A/N You guys have been amazing with all your wonderful words of encouragement. I on the other hand – with my erratic, irregular updating schedule – have been pretty awful. Sorry for the wait for this chapter, but hey, at least it wasn't three months!
Diving back into Sarah's past again here in another kind of 'Lost-esque' sequence. Sorry if it gets a bit exhausting, but it's all important stuff.
CHAPTER 7
"You're crazy."
"I'm not. No I'm not."
The Dark Knight (2008)
1992
Dr Crane's room was not what Sarah would have expected. It was a small, compact space with a bookcase of files along the left wall and one of those large, potted plants at the opposite corner – the kind with large emerald leaves the size of her arm.
The psychiatrist himself was sat not at a desk, but on a cushy grey sofa opposite Sarah's – a furnishing arrangement obviously intended to relax the patient.
This was their third session in two months.
"So," said Dr Crane, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. "Your Aunt tells me you're still having your nightmares."
Sarah kicked her legs a few times. "Yeah."
"You want to tell me a bit about it?"
She tensed and cast her eyes to the floor.
Dr Crane seemed old to Sarah, but he could barely be more than fifty. His hair was mostly brown, though it was going grey at his temples and he had a long nose and wire-rimmed glasses.
"How are you enjoying living at your Aunt's?"
She blinked, looking up and he smiled. "I figure if I want to help you I have to know you, don't I? So," he said, clapping his hands and then opening his arms wide as if to invite out her answer. "How have you been enjoying living with your Aunt these past three years? School?"
Sarah began to feel better because these were subjects she wanted to talk about. "School's great," she said. "Our teacher dissected a frog's heart in Biology yesterday."
"You enjoyed that?"
She bit her lip. "It was kind of gross. But I like science."
"Not many girls your age do."
Sarah was aware of that, because apparently liking science and being a girl made you a total loser.
Dr Crane was quick to realize he'd opened up a touchy subject and stood, opening a mini fridge Sarah hadn't noticed before and handing her a can of Coke.
She popped it open, taking a sip and imagining her teeth dissolving like the time the dentist had visited her kindergarten class in Georgia and put a tooth in a glass of coke. They checked it daily, and after a few weeks, it had completely disappeared.
"Did you know there's a clear correlation between kids with a high IQ and sleeping difficulties?" asked the older man, sitting back down.
Sarah shook her head.
"Your brain's hyper-active which means you have trouble getting to sleep, and…" he raised his eyebrows at her and tapped the side of his head. "You're more likely to have nightmares."
"So you're saying I should get dumber?" Sarah said, skeptically.
An amused smile crossed his face. "No, of course not – but if we can understand why you're having these dreams, then we can stop them. See?"
"I guess."
He grabbed his chin, looking deep in thought. "Your dreams are still the same right? The same thing, over and over."
"Yeah."
"Remind me how everything happens."
Sarah flinched. She'd told him everything during their first session – and the second. "But you already know."
"Humor me."
She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating. "You're walking –" Dr Crane prompted.
"-Running," she corrected.
"Okay running. Where? When?"
Irritation boiled in her. She knew that he already knew all this. "It changes. In our house. Down a corridor. In a maze."
"And you're scared."
Sarah blinked. "Why would I be scared?"
"I always assumed…in our other sessions when you said you were running, I assumed you were scared – running away from something," said Dr Crane, frowning as he reached for a brown file, hurriedly turning pages.
"No – I'm running towards something," Sarah said, uncomfortably as she watched Crane flick through sheets of notes he'd write about her after she left their hourly meetings. She could see his writing, upside down and messy, but didn't attempt to read it.
"You mean your running towards someone."
"They always change," she admitted.
"Yes," he said, taking off his glasses and peering down at his notes. "Your mother, your brother, this boy called Rick from your home town – even your teachers."
Said out loud, it just made Sarah sound stupid – insane.
