A large tarp tent was pitched into the side of the quarry walls. Fading torches at the entrance made its presence known to the camp. Otherwise, the structure would have gone unnoticed in the mass of them. After my talk with Colonel Jason, I asked around for the tent's location. Once I found out, I headed straight for it, forgoing to even update my grandchildren.

It was an open tent, large enough for a table and two crude beds to be placed underneath. I wondered, with all the snow around, how the people kept themselves warm.

I walked up to the tent where a woman slept at the table, her head buried in her arms.

I called out, “Lindsey Gardner?”

She jerked her head up, starring blankly in my direction. “Hello?” she said, blinking to regain focus before reaching for her glasses. Her brunette hair long and dishevelled, her eyes green sitting on black bags, face heavily freckled, the bridge and right hinge of the glasses taped back together, a worn brown coat covering her. Lindsey Gardner was as everyone has said, a simple survivor.

Once she squinted and got sight of me, she greeted, “Hello. Yes, that's me, can I help you?”

Taking the greeting as an invitation, I stepped into the shelter. “I'm here about Borris.”

“Ah, my idiot brother. He's back I take it?” She stood to her feet, rubbing her eyes from underneath her glasses. “Told him the Hero of the Mist is just another fairytale. But would he believe me? No. Went on some stupid adventure to–” She caught sight of my prosthetic arm. Shining silver in the snow.

“I...” I could not find the words to continue. Nor the strength to look her in the eyes as I slowly raised Borris's watch in my hand. “I'm sorry.”

I could hear her swallow hard when she saw the watch. Slinking back into her chair, she stared at the watch while I tried my best to raise my eyes above the table. I failed quite miserably. She did not protest when I took a step forward, setting the watch down on the table.

Have I ever said I was a teacher? I must have repeated that quite a few times by then. I was a teacher. Dealing with death by war was not something we had to teach in school. It was as far from my job as you could possibly get. Sure, I had to council a few students with bad family history, but none ever had people they love shot dead by a robot tentacle.

“I...should go.” Thinking she might want to be alone, and she might hate the man who got her brother killed, I turned to leave.

Just as I stepped back out into the snow, she said, “My brother never really liked fighting. He was a good shot, but never had the anger for it. Too much of a daydreamer.” I turned back around. She was holding the watch in her hands now, rubbing the face of it with her thumb. “He never really liked the Colonel either. Said the old man was too obsessed with fighting the robots. But he always believed in the story of the Hero of the Mist. The man who will one day bring the world back to normal. Whatever normal is.” She looked up to me and smiled through tearing eyes. She gestured to the chair beside her. “We don't have funerals anymore. But we can still mourn the dead. Sorry but, I don't have any thing to offer a guest.”

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I nodded in agreement. Surprised at how calm she was, I sat asking, “You're not...angry?”

She sighed, and I could see her frosted breath. “With how the world is right now, we're lucky to be able to die for something more than sickness and injuries.” Despite her attempts at hiding it, her lips trembled as she held back her emotions. She took off her glasses to wipe the tears that had built up on the inner rim. “If you don't mind me asking, what were his last words?”

Fire in the hole. Those were his last words. But I felt that at this point, a little lie would do more than the truth. “Excuse me,” I lied. Just a little. His second last phrase. “His last words were 'Excuse me.'”

“That's just like him,” she let out a chuckle, and the dam that held back her tears broke as she cried into her hands.

The emotions I felt were as confusing as the whirl of white around us. Sadness. Pity. Regret. Guilt. I wished I could cry, so I would not look as emotionless as I did. I wondered if I was allowed to comfort her, but without processing the thought, my hand was on her shoulder.

We sat that way for awhile. Her crying while I gently rubbed her back. The only sound louder than her sob was a howl of wind that did not manage to pierce as much as her cries.

Somehow, she managed to regain her composure. Though her tears did not stop, Lindsey got her sobs under control. “Thank you. For coming to tell me.”

“I don't...deserve it,” I said truthfully. “I got him killed.”

“No. He got himself killed. To save you. It's not your fault.” Her brows furrowed as anger took her. “If it's anyone's fault, it's that Colonel Jason.”

Confused, I asked, “Why? Isn't he here to help protect you?”

She gave a snort of derision. “Protect us? Him and his band of 'rebels' just decided to set up camp here one day. Put all sorts of nonsense in people's head. Getting us killed for his stupid war.” Her hands balled into fists. “The robots don't care about us stragglers. We had a good life here. We had scavengers using The Winter Train tracks to find supplies from Tikika. We even managed to get some food planted.”

I looked around the desolate snow-scape. “Here?” I asked.

“Yeah! Do you know how hard it is to grow stuff here?” She got angrier by the minute. And she knew that. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down. Looking at Borris's watch, she continued, “Then one day, Jason and his men rolled into camp. Commandeered the place, he says. Took our food. Our resources. Our people. All for his 'fight for freedom'. All great wars needs sacrifices, he says.”

I heard the whirring of gears. I looked down to see my robotic arm scrunched up as well. Focusing, I relaxed it, less I damage the hardware by accident. “Is that how Borris got talked into this?”

“No. Borris volunteered. Said he wanted to do something to help us. Thought you, the Hero of the Mist could make life better somehow. Believed all the stories about you right till the time he left.” Her tears came back, but she gave up on trying to wipe them away. “He wasn't like the others that went. He wasn't one of Jason's men or convert. Never bought into that crap about sacrifice or war or peace. He's about as straight as they come. Just wanting to do good.”

I finally managed to meet her eyes. And I noticed her own set of pity for me. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was. He would have liked to know you more. I'm sure you'd have given him a reality check, Mister Hero.”

“I'm sorry Miss Gardner. But I'm not a hero,” I truthfully confided.

“I know,” she admitted. “Milton Jones exist. Right here. In the flesh. But the Hero of the Mist is just a story about you. A fairytale. Predicting the future and all that, bullshit. But stories are powerful things, Mister Jones. One good story can change the world. Inspire millions.” She looked back down to the watch. “That's what my mother always said.”

I felt my stay reaching its end. “I should go,” I said, standing up. She did not object. Focusing on the watch in remembrance. But just as I was about to leave, not knowing what came over me, I asked, “The Colonel told me to do a mission for him. Threatened my family for it. What do you think I should do?”

She looked at me with a dead seriousness in her eyes. For a moment, I thought she was going to scream at me to leave. Instead, she warned, “Just go with it for now. The Colonel always make good on his threat.” Her words shook me. A sense of dread and fear now crept up within. But she continued, “But don't, not even for a moment, trust what he says. If there's one thing I learned surviving out here, is that family's about the only thing you can believe in these days.”