Author's Note: Yo, hey...sooo sorry for the super long break in between chapters. I just haven't had the motivation for writing anything these last two months. I wanted to write, the inspiration was there, but the moment I would open up my Word document, that inspiration quickly petered away like some snot-nosed kid playing ding dong ditch. Was hoping to get at least this chapter done and then move on to my other story, The World We Live In, and get that caught up before the new season starts, well, later today. Alas, such would not be the case. Obviously. Anywho, c'est la vie. So, without further ado, here be the new chapter of this story and I hope you enjoy. And, as always, please R&R!
xoxo —Holly
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
— John Donne, 'No Man Is An Island'
Maggie Greene had never been an early riser until after the world fell apart. Previously she had always been more of a night owl, which had led to many a morning where she overslept and missed the first or first couple of classes when she'd been in college. No matter how hard she had tried, she just hadn't been able to go to bed at a reasonable hour and she paid the price every morning by being late to class or getting started on her chores around her father's farm, or by simply being too tired to properly focus on anything until after her second or third cup of coffee had kicked in. But now, with nothing much to occupy her time in the evenings, the only thing to really do come nightfall was to go to sleep. And nowadays it was like the roles had reversed because most mornings she tended to be the first one up and around in the house.
Like most mornings now, she woke up and got dressed, and then went downstairs to make a fresh pot of coffee. When it was ready, she would grab a book she'd been reading or rereading, and head out onto the porch and sit down upon the same wooden chair she always sat in. she pulled it close to the railing so she could prop her legs up upon the top rail; crossing her legs, one over the other, at the ankles.
Today started out like any other day since the end of the world they knew.
There was never anything overly exciting to do, despite the dead that roamed the earth now, and those that wandered onto the farm were taken care of accordingly. But those moments were few and far between. If Maggie wanted excitement, she took her horse out and went into town looking for some supplies. Usually it was more of an excuse to have a change of scenery and get away from life cooped up on the farm for a little while. She knew her father wasn't too keen on her going off like that too often; insistent that they had all they needed on the farm. Giving him the excuse of needing "female supplies" usually worked in her favor.
But today there would be no heading into town or going for a ride on her horse. Today she was starting the day with coffee, a trashy romance novel she was borrowing from Patricia, the wife of her father's ranch hand Otis, and after that there really was nothing to do. With little to do these days, she was on top of her chores and sometimes, like now, ahead of the game; having gotten a head start the day before so she could lounge around today.
Flipping to the page she'd left off at the day before, she hoped Patricia didn't mind her dog-earing the pages. Scanning the words on the page to figure out which paragraph she was at, something in the distance caught her eye through the balusters.
Something was moving at the outskirts of the farm, near the tree line.
Her first instinct was to assume it was the dead having wandered onto the property again, which would lead her to heading inside to alert her father and Otis who would handle it. But something seemed different.
Dropping her legs down and planting her feet firmly upon the floor, Maggie set her coffee cup and the book on the floor as well beside the chair. Standing up, she placed her hands upon her hips and squinted in an attempt to see better, but all she could determine was that there were two bulky figures approaching. A little concerned, she turned and pulled open the screen door and grabbed up the pair of binoculars sitting on a table near the door. Returning outside, Maggie brought the binoculars up to her eyes and peered through.
"Holy shit," she mumbled. Dropping the binoculars, she looked over her shoulder. "Dad!"
After a few moments, Maggie could hear her father's footsteps from inside the door mere seconds before the screen door swung open to reveal an aging man in his early seventies, with his snow white hair and a stalwart disposition, named Hershel. His blue eyes darted toward his eldest child first out of concern, and sidled up beside her on the porch.
"What is it, darlin'?"
With a simple nod, Maggie gestured at the pair of figures coming across the field at a rather casual pace. Handing off the binoculars to her father, she looked at him expectantly. "I can't tell if they're alive or…infected."
Hershel brought the binoculars to his eyes and peered through; taking a moment to refocus the lenses and settle his view upon the two approaching bodies at the far end of his property. "They're not infected," he determined. "They're just regular people. But we can't take chances. They could be bit." Dropping the binoculars down, he gave his daughter a pointed look. "Go get Otis."
"I feel like this field is goin' on forever."
Rick glanced at Charlie with a smile; squinting only one eye due to the morning sun shining at an awkward angle. "At least there's an end in sight. This farm could be a good place to set up as a base; especially if I find my family. We can all set up here and make a decent life for ourselves. If my friend Shane survived all this and we find him, too, I'll introduce you two. I think you'd like him. You kinda remind me of him."
Charlie met Rick's gaze and frowned. "Are you already tryin' to play matchmaker?"
With a shrug, Rick chuckled and bent his head down. "I think it'd be kinda nice, all of us living together. One big happy family. Plus, Shane actually settling down? That's something I've always wanted to see."
Charlie shook her head and turned her gaze forward toward the farmhouse. "How 'bout we leave the guns for shootin' and not for jumpin', alright?"
"Yeah, alright." Rick continued to chuckle a bit more, and also resumed staring ahead toward the farmhouse, when his pace slowed somewhat.
"What is it?" she asked, sensing his movements were no longer matching hers.
"There's people on the front porch."
Charlie focused her gaze specifically to the large wraparound porch and counted what looked to be about four people standing clumped together. "Well, shit. Other survivors."
"Let's just hope they're friendly."
Hershel kept his gaze focused on the approaching pair; squinting to better assist his vision and make out any detail that might be helpful. When Maggie rejoined her father on the porch, Otis, his farmhand and friend, came out of the house with his shotgun and trailed quickly by his wife Patricia. Curious by the sudden hullabaloo, Hershel's youngest daughter Beth and her boyfriend Jimmy soon joined the others on the porch to see what the matter was.
Looking behind him and at Otis' hand, Hershel frowned. "You know I don't like the gun in the house."
"Sorry, Hersh. I was cleaning it last night before bed," Otis apologized. "Just forgot to leave it out here by the door."
"Is it even loaded?" Maggie wondered. "We might need it to be."
"I got some shells in my pocket." The heavier set man patted his side pocket as if to prove he wasn't lying.
"I'd prefer we not use the gun at all," Hershel commented, a slight sigh present in his voice.
"You want me and Jimmy to go get the snare poles instead?"
"We won't need them." Hershel gestured to the approaching pair with a nod of his head as Jimmy went and grabbed up the binoculars. "They're alive. But don't let your guards down. We don't know if they're sick or not." Walking toward the top of the porch steps, Hershel walked down. When the pair got close enough for speaking distance where he wouldn't have to shout, Hershel held his hand up. "That's far enough," he warned sternly, as Otis stepped down behind him with the shotgun held in front.
Even though it wasn't loaded, these strangers didn't need to know that. The presence of it, as much as Hershel loathed it, was more for the intimidation factor.
