Freshly showered, clean and invigorated, Lucy was more than ready to collect her dog and get on her way. Unfortunately, her clothes were no where to be found. In their place was a long skirt and a pretty peasant top, neatly folded and laid on top of her cleaned boots. It was a luxury to have clean, soft clothes, she thought. They even smelled of lemons and vanilla. Even a bigger luxury to be able to wipe yourself with clean squares of cotton instead of dried leaves and grass.

After the initial shock of washing herself with warm water and real soap had worn off, she'd thought only to the future. She decided she should not catch up to the river and continue following it, as her failed rapists friends were probably doing the same and she definitely did not want to run into them. Her other options were to head south or north. Atlanta was south and she knew what held for her.

North, she decided. It was already the end of September. If she could get far enough, fast enough, she could reach Canada by November. It would be cold then, snowing too, and she figured that Betty's and Bobby's probably didn't have the capacity for thought to know enough to keep warm in the winter. They would freeze, possibly even die out completely. If she could make it to her parents cabin in Manitoba, she might be safe, at least for the winter. She could even go farther north, where it never thaws. The possibilities gave her a hope she hadn't had since, well, ever.

Exiting the quaint country house, she watched from the wrap around porch as people went back and forth, each busy and concentrated on their own task, each contributing to the group in their own way. Some went back and forth with laundry, transferring it from the wash buckets to the line. Lucy noticed her own clothes hung up there. Others were out in the nearby fields, harvesting what was left of the crops. The men were on constant lookout with their rifles and shotguns, keeping the perimeter safe and clear. Lucy took special notice of Daryl, the man who had brought her here, or Crossbow, as she liked to think of him. Not that she liked to think of him, she corrected herself. She was so entranced by this little gang of labourers that it startled her into a jump when Beth spoke, ever so softly, from behind her.

"It's pretty nice, isn't it?" Lucy gave a slight gasp along with her tremor and placed a calming hand over her heart. "Oh, dear! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle ya. I thought you'd have heard me coming."

"It's fine," Lucy smiled genuinely. "I was just caught up in my thoughts, that's all. And yes, it's very nice." Beth stood beside her and together they looked out and watched the people, like ants building a colony. "Everyone seems to have their place."

"They do. You could have a place here too, you know. If you chose to stay, I mean."

Lucy forced a smile but said nothing. She still had no intentions of staying, no matter how happy or content these people were, she could not see them surviving long term. Canada was the answer for that, she knew. The Frozen North. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was the right plan. The only trouble would be getting there. There was a hell of a lot of death between Georgia and the Canadian Border. She tried her best to recall a map in her mind and she figured if she went straight up, she would hit the border at Ontario. If she adjusted it North West, she could make a bee line straight to Winnipeg. From there it would be a cake walk to her parents cabin off Lake Manitoba. She knew the odds were against her even making it out of Georgia, let alone out of the states. And what if the borders were still being guarded? What if it hadn't hit the North as bad as it had hit the South? What if they were shooting anyone who even dared to approach? There were a lot of holes in her plan, but she was not deterred. If she stayed here, she might survive the winter, maybe two if she was really lucky. But, one by one, this group of survivors would be picked off. They would weaken, starve, turn on each other. No. There was no strength in numbers. If there was, Atlanta wouldn't be the hellhole it was.

Sighing and shaking her head of plans, Lucy turned to Beth with another forced smile and asked, "Is there anything I can do? You've all done so much for me. I'd like to help if I can."

Beth smiled widely, as if they were ten and Lucy had just asked her on a sleepover. "You could help me make dinner."

"Okay."

Beth giggled and took Lucy's hand and led her back inside the house and to the kitchen. Beth heaved a large wicker basket of red potatoes onto the kitchen table and handed Lucy a peeling knife. "You can peel potatoes. It's a pretty big part of the diet around here. We've got so many and they fill people up pretty good. That, and beans. We've got a basement full of cans of beans. Ma was a bit of a hoarder." Beth's smile faded fast. She picked up a clean pot and scrubbed it needlessly.

