Author's Note: This story exists because—to put it kindly—I saw a lot of missed potential in Howe's and Carver himself, and thought the 400 Days characters' cameos did them a massive disservice. I set out to right that wrong with a series of short stories, and then Howe's grabbed me by the throat and suddenly I had a novel on my hands. Like you do.
To avoid spoilers, I've not included any content-related warnings here or in the summary. Chapters with particularly upsetting or graphic content will contain specific warnings at their start. However, readers should be generally advised that this work contains themes and elements some may find disturbing.
Lastly, to give proper credit, the first line of the summary is taken from A Fine Frenzy's "Rangers."
Lost Causes
I. Rubicon
Shel's fingers twitched against the fake leather of the steering wheel, readjusting her grip in a half-hearted attempt to keep herself awake. Ahead, the two-lane road stretched out in a sinuous line as it wove its way through the trees. Only an occasional pothole or some stray debris—which Shel did her best to steer around—broke up the monotony. Over the treetops she caught an occasional glimpse of mountaintops, laced with thin, low-hanging clouds.
To her west the sun had begun to dip below the horizon; more than a few stars peeked out already between scattered clouds. She flicked the RV's headlights on, the prearranged signal, just as she drove past a wobbly highway sign.
Pine Creek Pass – 3 miles.
Acting more on automatic pilot than anything else, Shel started to brake, searching in the fading orange light for the turn-off.
The radio in the cupholder beside her squealed once, pulling her attention from the road. "Shel?" Tavia's voice almost didn't cut through the static. "Our lookout just spotted you. The turn's up ahead; you see it?"
As if on cue, the RV's headlights caught the intersection, marked by a stop sign half fallen over into the road. Shel made the turn slowly, listening as a few boxes shifted and slid around behind her. In the passenger seat, Becca turned over in her sleep.
The radio squealed a second time. "Look for the shopping center about a mile down the road. It's on your right. We're in the hardware store. Pull around to the loading dock, and we'll handle it from there." A static-filled pause, and then Tavia signed off with a perfunctory, "We'll see you soon."
"Becca?" Shel risked taking her eyes off the road for a split second, checking to see if her sister was still asleep. "Wake up; we're almost there." A bleary-sounding groan was all she got in return, but that was enough for her. Becca would wake up as soon as they stopped driving. She always did.
As the RV inched down the road, Shel found herself watching the shadows on the roadside, looking for—what, exactly? She couldn't say. All was quiet and nothing moved, save a few late in the season fireflies flitting across the road.
A click from the radio broke her out of her meditative mood. "Tavia?" As they neared their destination, the signal grew steadily stronger. Shel didn't have to strain to hear it anymore. She didn't recognize the man's voice on the other end, either. "Uh, are you still on this channel? My radio's stuck; it won't go to channel one."
Finally, to her right, the trees grew shorter and then dipped away, revealing the empty sea of a parking lot. The strip mall's uneven rooftops lurked at the far end, already half lost in the deepening twilight. The last fingers of sunlight barely stretched above the mountains now.
"Right," said the voice on the radio, punctuating it with a sigh half-full of static. "Guess I'll just go find another radio. Reggie out."
Shel bit her lip to stop a smile. He'd sounded nice enough at least, although it wasn't much of a first impression. Maybe Bonnie had been right. Maybe this would be a good thing, a new beginning. Hope springs eternal, as her mother would've said. But never let your guard down. Just in case.
She turned into the parking lot, veering around a walker that looked like it had been run over more than once, and recently. Its broken fingers flailed at the RV's tires as they slipped past.
The empty parking lot felt less than welcoming. Only a few cars remained, scattered here and there. Someone had stripped them down to their frames and left them to rust long ago. Weeds sprouted out of cracks in the asphalt and waved to her as the RV passed by. All the strip's smaller stores looked likewise disused and abandoned, their windows shattered and black, open doorways looming.
The hardware store—if she squinted, she could just make out a sign saying Howe's—waited at the northernmost edge of the strip. It at least looked well-fortified, if not exactly the most homey of places. The front entrances were all boarded up and secured, and Shel caught a glimpse of barbed wire as she pulled around to loading dock.
Around the back of the store a few more cars and trucks were parked, neatly arranged with a path just wide enough for an RV or a small truck to squeeze through. Some had been stripped; wheels missing, hoods popped open. Some still looked street-worthy. Wyatt's little yellow rust-bucket of a car, parked at the same slight sideways angle as always, sat near the delivery bay doors. Seeing it somehow calmed the tiny knot of tension that had wrapped itself around her guts.
The loading dock had two doors, high off the ground, meant for loading and unloading semis. A Land Trek moving van was pulled up to the leftmost bay, blocking the closed door. The second bay door stood wide open, and through it she could see flickering candlelight and the faintest hint of movement inside.