Rick moved to step more in front of Charlie; taking point on this interaction instead of her. Letting his thumbs take the brunt of the weight of the bags he was carrying, he held his fingers up with palms faced forward. He kept his gaze on older man with the white hair who had spoken all while setting his bags down slowly and carefully, and then kept his hands up to show he meant no harm.
"We're sorry if we're trespassing," he began, mentally counting the amount of people in front of him and Charlie and checking for any other weapons beside the shotgun pointed at them by the heavier man. "We're just looking for somewhere safe to stay for the time being. We saw the house from the edge of those woods back there earlier and it seemed like a good option for us." Lowering his right hand, he pointed to himself. "I'm Rick Grimes. I was a sheriff's deputy up in King County. I'm trying to find my family, my wife and son. This is Charlie Reid. She's my friend. Her mother was killed two days ago. We've been trying to make our way together since."
Hershel didn't reply right away; taking a moment to assess what he'd heard. "Your wife and son aren't here, so you can keep moving."
Rick's shoulders slumped slightly and he dropped his arms as well. With a brief look over his shoulder at Charlie, he frowned. Looking back toward the old man and the others, he continued. "Sir, we don't know where else to go."
"Doesn't matter. It can't be here."
Charlie did her best not to scowl. "Why's that?"
Hershel flitted his gaze from Rick to her. "Because I said so."
Charlie snickered under her breath. "We get it. You don't know us from Adam. We don't know you either. You could be cannibals, or worse—Scientologists."
Rick knitted his brow together. Was she trying to diffuse the tension with humor?
"I watched my mother die. She was all I had left in this world. I lost my entire family and my home in one fell swoop, and I lucked out in meetin' Rick. He's helped me survive, as I have him," she continued. "Last night we slept in a tree. No lie. The night before that on some pews in a church. Not exactly comfortable. That's not how people should live. Isn't there some sort of livin' situation we could agree upon?" Charlie looked over at the brown barn in the distance. "We don't have to stay in your house. If I were you, just meetin' us, I sure as hell wouldn't want us in the house. We're strangers, after all. But, maybe we can we stay in your barn?"
"No," Hershel's reply came quickly. "The barn is off limits."
Charlie sighed. "Okay, then, how 'bout a shed?"
"Daddy…" Maggie spoke quietly, coming down from the porch and grabbing onto the elbow of her father's sleeve.
Rick and Charlie fell silent, waiting on a response.
Sharing a look with his daughter, Hershel considered the options, but still wasn't convinced about these two people. "My name's Hershel Greene and this is my farm, and I won't have—"
"Greene?" Charlie interrupted. "Any relation to Arnold?"
Hershel stopped and stared straight at her, as did Maggie. "He was my nephew."
"Was," Charlie repeated; understanding what it meant. "I'm sorry."
"How'd you know him?" Maggie asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"He was a year behind me in high school. Asked me to the homecomin' dance when he was just a freshman, but I turned him down," she added somewhat regretfully. "Hadn't seen him since I left school."
Hershel was still staring at her; both somewhat contemplative and judgmental in his gaze as he was still determining how to further approach these people before him. His initial instinct was that of fight or flight when it came to strangers coming onto his property in this new world. Part of him wanted to frighten them off with the threat of violence, which he abhorred, and part of him wanted to just lock his family and friends in the house and hope Rick and Charlie would just leave on their own accord without having to be asked a second time. But, then, there was the Christian in him, yelling in his ear about what Jesus would do and how he should be a good Samaritan by helping his fellow man, the less fortunate.
"I have a tent."
Rick, Charlie, Hershel and Maggie all looked over at Otis who had since lowered his shotgun and had the most unassuming expression upon his face.
"Upstairs in our closet," he continued. "Patricia and I brought it with us when we came to stay here, just in case."
"It is just collecting dust," the older blonde, his wife Patricia, added.
Rick and Charlie could only just stand there awkwardly and wait; looking between the group in front of them as they talked things over amongst themselves.
"The right thing to do—the Christian thing to do would be to let them have the tent," Maggie spoke, low enough only for her father's ears as she placed a hand gently upon his upper arm.
Hershel turned his gaze to his eldest daughter and gave a subtle sigh. "I know what the Christian thing to do is."
"Well, then…" A small smirk toyed at the corner of her mouth. "Do what Jesus would do."
Looking over at Rick and Charlie, Hershel nodded at them. "Give us a minute." Off their silent compliance, Hershel turned his back slightly to them and continued his tête-à-tête with Maggie. "Be honest—you're just bored and looking for new faces to interact with."
Maggie shrugged. "That might be part of it," she continued speaking quietly for only his ears. "But I'm not getting a threatening vibe from these two. I think they're good people. I think we should give them a chance, daddy. I mean, have you noticed the man, Rick…he's carrying a large bag full of all kinds of guns and he hasn't even let his hand gone anywhere near the pistol on his hip. Neither of them has tried to get the upper hand. They were carrying bags of food and water and whatnot. If they wanted to try and take this place with force, regardless of whether or not they knew anyone was here, do you really think they would've just walked right up, in full view without guns drawn? If I were them, I sure as hell wouldn't."
The more Maggie spoke to him one on one, the more Hershel could not deny what the right thing to do was. Though Maggie was still young, he trusted her opinions and her gut feelings. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he glanced briefly back toward Rick and Charlie before staring more pointedly upon Maggie. "I don't want to regret letting them stay. I don't want this to go south in any way. There won't be any second chances. The first time they do anything to jeopardize this farm and our family's safety, they're gone."
Maggie raised an eyebrow and smirked up at her father. "Don't tell me that, daddy. Tell them."
Hershel frowned and turned from his eldest. Letting his eyes peruse the ground first, he took his time bringing said eyes upward; choosing to give his attention primarily to Rick. "You can stay," he spoke as if he was a child relenting to a meal consisting of nothing but lima beans. "Otis will give you his tent. You put it together and you can set it up by those trees just behind you."
"We've got five wells on our land. House draws directly from number one. Number-two well is right over there," Maggie spoke, taking a step forward so that she stood parallel to her father, and pointed in the direction of the second well in question. "We use it for the cattle but it's just as pure. Take what you need. There's a cart and containers in the generator shed behind the house."
Rick and Charlie let their shoulders slump. It was done with a sense of relief; feeling more at ease with the present company.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. We truly appreciate it," Rick professed.
"I just want to know, that if you do anything that puts the safety of my farm and my family in jeopardy, there will be consequences," Hershel reiterated what he'd mentioned to Maggie. "I don't mean a slap on a wrist and banning you from any of the wells for a week as punishment. There will be no second chances. First offense and you're gone from this place, do you understand—both of you?"
Charlie nodded. "We understand," she assured. "We'll keep out of your hair. We'll find our own food and any other supplies we might need. We just need this place as a way station of sorts — just a place to lay our heads when we're not out lookin' for Rick's family."
"In our downtime, we'll offer our help to you wherever you might need it to maintain this farm. If you need help repairing a fence or any gardening or cleaning—anything: just ask," Rick insisted. "We'll earn our keep until the time comes where we move on or you kick us out. We'll do whatever it is you need for us to prove our worth."
