A/N: Hello reader! This is a prequel to my story The Huntress and the Deputy and uses the characters and situations established there. Whether you're familiar with that one or not, please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Morgan Rook stared at the smoldering ruins of what had been his house.

The modest rental home he had been living in for the past two months had been the victim of a Molotov Cocktail tossed by a zealous cultist when he and his buddies rolled into Fall's End intent on cleansing the place of sin or whatever it was they were fond of doing.

The junior deputy kicked a small piece of burnt wood with the toe of his boot, as if that would somehow alleviate the fact most of his possessions had gone up in flames. With a deep exhale, Morgan walked over the blackened remains of wood and tile, his feet crunching over the charred remnants. He reached the very back of the house, which had been somewhat spared by the flames, but was still a total write-off.

What had used to be his bedroom was somewhat intact. His bed was covered with ash and burnt timber, while the clothes in his wardrobe had been completely lost to smoke and fire damage. Underneath a small table was the one thing he was looking for- his safe. Fire and water resistant, the small steel safe had hopefully safeguarded his most important and prized possessions.

Morgan leaned down and opened it up, finding that everything inside was still intact. The safe contained most mundane things- his important documents, some other papers, the like. There were a few things of more sentimental value, though, things he had stashed just in case something like this had happened. One of these things was a worn picture of him and his parents at his college graduation. And a picture of him and his sister, back years ago during much happier times. Times before she became lost, never to return.

In the back was a black pistol case that contained the first firearm he ever purchased- a matte black Browning Hi-Power, chambered in 9mm. It was just a gun, sure. But it was his. And his dad helped him pick it out on his 21st birthday.

Morgan put everything retrieved from his safe in the backpack he took off a dead man on Dutch's Island. His Browning went into the thigh holster he looted off a cultist, swapping places with the well-worn Colt M1911A1 pistol Dutch had gifted him. It was a cool piece, probably something Dutch bought home from Vietnam. But Morgan wanted his pistol instead.

Morgan could feel that his foreseeable future will be full of scavenging whatever he could find. All he had were the contents of his backpack and the clothes on his back- not even his, they were a grey t-shirt and dirty blue jeans Dutch let him take. Over his shirt was a coyote brown plate carrier with an armored plate inserted inside and a few pouches for spare magazines attached to the chest. That was looted from a prepper's stash while Morgan made his way to Fall's End.

Fall's End. This tiny, tiny town. Sleepy. Safe. Turned into a warzone overnight.

Morgan turned and saw two townspeople hauling away dead cultists who were going to be added to a mass grave outside of town.

He shook his head at the sight. It had just been a... surreal few days.

They just had to go and arrest fucking Joseph Seed. But how were they supposed to know that would kick off this war?

When Morgan came to Hope County, he quickly became familiar with Eden's Gate. But he thought little of them at the time. They were armed. They were sizable. Sure. But they did not really do anything bad, at least Morgan thought. Sheriff Whitehorse seemed to be wary of them, but even Morgan thought Whitehorse was overreacting. They were just a bunch of weirdos running around in the woods. He never expected them to embark on a crusade against the entire county.

Morgan shouldered his bag and shifted the custom AR-15 he had looted from an Eden's Gate truck around in his hands. He had been busy the past two days. Almost dying in a chopper crash, almost getting murdered by Joseph's gun-toting fanatics. Getting into open conflict with cultists on the roads of Hope as he fought his way to Fall's End.

He had been impressed with himself so far. He had managed to kill close to two dozen people single handedly. And he did not feel a thing. Probably because Morgan realized there was no reasoning with these people. You pull the trigger, or die. Or worse.

Morgan had never shot another human being until recently. Now, he was getting good at it. Which was a plus, since Morgan realized there would be a large amount of killing to be had in his future. His fight to Fall's End had also not ended with him getting shot. No injuries to speak of, in fact. That was a good start. Time would tell if he could keep it up.

