Chapter 2: Unity

Torrey woke before the others, the sounds of birds singing nearby rousing her from sleep. She groggily rubbed her eyes and looked over at her friends. Ricardo lay in the same position he'd been in the night before: on the floor with his arms behind his head. Monica had had enough sense to move to one of the pews beside Torrey. They both looked so peaceful in sleep, and if you looked at them for a while you could almost forget the horror of the outside world.

Torrey stretched, popping her joints, her stiff muscles crying out in protest. She groaned softly before grabbing her machete, and heading toward the still-chained double doors at the front of the church. She quietly unlocked the padlock and unraveled the chain, tucking it away in her pack for later, and then headed out into the bright sun and uncomfortable heat of mid-morning.

It was common for Torrey to wake before the others and go on perimeter checks by herself. If they were all being honest, Torrey was the toughest out of all of them, and she could easily survive on her own; you never needed to worry about whether or not she'd be coming back to camp. On top of her fighting demeanor, she had the most survival and combat training of the three; she had even taught her friends to use their weapons on walkers, and how to fight against humans. Monica especially needed all the help she could get, considering she had only about ninety pounds on her when she was soaking wet, and even less when she was dry.

Torrey walked slowly around the church, staring out over the flat terrain to look for anything in the distance. It was the forest that had to worry about more than anything, but at the moment it wasn't necessary for anyone to go rummaging around in the bushes. With everything as safe and sound as it would have been before the apocalypse, Torrey returned to her friends.

Monica was awake when Torrey entered. She gave the redhead a soft smile, which Torrey returned with one much brighter. "Good morning." Monica spoke quietly, not wanting to wake Ricardo before Torrey gave the okay to do so.

"Morning, hun. Sleep alright?" Torrey plopped down beside the small girl on the pew, resting her arms across the back.

Monica yawned as she nodded, and shook her long black hair out. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a hairbrush. This beast on my head is going to devour me if it gets any more unruly." Monica's made a face that could only be described as 'I'm so done' as she tried to gather her hair into a workable ponytail.

Torrey laughed and patted the girl's shoulder. "I'll see what I can find on our next run. Maybe I'll be able to find a pair of scissors, too, so we can cut that creature." She twirled a finger around a strand of Monica's hair, smirking as she did so. Even before the apocalypse happened Monica had complained about her hair, constantly saying it was going to smother her to death in her sleep; now, though, she didn't seem too far off.

Monica swatted the redhead's hand away with a scowl, sliding a few inches over on the bench.

Torrey rolled her eyes and stood once more, going over to Ricardo and nudging his side with the toe of her boot. "C'mon, sleeping beauty, we got shit to do today."

Ricardo grumbled and rolled away from Torrey. She knew he needed the rest, but they needed to find a real shelter more; he could sleep when they were in a house, or other building, locked in with supplies to last them a while; he could sleep when they were safe.

Torrey pulled a lighter out of her pocket and stooped forward, deftly lighting Ricardo's exposed leg hair on fire. With a start he sprang up, smacking at his leg, while the two girls beside him laughed hysterically.

"You're a bitch, and I hate you." He mumbled, glaring up at the redhead with contempt.

"Then leave and go on your own. I won't stop you, and I doubt that Monica would either." Torrey shrugged and turned away from her friend, making sure that all their belongings were packed up and ready to go.

Ricardo said something under his breath, and reluctantly got to his feet, brushing the church's dust off his clothes.

"We're gonna have to wander around for a bit longer, try to find a farm house or a cabin if we can. I heard there used to be some of them around here, owned by Thoreaux wannabes, and passed down from farmer fathers to sons throughout the generations. Hopefully we'll be able to get one around here that's been abandoned." Torrey spoke as she hoisted her pack onto her shoulders. "There's still some jerky left, and plenty of bottled water for the time being. We can eat while we travel. Let's head out."

It took them about two hours to track it down, but they finally managed to find the one farm house around for a few miles. They broke through a fringe of trees and there it stood amidst a sea of waving grassland and open field. It would be at least another half mile before they reached it, but from that distance they could still make out some large trees beside the house, a barn off to one side, and what appeared to be a horse stable off to another. It was most likely a two story, or at least it looked big enough to be one. As Torrey's group got closer they could see a few people milling about on the porch.

"Well, it's not abandoned, but maybe they'll be kind enough to let us in, anyway. Survivors gotta stick together, right?" Torrey tried to give a reassuring smile to her compatriots, but she was as nervous as they were. People hadn't been half as kind before the world fell to hell, and now that it had they would probably be even more cautious.

After what seemed like an eternity, the group made it to the fence that surrounded the property. Torrey was about to wave, perhaps even call a friendly greeting to the others, but before she could do anything a tall man with a shaved head leapt over the porch, shotgun in hand, and sprinted toward them. He raised the gun, pointing it straight at Torrey, and shouted something she couldn't quite understand.

Instinct took over the trio of friends, and Torrey instantly drew the Glock from its holster on her side. It wouldn't do as much damage as a shotgun, but she was a damn good shot, and could probably get him between the eyes before he could squeeze the trigger. Monica and Ricardo both pulled out their pieces, aiming them at the middle of the man's chest; neither was as good a shot as their redhead leader was, so they aimed for something they could hit more easily.

The stranger skidded to a stop a few feet from the fence, his eyes angry and hard, shotgun still trained on Torrey. "Drop 'em, now."

"Only if you drop yours." Torrey's voice became harsh and venomous, her eyes locked on her target.

"Shane!" A sharp voice called from the front door of the house. Torrey's green eyes flickered toward the house as Shane turned his head just enough to see who had spoken. The man in the doorway looked pale and weak, and it had probably taken all his strength just to shout loud enough to be heard from that distance.

"Go back inside, Rick. I've got this covered." Shane turned back to the trio before him, cocking his shotgun.

"No, Shane, put the damn gun down. Hershel decides who comes on his property, not you." Rick leaned his shoulder against the door frame, looking barely able to hold himself up. "Hershel?" He called into the house.

A few seconds later an older man with pure white hair appeared beside Rick. The older man put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "I'll handle it, Rick. Go back in and be with your boy." Rick nodded weakly and stumbled back into the house as Hershel made his way over to the fence where Shane and Torrey's group were still in a standoff.

"Shane, please put the gun down. That's no way to welcome new survivors." Hershel gave Shane a stern look, patting his arm.

Shane glared at Hershel for a moment, then huffed his anger out and dropped the gun to his side. Torrey lowered her gun, her eyes on Hershel, and the others did the same, their eyes never leaving Shane.

"What's your name, young lady?" Hershel stepped forward, giving Torrey a guarded smile.

"Torrey Marie White, sir. I take it you're Hershel?" She extended her right hand to shake the older gentleman's. He accepted, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle shake.

"Yes, I am."