Dr Crane noticed her discomfort and smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, I've heard stranger things." He paused. "I've been trying to find a link between all these people but I have to admit I can't find one."
Sarah nodded. Even to her, those people were a totally random selection.
"What is it that scares you about these dreams?"
She averted her gaze. "I don't get there in time."
"For what?"
"I don't know. I fail. I don't get there in time. I wake up screaming."
As she was talking, Dr Crane suddenly took his glasses off, fixing her with a piercing stare. "Your mother," he said. "You looked after her whilst she was alive – when you were younger?"
"Yeah."
"And your brother, do you have any guilt surrounding him – maybe to do with your move to Boston?"
She was silent for a moment. "I guess I feel like it was my fault," she admitted.
"In other words," said Dr Crane, replacing his glasses and speaking as if he'd solved a moderately difficult puzzle. "To whatever extent, these are people in your life that you feel you've failed."
Sarah suddenly felt like her stomach was made of icy water. "So I have some… psychopathic failure complex?"
"As your therapist, I can confirm that you are clearly not psychopathic, Sarah."
"But my dreams…" she said, in a very small voice.
"- You're a dreams are a product of your guilt. I would have been very surprised if you hadn't experienced any emotional trauma, all things considered."
She tried to ignore the subtle reference to her parent's deaths, but it still caused a lump to form in her throat.
Dr Crane sighed, seeing her distress. Her face tended to go red and blotchy when she was about to cry. "Failure is not something negative, Sarah – nor is your failure the cause of your mother's death. Failure can mean effort, and effort means that something mattered to you. Turn your failure into something positive – see it as a cause for hope."
"How?"
"Hope that next time you will not fail. Hope that this time; your failure will make you stronger: if you do this, I promise you your dreams will stop."
"What if they don't?"
He hesitated. "We can put you on medication – mood stabilizers, sleeping pills - but that's a last resort that I don't believe you'll need."
When she didn't reply, he scratched his head for a second and then said, "My son, when he was a little older than you, had the same problem – most teenagers do. They struggle to compartmentalize problems; they expand until they become bigger than life – failure seems daunting and terrifying. He didn't try at any of his school tests because he was so worried that if he tried, he would fail. He had particular trouble with math. Couldn't get his head round it. So before the big end of year test, my wife and I hired a tutor for him for the four weeks leading up to it. They went through all the material together and so my son went and sat this exam after those four weeks – completely confident."
"Did he get full marks?" Sarah asked.
"No. He did the worst in the class," Dr Crane said, smiling ruefully. "He was completely cut up over it and my wife and I – imagine our confusion! We'd paid for this tutor for weeks and it had made no difference! The next year, the end of year test for math came round again and my wife and I, we didn't push him – he'd been so upset the year before. But you know what? I went into his room a few weeks before this end of year exam, and there he was, studying. Every night until that exam he studied for an hour or two by himself. He sat the test, and you know what?"
"What?"
"A week later, when the results were released, we found out he'd come thirteenth in a class of twenty five. It's the proudest I've ever been of him." He leaned forward to look at Sarah more closely. "Part of growing up, is making the choice to pick yourself up after you fall, to move on from negative emotions like regret. And part of growing up is making that choice independently, with out the force of your parents or teachers behind you. Do you understand?"
Sarah did understand, but she couldn't help herself from asking, "Do you really think this'll work?"
Dr Crane shrugged in a way that made her believe that maybe it could.
(Present Day) Day 66
Sarah knew that she was dreaming because she was walking down the corridors of the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia.
As of yesterday, the CDC in Atlanta, Georgia no longer existed.
The hallways were dimly lit, shadows lurking around the ceiling and in corners; the darkness feet ahead of her made it seem as if the hallway stretched on for an eternity.
She continued to walk.
She was searching for something - drawn forwards like a fish on a hook. There was no fear, only determination and she continued forwards until she made it to the Control Room. It was ghost-like; still and empty.