People were talking about fighting back. Morgan knew it had to be done. He did not want to live under the thumb of this fucking cult. He knew he had to help stop their rampage across the county.

Mary May Fairgrave, the pretty bar owner that Morgan knew in passing, had big plans for taking back their home. She had stepped up to keep things together in Fall's End and was praising Morgan like he was some kind of Montanan Rambo. Really, Morgan was just doing what felt natural. Kill or be killed, that sort of thing.

Mary had plans, sure, but the burgeoning Hope County Resistance was short on firepower and people. Morgan knew the fight to retake the entire county would be a hard one. Since people were already looking at him to be some sort of leader, he certainly had his work cut out for him.

He pushed open the door to the Spread Eagle, where Mary was leaning over the bar counter.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi, deputy. You get anything from your house?" she asked.

Morgan nodded once.

"Just a couple things."

Mary smiled.

"Well, that's good to hear. Listen- I have a spare room upstairs. Why don't you make yourself at home?"

"Thanks, ma'am. I'll do that."

Mary laughed softly.

"Ah shit, seriously, just call me Mary. I think we're gonna become very familiar with each other over the next few days."

He smiled back.

"Yeah. Looks like it."

Jess Black knew this would happen.

She knew. She knew ever since the fucking Cook murdered her parents in front of her and her brother Travis.

Now, Travis was gone, disappeared to God knows where. It was just her now fighting her own little war, a war she had been waging by herself for years now. She knew Eden's Gate relatively well by now. They liked to keep their operations under wraps. Two days ago, though, they started an all-out war against Hope County. Jess figured something like would be coming, but never knew when. Obviously, something had to trigger that.

She had heard that the cops had tried to arrest Joseph Seed. Bad move. Very bad move. She figured that Joseph's fellow Kool-Aid drinkers figured this was the start of the apocalypse, giving them a perfect excuse to drop all pretense of peace and plunder and pillage at their leisure.

For Jess, this made her job just a bit easier in some ways. They were everywhere now. More targets. More Peggies to kill.

Jess had been waiting for this and now, it was time to really work.

Jess usually worked alone. Everyone knew that. But sometimes, it helped to get someone else to do the work for her.

Eli Palmer had called her earlier. As she figured, he and the rest of his Whitetail Militia had retreated to the Wolf's Den to begin their guerilla war against the cult. Jess liked Eli and his Whitetails. They were some of the few people who knew what was up with the cult before this war began.

Eli had some juicy information for her. His scouts had located The Cook.

Apparently, the psychotic pyromaniac had been spotted in the area surrounding the old Baron Lumber Mill, which the cult had turned into a makeshift prison camp. It would be a tough infiltration- the Peggies would be crawling all over the area. But Jess liked it tough.

Jess walked through the cool halls of Eli's bunker. Around her, various militia men and women were busy readying weapons or explosives or planning out their next course of action.

She found Eli leaning over a topographic map of the Whitetail Mountains. He gave a few orders to his assembled fighters before looking up at her.

"Oh, you came," he said to her, sounding a bit surprised.

She nodded.

"Yeah, 'cause you got info for me, right?"

"Right. So, you're looking for a specific Peggie, right?"

Jess crossed her arms. She was hoping Eli would just get to the point so she could get hunting.

"The fuckin' Cook," she spat.

"Well, one of my guys spotted him rounding up people and bringing them to the lumber mill. He should still be there, if you can catch him."

She smiled briefly. Jess rarely smiled. Smiling was for people who had something to feel good about.

"Okay, then," Jess replied simply as she turned to exit Eli's bunker.

"Wait, Jess," Eli said.

She stopped and quickly rotated to face him.

"Yeah?" she asked impatiently.

"Be careful. Okay?" Eli told her. He seemed genuinely concerned.

Jess did not really care, though.

"Yeah. Whatever," she mumbled at him before finally leaving.

Eli watched her disappear. He sighed softly before turning his attention back to the map.

