rolling pin from her hands. Her father made a noise, but she just held up three fingers, referring to her third agreement. If they couldn’t save Betty, she was going to fight for everyone else. 

“Kevin?” Joaquin asked all too hopefully. 

“He had plans to come here last night with us, but…we’re the only ones who showed up. We ordered and waited and then not even ten minutes later…” She swallowed hard, “I can’t.” 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Joaquin said, but from his face, he was hoping for more. Dilton was speechless, something Veronica had never seen. 

“Be useful,” Hiram said, “Start grabbing.” It was unclear who he was talking to, but it reminded Veronica that time was of the essence.

Everyone besides Smithers, who was keeping watch, and Josie and Dilton who were understandably traumatized and not just shivering because they’d barricaded themselves in a cooler for god knows how long, frantically started transferring food into the van. 

They were nearly done, the place looted to comical ends of nothing left when there were three frantic honks from Smithers. Veronica ran from around the pantry area to see something impossible. 

“Dad, behind you!” 

Hiram turned, dropping a crate of baked beans as Pop Tate loomed over him, gnashing his jaws and groaning.

“Isn’t he supposed to be dead?” Archie asked. 

“I think he is!” Joaquin yelled over the chaos and terror, “That’s not Pop anymore!” 

He slid a knife across the floor to Hiram, who started stabbing anywhere he could, but also tried to flee. It was hard to get the man’s head; not just when you knew someone, but also because Pop had snuck upon him. 

“Dad!” Veronica grabbed a cheese grater, unsure what she was going to do with that, as her father was back in the front of the store. Pop’s body hit the doorstop and closed everyone off from him. 

And then there was just silence. Cruel, taunting silence. 

“It’s just like…” Joaquin began, then paused, perhaps for Veronica’s sake. 

Veronica threw the door open to see her father on the ground, looking like he’d seen Jesus in the flesh, and Pop on the ground. A figure stood over him, a long…what was that? A sword? Yes, it seemed a sword has stuck through his head. 

“Malachai,” Joaquin greeted in an icy tone. 

“That was close,” The leader of the Ghoulies, painted in blood said with an ill-timed laugh. 

“You saved me,” Hiram said, a bit out of it. 

“Where are the rest of you?” Joaquin asked, skittish, unsure.

“Dead! Dead, dead. Dead as a doorknob.” Malachai sang, “Wait, why are doorknobs dead?” He frowned in confusion. 

“We should go. Now.” Hermione helped Hiram up, who was staring at Pop Tate in shock, confusion, and general fear. Whatever bravado he had about this scenario was shaken out of him now. 

“Malachai, we’re going to a safe-house.” Hiram said, “I think I owe you a life debt.” 

Malachai pulled the sword from the body, “Chill, man.” He shrugged and put on one of those little paper-serving hats that Pop wore. He caught his reflection and giggled uncontrollably. 

“Dad, you can’t be serious.” 

Hiram gave Veronica a self-satisfied smirk, “Stipulation Three.” He parroted back to her, thrilled to be maliciously complying with her demands. 

“You coming, Joaquin?” Archie asked.

Joaquin gripped his knife and then sighed, “I’m not leaving you guys alone with that joker,” He spat at Malachai, “And…” He sighed, face full of despair, “I don’t know where Kevin is. I have to hope he wasn’t stupid and we’ll meet back up when this blows over. I don’t know…” He trailed off, looking at the van, but Veronica understood. He didn’t know if he’d get a chance like this, at safety, again. 

Everyone loaded up, shoulder to shoulder to make way for the food. 

Malachi was the only one without a grim expression on his face, taking it all in. Now, Veronica was sure he was on something. He had to be. 

No one was this cheery in this sort of crisis; not her father or Hal, who were the two most fucked up men in Riverdale currently.

Yeah, he was probably high as a kite, seeing kittens and rainbows and unicorns instead of blood and guts.

Or he was just a sadist. 

“A mix of the two,” Dilton muttered from right beside her, and she realized she’d been muttering under her breath. If Malachai heard, he didn’t acknowledge it, and it seemed everyone else was too far pulled into their own safe spots in their minds to really hear her. 

There was silence for about half an hour. Just shell-shocked silence and confusion. 

“He…came back to life?” Hiram finally whispered, showing he’d been turning it over and over in his mind. 

No one had an answer. No one had anything else to say either. What would they have talked about? The most recent episode of the The Voice ? The New York Mets game? The last day of school? 

The only one who said anything was Malachai. As he peered out of the window, at the trees racing past, he gave a little laugh to himself and said entirely to no one in particular, “Man, I hate this part of Texas.”

Chapter Text

May 13, 2018

Once settled in, sleep came quickly to everyone. Hiram was not letting Archie and Veronica share a bed, much to the frustration of Veronica. The rooms ended up being divided as such; Hiram and Hermione in the master, Joaquin, Dilton, and Archie in a second bedroom, and Josie and Veronica in the last official bedroom. There was also an attic with some beds. Malachi was a mystery to place. He was not a girl, nor young enough to be with the teens. Finally, Smithers offered with a dry, even tone that he’d take him up to the attic with him and keep a weathered eye on him.

Veronica argued, thinking Smithers was far too old and frail to deal with a maniacal junkie, but from a smile shared between Hiram and Smithers, Veronica wondered if there was more to his past than she knew. 

The next morning, when Josie announced she needed a shower and vacated the room, there was a second set of footsteps. Veronica turned, expecting her father, but was pleased to see Archie.

“Ronnie, can we talk for a second?” He asked, biting his lip. 

“Of course,” Veronica said with a purr, winking, “We can talk all you want. I think we both could let out some steam.” 

“Yes,” Archie said, then sobered his smile, “No, no. That’s not what I mean.” He took Veronica’s hand and sat on the newly-made bed, “I mean just…talk.” 

His tone was soft. 

“Okay…” Veronica frowned. Archie was never one to turn down anything she offered. It was a shared passion of passions between them. It was why she knew they worked so well. It didn’t always have to mean something, it just was. Sometimes, the body needed that release. Veronica had a lot of pressure and frustrations from her parents and if Archie didn’t blow off steam like this, then things like the Red Circle happened. It was beneficial to both of them.

But sometimes it was meaningful. Like today, Veronica needed the intimacy, the reassurance, after such a wild, confusing day. 

“I…” He began but trailed off quickly. He opened and closed his palms, seemingly unsure of what to say or how to say it. 

“Yes?” Veronica asked, encouragingly, rubbing his shoulders. 

“Your dad,” Archie finally said, his voice scarcely above a whisper, “He…arrested me. For something I didn’t do. He’d see my rot in jail just because he doesn’t want me dating his daughter.” He looked at Veronica and he was begging. But what he was begging for she couldn’t say.

“Well, it’s a bit unusual-,” 

Apparently, this was the wrong way to phrase it, because Archie rocketed up, “Unusual? Veronica, it’s insane. This isn’t…I don’t…” He was pulling away and her heart broke even before he said it, “I love you, but I don’t think I can be with you.” 

“No, don’t,” Veronica pleaded, “Please, it’s okay. You’re out of jail now, so,” 

“Nothing about this is okay!” Archie threw his hands up, “How can you even say that? If it wasn’t for whatever happened yesterday, I’d still be in jail! Because of your father! Hear me with what I’m saying.” 

She heard the words, but she didn’t understand them. Not in the way he wanted her to. 

She swallowed, “But, okay, we can work this out.” 

“I don’t know if there is working out ‘my girlfriend’s dad is threatened by a seventeen-year-old'. Any anonymous anyone on Reddit would tell me this is a big red flag if I posted about it on r/RelationshipAdvice.” 

“Screw Reddit,” Veronica said, “This is us. Not the internet.” 

“There is no one to double-check with anyway,” Archie gave a rough laugh, “Not anymore.” 

“If you break up with me, there’s nothing keeping you safe,” Veronica said as Archie began to leave. He turned, face furious.

“What do you mean? You’ll ask your father to finish me, heartbroken?” 

Veronica’s expression soured, “Never, Archibald, and I’m so hurt you’d think that.” 

“Oh, well, excuse me for coming to that conclusion when you say shit like that. Shit, that sounds like threats. I guess you learned from the best.” 

Veronica bit the inside of her cheek, trying to not let that low jab hurt her, but hell, she was hurt. But it didn’t matter. He was scared and unsure. Wouldn’t she be too?

“No, you..” Veronica sighed and then launched into the theory she’d come up with about keeping Veronica in line. When she finished, Archie stared at her incredulously.

“So if I don’t keep you in line, or in your imaginary place, your father will for-real kill me?” Archie looked close to crying, “I didn't ask for this crazy relationship! Or this fucked-up world! Or any of it! You hear yourself, I’m done.” He leaned on the threshold, “I’m tired, and I’m worried sick about my dad and Betty and Jughead and everyone, and I don’t have the energy for this, Ronnie. You have to understand that.” 

This she did. She lived with it, so there was no way out, but yes, she understood that bone-tired exhaustion. 

“I just can’t lose you too, though,” Veronica whispered brokenly, “Until this..rolls over.” 

Archie rubbed his chin, “I’ll fake it,” He said quietly, looking around in case the walls had ears, “Until it’s safe. But know this, Veronica, it’s just empty words. I don’t have it all together to give you more. I gotta protect myself from…” He paused, as though dreading what he was going to say, but said it anyway, “The Lodge Family.” 

She knew her family was the ruin of everything, but until now, it had never been so apparent. Because it was not just her father, but yes, it was her too. She’d led him to this path that had her father so insanely and unreasonably mad at him. And her mother didn’t do any favors to their family by sleeping with Fred Andrews. 

She’d destroyed his life and hadn’t ever really thought about it before.

“I’m going to find breakfast.” He would have kissed her cheek, but since they were alone, with no audience, he gave a curt, awkward nod, “Veronica.” 

Then, like a ghost, he was already gone. 

May 18th, 2018

No one might be saying it, but Veronica was thinking what she knew they were all fearing; this was not going to just go away.

Nearly a week later, much longer than the extended weekend her father had assured, and those things were still dangerous and there was no sign of life from anywhere. The phone lines were still down, communication had come to an archaic stand-still, and Veronica couldn’t imagine an end to this in sight. Short of the National Guard knocking on their door to tell them they were safe, Veronica started to be distrustful of anything.

She had been so annoyed her mother had moved her back to Riverdale from her place in New York. She knew she’d been a bitch, but that didn’t require a total relocation. Of course, she’d learned that her father had burned any bridges they had in New York, so it was a bit more complicated.

But overall, this year had been such a ride she hadn’t been able to contemplate or reflect on the move itself. She had grown happy, yes. So much happier than before. But until today, somewhere, if someone would have asked her where she was from, she would have said New York City.

Now, she wished that someone would ask so she could proudly say ‘Riverdale’. 

She did not think she would miss this small town with the fervent pang of homesickness that she did. 

In their mad dash to gather supplies from Pop’s, they’d grabbed a box that someone had assumed to be food, but upon opening it up, had been a package of promotional tee-shirts. Her father had swore under his breath, muttering that it had taken up unnecessary room in the back of the van, but everyone else took one of the shirts with a hint of somewhat morbid humor. They looked like a training crew, all sporting their Pop’s shirts at first in jest, but now by necessity. 

As stated, everyone had thought this was just a minor event, and they’d be back in a few days.

Therefore, it’s not as though anyone had properly packed anything. There were a few things kept up here, but not enough to clothe a whole slew of people. 

This meant that by this day, day six, besides Veronica and her parents, the only thing everyone else owned was the shirt of their literal back and their Pop Tate shirts. There had been enough for all the gathered without clothes to take at least three.

“At least they’re different designs and colors,” Archie had said with a sigh of relief.

‘Yes, because being an outfit repeater is such a sin,” Joaquin had dryly replied.

Veronica had snagged one, just because the clothes up here weren’t really practical. There were some flannels and jeans, but this was a vacation house where they employed the usual staff. They weren’t actually ever coming up here to ‘rough it’. 

When she woke up today, she realized that the Pop Tate shirt was losing the scent of the back diner, which she thought was impossible. If she was searching for constants, she thought the tang of french-fry grease, hamburger meat, and onions would never wash away, and yet…

Veronica pushed her nose into the shirt, her comforter pulled over her body.

“There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…” Veronica whispered into her pillow, hoping that in a world where the devil was up and walking, the spell from the Wizard of Oz would answer her prayers.

The disappointment that this did not work was far too great for her usually logic and realism-guided mind. 

She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was back in her bedroom. Maybe Betty was there, gushing about her newest date with Jughead. Maybe Archie was there, practicing his guitar, making those cute little sounds he made whenever he messed up. And hell, maybe even Jughead was there, waiting for Betty to finish something and making small-talk with Veronica, maybe interviewing her for a murder mystery taking place on the Upper East side.

She tried to imagine them all in her house, but the fantasy slipped through her fingers like sand in the breeze.

Things were already starting to slip.

She pulled the blanket off of her, inhaling and picturing her room again. This time, she threw herself back into an actual memory; her first night in the Pembrook, when her mother had showed Veronica her room so proudly, so happy to show her daughter that she knew her taste. And yes, it was a great room. But in this memory, Veronica changed it. She thanked her mother but sweetly asked if she could make some adjustments herself, make it hers. 

She’d all but thought they were just passing through, so had been indifferent about how her room looked. But if she had known the love she’d feel for this place? And how she was about to possibly lose it? 

Well, Veronica entertained herself until dinner deciding exactly what colors she’d paint the walls, how her bed would look, and the dream walk-in closet she’d construct. She also made a promise to herself; if they ever managed to get home, her room was having a makeover A.S.A.P. 

When the day started to dim, Veronica wandered to the living room. All their electronics had died two days ago, and they were relying on batteries for clocks and flashlights at this point. There was the question that hung in Veronica’s mind - what happens when those go out too- but no one was broaching that yet.

“Hey babe,” Archie said, moving on the couch so they could sit next to each other.

It was torture. 

When they were in public places, Archie was exactly the same as before, if not a more considerate boyfriend. But when they were alone, his expression was cold and far-away and nowhere near the person she thought she knew.

This fakeness, this pretending hurt the most. She hadn't thought he had it in him. But, he was doing a more than commendable job fooling her parents into thinking they were still infatuated with each other.

Veronica supposed when your life was on the line…you found strengths and skills you didn’t know you had.

“Drugs,” Malachai was saying. Everyone had been sure that he himself was on something, but he hadn’t been going through withdrawal at all yet, making everyone readjust their opinion of him. He was just a weird, slightly unhinged person all on his own. He had acknowledged that he was here very generous allowed to be here, of course, and had caused no serious problems yet. There had been minor incidents, like Malachi trying to take a nude swim at 2 am in the lake, or the fact that until his phone died, he liked to blast his music at full volume. But that was all so basic of issues, compared to what they were dealing with.

“Really? Drugs. Something you’re not telling us?” Josie snorted. She was playing chess with Joaquin.

“Don’t have no info, if that’s what you’re asking, but people are making new strains of shit all the time. Stands to reason someone would go too far eventually.” 

“Or maybe anthrax!” Dilton said, way too excited to suggest that, “A chemical warfare of something.” 

“Or just the Next Plague. You know we’ve been joking the world’s needed one for a while now,” Archie shrugged, “Maybe God or whatever’s up there listened.” 

“Magic.” Joaquin said, shaking his head, “I know you all think I’m insane, but I’ve seen things in Greendale.” 

Though Veronica would never say it, she was mostly in agreement with Joaquin. She was quiet, which Archie had to know was unusual for her. Yes, she knew she always had an opinion about everything, and usually a cute celebrity story she was sure her friends would enjoy.

But now? Nothing. She had nothing and wanted to say nothing.

“What’s your vote, Veronica?” Dilton prompted, pushing his glasses up his nose. She shook her head, but Josie playfully slapped her shoulder.

“Oh, come on, girl, everyone else has a theory. Even the bullshit ones are fair game here.” 

“I just think it’s hard to say when we know hardly anything about them,” Veronica said, reaching for a glass of water she’d gotten before joining the group. Her nails clinked against the side, “We think we know a lot of things. They look like humans. Maybe they were. Maybe it’s something else entirely. Some look like people we know. Is that…a trap? An illusion? Coincidence?” 

“But what about Pop Tate. He came back to life!” Archie pointed out.

“Was he ever dead, though? Or did we just…think he was?” Veronica sighed, “My point stands. We are practically in the dark about any of these things, other than that head-shots seem to do it.” All communication was down, so even though her parents had hoped to connect with some people in the know up here, firstly, no other neighbors had made it up so far and secondly, there was no way to talk with anyone who might know something. “Heck, we don’t even have a unified name for them!” 

“Fucking devils,” Joaquin muttered, which is what he’d been referring them to as. 

“Methers,” Malachai disagreed, “I am dead serious. You deal long enough to know there are some mixes you don’t touch with a ten-foot pole.” 

“You have limits?” Josie gave a hard laugh, “Color me shocked.” 

“I’d prefer to stay alive, Missy,” Malachi said, lounging all wrong in the chair, his legs dangling over the top of the backrest and his head nearly touching the floor, “And some of that stuff is called the Kamikaze. You’ll have a great time for the rest of your life on it because it melts your brain.” He made an elaborate goopy sound, causing Josie to scrunch up her nose in disgust. 

“Well, hey, that theory could actually work. Their heads were basically just soup,” Dilton said, “But the name is stupid.” 

“Let’s just call them Cannibals. We also know they’re trying to eat humans and they’re human…ish.” Archie suggested with a pause of uncertainty, “Because clever nicknames for them just seem weird and gross.” 

“They do seem to have a penchant for the flesh,” Malachai agreed, “Wonder what we taste like to them? Chicken?” 

“Speaking of food,” Veronica stood, unable to stomach the conversation for a second more, “I’m going to see if it’s almost done.” 

The first three days, they’d eaten like normal. But now they were starting to ration. Yeah, they had a lot of food here, more out of greed and hoarding compared to a prepper situation, but they weren’t in dire worry of food running out, but they should watch themselves a bit, that’s all. Or, that’s how her mother had explained it to the group.

The one thing her mother, specifically, was not rationing was her wine. Veronica had asked for a glass two nights ago to be shut down. Hiram sometimes had a glass, Smithers usually joined her mother. As expected, her mother announced with a forced smile that dinner was nearly done, this time a glass of red on the counter next to her. 

As they gathered for dinner, all sitting at the dining table like a weird, dysfunctional family of sorts, Veronica felt herself waiting for Archie. Who, of course, sat dutifully next to Veronica, taking her hand and kissing it softly. 

“You two are too cute,” Josie said with a soft, slightly sad smile, showing that it was not just her father that was believing this. 

“Your meal,” Smithers said as he set out the table, as he always did, before settling next to Hiram for his own. Hermione knew that he didn’t feel like a worker who was being worked to death, but he enjoyed his job. Or, at least, that’s what he’d promised Veronica when she’d asked him a few years ago, “A rustic bread with an Asian-inspired paste and a grape compote.” 

There was a pause, then Joaquin whispered uncertainty to Veronica, “This is just a PB&J, right?” 

Veronica felt a bell of laughter. She hadn’t laughed much, but this did make her giggle. 

“Yes, it is.” 

Perhaps it was to give her parents a sense of normality, or perhaps it was to make a jest of their situation, but Smithers had been really amping up the formal way he’d been describing meals. Hermione had said that he could take $20 from Walmart and trick the richest of the rich in New York they were eating gourmet just by his descriptions alone. 

The meal went by in relative silence because once again, there wasn’t much to talk about. It was frighteningly close to the end of their meal when Josie looked around, confused.

“Where’s Dilton?” 

The table had felt a bit empty. It was embarrassing with so few people around her that it would take someone else bringing it up for Veronica to realize they were a person short. Of course, no one else had noticed either. Or maybe they had and didn’t care. 

The jury was still out on Malachai. It was hard to judge someone when you had no idea what their next move was. Malachai was the definition of lawless chaos, and until they started glimpsing the part that made Malachai more human underneath, most people were resisting judgments. 

Archie was liked by Hermione and hated by Hiram, no shocker there. 

Josie was instantly liked by both of her parents and Smithers, and Joaquin not soon after. She heard her father saying that despite his Southside Serpent associations, he was surprising him by being polite, always willing to help, clever, and a stand-up boy, clearly bothered by situations beyond his control. He also knew Spanish, something that clearly made him popular with Hiram. 

But Dilton? Well, he was just…weird. And Veronica wasn’t sure if it was a dislike or just a general dissociation, as in that he had a certain ‘object permanence', meaning whenever he wasn’t there, people just forgot about him.

“Washed his hands with me,” Archie shrugged, “Dunno past that.” 

“More for me!” Malachai said, reaching for the last sandwich, which may have been Josie’s clue that someone was not present. 

Smithers slapped Malchai’s hand swiftly, “You will not!” 

“Is anyone…worried?” Veronica said standing, surprised there wasn’t a general clamor to find him, “Not knowing where someone is right now isn’t exactly comforting!” 

This got everyone up on their feet, starting to whisper-call ‘Dilton’ through the cabin. Just as their calls were getting louder, and Joaquin realized that his jacket was missing from the hooks by the door, Dilton strode in, face splattered with blood and hands caked in black residue. 

“Where have you been! You can’t just leave the house!” Veronica said, coming down on him because it seemed no one else was. The fact they couldn’t leave was an unspoken rule or at least one she didn’t think needed to be spoken. It wasn’t that Hiram wanted all these people here, but safety was an issue.

“Yes, what was so important you needed to skip dinner?” Hermione said, just as Dilton’s stomach growled. 

“Well, I was thinking,” Dilton scratched his face, and streaks of the black goop left tiger marks on his skin, “We were talkin’ about the things, Cannibals or whatever, and Veronica said we just didn’t know anything about them. I concurred.” He gave a little proud grin, “As an Adventure Scout, the best way to study nature and creatures is to observe them in real-time.” 

“You didn’t,” Joaquin’s face grew pale as his eyes flickered nervously to the garage where Dilton had come from.

“Of course not,” Dilton gave a scoff, offended, “That’s the best way. The second best way is to study them dead. It seems figuring them out is…a matter of importance. No time to be wasted.” 

Everyone looked to Hiram, waiting to hear what his thoughts on this were. But it was Archie that spoke.

“So, there’s a dead Cannibal in the garage? Are you sure it’s dead?” 

“Knife through the skull; Joaquin was right about headshots. Stabbed it and sent an arrow through the heart, but only a knife here,” He made a motion between his eyes, “Stopped it moving.” 

Hiram seemed to waver on his thoughts for a moment, then something maybe like a grin seemed to creep over his face. Perhaps, just like that, Dilton had cemented a favored position from Hiram. This meant that Archie was about tied at the bottom with Malachi, though she wouldn’t put it past her father to rank Archie lower than the unpredictable junkie. 

“Initiative is good. I would prefer you ask me in the future, but I cannot condemn someone that is trying to do something about this situation, as compared to just sitting.” His words and the glance he gave to Hermione seemed to indicate a fight behind closed doors, but Hermione just narrowed her eyes at her husband. 

“Wash up,” Hermione told Dilton, touching his shoulder gingerly.

“With all due respect, I think I’ll be digging around in his chest cavity more tonight.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish that Dr. Curdle was here. A corner would be very valuable right about now.” Josie sighed, “But both he and his dad gave me the jeepers.” 

“Same,” Veronica murmured, glad to have only crossed his paths on a few slim occasions. 

The corpse in the garage was wearing hiking gear. He would have looked like a normal person if there weren’t gross blackish blood all over.

Hiram glanced over at Josie, who was making gagging noises behind her hand. 

“Anyone that wishes to leave is free too, but we’re…” He glanced at Dilton with a calculating look, “Going to find some answers.”

Chapter Text

May 20, 2018

It had been foolish to hope, but Veronica had prayed for the answers to the universe. In her heart, she should have known. 

There were no doctors here, no true scientists. Though she knew that intelligent people stood in that room - her father a master at business, Jaoquin quite adept in street smarts, her mother clever and calculating, and Dilton undoubtedly the smartest kid at Riverdale High - she tried to prepare herself that there was not much they could possibly glean.

The excavation into the dead Cannibal had not unraveled the mystery with one sharp ‘Eureka’ moment that made everything make sense. Instead, the answers were painfully dragged and theorized and argued to high heaven. 

Veronica also knew she was being harsh. There was no one of scientific renown. It would have been unheard of for them to figure everything out. And it hadn’t been a total failure. Their understanding of the body left in the garage after their disemboweling had been very illuminating, along with Dilton’s reports of stalking one. 

“They seem to respond to noise,” Dilton said, rubbing his chin, having been offered a glass of bourbon, the nice stuff, to sit with Hiram and theorize. It was quite the honor and she wondered if Dilton knew. 

“So guns would be unwise,” Hiram gave a tired sigh, “This means close-range weapons.” 

“Or arrows,” Archie threw in, quick to be useful. For once, her father did not seem angry with him.

“Or arrows,” He agreed thoughtfully. 

The other thing that they discussed was the smell. Veronica had only smelled death once. A mouse had crawled into her laundry basket and it was in between washes, so she hadn’t noticed until it had been decaying for three days, the scent alerting her to its tiny body. She was unsure if she could ever shake that smell, honestly.

But these things? It was 100 times worse.

“It smelled bad when I went to kill it, close up,” Dilton said, “It wasn’t decaying only after I killed it. Rather, I think…” His next words were chosen with utmost carefulness, “I think it would be more apt to say after I killed it the second time.” 

There was a silence from everyone; not just the boys discussing in the living room, but from everyone listening in with one ear cocked. 

“Like…walking undead?” Joaquin said quietly, “The devil is here.” He added in a fearful whisper. 

“It would make sense,” Dilton said, “The way they move, the sort of lifelessness behind their eyes, how their blood isn’t liquid, but congealed…” He gave a long sigh, “I think we might truly be dealing with the undead.” 

There had been jokes, movies, the such, made about the undead for ages. However, believing it was as loony as believing in Bigfoot. Or, at least, it had been.

“How do they die the first time? Or, well, how is it decided who ‘comes back’?” Josie asked with air quotes. 

“Maybe it’s an illness,” Dilton said, swirling his glass, under Hiram’s watchful eye. 

"You mean a curse," Joaquin muttered sourly. 

“I think it stands that we stay the hell away from them,” Malachai said. Hiram laughed, genuinely amused.

“I believe that’s been clear from day one.” He nodded, “I wouldn’t want these things near me either.” 

Dilton sighed, “No more Cannibal hunting?” 

“Not without cause,” Hiram agreed, “We’ll watch the body decompose that we have, and if we’re lucky for another to wander by…but you said it yourself, you had to go far to find him. And it seemed it was an unfortunate accident.” 

“Did you figure out how he died?” Josie asked.

Dilton shrugged, “Very hard to say. Could have been starvation, dehydration, or a fall off a cliff…his body was pretty mangled, so well, your guess is as good as mine. I also don’t know how long he was walking around like that. We know when Riverdale fell, and I have to think it as similar by a few days to other places, but if he died before we got here or after, that’s also washed away.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, “Really makes me wish I had another specimen.”

Something churned in Veronica’s stomach, though she couldn’t place it. All she knew was she could not be here.

She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping across the floor, and went to curl under the covers in her room.

May 22, 2018

It had started slowly. But, like a slow poison, it had crept on Veronica and taken hold of her, and once it was choking her, it was impossible to shake. It was a nihilistic belief deep within her, one that had planted and taken root. It was a voice, a whisper, that absolutely terrified her. The poison was fear; and it whispered in her ear, never allowing her a moment to rest; This is just how life is now. 

She felt like Cassandra of the Greek tragedies because whoever she tried to tell laughed her off. But she knew. She knew deep down inside of her that ten days in was showing them the truth of what their reality was. If it was meant to come to pass, it would have. Her mother told her she was being dramatic; nothing was set in stone after ten measly days. Her father didn’t have any interest in listening. Joaquin seemed almost like he might agree with her, but shook his head, muttering that he knew someone would fix things soon, to have faith in that.

The rest were similar.

Veronica tried to tell everyone about the ball of tar that seemed to cling to the bottom of her stomach, telling her she’d never go back to whatever life was before this. 

Faced with the frustrating optimism of her friends and family and the unrelenting fear that grasped her, Veronica found it hard to do more than a ghost in and out of bed, making motions to eat or go to the bathroom, but do very little else besides that.

What was the point? Why should she do anything if this is just how things were going to be? If they’d always be closed off in this cabin, searching for answers, but never finding any? If they were destined to be stumbling through the graveyard of truths with no flashlight, these things chasing them and grasping with deathly intent, but everyone else tripping into answers and never able to pin down anything more concrete? 

It felt like they were in a bad episode of Scooby-Doo, except the stupidity and clumsiness weren’t done for laughs, it was just how mismatched they were against whatever these Cannibals were. 

“Hey, Veronica,” Josie said, speaking quietly as she entered, as though worried she’d spook her roommate, “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you in the living room. You want to play another round of Scrabble?” Because her parents went full-tilt to the ‘retro-cabin’ feel, it meant that the cabin was stocked with all the classic board games; Scrabble, Risk, and Monopoly, just to name a few. With no power, meaning no TV or movies (not that anyone had DVDs anymore anyway), everyone - Hiram and Hermione included - had relented to some light board game dabbling to stay sane and occupied. 

“No,” Veronica murmured, rolling over and pulling the comforter further up her shoulder, “But you guys have fun.” 

She knew that Josie was hovering in the doorway, worried, and she could almost feel the frustration and unsureness radiating off the former Pussycat. Veronica almost hoped she’d push; she hoped that she’d try to crack her, get into an argument, something. Instead, Josie just sighed and padded away.

Veronica pushed her face into the pillow, reaching underneath it for the Pop Tate tee-shirt, the scent now completely covered in the scent of the forest. Still, running her fingers over the polyester-cotton blend that she had seen so many of her classmates wear gave her a momentary twinge of happy nostalgia. 

The door opened again. 

“I said I’m not in the mood, Josie,” Veronica groaned, “I’m not in the right mind to play and don’t really want to get beaten by Dilton.” She was very smart, no denying, but she knew her thoughts would be a few hours away, in Riverdale, and she’d miss easy words. 

“You, ah, planning on staying there forever?” 

She turned to see Archie leaning on the threshold. 

“Oh, of course, they sent you, my ‘boyfriend’,” She rolled her eyes. 

“Ronnie, I still care about you,” Archie’s eyebrows pulled together, “I care a lot, actually. But-,” 

“But my family is out to kill you. I get it,” Veronica said, fully comprehending why he felt the need to break up, but she still felt she could be properly bitter about it, “You know, though, Father has had every chance to just throw you outside and say you wandered off, and he hasn’t?” 

“Do you want a gold star for your dad for not killing her teenage boyfriend?” Archie asked, the point she was trying to make not landing right, and causing him anger instead of reflection. 

“Well, no,” Veronica frowned, “That’s not…” She trailed off at his face. She shook her head, “You wouldn’t understand. Just go back and play Scrabble with everyone else.” 

“It’s a four-person game, and you know who they kicked out immediately. They chose Malachai over me. He’s apparently not bad at spelling. Who knew?” Archie said, “And, Josie is really worried about you. You’re sort of…having a depressive episode, Ronnie.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Veronica asked, staring at the ceiling. 

“You just get up and wander and then get back in bed again,” Archie continued, “Even your dad is worried, but he won’t say it.” 

“Archie, the world as we know it is…gone,” Her voice cracked, “And you want me to go downstairs and grin and smile and play Scrabble as though we’re just taking a little sojourn up here, along with a handful of the weirdest choices in companions?” 

“If that’s true, then what’s the point?” Archie asked, and she thought he was just being dumb, until he continued with anger, “If you think the world is just like this, what are you laying around going to do? You want to spend the rest of your life just a vegetable in your room?” 

“I’m processing,” Veronica said after a long moment, not wanting to admit that some of Archie’s argument was sound. Even if she recognized this, she was in no mood to be admitting such things. 

“Okay,” Archie sighed after a long second. He gave her a smile, “I don’t know what’s coming tomorrow or in a week or in a month, but I do know that I’ve escaped death enough times. I want to live without sadness or guilt, as much as I can. Is it what I want to be doing? No. I want my guitar. I want my video games. I want my old football that’s half-deflated and underneath my bed. But I guess that’s just wishful thinking now.” 

“And doesn’t that make you depressed too?” Veronica pressured, wanting to not feel so alone in her feelings. 

Archie blinked, “No. Because I can’t change it. So what does being sad really accomplish?” 

He stood, “C’mon, please. I can’t predict 24 hours ahead, but if you come down, it’ll be fun. You can watch Josie argue words that really aren’t words and Dilton have a hernia trying to correct her. She already tried to play 'Yeet' and Dilton looked about ready to explode.” 

Veronica gave a small, traitorous smile. She was still waffling between finding an excuse to stay up here or just accepting his offer when a sound that no one expected echoed through the house.

A doorbell.

“Okay,” Archie’s eyes were wide and he laughed nervously, “I didn’t expect that.” 

Veronica was up, her curiosity getting the best of her. Far as she knew, Cannibals didn’t have the muscles to ring doorbells anymore.

“Why do I suddenly feel like we’re in a horror movie,” She muttered, pulling her cardigan around her body, shivering, “I never thought doorbells were as ominous as movies made them out to be, but hell.” 

Her father intercepted her in the hall landing.

“Veronica, stay upstairs,” He commanded sharply. She noticed he had one of his guns loaded and the safety was off. 

“It’s gotta be someone…as in, a human,” Joaquin whispered from just below the staircase. Hiram turned around, his jaw tensing. 

“Hide,” he said, and for a moment, Veronica realized he was being protective of not just her daughter, but of other teens here too. For as bad of a man as he was, it was moments like this that reminded her that he wasn’t all bad. She did suppose that ten days stuck with someone either made you like them or hate them by the end. 

Even know Veronica knew the smart thing to do would be to hide, she couldn’t help it, and apparently, no one else could either. Everyone was hesitantly peeking around corners as Smithers unlocked the door, pulling it open wide for Hiram to raise his gun to make the first shot. 

“I know we should have called, but really Hiram?” A tired man said with a sigh, “The New Yorker would have a field day if they heard about your guest-warming manners.” 

“If there’s any New Yorker left at all,” A woman behind him said, “Oh, you have no idea how relieved we are that you’re alive. We knew coming here would be a long shot, but…” 

Hermione approached with a bright smile on her face, “Xander! Simone! What a…surprise. A welcome one, of course, but-,” 

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” Archie muttered harshly, “Was it too much to hope for that the Cannibals got him?” He said, referring to one of the two figures behind the St. Clair adults. Nick St. Clair, who Veronica had soured on too. 

“This really is hell,” She muttered back, making a gagging sound. 

“Who’s the other one?” Archie whispered, squinting. 

“Elio Grande. Father’s a mob boss. I knew he and Nick are in the same grade at the same school, but I was not under the impression they’re…friends. He’s kinder, better.” 

“Oh, really?” Archie’s face twisted, “Kinder?” He mimicked. Veronica’s expression grew cold.

“Why should you care what I think of Elio? You brok-,” Before she could spit out her fury, Archie pushed a hand over her mouth, looking down at everyone, who if they were not so focused on their four newcomers, may have heard. 

Veronica shook his hand off, “I thought my parents had cut ties with the St. Clairs, but I suppose all that’s wander under the bridge in the apocalypse.” She said, motioning to the way her mother was welcoming them, ushering them in.

Like bugs crawling out of the woodwork, drawn by these new people, everyone was pulled to the living room by the strings of unanswered questions they hoped could be answered. 

“It is such a relief you’re alive. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but Hiram, there’s no one left on the Upper East Side.” Simone said, fanning herself as Smithers delivered her a glass of water. 

“What do you mean?” Hiram asked, starting to set down their bags, but his back went stiff. 

“Exactly that!” Xander gruffed, “It’s a wasteland. Those shifty bastards, the ones that are dead but not dead, have decimated everything. Why, we hardly got out at all, and maybe wouldn’t have been if not for Elio’s parents…” he trailed off, and for the first time, Veronica noticed how weary Elio looked, how raw his expression was and how his eyes were puffy. It was obvious he’d tried to wipe away his tears before arriving, but the redness was still present. 

They didn't have to say it out loud. Veronica knew what had happened. The brief of it, at least. 

“Elio, I’m so sorry,” Veronica said quietly. He looked up, his expression anywhere but here, and gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to her. 

“We were all having brunch for the gala; you got that invite, didn’t you?” Simone was recounting, but before Hermione could reply, “Dreadful, just dreadful! I was right in the middle of my morning omelet when the screaming began. It was all just a blur; people throwing things, those things attacking, biting, tearing…” She swallowed hard, her voice quivering, and Veronica believed her about the carnage she’d have to have seen, even if Simone was known to embellish stories, “Nick was a quick thinker. He grabbed us and we went through the kitchens. Elio’s family was close and saw our plan too. All the phones are down. Nothing, just…” Simone broke off, resorting to shaking her head, unable to think of what else to say. 

“What day was that?” Dilton asked. Xander jumped to have the bespeckled teen address him so promptly, but managed to stutter, “May 9th.”

“A few days before us,” Hiram thought out loud, “Though I suppose with how quickly communication broke down, and no one to report it…” And, of course, Riverdale had been embroiled in their own scandals and dramas and so hardly anyone was watching the national news. 

“You just made it up here, though?” 

“You’re the first vacation house that seems anyone made it to. The Vanderbilts, the Carps, The Hunts, the Goldmans-,” 

“Well, we saw Francis Goldman’s face torn off right in front of us,” Nick said with a bitter tone. His anger was something Veronica understood. A feeling of helplessness, more so than ever before. 

“Yes,” his mother blinked, perhaps having repressed that until now, “But the point being, everyone else seems to have…succumbed. I would have imagined they could have escaped like us by now, so I have to assume,” She swallowed. 

“Where were you until you started traveling?” Hiram asked. 

“One of the hotel rooms in the hotel we were having brunch,” Xander said, “All six of us in a cramped King-size room,” He gave a rickety laugh, “And it worked…until it didn’t.” 

“We don’t mean to intrude, but…” Simone sniffled, “I don’t know where else to go.” 

Hiram rubbed his chin, then dragged his hand over his hair, sighing hard. Veronica knew that they were out of beds and their food stash, while still doing okay, would certainly take a hit with four more mouths. 

“We raided the hotel kitchen. We don’t come empty-handed,” Nick said. 

Even though Veronica was loathed to admit it, she couldn’t help but send her father a sly wave of three fingers to remind him of their agreement. If she was still here, they still had their terms. And that meant Archie couldn't be killed. 

“Of course, you can stay.” Hermione said before Hiram made a decision either way, “We are glad to have you here.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Archie said, and Veronica turned to realize he’d been staring, quite aggressively, at Nick this entire time. 

“Veronica,” Hermione said, seeing the pair next to each other, “Look, please, Mija,” She said as she spoke her words carefully, “Could you…partner up with Archie?” 

“What?” Hiram hissed, snapping his head around.

“Best behavior. Josie’s also in there.” Veronica said. Also, of course, they were broken up, so this was incredibly awkward. 

“There are two couches out here for two people to sleep,” Hermione said, already re-organizing, “And a blow-up bed in the closet. It may need to be patched, but with Archie’s bed freed up, that should fit us all.” 

Veronica half-expected Nick’s parents to throw a fit. A blow-up bed? Couches? This was not the life they were used to.

But, to her shock, they gave the most grateful smiles that Veronica had ever seen anyone give.

“God have mercy,” Simone said, seeming to collapse as though she knew she was safe, at least for now, “I don’t know if I can ever repay all of you for this.” 

“You don’t have to,” Hiram said in a tone that indicated they absolutely would have to pay him back in some way eventually, “These are what times like this are for.”

Chapter Text

May 24, 2018

The view from Lodge Lodge had always been incredible; Veronica, having grown up in New York City, always breathed a sigh of relief to see the stars again when she returned. However, if there was one positive of this seemingly national phenomenon, it may be this.

With none of the other cabins on the lake-side lit by anyone at all, true owners or not, and with all the cities around them more or less ghost-towns from what the St. Clairs had reported, and with the only light being the candles and flashlights that they lit each night, with the power having gone out a two days ago, the stars were the most brilliant thing Veronica had ever seen. It was breathtaking, and for a second, Veronica felt close to her ancestors and wondered if this is what they saw every night before the industrial revolution? And if so, why would any ever want to lose this?

The best place by far for star watching was on the roof.

If Jughead were here, she was sure that he could explain all the constellations in the sky. He seemed like the type that would know that.

With the arrival of four people that most of the previous inhabitants had never met, Veronica could sense a growing divide. There was the side of her parents and the St. Clairs, and then there was the side of Veronica and everyone else. 

She knew that people like Joaquin thought that Nick and Elio were stuck-up preps. She knew that Nick thought Joaquin was white trash. She knew Elio was far kinder, but still too traumatized to rein in Nick’s awful behavior. 

She knew that Josie and Nick danced around each other like two sharks, waiting for the other to strike first. She knew that Malachai unsettled them (good) and she knew that they found Dilton to be annoying. 

And she knew that Nick hated Archie, just like she knew the feeling was completely reciprocated.

Sure, she didn’t think any life in this circumstance should be passed over or ignored, and she didn’t think that sending the St. Clairs out in a world they clearly were not built to deal with was fair, however…

She was realizing there were no easy solutions to this.

“Got it!” Dilton whispered poking his head out the window, “Josie’s getting blankets, and Archie’s grabbing Joaquin.” 

Veronica made room on the roof for Dilton. She had never thought she’d feel such a kinship to Dilton Doiley, but once you got over his overeagerness and sometimes haughty intelligence, his intentions were good. 

“What kind did my dad have?” Veronica asked. 

“I tried to pick something I didn’t think he’d immediately notice or miss-,” 

“I’ll deal with it and take money right out of my wallet if he throws a fuss,” Veronica huffed, though she was thinking that paper money felt meaningless.

“It’s…Vanilla Vodka.” 

Veronica took the bottle from him. Dusty and untouched; probably a well-meaning gift years ago that her father had smiled widely at receiving, but then promptly stashed away with the intention of throwing it away, but never getting around to it.

“Perfect,” Veronica sighed.

Two seconds later, the other three came vaulting through the window. They all stepped quietly, giggling and hushing each other as they settled down. 

“To the end of the world,” Joaquin said, flicking the cap off and taking the first shot, “Yuck. Tastes like someone spiked a birthday cake.” 

“You think it’s the end of the world?” Josie asked, frowning. Joaquin shrugged. 

“What else would you call it?” He murmured, but Veronica could see the blush rising on his cheeks, realizing that maybe his fears were just his own. 

“I agree with you,” Veronica whispered, for his ears only to hear, and he sent her a grateful smile. She was also glad to know that someone else in the group wasn’t still clinging to - in her opinion - the foolish hope that if they just held out a couple more days, things would go back to normal. 

“Hand it here,” Archie said, reaching for the bottle. He hardly made a face and passed it to Veronica. She took a smaller sip the first time, trying not to gag as the fiery aftertaste burned down her throat.

Yeah, this was a good pick. It was cheap stuff; nothing her father would ever buy for himself. She almost sent Dilton back to knick something that didn’t make her sputter and her eyes water on the way down, but no one else seemed put-off by the taste. 

“Do you think our friends are alive?” Archie asked suddenly, taking his second drink. They were big sips, “Or do you think we’re what’s left of Riverdale High?” 

There was a collective silence and then, tentatively, Josie was the first to speak.

“I’ve rolled that question over and over in my own mind,” She whispered hoarsely, “And I don’t think Val or Melody would be lucky enough…I’m surprised I survived, and not trying to sound…” She struggled for the word, but gave up, sighing, “Well, you know. But I think I’m the strongest out of all of them.” 

“Ben’s probably dead. He scares so easily,” Dilton said, referring to his movie-theater buddy Ben Button, who Veronica only knew the name of in passing, “He couldn’t even watch Harry Potter, and that’s not even horror.” 

“Serpents are made of stronger stuff, and we like to save our own skin,” Joaquin gave a humorless laugh, “I guess I’m just the exception, running into danger for Kevin. But out of all of them, you know who probably survived?” 

“Who?” Josie asked.

“Penny Peabody. Fuck Penny,” Joaquin muttered sourly, jerking the bottle away and throwing a finger up to the universe, “Sometimes we call people a snake and it’s a compliment. It’s not with her.” 

“Well, probably more Serpents made it out.” Veronica had to guess. She didn’t think the universe was so cruel to only leave two; Joaquin and Penny. 

“Yeah, yeah. If Jughead was with his dad, he’s still alive. FP would do anything to save him, and he’s tough as shit.” Archie swallowed, “But if they got separated…” 

“I would gamble that a lot of the Serpents survived. Just to piss off those that really hated us,” Joaquin's smile was wry, almost pleased, “Ones like Toni or Darkon or Sweet Pea…I’d be shocked if they were dead. But then there are others and I hope that their friends saved them.” 

“Like?” 

“Fangs, honestly. I’m not sure how he made it in,” Joaquin said, his lips twitching into a smile, “We love him, but he’s not good at fighting and not very street smart. He’s just…kind.” 

“Not a very good thing to be right now,” Dilton sighed, “What about Betty?”

“Yes,” Veronica said automatically, even though her heart betrayed her. She swallowed, “I don’t know.” She admitted, because what did she have to hide from these people anymore? 

“She has some rind on her, she’s no whimpering maiden,” Joaquin pointed out. 