"And if any other people, not good people find their way here, we'll defend this place alongside you," Charlie added, catching Rick's glance toward her out the corner of her eye. "We can be friends, all of us, and I will fight for my friends. To the death if need be."
"Well, let's hope nothing like that should ever happen," Hershel muttered.
Charlie shrugged. "Yeah, well, I didn't think my mama was gonna get murdered two days ago by a bunch of assholes. Point is, shit happens and when it hits the fan, we'll hit back." Seeing how uncomfortable what she was saying seemed to make everyone except for Maggie, Charlie frowned and sighed. "Times are tough. We gotta be tougher. The way the world is now, it's best to stick together. After all, no man is an island, right?"
"I can't fault you there." With a nod, and feeling slightly better about siding with Maggie's opinion of the pair in front of him, Hershel smiled ever so slightly. "Otis, you can put the shotgun aside and get that tent, if you don't mind."
"Sure thing, Hersh," Otis muttered before turning and retreating into the house as quickly as his hefty physique would allow.
Hershel moved closer toward Rick and Charlie; closing the gap between them considerably. "There's one other thing to make clear before all is said and done with setting you two up here. It hasn't gone unnoticed; the large bag of guns you got there on your back, Rick, or the Colt you got holstered at your side. I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property. We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp."
"Maybe before the world fell apart that might be reasonable," Charlie contested, hands on her hips. "But this isn't that world anymore."
Rick could sense her feathers starting to ruffle and held a hand up to her, signaling his turn to talk. "Look, we're guests here. This is your property and we will respect that." Although his eyes were on the older man, he was more so waiting on Charlie's response, which he hoped to be a silent one. "We won't carry our guns, loaded or otherwise, on us. We'll keep them in the tent or in whatever vehicle we might find to use."
"But if an outside threat arises, should a herd of walkin' dead or some group of ne'er-do-wells make their way onto this land, onto your farm, you're gonna be prayin' to baby Jesus we can get to those guns lickety-split," Charlie retorted, getting her two cents in there, regardless of what Rick might've been hoping. Despite her obvious feelings about not having a gun on her for protection, her show of compliance with Hershel and solidarity with Rick was to remove the gun she'd been carrying from the back of her pants, check that the safety was on and dump into the duffel bag upon Rick's back. After chewing on her bottom lip for a few seconds, she added, more humbly, "Thank you, though. For this."
Hershel nodded, then looked back at Maggie and then at the house. It was an awkward couple of moments — a minute that felt like an hour — until Otis reappeared, tent in hand. The heftier man let the screen door creak open and slam closed behind him before trudging down the front steps and holding the carrying bag containing the tent inside up to Rick.
"Here ya go," Otis remarked with a simple smile upon his face.
As if looking for permission to accept the tent, even though it was already decided to let Rick and Charlie use it, Rick still looked to Hershel first before finally reaching out and taking the carrying bag from Otis. "Thank you," he remarked, though it was mostly said to Hershel rather than Otis.
"You're welcome," Otis replied, and then took half a step back behind Hershel.
"Alright," Hershel began. He looked over at Patricia, Beth and Jimmy, still up on the porch. "Y'all head back inside and get on with the rest of your day. Ain't nothing more to see out here." Once they took the hint and obediently slipped back inside the house, Hershel looked back at Rick and Charlie. "I genuinely believe you're not bad people, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't fully trust you just yet. It is a trust that will have to be earned. I am letting you stay here on my farm until the time comes when you find your family, if you find your family, and then I expect you to move on from here. Are we clear on that?"
Rick nodded. "We are," he answered without missing a beat.
"Good."
"What if it takes months?" Charlie wondered, looking between both men. "What if it takes half a year or more to find them? What if we don't find them at all? Is there a time limit you have in mind for seein' us off your property?"
Flitting his eyes from Rick's face to hers, Hershel smirked ever so slightly. "Let's just take it one day at a time, shall we?"
Charlie smirked back, a little more pronounced than him. "I guess we can live with that."
Hershel gave them both a nod and then nodded toward the grouping of trees behind them. "You can go ahead and get set up now. Like my daughter said, you can go on and use the well over there. It's the closest one besides the one the house draws directly from. Containers, if you need them, are in the shed. If you need supplies for cooking or washing up, I expect you two to find those things on your own if you don't already have them. There's a very small town a mile up the main road with a pharmacy where you might find some things."
"Steve's Pharmacy?" Charlie asked.
"Yeah, that's the one."
Charlie looked to Rick, caught his curious gaze for a moment and then looked once more at Hershel. "Yeah, we were in that small town two days ago. Holed up in the bar there for a little bit with a horse."
Hershel found this interesting; raising an eyebrow to convey as much. "What happened to the horse?"
"Walkers."
"The infected?"
Charlie nodded. "Yeah."
"That's a shame."
"Yeah, it was a good horse," Rick agreed.
They all looked around at each other and then Charlie crouched down to pick up the bags she'd been carrying earlier. "Thanks again for lettin' us squat on your land." It was a subtle hint at ending any further small talk and letting her and Rick get to setting up the tent, organizing their supplies and then figuring out their next move.
"Just holler if you need anything," Maggie spoke up.
"We will," Rick replied, slinging the strap to the carrying bag onto the opposite shoulder from where the duffel bag of weapons was, and then bent to lift up the other bags that he, too, had been carrying.
With an awkward smiles and polite nods, Rick and Charlie began to walk over toward the grouping of trees while Hershel, Maggie and Otis headed up to the house; temporarily parting ways.
Setting the tent up in a spot among the trees that was flat enough, and not bumpy due to tree roots, took under five minutes. With not blankets, pillows or anything other than to polyester material of the tent floor to sleep on, all that was left for Rick and Charlie to do was place their supplies inside the tent. The duffel bag of guns was close to the door flap for easy access, in the event that they were outside the tent and needed to a gun and ammo as quickly as possible. Any food or drinks they kept toward the back of the tent, between the sides they would each be sleeping on. Unlike Rick who had a spare white shirt and pair of black jeans inside the duffel bag with the guns, which he had removed from the bag and folded at the foot of his side of the tent, Charlie had no clothes other than the clothes on her back and would need to make a run into that small town and rummage through a few houses to find things that would fit her. She even broached the subject of making their way to her mother's trailer in the next day or so, mainly so she could bury her mother instead of leaving her to rot inside the trailer, but to also claim her own belongings she had been forced to leave behind when she fled to save her life.
After setup was complete, Charlie looked around the trees for any rocks and stones that were large enough to create an enclosure of sorts so they could have a place for a fire to keep warm in the evening before turning in and a place to cook any food. She didn't find much of anything and quickly gave up the search. They would need to find some sort kindling in the woods so they could even have a fire in the first place and both felt it was too soon to be asking Hershel to spare any of his firewood that was already cut.