Jess allowed the warm early Summer sun to warm her face for a few brief moments. Relishing in this brief pleasure, she adjusted her hood and jogged lightly down the trail, which was speckled by shadows cast by the treetops overhead.

She had killed three cultists already. This was a good sign. They did not usually operate in this area. Eli's intel was good.

Where the fuck are you? She thought to herself as she stalked forward, one hand around her bow just in case.

She just needed to watch The Cook die, then she would be happy. Something in her chest tightened at the anticipation of finally, finally killing that fucker. It took years, but now, she would have an arrow through his eye by the end of the afternoon.

As she hopped over a fallen log, Jess heard voices and footsteps crunching on the ground. She paused and looked through the undergrowth. A few feet ahead of her was a cultist patrol. They were chatting idly, apparently taking a break from whatever crazy bullshit they were up to.

They had not heard her coming. Of course not.

Jess bent down into a crouch and raised her bow. She allowed herself to grin slightly as her sights settled on the shaggy head of a male cultist playing with his machete.

"Sleep tight, mother-" she began to mutter.

A cry from behind her went out, followed by a sharp twack to the back of her head. Jess cried out and her arrow loosed itself over the heads of her foes and into the trees somewhere.

White spots clouded her vision as the back of her head pulsed with pain. Jess stumbled up to her feet, one hand around her bow.

"Hey! I got someone over here! Help me out!" a male voice behind her shouted out. She could see the cultists running to his position.

Fuck you for getting the drop on me.

Jess rounded, pushing past the pain and facing the Peggie who jumped her.

He was pointing a revolver at her face.

"Now, you just sit still, sister," he warned.

Jess scowled and launched a fist at him. He sidestepped it and whipped her across the cheek with the butt of his pistol.

She growled and tried to punch him once more, but another cultist caught her arm and forced her to the ground.

"Get the fuck off of me!" she screamed as she tried to punch with her left arm. Another cultist planted a boot into her stomach, causing her to violently exhale involuntarily. Another man used this opportunity to stomp on her left arm, right at the bend.

Jess flailed her legs, trying to kick anyone who was close enough.

"Stop your moving or I'll break both of your fucking legs!" a Peggie shouted at her, gesturing with his baseball bat for emphasis.

Jess paused and then finally ceased her movements. She shot her eyes back and forth between the men who captured her, hate very clearly evident in them.

"Let me go or I'm gonna skin you fuckers alive," she spat.

One of them chuckled.

"You ain't in no position to be making the threats, girl."

"What do we do with her?" someone asked his comrades.

One man stepped forward and drew a pistol from a leather chest holster.

"Well, she seemed to be a bit of trouble. I say we just put her down."

"Sounds good with me," the cultist to his right said with a nod.

Jess gritted her teeth. She was so goddamn close…

The man raised his pistol in a one handed grip.

"Whoa! Hold up!"

One of the Peggies reached out and grabbed the pistol-wielder's arm.

"What?"

"I know her. That's Jess Black. Jacob wants her."

All of the cultists stared down at her.

"Let's get her back to the camp, then," one of them said.

"Oh, fuck you!" Jess snapped as they clamped arms around her to haul her up.

"Someone please shut her up!"

"You fucking pricks, you have no idea what I'm going to-"

A cultist wrapped a gag around her mouth.

It has been two weeks since the liberation of Fall's End. Two busy, sleepless weeks where Morgan and anyone else who wanted to fight did everything they could to reclaim their home.

The cult had been weakened by his actions throughout Holland Valley, but they were far from finished. Morgan had decided to head out to the rest of the county and see what the rest of the situation was.

He found himself with a rare moment of peace. Using this time wisely, Morgan ate some lunch. An MRE cracker and some Fritos. Not exactly the best meal, but he packed light.

Licking off Frito dust from his fingers, Morgan picked up his radio and pressed the talk button.

"Hey, Dutch, I've crossed into the Whitetail Mountains. Can you tell me anything about what I'll run into up here?"