“Betty Cooper has balls,” Josie agreed. 

“But this is different than one murderer. And I know my parents took all the weapons in the house, so she woke up there practically defenseless. She’s smart though. So wickedly smart.” That’s what gave Veronica hope. That’s how she prayed that Betty made it out, just by being her clever self, “As for her sister…” 

“She has twins, right? Little babies?” Dilton recalled, scratching his chin. At Archie’s pressed lips, Dilton shuddered, wincing hard. No one needed to say it, but twin babies were possibly the worst fate dealt to someone in these circumstances. 

“I want to hope for the best,” Veronica murmured, laying back completely, letting herself sink into the inky blackness of the night, “And I want to imagine so many of our friends are alive, but we’re lucky. My parents had the means to bring us up here.” 

She looked around at the faces and suddenly felt very awkward. She hadn’t considered or really stopped to remember, that their parents were not up here with them. 

Joaquin laughed, “No parents to worry about surviving. It’s cool. Lived with an Uncle. He’s probably alive, but it wouldn’t be a tragedy if we never met again.” 

“My dad’s a wilderness guy, taught me all I know. He’s probably hunkered down somewhere, riding it out. My mom’s probably with him. I actually have reason to hope they made it.” Dilton said with a smile.

It seems they’d set off this topic because everyone looked at Josie next. 

“My dad was always traveling, so hell if I know. My mom? Well, she’s resourceful. It could go either way with her.” 

“My dad could have escaped it,” Archie went last, his voice raw, and Veronica saw him trying not to cry. She thought it was a travesty she hadn’t insisted on going to try to save Fred Andrew, the single-most kind person on this earth, “But knowing him, he was saving everyone else. He probably gave his own life to get people out, maybe even people that didn’t like him in High School.” Archie chewed on the inside of his cheek, “My mom has lots of contacts in the military and stuff. And money. So, yeah, if she was quick enough, if the Cannibals didn’t overrun Chicago without any warning…she might be alive.” 

There was a long silence between everyone. They passed around the bottle, and when it was nearing the halfway point, Josie gave a shrug. 

“Life has a way of working itself out,” She said with forced cheerfulness, “I’m sure that many others were smart enough to have plans and made it out just a-okay. We’ll see our parents, or guardians, in no time.” 

Little did she know that only one of them, sans Veronica, would see their parents again.

The rest? They simply never found any answers.

XXX

May 25, 2018

Veronica woke with a groan and a headache. In her bed next to her, a flop of red hair shuffled and moved, muttering in his sleep. As her vision started to clear, panic and slight hope gripped her. Had she and Archie had sex last night? Reconciled? 

But, as her surroundings came into view, particularly the empty bottle of vodka halfway pushed under her bed, the reality came crashing down.

They hadn’t made up. He was in here to keep appearances up. They’d all finished the bottle, and everyone (except Joaquin) had gotten mad drunk off it. It was a miracle no one fell off the roof at a certain point. 

“Daylight hurts,” Josie said, flopping on her face to bury it in a pillow. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so drunk,” Archie said, blinking fast, “I just remember laying down last night and the world spinning above me like a kaleidoscope. I’m really, really glad I didn’t vomit on you.” 

“Ew!” Veronica said, and this was just the push she needed to get up and attempt to sober herself. 

“I wouldn’t have meant to,” Archie said, “But I swear I was so nauseous last night. The bed felt like a boat and oh, it was rocking.” At Josie’s raised eyebrow he added, “For very non-sexy reasons. In fact, you were out as soon as you hit the pillow.” 

This was true. Veronica didn’t think she was a lightweight, but she also knew that alcohol usually put her to sleep. By the time they all called it a night, she felt like she was already sleepwalking back to her room. 

All Veronica wanted right now was to grab some water to sip slowly while she contemplated death and curl back up under her covers.

Luckily, it was just her mother and Smithers in the kitchen. Her mother's doing a crossword puzzle, something Veronica has never seen her do. 

“Six words; having a stout body. Has an ‘o’ in it,” Hermione said to Smithers, tapping her pen against her chin. 

“Portly,” Veronica said as she slipped by her mother for a glass of water.

Hermione smiled, setting down the crossword puzzle, “Darling, how was the Vanilla Vodka last night?” 

Veronica has a moment of panic and then figured that her mother must have realized it missing. But, of course, Veronica just gave a confused tilt of her head, “Whatever do you mean?” 

Hermione gave a half-laugh, as though she expected this answer, “I’m just pleased it’s been put to good use. The Ringers gave it to us a few holiday parties ago; I think it was a passive-aggressive gift,” She said. 

“Most certainly, ma’am. Who gives a $20 bottle at a Holiday Soiree?” Smithers agreed with a shake of his head. 

“God only knows why your father still had it. I was tempted to just throw it out. But it seems it was well enjoyed.” 

Veronica stuttered, “Aren’t you…upset?” 

“The rule book for what to punish your teenagers is pretty much moot point,” Hermione said, returning to her crossword, “And it all seemed needed.” 

Veronica inhaled a long, long sigh before speaking quietly, as she grasped her water, “It was.” 

XXX

The sound of commotion wafted up through the floorboards, creaking and eeking into her ear. Veronica woke with a start, noticing that the light in the room was light, meaning she’d been asleep most of the morning and half of the afternoon. A small disappointment brewed in her stomach upset that someone didn’t try to come and rouse her and convince her to do something. Even if she would have said no, she wished someone had tried.

But perhaps her mother had covered and let them all sleep, because Josie woke with a startled gasp on her bed too, showing that Veronica was not the only one who decided to nap away the hangover.

“What’s the argument?” Josie yawned, rubbing her eyesocket and licking her lips, reaching down for her glass of water by her bed.

“I don’t know. I just woke up,” Veronica frowned. She slid into her slippers and came downstairs to where the sounds were coming from; the garage.

Already, Veronica had a very bad feeling about what may be happening.

“You meant to tell me you’ve had two corpses inches away from me, just…rotting away?” Simone would be grasping at her pearls, if she had any on, “I feel faint, Xander!” She called for her husband. Veronica was unsure if her swaying was real or dramatic. 

“Two?” Josie echoed in confusion as the pair elbowed their way near the door.

“What is the meaning of this, Hiram?” Xander demanded.

“To understand,” Hiram answered coldly, narrowing his eyes, “Are you not curious, Xander?” 

Xander flustered, “We’re businessmen! Investors! We aren’t scientists, Lodge. What would compel you?” 

“I’m not sure there are many scientists left,” Dilton said, “And Stanford has had me on a watch-list for admission since freshman year, so I may very well be the most qualified.” 

Xander blinked at Dilton twice, very much a believer of ‘spoken only when spoked to’, so it was likely alarming to have a teenager talk to him with such authority. 

Elio gave a wide grin, “Really? I was hoping for USC.” It seemed he was trying to connect. He wasn’t usually so out of touch, off his game, Veronica considered, but maybe all the other times she’d met him, he had time to prepare. Perhaps he was more of a normal teen than she would have thought.

“Either way, this is my house, and if you don’t like it, you can pack up,” Hiram said with a growled threat. 

“You wouldn’t,” Simone narrowed her eyes, “Throw us out, pick those things over live humans!” 

“What reason do you have to be in here anyway?” Hiram threw back, “It’s hardly your business.” 

“Have you learned anything?” Nick asked, ignoring the scandalized gasps from his mother and his father’s sharp ‘hush!’. His face was focused and for once, he wasn’t making lewd jokes or off-color comments. 

“Some new insights today, if anyone is interested,” Dilton said, motioning to the garage. Slowly, everyone except the adult St. Clairs migrated into the garage, where the first Cannibal was, in a state that made an awful stench. There was a far ‘fresher’ one on a second tarp. 

“Dilton!” Josie hissed, “I thought Mr. Lodge said-,” 

“I don’t get hangovers, and I was bored,” Dilton said, “And I wanted something…newly Cannibalized.” He added.

“Fuck, I think you found it, man,” Nick said, “It almost still looks…human.” He added with a quiet gulp, fear flashing across his eyes, as though he expected it to leap up, snapping and snarling. 

“Yes, I concur,” Dilton pushed his glasses up, “Someone tried to flee from Greendale's direction. He seems to have succumbed less than 24 hours ago.” Dilton walked around the body, rubbing his chin, “But that’s not why I tried to get Mr. Lodge’s attention. It’s what I found all over his arm.” He said, pointing to an arm that was partially obscured by a torn jacket. Dilton put on a pair of gloves and carefully listed the shredded fabric, pushing the arm on top of his chest for everyone to see.

“Is that…” Hermione took out her glasses, inching closer, “Bite marks?” 

“Yes,” Dilton said with a sober nod. 

Everyone circled around it.

“Wolves?” Archie asked in a frayed voice. 

Dilton gave a slow shake of his head, settling back to sit cross-legged. 

“A bear?” Elio asked, and Veronica got the sense they were playing a game that Dilton already knew the answer to, and he was just waiting, but unable to say it himself.

“No, no,” Josie said, inhaling hard, “It doesn’t look like animal bites! It looks like-,” She broke off, and Veronica knew that everyone was thinking it, but she wondered who would have the courage to say it.

“Humans.” 

The answer came from behind. Xander slowly inched his way in, a deep, unsettled frown forming on his face, “Human jaws. We saw them biting others. So this is…yes, one of those things must have bitten him when he himself was still human.” 

It was so clear on this Cannibal, the outlines so precise that it made Veronica’s stomach turn.

“That’s not the worst part.” Dilton said, “I’m no coroner, so I guess I can’t be sure, but we know that that guy-,” He pointed to the rapidly decaying one, “Died, I mean, the first time, transition to Cannibal-,” 

“We get it Dilton,” Joaquin said, eyes wide as he waited, like everyone else, for the final shocker. 

“Right. He died from blood loss. His Neck was torn open. Yuck,” Dilton shuddered, “But him? If I hadn’t stabbed his head, right here,” He pointed to where there was a knife wound oozing blood that was more reddish than black still, “Other than these bites? You would think he was still alive. There are no other wounds.” 

The information sunk into everyone at their own pace, as Dilton left everyone this information to deal with this on their own time.

“So you’re saying…if one of these things bites us…that can kill us?” Nick offered up his conclusion first. It had been what Veronica had been thinking. For once, she was not pleased that someone else had the same idea. Not just because it was Nick who spoke it first, but because this added a layer of difficulty. 

“It could be something else,” Dilton said, but his voice indicated he doubted it, “But I think that, like rabies or something, as soon as a Cannibal gets a hold of you,” He made a clawing motion onto his arm, “You have a death clock ticking above you.” 

“So don’t get bit is what you’re saying?” Elio said with a dry laugh, “Noted. Darn it; I was going to run straight into one and dress my arm in BBQ sauce.”

This alleviated a bit of the heavy pressure, and everyone gave a small laugh. Yes, it was probably common sense not to go after one and try to get it to bite you, but then again, there were plenty of stupid people out there. It was Hiram who raised his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I think what Dilton says is…we have to be very careful. We kill them before they get to us.”

Chapter Text

May 29, 2018

“Get up.” 

Veronica felt something heavy land on her stomach and she sputtered. The bed next to her was empty, meaning that Archie was probably already up. This didn’t surprise her; he had taken to getting up early recently and working out with Elio, Nick, and Joaquin. 

“Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean we skip leg day!” He’d told Veronica in a cheery voice.

God, she wished she could have a modicum of his happiness.

The darkness continued to wash over Veronica like a black abyss. How could everyone just continue on like it was all okay? Like they weren’t trapped here, in the woods, and would eventually run out of food? Each day, the hope they could go home slipped more and more through their fingers.

This room was safe, at least. Veronica knew it well. It was the room she’d grown up in during all the weekend adventures up here. It wasn’t as good as her bedroom in Riverdale, where she’d left Betty (and the guilt about that was not wavering in the slightest), but it was the next best thing.

Veronica craved consistency like nothing else right now.

“Mr. Lodge?” Josie wearily asked, yawning and sitting up in her bed. The dawn was just creeping in. She usually got up around 9, or what Veronica assumed was 9ish, to do some meditations, but it was an hour or two earlier.

“Go back to sleep,” Hiram said in a silky-smooth voice, “But you, young lady, get up. Put on some clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.” 

“Dad?” Veronica asked, confused, her mind stilly groggy with sleep.

“Mija, do as I say. Please.” He said, though his tone indicated it was not a request, “There’s coffee next to you.” He added, motioning to the steaming mug she hadn’t noticed until now. 

Then he was gone.

Veronica rose slowly, wanting to stay in bed, but knew her father would come and drag her out if she disobeyed.

From the back of the wardrobe, she dug out some old clothes from a few summers ago, back before her true sense of fashion had kicked in. A dusty pair of sneakers. A boot-cut black pair of sweatpants. An oversized hoodie with some cringe-worthy saying on it. 

She threw her hair in a messy bun and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and shuddered. She looked like a disgraced celebrity checking into rehab.

She took a pause on each step of the staircase to drink her coffee. Step, coffee. Step, coffee. Repeat, repeat, repeat. 

By the time she was at the bottom of the stairs, the coffee was gone and Veronica was very awake and very angry to be woken up and forced to do anything.

She set the mug in the kitchen sink and slug the duffle bag that her father had chosen to awaken her with on the kitchen counter.

“What, praytell, requires us up so ungodly early?” Veronica said, her eyes narrowed. 

“You have been pouting in your room for far too long,” Hiram said simply, “And there are some things you need to do.” 

He got up, and though it wasn’t explicitly said, Veronica knew she wanted him to follow. 

“Like what? Laundry? Housework? Just tell me what I can do so I can go back to bed,” She grumbled. Sure, she hadn’t been the most helpful with keeping this place up and running, but all they had to do was ask! Oh, she’d grumble and complain, but she’d do it, “A walk to clear my head?” She asked as her father opened the door to their driveway. 

“Of sorts,” He said. 

“Daddy,” Veronica huffed, “Just tell me. What are we doing?” 

“Mija, it is my duty to protect you, is it not?” He asked. Veronica gave a non-verbal affirmation, though she was biting to say that his version of protection was hardly the right way to go about it most of the time, “And I will always protect you. However, part of this means that I should teach you how to protect yourself.” 

He motioned to the bag.

Veronica unzipped it, the dew from last night seeping into her knees as she crouched to sift through the bag. She pulled out a variety of weapons, but none of them were guns. And there were heavy-duty gloves. And eyewear. 

“Dad?” She asked warily, not liking where this was going. 

“These things can’t be reasoned with. And it’s unpleasant, but you should know how to kill a Cannibal,” Her father said.

“No,” Veronica said, standing. She was in no mood to hunt one down and beat its guts out. And, frankly speaking, if not her father to protect her, she had a line of men waiting. Nick, Elio, and Archie- even if they weren’t currently dating- would protect her in a pinch.

“This is not up for discussion, Veronica,” Her father said, crossing his arms, “I will be right here in case things go wrong. But if it’s us or them, you need to make sure that you’re on the ‘us’ side. You are, aren’t you?” He asked in a pointed tone. 

“Are you crazy? You think I have sympathy for them?” Veronica gave a harsh laugh. 

“No, but I do wonder about your wills,” Her father said, “Laying inside, refusing to come out and live…it’s just as well as choosing to be one of them!” He waved a hand. 

“Wow, you’re so great at dealing with mental issues, dad,” Veronica said, eyes widening in faux surprise, “Why didn’t you become a shrink instead of a mobster?” 

“It’s not a joke,” Her father said with an angry shake of his head, “And you cannot live your life under the covers, waiting for something to happen!” He took a breath to bring his emotions down, “And perhaps this would be good for you. To get some emotions out.” 

He did have a point there. She did feel anger, not just sadness, toward so many things. Or perhaps she was misinterpreting anger for sadness, and in reality, she was a quivering ball of rage.

“Fine.” She said tartly, “Just. One.” 

“That’s all I ask.” 

They set out into the woods, Veronica with the safety goggles for woodshop on, the heavy-duty gloves, and her weapon of choice; a crowbar. She’d considered the butcher knife, but something with a bit more range seemed safer.

The further they went into the forest, the better time they seemed to have. And, for a moment, it’s like her father was the father she recalled as a child; the one she’d never consider being a bad person, who was a good father, a loving father. He was strict, but it was always clear he doted on Veronica. 

And, for just a bit, she forgot what they were doing and where they were.

“Do you remember the time you got mom and I lost while we went hiking?” Veronica asked. 

Hiram gave a smile, “I was not lost.” 

“You so were, dad,” She said, grinning ear to ear, “You just kept saying ‘oh, just past this tree. Oh, maybe this one’.” She felt a giggle rise in her throat, “Face it, you had no idea where the main path was!” 

“I blame your mother,” Hiram said, but his face was entirely bright, “For bemoaning about the hike at all. Wasn’t she the one that said she wanted to come with us?” They’d been hiking in a well-known area. It had originally been just Veronica, about age 12, and her father, but at the last moment, her mother had insisted on coming too.

“You should have known she wasn’t serious-serious about it,” Veronica said. As it had happened, halfway through the hike, on their way back, her mother had begun to complain about the heat, the mosquitoes, the length of the hike, the sandwich she’d brought… all were interchangeable complaints that amounted to the fact she was not enjoying this hike.

So her father had said he knew a shortcut back to the cars.

It was not a shortcut. They’d gotten lost.

“Minorly lost,” Her father finally conceded, “We didn’t have to call for help. I did find the road eventually.” 

“Yeah, and your ‘short-cut’ took three times the length of the actual trail,” Veronica teased him. She missed that Hiram. The one that had gone on hikes. The one that seemed to actually still love her mother.

Hiram looked at her, smiling, and perhaps he had the same thought that Veronica was. Whatever the reason, the smile slipped slowly from his face, until it was a stony look devoid of the joyful ease it had before.

“Let’s go to the road.“ He pointed to the bare area between the trees, “Better chance to find one and to maneuver.” 

Veronica got the sense that this bonding moment was gone.

“We’re packing up to leave soon,” Hiram said, though it wasn’t conversationally. Just a statement. 

“What?” The question eked out of Veronica’s lips, “But...we’re safe here. Why?” 

Hiram didn’t answer. Instead, he tapped the ground a few times and pointed ahead.

“There. Perfect.” 

It was a woman, her stature not much more than Veronica’s. She was wearing a jogging jacket and Lululemons. She seemed college-aged; perhaps someone hiking in the area who had a very unfortunate time.

The Cannibal’s back was to Veronica, but she was grasped with a sudden terror as she recalled Dilton’s observation; one bite and she was done for. 

“You must,” Hiram said in a grave tone as she turned, her eyes begging for the release of this task, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Veronica’s hands were sweaty as she gripped the crowbar and crept upon the monster carefully. She was watching the ground as carefully as she was giving attention, her eyes flickering, to the Cannibal to not crack a twig and reveal her lightweight steps forward. 

The first hit didn’t even make the Cannibal flinch. She turned, slowly, half her jaw hanging off. Veronica squeaked and hit again, this time knocking it back a few paces. It seemed confused, hurt even. It still looked so...human.

Veronica forced herself to keep her eyes open and hit again. The Cannibal stumbled, but fell forward, grimy fingernails reaching for her as it went.

“Dad!” Veronica cried, no longer wanting to do this at all. She was in over her head. Her hands were so sweaty she could hardly grip the crowbar. She spun around, jogging a few steps away, and found...nothing. Her father wasn’t there. 

“Dad?” She asked, realizing with horror that she was alone.

With this thing. Who would stop at nothing to kill her.

Fight or flee? She always thought she was a fighter, someone who pushed back as events came to her, but maybe she’d never actually had the fear of death in front of her face? Maybe she was a flee-er? 

She had a feeling she could outrun it. The thing wasn’t fast.

As she made up her mind and turned to book it back to Lodge Lodge, where she was sure her mother would be horrified at her father's field trip, the Cannibal grabbed her ankle.

Veronica went down hard, just barely throwing her arms out to brace herself, her chin scraping against the pavement. 

Her legs kicked out and she was sure she hit something, hopefully, face, because her ankle was let free. She turned, grabbing the crowbar and bringing it down on the skull hard until it wasn’t moving at all.

She scooted back away from it, sobbing quietly and traumatized.

“Always double-check the kill,” Her father said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, digging a knife into the skull. The Cannibal gave a shriek as it went, for good, until it finally stopped moving at all. When Hiram turned, he was disappointed. 

“You tried to run.” 

Veronica was not scared of her father. This had shown her what she was afraid of, and he wasn’t it. And, she didn’t like what had happened, so fury replaced her fluttering heart, racing two times as fast as it should.

“You left me! You said you’d be there! What the fuck did you think the outcome would be?” She demanded, pushing herself up, wiping her chin to see a few dusty streaks of blood on the back of her palm. 

“I was always there,” Hiram wagged a finger, “But you needed to feel-,” 

“Abandoned? Left? Unloved?” Veronica threw her hands up, “Pick any, dad, and just be honest about it!” 

“You needed to do this yourself!” 

“Why?” Veronica demanded, “Why.” 

“I may not always be around to protect you,” Hiram said, and she understood at this moment he honestly believed this to be the right way to raise her, the right test to give her, “And if Archie ever breaks up with you, or you come to your senses and break up with him-,” 

Veronica clenched her fists. Despite the fact her father was right, Archie had broken up with her, and she was not going to let him know that. 

“We love each other. We’ll outlive you,” She said, knowing that would piss him off. From the way his jaw tensed, it was true. 

“This is for your own good. You need to be independent.” 

“So you endanger my life?” 

“To save your life!” 

“Do you even hear yourself?” Veronica asked, her anger ebbing away to just emptiness. A sort of hurt. Loneliness, one that he was hoping to evoke, and one she’d been pushing away for days now. 

When Hiram didn’t reply, just wiped his weapon in the grass next to the road, she exhaled.

“Can we go back home now?” She asked quietly. 

“We can go back to the Lodge Lodge.”

The fact that he was careful not to call it ‘home’ was not lost on her.

May 30th, 2018

The next day, everyone was packing.

It was still unclear why they were leaving, or who was pushing for it. All Veronica got was ‘the adults are making this choice.’ So far, it didn’t seem like her father planned on dropping anyone, such as leaving Archie or Joaquin to fend for themselves, but the day was still young.

And Veronica wouldn’t put it past him to try to pull that.

Maybe that’s why. Maybe he was so obsessive that taking them all back to Riverdale was the only way to cleave space between Veronica and Archie. 

There was no winning when it came to the death match that her father and her ex-boyfriend were locked in. It was a lose-lose no matter what happened.

Tell her father they were still dating, he would invoke Mr. Lodge’s wrath for simply finding her daughter a worthy partner.

Tell her father they had broken up? Well, great, no need to keep him around then!

She mused over this conundrum as she packed her things, slowly, trying to take in everything.

Perhaps they were just going somewhere with more space. It was cramped before the New Yorkers arrived, but it was bursting at the seams with them there. Always running into someone in the bathroom, never finding an open chair, having to hide on the roof for any quiet and peace, but even then, someone else may be there already...yeah, maybe this change was needed.

The plan was to pack everything up between two cars; all the people in the big van they’d come in, and all the supplies in the car the St. Clairs had taken to make it here in the first place. The adults would switch off driving the two cars until they got to...god knows where.

Her suspicions were proven right near lunchtime. While she didn’t think the entire reason they were leaving was to get rid of Archie, it wasn’t an opportunity that Hiram could ignore. 

“You said your mother; she’s in Chicago?” He asked conversationally. Veronica shook her head, trying to indicate that he shouldn't answer. It was like being questioned by the FBI. Lips sealed.

But Archie, ever trusting, just gave a sad smile, “Yeah, she is.” 

“Think she’s still there?” He prompted.

Archie’s smile wavered, “Hard to say.” 

“Would you know how to find her again?” Hiram pressured still. Archie frowned, tilting his head.

“Dunno. I guess if I tried her brown house, perhaps…” 

“Dad,” Veronica hissed, frustrated. 

“What?” Hiram made a show of trying to look innocent, “I’m sure Archie would much rather be with family.” 

“It is a time to be with family,” Archie said, no doubt thinking of his father, and the guilt for not looking more for him. 

“So we’ll just impede on her survivalism?” Veronica challenged. Archie was nodding, as though the thought that they wouldn’t was impossible to him. And Mary was kind. Perhaps she would let them all stay with her, wherever she was. Or, at least she wouldn’t turn away Veronica. 

“Don’t be silly. Archie would go with his mother and you’ll stay with us. Perhaps in California.” Hiram said, as though he was just considering all this for the first time, “Families should stay together. Archie said it himself.”  

Archie’s face went pale, as though realizing his own kind words had been used against him. He scowled, opening his mouth to argue, but Veronica held up a hand.

“And you’d just love that, huh? Us separated by Cannibals and states?” She said, “And me with...who? The three-toothed survivalist that’s been already living underground for six years prior? Because there aren’t that many other choices.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mija,” Hiram scoffed, waving her off, “Elio and Nick will stay with us, of course. And even Dillon is quite intelligent and-,” 

“So it’s just Archie we’re casting off.” 

Hiram opened his mouth, then paused before shrugging, “He doesn’t want to be with us. He’d rather be with his mother. He said it himself.” 

“Uhm, I’m not sure I did.” Archie was confused and turned around by the entire exchange, just trying to keep up. 

“And what if we can’t find Mary Andrews?” Veronica asked.

Hiram gave an ‘oh well’ sort of sound, “Surely he has other family other places.” 

“You know,” Veronica leaned in, “Don’t we have an Uncle Carlos in Chicago?” Veronica asked, “Perhaps I’ll elect to stay there too. With family, of course. If you’re fine with foisting Archie off on any old relative, why shouldn’t I be allowed to do the same?” 

“Your mother would be heartbroken,” Hiram said, “You’re staying with us. This is not a choice.” Hiram stood, “Now, finish packing your things.” 

As he left, Archie turned toward Veronica. They, for once, were the only ones in the living room. 

“God. He really hates my guts. Twenty bucks he just throws me out of the van while we’re moving?” 

Veronica sniffled, “It’s not funny!” She said, shaking her head. 

“It sort of is,” Archie reached for her hand, and then pulled back, recalling his own rejection of her, “Because otherwise, it’s just weird. And depressing. And I think your dad would be really steamed to just have me make jokes about it.” 

This did elicit a small laugh from Veronica, edging out as she wiped her eyes, “I know we’re not…” She trailed off, “But we should just piss him off until we get to Chicago. Hand-holding. Making a big deal of having to sit in seats not next to each other. Ridiculous pet names.” 

Archie was smiling wide, “Oh, I can be obnoxious.” He had a knife, one she realized he had held pretty much since the start of all of this, “Want me to carve your name on my shoulder? Poor-man’s tattoo?” He teased.

“I have a better idea.” She said, “I wanna carve it in the house. He loves this stupid Lodge. I want to marr it; make him wince every time he comes up here.” 

“You think we’ll be…” Archie began to ask, then shook his head, “Whatever. Yes. Where?” 

Veronica nodded her head to a beam not too far above their heads. She pushed herself off the couch and held her hand out for the knife.

“I can whittle. I’m not bad,” Archie said, “Plus, I don’t know if I feel comfortable handing you sharp objects,” He teased with a wink. 

“Okay, okay. Quickly though. I just want it up there before any questions are had.” Veronica said, “I’ll be a lookout.” 

“What should it say?” Archie asked. 

“Archie and Veronica love each other deeply?” She suggested. Archie made a face.

“Laying it on a bit thick, eh?” He said. 

Veronica made a face, “Yeah, true. Can’t be too obvious about it. Uhm… ‘Archie and Veronica survived the apocalypse?’” 

“Okay, but what if we just realize it was a big misunderstanding and we’ve been holed up at Lodge Lodge while everyone else went back to life?” He asked. It was highly unlikely, but still. Archie had a point. 

“Then it’s funny.” 

“How about…” Archie turned the knife over in his hands, “How about...you know this was my dad’s right?” He asked, switching topics. 

“I had a guess.” 

“Archie and Veronica were here,” Archie said quietly, “Because at this point, it seems even being present at all is quite the achievement.” 

“And the date,” Veronica whispered quietly, “In case he forgets when it was.” 

She watched as he slowly carved the woods, just the quiet sound of scratching. It wasn’t very loud, and everyone else was packing elsewhere, it seemed. 

“Want a heart around it?” Archie asked, stepping back to beam at his handiwork. 

“Yes,” Veronica said all too quickly, “Because we do...love each other, don’t we?” 

Archie rubbed her shoulder, “Always. No matter what.” He said meaningfully. And they did; broken up or not, they did love one another. 

The sign wasn’t huge, but it was hard to miss. Veronica and Archie cleaned up the wood shavings and went about cleaning. She hoped her father saw it and she hoped he saw red.

But honestly? She never really got the chance to ask him.

Chapter Text

There was a general sense of anticipation heavy in the air. No one knew what they’d find when they left. Would they find the world in shambles? Or, would they find Riverdale back to normal, and would everyone be laughing at them for assuming the world had actually ended?

Veronica used to hate any and all bad attention her way, but hell, she’d take the latter any day now. 

Her father made a curt announcement to anyone besides Archie, because his opinion on the matter was clear as of last night, “If you want to stay with us, you’re free to. If not, we’ll drop you off and wish you the best.” 

“We’ll be staying with you, thank you kindly,” Simone said, fanning her face, about to pass out at the very thought of abandoning the only safety she’d found. Unsurprising. 

“I think I’ll stick around too,” Elio said after a few moments, “It’s the same as anywhere else.” 

“Gosh, the outpouring of love is overwhelming,” Veronica teased him gently, coaxing a smile out of his lips. His attitude had been just as gloomy as hers, but then again, he had a valid reason. Still, at the very least, she thought she’d found a grief companion in him. Totally platonic, no matter what her father not-so-secretly hoped.

“We’ll see where the winds take me when we get to Riverdale,” Malachai said, making a wave motion with his hand, “Whatever it is, it’s chill brah.” 

In all the years her father had been alive, Veronica very much doubted he’d ever been called ‘brah’. He made a face, as though the moniker itself was dirty and a pesky bug. It was funny to see Malachai’s so-causal attitude irk her father, though he was determined not to say it. He’d have to admit he was wrong, then, and honestly, Hiram Lodge had never been wrong ever, according to him. According to basically everyone else? Well, he was in the wrong all the time, but tough luck getting him to say that. You had a better chance, literally, of finding a unicorn. 

“Til the bitter end, sir,” Smithers said, though Veronica hadn’t thought his presence was a question. That was selfish though. Did he have a family to return to? Children? Grandchildren? She’d never asked, and this was very rude of her. 

“I’ll see what The Wyrm looks like in Riverdale,” Joaquin said after some very long deliberation, “And then go from there. But I have no interest in going this alone.” 

“I thought wolves hunted alone?” Nick asked with a sneer.

“Wolves live in packs, you dimwit,” Josie snapped, rolling her eyes at him, “And besides, he’s a Southside Serpent.” Never mind the fact that Veronica wasn’t sure that serpents - the animal - actually lived together, how far they’d come to have anyone defend a gang-member kid from someone she used to think ‘got’ her and her ‘type’. What she was realizing was she wasn’t sure she had a type, and if she did, Nick didn’t fit into it. He was more sub-human, frankly. 

“We are a gang,” Joaquin said, nonplussed, “And there’s a reason we stick together. We did some dangerous shit, and it’s better with others. The sentiment stands,” He motioned around them, “So if it seems I’m alone, then I have no qualms of shedding my skin for this group.” 

“Real loyal of you,” Nick said, always needing to have the last word. 

“How can you be loyal to a group that may very well all be dead?” Joaquin asked with a serious, morbid smile. 

The last to decide were Josie and Dilton, who seemed to be pairing up. Perhaps there were some crushes there, but Veronica felt it was more the experience that had forged them as two people unable to leave each other. 

“We’re staying,” Josie said right as the final boxes were packed away, “With all of you. It’s the smartest bet.” 

Veronica leaned in and hugged them both, “I’m so glad to have you both,” And that was the honest truth. 

“Let’s get a move on,” Hermione said, coming in and clapping her hands like they were tardy school children, “We should hit Riverdale before dark to make our assessment, and then to Chicago.” 

Veronica pulled a face. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. Archie, beside her, gave a frustrated huff. 

She still piled in the car, sure that between here and home, she would find a convincing reason that Archie should stay with them and they shouldn’t just kick him out at Wrigley Field with a loaded gun. 

In the car the St. Clairs had arrived in, all the supplies were packed military style, like a master’s game of Tetris. Xander was driving, with Nick with him riding shot-gun. Thank god; Veronica was sure she would have thrown him out of the van if she had to do a long road trip with him.

Smithers was driving the big van, where everyone was sitting in the back, pressed against the walls. Her father was in the second seat, to switch out as the hours grew long. 

The first half-an-hour went fine enough. Malachai tried to start a ‘fun driving song’, which was the insipid ‘99-Bottles’. Practically everyone shut him up before he finished the verse about the 98th bottle. 

Joaquin’s suggestion to play mini-Charades wasn’t better, but by sheer popularity compared to Malachi, it was a better choice.

Just as Dilton was trying to act out a TV show (One word, seven letters, old, and as far as they’d collectively figured out, something about a doctor and a dog), the car jerked to an abrupt stop. 

“Stay in the car,” Hiram said, turning around, “It’s hardly anything to worry about.” 

This never calmed anyone ever.

Hermione was shoving the back doors open to see what the fuss was about and everyone came pouring out. In the middle of the road was a fallen tree. 

“Humans?” Dilton whispered, “Are we reverting to old wild West rules?” He asked, eyes wide. 

“You’re right to be wary,” Hiram said, taking his gun out and checking the split trunk. He set his gun down on the back of the van, “But no. We had a bad storm a few nights ago, remember? I think it’s just unlucky.” 

“Can we push it aside?” Xander asked, poking his head out the car window.

“Negative. I think we need to just drive around it. You go first.” Hiram motioned to a path semi-cleared in the foliage. 

“That’s going to be loud, sir,” Archie said, looking around nervously for Cannibals. 

“With any luck, we’ll be right on the road soon,” Hiram said and waved Xander and Nick ahead. Their car crackled through the brittle leaves and twigs, pushing tiny trees away as they pushed over the forest around them. But, by some miracle, Veronica did not see any Cannibals oozing from the forest shadows to get them. 

Xander idled the car back on the road, giving a thumbs up as he waited for everyone else. 

“Okay, back in, excitement averted,” Hermione said, sighing in relief mostly to herself, motioning for everyone. 

Hiram decided to walk in front, guiding the car carefully. 

“Let’s go, Smithers! Okay, yep, exactly. Keep it steady. Over the curb, right here.” 

Veronica could hear her father talking to Smithers as the car rolled forward. She felt the front tires bump and jostle them from semi-cracked pavement to uneven forest floor. Then, the second and-

A sound so loud echoed, and for a second, all Veronica could hear was ringing in the back of her ear. Instinctively, from some training from her father years before, she hit the floor and grasped Archie’s shirt to pull it him down with her.

Gunshots. 

The second thing she heard, as her hearing returned slowly, like someone letting water dribble slowly from a faucet, was screaming.

The car was stopped and the back door was thrown open. As the sunlight streamed in, Veronica saw blood on the car and her stomach lurched.

“Shut up, shut up!” Joaquin was whispering frantically, grasping and reaching for someone, “You fucking idiot!” 

Malachai. She saw Malachai fall out of the back of the van, howling, and saw the gun in his hand. And slowly, her brain pieced together an idea of what may have happened.

Malachai grabbed her father’s gun. Didn’t turn the safety on. When the car went over a bump, as he was generally clumsy, the gun went off. Pointed at foot. Foot now bleeding profusely. 

“He’s gunna bring every Cannibal within a mile radius right to us!” Josie hissed, face pale. 

“Uhm, more like five miles,” Dilton said, pushing himself outside, “Woah, guys, we gotta go!” 

Hiram ran around the side of the van, his face painted in sheer fury.

“What is the meaning of this!” 

“I don’t think he planned it, Hiram,” Hermione said tightly, trying to coax Malachai back into the van while also trying to shut him up, “You should keep track of your guns!” 

Hiram patted, realizing that he’d misplaced it, and for a second, a moment of shame passed over him before he replaced it with coldness. 

“Where is it?” He asked, searching the leaves and the ground for where it had dropped, “He has until I find it to stop screaming, or I'll make him stop.”

“Daddy!” Veronica said, hopping down to kick the gun covertly under the undercarriage, “You can’t be serious!” 

“Look around us!” Hiram said, throwing his arms everywhere where, like every terrible horror movie Veronica had ever seen, Cannibals were appearing, having been drawn initially by the gun-shot, but now beckoned by the yelling, and maybe the blood, “It’s him or us!” He snarled and she was taken aback by his absolute wickedness, the murder in his eyes that she knew he possessed. 

“We need to go. Now,” Dilton said firmly, gritting his teeth, “Leave him or don’t, but we really need to get driving!” 

“Malachai, hey, hey…let’s go inside, okay?” Veronica tried to coax him gently, looking back at Archie for support, “We’ll bandage that foot. I know it hurts, really but-,” In his panicked, delirious pain, Malachai was flailing his arms and slapped Veronica. She stumbled, and Hermione, who had been holding him in place, turned to help her daughter.

“No!” Veronica said, batting her away, but it was too late. Malachai got up and started to move. Where? It’s hard to say. She was surprised he hadn’t passed out from the pain, but god, he had to still be on something to have the pain affect him so strangely. Or, this is the conclusion she’d convince herself of later. And he stumbled right into the arms of Cannibal. He lost his balance and looked at it, as though expecting to thank it, not realizing how much danger he was in. 

Veronica watched in frozen horror as one of them took a bite out of his arm. And then another. And another.

And Malachai’s screams were even worse. 

“Veronica!” Archie tugged her back into the van, “Let’s go. Now.” 

“While they’re…distracted,” Hermione agreed, and at least she had the decency to look horrified and sorry about the turn of events. Hiram just looked relieved.

“Yes, move.” He said, pushing Veronica back and closing the door. 

Veronica caught a final glimpse as he went down. Something human. Something haunting. Something, a moment of clarity between death and drugs, where Malachai met her eyes.

The Ghoulies had always seemed worse than the Serpents. Generally shit people. And Malachi was a little abrasive and rubbed Veronica the wrong way. She hadn’t liked him and had always been careful around him at Lodge Lodge. 

But in that one single moment, he was just a young adult. A college-aged kid caught up too much.

And god, he looked so afraid.

The realization of what was happening to him would never leave Veronica for the rest of her days; the way his eyes widened and teared up and he looked at Veronica, betrayed, as if to ask ‘why didn’t you try harder to save me because this is the end.’ 

Veronica wasn’t sure how Ghouldies were supposed to go out, but their leader went out terrified and unable to change anything. 

It was a shitty way to go. 

The car revved forward and Veronica was thrown around as the car squeaked around the log. She felt the first two wheels go back onto the pavement, but the car stalled and whined as it tried to vault the last two wheels up. 

“Why are we stopped?” Hermione pounded on the window between the front and the back, utterly terrified, her palms shaking. 

“The car, ma’am! It’s not…” Smithers sputtered. 

“The bullet did put a nice hole through the floor, shit,” Dilton yelled, on his hands and knees to examine the little round hole, “Who knows what mayhem it caused.” 

Her father exploded in a string of Spanish swear words, invoking Malachai's name in the worst of ways. Then, he smoothed his hair, and he looked in the rearview and nodded to himself.

“They’re still preoccupied with their…meal. I’ll push the car over the ledge,” He was already unbuckling his seatbelt, “And then we’ll be gone.” 

“Hiram-,” Hermione whispered, eyebrows knitted. 

“We’ll be sitting ducks otherwise,” Hiram said. He opened the window and pulled Hermione’s head through, whispering something in her ear. Then, he kissed her. 

“Dad!” Veronica pushed her way to the front. 

“I’ll be right back, Mija. Two seconds,” He said, reaching out and ruffling the crown of her head. He hadn’t done that since she was little, “That’s all.” 

“Dad, I-,” The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t say them. 

“I know. I love you too. Right back.” He assured and then slithered out of the secondary seat. 

At first, there was nothing. Then, there was a little pressure, a bit of jiggling. Josie grasped at the walls, letting out a sharp gasp. 

“It’s just Hiram.” Hermione assured and spoke to Smithers, “Give it a little juice.” 

Smithers pushed the gas and the car puffed smoke at him, 

“It’s really stuck. Seems we’ve dug ourselves into some mud.” Smithers said, glancing in the rearview with a worried look. 

“The Cannibals?” Veronica asked, almost too scared to want to know the answer.

“Still focused on their meal,” Smithers answered quickly, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel hard. 

“I’ll get out and help,” Archie said, moving towards the back.

“No!” Hermione was surprisingly harsh as she grasped his arm and pulled him back, “You will stay in the car, Archie Andrews!” 

“Maybe it will go faster?” Veronica gnawed on her lip, “Two seconds, right?” 

“He stays.” Hermione said stiffly, “Your father will get us situated in just a second.” 

The car jiggled back and forth like someone was playing tug-o-war with it. The seconds felt like hours. Veronica couldn’t hear anything; the blood pounding in the back of her ears so loudly she could have sworn they were next to a waterfall. However, that may also be the tinnitus from hearing a gun going off two feet away from her in an enclosed space.

Finally, the car lurched forward, speeding forward. It made a quick stop, and Veronica went and pressed her nose against the glass, begging for her father to get into the passenger seat any second. Smithers looked in his rearview again and then looked back at Hermione. Veronica had no idea what transpired, but Hermione’s face grew stony as she uttered a single word.

“Drive.” 

“No!” Veronica wailed, “Dad! What about him? How could you, how could you!” Veronica went to shake her mother, but Joaquin was pulling her back. She wrenched from his grip and shoved people aside to unlatch the back door. 

“Veronica! Stop!” Her mother said and she felt Archie try to pull her into the safety, but she threw the back doors open. They were speeding away quickly, and it was hard to see past Xander now following their tail, but her father lay on the ground near the road, Cannibals descending on top of him. 

Veronica felt her knees collapse out from under her. Someone-she couldn’t say who-caught her before she tumbled out of the car altogether.

“For god's sake, someone close that door!” Hermione commanded, now the leader of this group. Elio grasped the handles and shut them. As the light was snuffed out of the carriage, it’s like Veronica’s will was too.

“You bitch!” She turned toward her mother, spitting and furious and not caring at how people around her gasped at her language, “I know you hated him, but how fucking dare you?” 

Her mother’s expression was held taut. If Veronica’s language pierced that mask, it was impossible to tell.

“Veronica, he was already gone. When he gave the last push, he had already been bitten.” Hermione said evenly. 

“You sent him to die!” Veronica wanted to be as far away from her mother right now as she could, “You murderer! You killed him!” 

“It had to be done,” Hermione said in a soft voice, as though now just realizing what had occurred, “And it was his choice. He told me before he got out of the car that if this happened to leave him. He knew the risks.” 

“The Cannibals…” Veronica said, pushing her voice to reach Smithers, “When I asked…” 

“Already to him,” Smithers admitted after a long moment, “I am so sorry, Veronica.” 

Veronica curled up near the back, the anger draining away to a bone-tiredness that seemed so heavy on her. 

“It was basically a suicide mission,” Dilton whispered, “And he saved us anyway.” 

“And he made me promise to keep everyone inside the car,” Hermione said, “Even Archie.” 

Veronica made a noise before she dissolved into sobs, something akin to a wail. Perhaps her mother was lying, trying to assure his goodness in his last moments. But something about how she’d kept Archie inside told her it was true. Her father just had to go and wash himself of his sins in his last moments. 

“Veronica?” Hermione asked hesitantly. Veronica didn’t answer, just stared ahead. Hermione gave a long sigh and turned toward Smithers at the front. Veronica heard her, through garbled speech, tell Smithers to keep driving to Riverdale. 

Around Veronica, everyone else whispered above her. 

“Talk about trauma to unload,” Josie whispered, “I’d never seen anyone die before this. Not even at a funeral. But now? I’ve seen so many people die.” Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. 

“I saw a lot of death as Serpent. But this? It doesn’t ever really prepare you,” He said. 

“So how do you work through it?” Josie demanded, “How do you close your eyes and not see…that.” 

She opened her eyes to see Joaquin lean back, deeply pensive.

“I still haven't figured it out.” 

The car rolled to a gentle stop sometime later.

“What now?” Josie asked, running her hands down her face, “Mrs. Lodge, I don’t know if I can go through any more life-strengthening moments today,” She added sarcastically.

“Unfortunately, there may be one more yet,” Hermione said with a weak smile, humored by Josie’s comment, but letting the gravity of what these teens had seen settle into her, “Grab a weapon, out of the car.” 

“What-,” Joaquin began, his eyes looking specifically at Veronica, as though she couldn’t cope. But hell, maybe she couldn’t? The idea of having to get out and fight another Cannibal was like asking one too many more things of her.

“No, I want you to see something. And we’ll all decide together.” 

Slowly, the caravan emptied. They were right outside of Riverdale, Veronica recognized it immediately. And they were standing in front of the Riverdale welcome sign. Which was horribly vandalized. Not in the sense of ‘oh, bad kids will be bad kids’, but as a most haunting warning. 

They could all read, sure, but Dilton announced it, his voice rough, pitching into a sense of horror as the words melted into everyone's brains. 

“All dead. Population (alive): 0. Enter at your own risk.” 