Unfamiliar men waited on either side of the door. One held a high beam flashlight, the other a hunting rifle. Only the fact that he kept his gun pointed at the forest behind them and not at the RV itself kept her nerves at ease. The one with the flashlight gestured for her to pull to a stop barely a foot from the open bay door.
He flashed her a quick thumbs up just as she killed the RV's engine. It shut itself off with a rattling sigh as if to say, well. Here we are.
"For better or for worse," Shel added under her breath, watching the quiet mill of activity. There was a third man up on the roof, peering down at them. He waved, and after a moment's hesitation, Shel waved back. Though she could only see him in silhouette, she thought it might be Russell.
"What are you doing?"
Shel nearly jumped clear out of her seat at the sound of Becca's voice. It seemed slow and laced with sleep. "Nothing," she answered, recovering herself with a hint of a grin. "We're here. Come on, grab your stuff."
Becca ignored her, peering forward through the dusty, bug-splattered windshield. "A hardware store?" she mumbled around a yawn.
"Well, at least they'll have plenty of tools, right?"
Becca blinked at her, narrowing her eyes. "Was that some kind of joke?"
Shel was just exhausted enough to start giggling when the RV's door swung open and Tavia stepped inside. Her smile seemed genuine, even if something in her poised, stiff posture reminded Shel of a tour guide about to launch into a tired routine. "Shel. Becca. We're glad you could make it."
"So are we," Shel answered, chuckling. Becca rolled her eyes and yawned again.
"I can imagine." She almost mimicked Becca's yawn, stopping herself at the last second. "I don't mean to rush you, but engine noise brings lurkers out of the woods sometimes. I suggest you grab your things and move quickly. Stan and Tyler will cover you until then, though, so don't worry too much. I'll be waiting just inside; we'll get you some food and to a warm bed as soon as we can. Welcome aboard."
She turned and started back outside, pausing just as the RV door creaked open. "Oh, and your step out here is broken. Watch out for that." Then she was gone again, gesturing to the guards outside—Stan and Tyler, presumably—and talking into her radio at the same time.
"That lady is such a freak," Becca muttered. Shel repressed the urge to sigh.
"Tavia is very nice, and she went out of her way to help us get here." She nudged Becca with her elbow, taking the RV's keys and slipping them into her pocket in the same gesture. "Now get a move on, okay?"
In terms of things, they didn't have much, although Shel was sometimes surprised by how much the group had managed to accumulate in the few months they'd been together. Between her and Becca, they each had a duffel bag of spare clothes and other necessities, which she now pulled out of the cabinet she'd stashed them in. The rest—a few boxes and crates scattered around the floor like a miniature obstacle course—was all foodstuffs and camping gear. Everything that hadn't fit in Wyatt's car, or in other words, almost everything.
"What about this box?" Becca pulled one out from under the dining table and peered inside. Her nose wrinkled. "Ugh, never mind. It's Vince's ratty old shirts. They stink."
"Shoot, I meant to give those back before—" Shel cut that thought short with a sigh, worrying her lower lip. "Too late now, I guess."
Becca gave the box an unceremonious kick that sent it skidding back under the table. "We're not keeping them, right?"
"I guess there's no point." Her voice came out unexpectedly hoarse, and she stopped to clear her throat before she continued. "Just leave it be. Maybe...well, maybe someone here can use them."
Her train of thought threatened to spiral off in dark directions, back to Georgia and the camp and an argument she'd been turning over in her head for most of the drive. This is a place for new beginnings, not dwelling on what you can't change, she told herself with a ferocity she only half believed.
To take her mind off it she slung her duffel bag over one shoulder and grabbed a box labeled, in Wyatt's lanky penmanship, canned shit. It was, of course, heavier than it looked. She balanced it precariously on one hip as she started down the narrow steps. "Becca, just grab your clothes for now. I'll take care of the rest of the boxes."
As she nudged the RV's door open she turned back, listening for the expected reply—something like whatever—but didn't get one. "Becca, I mean it, some of those boxes are too heavy for you—"
"You look like you could use a hand."
The man's voice, rough and raspy as a gravel road, interrupted her and almost made her jump. Shel turned to see a middle-aged man standing behind her at the foot of what had once been the RV's steps. He was wholly unfamiliar—not one of the two guards Tavia had pointed out—and she had no idea how he'd managed to sneak up behind her. That alone should have been alarming. And yet there was also something in the keen, quiet look in his dark brown eyes, or maybe in the ghost of the smile on his lips, that conspired to make her drop her guard.
"We've got it," she said instead, with all pleasantness. "But thank you."
The man's smile turned wry. Something in his craggy features reminded her of a hawk. "Now what sort of host would I be if I didn't offer the lady a hand?" He held his hand out as he said it, to drive the point home. A scar arching along his pinky and ring finger caught her eye. It looked like something made with the thin edge of a knife. "If it helps, I promise I don't bite."
Shel stifled a laugh. "Is this the part where I make a crack about thinking chivalry was dead?"
"If it makes you feel better. Come on now."