"We have enough water right now. Tomorrow we can check out that well," Rick suggested; removing his jacket, folding it up and setting it on the ground so he could sit on it. "It'll be nice to wash up and feel a little less like roadkill."
Charlie smiled and mimicked him; removing her own jacket and placing it on the ground to sit upon it. "We definitely need to make it back to my mama's trailer now," she commented. "We had plenty of shampoo and other bathroom essentials there — so long as those fuckwits didn't go inside and take anything." Charlie looked down at the grass between her legs she was picking at as she sat cross-legged. "That'd be the only upside of them chasin' after me. Maybe they didn't bother wastin' any time lootin' the trailer and just focused on me instead. Fingers crossed they were small-minded and not lookin' at the bigger picture."
Rick nodded. "Why don't we do that tomorrow then? Maybe Hershel will lend us that blue truck of his."
"You think he'd actually give it up?"
He shrugged. "Probably not. Maybe he knows where we could find some vehicles that are close enough to the farm and will actually run."
"Maybe."
Both fell silent for a few moments; looking at the ground and then around at the house and the surrounding farm land that they could see from where they sat. The house was almost directly ahead of them, the large ominous brown barn was to their left where the land sloped slightly toward one of the many tree lines and just to the left of the barn was the well they would be allowed to use and a windmill near the well.
"Kinda glad this place wasn't empty," Charlie muttered, pulling a blade of grass out of the soil and rolling it between her thumb and index finger. "I mean, you're good company an' all, but variety is the spice of life, ya know?"
Rick turned to his left and just stared at her with an eyebrow raised and his lips curling upward slightly in a smile. "That so?"
Charlie grinned and looked down at the blade of grass instead of meeting his gaze. "Hershel's oldest daughter and that big guy Otis seem nice enough. We should probably find out everyone else's names so we don't have to call them all 'hey you' or 'whatshername'."
"All in due time, I guess."
"It's still so early in the day. I doubt it's anywhere near noon yet…"
Rick glanced down at his wristwatch. "It's only nine-thirty."
"So we should probably do somethin'," Charlie remarked. "We can't just sit here all day like two lumps on a log, doing jack squat." Rick chuckled a bit under his breath, causing Charlie to finally look up at him. "What?"
"Nothing really. Just the way you talk; your bluntness and your turn of phrase. You remind me of my friend Shane. Just, you know…female."
"Can I take that as a compliment?"
Rick held her gaze for a moment. "You most certainly are welcome to." Then, he smiled a bit ruefully. "He and I are the same age, with me only a few months older than him, but I always kind of looked up to him like he was a big brother. He was the one who always spoke his mind and was never too afraid to tell it like it is. I admired that. I could never really do it myself. If he wanted something, he went for it; no holds barred. He never really second-guessed anything he did or said. Me? I've never like talking much. Hated talking on the telephone, even. I preferred keeping to myself when I could. Was never one to talk about what I really felt or wanted out of life. I mean, don't get me wrong…I enjoyed my life…before all this."
"You only just enjoyed it? You didn't love it?"
Rick shrugged. "Does anyone ever truly love their life?"
After a moment of thought, Charlie nodded. "The Most Interesting Man in the World from those Dos Equis commercials. He absolutely loves his life."
Rick chuckled more heartily this time. "Yeah, and he's also fictional."
"Alright then. Bill Gates. He was one of the richest people in the world, worth tens of billions of dollars," she offered up as a better suggestion. "I shouldn't really refer to him in the past tense, though. Smart guy like him probably had his ear to the ground and knew the world was gonna fall apart like it did and built some sort of state of the art, high tech underground bunker in advance for him and his family to survive in for the next fifty years."
"That seems likely."
"A guy like that, with that kind of money and those resources, definitely loved his life."
"Having that kind of money would've been nice, but I don't know that I'd want that kind of life." Rick frowned. "I still would've lived more simply, I think. I mean, I never would've wanted for anything, my family sure as hell would've been set for life and not wanted for anything either, but the hassle that would come with having all that money, can you imagine?"
The pair fell silent again. Perhaps they were thinking about what having billions of dollars at their disposal in the old world would've been like, maybe they were just thinking about their loved ones or maybe their minds were blank with the conversation fading.
The screen door at the front of the farmhouse brought them out of whatever reverie they were in and drew their eyes toward the figure coming out of the house and making a beeline for them.
It was Maggie, with what looked to be a towering armful of blankets and a plastic grocery bag filled with a few bulky objects.
Both Rick and Charlie stood up to greet her when she approached.
"Hey," Maggie spoke first.
"Hey," Rick repeated; placing his hands on his hips. "I, uh…we didn't really get properly introduced earlier. I don't think we caught your name."
"It's Maggie," she replied with a small smile. "I caught your names, though. Rick and Charlie, was it?" Both nodded, and then she held her arms out to hand over everything she'd carried from the house. "It's not much, but I convinced my father not to be such a curmudgeon and let me bring you two some supplies you can use. Spare blankets no one was using, extra pots and pans and silverware so you can properly cook and eat any food you have or find, and some throw pillows, because throw pillows hardly seem necessary anymore, but can help you two out."
"Oh my Lord, thank you," Charlie chuckled; taking in such a bounty. "You really didn't have to but we really do appreciate this."
Maggie shrugged. "Like I told my dad, it's not just the Christian thing to do, it's the right thing; helping those less fortunate and clearly you're the less fortunate right now."
"We certainly are."
Rick jumped in to relieve Maggie of the blankets and throw pillows which were starting to teeter and threatening to fall out of her arms. "Give your dad our thanks again as well."
"There's no need," Maggie insisted. "I mean, really. He doesn't know I also slipped a bar of soap, couple of wash rags and a travel size of toothpaste in the bag. We'll just keep this between us."
All three looked at each other with amused smiles.
"I haven't brushed my teeth in three days. This is like winnin' the lottery," Charlie quipped, accepting the bag and staring down into it at the pots, silverware and couple of toiletries.
Rick nudged her and smirked. "I guess you could say we feel like Bill Gates."
Charlie looked up at him and rolled her eyes before chuckling again.
"So, um, whenever you two are planning on heading into that poor excuse of a town, let me know. I'll go with you. I've gone a few times already. My dad's not too keen on me leaving the farm, but knows I can hold my own."
"Well, tomorrow we're plannin' on makin' the trek to my mama's trailer, to bury her," Charlie admitted; her jovial mood turning solemn. "When she was killed I had to leave real fast and not look back. But now that we have this place to stay at, we have the opportunity to do these important things. For me, burying my mama. For Rick, finding his family."
"You went to high school with Arnold, which is the same high school I graduated from. So you couldn't have lived too far away," Maggie deduced. "I'll go with you. On our way back, after you do what you gotta do, we'll stop in town and we can get a couple things from the pharmacy. Maybe we can even snag a shot of whiskey from the bar."