“So it’s real then, huh?”  Joaquin whispered, his fingers gripping his weapon tighter. 

“It seems to be.” Hermione agreed in a quiet whisper. 

“Do we believe this?” Josie motioned. 

“Why shouldn’t we?” Nick spoke up, “No offense, but it’s not like Riverdale was over-flowing with goods and luxuries.” 

“He has a fair point. If we want to believe humans are good,” Dillon started cautiously, “And that tough times really do bring us together, then…I believe it. Someone is warning us. Someone's doing us a favor.” 

The group was silent for a long time, no one willing to make a choice this way or that. Finally, Hermione gave a grave nod.

“We believe it. And we keep driving.” 

She waved her hands and everyone squirreled back into the cars, frowning to themselves. She felt Smithers reverse, to take a road past Riverdale going west. 

Archie sat cross from Veronica, a deep scowl on his face.

“What?” She finally asked, because his expression was begging for conversation.

“That looked like Jug’s handwriting,” Archie said. Similarly, Veronica had been struck by that same thought but had pushed it away. 

“I think you want it to. Jug’s handwriting isn’t exactly the most unique,” She said, convincing herself more than him. 

“But that would mean he’s alive,” Archie said, shoulders shaking. 

“At the time of whoever wrote that, and we have no clue if that was two days after? One? Five?” Josie pointed out, “It could have been Jughead and he could still be dead right now.” 

“I think it’s just in our heads,” Veronica whispered because she was beginning to believe that there were no lucky breaks, no hopefulness, nothing good left. There was little chance that Jug, for their sake and sanity, would be alive. 

“No, no,” Archie was shaking his head, “He gotta…he’s gotta be alive,” He muttered, his quiet prayer collapsing into silent shivering as the rest of the van settled in for a long ride to nowhere.

Veronica sat in the back, replying everything with Malachai and her father, wondering if there was a different path that could have been taken to save her father, if not Malachai as well. 

“Welcome to the Dead Dads club,” Elio said, settling in beside Veronica, “Or the ‘I Watched My Dad Die In Front Of Me Club’. Not as catchy, though.” 

He spoke quietly, his words for Veronica only. The rest of the car was dead silent, so they probably heard. Everyone was sobered by Hiram’s sacrifice, and probably also angry at the injustice that Malachai had caused them. 

“I never got to say I Love You,” Veronica whispered brokenly. 

“He knows,” Elio assured.

“Or goodbye.” 

Elio sighed, lips pursed, “Yeah. I didn’t get to say that either."

Chapter Text

June 8th, 2018

Veronica had heard the idea that things always come back to you, even if it’s gone out of fashion at one point, but she never knew how true it was until she, her mother, and everyone else were raiding gas stations for old state and nation road maps since they hadn’t had a signal on phones for weeks, neither the will to turn them back on. 

Apparently, most gas stations had stopped carrying these items probably years ago, but since Veronica had never needed to wonder about it, she honestly couldn’t say.

It wasn’t until they found a little non-descript and non-chain gas station up in the literal boondocks of the New York woods, that probably looked like an apocalyptic movie set years before the world actually even ended, that they found some.

And everyone gave a sigh of relief. 

“You know how to use that, right?” Veronica whispered to her mother, who was opening them and tracing highways with her fingernail.

Hermione gave a scoff, “I grew up before phones and the internet, mija,” She said, “How do you think I got anywhere as a teenager?” 

So yay, the adults had some sort of roadmap. It became clear, though unspoken, to the teens that they weren’t going to Chicago, mostly because Nick swore he caught a road sign with a fork between Chicago and Cincinnati and the two-car caravan chose the latter. So far, the van hadn’t crapped out on them, but they all agreed they should find something else before they made it too far out. 

“Ooh, maybe we could find a tour bus! That would be comfortable!” Josie said, a grin lighting up her face, “And maybe they’d have singing equipment…oh, lordy, I miss singing.” 

“What about an RV?” Archie asked, a bit more realistic. 

“What’s your offer, Elio?” Joaquin asked, recoginzing he was the odd-man-out and probably had a good amount of sympathy towards that. 

“A limo,” Elio said, straight-faced. It was unsure for a moment if he was serious until he gave a tiny crack of a grin, and everyone in the back dissolved into giggles. 

“How about a clown car, because that’s how it feels driving around five teenagers around in the back. Dios mio,” Hermione said, tapping on the barrier and rubbing her head. 

“We should be happy to hear them laughing,” Smithers said, who had become an instant grandfather to everyone here, “I feared the world would never hear the likes of that again.” 

Veronica also was not sure where exactly they were. Certainly not New York anymore. The more distance that was put between her and the nightmarish state, the better she felt. She thought she’d have a clawing sadness about leaving the only state home she’d ever known, but the apocalypse had washed her hands of having any lingering fond feelings towards it. All she would ever think of when she thought of New York was that that was the place her father died and she was so mean to him before it went down.

She didn’t know exactly how to live with that guilt. She didn’t know if it was fair or right for her to be feeling this way, not when everyone was going through hard times. She wasn’t sure if her father deserved someone to be mourning over him like she was, compared to all the shitty things he’d done. She wasn’t sure how to forgive herself, because she’d never forgiven herself about anything else either. Veronica was one that carried her shame inside her forever. But this shame? She worried sometimes it was too big to fit quietly.

Mostly, in the nights, when everyone else (sans the watcher) was asleep, she felt this self-hatred fall over her. It was a mixture of anger towards herself that even in death, her father still had her actions controlled like a puppet on a string. It was loneliness, that she would never find someone who matched her level as her father had. It was sadness, about all the times she’d ignored him or opted to do something else instead of spend time with him. 

Elio gave advice after finding her wide-awake one night because it seemed he was working through similar things. 

“You loved him. That matters you know. And when you think of the end of the world, did anything he did really make a difference? Would people be better or worse off, or did maybe this wipe his slate clean?” She knew he was theorizing about his father’s own actions, “It seems like it’s not the time or place to be…caught up the morality of actions that don’t even exist on the metaphorical table anymore.” 

Well, at least Elio was closer to finding peace than she was. 

The point being, Veronica had no clue what state they were in, or where they were going. Whenever any of the kids asked, Hermione would say Texas. When pressured as to why Texas, she would reply, “I have some old contacts down there, some that hopefully will take us in.” 

And they believed it. Why shouldn’t they? Veronica did remember going down there as a child to meet some old friends of her mother’s, so yes, that seemed readily within the realm of possibilities. 

Until…

As usual, Veronica couldn’t sleep. She watched everyone else drift off so effortlessly and wished she could have an ounce of whatever chemicals in their brains allowed them to just shut it all off. 

Most nights, she curled up in her Peppa the Pig Sleeping Bag. They’d found exactly enough at a rundown Walmart somewhere, maybe, in Pennsylvania. They’d all done rock-paper-scissors for picks. Veronica had been the last pick. Not that the other choices were better; Spiderman, The Avengers, or Ariel were other preferred bags. At least it was comfortable. She yearned for a real bed. She told herself that if she just had a mattress, then she’d sleep.

She knew it was a lie. 

Archie laid out his Captain American - second pick, might she add - next to hers, always. And he snored. She also argued and said maybe if Archie was quieter, then she could sleep. 

But truthfully, even if all those things were perfect, she doubted that with her mixed emotions any slumber would come her way.

So, she would just lay there, her sleeping bag pulled up to her chin, screwing her eyes shut and begging herself to go to sleep. She’d count sheep. She’d sing songs mentally in her head. She’d try to re-preform her most boring presentations. And she’d maybe grab an hour, but it was never enough.

She also knew that soon, if she didn’t fix this, something would go wrong. Her body would fight and she’d catch a cold or she’d make a stupid mistake. 

Tonight, she had every intention of doing what she always did, until she realized that all the adults were suspiciously missing. They must have all snuck away once they assumed everyone else was asleep. They were, sans Veronica. 

She slowly lifted her sleeping bag and crept out of it, crawling over the squished van flooring to the open air of the parking lot they’d decided to camp in. Xander said this was best; good vantage for if anyone was going to come their way, Cannibal or human. Surprisingly, they hadn’t come across many non-Cannibal humans. The only pair they’d seen were two raiding the same Walmart where they’d gotten their sleeping bags. The couple had nodded at them and they’d gone their separate ways, allowing each other to raid in peace. 

The adults were far behind the other car, sitting together on the ground. Veronica snuck to listen. She wondered if it was just a relaxation/decompression time for them. If maybe they were passing around some alcohol and trying to find ways to laugh. Somewhere, she hoped that’s all it was.

“-and I don’t even know if there’s anyone in Texas left to find!” She caught the tail end of her mother’s hushed, frantic whisper. 

“My family is very poor. They would not be able to accommodate everyone and I would not wish that burden on them,” Smithers added in a long, weary tone, "And I have little ideas where they'd be now." 

“Everyone we knew was in New York City…” Simone’s voice trembled, “One of those kids will figure it out, Hermione. They’re not dumb. They’ll realize soon enough that we don’t have any answers either!” 

“I wish I could get into my phone, the internet,” Xander kicked something, “Damn it all! I have a website saved on the vacation homes of friends. I never thought I’d have to…” He inhaled sharply, “We always did everything to give Nick a better life. Hermione, we’re failing him.” 

“Just as I’m failing Veronica right now,” Hermione agreed, and Veronica could hear the quiver in her voice. The fear. The sense of vulnerability that she didn’t let anyone else see during the day when she was making choices and decisions. 

“So are we just going to drive until we hit California?” Simone murmured. 

“No,” Hermione gave a weak laugh, “Calofironia is likely worse than New York. But honestly…I don’t know. Hiram was so gung-ho about Chicago, but even there is likely just as bad.” 

“Big cities seem to be a dangerous option,” Smithers agreed, “I suppose it comes down to the question…do we hope the world turns itself over and rights itself, so we should be near others, or do we accept that this world has become very cutthroat.” 

“The world has always been cutthroat,” Xander gave a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, “We were just on top of it before all this.” 

“I think what Smithers means is…” Hermione paused and Veronica could imagine her wringing her hands as she did when she was thinking through something, “Do we think that humans have gotten better or worse with all this happening? Do we need to become violently secluded?” 

The silence told Veronica, and Hermione, enough. Deep down, Veronica wanted to hope this brought out the best in people, but with a sense of dread and angriness about humanity, Veronica knew.

She heard the adults get up, “We should go back to check on the kids,” Xander said with a soft, loving tone, as though he were talking about a group of toddlers.

Veronica scurried back into her sleeping bag, wondering the same thing her mother was no doubt also musing…where was their end goal now? 

June 9th, 2018

For the first time since her father had been killed, Veronica slept. And she slept well. 

With the morning came a good night’s sleep clarity. The sort that made her take action and stand up for her thoughts and feelings, something she hadn’t done much of late.

As everyone sat on their rolled-up sleeping bags eating their pre-portioned bags of oatmeal, Veronica cleared her throat.

“I think we all should have a chat.” 

Most people looked at her curiously, surprised to see her speak in such a dominant tone, so different than her behavior of late. Her mother, though, narrowed her eyes. She understood that tone quite well. 

“About…?” 

“Where the heck we’re going,” Veronica sipped her oatmeal like she was drinking soup. Utensils were scarce and she’d learned that you didn’t use one unless you had to, “I went to use the bathroom last night and well, the adults haven’t exactly been honest.” 

“Veronica,” Her mother warned, setting down her breakfast. 

“What do you mean?” Nick asked, scowling at his parents, ready to believe Veronica. 

“They have no idea where we’re going. They have no plans. They don’t know if we can connect with anyone. We’re driving without any set location at all right now.” Veronica said, “I don’t think this is fair to us. We’re all nearly adults. And honestly? With all this shit going on? We’re basically grown-ups now.” She said. 

“Yeah,” Dilton gave a muttered agreement. He, out of all of them, had some baby fat so still looked to be about thirteen, and sometimes Veronica even found herself babying him. But she had to remember that he was actually older than her. None of them were literal children. 

“Is this true?” Archie asked, looking at Hermione with a worried look, “I mean, I got that Chicago was off the table, and I’m not mad, but…” he gulped, “Doesn’t it seem more…likely? To have a goal?” 

“We cannot be sure of anything,” Hemrione rolled up her sleeves, indicating she was about to lay some truth down. At least it was an honest conversation, “We like to think your mom is in Chicago. But we’re worried any popular states or big cities are completely cannibalized. And I know that Jughead’s family was on Spring Break in Arizona, so that’s likely where he and FP will be headed. But that’s if they made it out. Gladys Jones doesn’t have opinions of me, and if she did, she would hate my guts, so I doubt she’ll welcome us with open arms if FP isn’t there,” She said, “Riverdale is bust. All of us have exhausted our ideas. We surely know people, but unless we can be absolutely sure that they’d even be there, it seems silly to put all our hope in one basket. Does anyone know someone who was a prepper? If we had that, I’d be fairly certain they’d be hiding out.” 

There was a moment of hope, and everyone looked at Dilton. He laughed, “I was the odd sheep out. I might have grown up to be a doomsday prepper, but none of my family believed that.” He gave a sharp laugh, “Look at ‘em now.” 

Everyone groaned. 

“Then why isn’t here as good as anywhere?” Joaquin motioned around them, “What exactly are we looking for?” 

There was a long pause, then Hermione sighed, “Perhaps Veronica is right. Maybe we should all talk about that. If you have to live there too…” She gave her daughter a soft smile, “It would be fair.” 

They spent the next few hours, longer than they usually would take before departing again, going through and throwing ideas back and forth of what they were hoping for in a house. It seemed that a general consensus, or the ideas that came up most commonly, were: 

• Privacy from others and from each other
• Beds 
• Something that could be easily protected (Lodge Lodge, for example, while had woods, was too in the thick of it to be able to do much)
• Somewhere in a place not too populated 

Other than that, the requests were negotiable or singular to one person. Like Archie would really like somewhere to play sports, like a basketball hoop. And Josie would like a place that had some soundproofing so she could sing again. And Simone wanted somewhere not too moist, as her hair texture was horrid when there was too much water in the air. 

What did Veronica want, when prompted?

“Somewhere safe. Somewhere we all can just relax.” She said. 

She was not the same girl who needed a shoe closet as big as a bathroom, or thirty dresses all in the same sort of shade, or a tub that could fit a football team. At this point in her life, all Veronica wanted was to not feel like she was looking over her shoulder every moment of every day.

They spread out a map of the US and picked a general location of Idaho. It was surely out of the way of others and had places that could make good vantage points to be on the lookout. If they could make it without some crazy westerner shooting them dead, it might be an ideal location. Of course, they agreed that if they found somewhere better along the way, they could elect to stay, but they’d go no further west than the famous Potato state. 

“Feel better now that we have a plan?” Hermione asked semi sarcastically as everyone loaded back up the van to leave. 

Veronica gave a sweet smile, “Very much, mother.” 

“I thought I heard you last night,” Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Veronica?”

“Yes?” Veronica said as her mother pulled her around to the front of the car. 

“I am trying to keep you all alive. It falls to me now. You understand that, right?” She asked.

“Of course,” Veronica knit her eyebrows. 

“Then you’ll undstand when I tell you this,” Her mother said in a tone that terrified her. Never had her mother invoked the sense of her father so accurately before. It sent shivers down Veronica’s spine as her mother’s flint-cold eyes narrowed in on her, “Never pull something like that again.”

Veronica swallowed hard. Her mother’s grip was firm on her arm.

“Do you understand?” She demanded verbal acknowledgment. Veronica, who at one point may have laughed and said that her mother was taking herself too seriously, felt the seriousness of this in her bones. And she did realize that accosting her mother like that at breakfast had been childish. Productive, but still childish.

Veronica lowered her chin, “I understand, mom.” 

Hermione let her arm go. The warmth returned to her eyes and she kissed the top of Veronica’s crown.

“Good. Pack up, let’s keep moving.” 

June 15th, 2018

The van gave its last puff, whine, and purr in Sparta, Ohio. Luckily, it crapped out near a strip mall, leaving everyone scratching their heads about what the next plan should be. It wasn’t the worst fate. After Malachai, they knew they’d eventually need to swap it out. And, it wouldn’t be terrible to change the car that Xander and Nick were driving. It was a Prius, and while it got great gas mileage and had surprisingly more storage than Veronica would first assume, they’d been conservative when raiding places to only take what they needed right, then, due to the space confinements. It would be nice to be able to plan ahead a bit more.

“Well, Xander and I will go search for a new option. Smithers, you’re in charge,” Hermione said. 

“Is it wise for both of you to go?” Nick pointed out.

Hermione frowned, “Right. Nick, you come with me. I need another driver. Smithers is still in charge.” 

Veronica was a little disappointed her mother had not chosen her. Then again, after the threat she’d given Veronica, perhaps it was better they let things simmer down a bit.

After she left, everyone took stock of their surroundings.

“Hey! A mattress store!” Archie said, pointing excitedly like a toddler eager to show his mother something. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Josie whispered with a grin, “Maybe we can actually sleep on a real mattress tonight?” 

“We should maybe wait until Hermione returns-,” Smithers began to say, but even Xander was with the kids.

“I’m sure that your back has been killing you. You’re older than me and I can’t remember the last time I woke up without a crick somewhere since this whole damn thing started,” He began to fast-walk toward the store, “If there is a Temprapedic mattress to be found, it’s mine.” 

“We had a thousand-dollar mattress at home,” Simone explained, “And we’re glad to be alive, but well, I do miss my creature comforts.” 

“Looks empty. Whew.” Archie said, smudging the dusty glass and peering inside. 

“They locked it up. Probably just another day shutting down the store and then the next day they just…never went back.” Joaquin said, tapping the lock with a finger, “How weird.” 

“No weirder than us. Think of all the things we just left unfinished, halfway, assuming we’d get back around to it tomorrow,” Elio said with a shrug. 

“No, no, stop it,” Josie shuddered, “Don’t make me think about all the half-written songs I’ll probably never remember the melodies to! Ugg!” 

“Looks simple enough,” Dilton said, examining the lock. “I think I saw someone teach you how to open this on-,” 

“The lockpicking lawyer?” Joaquin finished with a wry grin, “Yeah, I saw that one too, man.” He turned around, “Either of you got a hairpin?” He pointed his question to the three girls. 

“Here,” Elio said, fishing one out of his pocket. 

Joaquin took it with a slightly confused frown, “Uhm, thanks, man.” 

“I was using it as a bookmark, but I just finished ‘Paradise Lost’,” He said, holding up his hands. 

“Whatever. Mind if I borrow it later?” Joaquin said as he started jimmying the lock, “The book, that is?” 

“Shouldn’t you be focusing?” Archie asked, “On opening it?” 

“It’s a town of like 600 people. It’s not even a modern lock. So,” The lock clicked open, “No, absolutely not.” 

Just as they were opening the doors, coughing as the dust sprung up and assaulted their faces, there was a squealing down the street.

“Oh, no, are we going to have to fight someone? For this? For our lives?” Archie groaned, but found a broken bottle on the ground and picked it up with a heavy sigh. The car, the only one on the streets, squealing towards them, was a Ford with a covered truck-bed. Simone just gave a chuckle. 

“Nope, that’s our Nicky. I bet it’s stick-shift,” She hit her hustband’s arm, “I always told you to teach him!” 

“Time kind of got away from us,” Xander sputtered, motioning to everything around them. Veronica shared a small smirk with everyone else; it was nice to know that the perfect, pretentious Nick St. Clair had some faults, even stupid ones like the inability to drive a stick shift, which she doubted anyone else here had.

“Awe shit man,” Josie said with a sigh, covering her eyes against the sunlight and peering down the road behind the truck, “I owe you invisible money or something,” She said. 

“Wait, why?” Archie asked.

“It’s an RV,” Joaquin replied, pointing to where her mother was driving up, “At least we won’t be cramped like sardines anymore.” He added with a shrug. 

Hermione was, at first, frustrated at them for opening the store, though Veronica felt like it might be in fear more than true anger. However, after showing her that it was literally untouched, and likely had been for nearly a month, her anger lessened.

“I suppose we can spend the night here.” 

The group swarmed the store, acting like it was a military take-over. 

“I’m hitting up the break-room! I’m praying for some snacks,” Josie announced.

“I’m so with you,” Dilton said, and they peeled toward the back.

“I just need a goddamn normal bathroom, even if the plumbing isn’t working,” Xander grumbled, taking off one way. 

Veronica turned to see what Joaquin was planning, but the quiet and elusive Southsider had already vanished. 

“I’m going to go exploring,” Elio said, “Veronica?” He offered hesitantly, extending an arm. 

“We should see if there’s anything worthwhile to bring,” Hermione said, and Veronica only caught a glimpse of Archie’s face, but it was a little upset.

Good. 

Veronica spent the better part of the afternoon creeping through every inch of the very large store to find things that could be used in their new life as semi-vagabonds. Like a full knife set. That was useful. Or a first-aid kit near the check-out registers. 

“Someone was self-medicating,” Elio said, breaking open a lockbox near the register where there were many bottles of Oxy. 

“Well, good for us,” Veronica said, closing the box with the intention to bring it back to her mother. So far, Elio hadn’t tried anything sexual. Of course, everyone was under the impression she and Archie were still a thing. Maybe he picked up on their lack of or their difference in PDA. Maybe he was just asking as a friend…they had gotten closer since Hiram had died. No one else could understand what they both went through. Even if everyone else’s dads (sans Nick) were gone, it didn’t mean they were dead or that any of them had to witness that. 

As the day started to yawn and close its eyes, letting dawn slip into the space it left, Veronica sat in front of a pile of books she’d found. They were mostly stupid, model-house books, but a few could be winners. And she was desperate for things to do besides sleep, play Charades or any other stupid game in the car. 

“Hey, V…” Archie murmured quietly, tilting his head, indicating for her to follow him. 

She gathered the books that didn’t seem mind-nubmingly boring and followed Archie to a very private and quaint setup of a bedroom. 

“This bed…it’s really comfortable,” He said, running his hand over the gingham downblanket. It was a country model house. Not really Veronica’s style, though. 

“It…is?” She was unsure what this was supposed to lead to. Was he being nice and offering it to her? Was he just making small talk? 

“I was thinking, maybe, we could sleep here…together…” He said quietly, knitting his eyebrows together. The offer took her off guard slightly. 

“As in…” She pursed her lips, “Archie, there are literally hundreds of beds here. No one would think it strange for you and me to sleep alone.” She said. 

Archie sighed, pacing a bit in front of the bed, “I don’t want to. I want you to sleep with me. In the bed.” He said, “Do you know what I mean?” 

Luckily, Veronica had much experience decoding Archie’s vagueness. A flare of hope lit inside her heart.

“I think I do.” 

Archie’s face relaxed into a pleased grin, “Good.” 

“It’s not just because you’re jealous of Elio, right?” She thought to check. 

“No, no,” Archie groaned, “I mean, I didn’t like it, but it’s not entirely that.” He pulled back the covers, “Just, let’s get settled and explain.” 

From the sounds of it, the lack of shuffling and moving, it seems everyone else had found somewhere to sleep. Smithers was on Watch 1 tonight, and if she moved to the partition, she could see him sitting with a gun near the re-locked doors. It was early, but then again, everyone was exhausted and perhaps the allure of sleeping in a real bed was just too good to pass up.

Veronica shimmied out of her clothes, stuffing them in her duffle bag of clothes. She was just in a tank and underwear, though that wasn’t weird. 

Unlike the nights at Lodge Lodge, where Archie had attempted to keep a respectable distance away, his large hands found the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. 

“I’m an idiot, V,” He whispered, shaking his head. 

“Yes, about many things, but what this time?” She asked with a purr of laughter. 

“I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I think I forgot something.” 

“Oh?” 

“Seeing you stand up to your mom, take action, that’s why I feel for you in the first place, you know?” He said, eyes bright, “You always got what you wanted, or helped others, and you just blazed through. I think a bit of that died away and I got scared, but if you really love me, I should know that you’d never let anything happen to me. I wouldn’t have gone to jail, your father wouldn’t have killed me, and eventually, he would have welcomed me into the family. Because you would have demanded it.” He said. 

Veronica gave a little laugh, “Yeah, I would have,” She agreed. 

“I know I have no right to ask, but hell, can we just start over?” Archie asked, and she could feel the nervousness radiating off of him.

“No,” She said, but rushed to add, “Not start over. I want to keep everything we’ve been through. We just…hit pause to get popcorn. We’re back now.” She said with a relieved smile. 

“Oh, thank god,” Archie laughed, “You scared me!” His laughter was a bit too loud, so Veronica silenced him with a kiss. It was meant just to quiet him a bit, but he grasped her, responding back with a fevor and a need and something she realized she’d been missing horribly.

She pressed herself against him, fingers clawing on his shirtless back. She pulled back, panting, pulling his hips closer to hers and throwing one leg over his. 

“Do you think we should-,” She began, hoping he’d give the answer he usually gave.

“Hell, everyone probably thinks that’s what we’re doing anyway,” Archie made a good point, “So let’s not waste this. Let’s be the horny couple everyone knows we are anyway,” He added with a self-aware smile.

Veronica grasped his shorts, feeling like things were finally starting to fall back into place, “Thank god.”

Chapter Text

July 1st, 2018

“Happy Almost Birthday, America.” 

“Is it really America anymore, Dilton?” Veronica rolled her eyes. 

“Sure it is,” Joaquin shrugged, “It’s not like it was a military attack. We're not besieged by someone that wants to claim America for themselves. Just the undead,” He said logically. 

“Do you think the Founding Fathers ever imagined this?” Josie asked.

“Absolutely not,” Elio sniggered, “Thank god for pyromaniacs and Memorial Day,” He said as they loaded holiday fireworks into the RV. Though it wouldn’t be used for its intended use in three days’ time, you never knew when it would come in handy. It was lucky they had anything at all to loot, but then again, Americans liked to stock up early to set fires in their front driveways, Veronica thought with a sardonic snort. 

“Do you think your mom will let me kill a Cannibal and then stuff them with some explosives and then blow it up?” Dilton asked with a mad-scientist gleam in his eyes, “For science,” He added with an offended tone when Joaquin gave him ‘fucking weirdo’ eyes. 

“For science, right,” Josie gave a laugh, “And no. Do you really even have to ask?” 

Dilton sighed, “Yeah. Damn it.” 

Archie gave Veronia a sideways worried look and she hid a giggle behind her hand. It had been a few weeks of the perfect relationship. No fights, no drama, no issues, just them taking on the world together. As it should be. 

It also was much easier when her father was not trying to kill Archie every other step he took, but Veronica didn’t like to dwell too long on that. 

“We’re near to Idaho,” Nick said, with the teens but still apart, not quite fitting in all the way. His reminder caused everyone to give an intake, out of anticipation or fear or worry, Veronica wasn’t sure. Maybe all three, “Maybe we really will land in a state no one ever remembers except when cooking dinner,” He said with a disgusted sneer. 

“Good. It means less fighting off others,” Josie snapped back, her patience running thinner and thinner with him each day. While Elio had slid into their ‘friendship’ easy enough as the days went by, Nick continued to bite every hand that offered him food.

If Veronica had any reason to like him, she’d tell him she understood. She too had a bad habit of pushing away those that wanted to help you when you felt cornered into something. She’d tell him to let them be nice to him. Stop antagonizing everyone. Just live and be happy.

But she hated Nick, so it was fine by her to watch him butt heads with everyone else. 

“This is the last load,” Veronica said before Josie accidentally shot a firework at Nick’s head. As funny as that would be, they shouldn't waste any right now, “Let’s just get back to the car and get moving. Maybe we’ll find where we’re meant to be sooner.” 

July 4th, 2018

Veronica wouldn’t say she was superstitious at all. She was superstition in the way that anyone else was; laughed and joked if someone walked under an open ladder, recited a something-or-other about bad luck if someone saw a black cat, held her breath while going through graveyards, just to see if she could.

Her grandmother though? She was superstitious.

It seemed to be in the blood of the Spanish. Veronica could repeat all of her grandmother’s proverbs from the heart, all warnings about weirdly specific things Veronica should stay away from. Just closing her eyes, allowing herself a little chuckle, she could hear her grandma’s rattling voice in her head. 

“Mija! En martes, ni te cases, ni te embarques, ni de tu casa te apartes!” This was a warning to never start anything on a Tuesday. Did the end of the world come on a Tuesday? Shit, if that one was true, maybe grandma was on to something.

Or, “Dios mio! Mal de ojo,” Her grandmother would mutter whenever a child was sickly. 

The point being, Veronica did not think she was superstitious, not like that.

But when they got off the RV of their newest stop, she couldn’t help some feeling swirling and quelling and roaring inside of her.

A good feeling.

They were stopped off at a Gas Station to refuel. The gas station was pretty picked over, but there were still a few things to grab off the shelves, including a kitchy magnet. 

“Welcome everyone to,” Archie looked at the magnet with a wry grin, “Cody, Wyoming!” 

“Hey, I know this place,” Joaquin said with a snap, “It’s really touristy. Or, err, was.” He added with a wince. 

“How did you hear about this?” Josie asked as she fiddled with the back door to the lounge and offices.

“Ah, back when Kevin and I were stupid and young, we imagined going on crazy road trips places. Just vanish,” Veronica watched Joaquin with a frown. Though he talked in a mostly even tone, she caught a cracked tone to bring up Kevin. She wondered what would she have done if she went to the prison and Archie had been gone? How would she have coped? 

“And anyway, we made a big bucket list of plans of where we wanted to go. Yellowstone was on there, and Kevin found Cody as a good stopping place while visiting.” He swallowed, laughing, “Actually, we had planned to this summer…before FP sent me away, of course. It was supposed to be our first trip.” 

Veronica stopped herself from tripping over her words, but yes, something was certainly lining up here, though she wasn’t sure for what purpose. It could not be a coincidence that this had been something so closely tied to Joaquin in some way. Sure, some may argue that Wyoming didn’t have much, so they had a pretty good chance of hitting the said town, but she was hoping the universe worked in more mysterious ways than that. 

“What can you tell us about Cody, contestant number three?” Elio asked with a grin, faking a microphone with a toilet plunger. 

“Named after this dude named Buffalo Bill. That’s all I remember.” Joaquin said with a shrug. 

“Maybe we’ll have to take some light reading. Brush up on Buffalo Bill?” Elio said, going over to an old magazine rack, spinning it, and throwing dust into the air, “Ah! Buffalo Bill Cody: An Autobiography. Perfect.” 

“Why’s it matter? We’re just passing through.” Dilton said, poking his head from one of the aisles. 

“I…” Elio paused, frowning, as though this thought hadn’t hit him. Veronica noticed that he still hadn’t let go of the book, “I just…getting low on reading material. Maybe it’ll be interesting.” 

“Yeah, but The Shining is right next to it,” Dilton pointed out, “I dunno. Just seems odd.” 

And it was. 

But once again, meaningful. 

The back office door clicked open and Josie gave a yip of success. To keep herself occupied, she’d had Joaquin teach her how to pick locks. 

“That was an easy one,” Nick said with an eye roll, “I’m sure a five-year-old could get that open.” 

“Nick…” Elio said with a sigh and then shook his head, as though to ask why he insisted on antagonizing everyone so. 

The back office was nothing special, much to everyone’s disappointment. 

Inside the back office desk were a few bongs, though the weed inside was unusable at this point. And no one could find a bag of extra.

“Damn,” Dilton said, as though he’d ever gotten high, “I was looking forward to being a connoisseur of that good ole Mary Jane.” 

“This is how you know the world is totally fucked,” Joaquin said, picking up the bongs and lighters with a smirk. 

“What do you mean?” 

“When the burn-outs, the high dudes that probably run this place leave and leave this?” He held up what was likely their prized possession, “The world is really over. When you’re high, you think it’s the end of the world when you hear someone vacuuming upstairs. The real apocalypse probably didn’t scare them, until it was really scary.” 

“You should like someone that would know,” Nick said with a narrowed glare. 

“Yeah, I would,” Joaquin crossed his arms, “And I’d think you would too. I know the rich schools are full of illegal drugs.” 

“Hey, he’s not wrong,” Elio said nervously, hoping to step in as a mediator, “We’ve spent quite a few of our nights nigh as a kite.” 

“Oh, but he thinks his weed is somehow superior, isn’t that it?” Joaquin asked, laughing, “My dude, the $200 shit is probably the same $50 shit I got. They just knew they could get more out of rich snobs like you.” 

Nick lunged and Elio held him back while Dilton and Archie moved to push Joaquin back because he seemed ready to brawl too. 

“Walk it off, Joaquin! Shoo!” Veronica gave a groan, pushing her friend out of the room, looking back to see Elio trying to calm Nick down. 

“He just pisses me the fuck off.” 

“Join the club,” Veronica said dryly, “But god, this isn’t the time to be infighting. Even if his face is very punchable.” She added with a grin. 

Joaquin stepped into the sun, just hot enough to be a bit uncomfortable. He swallowed, pushing back tears. 

“I worried when I fell for Kevin I was falling for preppy kids, but no, it was just Kevin,” He said with a laugh, “I just hate how superior he acts. And I hate how kids like him survived when Kevin might be dead or in danger and he’s just safe? God, Veronica, he has no idea how lucky he is! Even now, he just wanders through this, like he fell accidentally into being under your mother’s safety. It just pisses me off.” 

“I know, I know,” Veronica agreed with a sigh. While Elio had tried to integrate himself in, and was succeeding, and had killed at least one Cannibal, Nick had stubbornly stayed in the car, refusing to get his hands dirty. But this wasn’t an optional field trip. This wasn’t something he could leave behind at home. This was his life now, “Eventually he’s going to have his reckoning.” 

“You believe that anymore?” Joaquin asked with an angry shake of his head. 

“Yeah, I do,” She said with a heavy and equally sad smile, “Because fate came for Daddy and killed him.” 

Joaquin jerked his head up, words fumbling for apologies, but Veronica shook her head. She knew who her dad was. She knew the hurt he’d caused. She, somehow, felt like this was something good the universe had done, as much as she missed him with every breath she took. 

She saw her mom leaning against the RV, looking around, always on the watch. Smithers sat next to her, having pulled up a camping chair. 

She approached her mother carefully, just as Smithers started a coughing fit. 

“I'll get water!” Veronica said, starting to turn, but Smithers stopped her.

“I’m fine. Just some dust in my throat,” He said, though his smile told her that that wasn’t entirely it. It seemed rude to press, so she let it go. 

“Mom, I don’t know how to say this, but…maybe we should see if there’s anything close or in the town we could stay?” She played with the hem of her tank top, “It sounds stupid, I know, but you always told me to trust my gut…and if we don’t, you know, we don’t-,” She began to babble, unsure why she was so sure this was it. Strangely, her mother glanced at Smithers and gave a warm, welcoming smile.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Mija. I’m tired of traveling. Aren’t you?” 

Veronica nearly vibrated with relief and excitement. The idea of putting roots down again somewhere was almost too good to be true. 

The excitement spread through everyone like wildfire. Everyone was giddy about the idea of settling, even Nick, as much as he showed any excitement about anything. 

They explored a few different options. The first idea was the Hospital, but that seemed to be crawling with Cannibals, even a few blocks away. Then, they explored the main downtown strip, which had old-time stores with apartments above. While Veronica loved that idea, her mother shut it down, saying that they were just too spread out. As much as people wanted privacy, they should still be careful and stick closer together.

Then Joaquin suggested a mall…which may have been a great idea if there was a mall to be found. 

A stack of cute little motels was vetoed for the same reason as the apartments.

“But they’re little log cabins!” Veronica sighed. They sort of reminded her of Lodge Lodge, so her nostalgia was taking over. Though, maybe on second thought, it was better not to dwell in a place that would inevitably remind her of her father eventually. 

Finally, they passed a building that Archie pointed to with a smirk, “How…how about, what’s that, a Middle School?” He sniggered. 

Hermione, who was driving the RV, slowed.

“Actually…” She murmured, tilting her head in thought. 

She stopped the car. Xander followed behind. The whole hoard piled out, staring at the fenced-in Middle School, which seemed utterly abandoned. That was a theme that Veronica had noticed. This entire town was literally a ghost town. It seemed everyone just up and left, differently than Riverdale, which had been in chaos. Maybe they’d had a warning, somehow, and smartly found somewhere else to be? 

“What’s with the fence?” Josie asked, throwing an experimental rock at it, “Not electric.” 

“It’s a Middle School, not a prison,” Archie said with a smile. 

“Exactly. My question stands.”

“Bears, wolves, moose…” Joaquin shrugged, “This is close enough to Yellowstone and rural enough that I wouldn’t be shocked if they-,” 

“Pedos,” Dilton cut Joaquin off with a deadpanned expression.

“Ew, man. I like the bears explanation,” Archie said, shoving his shoulder.

“Really, a middle school?” Nick rolled his eyes as Dillon tried to get the electronic keypad to allow them access. 

“It’s not the worst idea,” Elio rubbed his chin, “Lots of space. A huge kitchen. Bathrooms. Probably a nurse’s office. Safe fences. Outdoor space to maybe grow items.” He shrugged, “Good eye, Archie.” 

“It makes sense,” Josie said with a grin of agreement, “Remember when we were all little and we joked that our teachers must live at the school? I think there’s a reason it seemed so logical to us, apart from the fact we were just dumb.”

“I went to a boarding school for elementary school, so my teachers actually did live at the school,” Nick said, raising his chin.

“Do you want a prize or something, man?” Joaquin raised an eyebrow, “Great?” 

“I’m just saying that she should be more careful when she talks,” Nick said dismissively, “Because it’s not a universal experience to have that memory.” 

“Oh boo-hoo you,” Veronica narrowed her eyes and glared, “The poor white rich boy feels left out of a narrative. Cry about it.” 

Nick clenched his jaw, turned away, and stomped to the other end of the field, muttering as he left. 

“Look, he clearly belongs here. Just like a toddler throwing a tantrum,” Veronica said triumphantly, expecting everyone to laugh with her. However, she only saw Joaquin stifle a laugh, but everyone else was looking at her with a mixture of pity and unsureness. 

“What?” 

“Well, it’s just...I mean, he can be a dick, but…” Josie trailed off, “Are we really the ‘playground bullies’”? She asked, continuing with the school theme. 

“Nick St. Clare can be knocked down a peg or two,” Veronica said, pulling her arms around herself. She felt her mind prickle, going on the defensive for a joke that she had thought was hilarious. 

“I’m just saying. It’s not like his comment was that offensive. I think he’s just trying to fit in.” 

Suddenly, even the way Archie was looking at her made her feel like a shitty person. 

“Nick tried to rape Cheryl. Did we all collectively forget that?” She hissed, “He can burn in hell for all I care.” 

“And my family tried to off your family. Archie beat Nick within an inch of his life. And you, you were in a gang, weren’t you?” Elio turned to Joaquin, who was the only person who seemed on Veronica’s side. 

“I guess-,” 

“He helped clean up Jason’s body and then pretended not to know anything for the entire time the town wondered. He let Jason’s own father get away with murder.” Josie supplied, “And he dated Kevin just to get intel.” 

“That’s not fair,” Joquin said, “I actually fell for Kevin. And I didn’t have a choice! He...he had a choice not to do what he did,” Joaquin gesticulated to where Nick was leaning against the brick wall far from view. 

“Veronica knows the way types like us were raised,” Elio glanced over at Nick’s parents, “She knows her own father. I’m just surprised. We’re all just kids.” He gave a half-shrug, “Does he annoy the hell out of me? Sure. But it’s the end of the world. I think that it would be foolish to be throwing people out in the cold.” 

“So all sins are just forgiven then?” Veronica asked angrily, looking for Archie for help, but found him staring at the ground. 

“Perhaps,” Elio said “Maybe...otherwise, your father died with so much fucking blood on his hands that I…” he gave a hard laugh, “Well, he’ll join my parents in the deepest pits of hell, that’s for sure.” 

Veronica felt ill, angry at Elio, though she knew it was true. But she wasn’t much in the mood for discussion on being a hypocrite. 

“I think we should give him another chance. People should be allowed to change,” Josie said, looking over at Nick, “And then if he messes up again, we won’t be so forgiving.” 

Luckily, before the teen’s arguments could be explored further, Veronica heard a joyful ‘yes’ from Dilton and turned to see him standing up and opening the door wide to the atrium of the middle school. 

Everyone gathered at the doors, but there was a collective pause.

“Maybe these doors are closed too…” Simone reached but found it unlocked “Oh, look. They’re open.” 

The unanswered questions lay hanging in the air...why was everyone frozen in place, unable to move inside, where it may be safe, despite knowing they could? 

It was Archie who spoke what everyone feared, never much one for reading the room. 

“What if there’s...god, what if there are little Cannibal kids?” He asked, everyone having reached the same conclusion. 

“If there is…” Hermione reached for the doors, steeling herself, “They’re not kids anymore. Just vessels. And death.” She said quietly as if promising she would take care of it. 

The school was eerie, and luckily, not even ghosts seemed to physically lurk in the halls. Only memories; bulletins still tacked to cork boards, coffee cups left on teacher’s desk with the expectation to be filled another day, lesson plans strewn out on kid’s desks for learning when they were to walk in next...it very much seemed like one day they were fine and the next day, no one returned. 

“May 10th,” Dillon said, pulling down one of the flyers most recently tacked, “About.” It was a flyer for an art fair happening ‘remember, tomorrow night’. 

“About tracks,” Josie agreed, “That everything just went down all at once.” 

The school wasn’t huge by any means. Probably about what the Riverdale Middle School would be, which Veronica had never any reason to visit. Certainly much bigger than her middle school in New York City, number and space-wise. Her school had been in a skyscraper and since it was so premiere of a school, there had only been twelve other classmates when she graduated 8th grade, the richest that money could send. 

It took most of the afternoon to check, everyone praying no surprises would pop up for them. The school cafeteria had some boxes of pasta, cans of tomato sauce, and gas still on the stove that Hermione lit with a lighter. And, for the first time since this really began, everyone ate without care, at least for one night.

When the sky darkened and it seemed time for everyone to go their separate ways, they all hovered, unsure. 

“Cots,” Joaquin said, dragging a few from the nurse’s station, “We should all stay together, tonight. Just in case. And to double-up.” He said. No one wanted to sleep on the hard linoleum floor, so that become their reasoning, not that everyone was so used to sleeping with everyone else in small spaces.

“Tomorrow we’ll divvy up the area,” Xander said and Hermione agreed, “It’s late.” 

Hermione agreed, nodding sagely.

Veronica was unsure if she could fall asleep, but found herself able to slip to slumber much easier than she would have guessed, curled into Archie’s arms, surrounded by the familiar sounds of everyone else snoozing around her.

Chapter Text

July 20th, 2018

“Look what I found!” 

Veronica turned her head from where she was tacking up colorful poster board to her bulletin board to see Archie lugging something large through the doorway of her room. 

“What in the name of god is that?” Veronica asked, taking a full, deep look at the rattan piece, with a gaudy and awful neon blue covering that looked to be half plastic, half fabric. And not the good sort of fabric.

“It’s what you said you wanted!” Archie said, grinning widely, looking very pleased with himself, “It’s a...a..” 

“Chaise lounge?” Veronica said, and couldn’t help but allow a smile. 

“Yeah, that! Like you described was in your room in New York.” 

Veronica stalked around the piece he’d pulled in.

“Arch, I’m pretty sure this is an outdoor sofa,” She said but found herself laughing nonetheless. 

“Well, guess that explains why it was outside,” Archie frowned, rubbing his chin, “But can’t it be both?” 

She supposed it did resemble what she’d wanted, granted, she had been thinking more ‘wood’ and ‘velvet’ and less ‘plastic’ and ‘polyester’, but she sincerely doubted she’d be so lucky to find something like a chaise lounge anywhere in Cody, Wyoming. 

“It’s fantastic,” She decided, having given up the chase for ‘perfect’ here long ago. She was warmed by Archie’s efforts, and that alone was enough to want to accept anything he brought her. And, it would fit perfectly along the edge of her room, right under the large schoolroom windows. The color of it, entirely, would have to be changed; maybe they could spray-paint the base, and god, find fabric to staple to the cushions. 

“How many Cannibals did you have to fight off for this?” She asked, half joking, but Archie sighed.

“Three. Though, not for this specifically. I think they were more interested in Dilton’s brains. He was pretty occupied- he found some gasoline or chemicals in that garage that had his attention. 

Veronica swallowed, “Think it was the family from whatever house it was?” 

“Yes, no? Why would you ask that?” Archie said, his mood turning sour as he slumped on the sofa lounge, “Now you’ve made me feel shitty for stealing some family’s shit.” 

“Sorry,” Veronica sighed, shaking her head. She felt like Dillon with her morbid fascination with all this lately. If she were seeing a therapist, he would say that this was how she was dealing with the uncertainty of life of late; that she was looking at the Cannibals they came across and saying things like ‘that was probably a Sarah when she was alive’. She knew it bothered Archie, but she couldn’t stop doing it. 

“It probably wasn’t,” Veronica said, pursing her lips, “Probably just a few that were moving through town.” 

Archie bit his knuckles in thought, nodding lightly to himself as he looked around the space they sat in.

“You moved stuff around while I was gone.” 

Veronica preened, “How do you think it looks so far?” 

“Very homey,” Archie said, “And I of course mean that in the highest of compliments.” 

They were sitting in Veronica’s room, though the size of it made it feel more like an apartment. Hell, Veronica knew apartments in New York City that were far smaller than this, and went for thousands of dollars per month! She was in room 303. 

