Rick stops at a crossroad and climbs out of the light green Hyundai. Shane looks at him before climbing out, and I soon follow, holding my crossbow with one hand. Rick starts forward, and Shane follows him. I remain where I'm standing on the cracked road, staying next to the Hyundai in case Randall would try anything. It's been a week since we rescued him, and he's finally back on his feet. Rick decided we would take him eighteen miles out, drop him off, and go back to the farm. "I thought we were going further," Shane says.
"We are," Rick replies. "Eighteen miles out."
Rick stops in the middle of the crossroad, while Shane shifts on his feet. "So why are we stopping?"
"I wanted to talk. Been waiting a week till we were gonna do this. I just wanna talk."
"We don't need to."
"We do."
"No man, we don't. We're doing this. I get it. He was passed out when y'all brought him back, doesn't know where the farm is."
"That isn't what I need to talk to you about." Rick glances at me. "Alone." I hold up my hand, taking the hint, and climb back in the car, hearing a few more things Rick says. "I heard what really happened at the school. Was it to—"
I close the door, cutting off Rick and Shane's conversation. Bored, I use my buck knife to dig the dirt out from under my fingernails. Once I'm finished with that, and Shane and Rick are still talking, I take out my gun, checking to see if it's fully loaded. It is, like the last time I checked. I put it back, then pick at the frays in the holes of my jeans. I prop my right leg up on the backseat, checking to see if I can move it without it hurting. I can, it's been healing well since I stitched it. As I do this, I hum to myself, and stop when the back door opens. I quickly turn, and see that Rick and Shane are checking on the ropes binding Randall. "It's all good," Rick finally says, putting the bag back over the teenager's head.
The two former officers get back in, and we drive in silence for a while, Shane staring out the window. "We gotta start using our knives more," Rick says after a while. "If there's one walker, we use our knives. We keep things quiet. We save ammunition." Shane nods his agreement, and Rick continues, "We need dry goods ahead of the winter. Warm clothes. Fuel. Maybe we get a break. You gotta think the cold effects 'em."
"They're dead, Rick," I say, looking up. "I don' think anythin' effects 'em."
"There's also that. But it might. If it doesn't kill 'em, it's gotta slow 'em down. The second week of January last year, we got all that snow and ice. My cousin got stuck on 85 for twenty-four hours. Sitting in his car with a birthday cake for his girlfriend at Georgia Tech. He just sat and ate birthday cake and listened to the Lord of the Rings book on tape. Twice. We get lucky, we get the same winter as last year."
I scoff. "Huh. Luck. Somethin' that we ain't gettin' much of these days. I ain't even sure if there is luck."
"Well, don't you have a bubbly personality," Shane says.
I look up at him, keeping a straight face as I speak. "I do, actually. I'm know for it."
Rick chuckles. "Anyway, by December, it's a different world. Safer."
I scoff. "Ain't nothin' safe 'nymore."
"There's that happy-go-luckiness again," Shane says.
"You know, it could be safe," says Rick. "Maybe we could find some snowmobiles to make runs."
I almost laugh at the thought of Glenn riding around on a snowmobile. I imagine it'd be slightly like when he stole that badass sports car from Atlanta, when Rick showed up. He drove up to our camp, the quarry, whooping with the car's alarm blaring. "That sounds good," Shane decides.
I think about my experience with last year's snowy and cold days, and immediately regret it. I got stuck out in the woods for five days, two of them with my father. The second day, I decided to try to find my way out without Will, but we were lost. No thanks to him. I only managed to get even more lost, until Daryl and Merle found me three days later. I was curled up in a tree, shivering. I was freezing so badly that both of my brothers gave me their costs, and then I was curled into Daryl's chest for warmth. I stayed with my brothers for a day, before I went back to Will's house. That only resulted in my father yelling at me ("You should have stayed out there!" and "You should have died out there. It'd make my life a hell of a lot easier!") and then, of course, a beating. By then, I had dropped out of school. I couldn't handle my father and school at the same time, especially the kids that told me I should just die, that I was worthless. They were mini versions of my father, only no beatings. I only had one real friend, and the walkers pulled him out of my grasp. His name was Sam, and he had freckles, blue eyes, and dark hair. He was a great person, and he died because I tried to go back for him. I wipe my eyes before either of the officers can notice. Guess I've always had a weight on my shoulders.
"That's more than eighteen," Shane says, breaking the silence that we fell into. I lean around the back of Rick's seat and see that the mile counter is almost at nineteen.