Rick and Charlie looked to each other and both seemed to be on the same wavelength; thinking about the shootout with those thugs out in the streets of that little town which was apparently only a mile away from the farm. The worry of those thugs still being in the area or holed up in that town was evident, but they didn't want to worry Maggie any or give any just cause for Hershel to boot them off the farm so soon after securing a place there.
"I get the feeling your father wouldn't be too keen on letting you go off alone with us," Rick spoke honestly.
"Better with two people he, himself, said he believes to be good people than for me to go alone, wouldn't you agree?"
"I can't find fault in that logic." Rick shrugged and glanced at Charlie. "I think it'd be best though if we knew your father was okay with it."
"And unless you have a spare vehicle we can all travel in, I hope you've got good shoes for walkin'."
"I usually take a horse. But we only have the two horses left," Maggie replied. "We can use Otis' truck. I'm sure he won't mind."
"That blue one?"
"Yeah. He barely uses it anymore. It just sits there."
Rick sighed. "Alright, then it's tentatively a plan."
Maggie nodded. "I'll let my dad know and if he has issue with it, I'm sure he'll tell you as much." With an impish smile, she shrugged and shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "But I'll be going with you regardless. I have such a lovely smile, it's hard for my dad to say no to me."
Rick and Charlie laughed a bit.
"Okay then," Charlie nodded. "As of right now, tomorrow mornin', bright and early we head out?"
"Sure thing," Maggie agreed. "We'll pass through town first before anything else so we might as well hit up the pharmacy then, or I suppose on the way back would work just as fine, too."
Rick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that sounds fine."
Looking over to her right and their left, Maggie gestured toward the well, specifically. "You need any help with the well?"
"We were thinking of putting it off till tomorrow, but now that the plan is to head out, I suppose we should do it today; to gather up some water so we can wash up a bit. If we wait until the day after tomorrow we might start to rival walkers over who smells worse," Rick jested.
"Walkers? That what you're calling them?" Maggie wondered, referring to the dead.
Charlie nodded. "All they do is walk and walk and walk. It seemed rather fittin'."
"It's kind of a nice term, too. Doesn't make 'em sound so scary."
"And I could think of plenty of unpleasant things to call them."
Rick snickered. "I'm sure you could." Off the knowing look he shot Charlie, he smiled. "Well, let's put this stuff inside the tent and then we can get started on pumping that water."
Maggie nodded at both of them and took a step back, turning to look somewhat toward the house. "I'll go get the wheelbarrow and some containers from the shed for you. I'll meet you at the well."
"Sure thing."
Without another word, Maggie turned completely and walked off; her hands removed from her back pockets and her arms now swinging slightly at her sides with each step she took. Rick and Charlie watched after her retreating form for a moment before looking instead at each other. Charlie leaned down and unzipped the tent; stepping inside and kneeling down on the floor to sort through the supplies in the plastic bag while Rick stepped inside after her and dropped the blankets and throw pillows to the ground.
"She said she's been into that town before a few times, but she likely hasn't been there in the last couple of days since we passed through," Rick muttered. "She's gonna see those bodies in the street and questions might get raised about if we're really the good people her and her father think we are."
Charlie looked up at him as she set the pots and silverware up by their food supplies. "We are good people."
"But she might start to doubt that."
"So, we tell the truth. Those assholes were the bad guys. They're the ones who killed my mama. They followed us and tried to kill us, too, but they clearly failed. We did what we had to do. There was no other choice. It was our lives or theirs."
"I understand that, you understand that, but she might not."
"She doesn't seem like a stick in the mud, Rick. I think she will understand." Charlie reached over and grabbed at one of the throw pillows. "I'm layin' claim to this pillow, by the way. It's bigger."
Rick shrugged. "Yes, ma'am."
"You can have whatever blanket is longer, since you're taller than I am."
"Seems fair."
Charlie shot him a glowering look at how complacent the tone of his responses was. "Stop being so agreeable."
"You want me to fight you over who has the bigger pillow and the bigger blanket?"
Her frown turned upside down into a slightly mischievous smirk. "Not, like, genuine fightin', obviously. Playful arguin' can be fun. I like to be able to shoot the shit with my friends and bust some balls." Setting the pillow she had claimed at the top of the right side of the tent where she would be sleeping, her shoulders lifted and fell in a small shrug. "I blame my mama and growing up being friends with mostly boys."
"Tom boy?" he inquired; taking the smaller throw pillow and tossing it at the head of his side of the tent.
"No, actually. I was very much a girly girl as a child, believe it or not. I loved wearin' dresses and playin' with Barbie dolls. I just also loved climbing trees, playing with bugs and watching horror and actions movies, too. And, when I got old enough, I discovered the wonderful world of cussin' and truly discovered myself."
Rick let out a laugh. "I've got this image in my head of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, dropping the F bomb left and right."
"That's basically what happened," she laughed along. "The wonderful world of cussin', as awesome as it is, got me into a world of shit in school, as you can believe. I lost my temper with a teacher once, my senior year. He was a dick in the first place, and singled me out for a failin' grade on a test paper, and I was just not havin' the best day ever to begin with, so I verbally tore into him without a care. Got sent to the principal's office, got suspended for a week. I almost got expelled and not allowed to graduate. I would've had to repeat my senior year, but my mama, bless her soul, worked her magic. Came down to the school and convinced the principal that I was on my period—I wasn't—and me being put on the spot as I was had been like backin' a scared animal into a corner. She said I was simply scared and lashed out for being singled out and embarrassed so callously by my teacher." Charlie began to truly smile at the memory. "Then my mama went as far as to bring up her friendship with one of her patrons at the bar, who happened to be the town sheriff at the time; a guy who was known to be very intimidatin' and maybe a little corrupt. In the end, they came to an agreement that I would only be suspended the one week and then a week of detention after school when I returned and apologize to the teacher."
Rick listened with amusement; shaking his head and smiling. "Did you apologize?"
"Oh, yeah," she nodded, standing up. "I apologized for cussin' instead of just insultin' him in a more clever way that would've gone over his head. That got me a second week of detention but it was worth it."
"You are definitely a female Shane," Rick chuckled. "He pulled shit like that all the time in school and even after. But he would just smile and throw a few compliments around and suddenly all was forgiven and right with the world."
"Shane sounds like someone I would either be absolute best friends with or be enemies with. You either get along with people like yourself or you hate them because they remind you of yourself."
"I guess that's one way of looking at it." Poking his head out of the tent, Rick noticed Maggie was already heading toward the well, pushing a wheelbarrow in front of her. "C'mon. Maggie's almost to the well."
"Oh yeah."
Stepping out of the tent alongside Rick, Charlie joined him in heading after Maggie, but not before zipping the tent up behind them. They both glanced toward the house, both seeming to sense the presence of a person on the front porch and we unsurprised to find Hershel lingering near the top of the front steps; looking after his daughter and then throwing a nod of acknowledgment Rick and Charlie's way, which they reciprocated.
Picking up the pace to close the gap between themselves and Maggie, Rick and Charlie passed through another small grouping of trees and then through the gated opening in a fence, beyond which was the well and its rusty spigot, as well as the windmill.
