Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Revolution.

The Patriots plagued her dreams that night, as they usually did. Visions of brown uniforms and blood and death had kept her from getting a decent night's sleep for weeks now. As a result she was always on the edge of wakefulness, and because of that she was awake the instant someone's hand dropped to her shoulder. She had a knife to his throat before she was fully aware of the situation. "Sarah, stop! It's me!"

Charlie blinked and recognized Luke, one of the people she'd been travelling with for the last few weeks. She dropped her arm and stuck her knife back in her belt, but she didn't apologize. He grimaced and wiped the thin line of blood from his neck. "You've got to relax a little, Sarah. Jesus."

"Relax. Sure," she snorted. "Are Rafe and Eva back yet?" Two more of their party who'd gone ahead to scout. Luke shook his head rolled out his blanket on the opposite side of the fire. "Not yet, but I'm sure they're fine." He settled into his bedroll with a yawn. "It's your watch." Charlie gave a short nod and scanned the small camp. Including the two out scouting, there were eight people all together, and not for the first time Charlie wondered what she was doing with them. She'd left Willoughby more than three months ago and had hooked up with them not long after, when she'd run into Luke unexpectedly. Her thoughts turned to him and her gaze paused on his sleeping form. The first time she'd met Luke he'd tied her up in an empty swimming pool with Monroe for company. At the time she'd thought he was an idiot – for not killing Monroe when he had the chance, and really for not killing her either. She'd appreciated the mercy, of course, and had returned the favour after Monroe had predictably escaped and tried to shoot him. A basic level of understanding between them had been established that day, so when he'd approached her in that shitty bar, she decided to roll with things for a while.

She'd been surprised to learn that he was running with a crew of diehard Anti-Patriots. She'd been doing the lone wolf thing until that point, hunting down every Patriot she could find, but for every one she killed two more sprang up in his place. It was maddening. Then Luke had introduced her to the Anti-Patriot Movement. It was small and underground, but it had given her a modicum of hope that they weren't totally fucked. She didn't trust him though. She didn't trust anyone anymore. Hence the fake name. But as far as she could tell, nobody in this group really trusted each other anyway. She'd be surprised if any of them were using real names.

When Rafe and Eva returned to camp in the morning, Charlie was field dressing a wild pig she'd bagged by chance after her watch had ended. She was bloody up to her elbows and was tossing the entrails into the fire as they approached. "What's cooking?" Rafe asked eagerly as they dropped their bags and guns. "Pig intestines," she replied drily. "Find anything?"

"Patriot camp about six or seven miles from here. Maybe a Brainwash Camp."

Charlie almost smiled at this news, and her palms itched for her sword. Eva caught the look in her eyes and shook her head. "It was deserted. Looks like someone got there before us, a while ago. Lot of heavy fire damage. I doubt many of them got out of there alive from the look of the place." Charlie deflated a bit at that, then rallied. "Good."

Luke joined them at the fire. "What's good?" Rafe filled him in on the discovery and Luke mulled in the information over as he made himself a cup of coffee. "That's a pretty bold move, going after a Brainwash Camp. The Patriots wouldn't have let that one go without a fight. I wonder who did it."

Charlie had a pretty good idea of who it might have been, but she kept it to herself. "I hope whoever it was keeps it up." Rafe speared a piece of the meat with his knife and stuck it in the flames. "You've got the worst hard-on for the Patriots that I've ever seen. Why?" Charlie set her jaw, biting back the emotion that threatened to spring up in her chest. The moment passed and she returned her attention to butchering the pig. "The Patriots murdered half my family." Luke's gaze sharpened on her immediately – she could feel his eyes boring into her back. "I thought you said Sebastian Monroe murdered half your family." She straightened and fixed him with a look so cold he almost recoiled.

"He did. The Patriots took the other half."

Willoughby – Four months before.

Miles and Rachel were at it again. Charlie had escaped to the front porch try and avoid it, but realistically she knew even Mexico wasn't far enough away. Aaron and Priscilla had left a week ago because of it. They'd given other reasons of course, but Charlie knew otherwise. She sat on the steps and sipped from the silver flask she'd taken to carrying, and pretended to count the stars. She didn't turn when the front door squeaked, but she knew from the weight of the footsteps that her grandfather had come to join her. He sat down with a heavy sigh and frowned at her, pulling the flask from her fingers. "Listening to that day and night is enough to drive anyone to drink," he said, and took a pull of the whiskey before passing the flask back to her. Charlie snorted. Monroe had stormed off a month ago, and every day that passed that he hadn't returned was another day that Miles and Rachel could be found fighting. Almost always the fight was about the Patriots and what their next move was, and why so-and-so's idea was stupid or suicidal or naïve or reckless. Whatever.

