Summertime was so very fleeting in many places on Earth. In the north, a mere three months were devoted to humid, roasting temperatures. To the east, constant rainfall often prevented the sun to shine. To the west, soothing winds offered relief from the heat. However, those who lived due south knew nothing but summer. The wind nor the rain offered any relief to those sweltering under the sun. Such a climate was well suited to those who had mastered it, and even then did they sweat.
The day was marked by the premise of a storm. Dark, angry clouds had been gathering overhead for little more than two hours. The hot days and humid nights had no doubt given rise to a cold front. There had not been a storm in weeks, and now, it seemed that one was imminent. When it did strike, it was likely to be one of the largest seen that season. For now, all was calm. The wind did not stir, the trees did not quiver, and the clouds did not cry. Whether or not conditions would remain peaceful was anyone's guess.
Under the darkening sky lay a winding country road. It was paved roughly and had seen better days, but nevertheless, it was usable. The car which drove upon it had seen that route many times. It was one of the few roads left that was not riddled with upturned automobiles or an unsightly hoard of undead beings. Within the car was a rather unusual compilation of company. It was surprising to see them together on a reconnaissance mission.
In the driver's seat was ex-sheriff Rick Grimes. He was once a very hard-faced man with a passion for justice. Now, he was a tired, aging man with a crumbling psyche. In the passenger's seat was Daryl Dixon. Some would mistake him for a backwoods hillbilly, but those who knew him well valued his friendship. Lastly were the two women who rode in the rear. Their names were Carol Peletier and Marlowe Thompson. Carol, a previous abuse victim, had come so very far. She could hold her own, shoot a gun, and save face. The other woman was little more than a leech - a parasite, if you will.
Marlowe Thompson was not an average post-apocalypse survivor. If anything, she was living a life that was no longer hers. The sudden change in society had wracked her to her very core. Some people handled shock rather well, but Marlowe had resorted to various other ways of coping. More often than not, she focused on her vanity than on performing her chores. Her well-manicured nails and plump, red lips spoke to her habits. It was a wonder that she had not yet been excommunicated. Unbeknownst to her, said topic had come up once or twice during council meetings. The sole reason for her continued residence was pity. Other colony members pitied her for her lack of realization. Instead of casting her away, the small council had vowed to better her survival skills. Allowing her to tag along during a supply run would benefit her in that way.
The road was long and the ride full of silence. The short girl with a well-kept bob peered out the window. She was lost in her thoughts as usual. It was not until Rick turned on the radio that she was torn from them. She lowered her elbow from the window, placed both hands in her lap, and straightened her posture. She and Carol had not spoken very much, though it was not unusual. Marlowe was a very withdrawn person. Her introverted nature had reclaimed her upon the destruction of Woodbury. It had been her safe haven: a place where she could go on pretending. Without it, she felt vulnerable, scared, and lonesome. No one would know as much. It wasn't as if she made an attempt to be friendly.
As the radio chirped into life, Daryl immediately leaned forward and grasped the volume dial with his dirt-stained fingers. He turned it up just enough to dampen the whir of the wheels turning below them.
"Fuckin' love this song. Haven't heard it in a while."
The radio played "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. It was a folk song written in the voice of a reminiscent southern man. Marlowe did not care for it very much, but nonetheless, she listened. Every so often Carol would look out the window, quietly humming along with the words. Rick's choice in music had not lightened the mood, but it had unified everybody in an unspoken way. They were all listening to the same song, riding in the same car, and going to the same place.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, the light green Hyundai Tucson pulled up to a rough looking country pit stop. While it may have once been a haven for business, it was now little more than an empty brick building. In front of the general store were two old gas pumps. Between them was a bloody, dirt stained sign that read "pump it yourself". It was another lonely reminder of how life used to be before the outbreak and decline of mankind. The car rolled to a stop in front of a pump and a cloud of dry dust lifted behind its tires. Those who were inside the car took a moment to collect their wits before venturing forth.
"Well what are we waiting for, Christmas?" Daryl spoke first. He was most eager to start scouting the area.
Daryl reached behind his seat and gripped his crossbow. It had been resting between Marlowe's legs for the entirety of the car ride. Instead of helping him retrieve it, she looked on in silence. The damn thing was caught and still she did nothing. It was as if she was momentarily frozen. Her eyes, large and brown, were comparable to those of a startled doe. What a dumb little thing she could be.
Daryl frowned and violently yanked it free. "Gee, you're useful." He grunted and slammed his back into his seat.
"Come on, now. She's never done this before. Give her some credit." Carol sighed and looked out of the window.
The man sitting in the driver's seat gave a soft sigh as he listened to the scorn of his shotgun passenger. Daryl was a decent man, but he did have a tendency to say the wrong thing. He was a southern man with a tough tongue and a stiff upper lip. Rick respected Daryl both as a hunter and as a friend. However, there had been times in the past when even he had been the subject of his frustration. When the two men had first met, they had not been overly fond of each other. If anything, Daryl had wanted his head for what he had done back in Atlanta. A small smirk crossed Rick's face when he thought of that day. It had been an unfortunate event, but the two of them had come so far. Since then, they had formed an unspoken, brotherly bond.