"This spigot is a bit harder to pump than the one we use closer to the house. This one doesn't get used as frequently," Maggie remarked. "You can imagine how much harder it is to pump the other three we got on the farm."
"I'll do it," Rick offered, stepping over to it and reaching for the handle.
Removing the containers from the wheelbarrow that she had taken from the shed, Maggie set them on the ground but positioned only one under the spout. As Rick began to slightly arduous task of pumping the water out of the spigot and into the container, Charlie wandered over to the well, which had wooden planks over the top with a hole in the center; the edges broken and chipped like a bowling ball had busted through it. A sound down in the well drew Charlie nearer and when she reached it, placed her palms down on the planks and peered down through the hole.
"Well, fuck." Turning around to look over at both Rick and Maggie, she gave a short wave at them. "Stop pumpin' and come see this."
Curious as to what she was referring to, Rick and Maggie stepped away from the spigot and sauntered over to Charlie's side.
"What is it?" Maggie wondered.
"Take a gander."
As both leaned forward to look down into the hole, Charlie just stood there with her crossed over her chest, lost in contemplation for a moment.
"Shit," Rick muttered, noticing the waterlogged walker stuck at the bottom of the well, just casually sloshing around with nowhere to go. "What do we do now?"
"We can't shoot it," Charlie decided. "We could contaminate the water and that's if it bein' down there, stewin' in it, hasn't already done the job."
"Is there anything to pull it out?"
"Just some rope," Maggie replied. "We can tie some canned ham to the end of it. If we get it to grab on, we can pull it up."
Charlie shook her head. "No, these things don't have the wherewithal or dexterity to hold onto a rope so it can be lifted out. And that thing ain't gonna be interested in canned meats. The dead didn't rise from the grave with a hankerin' for Spam."
"Maybe we can tie the rope into some sort of lasso and throw it down," Rick offered up. "Hopefully the rope catches."
"We can use the truck. Tie the other end on the back bumper. Someone gets behind the wheel, puts a little gas on the pedal and we can yank this motherfucker up," Charlie suggested, not noticing the way Maggie smirked at her swearing. "Once it's free of the water, anything we pump, we boil to purify it of any possible contamination."
"I'll get Otis and Jimmy to help," Maggie announced and then leaving before anything else could be suggested.
Stepping closer to Rick, Charlie sighed. "Or we could just not use this well and see if we can use the one they use for the house. Or use whatever well is next in being closer in proximity."
"That can be our fallback option if this doesn't pan out."
Charlie grinned. "Oh, you mean somehow managing to pull a severely bloated walker out of a long, narrow well won't go smoothly?"
"Well, it's definitely gonna be interesting."
"To say the least," she snickered.
No more than ten minutes later, the light blue 1966 Ford F-100 drove up toward the fenced in area where the well and windmill were, with Otis behind the wheel, Maggie sitting shotgun and teen boy Jimmy in the back bed. Otis maneuvered the vehicle, turning it around so that it backed in through the gated opening. Jimmy tossed a rope out of the back bed, letting it drop to the ground close to Rick and Charlie's feet, but held on to the other end. Maggie and Otis both climbed out of the truck, which was idling, as Jimmy began to tie the rump around the bumper as best as he could.
"We'll have to all pull on the rope, too, so we don't risk pulling the bumper off and letting the walker drop back down into the well," Rick commented.
"If we even manage to get the rope around the walker in the first place," Charlie quipped.
Taking the other end of the rope, Rick glanced at Charlie before working out a wide enough loop to throw down into the well and hopefully snare the walker with. Meanwhile, Charlie gestured to Otis to give her a hand in removing the planked lid off the well so the walker could be pulled all the way out. It wasn't nailed down or anything, since the base of the well, was stone. The cover was just there as a precaution, so nothing fell in.
Walkers were the exception, clearly.
Cutting across the top of the well, but through the stonework, was a metal pipe. Charlie crouched down, grabbing at one end to see how secure in the stonework it was. When the one end didn't budge or even roll, she stood back up and walked around to the other side of the well and repeated the process; making sure that end was just as secure. Rick watched her the entire time. At first he was curious and then he was just thankful that she was being so thorough to make sure every facet of this plan had little room for getting fucked up.
When she stood back up a second time, Charlie planted her palms upon the curved stone edge of the well and peered down at the bloated walker within, which was only slightly aware of movement from up above now that the cover to the well had been removed. It was sloshing around, clawing here and there at the slick inner wall of the well and trying its best to tip its head back and look upward as it growled with perpetual hunger. Charlie pushed some hair behind her ear and grimaced.
"He sure is an ugly fucker, don't you think?" she remarked; a slight rise at the corners of her mouth to convey amusement.
Rick stared across the well at her with a smirk. "Aren't they all?"
"This one especially, though. He looks like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man after a bender."
Rick snickered at the comment and the visual it produced in his mind. Looking back over at Otis and Jimmy, the latter he figured couldn't be any older than eighteen, seemed to be waiting on him for the next move as if he had experience in this sort of thing. "Alright," he began, figuring he might as well take point. "We toss the lasso down, as many times as needed to successfully snare it, then Otis—you get back in the truck and give it some gas, but not too much. We don't want to cause the rope to snap."
"Toss the rope over the pipe, not over the rough stone edge," Charlie interjected, staring at the well with her hands on her hips and looking quite pensive. "The friction from the rope on the stone will scrape and tear at the fibers; causin' it to break after a while, especially with the weight of that walker on it. The pipe, smooth as it is, will act as leverage. Kinda like a pulley system. Also," she looked over at the others, who she found staring back at her, "it'll keep the walker's body off the side of the well if and when we get it up. If it has a belt, or any part of his pants or legs, it could snag the edge. That's a hefty middle it's got. That waterlogged for who knows how long, the skin could be extra thin. One wrong move and its entire middle could rip open and spill back down into the well; pop like a balloon filled with party confetti."
"So what happens once we manage to get it up using the pipe?" Maggie asked, holding a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.
Rick and Charlie looked at each other, but Rick chose to defer to her. As far as he was concerned, she was the only one on this entire farm with the most experience dealing with the undead. He felt comfortable in safely assuming the Greene Farm and its inhabitants had cut themselves off from the outside world almost as soon as the shit hit the fan and probably didn't have as many opportunities to deal with walkers. Especially not with Hershel's dislike of guns in his house or being carried around on the property. What else did they really have to defend themselves with? Bread knives from Sunday dinner? Pitchforks from the barn? The fact that the downstairs windows of the farmhouse weren't even boarded up suggested they were clearly just going about their lives on the farm with little to no interference.
"What happens is we cover its face so it can't see anyone or bite anyone. When it's clear of the well, we stab it in the head," Charlie replied. "We put it out of its misery. Shit like this is unnatural. When we die, we're not supposed to still be walkin' around; bitin', infectin' and tryin' to eat the livin'."