There was plenty enough room for everyone, so the smartest move had been that everyone should be allowed to pick a room. It gave everyone some much-needed privacy. At first, Archie was just going to move into Veronica’s room with her, but she urged him to pick his own. His expression had been a mixture of hurt and anger. 

“What, so you can break up with me?” He asked. 

She nearly said, ‘no, that’s what you do’, but managed to keep her biting comments to herself. 

Instead, she just forced a casual laugh, “No! So you can, you know, have a place to just chill. Get some weights in there or something. Or a guitar.” She hoped they wouldn’t break up, but it made sense to her that he should have his own room, like how her father used to have his office and her mother had the whole rest of the house. 

“Oh,” Archie blinked, “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

Crisis averted.

At first, their only goal had been to find enough mattresses for everyone to have one, and to raid some houses for food and other necessities, but Hermione had started taking house pieces as well, like ottomans or bed frames. This caused a big fight between her and Xander.

“You’re going to risk your life to drag an armchair away?” He sputtered, “Is it worth it?” 

“I will not live like I’m just passing through! If we’re staying here, sue me for wanting to live semi-normally!” Hermione had argued back, and since she was technically in charge, Xander didn’t say anything. Even if he had wanted to.

He seemed a bit hypocritical since he and his wife were sure as hell enjoying the raids that were brought back. 

The adults got first pick, in the order of Hermione, Smithers, Xander, and then Simone. After that, the kids pulled lottery numbers each time. They were bringing back anything from large side tables to lamps or books. It also made people want to go out and raid houses, which at first had been the bane of everyone’s job rotations since now everyone felt like they were building and collecting towards something. 

It wasn’t as great as just popping over to a furniture store, or rather sending Smithers there, but this was almost more fun. It was the sense that you never knew what would be brought back and the thrill of the lottery of hoping that even if you weren’t called first, someone else among you wouldn’t want that cane bookshelf that would fit perfectly in your room.

It was the little things like this that so quickly, Veronica was starting to really, really rely on. And enjoy. And, even arguably, live for. 

She brushed her fingers over the numbers to her room as she exited, deciding to see what dinner would be tonight and if she could get in on the choice tonight.

Her classroom had been a third-grade classroom, and she knew this. Not just because of the paperwork and items she didn’t have the heart to throw out, locked in a tall cabinet in the back, but because of the door numbers.

At their first look around the space, trying to choose rooms, Archie had given a long laugh.

“Wow, these people must be dumb,” He said in a sing-songy voice, drawing out the word ‘dumb’, “There’s like one floor and clearly they don’t know how to count. The 200s were back there and now we’re at 400?” He snickered.

“Actually,” Elio said, rubbing his chin, “I beg to differ. I think they’re quite intelligent. I think this school is set up by grade in pods. Four classrooms per pod. The first number denotes the grade. Thus, this would be the 4th-grade wing. Makes it easy. If you’re in second grade, you know your classroom is one of four.” 

Archie frowned, looking at the doors for a second, “Huh. Oh. Yeah, that probably makes sense.” 

Apart from that, of course, there were other spaces; a small stage where kids had put on plays, a gymnasium, a few back offices, an art room, a music room, and a ‘specials’ classrooms like foreign languages or cooking. But, it had been decided that those were common areas and it was most fair for everyone to get a classroom. They were all roughly the same size. The differences were how the lights came through, if it had a sink or a full bathroom attached, or if it had storage closets. Enough to make it feel special for each space. 

Hermione and Smithers were each in a Kindergarten room, denoted by just two digits instead of three. Veronica had to guess that her mother chose this because it was the closest to the front doors, where she could play guard, and the medicine cabinets which she watched like a hawk. She’d also taken the principal's office for her work at sorting or organizing or generally keeping them all alive. Veronica didn’t really want an office, so she wasn’t upset. 

When Veronica had gotten to pick her room, everyone was somehow shocked she did not pick a Kindergarten space. Was it really that surprising, she wanted to ask? Didn’t everyone basically know her relationship with her parents was fucked? If you thought losing your dad and her losing her husband would band them together, well, you were pretty much dead wrong. 

So she’d picked a third-grade classroom that had an en-suite bathroom and big windows facing a courtyard that just let light breathe and dance beautifully into her space. The plumbing was working (for now) and the courtyard windows made her feel safer than facing the fences. She knew that they’d fortified the fences and that someone was always on the watch, but it still made her feel uncomfortable to know the Cannibals were just out there, waiting, like sharks.

The St. Clairs had taken two rooms between them in the 2nd-grade wing. Nick choosing to stay near his parents was a hard one to decide whether or not anyone was surprised. At least, Veronica was still going back and forth on it.

Josie had picked a 5th-grade classroom that was closest to the music space, with a few instruments left behind. Although the musical space was for everyone, besides Archie, no one else had much desire to use it anyway, so it was more or less Josie’s, sans the guitar she’d let Archie take.

The rest of the boys had picked three out of the four 4th-grade classrooms. She wasn’t sure it was so much a choice to stick together like a pack of wolves as much as it was one chose and the rest just shrugged and followed. It was also close to the gym, and something about hearing the squeaking of shoes and the dribbling of a basketball made Veronica very happy.

“You up for a game?” Elio asked, leaving his bedroom to fist-bump Archie. 

“Hell yeah, man,” Archie said, “Pick a good one, V,” Archie said with an easy-going grin, “I’m not going to let you win this time.” 

“Let me?” Elio raised his eyebrows, “I’ll try to go easy on you,” He said with a teasing tone. 

Veronica paused in place to watch them race down the halls to the gym, and realized that she was feeling happy. Things were falling into place, in a sense, and at least moments like these existed to remind her that good things could still occur in hellish situations. 

She found her mother and Smithers in the middle school kitchens, Smithers sitting on a stool and patting sweat off his forehead and her mother meticulously organizing the food Archie had brought back in a complicated and (in Veronica’s opinion) convoluted system. 

As she approached, she caught her mother turning around and offering a strip of jerky to Smithers. This action surprised Veronica. 

Her mother was militant about eating outside at meal times or having snacks. Food was the singular thing that no one got to keep. The food was carefully rationed and you weren’t allowed to even be caught with a snack-size bag of chips in your room, having stuffed it in your pocket at a gas station for later. For her mother to give anyone, even Smithers, food outside of meal times was very unlike her. And hypocritical. 

And Veronica would be pissed if it didn’t seem like Smithers needed it. He was looking more sallow of late, leaner. He’d never been skinny, but she wouldn’t have called him fat either, but he was starting to look his actual age. 

So, Veronica just swallowed thickly, waiting until Smithers had eaten the jerky, so she wouldn’t have to call her mother out.

“Anything good?” She asked, jumping onto the metal countertop. 

“Your favorite, Mija,” Hermione said with a wry grin, setting many cans of beans on the counter. Veronica wriggled her nose. Her least favorite canned food, even more hated than Spam. 

Her mother laughed at her expression, “No, we’ll have chili tonight, I think.” 

“It’s too hot for chili,” Veronica groaned. 

“Yes, but it’s something we can make in a big batch and store for a while,” Hermione said, and that said it was final. Then, she paused, “Archie brought back some other interesting things though.” 

“Oh?” Veronica said, “You saw my ‘chaise lounge’ then?” 

“Your what?” Her mother frowned, “No, look.” She pointed to a box. 

Veronica felt her mouth water, “Cake mix.” She read one of the many boxes, “I haven’t had cake in ages.” 

“He also brought back a record player. I was thinking, maybe, I whip up one of these cake boxes and we put some music on tonight with dinner. Have...a party.” 

Veronica looked up, eyes narrowed, “What’s the occasion?” Translated; what bomb are you about to drop on us that needs us happy and laughing? 

“No occasion.” Hermione frowned.

“Life!” Smithers said joyfully from where he sat on his chair, “I suggested it. I think we could have some fun. We need it, you know,” He said, wiggling a finger.

“Do you think you can set it up?” Hermione asked. 

Veronica let a pleased smile. One of her best skills was party planning. She’d planned Bella Thorne’s 16th birthday bash back in New York, and that was one of many celeb events she could put on a theoretical resume.

“Of course, I can, mother,” Veronica said, scoffing.

As if she even had to ask.

XXX

“Wow, this really is great,” Josie said as they put their plates in the bin to be washed, she marveled at the party scene in front of her. 

“Thank you,” Veronica preened, “I mean, there wasn’t a lot to make do with, so I did my best.” 

“Oh, you’re too humble, girlie! I’m amazed you could do it at all.” 

Veronica gave a not-so-humble smile, letting the praise soak in.

She was hoping for a compliment from everyone here. She collected people’s amazement and surprise like little colored rocks. So far, she was just missing a compliment from Nick and Dilton. 

If she didn’t, it would be fine, she knew this logically. But she wanted the set. She wanted recognition for how impressive it was she pulled this off. 

A few streamers, some fabric in bins, and lots of fairy lights. Thank god teachers loved those things. 

She went for a fairy-garden theme, along with any non-dead plants or plastic plants she found downstairs, and brought them up. She was thinking they should keep the plants up here. Give some life to the school. 

When everyone had walked in for dinner, they had walked into a garden wonderland, the record player already blasting some Stevie Nicks. She’d spent a lot of the time getting it to work, as well as organizing the records from ‘play this right now’ to ‘well, someone has to like this, but bless their souls’. 

Hermione had even opened some bottles of Champagne Brute. Of course, not what Veronica was used to. It tasted a little chemical to her, and she was sure Elio was thinking the same. It was good enough for everyone else, especially because Dilton practically vibrated to see it.

“Awe, yes! I’ve only had that once. It’s my favorite,” He said with a happy grin, “My older cousin had me try some last summer. What a memory,” He sighed. 

With a sheet cake about to be brought out, music that wasn’t entirely terrible, and champagne in red plastic cups, it was starting to feel like a real party. A bizarre party in a middle school with people that, previous to this, she would have raised an eyebrow at the guest list, but now she couldn’t be happier to be with.

As Archie did a series of terrible dance moves, including the sprinkler, over to her, he laughed at her expression.

“Are you drunk?” He asked.

“What? No! Hardly,” Veronica tilted her glass, “This is my first. Why?” 

“You just seem slap-happy,” He said, “Figured it was some alcoholic help.” And maybe he didn’t say it, but it was left there, hanging. That this felt so different from her mood before. 

“I dunno, I guess, I’m just…” She shrugged, twirling in a circle, her eyes catching everyone dancing, even Nick and his parents. The only one missing was Smithers, but he said he wanted to change and he’d be arriving in a bit. He’d left after eating. It was his party, after all. After a bit of nudging, Hermione had let on that it was Smither’s birthday tomorrow. Why they didn’t wait, Veronica was unsure, but it was sure as heck a reason to celebrate.

“I think we’re going to be okay!” She finally said, utterly, simply happy. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, that this is a way we can live. That we don’t have to hide or cry or live in fear forever. That we can move on and figure something else out. I just like being here.” She said after a moment, throwing her arms out, “Don’t you?” 

Archie considered it, as though for the first time, before nodding, “Yeah, I do too. Who would think we’d be having a party at the end of time?” 

“Not me,” Joaquin said, walking by, moving his shoulders and head a bit, “I didn’t think I’d survive it.” 

And wasn’t that the honest truth? 

Her mother brought out the sheet cake to wide, celebrated applause. 

“We should wait for Smithers. It is his birthday.” Veronica said, and at her mother’s narrowed glare, “Oops!” But, she wasn’t really sorry. He deserved to be celebrated!

“God, he must be ancient. What is he, like 90?” Nick’s eyes widened, as though he didn’t comprehend how birthdays were and that people got older. Or maybe he’d only thought about Smithers birthday right now and how old he must be. 

“Seventy-five, actually,” Hermione said, “But chasing after the Lodge family does probably age one a bit.” 

Still, seventy-five was not only impressive but for sure a reason to celebrate. 

“He should have the first piece,” Veronica repeated, wanting to be fair. 

Hermione glanced up into the hallway to his room, “Simone, will you cut and serve? Save a corner piece for Smithers. He’ll enjoy that. I’ll see where he is.” 

Simone took the knife and batted away the eager teens. 

“I will hand one to you when I hand one to you,” She said, and then waved it at her husband, who was trying to sneak a piece too, “God, Xander, what are you, twelve?” 

Veronica’s attention slid to where her mother had disappeared to. After a few moments, Hermione returned, looking no different than before. Or, at least to the average person. But Veronica had many years of deciphering the very slight changes in expression of her mother. She knew worry and anguish when she saw it. 

“Smithers wants me to take his piece to him. He’ll be out shortly,” Hermione said, grabbing a corner piece and waving everyone away to eat theirs. Since everyone had frosted cake with sprinkles in front of them, no one really argued.

But Veronica knew something was not right.

She told Archie she forgot something in her room, and it would just take a second to grab it, and slid away.

Smither’s door was slightly ajar, and dark except for a few candles that she could see flickering through the windowpane.

She opened the door to see her mother sitting next to his bed, head in her hand, sobbing. The piece of cake sat beside her.

“Mom.”

Hermione whipped her head around.

“Get out! Get out!” She hissed, wiping her eyes, standing and stalking toward the door. Veronica swallowed down her fear at her mother’s sharp tone and scurried over to Smither’s bed. She had seen death before; in the faces of Cannibals, of course, but even before that. Her grandmother’s open casket funeral when she was ten popped into her mind. 

She saw the paleness of his face, the stiffness already setting in, the stillness to his chest.

“He’s dead.” She spun, “I’ve seen it already. Why were you hiding this?” She asked, feeling tears bubble up, “How long?” 

Logically, she knew it couldn’t have happened more than an hour ago, since an hour ago he was alive at the end of dinner. Sitting on his chair was what he had intended to change into; a nice pair of pants and a velvet suit jacket. 

“I wanted to wait till tomorrow to tell everyone. Let everyone enjoy the party. He wanted it for everyone so badly.” Hermione sighed, collapsing into her chair, looking old herself at this moment. 

“Did he know then?” Veronica felt her own legs buckle into one of his remaining open chairs. She reached for his freezing hand, as though he could feel her warmth wherever he was now. He was the grandfather that she’d never had; always there for her with warm, loving words, always prepared to help with a scraped knee, and keeping a good deal of secrets from her parents when she was a precocious child. She’d grown up with him always around, as long as she could remember. If she recalled correctly, he’d tended to Hiram while growing up, meaning that he’d known Hermione for a long time too. 

“He might have guessed, perhaps,” Hermione rubbed her face, “But he did not tell me. I just knew he was growing weaker. I tried to help; medicine, extra food, a memory foam mattress.” 

“How?” Veronica decided to ask next.

“Age,” Hermione gave a wry grin, “Nothing more. God knows what sort of traumas this has placed on our own bodies,” She said, “When I came in he was in his bed. I like to hope he decided to take a quick nap and drifted away. Not a heart attack, no pain, no fear. Just an eternal slumber.” 

The two Lodge women sat in silence for a few moments, each focusing very hard on the sound of each other’s breaths in the dark room. 

“We’ll bury him tomorrow?” Veronica asked. 

“Of course. Deep in the ground.” She knew that this would make sure the Cannibals were not going to scavenge for his body, “We’ll hold a funeral for anyone that wants to be there.” Smithers had been here for the Lodge’s, but he’d been unflappably kind to every other person here. Veronica would imagine that many would like to attend his funeral, even though from his tone it seemed her mother was unsure of this, “It will help with our closure.” 

There was another berth of silence.

“It wasn’t Cannibals, was it?” Veronica asked hesitantly, hating she even had to worry about it. 

“No. No, there was no fever. And no bites.” She gave a sad, knowing smile, “I asked. He would not have lied to me.” 

“Good.” Veronica let her shoulders slump. One less thing they had to worry about.

“I should get back…” Veronica started to stand, knowing that Archie (as soon as he had his fill of cake) would worry about what happened to her, “Will he be okay the night in here?” 

“He’s dead. I doubt he has much of an opinion on anything,” Hermione said with a dark humor Veronica recognized as her own, “If we lock the door, and first thing at dawn take him out, it will be okay.” She added, knowing what Veronica was really asking.

As the women began towards the door, there was a shuffling from the bed.

Veronica turned around, confused. 

“Did you possibly mistake his death?” She asked, but that was stupid. Veronica had seen it herself. Smithers had been dead-dead. 

“No…?” At first, Hermione’s voice was heavy with confusion, then she heard a sharp intake of breath, “Veronica, go to the hall. Now!” She yelled, pushing Veronica behind her.

“What? Why?” Veronica asked, struggling against her mother’s grip to try to get to Smithers. 

“Because I told you to!” Hermione said, her face wildly swinging to the open door to the bed, “Do what I say, Veronica or I swear to god-,” 

Veronica caught just a glimpse of Smither’s face as he lifted his body from the bed, and her first thought was that it looked wrong. The uncanny valley of human recognition. Then she saw his face, blank and devoid and empty.

That was enough to drop her fight, and a moment her mother took to shove her outside the door and slam it in her face.

As soon as Veronica regained her wits, she pounded on the door. Her yelling must have caught the attention of the party, because everyone was pouring down the hall, the music still echoing faintly in the background. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Smithers was dead, but now he’s not, and-,” Veronica pounded and jiggled the door handle, “Mom!” She screamed. She could not lose her mother, not now, not here. 

“Hermione!” Xander pounded on the door, shoving Veronica aside, “Oh, god, something’s going on in there.” They could all hear the sound of furniture being pushed aside and grunts and groans. 

“Step aside!” Archie said, “I’m gonna kick the door down!” He announced. Veronica reached for his arm to stop him, knowing he’d only ever seen it happen in movies (because he always said wistfully ‘man, I wanna do that one day’) but was moving in slow motion. She was too late.

The door thundered open, and the light from the hallway streamed in. 

“Mom?” Veronica asked. 

Smithers was on the ground. Hermione stood. 

She turned, dark, noxious blood splattered across her face. Smither’s skull cracked open, blood splurting like a geyser onto the floor.

“He was a Cannibal,” Hermione said simply, pointing her answer to Veronica.

“Good god!” Xander grasped her arm, “Did he bite you at all? Hurt you?” 

Hermione shook her head, “No, no. It’s all his.” She assured. 

“But...but...you said he told you he wasn’t bit. Did he lie?” Veronica demanded.

“Go get cleaned up,” Simone suggested quietly, taking her arm, “Xander?” 

“I’ll check.” He turned around to see the kids all standing. Veronica reached for Archie’s arm, his hand quivering so hard she could barely grasp it. 

He was terrified, and so was she. 

“Go to your rooms.” He instructed quietly but powerfully. When no one moved, he lurched forward, “Now!” 

They scattered. Not to their individual rooms, but somehow ended up in Josie’s room, which had the most cushiony things and places to sit. 

Someone might start to offer an idea, but no one could finish a sentence. Even so, their teeth chattered so much when they started to speak it came out nearly unintelligible anyway. 

After what seemed like hours, Xander appeared with Simone and Hermione. Her mother was now cleaned up and in non-bloody clothes.

“Good, good, you’re all here,” He said, seemingly a bit off-put. His face was pale and his hands were shoved in his pocket, to keep from shivering. 

“What…?” Archie just uttered a single word, but it was enough.

“He was not bit.” Xander said curtly, “And he came back anyway.” 

“Are we sure? Sure, sure?” Joaquin demanded, “Because this really fucking sucks if what you’re saying is true.” 

“Saying what?” Archie frowned.

“That it doesn’t matter if you’re bit or not. If you die, you come back as one anyway. Put your friends and family in danger.” Joaquin turned toward him, eyes lit with fury and anger, “And there’s nothing I think we could do about it.” 

“That seems to be the logical conclusion. We won’t know until…” he sighed, looking around, “Until anyone else dies, not that we’re going to test the theory. But this is the conclusion we should now be under.” 

“Shit,” Dilton said, then frowned, “Hey, at least Smithers died doing something useful. Telling us this. Giving us knowledge.” 

Any other time, Veronica would be the first to smack Dilton for such things, but she was rather inclined to agree. She liked to think that Smithers would enjoy knowing he’d been helpful, even after death. 

“Let’s try to get some sleep,” Hermione said, “And we’ll bury him tomorrow. Same as planned.” 

As everyone shuffled to their rooms, the lightness and happiness Veronica had felt slowly snuffed out.

She felt the darkness, the futility of life, creep back into her heart, and she feared this time she’d never shake that sense of nothingness.

Chapter Text

July 30th, 2018

Hiram’s death had been shocking, but people managed to get over it. Or, at least people besides his immediate family. Hiram’s death was noble in its final moments. It was easy to put his death to rest in their minds, leaving him wandering around the forests around Lodge Lodge forever.

Smither’s death had rocked the entire group, no matter how much Hermione so desperately tried to pretend it hadn’t.

It was not only Veronica. The entire troop was rattled and uneasy and there was a sense of wariness about everything. The idea that even a paper cut could lead to sepsis and lead to death and then more than likely lead to coming back to try to kill your friends was...disturbing.

The raids outside ceased. They remained holed up for ten days, just ghosting around each other like ships in the night, quiet and reflective on everything they’d ever done leading up to this moment.

Death always knocked on Veronica’s door, even before this. But now it was pounding on everyone else’s and asking ‘what have you done with your meager existence so far’. And, unfortunately, a lot of people were coming to terms with their greatest and worst hits.

She should have seen Nick’s declaration coming. Everyone was offering up apologies for past behavior, trying to cleanse their soul, spurred on by other people. 

It started with Archie. He apologized to everyone individually, ending with Nick, asking them to ‘bury the hatchet?’ Veronica knew he’d beat up Nick, and Nick had beat up him. Nick cautiously took his hand, as though it was a trick, but didn’t offer up his own salvation apologies. 

Next came Josie, apologizing for having a lot of very bitchy feelings towards Veronica when she first arrived, most that Veronica was unaware of entirely. It was a nice gesture, but part of Veronica wished she would have left it unknown. 

Joaquin had a lot to apologize for, and everyone seemed to know that he wore guilt like a heavy blanket, fully feeling shitty for taking part in Jason’s death and spending so long trying to derail Veronica and her friends from finding out the truth. He felt guilty for lying to Kevin about how they really first met. His sincerity was well-appreciated by many, and as Archie pointed out.

“You literally saved us that first day dude. You were the only one that knew any shit was going on at all!” 

Yes, Veronica shuddered to think what would have happened had Joaquin not been on a mission to find Kevin and if she’d had to deal with all of this totally alone while also trying to spring her boyfriend from jail.

Dilton did his apologies. Then Elio. Nick’s parents made amends with Hermione about some long-forgotten squabbles from when Veronica was a child, but it was still the point of it that counted.

Veronica hadn’t apologized to anyone yet, not because she didn’t think she had to, but because she knew her sins were long and difficult. She was trying to sort them out to apologize to the right people. 

So, why the hell was she so surprised when Nick up and did what everyone else was doing? 

Oh, yes, because she had been under the impression that Nick had no soul. 

It wasn’t the way anyone else had done theirs. Everyone had gone individually, quietly, though gossip spread faster than Cannibals finding live humans here. Everyone knew who was accepting responsibility and trying to move forward with who about what. Con of living so close to each other with no other type of entertainment other than kindergarten early-reading books. 

They were all in Joaquin’s room, drinking through the last of the champagne from Smither’s party.

Veronica did not mean to sound ungrateful or stupid, but it really was a task of will and strength to finish it. No one wanted to touch it, not after what when down. But it was about to go bad, so Hermione had handed it to Veronica with a pinched expression.

“Just drink it. Please, we shouldn’t waste any resources here.” 

When was her mother ever going to beg her to drink champagne again? Never. She figured to make the best of it and called everyone in. Well, not Nick specifically, but she couldn’t boot him out because she was trying to be a better person. But she was keeping a watchful eye on him. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“If you keep staring at me like that, your beau might get a bit jealous,” Nick twittered with nervous laughter, drinking a large mouthful of the alcohol and nodding to Archie. 

“I’m just making sure you don’t roofie any more drinks,” Veronica said with a snarl, “It’s hard to tell with you. It seems to be your signature.” 

Nick’s expression hardened and he passed the bottle to Dilton. She couldn't tell if he'd been waiting for an entry or genuinely hadn't planned what he said next. 

“Veronica, fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“Oh great. A rehearsed apology.” Veronica rolled her eyes, “You guys don’t really believe this, huh?” 

“Maybe we should hear him out,” Josie whispered quietly, “Everyone else got their chance.” 

“Thank you,” Nick said, nodding to Josie, “I was a little shit. I was a horrible person, I know. I know. I knew even then...but…” Nick threw out his hands in front of him, “I got away with it. And it was easy to be bad than to be good.” 

“So what, now that you can’t get away with it, now you repent?” Veronica said, still not believing any of it. 

“No!” Nick’s cheeks were flushed, anger rising up inside of him, “That’s not...damn, you just want to see me as the villain, huh? I’ve just been thinking of shit. I’m sorry about all of it! I’m sorry I hurt Archie. I’m sorry I tried to kiss you when you told me no. I’m sorry I made your life a living hell for a few months. I’m sorry I acted so much better. And if Cheryl was here, I would tell her how sorry I am that I tried to roofie her, and how incredibly fucked up I know it is now. And how I hate myself for it so much.” 

You should hate yourself, Veronica was about to say, but Dilton stood up and went to give Nick a handshake. Looking around, it was clear Veronica was in the minority, if not the only one who didn’t believe that whole little thespian speech. 

“Are you really sorry?” Joaquin asked, narrowing his eyes, “Why should we believe you?” 

“Because I’m a kid! And I know I need to take responsibility because I had a choice and I chose the shitty one. But I’m learning. And I think, no, I know, that that’s no way to treat anyone.” Nick stared at his socked feet, scowling, “I just needed control so bad. I don’t get any, you know, at home, or I didn’t. It made me feel powerful to have girls just fall over me, quick as a snap of a finger. I was the one calling the shots. I was the one in control. I guess everyone here has Daddy Issues, though, huh?” He asked with a rickety laugh. 

“I actually really love my dad,” Archie said.

"Mommy issues?" Dilton wondered out loud, in response, and no one missed Archie's wince. 

"I'm just saying that mine isn't that," Archie mumbled.

“And love fucks you up even worse sometimes, even if they mean right,” Nick replied back, “I don’t expect anyone's forgiveness right away. I know I have to earn it. I know it takes time to build trust…” He looked around, “But there are so few others I can trust besides you, and one day, I hope you can do the same for me.” 

“Just show us,” Josie said with a sigh, “Actions speed louder than words. Cheesy as hell, sure, but also very good advice.” 

“I will. I plan to. Absolutely,” Nick nodded rapidly, and Veronica had the feeling idea that maybe he had given this thought more than just trying to bamboozle them all into thinking he was having a redemption arc. 

She would hate that though.

She hated seeing Nick come out on top for anything.

Sourly, she spun on her heels and stalked out of the room, ignoring Archie’s concerned calls behind her. 

“Let her go,” She heard Elio say, “You know Frankie,” Elio added, using the nickname that he’d used for her back when they were friends in elementary school, which seemed like eons ago. 

“Yeah. I do know Ronnie,” Archie snapped, “She’s my girlfriend, bro.” 

Whatever the end of that conversation was, and frankly Veronica didn’t have the mental bandwidth to worry about it, she didn’t hear.

She shoved open the doors to the back playground, fighting back frustration and tears, and fury until she was safely out of range of anyone who might still have come looking for her. 

On one hand, Elio did know her, that sometimes she just needed a moment to cool down, and she’d snap at anyone who came after her.

But on the other, she wanted Archie to follow. She would probably snark if he did, and it wasn’t fair to hold something against him that he couldn’t possibly know when all her actions said otherwise, but fuck that. Archie should be chasing after her, offering her apologies to never speak to Nick or treat him like a reformed human again.

The sun was nearly setting and the swings had a perfect view of the day slipping away. She hadn’t realized that before. She’d barely come out here, finding the playground incredibly childish. Which was fair, since it was made for children, but hell, Veronica was nearly an adult. She didn’t have time to swing on monkey bars or throw herself down slides. She’d caught glimpse of some of the boys using it on occasion, and boys will be boys, she figured.

But now as she started to push herself on the swing set, a weird feeling bubbled within her, a sense she hadn’t felt in years. Not since she was very, very young.

It was rusty. It squeaked when she pushed her feet into the woodchips to careen herself higher and higher and part of her worried it would come down completely. Then she’d just be the bitch that broke the swing set.

Maybe she should!

She pushed off a bit harder, willing the old metal to crack under her weight.

“You okay?” 

Someone had come. 

It was her mother.

Great.

“I’m fine,” She mumbled in one word, “Just swinging.” 

“Veronica, I have known you all your life. I can tell when something’s bothering you.” 

Veronica slowed her swinging to a quiet sway. She thought about telling her mother about her feelings toward Nick. Some violent part of her hoped that if she admitted his villainous ways, he’d be kicked out of camp, and left for dead.

What stopped her was that when she asked herself if this is what she really wanted, to shove out three of the remaining humans in civilization (his parents would go with him, no doubt), what came back was a rasped, hungry, resounding ‘yes’.

And this part of her scared her, so she kept quiet. 

“I miss Dad.” 

She wasn’t sure where that came from, or how truthful it was, not until it was said. And maybe these two issues were not two separate islands, but one big landmass of fuckery that Veronica wasn’t sure how to untangle. She’d kill for a good shrink right now, but she doubted there were many still alive and for sure none here. 

She missed so much about him. She’d tried to shove it away, feel nothing, but that just made it worse. It made her anguish come out at midnight and she had to sob into her pillow to keep quiet.

She missed how proud her father was when she did even stupidly simple things. He had always been enchanted by anything she did. She missed their discussions on anything; politics, philosophy, The Kardashians, books, opera...they found avenues of discussion that she didn’t talk about with anyone else. She missed her father pouring her a good red wine with a wink and a ‘don’t tell your mother’ sort of smile as he helped her refine her wine palette. 

In trying to forget him entirely, it’s as though her brain was erasing the bad parts of him. And there were very bad parts. But still, at the end of the day, one singular fact remained and perhaps always would.

“I really, really miss him.” 

Hermione gave her daughter a sad, knowing smile.

“If you don’t think that I don’t think of him every day, well…” Hermione gave a quiet laugh, “I miss him too.” 

“But it was complicated, wasn’t it? With you and Fred and Daddy in jail…” She trailed off. 

“Of course it was. Finding out he was getting arrested and everything was taken away was one of the darkest days of my life. And I was so angry at him for so long. I had a crush back in high school on Fred Andrews. I think that was part of your father’s anger towards Archie. He saw so much of one of my earliest high school crushes in him.” 

“But you and Daddy were high school sweethearts, weren’t you?” Veronica asked, wanting to be sure she got her facts correct. Her mother had never talked so openly. Usually, Veronica felt she was just picking up crumbs, unable to piece the picture fully with what little either of her parents offered about anything too early for Veronica to remember or be around for. 

“Near the end of my senior year, and his. But we fought off and on all the time. And whenever we got into a fight, I went and flirted with Fred.” She gave a dry, angry laugh, “Shows you that I never really learned, huh? I guess I did the exact same thing when your dad was arrested.” She sat on a swing next to Veronica, as though contemplating this for the first time herself. 

“But I always loved him. You have to know that hate and love are so strong emotions. If you hate someone so much, you must also love them enough to have them get you so worked up, I think.” 

Veronica raised a dubious eyebrow at that. She hated Nick with the passion of a thousand suns, and that was the whole story. No affection. No love. 

But perhaps once there had been. Or, at least, once they’d been friends. But he’d ruined any chance of getting that back. 

But then she thought of Archie. He drove her crazy, but she only was driven crazy because she adored him entirely and completely. All her other boyfriends, when they blew her off or didn’t do something right, she just shrugged and let it roll off her shoulders. Her friends had ‘oohed’ at the self-restraint she had when an ex messed with her, but frankly, she had never liked anyone enough to care that they treated her like that.

“Yeah, maybe,” Veronica agreed slowly. 

“I just don’t want you to get it twisted. Two things are true; your father and I always loved each other, even when we wanted to kill one another, and he loved you more than anything. As do I.” She reached over, almost flinching away from taking her daughter’s hand, but grasped it tightly. The contact, when her mother had been so withholding of affection lately, caused Veronica to stifle tears. 

“Why does it sound like this is goodbye?” 

“It’s not. It’s just a reminder. Especially after Smithers,” Hermione glanced over to the sunset, “No one says it enough anymore. And I want to make sure that you know, without question, how special you are to me.” 

“Thanks, mom,” Veronica said with an edge, trying to sound sarcastic, but this actually was sincerely squeezing her heart and making her feel loved, safe, and comforted for a moment. Even just her mother’s light touch seemed to banish away the growing fears that had taken hold in the last few days and banish it, at least for a few moments. 

“Is that all?” 

Veronica gnawed on her lip, “How do you forgive?” 

It was veiled enough that maybe her mother thought she was referring to her father. Or, maybe her mother already knew, since she had eyes like a hawk and seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. 

“You either choose to right away, and stick with it, or you don’t, and you let them prove it to you. I think your father would have spent the rest of his time trying to prove to us that he was sorry. I really do. I think he would have come around to Archie. I think he would have bonded more with Dilton. I think, despite the fact your father only ever wanted one child, he would have ended up ‘adopting’ a handful more,” She said with a wry smile. 

“Is that how you feel? Like you adopted Josie? Or Dilton? Or Joaquin?” 

“Yes, and Elio, and Archie, and even Nick. It started out with just responsibility. I have to keep you all safe. But I always wanted many more children. And I just couldn’t get pregnant after you.” She looked to the sky, “I think I still got my wish. God comes to us in strange ways.” 

Some part of Veronica was relieved to hear her mother felt this way, especially because she was looking at everyone (besides Nick) as family. After all they went through? They were now bonded for life. 

“Dilton accidentally called you 'Mom' the other day,” Veronica said with a laugh at the memory, “he was so embarrassed, and it just slipped out.” 

She liked to watch her mother’s face brighten at this, “He’s a smart kiddo. My little brainiac of the bunch.” She said with a teasing wink. 

Their conversation lapsed into stupid things, but important things. Important in the sense that they just talked until it was dark and too dangerous to really be outside. She felt closer to her mother than perhaps she ever had.

And, as they walked in, Hermione threw her arm over Veronica’s shoulders and said, “You know you’ll always be my favorite biological child,” With a wicked, mischievous grin, Veronica felt like perhaps whatever bridge that they’d both burned with each other had been rebuilt.

And Veronica was almost fine with the fact that Archie never came to check up on her, nor was waiting in her room to see if she was okay.

August 1st, 2018

“So…how about that house?” 

Veronica looked up from the window of the car with a half-hearted sigh. She put her head back down, refusing to look at Archie.

“Jesus, are you going to fucking talk to me?” He said, slamming on the breaks. Veronica jolted forward to see him pause at a stop sign.

“You can just go, Archibald!” Veronica sputtered, furious over the smallest of things, “There are no other cars out here!” 

“Knee-jerk reaction. Sorry I was raised how to drive a car properly,” Archie muttered back, but she could see his face flush bright red at his slip-up, “So what, you’re only going to yell at me, then?” 

“Are you going to disavow Nick?” 

“No! We’ve talked about this, V. He apologized. He seems genuine.” 

“And you’re just gullible,” She said before she could stop herself. Archie’s face darkened.

“Hell, just tell me how you really feel,” He hissed, eyes narrowing as he drove the car down a side road. 

“I did,” She said, not wanting to hurt him more, but also wanting to dig this one in a bit, “Nick is a con artist. He has been forever. He’s saying exactly what he thinks you all want to hear and it’s fucking working.” 

“Elio seems convinced. And wouldn't he know?” 

“Elio is going through trauma. His head’s not on straight,” Veronica said weakly but realized Archie had a good point there, one that undermined her entire position. 

“Why can’t you just admit that you might have been wrong about him? Or that maybe a really big life-altering event actually changed someone for good?” Archie gave a long, tired sigh, looking at Veronica like this fight had already been going on for too long. Veronica thought not long enough, but that was another argument for another day. 

“Because-,” Veronica stopped herself and then shook her head. She wasn’t going to admit that she hated being wrong, even if Archie likely already knew. She also just hated Nick on sheer principle and if the apocalypse didn’t make you stick to your guns, what did?

“What about this one?” Archie asked, pointing to a cute little renovated barn house that looked cleaner than most. 

Veronica gave a ‘whatever’ shrug. She knew that this had been her mother’s version of an olive branch. She didn’t know about the inner drama revolving around Nick, so she had no idea that Veronica and Archie were fighting. She’d offered for the pair to go on a raid alone, likely thinking that this was a gift from god. And, if they were in a good place, it would have been. To be trusted alone, out from under the ever-seeing eyes of Hermione Lodge, where they could maybe find a place for a quickie (or three) and they could get first eyes on the good shit.

But Veronica was pissed at Archie and wasn’t even sure why she agreed. Cabin fever, perhaps, a bit. 

“I’m going in,” Archie said, grabbing the machete knife from the backseat, “Are you coming?” He asked in a dull, annoyed tone. 

“Go, leave,” Veronica dismissed, slouching further down into the seat. 

Archie pressed his lips together and then placed a gun on her lap, “Don’t be stupid,” He muttered, kissing her crown as he went into the house. The fact that he could put aside his frustration to worry and give her a kiss annoyed her even more. How dare he be the bigger person in this argument? 

This was a newly developed neighborhood. On one side were houses that had been built recently, new trees popping up in yards. On the other side was just flat land, as far as the eye could see. When this had been nothing, and no road underneath them, the little red barn in the distance was likely under the ownership of the farmhouse Archie had vanished into. 

Something out of the corner of her eye made Veronica slowly lift her head from the window.

Something darting around the edge of the barn, something fluffy and black.

Veronica was opening the car door before she knew what she was doing. She had a pause of something like sirens going off in her brain, but her curiosity won her over. She tucked a secondary knife into her bag just in case and darted across the street.

Her eyes had not deceived her. Running around the barn’s edge was a slick black cat, carrying a mouse back.

“Kitty!” Veronica coo’d, realizing that these cats had likely been feral barn cats before and were even more so now. The cat ran away with its catch, leaving Veronica feeling dejected. 

Just as she was turning to get back into the car, the cat came bounding up, purring and wrapping around her legs in a figure-eight. 

“Oh, hey there,” Veronica said, leaning down to pet it. As she brushed over the cat’s head and pelt, her fingers caught on a collar, “Hmm, did your humans vanish? I’m sorry,” She said. She read the name out loud: “Maize.” She laughed, yeah, that was for sure a barn-cat name. This had most likely been a semi-outdoor cat.

It was a concept that until Riverdale she hadn’t even considered. In New York City, cats were strictly indoor pets. It wasn’t until she arrived here and early on she’d found a cat wandering near the Pembrooke with a collar. It had belonged to Nancy Patel, she was pretty sure. She’d brought the cat back home, expecting tears and thank you’s, but Nancy had just shrugged, “Yeah, that’s a bit out of her range, but she would have eventually come home.” Apparently, it was not unusual for the Patel’s cat to leave for several days and return home at will. 

She went to pick Maize up but the cat leaped from her arms. She pouted. She supposed she shouldn’t have gotten too excited. 

She looked back at the house and at the barn. 

She really, really wanted someone else to talk to that was non-human. She’d begged her mom for a dog for ages. And sure, this wasn’t a dog, but this was a pretty cute cat.

“Maize?” She called opening the barn door. It had been fairly well closed; no Cannibals to be seen. The smell of manure was overwhelming, but not surprising. Veronica adjusted to the dimness of the barn and let out a sound halfway between a cry and a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.” 

There was a meow at her feet and Maize was back, twirling around her legs. She seemed to be herding Veronica towards something; a pen in the back where Veronica understood.

“Babies!” She said, looking at the tiny squirming balls of fuzz, “Actual kittens! Of course, we’re not leaving them,” Veronica said, scratching under Maize’s chin. She counted once and then twice and thrice. 

Seven kittens. The exact number of teens holed up at the school. It seemed like it was meant to be, she figured. A kitten for each. She wondered if others would enjoy having a cat to talk to as well. 

She found a box in the hayloft and carefully loaded it with soft hay. Maize let out confused meows as Veronica carefully transferred the kittens, probably about a month old, into the box, but seemed to understand that Veronica was not going to hurt them. 

By the time Veronica got to the car, Archie was frantically whispering her name as loud as he could, for shouting it loudly could draw unwanted attention.

“Archie!” She said proudly. Archie spun around, relief painting his face. He rushed over, grasping her.

“Don’t scare me like that! God, I thought you were dead, V,” He said, and for a second, even she forgot they were fighting. He was so relieved she wasn’t dead that it took him a few moments to register what she was holding.

“Kittens?” He asked, his whole face lighting up. 

“And a mama. Look at them!” She squealed, “I would die for all of them already.” She said jokingly, but also semi-seriously. 

“Wow, what a find!” Archie blinked, “I guess that mice are just having a field day here, so yeah, a cat probably eats fairly well.” 

“That’s not all I found.” Veronica settled the mom and kittens into the car, “I think we might need a bigger car, though.” 

“Why?” Archie asked as he reluctantly left the kittens to follow Veronica.

She led him to the barn and proudly pointed inside.

“Somehow, all these buddies have survived too. Who knows? They might be the last ones left.” She said with a tall smile. 

Archie let out a string of shocked swear words as he stared into the bleating faces of horses, goats, pigs, sheep, and chickens.

Chapter Text

August 2nd, 2018

“When were you coming by with my god-sanctioned gift?” 

Veronica’s neck bristled as she spun around, narrowing her eyes at Nick lounging in her door frame, crossing his arms.

“I haven’t. Take a hint,” She said, enunciating each syllable with more force than necessary. 

“Oh, come on, Lodge,” Nick said, “I’ve seen everyone else parade their kittens around all damn day. I heard what Archie said. Seven. One for each of us. You’re really not going to give me the last one?” 

Veronica stood protectively in front of the cage that held the Mom and all the little kittens, who still needed their mother’s milk, but everyone else had claimed their cat already. 

“Absolutely. I don’t know if I can trust you with an animal,” She said through her teeth, “You might skin it or something.” 

“Woah! Woah!” Nick looked alarmed, even deeply wounded, “I may have done thousands of shitty things but I’m not an animal abuser. Jesus, Veronica!” 

“Oh, so raping girls is okay, but you draw the line at kicking a cat? Interesting. Says a lot about you?” 

“Would you prefer me to admit I killed puppies in my spare time?” Nick asked, laughing, incredulously at her. 

“Maybe!” Veronica shot back, “So that I could just boot you out with a good reason to not give you one of these little angels!” 

Nick clicked his tongue, “That’s it, huh? You need a reason to keep hating me. And you don’t anymore. And no one else agrees with you.” 

“I don’t need a reason,” Veronica said, forcing a sickly sweet smile, “You can’t stay good. You just can’t. It’s not in your DNA. Eventually, you’ll slip up. Do something awful. And I’ll just be here, waiting, to be saying ‘I Told You So’ to everyone.” 

“Joke's on you, Lodge,” Nick said, trying to dart around her to catch a glance at the kittens, “I live on spite. Now that you’ve said that…I’m gunna be the most upstanding citizen you’ve ever met.” 

“Or how about we’re good people because we’re good people?” Veronica asked, moving so that he was blocked at every turn. Nick shrugged.

“I heard someone say that you just fake it till you make it. And somewhere, it becomes reality. So if I pretend I’m a reformed person, which I do want to be,” He was quick to confirm, “One day it’ll be true. And you’ll look so foolish and jaded. And that’s pretty much worth it.” 

“Get the hell out,” Veronica hissed. 

Nick raised his hands, “Fine, fine. Keep denying me my pet. No one will agree with you. I’ll wait until he’s old enough to leave his mom. I’m patient.” 

“How about never.” 

“You Lodges…” Nick sighed as he left, “So…black and white about things. It amazes me. But I know you. Does everyone else?” He asked.

“Stop it, Nick! I don’t believe you. You don’t change. I don’t accept your apologies or promise or whatever the hell you’re doing, and you’re never going to get a cat! God!” 

Nick only snickered, as though her explosion was something amusing. 

“Sure, Lodge, keep it up. Everyone else has accepted me…see how popular you are when you dig your feet in like a child.” 

Veronica wanted to scream after he left. She wanted to throw her ceramic mug against the wall. 

Instead, she pulled on her rain boots and stomped outside to brush down the horses.

Being a girl of high pedigree, she’d ridden horses as a child, like most trust-money babies did. So, she actually had knowledge of how to care for one.

Bringing back a whole barrel of farm animals had made her a hero in the eyes of everyone. Even if they weren’t killing the animals for meat (yet), having horses meant transportation for when cars ran out. Having chickens meant eggs. Having pigs eventually meant bacon. Having goats meant goat milk.

It was nothing short of a miracle. 

The middle courtyard was now a pasture. Veronica had expected Nick’s parents to bemoan the spell of manure, but they’d blessed the ground the animals had walked on.

The pigs were turning out to be the real stars of the show. 

Pigs ate everything.

Including Cannibals.

Yard looking a bit gross and gothic with bodies of dead Cannibals dropped everywhere? Haul a few into a wheelbarrow and feed your pigs for the next few days!

They were fine…so far. 

She was pretty sure swine had eaten far grosser things in history.

If it wasn’t the most disgusting thing Veronica had ever seen, she would probably be slap-happy at the revelation.