Remembering the task at hand, Rick slung his right arm behind his own seat and propped himself up. His soft-colored eyes drifted from person to person. He studied each of them, preparing to address what needed to be done. Since he had requited his position as a colony leader, his character lacked a sense of authority. Nevertheless, those in cahoots with him knew of his worthiness to command them. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Rick prepared himself to speak.
"Alright, now let's prioritize what needs to get done." He brushed a hand over his neck. "We have enough food to last us two weeks. That's one can, per person, per meal."
Daryl interjected, "What about little ass kicker? She need formula or diapers?"
Rick looked back to Daryl and established direct eye contact. "If there are any, grab them. We also need medical supplies and a few creature comforts. We're low on toilet paper and toothpaste. I want you and Carol to go scout out that store over there."
Rick gestured with his pointer finger to the lonely looking convenience center. It was an eerie shop made of brick and mortar. The walls were singed with ash, as if they had seen fire in recent days. A few sticky, gelatinous corpses near the entryway proved as much. Somebody must have burned the bodies in an attempt to mask the smell of decay. The area otherwise looked untouched.
"Sounds good to me. Let's go, Daryl." Carol opened her car door and stepped out into the afternoon gloom. Before shutting her door, she gave Marlowe a sympathetic parting glance.
As the door clicked shut, Marlowe found herself in the car with Rick. She watched idly as he busied himself with preparation. He rolled up his sleeves, loosened his collar, and holstered his pistol. He was a curious man to watch. Before he could catch her staring, she looked away and busied herself with her own affairs. She studied her nails and chipped away at the stray bits of paint aligning her cuticles.
"Not my best work…" Marlowe thought this aloud and tilted her head as she continued to pick.
Rick turned, "Excuse me? I didn't hear what you said."
"Oh, it was nothing." Marlowe put her hands away and leaned back. She avoided his eyes.
"…Right." Rick turned and opened up his car door. "While the other two check out the store, I was hoping that you could help me fill up a few fuel canisters."
Rick exited the car, shut the door, and rounded the chassis. He stopped at the rear of it and unlocked the trunk. He pulled on it, raised it over his head, and peered inside. He noted that Marlowe was still sitting in the car. With a frustrated grunt, he reached in and pulled out all of the oil cans himself.
"Anytime you're ready." Rick placed a hand on the car, tilted his head, and watched her with a stern expression.
Marlowe exited the car shortly after he addressed her. She could tell by his tone that he was not in the mood to muck around. She gently closed the door and, as he had, rounded the car. She met him at his right side and held out a hand. There was one thing to be said for her: Marlowe was very good at being silent. It was that skill alone which had kept her alive thus far. She was otherwise useless, unfortunately.
Rick sighed to himself and handed her one of the three canisters. He took the other two and stepped away from the car. He had left the trunk ajar for convenience sake. There was no point in shutting it if they were to be done shortly. He took his two cans and walked up to the closest pump. It was caked in a layer of dirt-covered rust. He frowned, stooped down to it, and had a look. The hose had been cut quite a while ago. It did not look promising. Regardless of appearance, he decided to give the pump a try.
He brought the hose to his lips, gave it a few draws, and waited. He was hoping to feel a rush of gasoline against his lips. All he could taste were the fumes. Begrudgingly, he removed his lips from the hose and turned aside. No luck there. Without saying a word, he rose and walked towards the other pump. Rick stooped down once more, grabbed the hose, and repeated the process. To his surprise, a faint dribble of gasoline began to lap against his tongue. He smiled, pulled away, and motioned for a canister.
Marlowe unscrewed the cap and handed it to him. What a boring job. Then again, it was far less daunting than entering an old, dark store. While Rick filled the can, she looked over towards the structure. She could no longer see Daryl and Carol. She idly wondered what they were doing inside. Were they having any luck or was there nothing to be found?
Meanwhile, Daryl and Carol had busied themselves scrounging around upturned shelves and trampled, old, merchandise. Upon entering the establishment, Daryl had noted a rather odd scent in the air. It was one of cigarette smoke and of freshly fired bullet casings. The interior itself looked uninhabited, but the smell made his skin crawl. It was very rare of him to get goose bumps. His intuition warned him to be on the alert, and so he had been for the entirety of their stay. It was not until he thought of Carol that he remembered the smell. He should have cautioned her before they separated. A heavy feeling weighed in the pit of his stomach as he continued to rummage through the debris around his feet.
No sooner than he remembered his uneasiness, a gun had been pressed to his neck. Its cold, smooth barrel tickled his spine. Once more, a series of chills wracked his body. He did not act surprised. He merely lowered his crossbow and put his hands in the air to show submission. Whoever had cornered him was certainly not in the mood to play games, and so, he kept his mouth shut. No sense in making a fuss, especially when sound carried. He also had the others to think about. If they were safe, he did not want them to risk their lives attempting to rescue him. He assured himself that they were alright, but he could not help but feel just the slightest bit of apprehension. All he could do was hold his ground and hope for their safety.