"Was?" Lucy asked.

"She's... gone now."

"I'm sorry. My mom died too."

Beth turned around with wet eyes. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that I'm not the only one who lost someone they loved."

"It's okay. Besides, you still have your dad, and your sister."

Beth smiled, despite her overwhelming sadness. "I do," she reassured herself. Beth put down the pot and grabbed a knife. She sat down at the table and the girls began the daunting task of peeling a couple dozen potatoes.

"I noticed a few tents set up outside. Wouldn't it be safer if everyone slept in the house? I mean, there must be enough room."

"Well, Rick and his group just got here about a week before you did and my Pa doesn't trust them enough. He says he's gotta protect his own first, you know? Plus, they got all those guns and Pa really doesn't like guns."

"Oh," Lucy said, somewhat speechless. Doesn't like guns, she thought. Who cares! Even a Catholic priest could see the need for an automatic weapon nowadays, she mused to herself. Then it hit her. If he doesn't use guns, how does he kill them? How does he protect his farm? Surely they've had at least a couple of Bobby's wander through. Lucy didn't ask. She was new and she didn't want to pry or ask questions Beth would have a hard time answering. She didn't want to stir the boat. Besides, what did it matter to her? She wouldn't be there long anyway.

When the potatoes were done, Lucy washed her hands and politely asked Beth, "You mind if I sneak away? I want to check on my dog."

"Oh, of course! She's in the spare room. Just go out into the foyer and turn left down the hall. It's the first door on your right. Pa's probably in there. When Rick came to us, his son had been shot. He's recovering in there too."

"Shot? That's awful!"

"Yeah. Well, it was an accident, of course. But he should be okay in time. Pa's real good at healing the sick."

"That must come in handy. Especially lately."

"It sure has."

"Thanks for everything, Beth."

"Thanks for your help with dinner," she smiled.

Lucy made her way to the spare room as per Beth's directions. She knocked lightly and was invited in by a whispering male voice. She opened the door gently and closed it behind her just as quietly. Herschel sat in the only chair, across the bed where the wounded boy slept. Lucy gave the unconscious boy a wary stare. She had never been good at being around sick people. She supposed it stemmed from spending so much time in the hospital as a child herself.

When she was just eight years old, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis after a trip with her father – a doctor and World Health Organization advocate – to South Africa. They cured her tuberculosis but not soon enough. It left her with a deadly lung disease known as Bronchiectasis. She'd received a single lung transplant as a result and spent the better part of eight months in the hospital. Not her finest memory.

Seeing this boy lying there on the white sheets, chest covered in gauze and tape, struggling just to breathe brought back some very painful memories for her. It made it even harder to look at Pandora, also lying unconscious, on a dresser by the window. Her wound looked good. Better, at least. There were a couple of stitches closing it up that appeared to be sewing thread. They wouldn't hold for a second if the dog were awake and Lucy knew she would have to stay at least a day until the dog healed.

"She'll have to stay sedated till tomorrow, so the stitches have time to set," Herschel whispered what she already knew. "After I remove them, I'll wrap her up tight but she'll have to take it easy. Might be best to leash her for a while."

Lucy nodded and tried her best not to cry. There was a child in the grip of death just a few feet away and here she was, crying over a dog with a bite. But Pandora wasn't just a dog anymore. She was the only family Lucy had left. "Thank you. For everything you and your family have done for me," she whispered. "I only wish I could repay you all somehow."

"You're welcome, Lucy, and if you feel like helping out, I'm sure the girls could give you a job to do."

"Yes. I was helping Beth with dinner. I should probably get back. Thanks again." Herschel just nodded and went back to reading his Bible. Lucy hadn't seen a book in two months. She wasn't religious but she mused to herself that she was so desperate for the written word that she wouldn't turn even that book down.

She went back to the kitchen and took place beside Beth, prepping and cooking for the several people they had to feed.

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Note: Thanks to FanFicGirl10.