His smile hadn't changed a whit. And yet his tone had changed, just enough to make her feel like he was mocking her. Or maybe calling her like one would a dog.
Well then. Here's to new beginnings, she thought, tamping her annoyance down until it was just a faint twitch in her cheek. It was late anyway, and she was tired from the drive; the odds were she'd just misread him. Or so she told herself as she reached out to take his hand. The skin of his palm was rough against hers, his grip unsurprisingly strong. He held her steady as she made the jump over the RV's broken steps to the cracked asphalt.
"Thanks."
As soon as she had both feet planted on the ground, he let her hand drop. "You're welcome." He looked her up and down, just once. "Came to see what all the fuss was about," he continued. His voice had a hint of a warm, lilting Southern accent, somewhere under the rough edges. "Guess you're the last of Tavia's new arrivals."
"Shel. My sister Becca's just inside."
"William Carver, but—hell, call me Bill. Everyone does." That ghost of a smile was back, this time with a note of pride. "I guess you could say I run this place."
The RV door creaking open behind them distracted Shel before she could reply. Becca stood at the top of the steps, yawning, her head tilting as she studied Carver. "Who the hell are you?"
"Becca," Shel hissed through clenched teeth, for all the good she knew it would do.
For his part, Carver didn't seem much phased—he paused only to scratch at a hint of stubble on his chin before he offered Becca his hand. "Name's Bill. Like I was telling your sister. You need a hand, Becca?"
Becca glanced first at him, then his outstretched hand, and then finally at Shel, her expression incredulous. Shel started to mouth be polite, but Becca interrupted her with a terse, "Nope." With that she made the brief leap down to the pavement, her duffel bag bouncing behind her. "Shel, c'mon. It's creepy out here."
Carver's glance shifted from them to the nearby woods, lost almost entirely now in deepening twilight. "You've got that about right, little lady. All sorts of men and monsters roaming out there, these days. You'd best get inside." His grin bordered on wolfish, an effect so comical Shel had to assume he'd done it deliberately, trying to spook her.
It reminded her in some distant way of Roman, before things with him had turned bad. He'd spent ages making up ghost stories, trying to scare Becca, until she had finally punched him in the arm and yelled at him to stop. He'd worn the small bruise like some sort of badge of honor, showing it off to Stephanie or Shel herself every chance he got.
Yes, Roman, you got beat up by a twelve year old, Stephanie had shot back. Very brave.
Becca at least showed no inclination to punch Carver. She jutted out her chin instead. "I'm not scared of walkers."
Carver chuckled. The sound was so quiet and low it made the hair on Shel's arms stand on end. "Me either. I tell you what—it's the men that spook me."
Somehow, Shel didn't think this man was afraid of anything much.
"Let's go, Becca," she murmured, shifting the box of canned goods to her other hip. It grew heavier with every passing second. "Stick close to me, okay?"
"I'll walk you in." Carver had already started back towards the building, though he seemed more intent on studying the RV. He nudged one of the tires with the heel of his boot as he passed. "Heard from your friends you had a bit of a bumpy ride."
"The engine kept overheating." Shel found it something of a struggle to keep pace with him, a firm hold of the box, and a wary eye on her surroundings all at once. "It's been doing that for months now. I fixed it, but...well, for a while I thought we'd be walking here. We owe Tavia and—what's his name, George?—for hanging back to guide us in. Oh, and we've still got your spare radio. Becca, run back and—"
"Stan'll pick it up later," Carver interrupted. His attention sounded like it had drifted somewhere else.
"We brought supplies, too." A faint wind had started now that the sun had set, and it carried a subtle, quiet chill on its edge. Shel wished she'd put on her jacket. "Camping gear, some food and clothes. I don't know if Tavia told you."
Now she had his attention again. "She didn't. We're much obliged." Carver passed the guards with a nod and a few faint words of acknowledgment. When it came to the foot-high step up into the building, he made it in a single agile bound, though he had to lean on the door frame for support. There he paused. "Now that you're here we'll take that old junker off your hands, too. Our men'll do what they can with it, or we'll just strip it for spare parts. Standard procedure. I assume that's all right with you."
Assuming you're going to stay, she thought his words suggested. Again she couldn't quite shake the feeling that Carver, his stare narrowing on her, was weighing her responses very carefully.
"I'm sure your men and I can talk that over in the morning," she answered, watching him just as warily. "But I'd like to hang on to the keys for now."
"I suppose you can at that." His answer was as non-committal as hers, and his dark eyes sparkled with some hidden amusement. She had a feeling she might have just passed whatever test he'd put forward for her. The idea didn't enthuse her much.
As he spoke, he held his hand out to help her up into the building. This time she didn't hesitate, taking his hand and letting him pull her into the warm, candlelit bustle of the loading bay.
"It's a real pleasure to meet you, Shel," he added as the night receded behind them. "Your sister too. I think you'll both do nicely here."