Sarah rotated on the spot, surveying the area. Once. Twice.
She was sure what she had been searching for would be here.
On her third rotation, a figure suddenly appeared in front of her and she took a step back in shock, and then relaxed.
It was just Jenner.
"What are you doing back here?" he asked. His voice was not bitter, mocking or cynical; as is it had been in there last few weeks together. This was the old Ed. The Ed who hadn't watched his wife turn into the undead.
"I was looking for you."
He nodded, as if this was the answer he expected. "You left your equipment behind." Sarah looked at him, he was pointing to the corner of the room and as she followed his line of sight, she saw her three bags. The bag with the guns in. The bag with her clothes in.
The bag with her scientific equipment in.
Sarah made a small sound in the back of her throat and she moved towards the bags in quick jerky movements. "No," she said. "I can't have –" Reaching out –
"Don't." Jenner grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop.
Sarah watched in horror as seemingly from nowhere a flame ignited on the black fabric of one of the bags. Insidious, the fire jumped from one bag to the next until they were all utterly consumed in orange flames that licked and crackled and burned before her eyes.
She waited to see if the fire would spread, but it didn't. It seemed to be contained to just the bags.
"My research," she choked, turning back to face Jenner. "The cure –"
"So David Shepard was right" Jenner commented, his voice impassive as he watched the bags burn. "…your search for a vaccine was for nothing…my wife died for nothing…"
Sarah stumbled away from him in shock. A noise started. A high pitched eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee'ing soundin her ears.
"…You lied. You said you'd find the cure…"
The sound continued – like a something running on a ludicrously high frequency – making Jenner's words sound strangely muffled.
"I'm sorry," Sarah shouted at Jenner over the noise she could hear…somehow Jenner seemed further away from before, yet he was only standing meters away from her. "I failed you – them. Everybody trusted me, and I failed them. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!" she had to scream the last bit to Jenner. The noise was getting louder and Sarah covered her ears with her hands when it became almost unbearable. "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"
Ed looked at her, his eyes distant.
"I'M SORRY!"
Just like with the bags, a flame suddenly appeared, but this time at the bottom of Jenner's pants. It ate its way up his leg, yet he hardly moved. The material burnt away, fraying and blackening at the edges to reveal skin which in turn was eaten away to reveal horrible, gruesome things. Blood, charred flesh; bone. The flame ate its way up Jenner's body, utterly consuming him.
"I'M SORRY!" Sarah screamed. The noise was growing insistently louder. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
Ed was no longer visible, just a pillar of fire before her eyes. She turned to run from the horrible sight but suddenly Candace was in front of her. The woman called Jaqui. Jace Shepard. Workers from the CDC like Roxanne and Zach.
They surrounded her.
And Sarah realized with a sickening lurch of her stomach that they were all walkers.
She was grabbed from behind.
She desperately tried to pry the decaying, rotted hands from her forearms, but whoever it was was freakishly strong. She could barely see around her, but she could hear and feel.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEE.
Fingers clawed at her. Her skin and flesh were shredded from her body. Something bit into her neck – the place designated for a lover's kiss – and there was a horrible ripping sound.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE –
The sound stopped.
Into the darkness of Sarah's consciousness, Jenner's voice whispered.
"This hope that you've been clinging to? This pathological coping strategy? It isn't going to work. Wake up Sarah. Wake up and face reality. Wake up."
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
"Dr Hannigan? Dr Hannigan?...Sarah?"
Sarah's eyes flew open abruptly.
She gasped, panting for air like she'd run a marathon. Twisting, she realized she was lying on the floor of the RV and Dale had his head half poked through the door to speak to her.
"We're all cooking up breakfast right now, if you'd like to join us -?"
"Yeah," Sarah nodded, distractedly, as she tried to catch her breath. "Yeah I will – just give me a minute."
Dale threw her one, searching look before nodding once. "I'll see you outside, then," he said and retreated from her line of sight.