There was a sharp meow from her pocket. Her chosen kitten, a little cream girl with puffy fur named Zelda, went with her everywhere. Luckily, she was the size that she could pop her into her pocket and carry her around like a Pokémon. 

She remembered Archie’s face lighting up, “Like the video game?” He’d asked, eager.

“No,” Veronica had winced, “Like the Fitzgerald.” 

Archie blinked. She knew they’d been assigned The Great Gatsby, but she reckoned he’d never actually read it.

It didn’t matter - Archie was insisting he knew what the real name of her cat was from, wink-wink, and if it made him happy…well, did it matter? 

As she ruffled the fur on Zelda’s head, she understood the allure of therapy animals. Staring into the tiny powder puff of a cat in her pocket, her anger was already starting to dissipate.

Doing some hard work of brushing out the horses would ease her back to normal levels. 

She tried to pretend that she didn’t notice the other teenagers see her and turn right around, avoiding her entirely. 

August 4th, 2018

“Oh my god! Look, my cat smiled at me!” 

“It’s a cat, Andrews,” Joaquin snorted, playing with his kitten with a piece of string, “They don’t smile.” 

“Well, mine does!” Archie sputtered indignantly, “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous that he got the runt,” Archie said, petting his cat gingerly, glaring over the fluffy head of his kitten. 

“I picked this one! I had second dibs!” Joaquin argued, which was true. He’d helped them unload, so after Archie, Veronica had let him pick neck. And he’d gone for the small, tiny, wispy gray thing that looked more like a dust bunny than a cat. 

“Don’t listen to him, Banjo,” Archie said, “I know you smiled at me.”

Veronica sat on her couch, watching Archie and Joaquin play. All the teenagers were eager to take their kitten for real, but they all understood that they were young. Luckily, it seemed all seven would make it. 

Veronica petted Maize. She didn’t want the Mom to feel left out either. After the kittens were weaned, she was sure one of the adults might want her. Maybe her own mother? 

Joaquin checked his watch, “Shit. I gotta go. I’m on guard duty.” He picked up Moth, kissing her nose, “I’ll be back tomorrow!” He promised. It did warm Veronica’s heart that all these teens just turned into mush around small cats.

So far, Archie and Joaquin were the only ones not on her shit-list, as everyone else had tried to plead the case that Nick should be allowed visitation rights like the rest of them. 

Joaquin was too smart to get involved, and Archie…well, Archie couldn’t disagree with her, right? 

Oh, Archie…Archie…

“Should we do a date night tomorrow?” Veronica asked, putting some color in her voice. 

Archie shrugged, “And do what?” His response was a bit sharper than she would have liked.

“I don’t know, I…” She furrowed her brow, “I mean, anything.” 

She hadn’t expected him to be unsure. She had expected an enthusiastic ‘yes’. 

Archie swallowed, “I guess.” 

She sat upright, locking her jaw, “I guess?” She snapped furiously, “Oh, I’m such a chore?” 

“I never said that!” Archie immediately countered, “Don’t go putting words in my mouth!” 

“But you meant it,” Veronica hissed, getting up and grabbing Banjo. Archie’s kitten mewed to be taken away from his favorite human. 

“I didn’t! God, don’t be so…” 

Veronica spun icily, “So what, Archibald?” 

Archie stood, angry. He opened his mouth and then snapped his jaw closed again, “Never mind. Not worth it. If you want to do something-,” 

“Oh, no,” Veronica sneered, “I wouldn’t ever make you want to do something so unbearable.” 

“Of course I want to spend time with you,” Archie mumbled, but his voice was quiet, withdrawn.

“But?”

Archie looked up, swallowing back words she was sure would piss her off, all over again. 

“Whatever, you know?” He whispered, looking pained, shrugging, “Just whatever, I guess.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll find you tomorrow.” 

Veronica harrumphed, turning away from the door.

August 5th, 2018

There was laughter from the cafeteria. 

Veronica was coming in from taking care of the horses, muddy and disgusting. She frowned, confused, and came upon the teenagers playing Monopoly. 

Veronica didn’t know what to say; everyone was there. Even Archie. Even Nick. She just stared, sure that there must be some grand mistake in not inviting her. She was great at this game!

She was caught in the silence, mouth forming some sharp intonation, but Elio turned.

“Veronica-,” His voice cut off. He seemed guilty.

Good, he should! 

She didn’t want to beg to be allowed to play. She wanted to be invited. 

“I see you’re all playing…well, some stupid board game, hmm?” She said, feigning disinterest. There was a long moment when no one spoke. Not a rush for an apology, not a half-hearted excuse.

Nothing.

“You really trust him to play?” She added, jabbing a finger at Nick.

“Darling,” Nick said with a wide, sleazy grin, “I’m fantastic at Monomply.” 

She bit the inside of her cheek. Of course, he was.

She looked at Archie, waiting for him to leap to defend her honor. But he stared at the board like he was frantically calculating his path to winning. 

“I mean, we can add someone else…” Joaquin piped up, “You’ll start from behind, but I know you’ll make up the time.” He added with a chuckle.

She watched the way everyone flinched.

Veronica’s smile was icy, “Oh, no, don’t inconvenience yourself on my account. I didn’t want to play anyway.” 

Then, she turned on her heels, swallowing back tears.

She waited for Archie to run to follow her. To console her. To pet her hair, even if she pretended she hated it.

He didn’t.

August 8th, 2018

Veronica would like to say that this… occurrence was a one-off thing. But she began to notice that little groups were forming without her invitation. Excluding her. When she asked Archie about it, he got red and told her that he didn’t see it happening. Whether he was sworn to secrecy or lying, she wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter. Veronica was above hanging out with children. She had jobs to do. She was important. She was valued. She had much better ways to spend her time than insipid board games or stupid dares, you know? 

Besides, they all came crawling to her to see their pets, so who really had the upper hand? 

As August burned into the sky, just as hot as the summer before it, Veronica spent most of her time outside. One day, she glanced up to see a commotion over by a grassy knoll. 

She dropped her saddle brush.

“What’s going on?” She asked, coming up behind the group.

Josie was bright red, but grinning like a loon. The smile on her face was so dumb looking. And Dilton looked somewhere between smug and caught in disbelief. It didn’t register, not at all, the connection between the two, until Josie caught her infectious giggles.

“I guess…we’re…I mean, it’s dumb,” She hid a smile behind her fingers. She was not usually so stumbling for words, “We’re ‘hard-launching’ our relationship, I guess you could say.” 

Veronica blinked, “Who?” 

“Us,” Dilton said, grinning up at Josie, batting his eyelashes at her like she was a goddess. She blushed at his gaze. 

Everyone else was congratulating them. 

The world must truly have gone mad…

Veronica stared, scowling at their conjoined fingers. Josie followed her gaze, locking her jaw. 

“I told you guys that it wasn’t worth telling her,” She hissed angrily. 

“I just…” Veronica gave a humorless laugh. “I’m surprised.” 

“Sure,” Joaquin agreed uneasily, “But it’s great, isn’t it?” 

Veronica met him with a level, humored expression, “Is it?” She echoed, “I just think it’s stupid. I mean, Josie would have never given him a second look at Riverdale High-” 

“What’s it to you, Lodge?” Dilton jumped up, shaking with anger, “Why do you care? Can’t help seeing other people happy?” 

Veronica almost stepped back, stung, but held her ground. Dilton was nothing . Lucky to be here. Lucky to still be alive and not reanimated goo in Pop’s. 

“I’m just concerned that maybe Josie’s gone insane.” 

“Fuck you, Veronica,” Josie said hotly, crossing her arms, “I don’t care if you think it’s unbelievable. We’re happy, so you can take your shitty mood the hell away from us!” 

“Is that really how you want to talk to me?” Veronica snapped, taking two steps toward her, “Your savior? The person who fought to keep you alive? You should be thanking me!” 

“Thanking you?” Josie gave a dry huff. “Girl, we barely want to talk to you! You’ve been in a shit mood for god knows why for weeks! We’re all walking on eggshells, but I’m done,” She rubbed her eyes, “I’m just so done with it. I’m happy, and I won’t let you ruin it.” Josie said, pressing a hand against Veronica and pushing slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make a motion. 

Veronica stepped back.

“Is that how you all feel?” She asked with a low, furious whisper.

Everyone, even Archie, looked at the ground.

At least they’re scared of you. As they should be. 

It was her dad’s voice in the back of her head.

Veronica turned, about to leave. She knew when she was unwanted somewhere. But at the last moment, she turned toward Josie. Josie met her gaze, as though expecting an apology.

Lodges didn’t say ‘sorry’. 

“Not many options at the end of the world, huh? But you ought to forgive yourself; you can’t help it if you’re a horny slu-”

Her words cut off with an echoing slap. She stared in horror for a moment, jaw unhinged, as she stared at Josie, who was puffed up over her.

“Finish those words, Lodge,” She spat through her teeth, “And I’ll end you.” 

Veronica ghosted her palm where Josie had slapped her, like she was reenacting the moment. She blinked, twice, her eyes filling with tears - at the audacity of it - before she turned and stalked back to her room.

“Vee!” 

Archie had followed her.

Finally.

“Can you believe that bitch?” Veronica said, sucking in gulps of air, trying not to cry, “Jesus, she’s so going to regret that-,” 

“Why’d you have to be like that?” Archie snapped, and at first, she was confused. He didn’t seem like his tone was comforting. It was furious. She broke off, staring up at him.

Oh, he was angry.

“What?” She echoed, confused. 

“Why can’t you just be fucking happy for them? You crossed a line, V!” 

“Me?” Veronica sputtered, “Me?” Her pitch rose, “Josie is one who slapped me!” 

“Because you egged her on! It’s like you wanted this to happen!” Archie yelled, throwing his arms out. 

“I didn’t want her to slap me, of course not!” 

“But she’s right, isn’t she? You want everyone to be just as miserable as you are?” Archie accused. 

Veronica saw red. She turned on her heels, throwing Archie the middle finger, “You can say goodbye to your kitten, Andrews!” She hissed. 

“Like…today? Or-” Archie’s eyes widened as he caught up with her.

“Forever! None of you are fit.” Veronica said, “Tell the others.” 

“What?” Archie shook his head, “No, you can’t do that! Banjo is bonded ot me!” 

“I can and I will. I hope you’re all happy with yourselves.” 

Archie ground his teeth, “This isn’t going to make you more popular or bring you what you think it will.” 

Veronica met his expression, furious, “You barely talk to me lately? How would you know a thing about what I do or don’t want?” 

Then, she slammed her door and locked it, leaving Archie in the hallway.

Chapter Text

August 10th, 2018

The heat came in waves, despite the concrete bones of the school trying to hold it at bay. Veronica lay stretched across the floor of what used to be a music classroom, one arm thrown over her face, the other idly tracing cracks in the linoleum. The piano had long since been looted for firewood (though Josie could still play a few discordant notes from it), and only a few broken chairs remained. It suited her.

Outside, someone was hammering. She didn’t care who.

The days had started blending into each other—July into August, heat into sweat, grief into guilt.

August tenth loomed over her like an opening jaw of a beast.

She hadn’t said it aloud, hadn’t told a soul. But she’d known the date today even without checking. It felt like it was scratching at her insides like a splinter under skin.

Betty's birthday.

Betty was seventeen.

Would be. God.

Veronica exhaled slowly, hoping her breath could press the thought down, bury it under everything else she didn’t want to think about.

“Ronnie?” Joaquin’s voice floated through the cracked door.

She didn’t move. Maybe if she played dead, he’d go away. But no—his footsteps came in gentle, familiar rhythm, the same way he always approached when she was like this. He crouched near her shoulder.

“I brought water,” he said. “It’s cold. Kind of.”

Still, no response.

Joaquin waited a beat, then sighed. “You’ve been in here for hours. People are talking, V.”

She let her arm slide off her eyes. “Let them.”

“They’re saying you’re slipping.”

She stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe I am.”

He held the water out anyway. She took it, but didn’t drink. Just turned the bottle over and over in her hands. She wondered where he dug this up; water bottles were all but looted these days. Where had he been hiding this, and how pitiful must she seem that he'd sacrifice one for her sake? She didn't feel special or loved, just pitied and judged. 

“Joaquin, do you think I made the right choice?” she asked suddenly.

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Back when everything started. Back in Riverdale. When I had to choose...Archie or Betty.” She didn’t say ' and I picked him' . She didn’t have to. The shame sat unspoken between them.

“I think… it wasn’t a choice anyone should’ve had to make.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He hesitated. “I think Betty would’ve picked you.”

Veronica looked at him sharply, something splintering in her chest.

She stood. “I shouldn’t have asked you. Jesus, fuck, you never liked Archie anyway.” She accused. 

“Ronnie-”

“No,” she snapped, voice brittle, too loud in the empty room. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me, okay? I let you into this group when no one else would. I don’t need pity right now. I don't need a Serpent to think that I'm less than he is." 

To Joaquin's credit, he didn't rise to her barb, just crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes with worry as he exhaled. 

“That’s not what this is.”

Silence.

She regretted it instantly. But regret didn’t stop the next words from coming.

“I think you should stop trying to fix me. You’re not him , Joaquin. And I'm not Kevin.”

A beat, then a breath.

Then, softly: “I know I’m not Archie.” Then, he snorted, "And you're sure as hell not him. Jesus fuck."  That wasn’t what she meant. And she hated how kind he still sounded. If she were him, in his shoes, she wouldn't take this abuse. She'd be snarling back in their face, seconds away from slapping the skin off. 

The fact that he was being so goddamn permissive of her attitude made her all the angrier. Where were the volatile, dangerous Serpents she'd always heard about? The person who would go toe-to-toe with her in a swinging of fists, just to bleed away whatever the fuck was wrong with her? 

“Just leave.”

He stood there for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. But when you figure out you don’t want to be alone… I’ll still be around.”

He left without slamming the door. Veronica sat back down slowly, pressing the water bottle to her chest like it could cool the ache rising there.

She didn’t cry. But something in her cracked, quiet and sharp, just under the ribs.

Happy birthday, Betty.

XXX

The sky outside had turned the color of bruised grapes, deep and sullen. The hum of a generator sputtered through the hallway, and somewhere distant, someone was laughing, but not in a happy way. Nothing was happy these days.

Veronica sat alone at one of the metal lunch tables in the old school cafeteria, picking at a stale granola bar like it might explode. The air smelled faintly of canned corn and bleach.

“Hey,” Archie said softly from the doorway.

She didn’t look up.

“I thought you might be here.”

Still nothing.

He walked over anyway and slid a canteen toward her across the table. “It’s that tea Josie made. The weird chamomile-mint-apple stuff. Thought you might like it.”

She didn’t touch it.

Archie scratched the back of his neck. “Today’s… you know it’s Betty’s birthday.”

Her eyes flicked up at him, sharp as shattered glass. She felt a curl of fury in her stomach, as though she wouldn’t have remembered, wouldn’t be mourning the day itself. “Thanks. I totally forgot.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You sure?”

“I thought… I don’t know. Maybe we could talk about her. Light a candle or something. Just… remember.”

Veronica stared at him, her jaw tightening. “You want to celebrate her birthday?”

“No. Not celebrate. Just… honor her. She deserves that. You both do.”

“Right. Because she’s dead and I’m barely tolerable .”

Archie sighed. “That’s not...stop putting words in my mouth. I didn't say that.”

“God, you never say what you mean,” she snapped, standing abruptly. Her chair screeched behind her, the sound jagged. “You want to talk about Betty? Fine. Let’s talk. You think about her all the time, don’t you?”

Archie blinked. “Ronnie, what are you talking about?”

“You wish you had gone with her.”

“What? No, I-”

“You do . You probably think she’d be handling all this with grace and optimism and… God, ponytails or whatever.” She paced, furious now, emotions spiraling too fast to catch. “She’d probably be friends with everyone and helping build the fort and mending relationships and baking morale-boosting bread and—”

“Veronica—”

“She’s Betty . And I’m… I’m just the rich bitch with an attitude and a dead dad.”

His voice was quiet. “You’re not just anything.”

She turned, eyes burning. “Do you love her?”

The question punched the air from the room.

Archie’s face twisted, pained. “What do you want me to say? Anything I do, you’ll just twist! Seriously, what do you want from me, Vee?”

“Nothing,” she said coldly. “You already answered.”

“That’s not fair. Fuck; I mean, I love her, but like a sister!” he shot back, stepping toward her. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you push everyone away, pick fights like it’s some kind of armor? We lost people, too, Ronnie. We’re all grieving. But some of us are making the best of it.”

“I’m not grieving, I’m drowning ,” she snapped. “And you don’t care unless it’s quiet or pretty or manageable.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is,” she said. “Otherwise, you'd let me be angry or upset. And you’re done pretending otherwise.”

"Jesus, yeah, I should just let you be an absolute cunt to everyone, should I?" Then, he started back, "Fuck, I mean, I didn't mean that." 

"Yeah, you did," Veronica said, almost humored by it. 

They stared at each other. Years of history between them. All of it unraveling like a thread from a worn sweater.

Archie’s voice was low. “Maybe we’re just not good for each other anymore.”

Veronica laughed bitterly. “ Anymore ?”

He took a breath. “This… us… I think it’s over. For real.”

She nodded once. “Yeah. I think it’s been over.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. He just walked away.

Veronica stood alone in the cafeteria, the tea untouched beside her. She didn’t cry. She just felt… hollow, like someone had scooped the insides out of her and left the shell behind.

And somewhere in the distance, a single candle lit by Archie flickered in a windowsill. A silent, stubborn reminder of a birthday no one knew how to celebrate.

XXX

The library was the only place that still smelled the way it used to. Paper, dust, plastic-covered jackets. Old air, her mother said.

Veronica slipped inside and locked the door behind her. The windows had long been boarded up, but moonlight cut through a crack high near the ceiling, casting a silver line across the rug like a knife.

She sank to the floor beside a warped bookcase and pulled her knees to her chest, forehead pressed against them. Her fingers ached from clenching. Her chest hurt in that hollow, stretched-thin way that meant grief was coming on like a fever.

She rocked gently. Just to feel something.

And then, like some cruel joke, something fell with a papery thud beside her.

A book.

She looked down.

Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock.

Veronica let out a strangled sound, part laugh, part sob, and snatched it up. The blue cover, the yellowed edges. Just the kind of thing Betty would devour and lend her with wide eyes and careful instructions not to dog-ear the pages.

She held it to her chest.

“No,” she whispered.

This wasn’t a sign. This wasn’t providence. This was mockery. A cruel God above was kicking her when she was already down. 

“She’s dead,” Veronica choked. “God- she’s dead. ”

And then something inside her snapped.

With a guttural sob, she ripped the book in half, paper shredding with the vicious sound of dry leaves. She tore and clawed at it like it could bleed, like it could hurt the way she was hurting.

But the instant it was done, she gasped, horrified.

“No. No, no, no…”

She cradled the torn halves to her chest, trying to smooth the bent pages, reattach the spine with trembling fingers. She kissed the corner of a ripped page, as if that could undo it.

She was still kneeling there, murmuring apologies to the book like a penitent child, when a voice drawled behind her:

“Well, that’s one way to process.”

She stiffened.

Nick St. Clair stood in the doorway she hadn’t even heard open, leaning casually against the frame, hands in the pockets of his too-clean jacket. She had thought she had locked it, but maybe...maybe not. 

“Go away,” she muttered, refusing to look at him.

He didn’t.

“Didn’t peg you for the book-ripping type.”

She hugged the ruined novel closer, still staring at the carpet.

Nick stepped closer, slow and quiet, until his shadow crossed hers.

“You want a punching bag, V?” he said. “You’re looking at one.”

That did it.

She stood too fast, too close, and shoved him hard in the chest.

“You’re always right there , aren’t you? Just waiting. You don’t even like me.”

Nick barely moved. “Didn’t say I did.”

“Then what do you want?” she spat. “You want to prove you’re good now? That you changed? You think a little radio maintenance and group gardening gets you forgiveness?”

“No,” he said, and for once his voice lost its smugness. “I just… I’m not that guy anymore.”

“Well, I am this girl,” she hissed. “The one who tears books and pushes away the only people who care. So maybe you should just go.”

Nick tilted his head. “You sure?”

She wasn’t. She didn’t know anything anymore.

And that was when she kissed him.

Fierce and desperate and furious.

It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t romantic. It was punishment - for him, for her, for the aching world around them.

Nick kissed her back. And he didn't stop her, not when she pushed him to the floor. Not when she yanked his pants down. Not when she pressed her hand against his mouth, stifling his moans, so no one found them.

Because, of course, he did.

He always would, wouldn’t he?

Chapter Text

November 15th, 2018

The first frost came in like a betrayal.

It crept across the windows of the schoolhouse in spider-vein patterns, crystallizing the last drops of autumn into silence. Breath turned to fog. Fingers stiffened against metal. Even the sun seemed to come later now, more reluctant to rise, like it too was tired of pretending this world still turned.

Veronica had stopped sleeping inside weeks ago.

Earlier on, they'd built a barn for the animals out of an old service shed, because of course, the farm animals needed an actual place to live, not just shoved into a classroom filled with hay. It had been built from August to early October, and for a long time, it had been what Veronica had focused on. Everyone, actually. Any hurt feelings were numbed by the hard work of building the barn.

But now the barn was built. 

She’d taken up a makeshift cot in the barn, tucked in the hayloft beneath wool blankets and old coats. When the wind cut through the wooden slats, she didn’t flinch. When the horses nickered in the dark, she whispered back to them. It was warmer in here, somehow, not in temperature, but in meaning.

She was the one who found them. A miracle at the end of the world.

She remembered how everyone had crowned her so superior after she’d dragged them back, before everyone turned on her. That celebrity had felt almost like before.

But that had faded.

The animals stayed. The stares didn’t.

So she’d claimed them. Hers . Her purpose. Her penance.

Veronica Lodge had never once picked up a textbook without a grade in mind. But now she hunched over brittle farm manuals and laminated vet guides like they held scripture. She underlined sections in red. Highlighted in yellow. Wrote notes in the margins with a cracked pencil. Words like mastitis , colic , and parturition began to roll off her tongue like a second language.

When the lambs bleated too long, she knew what herbs might soothe their bellies.

When the stallion limped on a sharp stone, she scrubbed his hooves clean with trembling hands, whispering apologies.

She fed the pigs early, before the sun came up, humming tunelessly. She bundled straw for the nesting chickens and shooed away Nick’s father when he got too close, claiming he “spooked them.”

(He didn’t. But she didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone. )

She missed Joaquin. She hadn’t said a word to him in three weeks.

She missed her mother, too, but any time Hermione tried to speak to her, Veronica’s words came out like knives. They circled one another now, cautiously, like women standing on different sides of a family grave.

She missed Archie, and that was the worst of all.

Because he was still right there. Still fixing doors. Still helping Josie map solar panel placement. Still not hers.

She hated Nick. For still trying. For still looking at her like she hadn’t used him. Like maybe he could be the person he claimed to be.

She hated herself more.

And so she fed the animals. She whispered their names like a prayer. She worked herself to exhaustion. And when someone passed through the barn, calling her name — Josie, or Hermione, or even Archie — she let the sound drift past like wind through the rafters.

The animals didn’t ask anything of her but care.

They didn’t judge her silence.

They didn’t love her out of pity.

They just… needed her.

And that was the only thing that made her feel real anymore.

November 20th, 2018

The sun had barely crested the icy hills when Hermione found her daughter in the barn, elbow-deep in feed. Frost crunched under her boots as she stepped inside, the scent of hay and manure clinging to the walls. Veronica didn’t look up.

“I figured I’d find you here,” Hermione said softly.

Veronica kept scooping, metal scraping against the bottom of the bin. “Congratulations. You’ve cracked the case.”

Hermione exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. She stepped forward, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “Vee. We haven’t really talked. Not since…” she trailed off, but didn’t finish the sentence. Not since everything .

Veronica dumped the feed into the pig trough, the motion sharp and too loud in the quiet. “Maybe we haven’t needed to.”

“You think I don’t notice you isolating?” Hermione asked. “I know you better than that.”

“No, you don’t,” Veronica snapped, finally turning. Her eyes were glassy, ringed with sleepless shadows. “You know version one . The straight-A, pearl-wearing, speech-giving, daddy’s-perfect-girl version of me. That girl is dead. And I think she died right alongside Daddy.”

Hermione flinched, but said nothing.

Veronica pushed forward, sharper now. “You’ve all adapted. Josie’s building solar panels. Archie’s fixed the school like he’s Bob the Builder. Dilton is the town genius, and even Nick fucking St. Clair has wormed his way into everyone’s good graces. And me?” She gestured broadly to the animals. “I read manuals now. I talk to pigs.”

“You’ve always been capable of—”

“No, Mom,” she cut in, her voice rising. “I’ve always been charming . Useful in a cocktail party hostess sort of way. I’m not Josie. I’m not Betty. I’m not good in a crisis. I was meant to host galas and get into Ivy Leagues and marry someone important, not... not shovel shit and w atch everyone leave me behind . ”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Sweetheart, you’re not left behind. You’re grieving.”

Veronica let out a brittle laugh. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” Hermione said gently. “I just— I miss you. I want my daughter back.”

“I don’t want to be pitied , ” Veronica spat, stepping back as Hermione approached. “I want to be important again. Respected. Not this… extra body everyone tolerates because they remember who I used to be. Tolerates because they can't fucking kick me out, because you're our leader, but, God, I see it on their faces that they wish they could—”

Hermione didn’t reply. She only stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and wrapped her arms around her daughter before Veronica could twist away.

Veronica froze.

Her hands hung in the air. Her face was a mask of rage and shame and heartbreak.

Hermione held her tighter.

“I don’t care if you hate me right now,” she whispered. “You’re still mine.”

Veronica didn’t hug her back.

But she didn’t pull away either.

November 24th, 2018

They were calling it a feast.

Veronica could hear the laughter from the cafeteria echoing all the way to the barn, muffled by the bitter Wyoming wind. The building, once a middle school teeming with the chaos of adolescence, now held candles in the windows and voices raised in joy as if the world hadn’t ended. As if giving thanks was something that still made sense.

She didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to see Josie pouring cider, or Hermione cutting into rabbit like it was turkey, or Nick charming everyone like he hadn’t—

The thought curdled in her stomach.

Earlier that day, Dilton had come into the barn with his sleeves rolled up and a determined look in his eyes.

“We need one of the pigs,” he said simply, holding a blade that glinted in the low light.

Veronica had stood between him and the pen like a stone wall.

“No,” she said.

“It’s for the group,” he explained. “It’s time. That’s what livestock is . You know that.”

“No.” Her voice had gone flatter. Sharper. “You want meat? Go hunt.”

“They’re animals , Veronica. Not pets.”

“They’re mine,” she said. “And I won’t let you touch them.”

Dilton had looked at her then,  truly looked, and something dark and fed-up passed across his face. “You’re just desperate to have something that doesn’t hate you.”

He stormed out. She didn’t follow. She couldn’t.

Later, she heard through the grapevine that Josie and Nick had brought in rabbits. Dilton didn’t come near the barn again.

As night fell, Veronica stayed curled in the hayloft, arms around Zelda. She told herself she wasn’t hungry. That she didn’t care.

The growl of her stomach betrayed her.

She waited for the quiet. She waited for the laughter to fade. Then, curiosity and instinct drew her to the schoolyard like a thread through the needle.

There was a plate on the swing beside him. The steam was still rising from the potatoes. Archie didn’t look over as she approached. He just kept rocking gently, watching the clouds breathe over the moon.

She didn’t speak, just slid into the other swing.

She picked at the plate. Ate. She was starving.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Archie said quietly after a long stretch.

“I didn’t,” she said pointedly. “I came here.”

Here, this in-between, a neutral ground. Switzerland, she liked to think, where she'd crossed paths with her former friends once or twice and neither bore arms. They just let the other one go. 

He nodded. “Fair.”

They swung in silence.

“You know,” Archie started, voice quiet, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Loving you.”

Veronica froze mid-bite.

Archie stared ahead, eyes on the dark horizon.

“It’s not romantic or perfect or even smart. But it’s real. I think I’m… always in orbit around you. It’s just gravity, Vee. It’s pull.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he added.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said sharply, biting down hard on a piece of rabbit.

He flinched.

“I’m not ready to forgive you,” she said, almost spitting it. “And I don’t want your orbit. I want to be my own center of gravity.”

Archie nodded again, but this time it looked like it hurt.

“Okay.”

She dropped the empty plate on the ground and stood up.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “For the food.”

He didn’t watch her walk away. His eyes still scanned the horizon like he was waiting for a shooting star. 

She didn’t cry until she got back to the barn.

Chapter Text

December 11th, 2018

The air in the barn bit sharper than usual, cold enough that her breath fogged in front of her face the moment she sat up. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and listened. Not a single voice outside. Not a single step.

Good, she told herself. No one remembered.

She lay back in the hay and stared up at the rafters, arms crossed.

She didn’t want them to remember, not after everything.

Except… she did. God, she did.

A birthday in Riverdale would have started with a mirror selfie, the kind with perfect lighting and a caption that didn’t try too hard. Betty would’ve brought her coffee — real coffee, not the bitter survival stuff they drank now — and a chocolate chip muffin with a pink candle shoved into it, and maybe a blossom of frosting if she had enough time. Jughead would’ve rolled his eyes but probably would’ve said something sarcastically sweet, if only to make Betty laugh.

On this imaginary day, they were all still seventeen. The lights still worked. People smiled at school. Maybe she wore a little tiara as a joke, or maybe she wore it and took it off when Jughead made a joke about it — it didn’t matter. Everyone remembered. She was Veronica Lodge, and people didn’t forget her birthday.

But here?

She blinked at the rafters again.

—It’s a Friday.

Riverdale High glows in the early winter sun, crisp and clean like a CW setpiece. Veronica struts down the hallway in heeled boots, black and bold, her long coat swinging behind her. Her locker is decked out in pink foil wrapping paper, courtesy of Betty, and a paper crown waits inside.

“ Your birthday demands a throne,” reads the Post-it note stuck to it.

Betty is waiting at the end of the hallway, hands wrapped around a coffee cup from Pop’s. “It’s barely lukewarm,” she says with an apologetic smile, “but it’s got three pumps of caramel, on the house, and I threatened the barista for you.”

Veronica takes it with a laugh and links her arm through Betty’s. “God, I love threats before noon.”

Jughead appears beside them like a ghost, as always, coat too big, beanie intact. “You know birthdays are just reminders of impending mortality, right?”

Veronica smirks. “Thanks, Eeyore.”

“You’re welcome, Lodge.”

They all laugh. Even Jughead, who doesn't hate her as much as she remembers that he did. Even Betty, who elbows him and grins like sunshine. Archie’s waiting at her locker with a single red rose and a smile so earnest it almost hurts to look at.

“Happy birthday, Ronnie.”

He kisses her cheek and she pretends it doesn’t make her melt, even though it always does.

Later, they all gather at Pop’s. Toni throws confetti from a leftover party popper, and Cheryl rolls her eyes but foots the bill anyway. Kevin makes everyone sing. Fangs plays the ukulele, terribly, and Sweet Pea refuses to join in but mouths the words anyway. Josie sings “Happy Birthday” in a mock sultry lounge voice, pretending to serenade her. Even Reggie shows up with a wrapped candle from the gas station, muttering, “Didn’t know what you liked,” but still offering it with a shrug.

The diner buzzes with light and sound, and everything smells like French fries and too-sweet milkshakes, and her friends are all there, and her parents are alive, and the world is whole.

She’s laughing so hard she nearly cries.

Veronica wants to be there. More than anything else, Veronica wishes she could make a deal with the devil for just one more yesterday, one more past memory, one more chance at the narrative.

Here, she’d spent the last four months pushing everyone away and daring them to hate her. And they had risen to the challenge. Everyone but her mother. And Joaquin. And maybe... maybe not even them anymore.

The rafters above her were still.

The silence in the barn returned like a wave.

Betty wasn’t coming. Pop’s was long gone. There would be no cake. No confetti. No song.

She swung her legs over the edge of her bedding, boots crunching softly in leftover straw, and stood slowly, joints stiff in the morning chill. Maize rubbed against her shin. She didn’t pet her.

The sky was still dark with the earliest sliver of dawn outside the door. Veronica stepped into it anyway, hoping the wind might blow the memory away. But it didn’t.

It stayed, warm and bright and impossible, flickering in her chest like the candle Betty would have lit for her.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked toward the school, muttering to herself, “Happy birthday, V. You did it. You made it to seventeen, impossibly.”

The wind didn’t answer.

The creak broke the silence like a snapped string.

Veronica jerked around, eyes wide, heart pounding in her throat.

Not wind. Not Maize, galloping out behind her.

Metal. Shifting. Subtle. Wrong.

Her first instinct was fury — of course someone would dare to ruin the only thing she had. One goddamn hour to herself, one single moment to sit in the dark and pretend she had something left. And even that had to be shattered.

She stood stiffly, brushing straw from her coat, and stepped out into the brittle December air. The sky above was a bruised gray, the kind that warned of snow without the decency of delivering it. The yard was hushed and still, but something in her gut twisted. Off.

Her eyes scanned past the porch, the swing set, the outer gates. To the side pasture — the one she’d carefully reinforced herself with boards and scraps and rusted nails, proud in a way she couldn’t quite articulate.

And then she saw it.

A gap. A sheared-open section of chain link fence sagging low, the ends frayed in a way that couldn’t be brushed off as age or animal. Cut. Clean.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She counted automatically.

Butterscotch. Meringue. Cha-Cha. The twins: Pepper and Salt. Lamb Chop. Dot. Cupcake. Cherry Jubilee.

Gone. All of them.

Panic flared white-hot in her chest. For a split second, she turned toward the main building. She could get Archie, or Nick, or even Dilton, but then stopped herself.

No.

There wasn’t time. Every minute they wandered farther was one closer to a slow, terrifying death or being caught by whoever did this. And what would they say anyway? What would Hermione say?

That she shouldn’t have been in charge of them? That she failed again?

No.

She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding.

She didn’t need anyone.

She was a Lodge.

Even if she was no warrior, no survivalist, no goddamn juggernaut — she was clever. And she loved those stupid animals. They were hers.

She went back inside the barn and grabbed her flashlight and the short-handled garden shovel she sometimes used to scoop hay. It was laughable as a weapon, but it was something.

Then she opened the gate and slipped out, into the gray morning, boots crunching frost, heart hammering wildly.

She didn’t look back.

The hoofprints were easy enough to follow at first; a neat scatter of cloven tracks pressed into the frostbitten ground. Veronica kept her eyes low, boots crunching softly, flashlight flicking left to right.

She gripped the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh, standard issue now for everyone who stepped beyond the fence. It wasn’t large, but it was sharp, and it made her feel a little less like prey.

The woods thickened as she moved farther from the school. Pines clustered, tall and looming, their limbs like skeletal fingers. The light broke strangely through them, bending and twisting like it didn’t want to reach her.

Every instinct screamed at her to turn around. But she kept going.

She didn’t want to think about how quiet the world was without the bleating of her flock. Or how cold the air was. Or the gnawing certainty in her gut that something was very, very wrong.

Then... a flicker.

Smoke.

She crouched low, ducking behind a thicket of brush, eyes narrowing. The scent of char hit her a moment later, mixed with… iron.

Charred wool.

She inched closer, weaving through branches until she found a small clearing.

Three boys. Maybe nineteen, maybe twenty. All of them were tall, lean, scruffy in the way that suggested they'd been living like animals and didn’t much care. One crouched near the fire, turning a spit.

Veronica’s stomach dropped.

It was Meringue.

The creamy curls of her favorite ewe, singed and blackening in the flames, stomach carved open with careless strokes. One of the boys laughed, muttering something about how ‘farm-fresh’ always tasted better.

The second boy was dragging Salt and Pepper — tied and bleating — toward a tree, while the third sharpened a knife against a flat stone. He was talking about the best way to skin them, how they’d have to hang them from something, how you could dry the meat over a fire if you didn’t mind it tough.

Veronica’s hands trembled.

She ducked lower.

She couldn’t take them. Not easily.

She could barely take one , and only if she caught him by surprise.

But if she turned back now…

She’d lose them all. The sheep. Their wool. Her quiet companions. The proof that she could still do something... that she could still care for something, even if it was small and stupid and bleated too loud when it was hungry.

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her knife again.

She exhaled slowly.

She had no plan. No backup.

And yet, if she didn’t act now, she knew what would happen.

They’d kill them all. And they might come back for the rest of the farm animals, and maybe in the future, them too.

She watched the three of them laughing, planning, gutting.

How do I take all three and win?

Veronica hunkered deeper behind the brush, boots rooted in frozen mud, fingers clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.

She watched.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, her mind quieted. No thoughts of Nick. Of Archie. Of Betty or the wreckage she'd made of everything. Just breath and blood and the slow, deliberate gathering of facts.

The boys were relaxed now, hunched around the fire. Their laughter carried in low, lazy bursts. One of them — the one doing most of the talking — clearly fancied himself the leader. Shaggy blonde hair, acne scars, and a voice too loud. His knife was long but poorly balanced. When he tossed it into the dirt, it tilted to one side, the hilt heavier than the blade.

The second boy was broader, with a tattered high school letterman jacket stretched over his frame, favoring his left leg. Subtle, but clear. When he crouched, he winced. When he moved, he limped slightly. Old injury. Probably football.

The third one was quiet, the type to follow orders. He turned the spit and reached toward the fire too quickly and flinched back. Burned himself on the metal, clearly favoring his right hand afterward. Now he was cradling it against his chest, trying to hide it.

Weak wrists. Burned skin. A bum leg. Weapons lay carelessly at their sides.

They weren’t smart.

They weren’t prepared.

And Veronica? She was neither strong nor trained, but she was aware . Ruthlessly so.

She looked over at Salt and Pepper, still tied, still bleating. The ropes weren’t knotted well. An easy fix, if she could reach them.

She leaned into her thoughts like a detective in a mystery novel, feeling like perhaps Betty's spirit was working through her, guiding her.

Step one: Take out the leader first — he’s the loudest. Disorient the others. His knife is bad. His attention, worse.

Step two: Use his own blade. Throw dirt in the eyes of the second one — take advantage of that bad leg. A hard enough shove, and he might drop.

Step three: The third one’s burned. Already in pain. Scared. Maybe he wouldn’t even fight back. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hurt him.

Maybe.

It was nearly logical.

It was absolutely foolish.

It was all she had.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

I shouldn’t do this, the reasonable part of her said. You’ll get yourself killed.

But the deeper voice, the one that had always made Veronica Lodge stand taller, fight harder, speak louder, that voice whispered:

You’ve already survived worse.

Her fingers slipped to the knife at her thigh.

The fire crackled. The boys laughed.

And Veronica prepared to move.

She struck fast.

The leader never saw her coming.

Her blade caught him just under the chin, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send him screaming, clutching his face as blood bloomed through his fingers. He toppled back into the fire with a howl. Flames bit at the hem of his jacket.

Veronica was already moving.

She scooped a fistful of frozen dirt and hurled it into the second boy’s face, aiming for the eyes. He reeled backward, sputtering, hands flying up to shield himself.

Two down. One to go.

Except… she forgot the quiet one. She assumed he wouldn't be an issue.

She underestimated him.

He lunged.

She didn’t see the punch coming until it cracked against her jaw. White exploded behind her eyes. She crumpled hard, air ripped from her lungs, knife skittering uselessly out of reach. Her ribs throbbed with sharp, immediate pain.

“No—” she tried to gasp.

The second boy recovered faster than she expected. He kicked her, a brutal shot to her side, then another, laughing.

“Thought you could play the hero?” he spat.

Rough hands tangled in her hair, yanking her upright. The world spun. She was on her knees, then up, then down again, a boot pressing into her spine.

“She’s pretty,” said one. “Think she thought she could take us.”

“She cut me,” the leader snarled, face blood-slick, eyes murderous. “Fucking bitch.”

He backhanded her. Her lip split.

They were circling now. Laughing. Passing her between them like something already owned. Their eyes sparkled, not with fear, but with thrill.

Her realization was drowning her all at once: This wasn’t their first time.

Veronica tried to crawl. A foot slammed into her shoulder, flipping her hard onto her back.

One leaned in, crouched over her, his fingers brushing her face in mock tenderness.

“I’m gonna keep you,” he whispered. “Clean you up, teach you some manners.”

The horror was worse than the pain.

She thrashed, kicked, and screamed, but it only made them laugh harder. Stronger hands, stronger bodies. She was outmatched in every way.

They were gods in this dark little world.

And she was prey.

Veronica realized, with cold finality, this wasn’t about hunger. This wasn’t even about sheep.

This was a hunt.

And she had just walked straight into the snare.

She was not going to win.

And no one knows you're here.

“You know,” The second boy said, wiping dirt from his eyes, “It’s been a long time; we’ve been out here for forever, finding jack shit.” A knife ran down her shirt, tempingly, and she flinched away, “What do you say?” 

“Well, we’d all have to have a turn,” The quiet one said diplomatically, “But we could pull straws.” 

Veronica let out a yell, a strangled cry of terror, but another punch came at her chin, knocking her head back, and stars dangled on the edge of her eyes. 

“Awe-I like ‘em loud-” 

“I don’t care about that, it’s just annoying,” The first one was sopping blood from his chin. “I feel like I should go first,” He said, pressing his leadership. “Give back what she gave me in return,” He said. 

“No wounds,” The quiet one reminded, but her fear didn't abate. Just because they weren’t going to carve her up and kill her now didn’t mean that they were going to treat her to a nice spa day. 

“Here, or back at the truck?” The second one asked. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was blinking fast. 

“Well, where’s the one…there’s more.” 

Three hungry eyes immediately swiveled to Veronica.

“Are you all at the school?” One of the cooed, “Any more of you?” 

“Of me?” Veronica asked, teeth chattering, “I don’t…” 

“Of course there is.” The first one laughed, “We might as well check. I bet they have more than just sheep there, too.” 

“Man, I don’t want to wait,” The second one groaned, “C’mon, we can do that after, can’t we?” 

“Let’s know what we’re up against, first,” The leader said sharply. He grabbed Veronica’s hair and yanked, dragging her across the cold floor. Veronica screamed, sobbing, and a flock of birds took flight at the sharpness of her shrieks. 

The three of them packed up quickly, one keeping a firm hand on her hair, and no matter how she contorted or moved, she could not find a way to escape the grip to attack, one of them packing up the remains of Meringue, the other herding the rest of the flock forward. 

The closer they came to the school, or toward what she assumed was the school, the louder her screams became. Someone had to hear, right? Someone had to be on guard, and her voice would travel and -

“Fuck, if she keeps up like that, stumblers are gunna come out.” 

Stumblers? Do they mean the Cannibals…? 

“Shut her up,” The leader said after a moment, nodding.

The quiet one came at her with a rope, but she bit like a feral beast, scrambling and fighting, “Archie!” She screamed, defeated, “Help! Archie!” 

“Is that your little boyfriend?” The leader asked, amused at her fire, “Well, don’t worry. We’ll make sure we find him, just for you.” 

From their shark-like grins, Veronica had no illusion that they’d bring him alive. 

She kicked out, hitting the quiet one in the stomach with her boot, letting out the most blood-curdling scream she could muster, right as the second one managed to shove a balled-up rag between her lips and then tie the rope behind her head. It was disgusting and sweaty, and she gagged, bile rising in her throat. 

Just as they were reaching the edge of the woods, there was a flash. Veronica blinked back tears, sure she was imagining it, and kept screaming, muffled by their efforts. But they’d have to kill her to shut her up. She would make every second a living hell, never stop fighting. 

The second one fell before he even realized what was happening.

There was a whisper of motion, a blur through the trees, and then the wet, awful thud of metal slicing into flesh. The boy’s body arched, his eyes wide with confusion before his throat bloomed red, spilling hot over Veronica’s legs as he dropped like a bag of bones.

The grip on her hair faltered.

Veronica didn’t blink. She couldn’t. Her brain wouldn’t catch up to what was happening. She only knew something had shifted. The balance had cracked.

The quiet one turned, mouth half open in alarm.

Schlick.

Archie drove the blade in low, up beneath the ribs, sharp and sure. He twisted, fast. Silent. Intimate.

The boy gasped once and collapsed against Archie’s shoulder, and Archie shoved him off like garbage.

The leader swore, yanking Veronica up like a shield, a shaking blade pressed against her neck. “I swear to God—!”

Archie didn’t flinch. He didn’t answer. His face was pale and tight, lips pressed white.

“You’re not gonna risk her, are you?” the leader snarled.

But Archie was already moving.

As fast as breath, he hurled his knife. It spun once, caught the man’s shoulder with a shunk , and Veronica dropped to the ground as he screamed.

Archie was on him in seconds. No words now. Just fists, elbows, the sound of meat hitting meat.

“Don’t—touch—her—”

Each strike came from a place deeper than rage. It was instinct. It was devotion. It was something feral, pulsing behind his eyes like lightning.

The leader barely fought back. He was too stunned, too broken already.

Archie slammed his forehead into the man’s nose with a crack. Blood exploded. Veronica flinched.

It wasn’t until she whispered, “Archie,” her voice broken and small, that he froze mid-motion, chest heaving.

He turned.

He looked like a ghost. No, like something risen from the dead, covered in blood that wasn’t his, eyes glassy with terror and adrenaline.

He dropped the machete.

He dropped to his knees, fingers pulling at her tied wrists.