"I never thought I'd say this," Charlie began tentatively. "But I'm beginning to think we were better off when Monroe was here." She'd realized some time ago that Miles and Monroe really were an excellent team. They balanced each other out and were always able to work out between them the best plans of action. Gene grimaced. "And I hate to say it, but you might be right." The fight came to a head and Rachel slammed through the door, raging. "Stupid…bullheaded…MAN!" Gene smiled tightly at his daughter. "Remember, Sweetheart, you love him." Rachel glowered at him. "I could do without the patronizing, Dad." She paused and glanced at her watch. "If we don't leave now we'll miss Marion."

"I was just waiting for you."

Charlie didn't bother watching them go. They'd been meeting Marion Kelly – their mole inside the Patriot operation – for the last three weeks at her father's gravesite. Charlie knew that Miles and Rachel were banking on getting that one vital piece of information that would give them the upper hand, but Charlie had her doubts. She didn't expect they'd get anything useful out of a woman who was terrified of her husband. Maybe Monroe's plan at the time had been short sighted, but a part of her had wanted to see those particular Patriot bastards pay for their slaughter of dozens of innocent people. Instead they'd only succeeded in getting no justice and no good intel. Charlie sighed, ignoring the fact that she was sympathizing with Sebastian Monroe, and went inside to find her uncle.

"They should have been back by now."

Miles was staring out the window impatiently. Rachel and Gene should have been back an hour ago, and Charlie was beginning to worry as well. She shared a look with her uncle and they both reached for their guns, silently agreeing that it was time to go after them. "Miles," Charlie said quietly as they hurried to the graveyard. "Something's gotta give with you and mom." His shoulders tensed for a moment, then sagged. "Yeah, I know."

"A decision needs to be made. You're constantly arguing in circles…and the longer we sit back 'strategizing', the harder it's gonna be to take them down."

Miles huffed. "Tell me something I don't know, kid."

They approached the woods bordering the cemetery and silently picked their way through the trees. Charlie fought with herself for a moment, wondering if saying what had been plaguing her lately was a good idea or not. Really, there was nothing to lose if she did, so she hesitantly threw it out there. "Have you thought of…tracking Monroe down…again?" Miles stopped dead in front of her and she crashed into him with an 'oof'. His eyebrows had all but disappeared into his hairline. "Seriously? Did Hell freeze over when I wasn't looking?" Charlie shrugged. "He might be an outrageous asshole, but he got things done." Miles smirked a little and they resumed their trek. "Well, you're right about that. But not everyone appreciates how he gets things done. Since when did you join the fan club?"

Charlie shrugged again and let the conversation drop at that point, but Monroe remained on her mind. Maybe if Miles didn't spend all of his time arguing with Rachel, he'd have figured that her opinion of Monroe was far from black and white anymore. She sure as hell wasn't a fan, but she had come to appreciate he was a means to an end. Then all trace of Sebastian Monroe evaporated from her mind when they reached the cemetery. It was eerily deserted with no sign of Rachel or Gene or Marion, except when they approached the grave. Miles let out a stream of curses and Charlie's stomach dropped. Neatly draped over Marion's father's grave was a crisp, brightly coloured American Flag.

The Patriots had their family, and were cheerfully issuing a challenge with that flag. Come and get 'em! It seemed to shout.

Charlie whirled around on the spot, her gun raised and poised to shoot, but there was nobody. They'd known it was unnecessary to leave any soldiers behind – there was no possible way Miles Matheson would ignore their invitation.

Chaos reigned in the Patriot Camp as another bomb went off. Charlie was bumped and jostled as people ran all around her, shouting and abandoning their posts, but no one seemed to notice her. She slung her crossbow over her back – she'd had to use it to trigger the explosions – and took off at a dead run for Truman's tent. Miles had figured out that's where Gene and Rachel were being held and had gone in to get them while she provided the distractions. The scene that met her there would be burned into her memory until the day she died.

She skidded to a stop at the tent and yanked open the flap to find Truman and Miles in a standoff. Truman had the gun and Miles his sword, and Gene and Rachel were tied to chairs between them. But everything looked wrong, and it took her barely half a second to see why. "No" she breathed. Her mom and grandpa both had blood coursing down their faces from the gaping bullet holes in their skulls. Her stomach pitched and she had to swallow the bile rising in her throat. Miles glanced over at her. "Charlie." He said, and she knew it was done. He was utterly defeated. She jumped when the gun went off and had her small knife in her hand even as Truman swung around. She let it fly and didn't wait to see it embed itself in his throat before she lunged for her uncle. "Miles!" she shouted, hoping and praying she got to him in time. But there was nothing she could have done. Truman's shot had found its mark in Miles' forehead.