Sarah lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.
She realized she was covered in a light sheen of sweat – though that could have been a product of the muggy Georgian night she'd just slept through. A single blanket was twisted round her legs
Sarah's nails dug into her palms as she balled her hands into fists. She had nothing. Everything she'd worked for, everyone she loved was gone. The dream was enough to prove that.
Her research –
She stood up abruptly, kicking the blanket free from her feet.
Don't think about that, she told herself. If you do, you won't want to carry on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her white lab coat, discarded on the floor next to her sleeping mat, and picked it up, exiting the RV.
Outside, she found that it was unusually bright.
Unusual for her – she still wasn't quite used to natural daylight. Everything seemed too clear, too colorful. It was so hard to believe that this was the land in which the apocalypse had taken place.
When they'd pulled over onto the grass verge just outside the abandoned gas station for the night, in her grief she hadn't been able to fully appreciate the outdoors. But now Sarah crouched down, trailing her fingers through the blades of grass; curling her hand in the dirt and feeling solid ground crumble between her fingers.
She took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled.
It was not the world she'd grown up in; the one she had loved.
But it was a world.
"I don't think I've seen somebody so happy to be outdoors in a long time."
Sarah looked up to see Dale watching her from the little camp fire just ahead of her. He was sat in a camping chair with a shot gun laid across his lap. She brushed her soiled hand on her pants, chagrined, and straightened up. "…It's been a while."
"Yeah well you'll get sick of it soon enough," said Andrea, poking moodily into a bowl she was holding with a fork. She, Dale and Carl were the only ones sat round for 'breakfast'.
"Where is everyone?"
Dale scratched his head. "With the cars." He waved her over with the spatula he was holding. "C'mon over – I made eggs."
The vague lie could have worked, too, if Carl hadn't glanced sharply (and obviously) at the older man before hurriedly attempting to look absorbed in his food.
Sarah narrowed her eyes but said nothing on the whereabouts of the rest of the group. She walked over and dropping her lab coat into the fire – with out any kind of ceremony or explanation and sat down on one of the canvas camping chairs next to Andrea.
Dale gave her a questioning look and she shrugged.
"It was my lab coat – I won't be needing it anymore."
There was an awkward silence in which Dale gave her a plate heaped with poached eggs and Sarah tried to ignore the way the coat singed and blackened in the fire; trying to ignore what it had stood for; she wrinkled her nose: "Can I smell food burning?"
A wan smile crossed Andrea's face, though she didn't take her eyes off of her bowl. "I couldn't sleep so I got up early and attempted to make breakfast. I'm not exactly the best cook in the world, so Dale took over."
"And you didn't bury the evidence?" Sarah teased, noticing the charred remains of somekind of foodlying in the grass a little way off.
"Nah, I left that to the defense."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You're a lawyer."
"Civil rights attorney," Andrea corrected, and then she scowled. "I mean, I was."
"What was that like?"
"I loved it," admitted Andrea. "The fight – standing up for peoples' rights. It was my life."
Sarah pushed her food around her plate with her fork. "My work was my life too," she said, quietly.
Andrea glanced up at her face, and in that moment Sarah saw her as her mirror-image. Blonde, fiercely job-orientated. Lost.
"How close did you get?" the other woman asked. "I mean – to a cure."
"Not even close," Sarah sighed. "There were so many times when we thought we had it, and then…I'm pretty sure you already know by now when I say we'd never seen anything like this before."
"Yeah, I'd figured that much out," muttered Andrea. "I –"
But she broke off abruptly. Sarah looked up to see Dale staring between her and Andrea with poorly concealed smugness.
"I'm not hungry anymore," said Andrea, tightly. She dropped her plate to the ground and stood from her seat, stalking off to sit in the campervan.
"Andrea!" yelled Dale, laying the shot gun on the ground and following her into the van. "Andrea, c'mon!"
Sarah tried to block out their voices as they argued.