"Yeah, I know," Rick says after a moment. "I'm looking for a place."
"A place for what?"
"Give him a fair shake. A shot." Rick turns his attention back to the road, I lean back in the seat, and Shane goes back to staring out the window. After a few minutes of silence, Rick says, "There."
As we pull into the parking lot, I read the sign that says MERT COUNTY: DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC WORKS. We climb out once Rick parks the Hyundai, and I look ahead at the large, single story building. It's brick, like an elementary school, with a few yellow school buses here and there. Shane and I follow Rick up to the fence that separates us from the building, and Shane hangs back while I stay close to Rick. I trust him more than I trust Shane; Shane had risked my life twice now. I lean my back against the fence, holding my crossbow in front of me, and face Rick. "This'll do," the leader says. "We'll leave the boy here and scavenge some supplies."
I hear growling from behind me and turn, putting the end of my crossbow to my shoulder as two walkers come around a bus. Rick whistles, getting Shane's attention. "Over there."
Shane pulls out his gun, cocking it, but Rick stops him. "Wait. You too, Clary." I lower my crossbow, watching as Rick pulls out his knife. "Like I said." He cuts his finger, smearing the blood on the fence as the walker almost trips over its own feet trying to get to Rick. It snarls, and Rick puts his knife through the walker's head, removing the weapon as it drops to the ground. "Guns are quick, easy, but there are other ways to do this. One more, one of you take it."
Shane looks at me expectantly. "Your turn," I say. "I use my knife as much as my crossbow. Used to it, you're not. You were a cop, used guns, not knives. Gotta get used to it."
Shane closes his dark eyes for a second before pulling out his knife.
Rick cuts the chain on the fence with bolt cutters, and I push it open after he removes the chain. I follow Shane and him through, glancing at the empty cans on the ground. Shane carries his rifle, while Rick has his Colt Python in front of him, and I have my crossbow in front of me, my knife and gun at my side. I crouch by one of the cans, sniff it, and come to the conclusion that it's been there for about a month. I stand, and Shane looks at me, silently asking me how long it's been there. "Month old," I say, my voice low so if there's any walkers, they don't hear us. "Ain't nobody been 'round here for a while. Probably just walkers, if there's anythin'."
Rick, who had turned when I spoke, nods. Shane breaks off to go look at a bus for any supplies, and I follow Rick down a hill. There, there's a pile of three burned walker bodies. I crouch again, studying the ground around it, and find that grass is slowly starting to grow around the edge. "This ain't recent," I explain, looking up at Rick. "See, the grass is startin' to grow. Takes a bit after a fire. Nobody been here for awhile."
Rick slowly nods after staring at the three charred bodies, and we go regroup with Shane. He examines the walkers they killed at the fence, while Rick siphons fuel from a garbage truck. Getting tired of Shane's poking and prodding, I say, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Hey, Rick," Shane calls, pulling the weapons belts off of the walkers, seeing as they were security guards. Rick walks over, and Shane looks at the two of us. "I don't see any bites."
"Gotta be scratches then," Rick says.
"He's right," I say. I use the toe of my combat boot to gesture to the skinnier one's hand. "This one's hand," I use my boot to gesture to the other's cheek, "this one's cheek. Gotta observe, Walsh. They had walkers here. That's what those burned bodies down the hill were. But, like I said, ain't nobody been here for awhile. Those bodies were 'bout a month old."
"Guess it's gotta be scratches, then, huh?" Shane says after a moment. He leaves to bring the Hyundai, and Randall, into the Department of Public Works, while Rick holds the fence for him. He closes it as Shane stops, climbing out. I open the back door, revealing Randall. He whimpers in surprise as Rick pulls his legs out, then both Rick and Shane take his arms, which are tied behind his back, like his feet are tied together. He has a bag over his head, duct tape over his mouth, and earphones blaring music in his ears. Randall's protests, and probably his pleas for them to slow down, are muffled by the tape. They make him get to his knees, then I remove the bag. Shane tears the duct tape off of Randall's mouth, while Rick takes the duct tape that kept the earbuds in place off, then pulls them out as well. We step back, while Randall remains on his knees. "The hell is this?" Randall asks as the music stops, and we walk away from Randall, who continues speaking. "Oh, come on. Don't be stupid."
I glance over my shoulder at him. "You're the stupid one. You jumped onto a fence."