“Veronica.” Her name was a prayer.

He scrambled to her side. His hands shook as he tried to untie the cords around her wrists, trembling too hard at first to get a grip. Then, he used his teeth, tearing at the knot with desperation, like it physically pained him not to free her instantly.

When the rope finally fell loose, he reached for her, gentle now. Like she was glass. Like she was something holy.

Veronica didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t know how to cry.

But she let herself fold into him, and Archie held her like she was all that mattered. Like he’d never let go again.

“We…we should go…get them b…back…” Veronica chattered, her teeth hitting against each other, shivering hard, “And…the noise…” 

Archie shook his head, holding her so tightly that she didn’t think he could unwind himself from her, “I almost lost you. God, I can’t…I can’t fucking lose you…” He sobbed, wet tears against her shoulder, “I can’t lose you…” 

“You haven’t. I’m right here,” Veronica sniffled, rubbing underneath her nose. She looked at the carnage around her, the three boys lying in the snow, bleeding out. The sheep, having scattered to the wind. They’d have to track them down, and that would be awful. She felt bad for making such a big mess for everyone else to clean up.

And finally, just beyond the treeline, a duck and some other small bird, dead, tied to a rope, lying abandoned at the tree line. Archie followed her gaze, inhaling heavy, hard breaths. 

“Remember, you told me once your best meal? That duck dish in New York?” 

“Yes?” Veronica frowned.

“I was going to recreate that, for your birthday, the best I could. It was supposed to be a surprise.” 

Despite it all, Veronica laughed. She threw her head back, laughter filling her so suddenly, so unexpectedly, “Oh…god…Archie…” She shook her head, “Thank god you were out here.” 

She looked between them. They were both covered in blood.

“The sheep-” 

“We’ll find them all, of course,” Archie promised gently. He didn’t offer a hand for Veronica to stand; instead, he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her against his chest like he couldn’t imagine ever letting her go again. 

At the edge of the school, near that jagged edge where those boys had stolen through, Archie paused, looking thoughtfully, pensive.

“What?” she asked, reaching up and pressing a hand against his cheek. He leaned into it, swallowing hard. Tears sprang up on the edge of his eyes.

“You know…” He whispered hollowly, “I never killed Cassidy. I swear, I didn’t.” He fixed his gaze on Veronica. She gave a hard nod.

“I know-” 

“Do you?” He asked, shaking, “I didn’t…and your father…” 

My father arrested you for something you never did. 

He took a deep breath again, “Those were the first, just so you know. People. That I killed.” His voice cracked on the last word, like it was sinking in what he’d done. 

Veronica pressed her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. And he’d done it for her.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

December 22nd, 2018

By the time Christmas came into view on the horizon, Veronica was walking again — slowly, stiffly, and with a line of purple bruises still visible under her cheekbone when the light hit just right — but she was walking. Healing took its time, and hers came in layers: the broken skin first, then the cracked ribs, then the echoing pain of what almost was.

Archie refused to leave her side through most of it. He was a constant presence, bringing water, fetching books, sitting with her in long silences. The others took shifts too, drifting in and out like a gentle tide.

She had felt compelled to tell him about Nick. It wasn't something she and Archie were saying out loud, but she was pretty sure they were back together. When someone killed three men for you, wasn't it the least you could do?

And more than that, she wanted to.

She had been terrified of what he'd say. But when it came out, spilling from her lips, Archie had sat stiffly before shaking out his shoulders and laughing.

Laughing?

"Ronnie, you think I don't know?" He asked dryly.

"But you...we...Nick..." Veronica blubbered, eyes wet. 

"It was only that one time, right? In the library?" Archie asked, showing far more maturity than the Archie she knew even a few months ago. 

"Yes— wait, did you see?" She asked, horror drowning her.

"No," Archie almost laughed, "Nick can't keep his goddamn mouth shut, though. It's sort of...common knowledge." 

Veronica covered her face, horrified, "Oh god." 

"But you weren't talking to anyone, so we chalked it up to a really bad mistake. And Josie protected you. She was pissed at you, but she threatened to castrate Nick for speaking about private sexual exploits. Even Elio told him that he was acting like an ass." 

"Do you forgive me?" Veronica whimpered, feeling small and pathetic. She couldn't believe now, in hindsight, she'd let that happen. She felt gross just recalling it.

Archie gave a heaving breath, "You weren't in your right mind. And we were broken up. Do you think Nick's attractive right now?" 

"I didn't even think he was hot then," Veronica muttered, the truth of it crawling uncomfortably across her skin. 

"Just...don't do it again," Archie said, trying to seem much more gracious than maybe he was feeling. He crawled into her medic bed with her, his nose pressed against her neck, "I don't want to ever be parted from you, ever." He whispered brokenly.

Veronica kissed his crown, "Let's not, then."

"Okay," Archie said, and that was it. The matter of Nick was buried, everything about it so inconsequential in the comparison of their lives.

"Okay," Veronica agreed. But she knew she still had a lot to make up to him...to everyone, honestly. And she expected a bit more pushback, but no one was holding her to her guilt, no matter how much she tried to apologize.

They simply wouldn't hear it. 

Josie brought her roasted root vegetables and snippets of gossip. Dilton dropped off books: animal anatomy, fencing diagrams, even one on solar power, then lingered just long enough to ask how she was doing before slipping out again, awkward but kind.

Joaquin didn’t say I told you so, even though he could have. He just sat near the foot of her bed most afternoons and helped her brush the tangles out of her hair when she couldn’t lift her arm high enough.

Nick’s parents brought food and blankets and a strange, old-fashioned devotion. They offered warm hands and zero expectations, like she was a niece they’d never had.

It seemed the attack had wiped the slate clean. No one said it outright — no one ever does — but she knew it. The resentment, the cold shoulders, the angry whispers: they were gone. Even Josie, even Dilton. As if the sight of Veronica stumbling home, bloody and beaten but alive, had rewritten the narrative. She was one of them again. Maybe more than before.

All of her sheep, save Meringue, were recovered, terrified and muddy but alive. The fence was reinforced. No one questioned her right to tend them anymore. They were hers, and by extension, so was the barn.

But she hadn’t spoken to Nick.

Not once.

She saw him, of course. Around corners. Across dinner tables. Passing in the hallway. But their eyes never met for more than a second, and when they did, she looked away.

If he held any bitterness about it, he didn’t show it. He just gave her space.

And maybe that was the first real sign he’d changed.

December 24th, 2019

Christmas Eve arrived with soft snow, the sky a deep indigo above Cody, the clouds parting just enough to reveal a slice of moon. The cold came gently at first, a crispness in the lungs that turned harsh as the night deepened, but Veronica didn’t mind. She was bundled in three layers, a scarf tucked high against her chin, and her gloved hands gripped the butt of a rifle she prayed she wouldn’t have to use.

She stood watch at the front entrance of the school, alone, boots creaking softly against the shoveled concrete. The others had protested when she’d offered — even Archie, especially Archie — but she’d insisted. “It’s my gift to you,” she’d said. “Just one night off. I’m fine.”

Lord knew they'd been bending over backwards for her, someone who was so undeserving of their efforts. They covered her duties, made sure the animals in the barn were well-cared for, treated her like a princess...and she felt so sickened by all of it.

Besides, really, she was perfectly fine. 

And for a while, she was.

The wind whistled through the chain-link fence like a low hymn. Inside the school, she could hear muffled laughter, someone trying to tune a battered guitar. 

Probably Archie. He'd been humming The Bee Gees nonstop; it was only a matter of time until he tried to mimic something like them, the tunes in his brain driving him near mad. And Josie would sing, and it would be a beautiful Christmas Eve. 

She let herself smile.

There was a sense of peace that settled on her bones. Not a need for glory or grace, for something big and bright. Just a quiet sense of sureness, something that settled in her stomach. This felt alright. More than alright, this felt correct. 

Maybe everything is going to be just fine.

Then, movement caught her eye.

She froze. Just a flicker at first — far beyond the fence line, a smudge against the snow. Then again.

A figure. Walking, or maybe limping, through the cold, alone.

Her fingers tightened on the rifle.

The figure grew clearer as it neared. Not a Cannibal. Not lurching. It was still too fluid.

Still human?

The figure took shape like someone sharpening an image on a projector as Veronica sheidled her eyes against the frosty snow. It was a girl, but not a child, a teenager.

The teen stumbled forward under the weight of exhaustion. Her arms were bare. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. Veronica saw the stains up her chest, like she'd been clutching someone as they died. Her lips moved, and then her voice reached Veronica, carried by the wind:

“Please, don't shoot! I’m alone. I swear.”

Veronica didn’t lower the rifle.

“Hands up,” she called, loud and even. “Nice and slow.”

The girl obeyed, arms trembling as she raised them above her head. She swayed on her feet. She looked moments away from fainting. At her forehead was a trickle of blood. It snaked into her eye, and she blinked it away, shivering. 

“Name?” Veronica demanded.

The girl blinked, then coughed. “Cleo,” she rasped. “Just Cleo. I— I’ve been walking for days.”

Veronica studied her. No bite marks visible.  Just a threadbare coat and eyes too big for her face, hollow with hunger and something like fear. But people lied. They lied all the time. And some of them… weren’t people anymore, even if they thought they still were.

She thought of that hiker from early on. Had he even known what was happening to him as it did? 

“Where’d you come from?” Veronica asked, still steady, still unreadable.

“East,” Cleo whispered. “I don’t know. I was with a group, but— they… they’re gone.” She blinked again, sluggish, barely able to keep upright. “Please. I’m freezing.”

Veronica didn’t move for a long moment. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The strangers she’d met alone in the woods had nearly cost her her life. That lesson was still raw beneath the skin.

But this one… this one looked like she might fall over any second. It was doubtful that she could hurt anyone. 

Besides, those men had all been just that…men. It didn’t seem like they would employ a woman, and they’d killed the three that had been here. Joaquin and Archie had searched for days but found no proof that there were others in the area. 

Besides, she could hear her mother's disapproving voice.

Mija, it's a little girl! You're really going to let her freeze? Where are those manners I've taught you? How would you feel if no one left you in?

Besides, it was Christmas, wasn't it? Letting Mary and Joseph into the stable and all, huh?

Veronica’s voice was quieter when she finally spoke. “You move fast, you fall, or you even sneeze: you die. Understood?”

Cleo nodded once, weakly.

“Alright,” Veronica said, stepping forward just enough to unlatch the gate. The metal groaned. She kept her eyes on the girl the entire time.

As Cleo stepped into the sanctuary of the school grounds, Veronica thought she heard a sigh, and for a second, the snow didn’t feel so peaceful anymore. 

Veronica had no idea what they’d just let in.

“Stay here,” Veronica commanded sharply.

“But-” The girl bleated, horrified, “I'm freezing, please. It looks so warm inside…” She mumbled, her words slurring together.

“You have to understand,” Veronica said diplomatically, “We can’t just let anyone in. So…” She locked her jaw, patting her jacket for a walkie-talkie. She didn’t want to raise an alarm if there was none, but she wasn’t so foolish as to open the doors without getting her mother’s permission. 

She turned back to the seat she’d been sitting in and saw the walkie-talkie on the hard plastic.

Veronica swore in the back of her mind, holding up a ‘one second’ finger, reaching around the gate for it. She was sure that with the crunch of the snow, she’d be able to hear Cleo moving.

She was wrong.

She didn’t hear Cleo move, just felt the sickening jolt of impact as the girl slammed into her from the side. Veronica’s shoulder hit the frozen ground with a crack, her elbow crunching beneath her as she tumbled down, and the snow exploded around them like powder from a broken bone.

Her breath punched out of her lungs. Her vision spotted. She barely had time to gasp before Cleo was on top of her.

The girl's fingers clawed at Veronica’s jacket, frantic, desperate, maddened. Her face loomed inches from Veronica’s, her breath rank with illness and rot, her eyes fevered and unseeing. A line of drool swung from her chin like a thread of silk. Her hands weren’t trying to hurt—at first—they were trying to claim. To climb into safety by force.

“Cleo—stop!” Veronica yelled, her voice warping with panic. “You're safe! I said you’re safe!”

But the words might as well have been wind. Cleo didn’t hear them. She couldn’t. The girl was too far gone. Maybe she'd always been. Maybe the idea of warmth was too tantalizing. The clarity that had briefly sparkled in her blue-green eyes was drowned now by something feral, something primal. Something wrong.

Veronica’s back arched off the ground as she tried to shove Cleo away, but the girl was all elbows and nails, wiry and frantic. Her hand yanked Veronica’s scarf, twisting it tight around her throat. A gasp caught in her lungs as she choked, her limbs scrabbling. The cold air turned razor-sharp in her lungs.

“Please—” she rasped, “Cleo, please!”

But Cleo screamed, high-pitched and wordless, as if something inside her was cracking open and pouring out. Her hands tore at Veronica’s clothes. Not to rob her. Not to maim her. Just to take. To crawl inside her. As if Veronica were the last warm thing left in the world.

Veronica twisted her hips and threw the girl off balance. The snow helped, slippery and soft, and she managed to flip them, landing hard on top. Her knees pinned Cleo’s arms, trembling with adrenaline and horror.

She was on top, but not in control.

Cleo thrashed beneath her like a rabbit caught in a trap, her nails raking bloody welts into Veronica’s thighs, her mouth snapping open. Her head shot forward—too fast—and Veronica felt the sharp sting of teeth grazing her neck. Not a bite, she told herself. Not deep. Not broken skin. But her heart was in her throat.

Tears spilled from her eyes before she even knew she was crying.

“Cleo, stop it,” she begged. Her hands hovered in the air, shaking. “Please. You’re okay now. You don’t have to fight anymore. You’re not alone—”

But there was no recognition.

The girl let out a whimper, low, guttural, and then lunged again, this time with the strength of someone who didn't care what happened next. 

That was the moment something inside Veronica splintered.

She reached for her belt, and her fingers wrapped around the handle of the utility knife Joaquin had sharpened for her last month. She pulled it free. The blade caught a sliver of moonlight. Cleo writhed, bucking like a dying animal.

Veronica shouted something, a sob, a scream, she didn’t know, and she brought the knife down.

Once.

It sank into soft flesh with a horrifying resistance.

Cleo screamed.

Twice.

The knife caught on bone, and Veronica twisted on instinct, crying as she did.

A third time.

Cleo stopped moving.

Veronica stayed frozen there, hunched over her, her chest rising and falling in violent shudders. Her knuckles were white on the handle of the blade. Her knees were wet with blood. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

It was over.

But it wasn’t. Not in her chest. Not in her gut. Not in the hollow, echoing ache that screamed inside of her.

What have I done?

The silence that followed was a living thing, prowling around the gate, mocking her for her naivety. 

And then she began to shake.

She dropped the knife.

It landed with a quiet plunk in the slush.

Her hands were soaked, red spreading like ink through her gloves. She stared at them—at the girl beneath her, barely older than she was, mouth still open in that same half-formed plea.

Veronica rocked forward, resting her forehead on the girl’s shoulder. The warmth of Cleo’s body was already fading. Her eyes fluttered shut. There was a horrible moment of recognition, like Cleo realized what she'd done and what it had cost her. Her fingers tapped the wounds, as though begging for help. 

Veronica didn't know how to mend this, though. She didn't think there was any scenario, not even if they were in the real world, where a hospital could stitch her together before she bled out. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Veronica whispered, hoping that Cleo heard the apology and believed it. 

Veronica stayed there for a long time, sobbing so hard her ribs ached, curled over the girl like a mourner at a battlefield grave. Her fingers found the walkie-talkie. 

She should tell someone, right? 

Snow fell in soft sheets around them, slowly covering the blood, as if the scuffle had never happened. 

Veronica's fingers shakily pressed the receiver. She opened her mouth to form some words, but all that came out was a strangled sob. Her finger slipped off the button, and she let the walkie fall next to her. 

What could she say? 

The sound of boots in snow came in a rush anyway, though. 

Archie burst through the front door first, breath coming in plumes of white. His eyes scanned the front entrance, then locked on her, and he ran. Behind him came Josie, Dilton, Elio, Hermione, all roused by the frantic bark of the walkie crackling over the air, Veronica’s voice lost to static.  

She was on her knees in the snow, still cradling the girl’s limp body, her arms a cradle of red and blue—blood and cold. Veronica didn’t look up when he skidded to a stop, but her shoulders shook violently beneath her coat, the sobs ragged and hoarse.

“Ronnie—Ronnie—Jesus,” Archie dropped to his knees beside her, his hand already reaching for her jaw, turning her face toward him, checking, absolutely desperate.

“Did she bite you?” he asked, voice too loud, too sharp. “Veronica! Did she bite you?”

She blinked, dazed, and shook her head. She couldn’t form the words. Just pressed her forehead against his collarbone and let out a shuddering cry.

He gathered her up as best he could without slipping in the snow, rocking her as she cried, one hand smoothing down her hair while the other hovered near her arm, afraid to touch the blood, afraid it was hers.

“No bite,” Josie said softly from where she’d crouched down beside Cleo’s body, confirming with a gentle shake of her head.

Archie let out a breath, long and ragged, and then buried his face in Veronica’s hair.

Hermione was slower to move. Her steps were measured. She stopped just shy of them, her breath shallow, and waited for Veronica to look up. When she finally did, her face blotchy, her mascara streaked in tears, her hands shaking, Hermione knelt with dignity beside her daughter and cupped her cheek.

“Veronica,” she said gently. “Sweetheart.”

“I killed her,” Veronica choked out. Her voice cracked in the middle like glass under pressure. “I—I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. She was just a kid, and I—”

Hermione didn’t let her finish. She pulled Veronica into her arms, blood and all.

“You did what you had to do.”

“No—no, I didn’t have to—”

“Yes, you did.” Hermione’s voice was firm now, not cruel but unflinching. “You’re here. You’re alive. Because you made a choice.”

Veronica’s head lolled against her mother’s shoulder, her face hidden from the others, but her voice was quiet and strange.

“I feel dirty.”

“You’re not dirty,” Hermione whispered. 

“But it’s Christmas,” Veronica said, her voice cracking with the bitter irony of it.

Hermione let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “It’s a shitty Christmas gift,” she agreed softly. “But you unwrapped the worst of it. And you’re still here.”

The snow kept falling, soft and slow, as Josie helped gently cover the girl’s body. The others gave space. Archie didn’t let go of Veronica’s hand once, even when she tried to pull away.

Veronica lingered a little longer in the cold, wondering how long she'd survive out here before she would grow desperate enough to risk everything like Cleo had. 

Chapter Text

January 17th, 2019

The snow had crusted over, hard and sharp, and Veronica kicked at it absently with the toe of her boot as she stood at the edge of the schoolyard, eyes tracing the tree line.

She didn’t go out there alone anymore. Not since Christmas. Not since Cleo.

Behind her, the school front door creaked open, and Dilton stepped out, holding a plastic bag in his gloved hand, the kind that crinkled with every movement. He looked sheepish, but determined.

“I looked through her things,” he said quietly. For a long time, no one had offered to. No one had wanted. Her backpack had sat in the center of their lunchroom like a strange offering, collecting dust. Maybe they were waiting for Veronica to do so, but she couldn't find the courage to unpack it and see the life of the person she'd taken. 

Veronica didn’t turn. “I figured someone would. What did you find?”

In fact, she'd guessed it would be Dilton with his unquenchable thirst for knowing things. She'd leaned on this certainty. Someone had to. She just couldn't imagine it being her. And now, nearly a month since that day, Dilton had reached his limit of being patient. 

Well, thank God. 

Dilton approached slowly, holding the bag out to her like an offering. Inside was a battered notebook, a cracked lip balm tube, and a patch—faded red, stitched roughly with a crude symbol: a fang-bite. It was ripped with fraying threads, as if it were taken from a jacket or a shirt.

And Veronica recognized it. 

Veronica’s breath hitched. She reached into the bag and lifted the patch with trembling fingers.

“It’s those crazy assholes,” Dilton confirmed, voice low. “Same marking from the group that took you. Unlikely to be those three, specifically, but I think we all knew they weren’t working alone…” He pushed his glasses up his nose, expression cold and angry, "I read through the journal. Not enough to give us information, but they called themselves the Predators. And she wasn't alone..." He looked down, swallowing back a haggard sigh.  

Veronica flinched hard, like the very name of it had sent an arrow through her throat, making it hard to breathe. And Dilton didn't have to finish his thought. 

It was all clear in her mind, like someone playing a montage. Veronica's fingers shook as she held the patch. 

“She got away,” Veronica murmured, staring down at the patch. Her throat closed up. “She was captured. She was with others, but she fought. Tore this off their jacket in a fight. And then she...She got away, and then I…”

Dilton glanced down, then cleared his throat. “There’s more,” he said gently. “Josie checked the body when it thawed enough. She had an infected cut on her side. Deep. Looked old. Not a bite, but bad. Real bad.”

Veronica looked up slowly, trying to understand his words. The way he spoke them was kind, like he was soothing a raw wound on her soul, but she didn't understand the meaning. 

“She would’ve died soon either way,” he finished, filling in the unspoken words. “The infection was spreading. Days, maybe. A week, tops.”

Veronica nodded once. It didn’t help. It didn’t fix anything. But it lodged somewhere in her chest, a sliver of understanding that dulled the blade of her guilt—just barely.

“She survived them,” Veronica whispered. “Ran. Fought. Made it here. And I…”

“You gave her peace,” Dilton said simply. She never knew him to be so...philosophical. 

Veronica blinked fast, snow stinging her lashes. She disagreed with his assessment. “I gave her death.”

“Same thing, sometimes,” he said.

They stood in silence, the wind curling between them like a sigh.

Inside, the others were beginning to stir. Josie’s laugh carried faintly through the frosted windows. A pan clattered. Life moved forward.

Veronica curled the patch in her hand, tight as a secret.

She wasn’t sure what to do with it yet.

But she knew she’d never throw it away.

The next time I find some of those assholes, I’ll make all of them fucking pay.

January 20th, 2019

It started with the alarm bell.

A clang of metal on metal from the southwest fence—Dilton’s setup, an old school fire extinguisher rigged to a pulley system. It rang through the cold afternoon like a war cry, startling everyone from their routines.

“South gate!” Josie shouted from a window.

Archie was already moving, shouldering his axe as he raced for the back door. Veronica was right behind him, pulling on the jacket she had been mending, aching at the repetitive motion of just pulling the thread through again and again. Still, all her aches and pains evaporated as soon as she heard it, some part of her jumping to duty, pushing down any lingering ails. 

“Veronica—no.” Archie turned, barring the door with his body. “You’re still healing. Stay inside.”

“I’m not broken,” she snapped, heart hammering. “You don’t get to decide who fights.”

“Dammit, Ronnie—”

“I’m going.” She shoved past him with a fierce glare and was out the door before he could grab her wrist. Then, to prove her point, she grabbed a kitchen knife, holding it out in front of her. 

By the time they reached the gate, the groaning had started. Four—no, five—stumblers were dragging themselves toward the school’s edge, drawn by the noise, the scent of smoke, maybe the promise of warmth. They weren’t fresh; these had flesh like melted wax, limbs half-frozen and sluggish...but they were dangerous all the same.

Hermione was already there, directing Elio and Joaquin into flanking positions.

“Josie’s got a rifle on the window—she’ll cover left. Joaquin, with me on the right. Elio, center. Dilton’s reinforcing the back line.”

Veronica fell in next to Archie without waiting for permission. Her mother saw her, and she watched as Hermione nearly ordered her back, her lips pressing into a thin scowl, but she seemed to sense that Veronica was far too stubborn to be sent away. 

"At least take this," Hermione said, kicking a pitchfork towards her daughter. It skids over the ice. Veronica sheathed her knife for safety, fingers curling around the handle so tightly she was sure she'd speckle her palms with blisters by the time this is done. 

The walkers reached the fence, bony hands clawing through broken links. The barrier would hold, but not for long. One of the older panels had already begun to sag.

Archie moved in, fast and brutal. His axe cracked a skull clean in two with a sickening sound. Veronica darted toward another, using the wooden handle of her pitchfork to drive it back through the fence. Beside her, Elio let out a sharp yell as he slipped—then recovered, plunging his knife into a crawler’s throat.

They worked like clockwork. It was chaos, but controlled. Hermione barked orders like a general, and Josie’s sharp rifle shot picked off a stumbler trying to flank them from the left.

One by one, the undead dropped.

Until the last of them slumped forward into the snow, black blood staining the white like an oil spill.

Silence.

Just for a second.

No one moved.

Veronica stood still, chest heaving, her hair falling loose from its braid. Her weapon dripped.

Archie stared at her, and for once, didn’t say a word. He just grinned, a sort of relief. She supposed she understood it. No one had any idea how she'd respond to danger. She knew she wasn't back to perfect. She knew she was still reeling from all that had happened. But she was ready to protect her little cobbled family, even if that meant pushing down her own worries. 

Archie could protect her, but he shouldn't need to. 

The only sound was the faint crackle of snow under boots as Joaquin approached from behind, lowering his bat.

“Is that it?” Elio asked, his voice shaking slightly, adrenaline still coursing.

Dilton gave a low whistle from the other side of the yard. “Clear.”

They stood there in the fading light, watching their breath fog the air. The wind whispered through the trees again, almost surprised it was over so quickly.

Veronica’s hands trembled—but not from fear. Instead, she felt useful again. It was a weight upon her, but a good weight. And beneath that, something thrummed...a pulse that it meant to be alive, something she'd almost forgotten. 

“Hell yeah!” Dilton said and high-fived Elio. Josie came down from the bell-tower, kissed him, sighing in relief, and Hermione came by, sweeping Veronica up in a warm embrace. There was a moment of relief and quietness until a gunshot echoed throughout the quiet space.

“That’s from inside!” Archie sputtered, kicking the door open. The group thundered through the halls. Someone was screaming. Veronica followed the sounds to where Nick lay on the floor, begging, pressing his hands against his father’s head.

Or, what was left of it.

In reality, what he was holding was more like a shattered piece of a watermelon smashed against the ground. The only reason Veronica knew it was his father was by what he wore, and by doing a quick headcount.

“No, no, no, c’mon, Dad! It’s okay, it’s okay—” Nick begged. Joaquin started forward, but Nick looked up, his eyes wild and bursting with tears, “Back up! I have it! I have it.” 

Elio pushed forward anyway, looking back at the rest of the group, quietly urging them to stay put. But what could Veronica even say or do, even if she'd wanted? She stood, frozen, eyes tracing to the gun that lay barely touching his fingertips. Archie extended his foot, kicking the gun away from the body, shaking his head. 

Then, Elio gently knelt next to his friend, grasping Nick’s fingers. Nick wrestled him away, punching him in the nose — though not entirely on purpose, but more like he was blind to see a difference between friend and foe — one hand never leaving his father’s shattered skull. 

His mother was still screaming. 

“Simone!” Hermione said sharply, shaking her friend violently, “What happened?” 

Simone’s scream broke off. She stared at Hermione for a long moment, lips trembling and moving, but no words came out, like someone had muted her. 

“He said…” Nick’s voice shivered, “He said he didn’t want to die like that. Not like Cleo. Not like Elio’s parents…” Nick whispered, “I tried to stop him. I’m putting pressure on it, I’m—” He heaved in, "Someone get a medical kit, for fucks' sake!" He demanded, his face drenched in tears and sweat, "Move! Don't just stand there!" 

“Nick, brother…” Elio grasped Nick’s cheek, forcing Nick to stare into his gaze, despite Nick's squirming against his grip. “He’s gone.” 

Nick looked back, and it was like he’d been seeing an illusion for the last ten minutes. But now, he saw what they all saw…his father’s brains blown out across the floor, skull and gray matter skittered far beyond where he lay in a wide arc, blood splattered like a Pollock. Elio tugged him away, helping him to his feet, trying to drag him behind the hall. 

“Oh...oh my god…” Nick’s legs gave out under him. Joaquin lunged to catch him before he hit the ground.

Hermioen jumped into action immediately, commanding that someone take Simone and Nick away. They shouldn’t need to be the ones to clean this up. Josie left with Elio and Joaquin, and Dilton and Archie stayed behind, the pair of them gingerly picking through the wreckage. Dilton, who was not usually one to be afflicted by blood or guts, held back gags as he brushed pieces of skull into a trash bag. Archie was pale, but not nauseated, just frozen. He took a rag and began to wipe the blood, but it didn't do much. 

“I can help,” Veronica whispered to her mother, “I’m okay.” 

“They shouldn’t have to see it,” Hermione repeated, and Veronica understood. 

Spotless.

They scrubbed the floors. Veronica put all her effort into it until the floor shone. At one point, Dilton sat back on his haunches, staring at the puddle of blood, shaking his head.

“But…” He muttered, “We…we were safe…” His voice broke, “He didn’t need to do that. We were safe?” He looked at Veronica and Archie, as though begging for some logic that didn’t exist to present itself, like he just couldn’t wrap his head around it, “We were safe.” 

Veronica squeezed the sponge full of blood into her soapy water, her lips set into a scowl.

All Xander needed to do was wait another three minutes.

January 21st, 2019

The school’s infirmary had never been meant to hold the dead.

Early morning moonlight slanted into the school. 

Xander lay still on one of the cots beneath a moth-bitten wool blanket, his body now looking the most human it could, thanks to Joaquin’s quiet efforts. The old tiled floor smelled like antiseptic and iron. A hush had fallen over the group, though it wasn’t a peaceful one—it was the vacuum of shock, the kind that rings in the ears long after the noise ends.

Nick sat slumped in a folding chair beside the cot, his knuckles bloodied from trying to stop the bleeding. From trying to undo what was already long done. His jacket had been tossed to the floor, soaked in his father’s blood. His face was pale but hard, jaw locked tight like cement.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he said, voice hoarse. “He didn’t… I didn’t even know he had the gun.”

No one answered. Not right away.

Archie stood by the doorway, shell-shocked. Hermione paced in short, tight steps. Josie stared at her hands like they belonged to someone else.

Dilton, in the corner, spoke before he could stop himself.

“Why would he do that?” His tone was less emotional than confused. He was still trying to riddle through it, his questions to Veronica having gone unanswered. Dilton could not stop when he didn't know something. It was his best and worst quality. “We weren’t overwhelmed. It wasn’t a breach. There was no need. That was just… cowardice.”

A breath caught in Archie’s throat. Hermione turned sharply.

But Nick stood first.

He crossed the room in two strides, slamming into Dilton with a force none of them expected. Dilton stumbled back, stunned—then shoved back instinctively.

“You little freak,” Nick snarled, shoving again. “Say that again. Say it to my face.”

“I didn’t mean—he was! He left us. He quit—he didn’t even try—”

Nick punched him.

A hard, ugly sound echoed off the infirmary walls as Dilton crumpled into the supply cart, knocking over a tray of gauze and jars of iodine.

“That was my father!” Nick bellowed, voice cracking.

“Enough!” Hermione’s voice cracked like thunder. She stepped between them, hands raised. “Enough!”

Nick was breathing hard, trembling with rage, and Dilton held a hand to his jaw, eyes wide and blinking.

“Get out,” Hermione said coldly, eyes on Nick. “Cool off. Now.”

Nick hesitated. His chest rose and fell, lips tight, jaw flexing. Then he looked down at his bloodied hands, something in him deflating all at once. He shoved past Archie and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

No one spoke again for several long minutes.

Hermione turned her eyes to Dilton—sharp, but not unkind.

“He was all of our friends,” she said quietly. “You can be confused. You can be angry. But do not call him a coward.”

Dilton, still stunned, nodded slowly. Veronica knew he hadn't meant it as an insult. But it didn't matter. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

Archie finally stepped toward the cot and pulled the blanket over Xander’s upper half, the final silence falling like a curtain.

Outside, the wind howled like a funeral dirge.

January 25th, 2019

No one saw Simone leave.

One moment, she was in the cafeteria, stirring weak broth, her motions slow but steady, eyes distant. The next, she was simply… gone.

Josie was the first to notice the untouched bowl, the coat still hanging on the hook. Her boots were missing, too.

They searched, of course. Called for her until their voices were hoarse. Archie followed footprints as far as he could until the snowfall blurred them into nothing. Joaquin checked every building twice. Hermione wept behind a closed door in secret, in between handling the search party. 

But Simone had vanished into the trees.

Joaquin tracked her as far as he could, but the snow had already cleaned away her trail.

Nick didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He didn’t say anything at all.

He just stood at the edge of the forest where the tracks disappeared and whispered, “She couldn’t even say goodbye.”

Veronica didn’t try to hug him. She just stood beside him in the cold, her breath fogging in silence.

And from that day forward, Nick St. Clair stopped being a son.

Chapter Text

February 2nd, 2019

It was the second morning of February when Veronica found him in the old gymnasium, sitting alone on the bleachers.

The building was cold, too big to heat properly, but Nick didn’t seem to notice. His jacket was unzipped. His eyes were locked on the far wall, vacant and heavy.

She stood in the doorway for a long time, her fingers curled tightly around the wool sleeves of her coat. The apology was in her throat — a carefully rehearsed one. Not just for the last few days, but for the months before: for the names she called him, for not believing in his change, for pushing him at his lowest, and needing him at hers.

But now, faced with the hollowness that stalked his every movement, Veronica realized how useless words might be.

So she didn’t say them.

Instead, she walked softly down the aisle between the benches and stopped beside him. Close, but not touching.

Nick didn’t look up.

She lingered for a few more seconds, wanting to do something — anything — to make this better. But grief didn’t want witnesses, and she understood that too well now.

“I’ll be around,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He still didn’t respond.

She nodded once, though he couldn’t see it, and turned to go. Her footsteps echoed gently across the floor as she left him to his silence, her apology unsaid but quietly present in every step away.

February 11th, 2019

The first warning came on a Monday, three sharp beeps from the Doppler unit before it crackled to life. Dilton, hunched in the AV corner like a pale gargoyle, turned toward the group with the pinched look of someone bearing bad news.

“Cold front’s turning fast. Pressure systems are collapsing. We’ve got maybe five days, maybe less. This isn’t just snow — it’s everything.”

The room fell silent until Josie whispered, “Like a blizzard?”

“More like a siege,” Dilton muttered. “Wind shear, ice, subzero temps, sustained gusts. Power poles are going down; not that we use 'em for much, but they could collapse roofs. This is the kind of thing that used to knock out half a state.”

It didn’t take long for the talk of leaving to begin. Elio was the first to suggest it. “We’ve got one truck that runs. We could load it with fuel, gear, head south—”

“And leave everything behind?” Veronica cut in, arms crossed. “Why don’t we just light the school on fire while we’re at it?”

Elio gave Veronica a weary look. “It’s just walls and supplies. We’re still breathing. That’s what matters.”

“Tell that to the animals we saved,” Veronica snapped. “Or the greenhouses we just got functioning. Or the barn. Or the shelter Josie and Joaquin reinforced for months.”

Over the next two days, the debate deepened. Meals turned into battlegrounds. Plans were whispered in hallways. Veronica found herself cornered more than once.

Josie pulled her aside in the nurse’s office on Tuesday. “Vee, I know you want to stand your ground, but there’s no shame in surviving.”

“I am surviving,” Veronica said. “We all are. But if we keep running from every threat, we’ll never have anything left to hold onto.”

Archie tried on Wednesday. “Ronnie, I just want you to think about what happens if we get trapped. If someone dies—”

“If someone dies because we run in a storm and crash off the side of a mountain, you’ll blame me anyway,” she said flatly.

“Don’t make this about blame,” he said, voice tight. “We’re trying to do what’s best for the group.”

“And I think staying is what’s best,” she said. “You used to trust me.”

He left her standing in the gym, clenching her fists inside her coat sleeves.

By Thursday, a vote was imminent. Dilton had drafted a list of pros and cons. Elio had packed a bugout bag. Nick hadn’t said a word. Hermione tried to stay impartial, letting the group hash it out — but Veronica could tell her mother was watching her closely, wondering when she’d give up the ghost.

But she didn’t.

She stood her ground, made her arguments in every room, over every meal, in every voice raised at her. The school was their home. They’d reinforced the walls. Dug trenches. Stored food. It wasn’t perfect — it was cold and damp and grim — but it was theirs.

“I’m not asking you to die for this place,” she said at the final vote. “I’m asking you to let it prove its worth living in.”

Dilton clicked the Doppler off. “It’s going to hit in less than a week. We wait too long, and we won’t get out.”

“And where exactly are we going?” Veronica demanded. “You want to take a bunch of mostly injured, half-starved people on a mid-winter death march hoping to outrun a storm we don’t understand? No. We’ve built this place up. We have food, firewood, structure—this is our home now.”

“You call this home?” Elio asked dryly. “It’s a middle school cafeteria.”

“It’s ours,” Veronica shot back. “It’s safe. Or it was, until every setback made you all want to scatter.”

Josie raised a hand. “Veronica—”

“No, really. What happens the next time? Do we run again when the generator goes down? When food gets low? When we get bored?”

Archie stepped in then, voice low. “We’re not trying to bail, Ronnie. We just… we need to be smart. Dilton’s scared. Have you ever seen him scared—”

“So am I!” she snapped. “But I’m tired of being scared and pretending we’re just visitors in our own lives. We live here now. That means we prepare. We dig in. We fight to protect what we’ve built. I'm tired of moving. I want to stay put." 

Hermione’s eyes lingered on her daughter, appraising, maybe even proud, but she stayed quiet.

For a moment, no one said anything. Just the sound of the Doppler machine softly humming again as it refreshed its feed.

“Okay,” Joaquin said finally. “So we prepare.”

Veronica nodded once, tightly. “Then let’s get to work.”

February 15th, 2019

By Friday morning, the school felt like a hive bracing for collapse.

Joaquin and Elio worked in tandem, reinforcing the barricades along the west wing — the windows that had once looked out onto the playground. They layered scavenged plywood over the glass, sealing the edges with duct tape and spray foam they’d found in an abandoned construction site. Every gap mattered now.

In the gym, Archie and Nick hauled in extra firewood, wheelbarrowing armloads from the barn and stacking it near every usable fireplace and heater source they’d retrofitted. Archie’s gloves were soaked through by midday, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t—not after Veronica’s speech, not after Xander. Nick worked like a man possessed, silent and efficient. The loss of his parents hung over him like a shadow, but he didn’t speak of it. He didn’t need to.

Dilton had turned the AV closet into a central command, checking barometric pressure and updating a hand-drawn weather map every few hours. He radioed anyone they could still reach, warning them: “Hunker down. Don’t move. Whatever you’ve got, it has to be enough.”

Hermione organized ration distribution, separating the most shelf-stable goods and ensuring they had enough fuel to run the generator on rotation. She moved from room to room with a clipboard and a fire in her eyes, directing the chaos like a war general—one who’d already buried two comrades in her mind.

Josie and Veronica repurposed the music room, lining the walls with blankets and stacking extra mattresses along the floor. It would serve as the warmest room when the cold turned dangerous. Josie gave quiet orders. Veronica followed them.

And outside, under the lean-to awning near the field, Xander and Cleo’s bodies remained.

Too much snow. Ground too hard. The group had wrapped them in layers of tarp and canvas and laid them side by side, covered in salvaged wool. Joaquin had placed rocks atop them to keep the wildlife away. But the longer they stayed above ground, the harder it became to pretend they weren’t failing the dead.

Veronica avoided looking at them, but every time she crossed the yard, she felt the weight of Cleo’s blood on her hands. She’d washed it off, but it lingered under her skin.

By nightfall, the clouds had thickened into a low, gray ceiling. The world seemed to be holding its breath.

“Storm’ll hit by dawn,” Dilton said as the wind began to howl.

And inside the walls of the school, their home, they waited — hoping it would be enough.

February 16th, 2019

The cold crept in like a predator.

They were packed together in the bowels of the old middle school, the basement deeper than it was wide: a cinderblock bunker lined with broken desks, rusted filing cabinets, and mold-eaten stacks of forgotten yearbooks. The only light came from a pair of flickering lanterns and the embers of a carefully-managed fire in a steel drum. It was barely enough to warm the center of the room.

Everyone was in here, all of them. The entire group sat huddled together in layers of coats and blankets, knees touching, shoulders overlapping. Someone's hand was in Veronica's — she thought it might be Josie's, though it could’ve been Archie’s or Elio’s. In the dark, everyone’s breathing felt like the same rhythm.

The barn animals were crammed into the far side of the basement, their warmth precious and their fear obvious. The pigs squealed uneasily. The sheep shifted and bleated. Quark hissed at the wind like it understood something no one else did.

The howling outside had risen to something otherworldly. The entire school groaned as if it might buckle inward. The wind shrieked through unseen cracks in the building, like voices trying to claw their way in.

Veronica pressed her forehead to her knees and tried not to think about it.

It was just like tornado drills. She remembered them — third grade, fourth grade, fifth. Crouched in hallways, covering their heads with textbooks. Teachers with serious faces and clipboards counting off students. No one ever really thought they’d be crushed under a collapsed roof. It was pretend. Just a drill.

This wasn’t pretend.

She was seventeen years old, wrapped in a coat that used to belong to her mother, in the basement of a school that smelled like wet plaster and rat droppings, trying to keep her heartbeat quiet so it wouldn’t echo.

Someone coughed; a sharp, dry sound.

A gust slammed against the building, and a tile from the ceiling above crashed down beside the goats. They screamed and shuffled nervously, pressing closer to each other.

Veronica squeezed the hand she was holding. Maybe it was Josie’s. Maybe not.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

They had survived gang members. Predators. Infection. Betrayal. Hunger.

And now… the sky itself was trying to bury them.

She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine what would happen if the roof gave in. How long would it take for the snow to fill the room? Would it be fast? Would they freeze before they suffocated?

Her teeth were chattering. She wasn’t even sure when that had started.

Another gust. Louder this time. A groan like bending steel.

No one spoke. They just held tighter.

They waited.

And above them, the storm raged on; relentless, howling, and without mercy.

Chapter Text

February 17th, 2019

When Veronica opened her eyes, it was the silence that struck her first.

Not just the absence of wind — true silence. No creaks, no howls, no shaking foundations. The storm had gone.

She sat up slowly, her spine stiff from the concrete floor, the hours curled in place like a frightened animal. Around her, the others were still slumped against each other — sleeping, dozing, barely stirring. Her mother’s arm was draped around Josie’s shoulders. Joaquin had a sheep pressed to his side like a pillow. Archie, just a few feet from her, was holding an empty thermos like he’d meant to stay awake all night.

But Veronica wasn’t looking for Archie.

Her heart dropped when she didn’t see Nick.

She didn’t wake anyone. Just slipped silently across the basement, grabbing the nearest coat and pulling it tight around her before unlatching the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs.

The world outside had been remade.

The snow was piled like collapsed meringue across the schoolyard, nearly waist-deep in some places. The front fence had crumpled inward, a tree limb jutting through it like a spear. Windows were shattered, and a tarp flapped where their food storage cover used to be. The swing set lay on its side like a forgotten memory.

But they were alive.

The school still stood. The animals had survived. The basement hadn't caved in. They were bruised, battered, but breathing.

And in the center of it all, bathed in the pink-gold dawn light, Nick was digging.

He was stripped to his undershirt, coat discarded on the icy ground beside him. Steam rose from his shoulders in soft, ghostly curls. His hands were red and raw, knuckles split, but he kept going — punching the shovel into the stubborn earth again and again, throwing up fistfuls of slush and dirt and ice.

Veronica didn’t call out.

She walked toward him slowly, boots crunching, until he looked up.

His eyes were glassy, but he didn’t stop.

“I couldn’t leave him above ground another day,” he said simply, voice hoarse. “He’d hate that. He… he would’ve hated that.”

Veronica swallowed, watching the second shovel lying unused in the snow. Without a word, she bent, picked it up, and began to dig beside him.

They worked in silence for a long time.

The sun rose higher.

Veronica’s arms burned, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t let him do this alone. Not now.

When the hole was done — not perfect, but deep enough — they stood at the edge, panting, watching the frost gather on their sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said finally, quiet but clear. “For everything. For before. For what I said. I was angry… and lost. I still kind of am.”

Nick didn’t look at her. He just nodded, staring down into the earth like it held all the answers.

“I forgive you,” she added. “But I swear to God, Nick… if you ever go back to the person you were before—if you even try to be him again—I will gut you myself.”

That made him look at her.

“I know,” he said.

No protest. Just… acknowledgment.

The wind stirred gently around them. And the world, just barely, started to feel like something survivable. 

February 21st, 2019

It was late afternoon when Veronica made her move.

The sun had finally burned through the last of the storm haze, lighting the school halls with that wintry golden tint that made everything feel like maybe—just maybe—they were okay.

She found them in the cafeteria; most of the group gathered around a salvaged chess set. Josie was half-dozing with her chin on her palm. Elio was reading aloud from a faded book of Greek myths, doing all the voices. Joaquin was making something out of duct tape. Dilton was quietly repairing a headlamp with shaky fingers.

Archie caught sight of her first. “You okay?” he asked, cautious, but not unkind.

“I’m… yeah. I am,” she said. “I just—” She glanced toward the bundle in her arms. A collection of soft mews and wriggles stirred beneath the blanket. “I brought you something.”

Seven heads lifted. Seven people froze.

Veronica set the blanket gently on the nearest table and peeled it back. One by one, the kittens stretched, blinked, and blinked again.

Moth, wire-thin and owl-eyed, immediately leaped into Joaquin’s arms like she’d been gone a decade. Joaquin clutched her silently, jaw tight.