A strange thing happened then. Despair was already clawing at her, threatening to overtake her completely, but when Truman let out a burbling cough on the other side of the tent, something cold and fierce was born in her. She slowly got to her feet, dragging Miles' sword up with her. Inexplicably, Truman had a smile on his face when she stood over him. She kicked the gun out of reach and bent low over him. "I promise you I will not rest until every single one of you are dead." He let out a gurgling laugh and she drove the sword into his belly, slicing him open until his intestines threatened to spill out. Then the moment was over and reality rushed back in. Distantly she realized that she needed to get out of the camp before the Patriots settled down and figured things out, but she couldn't just leave her family. She knelt beside Miles' body as the tears started to fall, dropping her forehead to his as she allowed herself just one moment of grief.

There was movement outside the tent, and Charlie could hear Miles' voice in her head telling her to get the hell out of there. She cast a forlorn look at her mother and grandfather, and took a deep, steadying breath. She knew what she needed to do. She had one explosive left, and after she lit the fuse, she cut a jagged hole in the edge of the tent with Miles' sword and took off at a run. She made it to the ridge before it went off, and when it did she stumbled and fell, and then threw up. She lay beside the puddle of vomit as the devastation hit, and she sobbed until there was nothing left in her.

She was alone now, truly.

Central Texas – Present.

"Where'd you learn that?"

Charlie didn't pause in her careful measuring. "My mom."

"Your mom taught you to make bombs?" Eva's voice was coloured with disbelief. "That's pretty badass. Or crazy," she added as an afterthought. Charlie finished the mixture and sealed the container tightly before moving on to the next one. "She was a bit of both," she acknowledged. It seemed like Eva wanted to press the subject, but one look from Charlie had her biting her tongue. "Ah. Well, could you show me how? It's a good skill to have."

Eva was a quick learner and soon they had an assembly line of sorts going. Charlie could tell that the other woman wanted to talk, but she suspected that Eva didn't know what to make of her. Nobody in the camp seemed inclined to warm up to her beyond a certain point, simply because Charlie made a concentrated effort to keep her distance. She sighed inwardly. "So how'd you get here?"

"Here, with this group? Same way we all did, I guess. By chance. The Patriots showed up in my town and overnight the place changed. Kids started 'enlisting'; they started enforcing rules that nobody wanted or needed, the usual. And when people protested, they mysteriously disappeared." She shook her head sadly. "Me and Rafe decided it was time to move on, and we slowly picked the others up along the way. I still can't believe how fast it all happened."

Charlie nodded. "We're fighting a losing battle."

Eva paused. "Why are you fighting then if you believe that?" Charlie shrugged, not perturbed by Eva's obviously idealistic view of things. "Because I want to take as many of them down with me as I can." There was a long stretch of silence, then, "Well these bombs will definitely help with that." They lapsed back into the quiet rhythm of work after that, but Charlie risked a glance across the table once or twice, and around the camp at the group she was with. These people had good intentions, but if they all shared Eva's view that they'd be able to make a difference and come out unscathed, they were delusional. Seven people who didn't expect that their actions would get them killed did not an army make. That thought planted in her mind, and after another week or so had sprouted, its roots tangling deep down in her.

By the time they passed through the next town, she'd made her decision. She'd intended to just slip away, but Luke screwed that plan up. There wasn't a Patriot occupation in this particular town, but she'd come across a pair of them travelling by horseback. Probably scouts, and if they didn't return to their base it would likely take anyone awhile to notice. So, while the rest of group had scattered to restock on supplies and grab a meal, Charlie made her move. She'd stalked the Patriot pair most of the afternoon, and when they came stumbling out of the tavern after a couple of hours to untether their horses, she buried an arrow in one of them and sliced the throat of the other, taking great satisfaction in the hot blood that sprayed over her hands in the process. There was a sewage ditch a couple hundred yards behind the tavern and she dragged the bodies there to dump them. She was just loading her gear onto one of the horses when Luke showed up. "Sarah?" Charlie cursed, but glanced over her shoulder. He was bewildered and maybe a little angry.

"Tell me you're not running away."

She put her foot in the stirrup and threw her leg over the saddle. "No, I'm not running. I'm moving on."

"That's bullshit. Moving on to what?"

Charlie sighed. She'd suspected that he liked her, and the betrayal in his voice now confirmed it. And it only reinforced in her that leaving was the best option. The last thing she needed or wanted was any personal entanglements. "Luke…my only goal here is to destroy the Patriots, and this group just isn't going to accomplish that. I'm sorry," she added as an afterthought.

"And you're going to do a better job on your own?" he demanded angrily. She fixed him with a cool look. "Good luck, Luke. Sincerely." She didn't look back as she headed west. She had no intention of doing this on her own, she just need to back the winning horse.