Dutch gave him the lowdown. The Whitetails were quite the interesting place. Jacob Seed, a certifiable grade-A sadistic motherfucker, was running the place. The Whitetail Militia was waging a war against the cult. Monstrous mutant wolves roamed the mountains and were tearing apart anyone they came across. There was a trained bear loose that was busy eating Peggies. And then there was some guy named Hurk up here too. He seemed interesting.

But Dutch let on another interesting tidbit Morgan did not know about.

There was something going on at the old Baron Lumber Mill.

"Only message I got was from my niece, Jess. She said the cult turned the lumber mill into a prison camp. Maybe you can start there."

Morgan chewed on his Fritos thoughtfully at that sentence.

Dutch has a niece? That's news to me.

Cleaning off his hands with some water, Morgan gathered up his things and went back to the ATV he had "borrowed" from some Peggies. He had work to do.

A cultist strolled by Jess's cell and peered into it to look at her. Jess glared up at him. She sat crossed legged, leaning against the back of her makeshift cell.

"Fuck you looking at?" she growled.

The man just shook his head and walked away.

Jess sighed quietly and stared at the gate to her prison. She glared at it, as if that would will it to open.

She could not believe the sudden turn of events. One moment… she was a mere few hours from putting The Cook in the ground. Now, she had spent the last two days peeing in a bucket and getting preached at by these psychos.

Jess spent the many hours dreaming up increasingly creative and slightly improbable ways of murdering The Cook, Joseph, John, Jacob, and Faith.

I'll get the fuck out of here. It's just a matter of time.

A small voice nagged from the back of her head.

Your luck's run out. This is it, Jessica. You're fucked.

Jess scowled and lightly smacked herself on the cheek for even suggesting that she was done for. She was not giving up. The cultists were not professional. They would slip up. It was only a matter of time. As soon as she saw an opening- she would take it.

A gunshot broke the relative silence of the prison camp. Jess jerked up at the loud crack.

She smiled slightly to herself.

And here's my opening.

Morgan crouched behind a rock, poking out from the side to observe the cultists milling around the Baron Lumber Mill. He could see people in cages, people handcuffed and being shipped off to God-knows-where.

He turned to Amy Nichols, one of the Resistance members in his little strike group. To say she was "young" was an understatement. The girl looked barely out of high school.

"See, deputy?" she whispered to him.

"Yeah. I see. There's a lot of them. You ready to do this?" Morgan asked, addressing the other five people with him.

They all nodded.

Amy's blood red hair bobbed as she nodded her head.

"My friends are there. We gotta do this," she said.

"My wife might be in there," hissed Frank Fletcher, who adjusted his grip on the Heckler and Koch HK21 machine gun he had somehow come across.

"Alright. Someone kick this off," Morgan said.

One Resistance member, Brad McAllister, stepped up, raising up his scoped Marlin lever action.

"I'm getting that guy on the roof," he announced before sighting up his target and pulling the trigger.

The single .45-70 Government round nearly knocked the patrolling cultist off his feet. The others in the compound jumped in surprise at the gunshot and immediately ran to take their positions.

Morgan and the others advanced, immediately opening fire on the cultists responding to the attack. A cultist raised his shotgun at Morgan as he rounded a corner, but he was too slow. Morgan put two rounds from his AR-15 through his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Amy came up behind him, rapidly firing her AR at a pair of advancing cultists, both of whom she dispatched. Frank sprinted past both of them and hosed down a large group of cultists who were unfortunate enough to be caught up running out of the main building with machine gun fire.

Clambering up to reach the main building, Morgan lifted himself up and into an open window into the old lumber mill. A cultist whipped around as he heard Morgan's feet touch the ground, but Morgan was faster. He fired once, catching the cultist in the heart before he could even reach for his holster.

Morgan shouldered past the half-open door to the outside catwalks. He blasted one more cultist providing sniper support before pausing and squinting at the distance.

Dust was being kicked up by a pair of SUVs loaded with Peggies bearing down on the lumber mill, no doubt responding to the shitstorm Morgan and the others kicked up.