"I owe you guys," Randall tries, and I turn back around and continue walking. "I can help protect what you've got. Why would you save my life just to kill me by leaving me here? One guy—one guys can't make it alone. That's why I was with those dudes—I was alone." Rick pauses, the drops his knife. Randall yells, "Don't be stupid! I'm not like them!" Judging from the sound, he falls on his back, lowering his voice. "I'm just some guy. I used to watch football and screw around on the internet. I lived with my mom!" At least he has a mom, I think bitterly. Or a parent that cares. "I lost her like you lost people. I went to school with Maggie for God's sake!" We freeze, turning back to face him. "I went to church. I–I rode the bench on varsity baseball."
We start to walk back to him. "You went to school with Maggie?" Rick questions.
"You go to school with Maggie?" Shane demands, as if he's interrogating a criminal. He barks, "Answer the question."
"Did you go to school with Maggie?" I bark, in the same tone of voice Shane used. The, what I call, no bullshit tone.
Randall shakes his head slightly. "She didn't know me. Didn't even know I existed. I mean I knew her. I knew who her dad was." We turn around and start to walk the other way. "There is no way I would ever do anything to hurt her or her family."
"Jesus," Shane sighs.
"Or you," Randall continues. "Or your people. I'm not like the guys I was with!"
Rick, Shane, and I stand in a small circle, Shane and I with our backs to Randall and Rick facing him. "He knows where the farm is, Rick," Shane whispers. "Where we are. He knows. Say he finds his way back to his people..."
Shane lets his voice trail off, giving Rick the idea. He grabs his gun, turning as he cocks the handgun. "Shane, no!" Rick yells, pushing him to the ground.
The gun goes off, and I dive to the ground to avoid behind hit. The bullet narrowly misses Randall, and I get to my feet, giving Shane another one of my screw-you glares. Rick stands over Shane, who hits the ground with a grunt. "Not now," our leader says. "Just not now."
Rick puts his foot down on top of Shane's gun, and its owner leans against a police car. "Well, when, Rick? When?"
Rick kicks Shane's gun away. "When I've had a chance to think about it."
"Don't let him kill me. Please don't," Randall begs. Way to be helpful.
"Shut up!" I bark,
Rick turns away from Shane. "We're going back. It's a man's life." He turns back to face his friend. "I need a night to think it through."
Shane points to Randall from his spot on the ground. "You're gonna bring this piece of garbage–this piece of garbage who—he shot at you, Rick. He ran with men who tried to kill you, who shot Clary. You gonna bring him back to where Lori sleeps? Where Carl sleeps?"
"He'll be locked up in the barn," Rick says, but I know that reasoning with Shane is pointless right now. The former officer is starting one of his rants. The rants that never end well, usually with someone—namely Daryl or I—picking a fight. Rick adds smartly, "Unless you bust it open."
"Oh, don't start that shit," Shane groans.
Rick turns away from him again. "I'm taking the night."
"Man, you take that, you think on it, Rick. Keep struggling with it. It ain't hard, man. The right choice is the one that keeps us alive." Shane looks up at Rick, pausing his rant. "It's always the same with you. It's whenever you're put to the test."
Rick turns back around, taking a step forward as Shane gets to his feet. "Stop acting like you know the way ahead, like you know the rules. There are no rules, man. We're lost."
"No, no no no, no," Shane says. "I know exactly where I am."
"You don't know shit anymore."
"I don't think you can do it anymore, Rick."
"It's my call, man."
"I don't think you can keep them safe."
Rick freezes, turning to look at the other man. After a second of silence, all hell breaks loose. Rick shoves Shane against the car, and the other man headbutts our leader. Rick falls to the ground from the force of the blow, and starts to get back up when Shane comes over, pulling his gun out. I jump in, knowing how bad it'll get if nothing is done. I drop my crossbow as I run, shoving the gun out of Shane's hand. Rick shoves Shane against the car again, landing two well placed punches before I try to pull the two men apart. Shane throws Rick to the ground, and I try to push him away from the leader, but I only earn a hard blow to the jaw for my efforts. I fall to the ground from the force of the punch, then get back up as Rick shoves Shane against a truck. He punches Shane in the gut a few times before Shane kicks him off. Rick lands on his back, and Shane kneels over him. Rick pushes him off before he can land a punch, then gets to his feet. Shane shoves Rick against a truck, and Rick throws a punch. Shane throws a punch before throwing Rick to the ground. He rolls until he's at a motorcycle, and Shane storms over. He brings the bike down on top of Rick, who grunts in pain. Shane storms over to the trailer that his gun is under. He kneels, to get it, but I tackle him away from it, or try to, at least. It surprises Shane so much that he loses his balance, and we roll. When we stop, Shane is on top of me and he's swinging. I struggle against him, trying to get out from under the man, but it's useless. Shane has me pinned and I'm still receiving blows. I think of something my brothers taught me to do if I'm ever in this situation, but I've never done it before. I bring my knee up, kneeing him where he's tender. Shane groans, and I throw a punch before pushing him off of me. I get up, running to help Rick. It takes both of us to get the bike off of him, me pulling and him pushing. It falls towards me, and I barely back up in time. I pull Rick to him feet, and he immediately goes after Shane, who has retrieved his gun and is getting ready to shoot Randall. He tackles Shane to the ground, and they roll. Rick struggles to get the gun, but Shane ain't giving up. "Get off me, man," Shane growls.