What, you think arranging a little play-date between me and her is going to make me forget that my sister's dead? That there's nothing left?
I didn't arrange anything! It was nice to see you talking to someone else.
Bullshit, Dale! I don't –
"You wanna go for a walk?" asked Carl, uncomfortably.
Sarah turned to face the kid, forgetting that he'd been there. "Is it safe?" she asked, uncertainly. Her stomach dropped with just the thought of running into a walker with Rick's son. How would she even protect him? "I mean. I don't want to take you anywhere and then find out that your Dad's forbidden you from going ten meters from the van."
"Just take the gun with you."
Sarah blanched, both at the casualness of the boys words and the memories they conjured up of her improvised use of a scalpel to kill a walker.
"Carl, I'm not –"
- but dying was my choice. MY CHOICE, Dale! You took that away from me! -
Sarah closed her eyes. "Okay, let's go." Maybe doing something would ward off memories of Ed. "But we're not going far."
"Sure," promised Carl, but when she moved to stand up he called out, "aren't we going to take this?"
She turned to see him holding the shot gun. It was comically too big for him, and reminded her of the image's she'd seen of child soldiers on the internet before the outbreak. "Give me that," she hissed, wrenching it out of the boy's grip.
"Chill," he said, defensively. Sarah had turned away now and was walking fast, down the grass verge and onto the road and he had to jog just to tail after her. "I'm not a kid."
"Yes you are."
"Not now, I'm not."
She stopped abruptly and spun round to face him. The shot gun was gripped carefully in one of her hands and she had to squint into the sunlight to make Carl out properly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Y'know – with everything that's happened…it's just…it's just like you grown up faster…like – I've seen things."
She was quiet for a moment. "In my eyes, you're still a kid."
He scowled and suddenly Sarah grinned, offering her free hand out. "C'mon."
"You don't actually want me to hold your hand?" asked Carl, looking at the hand she'd reached out to him like it was a poisoness creature.
"Nah. I'm just messing with you," she said, her arm dropping limply to her side, but then her face turned serious. "Stay close, though."
Carl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I will."
They walked out onto the highway. Far enough away that they couldn't hear the yells of Andrea and Dale's voices, yet close enough that Sarah could still see the gas station and the campervan. Round the back of the station she could just make out the other cars and a group of people. The group that she now belonged to.
"What did Dale say the others were doing with the cars again?" she asked distractedly, as she pulled at her plain white t shirt. It was covered in gore, dust and now sweat.
Though she had been born in Georgia, she'd lived in Boston for the majority of her life. The heat here seemed almost oppressively hot, and Sarah could feel sweat dampening the back of her neck - she made a mental note to scavenge for new clothes as soon as possible.
"He didn't," replied Carl – and then hastily added. "But I think they're doing some repairs. Like, the engines and stuff. Dad asked for you, but you were asleep."
"Did he now," asked Sarah, dryly. Carl glanced up at her, quizzically. "You're Dad and I knew each other when we were younger," she explained. "I lived at a car garage. I think he's under the impression that I might be able to fix your cars."
"You knew my Dad?" Carl asked, shocked.
"Uhu. Funny how you bump into people when you least expect it, isn't it?"
"Weird," muttered Carl, shaking his head. "But you're, like, thirty. My Dad's way older than you."
"I'm twenty nine," Sarah corrected, rolling her eyes. "Rick's thirty six, the age difference isn't that big."
"Yeah but he still hung round with someone eight years younger than him."
"Seven years," she corrected, again, "who's teaching you math boy?"
"My Mom," he retorted. "And it's still weird."
"It was not. Your Dad was more like… a glorified baby-sitter to me. With out the pay."
"He never said anything about you."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment. "It was a long time ago," she said, eventually.
"How old were you?"
"Jesus, what is this, the Spanish inquisition or something?"
"Sorry," muttered Carl, blushing.