Rick placed his focus on Maggie, and then on Jimmy and Otis; noticing the awkward look they shared with each other. He interpreted it as their inexperience with dealing with these types of things. Hell, he was still new to all this, but at least he'd been further out in the world. In three days he had seen how bad both the dead and the living could be now. He highly doubted Maggie, Otis and Jimmy had.
"You have some sort of burlap sack, a bag or an old shirt we could use to put over its head?" Rick inquired, giving his attention primarily to Maggie.
She nodded, and then looked to Jimmy. "Go find something, okay?"
Jimmy hesitated, moving his gaze back and forth between Rick and Maggie. "Okay."
A moment longer the teen's gaze lingered before he took off in a sprint toward the house. Otis walked to the open driver's side door of the truck and turned the ignition off so the idling wasn't wasting any more fuel. No one said anything while they waited for Jimmy to return. They just stood there, except for Charlie who sat down at the edge of the well, occasionally looking down at the walker to figure out where around its body would be the best spot for lassoing it.
Within five minutes, Jimmy had returned with one of those reusable cloth shopping bags. "Will this do?" he asked, holding it out to Rick.
That simple gesture alone, of offering the bag to Rick and not to Maggie or Otis first, let Rick know that the teen wasn't untrusting of him. "This'll do," he confirmed, choosing to pass it along to Charlie, since covering the walker's head had been her idea, after all. "Alright, let's get this done."
Taking the end of the rope that was looped and knotted, Rick walked around to the side of well where Charlie stood; making sure the rope was draped over the pole. He grimaced, the sight of the walker rather nauseating. Without saying anything further at the moment, Rick gave himself some slack with the rope to work with and, when he was ready, aimed the loop as best as he could and tossed it down at the walker.
Not surprisingly, he missed.
The walker swatted at the rope and nothing more, and then Rick pulled the rope up and away from it by mere inches to try and get the walker through the loop one appendage at a time.
"He's moving too much and it's too dark."
Charlie sighed and looked up at Rick. "Okay, so, we need a flashlight."
"Don't need to go back to the house for that," Otis announced.
Stepping over to his truck, he hopped into the driver's seat and leaned down. A moment later, he was sitting back up and extending his left arm outside the truck, holding a flashlight. As he climbed out of his truck, he trudged over to Maggie, who accepted the flashlight, turned it on and shined it down into well.
"Shine it right on him," Rick encouraged, looking sideways at the younger woman before taking another stab at snaring the walker in the lasso.
Everyone else stood around anxiously and waited or watched. Rick cursed under his breath more times than he could count and was starting to give on up this working; wondering if maybe there was some other option they could try. He was also thinking about how, only a few months ago, he was home with his wife and son, and the world was devoid of the walking dead. Society as it was still existed just a few months ago, which just showed that when society fell, it fell fast.
"Maybe we can try to—" Rick began to say, looking up at Charlie, just as he felt himself being tugged forward.
The moment he looked back down into the well, he felt Charlie slap him enthusiastically upon the arm and saw what she and the others saw — that the walker's arms and head were completely through the lasso and it was tightening around its chest, just under the arms.
"You got it," Charlie announced, looking to Otis. "Get in that truck now and give it some gas, but not too much too soon. We don't wanna rip this fucker in half." As Otis nodded and went straight for his vehicle, Charlie looked between Maggie and Jimmy. "You two helpin' or are you just the cheer squad?"
As Maggie turned off the flashlight and tossed it aside, she nodded at Charlie, who took a place behind Rick. The four of them — Rick, Charlie, Maggie and Jimmy — each grabbed some patch of rope and began pulling along with him before Otis even placed his foot upon the gas pedal. When Otis, did, however, the task got that much easier. At a slow but steady pace, the walker began to lift out of the water, flailing its arms lethargically, either due to its own weight and the water soaked into its body, or simply because it was dead and not capable of moving and reacting too quickly. The growling noises it made sounded raspy and like it were gurgling from being choked. The closer it got toward the top of the well, the more natural light from the sun provided in seeing more detail about this walker and how disgusting it really was.
"Jimmy, get the bag," Charlie ordered as the walker's head began to near the surface.
The teen let go of the rope, but his lack of presence in pulling didn't do anything. Otis in the truck was doing the brunt of that work by this point. When Jimmy reappeared, this time at Rick's side, he was holding the cloth bag in his hands and looking for further instruction without verbally asking for it.
Once the walker's head was fully above out of the well, Rick nodded Jimmy. "Put the bag on its head. Now," he gritted through his teeth.
As the boy did as requested, he did so warily. "Now what?"
"Help me grab its arms."
Rick still held the rope, but now only with one hand as he leaned forward and grabbed onto one of the slick and bloated arms. Jimmy, again, hesitated for a moment, but was then there and ready to hold his own by grabbing the other arm. The task was only somewhat tricky because of the way the rope was draped over the bar through the well's topside, which meant both Rick and Jimmy had to readjust their grips on the walker as they moved around to the side where freeing the walker would be easiest. When the walker's shoulders were well above the surface, Charlie released her grip on the rope as well and leaned forward to grab onto the walker's soaked jeans. She hooked both her index fingers through the belt loops on either side of its zipper and then Maggie was there, across from her, gripping the belt and its jeans, wherever she could manage.
The four of them together pulled the walker clear of the well but before they could drop it down, Charlie got frantic. "Quick, drop all of him on the ground. His middle is rippin'."
Not needing to be asked twice, Rick and Jimmy gave one last tug away from the well and dropped the walker's head, arms and torso upon the dusty, straw-littered ground while Charlie and Maggie kept their grips upon the walker's pants so its bottom half didn't rip from the top and slip back down into the well with all its rotting viscera. The second its entire body dropped to the ground, its midsection tore at the sides, but not completely. Dark, putrid blood and something else in liquid form began to quickly seep from the new openings, along with an absolutely horrible odor.
The moment the foursome got a whiff, their grimaced, gagged and turned away or covered their noses with the backs of their hands or forearms.
"Oh, that's nasty," Maggie grumbled.
"Who has a knife on 'em?" Charlie asked, wiping her hands on her pants. "Anything—a hunting blade, pocket knife…a long, pointy stick…"
Jimmy held a hand up and then removed a pocket knife from his back pocket; handing it over to Charlie.
"Thank you," she muttered.
Flicking the blade open, she crouched down and let the tip hover over the walker's head. With her free hand, she began to gently tap around the cloth bag-covered head for where an eye was, finding both to be too puffy and closed, but it was better than nothing. Without hesitation, after settling on one of the eyes, she shoved the blade down deeply. Blood seeped out and began to stain the bag. The walker had stopped moving, meaning it was dead, so there was no need to try again or push down even deeper. Leaning back on the heels of her boots, she pulled the knife out and then removed the bag.
"Well, it's dead now," she continued; stating the obvious. "We should probably bury it or burn it."
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Maggie commented, turning and stepping away from the dead walker. She had pulled her hand from her nose and placed her hands on her hips as she stared off toward her house.