I pull my own gun out, firing two shots into the air. It gives Rick enough time to take Shane's gun and throw it away before throwing Shane to the ground. Rick sits on top of Shane, his legs keeping his former co-worker from moving. He throws punches, and I let him. Shane had it coming, it was just a matter of who gave it to him. Rick climbs off of Shane, and stands with his back to the building. I flank him, tucking my gun back under the waistband of my jeans. "You're not doing this," Rick orders.
"You don't get to make the calls anymore," I say harshly, my voice full of hostility. I can taste the metallic blood from my split lip in my mouth. Rick has a busted lip and a scratch on the side of his face. Shane slowly gets to his feet, putting his hand against a trailer for support.
"I won't let you," Rick says. I'm the first to react when Shane throws the wrench at us. I grab Rick's arm, pulling him onto the garbage bags with me. The wrench goes through a window, and we cover ourselves from the glass. All three of us are still, panting, and Shane looks at himself in the reflection of the glass. I glance at Rick, then look at Shane. I find that I'm right those times that I think that Shane doesn't have a soul. He's the living equivalent of a walker. As Jenner put it, a shell, fueled by mindless instinct. He has no conscience. He doesn't care about the survival of others. He would've let me die back at the camp that night, and I would be dead right now if Daryl hadn't saved my life.
Rick and I look up as a walker starts growling, and two fall out of the window. Rick and I get to our feet, each taking one walker. I take out my knife, grab the walker's dirty, tattered shirt, and drive the knife into its brain. Rick throws his into the garbage bags, and I hear the growling stop for a single second. As soon as the growling from our two walkers stop, more starts. I dive onto the bags next to Rick, both of us holding the walker bodies over us to conceal us from the parade of the undead that come out of the window. Shane turns and runs, and they stumble after him. I push my walker off of me as soon as the undead stream stops, running to get my crossbow and make sure Randall hasn't escaped. I stop when I hear three gunshots, then a moment's pause before three more. "Rick?" I yell, slightly worried.
"I'm okay!" he yells in reply. I run off, and find Randall crouching behind a car, holding my crossbow. He hands me my crossbow, slightly to my surprise, and I put it over my shoulder. He keeps Rick's knife, and I allow him to; I need someone to watch my back. "C'mon, let's get out of here," he says quietly.
"Where's Rick?" I ask him. "Did you see Rick?"
"We gotta get out of here while we can, baby. We'll find him then."
I punch him, and he holds a hand to his cheek in surprise. I hold my gun up to him. "Don't you ever call me baby. Ever, or I'll kill you. Let's go," I say, pulling him to his feet.
Before he even moves, Randall cries, "Holy shit!"
I turn and see that Rick has his gun aimed at him. He pushes Randall to the ground. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Rick," I hiss, joining them. Randall was behind me, and Rick must not have seen me. The officer releases Randall as I speak. "We were gonna meet you by the car, or try to find you."
"Please just let me go, man," Randall says. "That's what you came here for. I swear, I'm not gonna tell anyone anything."
"Shut up," Rick snaps. He grabs Shane's gun; neither Randall or I saw it.
"You wanna stay here? Help the gun that just tried to bash your head in?" Rick straightens, looking over at the school bus. I follow his gaze to where walkers crowd around the entrance, and Shane is inside. "There's ten roamers there," he continues. "You think you can take them on? Just the two of you?" Randall stands. "They don't see us. We can get out of here." Rick doesn't say anything. "Oh, come on," Randall complains. "Fine. But let me have a gun. I'll help you. I'll show you."
"Rick," I say under my breath, "he's got a point. You know I don't like Shane, but he had it comin'. We gotta go."