They walked down the road for a little while in silence. "What's the Spanish inquisition?" asked Carl.
"A kind of court system from the 12th century. They were supposed to root out and punish heretics – they were people who had opinions that didn't agree with the Catholic religion. Kind of like a law court, but they used torture and execution," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "There. History lesson of the day."
Carl pulled a face. "I hated history."
Sarah was about to reply when she suddenly stiffened, stopping in her tracks. Carl carried on a few paces before she grabbed his arm, jerking him back to her side.
Her knuckles were white round the shot gun and she pulled them back so they were situated behind an abandoned car.
"What-"
"Walker," Sarah hissed.
Before she could stop him, Carl poked his head round the side of the car. She watched as his body visibly relaxed.
"Nah. It's okay – it's a way off at the moment and they're really slow when they're body's all messed up like that."
He glanced back at Sarah, and saw her white face and wide eyes. Her heart was beating erratically and she felt adrenaline pumping round her body.
"It's okay," repeated Carl soothingly, slipping his hand into hers and pulling her out from behind the car. "C'mon, let's go back to the van."
The whole walk to the gas station, though, Sarah was constantly checking over her shoulder to look at the walker.
But it never got any closer to them.
"Rick, I don't trust her!"
"She tried to blow us up," added Glenn, backing up Shane.
Rick ran a hand over his forehead, feeling sweat start to bead there. "We've been through this already – Jenner planned to blow the CDC up, Sarah was trying to save us!"
"Yeah, but she was all too happy to let Jaqui take her place and save her own skin," scowled T-Dog. "Is that the kind of person we want in our group? Does she look like the type to stick around and help in a bad situation?"
There were murmurs of agreement and Rick surveyed the people around him that were increasingly resembling an angry mob. "Jaqui volunteered," he said, flatly. "She made her choice."
"I think we should give her a chance," added Carol quietly. "She's a doctor – she could be useful."
"She's a god damned scientist," Shane yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. "They just call themselves Doctors to make them sound important! She couldn't even do her job when she was surrounded by all the equipment so how much help is she going to be out here in the wild?"
"So just because she doesn't have medical training she doesn't matter?" Rick asked his tone acid. "Is that the mind set we have now? Everyone matters, Shane." Before Shane could move to speak again, Rick continued. "And if you did want to get rid of her, how would you do it? Ditch her here with a bag and a few tins of food, drop her off at the next intersection with a nothing but a knife?"
"Rick, I get what you're going on about with morality, I do, man," Shane said, more calmly, but in that intense way he had. "But we don't know this girl. We don't know if she's as insane as Jenner was. We don't know if she's safe."
Words sprang to Rick's lips, but somehow he couldn't articulate them. Couldn't say what so obviously needed to be said: what would, ultimately and completely, save Sarah.
That – even if it was just for one summer – he had known her.
"She's staying," Rick said, stubbornly.
"No – you don't get to do that," snapped Shane. "You don't get to make that decision for all of us."
Unexpectedly and suddenly, Rick felt a furious wave of anger. He led this group. And yet when it came down to it, they led him. They had a choke hold over his every decision. They doubted him. Questioned his motives.
Even Shane – his closest friend – seemed to be trying to contest his leadership than support it.
"Then how are we gonna do this, Shane?"
"We vote," he said simply.
"On the outcome of the poor woman's life?" asked Carol, horrified.
"It's for the good of the group," insisted Shane. "Rick – you've gotta think about this. Her friend tried to kill us all. How do you know – how do you know that she's not got the same ideas running round in her head?"
"We don't," he said frustrated, "but we can't –"
"We'll leave her with some food and supplies – a weapon. We'll give her a chance."
"She won't stand a chance! Not out there by herself!" Rick yelled, real panic and urgency boiling in him as he took in the faces of those surrounding him. Lined with pain at Jaqui's death, at what they had had to experience at the CDC. His wrong decision. One that had caused them to question his leadership. One that had caused them to lose Jaqui.
