These Things: The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)
Disclaimer:I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) The Walking Dead, but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.
Rating: This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.
"I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge, These Things
These Things
~Chapter Seven~
It was late by the time I sat down on the old couch in Hershel Greene's living room with a bowl of lukewarm stew in my lap. I was completely exhausted from assisting – sometimes guiding – during the surgery. It had taken three full hours of intense, high pressure surgery to find and correct the source of the internal bleeding. Rick had unwisely donated more than his fair share of blood to help supplement what Carl lost during the surgery, but it had gone remarkably well overall.
Stifling a yawn, I scooped up some of the stew with a large spoon and greedily devoured half the bowl's contents within a few minutes. My stomach cramped angrily at the realization that I'd had nothing since my meager breakfast, which felt as though it had been days ago rather than hours ago. Slumped forward, I slurped at the stew and chewed the rabbit meat and vegetables thoroughly, wringing out every ounce of flavor that I could before swallowing.
I heard light footsteps and looked up to find Beth watching me with a soft glint of worry in her eyes. "Is the boy going to be alright?"
"He's going to be just fine, I think. Your dad went upstairs to clean up and get ready for bed." She shot a look up the stairs and then towards the kitchen. "You might want to make sure he eats. He's probably exhausted."
She scurried into the kitchen and left me alone to finish my meal – alone to let my thoughts wander. When Shane and Otis had returned with supplies from the FEMA camp, Hershel had acted quickly. He'd asked me to assist and we'd prepared for surgery speedily; thankfully Patricia had already sanitized the small room off of the room where Carl had been sleeping, so we could move him there for the surgery itself. I'd noticed that Shane and Otis had been strangely quiet and the tension between the pair was confusing. Something had happened, but neither said anything about it before I rushed into the small room to assist Hershel with Carl's surgery.
Fatigue laced my bones, and it took considerable effort to push myself to my feet and stumble into the kitchen. Beth eyed me nervously as I dumped my bowl and spoon into the sink, but remained quiet when I waved farewell and strode towards the screen door.
A figure on the porch drew my attention, and I paused near him to study his profile as he stared out at the small campsite. He'd showered and changed since he'd returned from the FEMA camp, I'd noticed, and there was a pang of envy in me. I could only hope that Hershel might be kind enough to allow me to shower in the morning.
"He's alright?"
"He's fine. He's going to be out of it for some time, at least a day or two. Recovery itself might take a couple weeks, but he's going to be fine. You did well."
I felt his gaze on me when I hopped down the steps and stalked across the grass to the small camp area. I was almost to my tent when I realized that it was the first time in weeks since I was completely unarmed, and I felt unsettled. Nervously, I unzipped my tent, steadfastly ignoring the others, and ensured that my belongings were inside before I zipped it up and strode towards the dying fire.
Sophia and Carol were absent, Glenn was atop the RV's roof keeping watch, but the others were seated quietly around the fire. T-Dog passed me a bottle of water as I sat down in an old folding camp chair next to him and Andrea watched me with a thoughtful gaze.
"He's going to be okay," I announced quietly, though I could only assume that they'd already heard the good news. "He made it through the surgery and his vitals are good. It's going to take a bit for him to recovery completely, but right now I think his prognosis is excellent."
It was T-Dog that exhaled a sharp breath of relief. "Good. Kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
I glanced back at the farmhouse and saw a lone figure sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. Shane, perhaps? "Did they say what happened when they went for the supplies?"
Andrea shook her head. "Shane said that the place was completely overrun with walkers. The FEMA camp was only accessible if you went through the school, so they weren't aware how many damn things were in there until they were heading back out."
"Shane used a couple road flares to distract them, but he said it didn't last long," T-Dog added.
I leaned back in my chair and sipped my drink. "Well, at least they made it back. They didn't get bit, did they?"
"No, of course not. Shane would have said something."
"Are you sure, Andrea?"
"You don't know our people," she countered with a shake of her head. "So stop assuming that-"
"I'm not assuming anything. I was just curious if anyone had asked them if they got hurt. Shane was standing funny. I think he hurt one of his legs." Her eyes widened and she looked away immediately. She either felt guilty for not noticing or for not asking if he was okay. "I'm just glad that they made it back. But, while they found plenty of morphine, they couldn't find much in the way of antibiotics. The pharmacy in town is going to need to be searched tomorrow. How's your arm?"
T-Dog shifted his arm once before he winced. "It ain't bad, but it could be worse. Burns, and I feel about half sick, but I kept dinner down."
I passed the water back to him and he stared at it for a second before he tipped it back and emptied its contents. With a wry smile, I shook my head. "Stay hydrated and get plenty of rest. This place seems very idyllic. Did anyone scout around?"
I wasn't at all surprised when Daryl gave the lay of the land in simple terms. "Fenced area all around. Got woods on three far sides, fields as far as the eye can see in the other direction. Be better to get eyes up high to keep watch, but should be able to see a walker coming from damn far off."
So, it was relatively safe. I hadn't experienced relatively safe in a very long time. "Are we taking turns on watch?"
"We got it tonight, Iva. Thanks though," Andrea added quickly. "You've done a lot already. Go get some sleep; we'll wake you up if anything happens."
I could only pray that it would be a restful night, so I said my farewells and climbed to my feet and shuffled over to my tent. Toeing off my boots and sitting them on the floor just inside, I crawled into the tiny tent and zipped it up behind me. Firelight cast a soft glow on the side of the tent, providing just enough illumination from its position to make the small tent feel almost homey. I shimmied out of my jeans, folded them tightly and sat them on top of my pack, and crawled into my sleeping bag. A moment later, I grabbed the jeans and tucked them under my head to use as a pillow.
I'd expected to toss and turn and be plagued by the constant replay of Libby's last few minutes, instead I drifted to sleep almost instantly and slept deeply.