After a moment, Rick takes Randall's arm. "Let's go."
"What?" Randall and I ask in unison.
"He did this. We're going."
"Oh, thank you," Randall says, relieved. Rick pushes Randall ahead of him as we leave, me following them.
It's all Rick's idea. Randall drives the Hyundai through the fence, throwing it open, while Rick and I make sure our guns are loaded. Rick and I fire out of the passenger side windows, taking down the walkers. "Shane!" Rick yells. "Go for the back door!"
When we get to the back of the bus, I slide back over to the driver's side, and Shane climbs in through the window. Randall throws the Hyundai in reverse, backs over a walker, then drives out of the Department of Public Works. We speed off, away from the building, and I realize that Daryl will be even more pissed with Shane seeing my split lip. Randall's giddiness knocks me out of my thoughts. "Whoo!" he yells. "Yeah! Hell yeah! You see that? You see what we did?"
"Just keep driving," Rick orders. Randall becomes quiet.
Shane and I watch as Rick shoves Randall into the back of the Hyundai again, now tied up with duct tape over his mouth. Rick closes the back door, then steps back beside me. "If you wanna kill me," he says, looking at Shane, "you're gonna have to do better than a wrench."
Shane looks down, then up at him. Rick continues, "Probably gonna have to kill that boy, but I am gonna think about it a night. It can't be that easy, killing someone, killing anyone. You know that." He pauses. "Clary, get in the car, and don't argue."
I walk around them, and climb in the car. I don't question orders when they're given. I learned that the hard way, and I have the scars to prove it. After a minute or two, they climb back in, and we go back to Hershel's farm in silence.
As Rick drives, I lean back in the seat, stretching out and letting my mind wander. I find it wandering to the day that Sam died, something that I haven't allowed myself to remember for a while.
"C'mon, Sam," I said, pulling the boy behind me. We were running from the walkers, Daryl ahead of us. Sam's ring that I wore on a necklace bounced as we ran, my crossbow bouncing on my back. I heard growling get a little too close to us, and pushed Sam ahead of me. I swung my crossbow onto my shoulder, firing at the walker and killing it. I rejoined Sam, taking his hand again. "Clary, watch out!" Sam cried.
I turned and kicked a walker to the ground, then took Sam's hand again, pulling him along with me. We kept running, trying to get away from the walkers that never get tired, never have to rest. Beside me, Sam was panting, and I was breathing hard myself. Suddenly, Sam screamed in pain, and I turned to find a walker biting his arm. I tried to pull him away, but the walker wouldn't let go. Another joined it, pulling my only friend away from me. I kept my grip on his hand, but he was slowly slipping away. More walkers stumbled over, and Sam went down under them, his screams filling the air. "Sammy!" I screamed, and Daryl's arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back. "No, Sammy! Let me go, Daryl! Let me go!"
Daryl took my crossbow, putting it over his shoulder and keeping his hold on me. I screamed at him to let me go, and he finally took my shoulders, making me look at him. "Clars, we can't do anything for him."
I knew he's right, that the walkers already got Sammy, but that doesn't make his screams and cries for help any less painful. I took off running with Daryl beside me, and I realize I should have listened to him. He didn't want to go back for Sammy, and my friend would still be alive if I listened to him.
I sit up, gasping, and Rick looks at me from the front seat. Shane must be driving, because Rick is on the passenger seat. He reaches back, laying his hand on my knee. "Hey, you okay?" I don't say anything. "You were sleeping. We were gonna wake you when we got back to the farm."
I nod once, and freeze at the next question Rick asks. "Who's Sammy? You were saying that in your sleep."
I look out the window, so Rick can't see that my eyes are wet with tears. I look down, then rub my eyes. I look back up, but avoid looking at Rick. "He was an old friend."
Rick doesn't respond. I realize that he was more than just a friend. In the eight years I had known Sam, he had become a part of me. We were always together, and stood up for each other. We had pieces of each other, and everything I took from him, it made me who I am. Both the good and the bad, the happy and sad, and the wrong and the right. All my life, I've been broken, torn and scattered. Sam, he was there for me, was like a brother to me, and he helped to heal me. He put me back together, even when we both knew I didn't need him. God, I miss him so much. I wish he was here, alive and breathing, with me. I just wish he would show up at camp, alive. But I know he won't. There's nothing that I can do. I can't go back in time and decide not to go back for Sammy. I can't change fate. Whatever happened, happened, and there's nothing I can do about it.