One that had led him to Sarah.
"Everybody that wants the Doc to stay," said Shane, "raise your hand."
Rick glared at Shane as Carol, Lori and Sophia raised their hands, and then he raised his own.
"A tie," Rick bit out, surveying T-Dog, Glenn, Shane and Daryl - who stood a little way apart from the group. "It doesn't solve anything."
"Dale and Andrea aren't here," argued Shane. "They –"
"You think Dale's going to vote in favor of ditching her here?" asked Glenn, exasperated.
"And do you think Andrea's going to be fit to decide on anything?" someone else snapped.
An argument broke out; fierce and heated.
Rick closed his eyes, trying to think despite the noise when Lori's voice cut sharply over the surface of everything. "Carl?" she yelled.
He turned quickly to see Sarah and his son picking their way slowly round the abandoned cars on the highway towards them. They looked odd together – dark haired and light, tall and short; one defenseless, the other holding a shotgun. Dale's shotgun.
Rick, Lori and Shane ran down the grass verge towards them. "What are you doing?" Lori yelled at her son, when they were with in hearing distance. "I told you not to leave the van!"
Sarah shut her eyes, and Rick thought he heard her say something like 'I knew it.'
"Mom its fine-"
"No its not Carl – you gotta start listening to me. You can't just walk off with people we barely know!"
"We had the gun –"
"She had the gun," interfered Shane.
"What you think I was gunna use it on the kid?" snapped Sarah, glaring at Lori. "We just went for a walk –"
Lori rounded on her; a lioness defending its cub. "I know you've spent all your time underground at the CDC, and I respect what you went through down there – but do you understand the world we live in now? Did you even think about the well-being of my son when you took him for a walk? You can't even imagine what we've been through to stay alive up until now."
Sarah had suddenly gone very white, all the fight draining out of her and something stirred with in Rick. "Lori, she's been through a lot – she wasn't thinking straight."
"No," Sarah whispered, cutting over him. "She's right. I can't even begin to imagine."
Shane shot Rick a significant look and he shook his head defiantly, saying as much to his friend as to Sarah: "You'll learn fast. You have to – otherwise, you're just going to die."
But Sarah continued to stare at Carl like she'd seen a ghost. "I'm sorry. I don't even – I don't know what I was thinking."
"Because you weren't," Shane snapped. "I thought you were supposed to be smart?"
"Hey!" interrupted Rick. "She made a mistake and she's not going to make it again."
"You're not angry at all?!" yelled Shane, gesturing wildly to Sarah. "She could have gotten your son killed!"
Rick looked at Carl, remembering how much he'd gone through just to see his face again. "Carl should have known better than to let Sarah take him away from the van," he said eventually. He knelt down in front of his son, taking his shoulders and looking into those blue eyes that were almost the precise shade of his own. "From now on, you listen to your Mom when she tells you to do something – y'here me?"
"Yeah." Carl glanced up at Sarah. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"Good kid," he said, gruffly, pushing him gently over towards Lori.
Rick straightened up, standing in front of Sarah.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she muttered, avoiding his eye and looking at the ground. "I was stupid, I could have gotten us both killed, I'm –"
"Don't." He said, and she looked up into his face in surprise. "Don't blame yourself for this. Lori's right, you're not used to the rules of this world right now. But you're gonna learn."
He took the shot gun out of her arms and dumped it in Shane's hands. "You two are going down to the nearest town on a run for supplies."
"We are?" asked Shane flatly, raising an eyebrow.
"You're the one that thought she was a liability," shrugged Rick, "so you're gunna be the one to teach her how to survive."
A/N Shane/Sarah tag-team. That's going to be interesting.
Sarah's past between herself and her psychiatrist is going to be explored further next chapter, so that isn't the last your going to see of those scenes.
Please leave a review to tell me what you thought of this chapter!
Last Of The Lilac Wine