"I think we can talk to Hershel about letting you two use the well closest to the house," Otis announced; having turned off his truck and exited it moments after the walker was clear of the well. "I don't think it'd be best drinking this water right now."
"We could boil it," Rick suggested.
Otis shook his head. "No." He frowned as he took a better look at the walker. "Don't risk it. Even if the water isn't contaminated by what made people like that, it'd just be gross."
Rick listened and nodded. "We have water bottles, a few cans of soda to tide us over for a few days. We can revisit what your offering when we run out. If Hershel determines it a no-go, we'll take our chances with this well, or any of the other three wells on the farm. Or we'll find something else, wherever we can."
"But if you want to ask Hershel for his permission for us to use that closer well, that's cool, too," Charlie added; standing up and giving Rick a withering look, as if trying to reprimand him for looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Rick nodded again. He couldn't deny that option would be most ideal, but he was trying to be gracious enough for them being allowed to stay on the property. He wasn't trying to take a mile when given an inch. But if he was offered a mile, he supposed he couldn't turn it down. Nor would he want to.
"Okay, so…" Charlie spoke, looking between the three Greene farm residents. "Where do you want us to dispose of this guy?"
That evening Rick and Charlie sat in two chairs folding chairs belonging to the Greene family that Maggie had brought over for them to use so they didn't have to sit on the ground around the fire they'd built. They'd found rocks eventually, after burning the bloated well walker, along the edge of the property not too far from the barn. Kindling came from the woods in the form of branches and twigs, and an old rotted trunk. With the axe Rick had taken off that campsite in the forest the day before where he'd found that rotted corpse inside the tent, he chopped that rotted trunk up and carried the pieces back to his and Charlie's makeshift campsite about a fifty yards away from the farmhouse. There, Rick found Charlie in the throes of setting up their spot on the farm a bit further; using one of the spare blankets to drape across a branch with some clothes pins Maggie had also given them. When Rick had asked what it was for, she said it was for privacy, so they could shit, piss or wash up without anyone seeing. Pulling back the blanket, she pointed out a bucket and joked about how they had a pot to piss in, so things were looking up.
While they were waiting on their meal of baked beans and tuna fish to warm up in the saucepan, the front door to the farmhouse creaked open and shut. Both their gazes turned and looked straight ahead; no longer having to squint because the sun had already set even though it wasn't quite yet dark out.
Hershel was walking toward them and he seemed more relaxed than he had that morning when he first met them. In fact, he looked quite thoughtful.
As a show of respect, Rick stood up to greet the older man as he approached. "Hershel," Rick nodded.
"Rick," Hershel nodded back.
As for Charlie, she remained seated as she leaned forward to take over cooking their food.
"Is something wrong?" Rick asked.
This time the older man shook his head. Placing one hand upon his hip, he gestured toward the saucepan with the other. "I see Maggie thinks I won't notice all the little things missing from the house."
"I'm sorry. We didn't ask for them, she just gave them to us."
"It's alright. My family can live without a few pots and blankets," he insisted. "What's for dinner?"
"Tuna and baked beans," Charlie answered, stirring the contents of the saucepan with a fork.
Looking toward her, Hershel smiled ever so slightly. "Otis, uh…he's the one who goes out hunting larger game for us. Usually a deer, but mostly smaller things like rabbits or squirrel so we have some fresh meat to cook up and eat. I bring this up because, as long as you're staying here, and you're serious about helping out around here when you're not out looking for your family, you can join Otis. Anything either of you catch and kill, my family will share with you. Anything you catch on your own, you can keep."
"No," Rick shook his head. "Any game we get on our own, we'll split with you, too. It's only fair. Call it part of our rent."
Hershel chuckled. "Alright." Looking over his shoulder, back at his house, for a moment, something seemed to dawn on him. "Maggie mentioned she's going with the two of you into town tomorrow, to get some supplies, but also to make your way to Charlie's mother's house, to bury her…"
"Yeah."
Charlie became sullen as she listened to the two men talking more directly with each other. She looked forward to those moments during the day when she was occupied with something else when she didn't have to think about losing her mother. She'd done pretty good all day, but Hershel bringing it up made the pain in her heart ache again.
"We didn't think it's something you might be too keen on," Rick continued.
"Not at first, no," Hershel agreed. "However, my Maggie is a headstrong young woman. She's smart and I trust her to be safe, and if she's gonna go with you tomorrow, I'm holding you to making sure she comes home to me in one piece or else there will be hell to pay," he warned with a smile. "I might not be a young man anymore but don't think I won't kick your ass."
Rick just stared at Hershel for a moment and then looked down at his uniform shirt, which was unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal his white t-shirt underneath. "We'll take care to keep her out of harm's way to the best of our ability."
"I want better than your best, Rick. She may only be twenty-two, but she's still my little girl. You don't mess with a man's little girl."
"If I had a daughter, I'm sure I would be just as anxious. I promise to be vigilant about keeping her safe on your behalf tomorrow. We both will." Rick looked back at Charlie, who looked to be very engrossed with cooking dinner.
"Promises are just words, though," Charlie muttered, and for a moment Rick almost scowled at her; thinking she was gonna go against everything he had just said to Hershel. Looking up from the saucepan, she glanced between both men but settled her gaze upon the older one. "It's our actions that'll speak louder."
Focusing his attention upon Charlie, Hershel nodded appreciatively. "And I'm gonna hold you both to those words and those actions. But I also want to thank you for taking care of that situation with the well earlier today. Otis also spoke to me, about letting you two use the well closest to the house and I suppose it would be alright. I know I was a bit rough around the edges when we first met this morning, but you have to understand; we don't normally take in strangers." Looking between both Rick and Charlie, he held a hand up and gave a gesture that looked somewhat like a small wave. "Well, I'll leave you two to your meal and bid you goodnight. I'll see you both in the morning."
"Goodnight," Rick replied. "And thank you again."
"Goodnight," Charlie repeated.
Hershel didn't say anything else. Instead, he smiled a small smile and then turned around to walk back toward his house.
After watching after the older man for a few moments, Rick returned to his chair beside Charlie and cast a look over at her. When she felt his gaze on her, she met it halfway and pointed to the saucepan.
"I think the food's cooked enough."
"Alright," he muttered, grabbing for the other fork in the plastic grocery bag they'd removed the saucepan from. Removing the fork and holding it in his hand, he frowned. "We don't have any bowls."
Charlie shrugged and used the fork she'd been stirring with to scoop up some of the food; bringing it to her mouth and blowing on it. After taking a tentative bite, she let her gaze linger back over to him and then gestured toward him with her fork. "We're campin'," she quipped. "Learn to rough it."
Rolling his eyes, Rick smiled. When he jabbed his fork into the saucepan and scooped up his own initial helping. "It could be worse," he remarked with a sparkle in his eye before shoveling his forkful into his mouth.
"Yeah, it could be," she agreed.