Zelda stayed at Veronica’s side, because of course she did.

Banjo tumbled off the table with a thud, rolled over, and shook it off before barreling straight into Archie’s legs. Archie knelt without a word, scooping him up, letting the fat orange fluff lick his nose like no time had passed.

Sterling hopped up onto a nearby shelf and sat, coolly observing. When Nick stepped toward him, he didn’t move—just allowed Nick to scratch behind his ear like it was expected.

Finch padded delicately to Elio and meowed once, as if scolding him for taking so long.

Quark launched himself off the table and immediately tried to crawl inside Dilton’s coat. Dilton yelped, then started laughing in a breathless sort of way.

And Aria—the queen of noise—arched her back, yowled like a trumpet, and leaped into Josie’s lap, smacking her face with her tail like a prodigal toddler.

Veronica watched it all, arms crossed, but with a rare softness to her features.

“Consider this my group therapy offering,” she said dryly. “You all need it. And these… are as close as you’re going to get to licensed professionals.”

Laughter, real and unguarded laughter, rippled around the room.

No one demanded an apology. No one made her say the words.

But they accepted it, every bit of it—this peace, these cats, this gesture. Veronica felt it settle around her like a weighted blanket: forgiveness, or something close enough.

She didn't think that she could offer much more, nor did she think this world would require it. 

Zelda butted her head against Veronica’s leg.

Is this what peace looks like at the start?

If so...let's just stay here a bit longer.

February 25th, 2019

The pig was already gone when Veronica found her.

She’d named her Tinsel, one of the smaller ones, the runt of the bunch, born just days after she had rescued the farm animals. She was never as hearty as the others, but she was sweet—always the first to nudge Veronica’s hand, always following her around the pen like a loyal dog. When the blizzard passed, Veronica had checked the animals obsessively, brushing frost from their backs, coaxing warm water into their mouths. But she’d missed this.

Tinsel lay curled in the straw as if she were sleeping, but she wasn’t. Her little body was stiff, eyes half-lidded, face buried beneath her shoulder. Veronica stared for a long time, kneeling beside her, reaching out like she might still feel breath under the ribs. There wasn’t any. Just cold.

She didn’t sob at first. Not immediately. She just sat there, frozen like the ground outside, until the weight of it all cracked in her chest. And then it came.

First a whimper, then a gasp, then a full-bodied, aching wail that filled the barn. Her breath hitched, her face was soaked in tears, and her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell if she was crying for the pig or the sheep they’d lost in December. Or for Cleo. For Xander. For Simone. For her father. For all the people she’d buried in her mind, one after the other, until there was no room left to grieve.

She didn’t hear Nick enter, but she felt him crouch down beside her.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at the still shape in the straw and the girl shaking next to it. Then he said softly, “We should bury them.”

Veronica didn’t look up.

“Tinsel. And the sheep. Cleo. All of them.” He rubbed his gloved hands together, exhaling a sharp breath into the cold air. “We’ll dig the holes together. Next to my dad's. Make a space. Something real.”

Veronica pressed a hand over her mouth. “It’s not just the pig,” she whispered, barely audible. “I didn’t even cry for the others. Not really. I just kept moving.”

“I know,” Nick said gently. “But maybe it’s time.”

She looked at him then. Red-eyed, raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen since the worst of December. And he wasn’t smug or sarcastic or wry... Just there, steady, in a way that showed a maturity she had quietly missed. 

“We’ll dig them all graves,” he repeated. “Make a little cemetery out behind the barn. Put names on stones if we can. For everyone. Elio’s parents. Your dad. Even if we don’t have bodies.”

Veronica nodded, brokenly. “Tinsel deserves that much,” she whispered.

“They all do.”

He stood and offered her a hand, and this time, she took it.

February 26th, 2019

They wore black.

Not because they had to—there was no longer a dress code for grief at the end of the world—but because it felt right. Veronica had stitched her jacket buttons with thin black thread the night before, as if that would make the weight in her chest more formal, more manageable. Josie wore a long coat she'd salvaged from a boutique near town, the hem fraying. Archie pulled his sleeves over his fists. Even Dilton had found a black hoodie, too short at the wrists, but appropriate nonetheless.

The snow had been cleared behind the barn, and the ground had finally softened just enough for the spades to bite into it. They worked quietly in the morning, cutting the earth with slow, steady movements. Nick had dug the first few holes by hand, knuckles raw and cracked, refusing help until Joaquin physically pulled him away.

Now, the rows stood ready: seven shallow graves, with two smaller plots for Tinsel and Meringue. Wooden markers stood at each one, carved hastily from splintered desks and banisters, etched with names in charcoal and ink.

Hiram Lodge
Simone St. Clair
Xander St. Clair
Cleo
Fred Andrews
Pop Tate
Smithers
Sheriff Keller
Reggie Mantle
Tinsel / Meringue (R.I.P. Little Queens)

They gathered in a semicircle. There was no music. Only the distant sound of sheep, the crunch of snow, and the way the wind seemed to hush itself in respect.

Josie stepped forward, hands in her coat pockets, her breath forming clouds in front of her. She didn’t carry notes. She didn’t need them.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her voice steady, “about how we grieve. How the world ended and we still... do this.”

She glanced back at the tiny graves behind her.

“I’m glad we’re mourning pigs,” Josie continued. “And sheep. And girls we didn’t know. I’m glad we’re still crying for parents, and neighbors, and even the people who didn’t make it into our circle. I’m glad we still care enough to dig holes and stand here in the cold.” She looked down, swallowed. “Because it means we haven’t lost everything. Not yet.”

The group allowed her words to soak in. They stood in silence, each person’s grief private and strange.

Later, as the others began to drift away, back into the warmth of the school or to the barn to check on the surviving animals, Veronica stayed near the fresh earth. Archie lingered at her side, arms crossed, shoulders hunched.

“I still feel like I’m chasing it,” she murmured.

He looked over. “Chasing what?”

“Humanity,” she said. “I keep thinking if I run fast enough, I’ll catch it. But every day, it just gets farther away.”

Archie didn’t respond.

He'd grown too; he'd learned that sometimes there were no words worth it to say, and that silence was permissible. All he did was offer his shoulder for Veronica to rest her cheek upon as she surveyed the burial site, like she were taking eternal guard. 

Nothing stirred in the quiet row of graves.

The cold wind tugged at the markers, but they held fast.

In the yard behind the school, an eerie, delicate graveyard now stood, and something about it felt deeply, stubbornly human.

Chapter Text

March 12th, 2019

The dream began the way all dreams do — without a beginning.

Veronica was standing in the middle of a road she couldn’t name, barefoot on cracked asphalt, her breath fogging out in the pale morning air. The sky above her was the color of bleached-out denim, and it hummed softly, like an old radio stuck between stations. Her hands were clean, though she didn’t remember washing them. Her shirt didn’t smell like the barn. She wasn’t cold. Not really.

She turned.

And Betty was there.

Standing maybe twenty yards ahead, her hands tucked into the pockets of a jean jacket. Blonde hair in a high pony down her back like it always used to be. Sneakers scuffed and untied. Lips pink with cold.

Veronica took a step forward.

“Bee?”

Betty looked up. Smiled, just barely. It was the kind of smile that said: I see you.

Veronica moved again — faster this time — but her steps weren’t closing the distance. The road kept stretching. Between them lingered a whole world: fog, or static... something like water, something like air.

She reached out.

Betty didn’t flinch, but she didn’t reach back either. Just tilted her head.

Veronica’s throat caught. “I thought you were—”

Betty blinked. “I know.”

“You’re not, though. Right? You’re not dead.”

A long pause. Then, “I don’t think so.”

It wasn’t enough.

Veronica felt it, a panic. As she stared at Betty, she seemed to be fading, like her very spirit was withering away to nothing. And in between blinks, she saw flashes of...something, somewhere: Betty, lying on the floor, cold and beaten. It was so quick she nearly believed it was made up, because in between, Betty was standing there as though nothing was wrong.

"Veronica..." Betty finally whispered, "I'm scared." 

But this was a dream, and dreams didn't have to make sense. They didn't have to be true, but on the off-chance it was...

“Listen to me.” Veronica stepped forward again, furiously, pushing against whatever this nothingness was between them. “I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if this is me going insane, or if this is some fucked-up ghost frequency or the edge of a dream—” she laughed, too loud, too sharp. “—but you can’t die there. Wherever there is.”

Betty’s smile fell.

“You don’t get to die in the cold. Or the dirt. Or under some asshole’s boot.” Her voice cracked, chest rising like she’d just run a mile. “You’re not allowed.”

The air buzzed. Betty flickered, just slightly.

“You are Betty Cooper, do you hear me? You’ve walked through more fire than anyone I’ve ever met, and you didn’t melt. You turned into something that people should be afraid of. You don’t just lie down. You don’t.”

Betty opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I miss you,” Veronica whispered. “I miss you like a phantom limb.”

Betty’s image wavered again — like light through a heatwave. Veronica pressed her palms to the invisible wall between them, eyes stinging.

“You deserve a better place to die than wherever you are,” she said. “And until then… you hold on. You be strong. You stay angry, if that’s what it takes. You do not give up.”

And for just a moment — a single blink — Betty stepped forward too.

Their hands didn’t quite meet.

And then Veronica woke up in the dark.

The barn was silent except for a soft meow from the rafters. She'd been mending some holes and had fallen asleep.

Zelda blinked down at her. The scent of straw and fur and cold burned in her nose.

She lay there, eyes open, heart thudding loud enough to make her believe — just maybe — that Betty Cooper had heard her.

And that, somewhere out there, Betty Cooper was trying just as hard not to give up.

The dream pressed against the inside of her chest like a bruise. She could still feel Betty’s presence, still hear her voice echoing in that dreamscape where nothing made sense but everything felt real. It was absurd, she told herself. Nothing but a grief-tangled dream. Her subconscious was chewing through guilt she hadn’t finished digesting.

Still...

Her hands felt cold.

By the time she emerged into the pale morning light, Archie was already there, leaning against the side of the barn with Banjo draped over his shoulders like a sleepy scarf. The air smelled like thawing soil and fresh hay, birdsong pricking at the quiet edges of the yard.

“Morning, Roni,” he said, eyes soft but teasing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She paused. “Something like that.”

He handed her a cracked ceramic mug. Warm. Dandelion root tea, probably. The smell didn’t help the nausea twisting in her gut.

Archie watched her for a beat, then added, “Did you dream of Betty?”

Veronica stiffened.

“You were saying her name in your sleep,” he continued, gently. 

She took a sip of tea and said nothing.

“She was probably just… visiting,” Archie said, a little too brightly. “Or your brain was. Y’know. Being a brain.”

Veronica’s jaw ticked. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re humoring me.”

Archie looked caught, like he hadn’t realized that’s what he was doing. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

Across the yard, Joaquin emerged from the school, Finch trailing at his heels. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and made his way over, hands in his pockets.

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Veronica had a dream,” Archie said. “About Betty.”

Joaquin paused. Then: “Was it bad?”

Veronica hesitated. “It was… weird. Like she was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t know what. Like I was supposed to remind her not to give up.”

Joaquin’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You superstitious?”

Veronica blinked. “Not really.”

“Sweet Pea was,” Joaquin said. He crouched to scratch Finch behind the ears. “He used to say sometimes the dead — or the not—yet—dead—could send messages if you loved them enough.”

“Yeah, well,” Veronica muttered. “If she is dead, I don’t think she’d waste her time talking to me.”

Then the wind shifted.

A warm breeze tousled her hair. Somewhere, a bird let out a trilling song that didn’t sound like winter at all. And for the first time in months, the frost was breaking. The grass wasn’t just brown and stubborn anymore — it was sprouting shoots. The trees still looked skeletal, but the sky above them was a clean, impossible blue.

And in that moment, Veronica Lodge — cynical, broken-edged Veronica — felt like she could breathe again.

“Look at that,” Archie murmured, turning his face to the sun.

Joaquin smiled faintly. “Spring.”

Veronica felt the last remnants of the dream — the ache, the fear — loosen their grip on her spine. She still didn’t know what it meant. But she knew Betty wasn’t gone. Not yet. Not in the way that counted.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s feed the chickens.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to go back to bed and consult your psychic dream network? I think I have some pressing questions for the ghosts.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Banjo just spat up a chewed part of your boot. You have bigger problems.”

He grinned.

And together, they walked into the thaw.

XXX

It was the kind of day that made you forget there’d ever been snow. Warm, not hot... the kind of golden warmth that kissed the skin without smothering it. The kind of day that made the air smell like distant rain and muddy flowers. Even the breeze felt different, like a breath held all winter finally let go.

Veronica stood in the barn doorway with Zelda winding through her ankles, watching Quark chase a grasshopper across the yard in short, spastic bursts. Finch lounged on the roof, tail flicking like a metronome. Banjo had tried to scale a fence and failed, landing in a pile of hay that made Archie laugh so hard he wheezed.

It should’ve been a good day.

It was a good day.

So why couldn’t she just enjoy it?

“C’mon, Veronica,” Josie called from the school’s back lot, where someone had marked lines in the gravel with bits of chalk and sticks. “You’re not gonna let Dilton win again, are you?”

Veronica sighed — the kind that was more out of habit than exhaustion — and stepped into the light.

They were playing a game of cobbled-together baseball. The bat was a broken broomstick, the bases were backpacks, and the ball had clearly been stitched together from sock scraps. Dilton was pitching with intense, mechanical precision. Josie had one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes. Elio shouted rules no one was listening to. Joaquin was barefoot for some reason, which felt unfairly intimidating.

Archie caught her eye and gave her a lazy, lopsided smile. “You in?”

Veronica shook her head. “I’m not dressed for sports.”

“You’re not dressed for the apocalypse either,” he teased. “But here we are.”

Zelda gave a judgmental meow and trotted off toward the chickens.

From the sidelines, Hermione sat on a picnic bench with her coat draped loosely over her shoulders, and Sterling curled beside her. Her hands were idle.

Veronica expected her to call them in, to scold them for wasting daylight, for leaving tools half-cleaned or eggs uncollected. But instead, her mother just smiled, almost wistfully. It was as if she’d seen something fragile in the air and didn’t dare disturb it.

It made Veronica’s skin prickle.

She drifted closer, eventually dropping into the grass beside her mom, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Mom,” she said slowly, “Don’t you want them to finish the chores?”

Hermione didn’t take her eyes off the game. “Not today.”

Veronica frowned. “Why not?”

“Because,” her mother said softly, “this is what it’s all for. Look at them. It’s been so long since we’ve laughed like this. Since anyone had the breath to.”

Veronica watched Josie sprint toward third, laughing, as Quark darted between her legs. Archie held his arms up dramatically like he was calling a football play. Joaquin was booing from a makeshift dugout. Even Dilton was grinning, flushed pink from the sun and energy.

It was nice.

It was suspiciously nice.

“Spring’s not here yet,” Veronica muttered, picking at a blade of grass. “We always get one fake one. That’s what everyone used to call it — ‘false spring.’”

Her mother looked at her then, really looked. “Let them have it anyway.”

Veronica nodded slowly, but the knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. Something wasn’t right. Or maybe everything was right, and that was the problem.

Because nothing this good ever lasted.

Not anymore.

XXX

By nightfall, the warmth had gone.

A cold wind picked up just before dusk, chasing them indoors with chapped cheeks and tingling fingertips. The game had ended with laughter and a cat sprinting off with the sock-ball, and they all drifted toward the gym in clusters, smelling of sun and hay and sweat.

Veronica stayed behind to help Hermione collect the leftover tools from the barn. Zelda weaved dutifully at her heels. The animals were settling in for the night, and for once, nothing felt like it was falling apart.

Not yet, at least. 

Hermione moved more slowly than usual.

She tried to hide it — the way she used the rake like a cane when she didn’t think Veronica was looking, or how she paused halfway through lifting a feed bag and pressed a hand to her side. Her breathing was shallow, just for a second. Her face was paler than the fading sky.

“You okay?” Veronica asked, casually enough not to raise alarms.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, almost too fast. “Just tired.”

“Tired or hurting?”

Hermione’s eyes flashed with a flicker of something tight and unspoken. “Just tired.”

Veronica stared at her, but her mother was already walking away, silhouetted by the barn light, hair swept in the wind. She wasn’t limping, not exactly, but something about her gait was off. Unbalanced. Stiff in a way that made Veronica’s stomach flip.

When she finally climbed up to the roof — a quiet spot she’d started reclaiming since the storm — Veronica watched the moon rise and thought about the dream. About Betty. About warnings. About omens.

All day, she'd tried to push that ball of anxiety farther away; she had laughed and smiled and felt the sun on her skin and the ache of something that felt like hope. But now that she was alone, the tightness in her chest was back, clawing its way into her ribs.

She knew that look. It was the fake ease, the ‘I’m fine’ that carried the weight of a collapsing world. She’d seen it on her father before he was arrested or on Betty, more times than she could count.

And now, she’d seen it on her mother.

She closed her eyes, clutching Zelda to her chest as the wind howled softly and the coldness skittered across the roof.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispered into the fur.

It wasn’t spring.

It was the warning before the thaw.

She opened her eyes and stared out into the snow-patched yard, the world so silent it felt like a held breath.

The dream had been a warning.

And now...she was listening.

Chapter Text

May 10th, 2019

The wind had turned warm. The trees had burst into full bloom, lilacs scenting the edge of the schoolyard where the metal fence leaned just slightly inward. From a distance, Cody almost looked like a real home again.

But inside, things were crumbling.

Hermione Lodge was not well.

They’d all seen it happening — slowly at first, like the soft unraveling of a sweater. A dropped cup... a missed chore, a moment of confusion.... a stiffness in her hands she wouldn’t explain.

Veronica had started doing the little things without thinking, like covering for her, while steering her gently from one room to another. She took her place in meetings, checking on her when she thought no one was watching. And with every moment, she felt the roles twisting in her gut.

She wasn’t supposed to be the one worrying.

She wasn’t supposed to be the adult.

May 13th, 2019

It happened on a Monday.

Hermione had been sorting dry goods in the hall beside the cafeteria. Veronica walked by just in time to see her mother sway on her feet and drop to her knees. Not like she fainted; just folded, slow and painful, like the ground had called to her.

By the time Veronica dropped beside her, Hermione was shaking. Her breath came fast and shallow, her eyes bloodshot and wild. She clutched her chest, her fingers trembling, and Veronica could feel the fever radiating off her.

“Mom— Mom,” she said, sharp but trying not to panic. “Hey. Look at me. You’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione whispered hoarsely. Her eyes flicked toward the supplies she’d spilled. “I just— I got dizzy—”

“You have a fever,” Veronica said tightly. “You haven’t been able to eat. You can’t keep food down. You can barely walk in the mornings. And now you’re on the floor.”

It all spilled out, like an accusation. All the little things that Veronica had been hoarding in the back of her brain, that worry, bubbled up from her lips before she could stop it.

Hermione tried to rise but hissed and stayed down. “Don’t fuss.”

“I’m not fussing.” Veronica snapped, the words harsher than she meant.

Archie and Josie came rushing from one end of the hall, Joaquin from the other. Josie dropped beside them, checking Hermione’s pulse, brow furrowed deep. Archie was already running for Dilton, who was the closest thing they had to a medic.

Ten minutes later, the group was assembled in the classroom-turned-common room.

“She’s not going to get better with what we have,” Dilton said bluntly. “I’ve gone through everything we salvaged from the nurse’s office, and it’s Band-Aids and ibuprofen.”

“She needs real medicine,” Josie added. “Or real help. This could be autoimmune. I don't know...Lupus? MS? Something long-term. We’re way out of our depth.”

“Where would we even go?” Archie asked. “There’s a hospital in Billings—”

“No,” Veronica said immediately, “That’s two hours away. It’s a death sentence unless we know exactly what we’re looking for.”

Elio crossed his arms. “Then we need to start small: Pharmacies, clinics, and private practices.”

“We need to make a plan,” Josie agreed. “A run. A real one.”

Veronica stood against the doorframe, arms crossed tight, trying not to show how much her hands were shaking. She looked over at her mother, curled on a cot beneath two threadbare blankets, listing in and out of sleep, and swallowed hard. As Veronica knelt to cover her with the blanket, like a mother tucking in a child, she felt bile rise up her throat. 

Her voice came out low. “I feel like I’m…raising her.”

No one said anything.

She turned away before the burn behind her eyes could spill over. She didn’t want to be hugged. She didn’t want to be comforted.

She just wanted someone to fix it.

XXX

They gathered around the table just after dusk, the school flickering with battery-powered lanterns and a haze of cold hanging in the halls. The air was taut, like a guitar string pulled too tight.

“She’s worse,” Josie said. “She won’t make it to summer without something real.”

“Hell, she might not make it through spring,” Archie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Veronica stood by the window, arms folded, watching the last pink sliver of sunset. “Then we go.”

“That’s not the issue,” Josie said carefully. “The issue is who goes.”

The silence stretched. Then Elio stepped in, practical and cool. “Dilton should go.”

“Excuse me?” Dilton looked up, startled. “I thought I’d be staying here.”

“You know the most about medicine,” Elio said. “More than the rest of us. You’re smart, you’re surgical, you—”

“Am not a doctor,” Dilton cut in, his voice sharp. “I’m a high school nerd who once dissected a frog and read half a veterinary manual. I’m better used if she has a flare-up here. I know her symptoms. I’ve tracked them.”

“He’s right,” Josie said, surprising everyone. “If we lose Hermione while you’re out getting ibuprofen and a med school textbook, we’ll regret it.”

“So I should go,” Veronica said.

“No.” That came from three mouths at once: Josie, Archie, and Joaquin.

“It’s my mom.” Veronica turned, her voice rising.

“Exactly,” Josie said. “Which is why you should be here if she takes a turn.”

“But I’m also the best at reading people,” Veronica shot back. “If it’s between talking our way into a pharmacy or fighting, you know who’s better at smooth-talking.”

“She has a point,” Joaquin said, arms crossed. “Veronica’s quick on her feet. She’s survived worse than a field trip.”

Archie looked pained. “But if something happens here…”

“Then you’re needed,” Josie finished. “You're the strongest. If we’re attacked, if the storm comes back, if the generator fails—what happens if you’re not here?”

“You think I want to leave her?” Archie snapped, his eyes flicking toward Hermione’s door. “You think I’m not scared out of my mind that she’s dying in the next room? She took me in. She vouched for me. She's like my mom, too—” He broke off, haunted and angry. 

"She's all of our mom," Joaquin muttered, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. 

Veronica looked at him, something raw crossing her face. “Then let me do something.”

Another silence. 

“I’ll go,” Joaquin finally said. “I’m not the strongest. I’m not the smartest. But I’m fast, I’m quiet, and I’ve been in fights. You’ll need that.”

Veronica nodded. “So it’s me, Archie, and Joaquin.”

“No one’s thrilled about this,” Josie said, subdued. “But it’s the best we’ve got.”

Archie sighed, resting both hands on the table like he needed to hold something steady.

“Pack light,” Dilton said. “Dress warm. And if you see trouble...run.”

Veronica gave a half-smile. That seemed obvious, but perhaps not. “Sure, Boy Scout.”

May 14th, 2019

Veronica couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a car and enjoyed it. The entire procession out to Cody had been fraught with panic or cramped in a van. Archie’s thumbs drummed on the wheel, Joaquin squished in the back, keeping lookout with a loaded gun. Veronica was supposed to be the nav, but the roads were wide and empty, and if they just went ‘north’, they'd hit where they were meant to.

Thank God, Joaquin knew how to wire a car. Their RV in the back of the school was hardly inconspicuous, far too big for their task, and just about on its last leg. Luckily, two blocks away lay an abandoned dealership, and Joaquin took no trouble getting an entire roaring.

But even as he did it, Veronica couldn’t help but think, Betty would have done that faster.  

Pulled down with sadness, both for her mother and her worsening mystery symptoms and for her friend who was not with them, Veronica let the wind whip around her face, her hair tangling in the open air.

She pressed an arm gingerly against the car door, letting her cheek meet the wide expanse beside her. The sun pelted down on their car, May heat rolling in like a slow, creeping storm. It was midday and hot now, no trees or hills to temper the weather. 

She closed her eyes, letting the heatwaves coil toward her. It almost felt like the before, when she’d close her eyes in a car and wake up somewhere totally different. She dreamed that if she opened her eyes, she’d wake up and things would be okay.

(What a foolish hope.) 

She wasn’t sure she knew how to deal with this. Not that any of this was serving her nerves well, but how does one watch their mother wither away, knowing they once had the money and the means to heal her, but now only have a high school student’s analysis and skills to go on.

Jesus, why was no one they saved interested in a career in medicine? They ought to have swung by the hospital and saved a couple of folks there, Veronica hummed with an un-humored snort. 

Archie nudged Veronica, “We’re nearly there, I think.” 

Veronica peeled herself to an upright position, feeling as feeble as a willow frond. She pushed her hair back, watching a town grow as they barreled toward it. She checked her map, though she wasn’t any master at geography, and figured it must be where they’d meant to go. With any luck, there might be a pharmacy or a hospital or anything more than what they had and what had been picked through Cody. 

She hoped smaller towns might yield better luck. Less foot traffic on the way out, less reason for folks to stop off compared to bigger locations.

Still, she felt something in her stomach, a pit that wouldn’t stop expanding. This town might already be picked over. They might come back empty-handed. And even if they found it, it still may not work.

Inexcusable, Veronica’s inner voice spat, You won’t stop. Not until you find it. You’re a Lodge; you don’t just give the fuck up. 

But would her friends go all over the state with her, searching for that magic cure? 

Of course they will. Without Hermione, it’s just a bunch of teens leading teens. And that’s not good for anyone. We need Mom. 

As they came into the town, it was like they walked backward in time, back before the apocalypse happened. 

The town unfolded like a mirage—perfect little lawns browned only slightly at the edges, white picket fences standing as if time hadn’t dared lean too hard against them. A wind chime clinked against an eave. The trees lining the neighborhood streets had begun to green. A sprinkler sputtered quietly in a yard they passed, its mechanical rhythm out of place in the stillness.

Veronica stared.

“No way,” Joaquin muttered behind her.

It was like someone had pressed pause on life right before the end of the world. Like a neighborhood from a movie set. There were toys scattered in one of the yards. A car half-parked in a driveway, its door still ajar. Wind tugged at a flag left to flap lazily in the spring breeze.

“I don’t like this,” Archie said. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “It’s too…normal.”

Joaquin leaned forward, squinting past them. “I’ve seen this before. Back near Greendale. Places that feel frozen. People don't like it. Said they’re cursed.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying the apocalypse has magic rules now?”

“I’m saying there’s a reason this place looks like a Norman Rockwell painting and no one’s touched it,” Joaquin said. “It’s not just creepy. It’s magic.”

"Sure, Harry Potter," Veronica rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep her sense of apprehension that was yanking her down. She was afraid; this wasn't normal. 

Archie pulled the car to a slow stop at the edge of a cul-de-sac. “We scout. One house at a time. Together. If there’s a pharmacy here, we hit it fast. We don’t split up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Joaquin muttered. “Not in this fucking Pleasantville ghost town.”

Veronica opened the door, boots hitting pavement that looked like it had been swept just yesterday. A child’s bike lay on its side a few feet away. She crouched beside it instinctively. A paper bag was still looped over one handlebar.

It was full of bread. Molded. But untouched.

Archie was scanning the windows of the surrounding homes. “No Cannibals. No sounds.”

“No bodies,” Joaquin added grimly.

“That’s worse,” Veronica said under her breath.

The air was sweet. It smelled like blooming cherry blossoms. Like barbecues and freshly mowed grass. It made Veronica’s stomach twist. This is what she would’ve killed to have back.

A hummingbird darted past her.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. “Let’s move,” she said. “I don’t think we should stay long.” 

The trio began walking down the street, their boots brushing against windblown petals and stray leaves. The houses on either side were picture-perfect—some had welcome mats still laid out, others had potted plants that had long since wilted. A swing creaked lazily in the wind, and the sun glinted off clean windows like blinking eyes.

They were maybe halfway down the block when Joaquin stopped cold.

“What the hell…” he whispered.

Veronica turned. “What is it?”

Joaquin took two steps forward, eyes narrowing. Then he broke into a sprint.

“Joaquin!” Archie shouted, already breaking into a run after him.

But Joaquin didn’t hear. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He had seen him, and now Veronica did too; broad shoulders with greasy black hair under a worn Serpent bandana. On a skeletal figure, the shape of that tattered army jacket. There was a slow, sideways gait Veronica recalled from way back in Riverdale; someone her father had meetings with. 

God, what was his name? Lunchpail? Dinner To-Go? Okay, now, don't be mean...

“Lunchbox?” Joaquin called, voice cracking. “Lunchbox, wait!”

He tore across the street, through an open gate, up the porch of a yellow house with blue shutters. The front door was open just a sliver, like someone had stepped out to get the mail and never returned.

Veronica and Archie skidded in behind him just as he pushed inside.

“Joaquin, stop!” Veronica called, heart pounding.

He ignored her.

The house was perfect and utterly untouched. A warm light filtered through gauzy curtains. A pair of reading glasses sat on a side table next to an open book. There was a faint scent of lavender and lemon polish. A clock ticked gently from the wall.

It felt lived in...still lived in.

“I saw him,” Joaquin said, breathless, eyes scanning the hallway. “My uncle. He came in here. I swear to God—he was right there.”

Veronica’s voice was quiet, careful. “Maybe it was someone else. Or… something else.”

“No,” Joaquin snapped, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. He had the lunchbox. He always had it. Said it was ‘cause Serpents didn’t get hospitals, so he was the ER. He kept it on him even at parties.”

He moved forward like he was in a trance, brushing his fingers along the hallway wallpaper. There were no photos, no names, and no clues at all to who had lived here.

“Maybe it’s him,” Archie offered gently, stepping forward. “But if it is… we still need to be careful. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“I have to know,” Joaquin said. He turned toward a door at the end of the hall. It was cracked open.

Inside, soft yellow light spilled from a desk lamp. The room looked like an office: lined with shelves of books and stacked paper. On the desk, a small metal box sat closed. It was green and weathered, like it had been packed and unpacked for a decade.

Joaquin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s his.”

He reached for it.

Veronica reached for his arm.

“Wait,” she said. “Do you remember horror movies? Let's not touch the weird, unnaturally perfect family memento." 

But Joaquin’s hand was already on the box.

He opened it slowly.

Inside: bandages, antiseptic wipes, painkillers, a small scalpel, tweezers, gauze, and a thermometer. It was all organized like someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

And, most notably, no blood, no dust, and no sign that it had been through any medical situations of late.

Joaquin’s breath hitched. “He was here.”

Veronica looked around the room again. A calendar on the wall said April 2018. It hadn’t been turned since.

“We still don’t know where he is,” Archie said. “He might be long gone. Or not who you think anymore.”

Joaquin didn’t answer. He just stared down at the box like it held the ghost of the man who once carried it.

Veronica felt that pit in her stomach twist tighter.

And then the door slammed shut behind them.

The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot, echoing through the too-perfect house. All three of them flinched. The soft hum in the walls vanished.

And everything changed.

The light dimmed—suddenly, violently—like a sun had been switched off. The clean lemony air turned rancid in an instant, replaced with something metallic and wet. The wallpaper peeled before their eyes, curling at the edges like burnt paper. The floor groaned.

Veronica’s breath caught in her throat.

Joaquin gasped.

The lunchbox he held… wasn't a lunchbox anymore.

It was rusted shut with dried blood around the hinges. It looked more like an animal trap—jagged and bent and streaked with something dark and long-since rotted.

“Wha—” he choked, nearly dropping it. “What the hell is this—?”

Veronica turned, and her vision swam. The room, so pristine just seconds ago, was smeared with gore. The desk where the box had sat was cracked and blackened, splinters sticking out like snapped bones. Papers were shredded. The walls were stained. The yellow lamp flickered erratically, casting twitching shadows across the corpses.

There were bodies.

At least three, crumpled in the corners of the room. One with a belt still cinched too tight around their arm, slumped near a toppled chair. Another facedown by the window, skull caved in. A third in the closet, jaws locked in a silent scream. All bloated, long dead.

“Out—” Archie barked. “We’re leaving. Now.”

They stumbled into the hallway. The photographs were back, but smeared, faces scratched out, frames broken. The floorboards were warped and sticky beneath their feet.

The front door flung open like it had been shoved by an unseen hand.

They spilled out onto the porch—

And the street was unrecognizable.

The picket fences were broken. Cars were rusted out, windows smashed. One house was burned down to its frame. Another had blood trailing down the driveway in looping, dried patterns. The flowers were shriveled to husks. A swing set groaned in the wind, one chain broken, seat dangling like a noose.

There were bones in the street, scattered and picked clean, gleaming in the midday sun. 

The sky was a sickly gray now, churning with clouds that hadn’t been there minutes before.

Veronica collapsed to her knees in the yard, coughing, bile rising in her throat.

Archie stood frozen, his face pale, his lips slightly parted if he couldn’t even find the words to begin.

Joaquin backed away from the porch, hand still trembling from the blood-covered box. His voice cracked with something beyond fear.

“We need to go. Now. Not just this house. Not this street. We need to get the fuck out of this town.”

Veronica looked up at him.

There was no explanation. No logic. No Cannibal tracks. No Predator signs. Just… something. A force. A sickness in the air that didn’t belong to the world they knew.

And it was watching.

They didn’t need to ask each other twice.

Veronica was uninterested in sticking around. 

Behind them, the house door creaked shut on its own.

They made it back to Cody just before sundown.

The clouds had started to thin by then, casting long gold shadows over the empty parking lot. Veronica jumped out of the car before it had even fully stopped, clutching the paper bag from the pharmacy like it was a lifeline. She didn’t say anything—none of them had, not for miles. Not after that town.

The pharmacy they’d found a handful of towns over had been almost aggressively normal. Lights flickering, bottles still on the shelves, a layer of dust, but no blood. No bodies. No ghosts. No illusions. Just... shelves and silence.

They’d taken what they needed—ibuprofen, acetaminophen, antibiotics, a half-crushed bottle of prednisone. They didn’t know what was going to work. They just knew Hermione needed something.

Now, she lay curled in one of the old infirmary cots, her skin pale and waxy under the school’s fluorescent lights. Archie knelt beside her, holding her hand. Veronica didn’t let go of the paper bag until Dilton took it gently from her arms.

“We’ll see what works,” he said quietly. “We’ll try everything.”

Joaquin hadn’t spoken much since the town. He paced by the window now, Banjo asleep on Archie’s back, Zelda tucked tightly into Veronica’s arms, like even the cats knew something was off.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” Dilton said eventually, rifling through the bottles with clinical detachment. “Gas leak? Hallucinogens in the air supply? Something fungal?”

“Sure,” Joaquin said, voice brittle. “A town-wide mushroom trip that time-warped a neighborhood, rotted it while we were standing in it, and made me see my uncle.”

Dilton looked over, stung. “There has to be a real explanation.”

Veronica sat on the floor, legs stretched out, Zelda nestled against her chest. Her voice was quiet.

“Maybe there isn’t.”

That silence returned, the same one they’d driven home in. It pressed into the corners of the room. Hermione’s shallow breathing was the only sound.

They’d survived (sort of). 

They’d gotten what they needed (sort of). 

But none of them felt better.

And none of them, not even Dilton, dared suggest going back.

Chapter Text

June 20th, 2019

The sun was too warm for what it meant. The breeze was too gentle for what it carried. It was June, and all around them, the earth insisted on pretending things were fine. Flowers pushed up between cracks in the asphalt, and the wild grass smelled clean and green and unbothered.

Hermione Lodge was not dead.

But she also wasn’t getting better.

Some days, Veronica thought she looked fine—just tired. Other days, the skin beneath her mother’s eyes was so dark and hollowed that it looked like something had scooped it out. Her hands trembled sometimes. She was always cold, always aching.

Hermione kept brushing it off.

“It’s the flu,” she would say. “It’s age. It’s the stress.”

Veronica didn’t believe any of it. And worse, she didn’t believe she had time to argue.

Lately, when she looked at her mother, it felt like watching someone slowly fade out of a photograph. 

And maybe that’s why, when she found Nick and Elio sitting on the old stage in the gym, legs dangling like kids skipping out on study hall, she wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

They scooted over when she approached, making room between them.

“Hey,” Nick said, squinting at her. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“Thanks,” Veronica replied dryly, brushing her hair from her face.

Elio offered her a graham cracker from a half-smashed sleeve. “Dead parent snack?”

She blinked at him.

“Welcome to the Dead Parents’ Club,” Nick said, nudging her shoulder. “We thought we’d give you early admission.”

Veronica’s stomach twisted.

“Funny,” she snarled. “That’s real funny.”

Nick tilted his head. “It’s not supposed to be funny. Or, I don't know, is it, Grande?"

Veronica stood frozen. “My mom’s not dead.”

“No,” Elio said carefully. “But she’s not not dying either, right?”

Veronica flinched. The silence that followed stretched tight like a wire.

“I watched my dad shoot himself,” Nick said suddenly, shrugging, as though this was casual. “Elio held his mom’s hand for six hours before she stopped breathing. We know how this goes.”

“You don’t know anything,” Veronica snapped.

Nick raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to say you’re not alone, V.”

“Well, maybe I’d rather be alone than be in your little grief club,” she snapped. “You think you’re philosophers now? Sitting up here, handing out fucking graham crackers like you’re the ghosts of Christmas future?”

“Jesus,” Elio muttered, "God forbid we extend the olive branch..." 

“I’m sorry your parents are dead, I really am. But don’t invite me into your little trauma tea party while mine is still breathing. Don’t pretend you know what it’s like for me.” Her voice cracked.

Nick stood slowly, his expression cooling. “Fine. Stay out of the club. But don’t act like grief waits for a death certificate.”

Veronica turned on her heel and walked away before her tears could spill. She wasn’t ready to mourn someone still alive.

She wasn’t ready for any of this.

XXX

She didn’t cry right away. It took a few hours. 

She found herself in the library, where the thick smell of dust and mildew clung to every page. The cracked windows let in ribbons of light, and Veronica stood in the silence, staring at her phone like it was a relic from another life.

It had taken her weeks to ration the charge she’d built up from the last generator run. Then all morning jury-rigging wires, scavenging scraps from old calculators and flashlight batteries, carefully shielding the port from moisture and hoping the gods of electricity still gave a damn.

It buzzed to life at noon.

13% battery.

Enough for one thing.

She went to her voicemails.

There was only one. She didn’t even remember saving it.

Hiram Lodge, 2015.

Timestamped four years and one apocalypse ago.

She hit play.

"Mija, just calling to remind you that your dry cleaning is at the house. Don’t forget you’ve got dinner with the Langs tonight—oh, and tell your mother I’ll be late, the traffic on Fifth is—hell, it’s like a parking lot out here. Anyway. I know you have your big math test this morning. You got this, kiddo. You always do."

It wasn’t profound, it wasn't emotional, hell...she didn't even mean to save it. She'd simply forgotten to delete it, and it had stayed there like an uninvited guest at a house party, not drawing attention that it was out of place. 

But hearing his voice—warm, mundane, alive—knocked the wind from her. She sank into the nearest chair, clutching the phone, lips trembling. He had been so normal. They had all been so alive.

She reached to replay it, but the phone screen flickered and started to glitch. 

And then died; completely, permanently, and mockingly. 

“No—no, no—” she muttered, shaking it, slapping the side. “Don’t you dare.”

It didn’t turn back on.

She stormed to the science wing, down the hall that still stank like bleach and dust, and shoved through the door where Dilton had set up shop. He looked up from a radio circuit he was fiddling with, startled.

“Can you fix it?”

She thrust the phone toward him.

Dilton took it gingerly, squinting through his thick glasses, flipping it over in his hands. She watched him work. It wasn't meticulous or anything she couldn't do herself. He pressed the power button, waited a bit, and then opened it almost too casually. 

There was a long pause.

"Well?" Veronica prompted, snappishly. 

“I can try to salvage parts,” he said, shrugging, unconcerned, as though she'd just dug it out this morning from some poor kid's backpack. “But…this motherboard’s toast. It’s not corrosion, it’s just…fried. This thing’s done for.”

Veronica felt like something in her chest had cracked. She stared at the black screen. That single voicemail was the last voice of her father in the world.

Gone.

She nodded stiffly, holding back tears. “Okay.”

Dilton looked up, startled. He turned the phone over, examining the case, and all at once, he understood. 

“Vee,” Dilton said gently, “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay."

It wasn't.

June 21st, 2019

Veronica was quiet as she packed. There was no theatrics, no slamming drawers, no big announcement in the Quad. There was just the careful fold of shirts, the steady clink of supplies tucked into her bag like she’d done it a thousand times. Maybe she had. It sure felt like it. 

She moved like someone haunted.

She was stuffing a knife into her belt loop when the door creaked open behind her.

Archie’s voice, low: “Where are you going?”

She didn’t look up. “Out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t have one.” She tugged the zipper shut on her pack. “I just... I need to go.”

Archie stepped into the room, his face cast in the dull light of the hallway. “Because your phone died?”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “Because my mom is dying. Because my dad is already dead. Because every time I let myself breathe for five seconds, something awful happens. I can't sit here and watch the people I love fall apart one by one like I’m next in line.” She finally looked at him, eyes glassy. “I need to find something. Some kind of meaning. Some sign this isn’t all just pointless suffering.”

“You’re seriously doing this again?” he said, voice rising. “Just… taking off?”

“I’m not taking off,” she shot back. “I’m trying to survive. Sitting still is killing me.”

Archie scoffed, hurt flashing through his features. “So what—are we not enough now? Is this not enough? Me? The people who’ve stayed?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped. “I’ve been here every step, Veronica. Every single time. I carried you out of that shack half-dead. I slept on a concrete floor just to make sure you were okay. I buried your fucking pigs with you. And you think you’ll find more meaning out there?” His words were cruel, laced with derision, like the very idea of it was such an absurd thing she was dumb to consider it worth her time. 

Her mouth opened and closed, but she didn't have her fire that she usually did, no soul-shaking responses to shut him right up. 

“I need to go,” she whispered.

Archie stepped back, like she’d slapped him. “Fine,” he said bitterly. “Go.” She flinched. “If you want to walk out into the woods and die chasing some invisible answer, be my guest.”

He didn’t shout it. That would’ve been easier.

He said it... like it had been sitting on his tongue, waiting.

Veronica blinked, stunned. She wouldn't have any words for him, though, if he waited around to hear them.

June 22nd, 2019

Veronica walked.

She didn’t know how long—hours, maybe. Maybe a full day. The sun rose and fell in a blur behind overcast clouds, and still, she walked.

Her boots crunched over cracked pavement and frostbitten weeds. She stepped around burned-out cars with shattered windows, through half-toppled neighborhoods where mailboxes still clung to house numbers like they meant something. Plastic lawn chairs bleached bone-white by the sun. A child’s toy was melted into the asphalt. A paper birthday banner that read FOUR!, fluttering on rusted nails.

She had a map tucked in her coat. She made herself chart her course with tiny pencil marks every few miles. It felt like a breadcrumb trail, and it was her promise to herself that she'd be back this way.

But a part of her didn’t believe that. A part of her wasn’t sure if coming back was the point anymore.

Her backpack dug into her shoulders. The gun at her hip felt heavier than it should. She stopped twice to drink water, once to eat a protein bar that tasted like glue. Each time she sat down, she gave herself five minutes. No more. If she rested too long, she feared she might not get up again.

Somewhere around midday, she passed a church with no roof and a broken cross sagging sideways. She didn’t go inside.

Instead, she stood at the edge of the gravel parking lot, staring at it.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” she whispered into the wind. “What kind of God burns everything down but leaves just enough behind to hurt?”

Her voice cracked at the end, raw from disuse. Her breath fogged in the spring air. There was no answer.

“Is this penance?” she asked. “Did we do something so unforgivable?”

She thought of all the lives already gone: Her father, Cleo, Simone, Malachai, Smithers... People she hated. People she loved. People she never knew.

She thought of Hermione, and how she still couldn’t name what was killing her, just that something was.

A sickness that wouldn't say its name, like a beast lurking behind the shadows. 

Veronica leaned her head back and screamed at the sky.

It came out dry. Half-choked. It was more of a ragged sob than a scream.

No one answered.

Nothing echoed.

Not even the wind.

And still—she walked.

XXX

She almost missed it.

The path had long since disappeared into a thicket of windblown prairie, where the ground was uneven and blackened in patches. Smoke must have passed through here months ago—maybe longer. The scent of ash was long faded, but its ghosts still clung to the trees: branches crisped to bone, bark curled and flaking, black soot spattering the trunks like rot.

One tree stood crooked near the edge of the clearing, as if caught mid-scream.

Veronica didn’t know why she slowed, just that something in her gut told her to look.

Her boots sank a little in the soft, scorched soil as she stepped closer. The trunk was burned, yes, but not totally destroyed. And there—just visible through the black—were carved lines. They were undoubtedly human-made.

A heart. Jagged, uneven lettering scrawled a careful 'A + R'.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The bark was split where the fire had licked through, and the carving was partially melted, but she recognized the shapes. The way the A dipped just slightly to the right. The uneven curve of the R. The same way Archie had carved it into the porch post at Lodge Lodge nearly a year ago, when they were still trying to figure out what surviving until the National Guard showed up may look like. It was back when they thought maybe carving their initials meant something.