"Hey!" he called down to Amy and Frank, who were directly below him.

"We've got backup coming in!"

They both nodded and fanned out, warning the other Resistance fighters of the impending threat.

Morgan rested his rifle on the railing of the catwalk. He peered down the reflex sight and exhaled as he pulled the trigger. The windshield of the first truck became splattered with blood after the driver took a 5.56mm round through the cranium. The truck took a sharp left and crashed into the side of an office trailer.

The cultists within the truck attempted to scramble out, but were swiftly cut down by rifle fire. The second vehicle, a white Jeep, was met with a fusillade of fully-automatic 7.62mm fire from Frank's machine gun. The Jeep barely stood a chance. Its driver quickly dispatched, the Jeep coasted into a concrete barricade. Frank laid on the fire, reducing the vehicle to Swiss Cheese. He only stopped once his entire belt was expended. No one walked out.

Morgan dropped out an empty magazine from his rifle and loaded a fresh one.

"I think we're clear," Morgan said, his feet kicking spent casings.

Amy nodded.

"I think we properly fucked 'em up," the young woman said proudly.

"Indeed we did," Morgan agreed.

He looked around at the various prisoners the cult had amassed, most of whom had hit the deck once the shooting started. A few started to nervously peer up now that the bullets stopped flying.

"What do you say we get these people out of here?" Morgan suggested.

Jess sat patiently in her cell. She knew something had happened. Maybe the Whitetails raided the place. She could not see much from where she was, but could hear the fierce sounds of a gun battle and the screams of people falling in combat. A few bullets had pinged off the side of her cell, but she had not been hit by any stray rounds.

A dark-skinned woman approached her cell, a pair of bolt cutters slung over her shoulders.

Jess watched her snip the padlock keeping Jess imprisoned and pulled open the door. Jess smiled and nodded to her as she sat up, a stride in her step. Now that this setback was behind her, she could get back to work.

Most everyone else who had been freed was busy breathlessly thanking the Resistance members who had let them out. Jess saved her thanks- she had lost enough time already. If The Cook was still in the area, she had to catch up to him and end this once and for all.

She made her way over to the crates of weapons and gear confiscated by the cult. Without wasting a moment, Jess located her bow, quiver, and knife. She was so focused with getting her shit together, she could not hear the footsteps behind her.

"Everything okay?" a man's voice asked.

Jess turned to see a white guy with medium length, swept back black hair staring at her. He had deep green eyes that he blinked twice, as if he was surprised by her appearance. She got that a lot.

He was holding an AR-15 loosely with one hand. A golden Sheriff's Department badge was pinned to his tan plate carrier.

She nodded.

"Thanks for busting me out. Name's Jess. If you're out here pickin' fights with the cult, then I'm guessin' you already know my uncle Dutch."

"Yeah, I know Dutch. He saved my ass two weeks back. I'm Morgan Rook, by the way. Hope County Sheriff's Department… what's left of it."

Morgan Rook. Dutch mentioned that name once or twice over the radio… I think. Sounds familiar, she thought.

"Look, I don't got a lot of time to waste, I'm going to get right to the point. I was on the trail of one of Jacob's zealots. Goes by the name 'The Cook.' Yeah, that don't sound so scary. But believe me- he's one twisted fuck."

The guy nodded once.

"Almost tracked him down, but a Peggie patrol got the drop on me. I need your help. We can't let this trail go cold. This guy's butchered a lot of innocent folk around here. Can't let him get away with it any longer. Gotta move- wasted too much time already. Follow me."

Jess bounded off for the woods, just now realizing there was not much of a chance this guy would actually follow her. She was not even sure why she tried to rope him into her quest. Maybe he just gave off… a vibe. Or something.

As Jess hopped over a bubbling stream, she could hear boots crunching in the grass behind her. She spared a glance over her shoulder.

Morgan Rook was right behind her. Seemed he wanted to follow her after all.