She reached out and laid a hand on the tree. The wood crumbled under her fingers.

“I get it,” she whispered to whatever was listening. “Okay. I get it.”

A sign. But of what?

That the world burns everything? That love doesn’t mean a damn thing? That even the moments that felt permanent were just trees waiting to die?

She didn’t cry.

She just...stood there.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, to Archie, even though he couldn’t hear it. “I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know how to do this without her. Or any of them. Without Betty or Jughead or Fred or...” She choked out her words, feeling sorry and lonely and very far from home.

She looked up, blinking into the gray light above.

“If there’s anyone up there. God. Gods. Fates. Whatever. I need something.” Her voice cracked. “Anything.” She turned slowly in a circle, arms half-outstretched, like she could catch some whispered answer on the wind. “I need to know the worst hasn’t happened. That Betty’s okay. That I’m not meant to die out here, just because I don’t know how to live.”

The wind stirred. But it was just wind.

There wasn't a divine intervention: no lightning, no booming voice, no miracle dove flittering down from the parting clouds.

All that stood next to her was the damned burned tree. 

She sighed, "Alright, God. Heard."

She pressed her palm against the tree, finding it more sorrowful than anything else she'd seen yet. 

God, go the fuck home, Ronnie. What are you doing out here?

Just as she was mustering her answer, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. 

Veronica spun, heart slamming against her ribs, gun already half-raised. She’d promised herself—if anything ever felt like Cleo again, she’d be faster.

"Don't move—" 

“Hey! Whoa, easy.” The voice was female. Young, but not fragile. “Don’t shoot me, damn.”

A girl emerged from the brush. Her hair was in tight, frizzy braids, her jacket oversized and patched with duct tape and bits of cord. She was muddy up to the knees, cheeks windburned, and her expression was sharp; not scared, not panicked, just annoyed.

“You pointing that at me?” she snapped, one brow arched high. “I mean, seriously? I’m like, five seconds from offering you some trail mix. Rude.”

Veronica didn’t lower the gun. “I said, don’t move.”

“Oh my God.” The girl rolled her eyes. “You’re one of those. Okay. Fine. You want proof I’m not some feral walker in disguise?”

She shrugged off her jacket slowly, arms raised like a dramatized hostage, and tugged her shirt up and over her head. Underneath: a stained, frayed yellow t-shirt. It was nearly falling apart at the collar. And yet...unmistakable.

Veronica’s mouth went dry.

Her voice was hoarse when she spoke: “Where did you get that shirt?”

The girl looked down, confused.

Veronica’s eyes traced the three words on it.

Riverdale High School. 

Chapter Text

July 22nd, 2018

Veronica examined the girl, pacing in their school in Cody, with a sense of heightened apprehension. She'd come back with Veronica, though, to be fair, she had a gun trained on her the whole way. Veronica hadn't questioned anything much; she needed the brains of the whole group, in part to confirm that what she was seeing wasn't just a hallucination... that somehow, impossibly, this girl had a tee shirt from their school more than a hundred miles away.

"How many Riverdale High Schools can there be?” Josie whispered sharply, arms crossed tight over her chest as they huddled in the library. “I mean, it’s not exactly Springfield.”

“Could be a coincidence,” Dilton offered, though his eyes betrayed doubt. “Statistically possible.”

“It’s not,” Veronica said, her voice low and strained. “I remember it. That shirt. They gave them out to everyone at Homecoming this past year—” She choked. It felt so long ago, “Betty loved that shirt. A version of that shirt. Wore it to sleep for weeks. Don’t you remember?” 

Outside the thick doors, muffled footsteps echoed. The girl—still unnamed—paced like a caged animal in the cafeteria, under watch. Veronica had taken no chances. No weapon, no access to any supplies. Just food, water, and locked doors.

“Maybe it was Betty’s,” Archie muttered, from where he leaned against the wall, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. “And maybe she’s dead.”

"And maybe she looted her dead body?" Elio asked, not dubiously, but with a quietly raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t,” Veronica snapped. Too quick. Too sharp. The room fell into silence.

“Now that would be statistically unlikely,” Dilton said with a nervous laugh. 

"You think the idea is funny?" Veronica spat, furious, shoving him, "You think the idea of my best friend dead is something to laugh about?" 

"N...no! I mean...I'm not...it's not funny." Dilton sputtered, nervous, "I'm just on edge. Sorry, sorry!" He held up his hands. 

Joaquin sighed, looking back at the door and shaking his head. “What do we do with her?”

No one answered.

From the other side of the doors came a loud, exasperated voice:

“Hey! I can hear all of you, by the way. I’m not deaf.”

Veronica closed her eyes, sighing through her nose.

“I’m not an enemy,” the girl shouted again. “Seriously. I’m just trying to get to California. My mom and my little brother might still be out there. I’ve been on my own for almost two years. If you don’t want to help me, fine. But I’m not here to steal your shit.”

The group exchanged glances.

“I vote we hear her out,” Nick muttered. “Or we stand around and debate until she dies of boredom. Either way.”

Veronica’s shoulders rose and fell once. Then she turned and pushed open the doors.

The girl was lounging on a cafeteria bench, arms spread across the backrest, like she was in a waiting room.

“You done whispering about me?” she asked. “Good. My name’s Keke.”

Joaquin tilted his head. “Where exactly are you coming from?”

“Near Chicago,” she said. “Southwest of it. I was part of a group that got hit by the Predators—”

That got everyone's attention.

Nick stood straighter. “You were with them?”

“I was taken by them,” Keke corrected flatly. “Not with them. I don’t exactly have a punch card. I got lucky. A girl found me and got me out.”

“A girl?” Veronica pressed, sharing nervous and almost-hopeful glances with the group. Maybe Betty helped her. It would be within Betty's personality...Archie nodded to Veronica, stiff, both of them almost too nervous. What if she said yes? What then? 

“She called herself Kamikazi." Everyone's shoulders slumped, just slightly. "Said she used to do runs for a bigger crew, but now she just…helps people. Dropped me at a haven with a few others and suggested I stay put, but I have family to find.”

“New York?” Josie asked, carefully. If she were in New York, that could be a whole slew of reasons why she would have that shirt. 

Keke looked confused. “No. Wisconsin.”

Silence. Just a beat. Enough for hope to fizzle a little.

What the hell is in Wisconsin except cows? 

Veronica felt her faith in the situation lagging, though part of her wasn't sure if she wanted answers anymore. But Archie, wringing his hands, unable to give up until he was knocked out on the ground, pushed forward. Now that there was even the slightest hint of Betty (which was just a crumb more than none), Veronica could tell he wasn't going to let it go. 

“Who else was there?” Archie asked. “Anyone who looked like us? A blonde girl?”

“Yeah,” Keke said, brows raised, lips pursed in surprise. “There was a girl. About your age, I guess. Blonde bob, cut real short. Kinda intense.”

Around her, the group broke into hushed whispers. Veronica's pulse quickened. Betty didn't have a bob, but well, c'mon! What were the chances, seriously?

“Did she say her name?”

Keke squinted. “Something weird…Rhoades? I think?”

Everyone exchanged looks.

Veronica felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach; Not fucking Betty. What are the chances? Jesus, what are the actual chances?

God, she felt sick.

“Okay, a girl,” Josie said, her smile fading, “Anyone else?” She glanced around. Proof of life of anyone they knew would still be appreciated. 

“Yeah, there was a dude with her, too. Tall, dark, handsome,” She joked, and when the joke didn’t land, she rolled her eyes, "Had a leather jacket—" 

"Jughead?" Archie asked, his voice cutting off, like someone had punched him. 

"Bless you?" Keke tilted her head, frowning. 

Veronica felt something thud fast in her chest. It's them, it's them, it's them, it's them—

"No, we, uhm, had a friend," Archie said, shaking so hard that his hand couldn't keep still, "And it would make sense for them to travel together. He always wore a leather jacket. His name was Jughead. And he and Betty were...you know. So..." He looked at Keke, wiping his eyes, begging, "So could it be them?" 

"Maybe," Keke said, but from her voice, Veronica knew she was humoring him, "I guess. I mean..." 

"Well, he's dark. But tall and handsome?" Josie snorted, "C'mon." 

"Shut up," Archie snapped, furious, spinning around. 

"Yeah, I mean, look, he had the jacket and dog tags—" This took the wind out of Archie's sureness. Jughead wasn't someone who wore those. But in the back of her mind, wasn't there another Serpent who did? God, his face was fuzzed out, his name right on the tip of Veronica's tongue...

Joaquin jolted. “Sweet Pea?” He breathed. 

Ah, yeah. That was his name.

Wait...why would he be there? Isn't he—

"I thought he died?" Archie frowned.

"I mean..." Joaquin choked, "We all did!" 

“What?” Keke blinked, confused. 

“His name— was it Sweet Pea?” Joaquin demanded. Veronica frowned. She thought he was dead, too. But it wouldn’t be the first time Joaquin was sure someone was alive who wasn’t.

“Er-” 

“Did he have a snake patch on the jacket?” Joaquin rushed over her answer, excited, “Or a neck tattoo of a snake? It would have been right here,” He pointed, “So?”

Keke blinked. “No patches. No neck tattoo. Name was…Cadmus. Dog tags. Military guy, I think. He and Rhoades were married.”

That knocked the air out of the room.

Josie sat back on her heels. “Definitely not Betty and Sweet Pea, then. I mean, that would be weird that they'd be traveling together, anyway.”

Veronica almost laughed at the absurdity of the idea. 

“She’s sure they were married?” Dilton asked, semi-dubiously. Fair enough. If they were their age, it was hard to imagine getting hitched.

Keke nodded. “Said so themselves. Lots of jokes about it, too. Plus, he burned down hell to get her. I believe it. And there was a kid, too. A little girl. Hebe, I think?”

“Greek goddess of youth,” Dilton murmured. “Huh.”

“Their daughter?” Archie asked.

Kesley hesitated, “Hard to say. She didn’t seem that young. A younger sibling of one of them? I dunno. They didn’t offer up a lot. Except for this,” She pinched the shirt, “I do appreciate that. First nice thing someone did for me in…months.” Her voice cracked.

The group fell silent, not quite dejected, but not quite happy either. It seemed likely that someone else from Riverdale had made it out, but no one they were interested in tracking down.

Josie scratched her head. “Wait—there was a girl named Lilith Rhodt at Riverdale. Three years ahead of us. Popular. Preppy. Not the survivalist type, but maybe she found someone to keep her safe.”

“Yeah, I remember her,” Archie snapped his fingers, “Shit.” He turned to Keke expectantly, “Well?”

“That could be her,” Keke shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly asking for yearbook info.”

The room fell quiet again.

Veronica tried not to show her disappointment. The thread had led somewhere—but not home.

Still, the story rang true. Keke wasn’t the threat they feared. Just another person tossed between horror and grace, trying to get west. Trying to survive.

“We believe you,” Archie said finally.

Keke’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Good. Because I’m not staying long. And I’d hate to have to kill you all in your sleep to escape.”

Veronica narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to snap at the inappropriateness of that joke, but out of the blue, Nick laughed.

June 25th, 2018

Keke had only planned to stay one night.

Three days later, she was still there — kicking mud off her boots on the front steps, arguing with Nick about whether canned chili from six years ago should be considered edible, and feeding Finch scraps under the table like she’d lived there forever.

“She’s got bark,” Archie murmured, watching her laugh as she flipped off Nick for a snide comment. “But I don’t mind her bite.”

“She’s not staying,” Veronica said, arms crossed. “She made that clear.”

Still, part of her wasn’t sure if she was warning Archie or herself.

Keke had a way of fitting into things — not seamlessly, but stubbornly, like a puzzle piece bent until it clicked. She did her share of chores, taught Dilton a faster way to gut a fish (“Stop hesitating, nerd-boy, it already died for your dinner”), and was surprisingly sweet with the cats — even though Aria hissed at her every time she walked by.

But the moment that changed everything came when Keke found Hermione curled on the couch, shivering and feverish again.

“She’s burning up,” Keke said, reaching over without asking and checking her pulse the old-fashioned way.

“We know,” Veronica said, more brittle than she meant to. “It’s like that sometimes.”

Keke narrowed her eyes. “Does she get joint pain too?”

“Yeah,” Archie answered. “Sometimes, bad enough she can’t stand.”

“Rashes?”

“Sometimes,” Josie said softly. “But only for a day or two.”

“Light sensitivity?”

Veronica’s head jerked up.

“Why?” she asked sharply. “What are you getting at?”

Keke rubbed the back of her neck. “My grandma had something like this. Autoimmune thing. Started just like that. Got worse when it got hot out.”

“Like what?” Dilton demanded. 

“I don’t know the name,” Keke shrugged. “But they gave her pills. Steroids, I think? Calmed the flares down. She never got better, but she stopped getting worse.”

Veronica stared, breath caught in her throat. That word had been tossed around before — a ghost diagnosis no one knew enough to pin down.

But now…

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“I’m not a doctor,” Keke said. “But I am sure you’re not gonna figure it out staring at her and waiting for her to die.”

There was no cruelty in her voice. Just certainty. Just…truth.

Veronica swallowed hard, turned to Hermione — half-asleep, cheek flushed red with fever — and nodded once.

It wasn’t a cure, but it was a thread that could be followed. 

June 27th, 2018

“She should stay,” Nick whispered as he watched Keke gently pry open a tin of peaches for herself and Banjo. Veronica listened with interest, surprised that Nick liked anyone. 

“She’s not going to,” Josie said from beside him. “People like that don’t stay.”

“People like us didn’t stay,” Nick muttered. “And here we are.”

“Only because we had no choice.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I just… like her.”

Josie sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Veronica felt guilty, for some reason. She'd put all her hope into Keke, leading her to her best friend and Jughead, but she hadn't done that. 

But she liked Keke, too.

And part of her felt terrible for thinking that, as though accepting her was somehow giving up Betty. 

Maybe, just maybe, you feel you only get one miracle. Are you sure this is the one you want? 

Well...Veronica knew what everyone else would say. 

Chapter Text

July 1st, 2019

They gathered in the music room because it was the coolest place in the building — literally. The old cinderblock walls stayed shaded all morning, and the broken vent above the chalkboard still let in the occasional breeze. Veronica thought it was poetic, somehow, that decisions of life and death were made under a mural of dancing cartoon quarter notes.

Her mother was worse today.

Notably, terribly, far, far, worse, and finally, something had to be done. 

It was the what, though, that felt uncertain.

“I think we go East,” Josie said, arms crossed. “We think there's a hospital out there, and we think it might have what we need.”

“Not just a hospital,” Dilton added quickly. “A university medical center. It’s a long shot, but they might’ve had stockpiles. Especially of rare medications.”

Veronica sat stiffly in her chair. “We should leave soon. Every day we wait, it gets harder to treat.”

“I’m going,” Dilton said.

“You sure?” Archie asked. “We need someone who knows what we’re looking for, but—”

“I’ve been reading everything I can find,” Dilton cut in. “Health textbooks. First aid guides. Even kids’ books on anatomy. I’m not a doctor, but I’m the closest thing we’ve got to one.”

“I’m coming,” Keke said, pulling her braid over her shoulder. “You’re heading East. So am I. Might as well ride together till the road forks.”

“You sure?” Veronica asked, half-hopeful, half-wary.

“I’ve survived worse. And I like you freaks. Mostly.”

Nick raised his hand like it was a classroom. “Then I’m going too.”

“No offense,” Josie said slowly, “but we kind of need someone not ready to throw himself into danger at the first sound of footsteps to hold down the fort.”

“I’m not—” Nick started, but Keke laughed from where she leaned against the doorframe.

“You totally are, dude.”

Nick scowled. “Fine. Stay safe then.”

They packed in silence, tension humming like static. Banjo tried to hop into the backseat twice before Archie firmly plopped him into Josie’s arms.

Then, as they all piled into the car, Archie slid into the driver’s seat, turned to Veronica, and said with a grin:

“So, romantic road trip date?”

She arched a brow. “With two third wheels?”

“Why not?” he said, throwing an arm dramatically around the driver’s headrest like it was a booth at a diner. “We’ll play corny love songs and everything. You can roll your eyes at me from the passenger seat. Dilton can ask if we’re there yet. Keke can yell at me about directions.”

“I am going to yell about directions,” Keke said, swinging a leg into the car.

Dilton, utterly confused, adjusted his backpack. “Wait, is this...a bit?”

Archie winked. “We gotta make the end of the world fun somehow.”

Veronica snorted, sliding into the seat beside him. The car rumbled to life.

As they pulled out, Nick stood on the front steps, arms crossed. Watching. Unhappy.

XXX

The road unfurled like a ribbon ahead of them, straight and shimmering in the heat. The sky was clear, the kind of cerulean blue that looked almost artificial, and the last gas station they’d passed had gifted them something miraculous: a glove box full of old CDs, stacked between forgotten ketchup packets and expired chewing gum.

Archie popped one into the dashboard slot with a flourish, and after a long pause — the kind that always made you think it wasn’t going to work — a blast of sound roared through the car.

“—IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER—”

“Oh my God,” Keke screamed, immediately reaching to crank it up.

“No way,” Veronica breathed, laughing despite herself.

“Yes way,” Archie grinned. “We’re doing this.”

Dilton, awkwardly perched in the middle of the backseat, blinked as the lyrics pelted through the speakers. “Wait, I know this song.”

“You better know this song!” Keke shouted over the music, pulling out an old travel mug and holding it like a microphone. “This is the sacred text!”

Veronica grabbed a pen from the dashboard and mimed a mic. Archie used a flashlight. Dilton, flustered, eventually lifted his water bottle like he’d been handed an Oscar.

And then they were singing. Or screaming. Or howling. Off-key, too fast, too slow — it didn’t matter. The car became its own stage, bouncing with the rhythm, dust kicking up in their wake as they barreled past wheat fields and dry open plains.

Keke belted the rap verse with terrifying precision. Archie made exaggerated boyband poses behind the wheel, only half-watching the road. Dilton loosened up by the second chorus, flailing his arms like he didn’t know they were attached to his body. Veronica laughed so hard she choked.

It wasn’t safe, not really. It wasn’t quiet or careful or logical. It was joyful. A kind of happiness she didn’t know she still had in her.

She glanced at Dilton in the rearview mirror, catching him mid-verse, eyes shining with something unguarded. And for the first time, she didn’t see just the weird kid with a thousand facts and zero social tact. Finally, after...God, how long had it been... she realized that he felt like a brother to her. Someone she cared about, someone she wanted to protect. 

The sun flared over the horizon, gilding the windshield. Veronica closed her eyes, just for a moment, soaking in the noise and the motion and the impossible warmth of it all.

She wished — fiercely, irrationally — that Keke would stay. That she and Archie would never fight again. That the CD wouldn’t skip. That the road would never end. That her mother would get better. That joy like this could be enough.

None of it would come true.

But still — she wished.

And kept singing.

XXX

They pulled into the empty parking lot of the small medical center just before noon — a squat brick building nestled behind a few overgrown trees, the sign still intact though half the letters had peeled.

Veronica’s heart was racing, but not in the way it usually did before they entered new buildings. This time, it wasn’t fear, well, maybe a form of it. It was hope, but that sort of felt the same these days. And it might be cautious, bruised, half-starved hope, but hope all the same.

They moved fast. The front door was already ajar, but inside, the place was still, untouched except for dust and the soft creak of the HVAC spinning a ghost rhythm. The power was dead, but the cabinets weren’t empty.

“Jackpot,” Keke whispered, crouched by a metal shelf. “Someone must’ve cleared out the pharmacy down the road and never thought to come here.”

Dilton was already rifling through a supply bin, murmuring excitedly as he uncovered bandages, a few sealed bottles, something labeled as hydroxychloroquine — which they didn’t fully understand but felt close to the articles he’d been reading.

It wasn’t everything.

It was something, though. And something would do. 

When they stepped back out into the daylight, bags of supplies strapped to their backs, Veronica threw her head back and let the sun hit her full in the face.

“Well,” Archie said, dusting off his palms with dramatic flair, “I believe this concludes the romantic pharmacy portion of our road trip date.”

Veronica smiled, eyes sparkling in the heat. “We have antibiotics. We have gauze. We didn’t get attacked by anything with teeth or claws.”

“We’re setting records,” Keke added, pretending to fan herself with a patient chart. “First functioning medical center, and not one walker? God’s clearly taking a nap.”

Dilton adjusted his backpack. “It’s only 1:30.”

Archie gave a mock gasp. “Daylight? What’s that? Free time? The luxury of being alive?”

He turned to Veronica, eyes soft behind the teasing.

“So… what now?”

She looked at the others. At the sun above them. At the dusty road curling out in both directions, beckoning them toward whatever came next.

And for once, there wasn’t dread or danger, just a quiet possibility.

Veronica slung her pack higher on her shoulder and grinned.

“Let’s take the long way home.”

Chapter Text

July 1st, 2019

They saw it from the road — like a monument to the past, hulking and faded and bizarrely intact; an abandoned mall.

The parking lot was cracked with weeds and wildflowers, the asphalt bowing in places like frozen waves. A rusted-out minivan sat diagonally across three spaces, its doors still ajar. A few birds scattered as they pulled up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Veronica said, half in awe, half laughing. “An actual mall?”

“Middle America,” Keke grinned. “Built like bunkers. No surprise it survived the end of the world.”

They entered through a side door Archie wrenched open, stepping into an eerie quiet. Skylights spilled warm light across ruined tile. It smelled like dust, perfume, and old food court grease. Though it had been a year or more since Veronica had been in a mall, it was still strangely familiar, harkening to a far past memory.

They didn’t speak much at first, just walked.

Some stores were trashed. Others were untouched. A Bath and Bodyworks store still had shelves of lotions and candles. The music store had CDs stacked on a rack, like no time had passed. In one clothing store, mannequins stared back at them from behind cracked glass.

It was Veronica who started it — picking up a cheap faux fur coat from a rack and slipping it on.

“What?” she asked, catching their looks. “It’s fetch.”

That cracked something open.

Archie found a pair of wraparound sunglasses and insisted he was now “a man of mystery.” Keke snagged a rolling suitcase and filled it with batteries and socks and one extremely sequined party dress she refused to leave behind. Dilton found a tactical flashlight, then an unopened Star Wars LEGO set, and got weirdly quiet.

They raided the food court for shelf-stable snacks. Searched the pharmacy wing for toothpaste. Even dug through the mall’s lost-and-found, where Keke unearthed a Polaroid camera and declared herself “chief documentation officer.”

It didn’t feel real. It felt… invincible. It was like they’d found the eye of the storm and nothing could touch them here.

For a few hours, they weren’t post-apocalypse survivors....they were teenagers, on a road trip, loitering at the mall.

Veronica stood at the top of the escalator and looked down at them. Keke twirling in her sequin dress, Archie trying to juggle apples from the vending machine, Dilton sitting on a bench with the LEGO set across his knees, just staring at it.

And for a moment, she believed in the lies: That everything might be okay. That there was still space for joy, even in the end times. That they were untouchable.

XXX

They set up camp in the food court beneath a skylight cracked with creeping ivy. Plastic chairs scraped against tile as they clustered around a table stamped with years of gum and graffiti. Keke, newly anointed chef, strode behind the empty counter of what had once been a Panda Express, rolling her shoulders like she was about to headline a cooking show.

“Alright, y’all,” she said, clapping her hands and surveying the dusty fryers and long-cold warmers. “I used to work the grill at a Big Burger before everything fell apart. This?” She spun theatrically in place. “Easy.”

“Can’t wait to see how you upscale nacho cheese,” Veronica quipped, but her smile didn’t leave her face.

Keke found canned goods in the back pantry and even a sealed crate of vacuum-packed beef patties, which didn't look too bad, freeze-dried potatoes, and plastic-wrapped buns. She lit the gas burners with one of Dilton’s flint tools, and the group watched in awe as she worked. The scent of sizzling grease filled the space, clinging to the air like the ghost of a summer fair.

Veronica stole croutons from a sealed salad bag and popped them into her mouth like popcorn. Archie found an old ketchup pump and nearly wept when it sprouted ketchup into a little paper cup. Dilton rigged a way to fizz up sodas with steam from the cooktop and declared it “a minor miracle of culinary physics.”

By the time the food was ready, they were buzzing — from the smell, the novelty, the joy of something working out.

They ate burgers on paper trays, fries in faded red-and-white baskets, drinking lukewarm cola out of plastic cups with smudged logos. Grease slicked their fingers, laughter echoed off the tiled walls, and for the first time in… maybe years, it felt like a party.

“No one is gonna believe this,” Dilton said between bites, absolutely beaming. “We’re gonna show up with seasoning on our fries and hot food, and everyone’s going to lose their minds.”

Keke leaned back, her expression smug and satisfied. “Told you I was good.”

“You’re absurd,” Veronica said, licking ketchup off her thumb. “But in, like, a cherished companion kind of way.”

Archie leaned across the table, raising his cup. “To the weirdest double date-slash-feast-slash-mall rave in recorded history.”

They all raised their drinks — a clatter of mismatched plastic, a symphony of fizzy bubbles and brief, beautiful togetherness.

Veronica looked around the table. They were covered in dust, laughing with food in their teeth, dressed in scavenged clothes and glittery makeup they’d found in the back of a Claire’s — and she wanted to freeze the moment. Not just in her mind, but in her soul. To etch it onto the part of her that had been rubbed raw from grief.

For now, that was enough.

July 2nd, 2019

The others were already loading the car, arms full of boxed-up snacks and absurd novelty items — glitter sunglasses, inflatable pool rings, a velvet poster of a tiger riding a motorcycle. Keke balanced three bags on one hip, arguing with Dilton about whether he really needed to bring a lava lamp.

Veronica lagged.

Something had caught her eye near the mall’s main entrance — a half-rusted pamphlet stand bolted beside a faded map of stores. Most of the papers were torn or bleached white by the sun. But one, stuffed in crooked and weather-curled, still held enough color to snag her attention.

She tugged it free.

The front showed a sleek casino, lit in golds and reds, towering over a sunset skyline. The font was familiar — luxurious, her father had once said — and the logo stamped at the bottom had once meant something: Lodge Holdings. 

Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn’t this casino she remembered, not specifically, but there had been so many. Openings. Deals. Press photos. Her father’s voice, confident and dripping with bravado, calling them their “legacy.” It had been a dynasty, all for Veronica to inherit one day. 

But what was a dynasty with no heirs? What was an heir with no dynasty left? What was Lodge without Hiram? Without Hermione? Without anyone left to carry the name but her?

Her fingers tightened on the folded edge of the pamphlet.

She thought of her dead phone, of the lost voicemail. The one stupid, meaningless thing that had suddenly mattered more than anything. She thought of her mother, pale and sick and quietly trying not to scare anyone. Of herself, adrift.

Was she just a name now?

She folded the pamphlet twice, sharp creases under her nails, and shoved it into the deep pocket of her coat. She wasn’t ready to throw it away. 

“Hey!” Archie called from across the lot, waving a ridiculous pink flamingo pool float in the air. “Veronica! We’re gonna have to strap this guy to the roof!”

She took one last look at the empty mall, then turned and jogged to join them.

The wind fluttered the edge of the paper in her coat, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

XXX

The car sputtered.

Then coughed.

Then gave one long, wheezing sigh before dying altogether, rolling to a silent stop on the side of the road.

Archie swore and slapped the wheel. “I knew we should’ve checked the fluids before we left the mall.”

Veronica shoved her door open with a groan. “And which one of us is a certified mechanic, Arch? Because last I checked, our hotwire wizard is back in Cody.”

Keke kicked the dirt, annoyed. “We can’t push this thing anywhere.”

Behind them, the road stretched long and empty, the sky beginning to cloud. Even if they could hail someone, there were no landmarks to address them to.

Then Dilton pointed. “There was a church. Back at that last split — not even a mile. I saw the steeple.”

Everyone turned.

Veronica sighed. “Well, hallelujah.”

They walked, tense.

Weapons drawn, eyes scanning the still world. When they came over the rise and saw the old brick church with its tall white steeple poking above the trees like a finger aimed at Heaven, it looked almost… peaceful.

Too peaceful.

“Do you see that?” Archie asked, his voice low.

At the edge of the parking lot were figures, hunched and still in folding lawn chairs. Three of them. Maybe four. More near the entry path. All unmoving.

The group fanned out slowly. Keke raised her gun. Veronica pulled her machete free, jaw tightening. Dilton had one hand on his belt knife and the other clutched awkwardly around a piece of broken pipe.

“Walk quietly,” Archie whispered. “And don’t assume they’re alive.”

They crept forward.

And then the stench hit.

The figures weren’t people. Not really, not anymore. 

Bodies, rotting and rigid, strapped into lawn chairs by belts and scarves and lengths of fraying rope. Some had rosaries clutched in their bloated hands. Others had signs strung around their necks, cardboard warped by rain and sun but still legible in faded Sharpie:

GOD WILL SPARE US
THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL RISE
WE HAVE BEEN CHOSEN

They were sun-baked, mouths frozen in the silent 'O' of desperate prayer.

A whole congregation sat behind, hidden by the ridge before. Women, men, children — buckled into waiting positions. Hoping for salvation.

Hoping for a miracle that never came.

Dilton made a wet choking noise and turned, doubling over. The sound of his retching echoed off the brick walls.

Keke covered her mouth. “Jesus Christ.”

"That's sacrilege," Archie muttered. 

Veronica didn’t speak.

She couldn’t.

Archie walked slowly past one of the chairs. The man who slumped in front of the rest had worn a suit and tie. His shoes were polished. One hand still rested on a Bible, pages fused together by rot. Archie reached out. His fingers ghosted over the cracked leather spine of the holy book. Then he pulled his hand back like it burned.

The breeze rustled the trees and shifted one of the signs. The rope around a woman’s chest creaked as her body sagged.

Veronica slowly lowered her machete. The lightness from the mall, the car ride, the fast food, and dancing — gone. Evaporated.

Keke broke the silence. “Let’s… just get what we came for.”

No one argued.

The date, their fun, and this little road trip were over.

And the world was waiting to remind them what it really was.

XXX

They couldn’t get a single engine to turn over.

Even with Dilton’s fidgeting and Keke’s attempts to hotwire — “I watched Joaquin do it like, four times!” — it was no use. Every car in the church parking lot was either dead, rusted through, or missing something essential.

So, reluctantly, they returned to the chapel.

It was the only shelter for miles.

They pushed the dead from their chairs to make a path they could shimmy through. Archie did most of the lifting. Keke tied her bandana around her nose. Veronica didn’t flinch until a child slipped from a sun-bleached seat and hit the grass with a dull thud.

Inside, the church was still and shadowed. They lit what candles they could find and barricaded the doors.

Veronica sat beneath a stained-glass window of the Resurrection, its colors muted by years of grime. She looked up at it, the image warped and unreadable in the flickering candlelight.

“It’s strange,” she said quietly. “Places like this used to feel safe.”

Keke snorted from across the room. “Feels more like a slaughterhouse to me.”

Veronica nodded. “That’s what I mean. A whole parish. Dead because they feared God more than they feared… cannibals. Or the virus. Or whatever this world’s become. And it still killed them.”

Archie shifted closer, pulling a blanket from his pack and spreading it across the floor. “Maybe they thought dying here meant they’d be spared somehow.”

Veronica didn’t respond.

She looked up at the cross on the wall, jagged with age.

“They still died,” she said.

“They died waiting,” Keke muttered. Then, after a pause: “God is dead. Or at the very least, He clocked out before this shit hit the fan.”

Dilton looked up from his corner. “That’s Nietzsche.”

Keke ignored him. “You want to hear something actually terrifying?”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “More than this?”

She leaned in slightly, her voice low. “There’s a whisper going around. Survivors talk about them in hushed tones, like some kind of myth.”

“Who?” Veronica asked.

“The Four Horsemen,” Keke said. “Not like, real biblical angels of death or whatever. People. A group. Kamikazi’s one of them — the girl who saved me from the Predators. But there’s more. She traveled with Hyde. He can kill a whole group of people without blinking. There are others too — I think Cadmus was a horseman, actually, and there was another one, with a funny name, but I never met him. But the rumor is they came out of nowhere and wiped out Predator HQ.”

She glanced toward the boarded windows.

“They didn’t just kill a few guys. They slaughtered them. Like… a hundred college boys. Gone. Bloodbath. I wasn’t there. But I heard the stories. How they came in like vengeance itself. Unstoppable.”

Veronica thought about telling Keke that she'd meet the Predators too, and that they'd nearly killed her, but the words stuck stubbornly in her throat. Archie watched her cautiously, and Dilton looked away. It seems that these Predators were making everyone's lives suck more than they already did at the end of the world.

Keke shook her head. “People say they’re cursed. Or chosen. I don’t know. But folks are scared of them. Real scared.”

Veronica leaned back against the pew. “If they’re killing Predators, maybe people should be afraid.”

Archie crossed his arms. “Still sounds like they’re doing it for a reason. Doesn’t make them monsters.”

“No,” Keke said, nodding. “They’re not. Kamikaze saved my life. She didn’t have to. Just tossed me a knife and told me where to find shelter.’”

Silence fell again.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rattling the boarded windows like skeletal fingers.

“I think,” Veronica said, voice soft, “that the most terrifying thing isn’t God. It’s being sure something is coming, and not knowing if it’s mercy or the end.”

The candles flickered.

The shadows pressed close.

And in the church of the dead, the four of them curled into the pews and slept.

Veronica dreamed of four horses carrying skeletons to save them. 

Chapter Text

August 17th, 2019

The air shimmered with heat, soft and golden in the way only late summer could manage. The plastic pink flamingos stood guard on the edges of the fake turf like they belonged there, like this patch of bright green hadn’t been hastily rolled out over dead grass and dirt in an effort to pretend things were still fun. Still normal or unexciting, or just a vacation out west. 

The Airstream glinted in the sun, the aluminum polished with care by Archie and Joaquin weeks earlier. Someone had painted little flowers on the door, crude and childlike, and someone else had added cartoon ghosts under the window. Veronica suspected Keke of both.

The awning flapped lazily in the breeze, casting long shade over two folding lawn chairs set close together. Veronica sat in one, long legs tucked under her, a sweating mason jar of lemonade balanced on her knee. Archie was beside her, arms crossed behind his head, one leg kicked out, the other jiggling idly to the beat of the music.

The record player they'd rigged up spun something smooth and older than any of them — Motown maybe, or some soulful B-side Veronica's dad would've put on during a summer party. She hadn’t known she’d remember all the lyrics until her mouth started singing softly along without her permission.

In the field beyond the Airstream, the others were playing pickup football. Josie had tackled Nick three times already, which would have been funny enough on its own — but Nick was definitely trying to impress Keke, and Keke had caught on instantly. She was all grins and trash talk, and Nick looked like he might explode.

“Think she’ll ever leave?” Archie asked, nodding toward the game.

Veronica followed his gaze. Keke was running backwards now, laughing, hair in a loose puff behind her, arms open as if daring the world to try her. “She says she will. Just planning, she says.”

“You believe her?”

Veronica shrugged. “I believe she believes it.”

“Nick’s gonna fall apart if she does.”

Veronica smirked. “First real crush?”

“First obvious one,” Archie said, grinning.

They lapsed into silence, listening to the faint sound of laughter and the needle bumping against the turntable. The sun hung low and lazy. Veronica sipped her lemonade (crushed lemons in water, but that's what lemonade was, wasn't it?), eyes half-lidded behind cheap sunglasses she found in a gas station months ago. Her mother had had a bad day yesterday — couldn’t get out of bed, barely kept down soup — but today was better. Today was fine.

It was easy to pretend.

They talked about everything except the apocalypse. Except her mother. Except for their missing friends.

They talked about how Archie still missed football. About how Veronica was convinced she could recreate eyeliner from charcoal and Vaseline if given a week and a quiet room. About whether or not Nick had ever kissed anyone before, and meant it. About who cheated last time they played Monopoly (it was totally Dilton). 

She didn’t mention how Hermione had slept with her head against the wall last night because the pain was too sharp to lie flat.

He didn’t bring up Betty, and how her birthday was tomorrow. 

It was the first time in a while that it had felt like they were just two teens in summer. 

Just... alive.

The record flipped to the next song — scratchy, but clear enough. Veronica leaned back further in her chair, catching Archie’s eye.

“Don’t say it,” she murmured.

He raised a brow. “Say what?”

“That this moment is nice. Don’t name it. You’ll jinx it.”

Archie smirked and leaned his head back, gaze tilted up toward the clouds.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I won’t say anything at all.”

XXX 

The air had cooled only slightly, a soft breeze sneaking in through the cracked windows of the Airstream. Most of the group had long since gone to bed, the makeshift football field now quiet, the pink flamingos casting long shadows under the moonlight. From outside, the Airstream looked almost cozy — like a relic from a different time, lit by a single low lantern and framed by the faint hum of insects.

Veronica sat cross-legged on the bed inside, still in her shorts and a threadbare tee, her hair pulled into a loose braid that fell over one shoulder. The old shortwave radio sat in her lap, its face glowing faintly orange as she slowly turned the dial, chasing phantom sounds across empty frequencies. She knew she should be sleeping — Archie was technically on watch tonight — but they’d stayed up drinking flat beer from the stash in the closet and had only just settled when her nerves started up again.

She told herself it was the leftover tension from a perfect day. She chided herself, reminding herself that kind of joy didn’t come without a price.

The radio buzzed and cracked. She caught the tail end of some static-filled gospel music, then someone reading poetry, then Sidewinder’s station — but it was just looping old broadcasts for now.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Where are you?”

She kept turning the dial.

A new voice came through — faint, scattered by distance, but definitely real.

“…repeat: northeast movement confirmed just west of Black Rock. Avoid at all costs. Scavenger groups report the undead with unmarked jackets, snakes on the sleeves. Signs of survivors; they might have been heading toward the old interstate, but we lost their tracks.”

Veronica stilled.

Snakes on the sleeves?

It could be a coincidence. Could be… nothing.

But the words felt like a match struck deep in her chest. She held her breath, twisting the dial back — the voice was gone. The frequency dissolved into white noise, and then a faint signal too warped to understand.

She leaned in close, pressing her ear to the radio, heart thudding.

Joaquin hadn’t worn his Serpent patch in months. Sweet Pea, if he were still alive, hadn’t been seen since before the fall. And Jughead… Jughead could still be out there. She felt it. She knew it.

And Betty was absolutely with him. 

This coming on her birthday? It felt like fate. 

Her bare feet hit the floor before she was even fully standing. She crossed the tiny Airstream space and leaned over Archie’s shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Arch,” she whispered, voice sharp.

“Mmm?”

“Archie, wake up.”

He groaned and opened one eye, blinking at her blearily. “What—V? What’s wrong?”

“I heard something on the radio. A report from Nevada. Black Rock area.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. “So?”

“They said there were unmarked jackets. Snakes on the sleeves. Heading east.”

Archie was more awake now. “You think it’s the Serpents?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It could be nothing. But it felt like—” She exhaled. “It felt like a lead.”

She could tell he was trying not to get too hopeful, to keep his face calm for her sake. But his voice was softer when he said, “You think Jughead’s still alive. You think Betty's still alive.”

Veronica nodded once. She hadn't been sure before, but now...

This has to be them, doesn't it? 

Archie sat up, the sheets rustling. “Then we’ll keep listening. First thing in the morning, we’ll tell the others. Maybe they know someone else who caught the signal. And Sidewinder might report more.”

Veronica sat beside him, suddenly chilled, not from the air, but from the weight of knowing that maybe she'd see someone she loved again. 

Neither fell back asleep last night. She just leaned into Archie's side and held the radio close, both of them listening to the static.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

September 1st, 2019

By the time the calendar flipped to September, the heat had broken and the wind carried whispers of cold.

They talked in circles for weeks.

Dilton argued logistics. “We don’t know where that signal came from exactly. We don’t have the fuel. We don’t have the firepower. What if it isn't Jughead and the Serpents?”

Nick, surprisingly, agreed. “It could be a trap. Could be a whole crew of raiders dressed in leather, baiting survivors with old high school lore.”

Josie had been more compassionate but firm. “I want it to be him, too. But if it’s not? You’ve still got us. You’re still risking what little we have.”

Even Joaquin, ever the Serpent at heart, had paused. “If I were out there… I’d want to be found,” he said one night, quietly. “But I wouldn’t want someone I loved to die trying.”

And always, beneath it all, the steady pulse of Hermione’s decline — not worse, not better. Her good days were fewer now.

“We don’t abandon people,” Archie said one night, jaw clenched, refusing to look at anyone in particular. “We don’t.”

Veronica hadn’t spoken up during the final argument. She didn’t need to. Archie’s eyes found hers across the room and held them, searching, like he already knew she understood what the others didn’t.

And maybe… she did.

He was gone before sunrise.

The note was wedged beneath the dials of the Airstream radio.

It was Archie’s handwriting — all blocky letters, rushed and uneven. Veronica read it sitting on the little lawn chair outside, the early morning sky painted with cold blue and streaks of gold.

I had to try.
I’ll be smart. I’ll be safe. I’ll come back.
If it’s him, I’ll bring him home.

-A

The breath caught in her throat. For a long time, she just sat there, the note crinkling in her hand, the sky growing brighter by the minute.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t wake the others. She didn’t call him stupid or selfish.

Instead, she sat very still, watching the road vanish into the horizon like it always had — stretching out far beyond what they knew, what they feared, what they still dared to hope for.

“I hope you find him,” she whispered.

September 9th, 2019

The storm on the edge of the horizon, which they all watched for days, never came.

It just… loomed.

Thunder cracked through the sky like the world was splitting at the seams, but no rain ever fell. Heat lightning lit up the clouds at night, painting them in flickering, unnatural shades. It was like the heavens had teeth and were grinding them.

The wind had gone still. The kind of stillness that made every creak of the school building feel like a warning, or the kind of stillness that made your skin itch like something was about to happen.

But nothing ever did.

And that was worse.

The kittens had vanished to high corners and under furniture — all except Finch, who paced the hallway windows at night like a silent sentry, tail twitching. Even Quark was unusually quiet, curled beneath Dilton’s desk with one eye open. Moth hadn’t come out in two days.

Joaquin stood by the side door, arms crossed, watching the sky with a haunted expression.

“This weather ain’t right,” he muttered.

No one disagreed.

Even Dilton had stopped trying to explain the atmospheric shifts with science, and Josie — always the one to lighten the mood — had gone quiet, sitting long hours by the boarded-up windows, strumming chords she never finished.

And Veronica… Veronica just wanted someone to hold her hand and say it would all be okay.

But no one could do that. 

That night, after most of the group had gone quiet, she slipped down the hall to where her mother lay curled beneath a patchwork of thin blankets, her face paler than it used to be, but still impossibly familiar.

Hermione opened one eye as Veronica climbed in beside her.

“You haven’t done this since you were little,” her mother murmured, voice paper-thin.

“I don’t care,” Veronica whispered, curling close. “Just for a minute.”

Her mother’s arm draped across her shoulders with the weak heaviness of someone who’d loved too long and fought too hard.

Veronica closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to wake up twelve again. No thunder. No apocalypse. Just clean sheets and lemon-scented laundry and the hum of central air.

She tried to pretend Archie was still here.

That Jughead was already on his way.

That Betty was still alive.

But when she opened her eyes again, the ceiling above her was cracked. The air tasted like metal. The world hadn’t reset.

And somewhere out there, Archie was still gone.

September 13th, 2019

Archie came back looking like he’d aged five years.

His clothes were scorched and dust-worn, one sleeve torn, his boots caked in mud and blood. Banjo, his puffball of a cat, clung to his shoulder with claws dug in.

Veronica saw him first, just a blur at the tree line in the last light of a dying day. Her heart lurched. She ran, her chest heaving with relief. 

He didn’t speak until they were inside, until someone handed him water, until he sat down, and Banjo finally jumped off and curled up beside his boot like nothing had ever changed.

“I found the place,” he said, voice flat.

Everyone leaned in.

“It was ruins. Just… fucking ruins.”

He paused. Swallowed.

“There was a school bus, turned on its side. The bridge there had been blown apart. And the bodies…” He blinked hard. “God, there were so many. Hundreds. Piled. Like someone went through and slaughtered them. All of them.”

Joaquin’s breath hitched in his throat.

“I think it was the Serpents,” Archie added. “Or maybe... someone else. Some of them had jackets. But they weren’t… people anymore. Just meat. I couldn’t tell who was who. Couldn’t find any faces I knew. No Jughead. No Betty. Nothing.”

He stared at the floor like it had betrayed him.

“I thought I’d get there and there’d be something. A sign. A message. A tag. Something that said, ‘We made it.’” His jaw trembled, then clenched. “But it was just wreckage.”

Veronica knelt in front of him, hands braced gently on his knees. “Archie…”

His eyes locked on hers—and cracked open.

“I miss him, Ronnie,” he said, voice splintering. “I miss my best friend. Every day I think about the way he’d laugh at the dumbest shit, or how he used to carry a damn notebook like a weirdo, or how he’d never let me give up, even when I wanted to.” His breath shook. “I feel like I’m holding onto him with my fingernails, and every day a little piece of him falls away and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Veronica pulled him in.

He buried his face into her shoulder and cried—not the sharp, panicked sobs of someone afraid, but the low, broken ones.

She didn’t say it would be okay. She didn’t promise Jughead was alive. She didn’t say anything at all.

She didn't think there were enough words in the world to say anything that would make him feel better.