Chapter 35 "Math"
Day 95; Group A

The group had had an easy time the past few days. Things here were peaceful. This trio was good, and most importantly, they were strong, which was exactly what the group of five needed. They were quite mostly unskilled in defending themselves, other than Lyrik's talent at shooting and Allan's mostly good survival techniques. These new people were skilled with being out in the open, and were around to lend a great hand to those in need of training and guidance. It didn't hurt that they were all quite attractive. The girls all found themselves thinking about Malcolm and Taylor often. Inversely, Sarita saw Allan's pain and anger, and she was attracted to him and wanted to help him.

They all sat in the kitchen, eating their lunch: a beaver Taylor had caught that morning, with canned peas and corn on the side.

"How did you find a beaver?" Beth asked, amazed.

"These two catch all kinds of things," Sarita said, biting into the meat she held with her only hand. She chewed, and continued to speak with a full mouth, "Once they even got a fox."

"Which one managed that?" Patricia asked, looking to Taylor, expecting him to be the one.

"Malcolm did," Sarita stated, going back into her meat for another bite.

Patricia and Beth's eyes went wide as they looked over to the man with a ponytail. "Really?" Beth questioned.

Taylor smiled as Malcolm shrugged. "Man," the built one said, "you ain't gotta be so modest."

Malcolm laughed. "It wasn't that big of a deal," he said. "It was already injured. I found it limping. I think it broke its leg or something."

"Was it bit?" Allan asked.

"No, it wasn't bit," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "Even if it was, that was like a week or two ago. If it was gonna do something to us, it would have done it by now."

Allan shrugged. Patricia was reminded of Otis, with how much these two hunted. "So, you're hunters?" Allan asked, earning a look from Patricia.

"Well, y'know," Taylor said, "I'm a country boy. I grew up kicking around the woods, ridin' dirt bikes, playin' football, climbin' rocks and all that good stuff, so that's always been fun. My dad used to always take me out huntin' and stuff."

Patricia smiled slightly, reminded of how she first met Otis. They were in high school, in neighboring small towns outside of Atlanta. They were sports rival towns; Otis was from Senoia, and Patricia was from Luthersville. Otis had been tracking down a bear that killed his pet dog for hours, and he ran into Patricia, who was headed out to clean the farthest well on her father's farm. He shot a squirrel that had run past her legs and she got freaked out over it. He took her out to the local diner to make up for it. They ended up spending the whole day together, playing in the creek that separated their towns and helping Otis to clean and properly store the animals he had hunted. When the time came, Otis's dad was kind enough to drive her home.

Patricia came back to her senses and looked around the room to realize that she was crying in front of everyone. She feigned a smile and wiped a tear off of her face. "Are you okay?" Sarita asked.

Patricia nodded her head, still smiling. "Yeah," she assured them, "yeah, I'm fine."

Sarita looked to the others, silently asking for a bit of privacy, before she moved next to the older woman. "You know," she began as everyone left the room or pretended to busy themselves — other than Beth and Mika, who remained with the two — "I know you've heard it a lot, but they're all probably out there," she smiled, her voice soft and tender with compassion.

Patricia couldn't stop the tears from falling, and she didn't care about concealing it anymore. There was no use. Beth grabbed onto her hand, offering the upset woman comfort as her eyes looked on with love. Patricia smiled, genuinely this time, as she saw these three girls there for her, caring enough to comfort her. "I'm sure they are," Patricia said in response to Sarita, "but I can't help but worry. Can't help but feel like...like, maybe, Shawn…or Otis…" Patricia sniffled and couldn't bare to finish her sentence. "Or anyone, really…"

The Indian woman half-smiled, knowing exactly how Patricia felt as she recalled what had happened with her boyfriend, Burton, and many of their friends. "That's completely understandable," she said, grabbing Patricia's other hand, mirroring Beth. "I felt the same way when Burton left on that last run. They were gone for so long, and I was so worried."

Patricia tightened her grip around Sarita's hand as a tear dripped off her face, making a wet spot on her light blue blouse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring back all of that."

"No, no, no," Sarita reassured her. "That's perfectly fine," she smiled. Her face became more serious, though, as she stared into Patricia's watery eyes. "But I need to tell you something. And I don't want to, but you need to hear it." The three other females looked at the darker woman, slightly confused. The elder blonde nodded her head hesitantly, urging Sarita to continue. "I'm not assuming anything, and neither should you, but you need to consider every outcome. You can't keep hoping against hope, because...the reality is, some of them could be dead. All of them could be dead. Even Shawn... Even Otis. But truthfully, with every death, it gets easier."

Patricia knew Sarita was right. There's a chance that the majority of them didn't make it. More tears fell, and her breathing began to falter, but she remained focused on Sarita. She understood that the younger woman was trying to help her, to comfort and prepare her. "I know," she said, her voice wavering.

"I know that seems really morbid, or mean," Sarita said, taking in the mostly stoic face Patricia was returning to her, "but I just want you to realize, you may never see them again." The elder nodded her head again and loosed her hand from Sarita's. She wiped at her damp face, trying to remain composed. "I want you to be able to keep going. Because I nearly couldn't. I kept hoping, and hoping, and hoping; convincing myself that Burton would be back, and he'd be okay, and everything would be great. They were gone for nearly two weeks, some of our strongest men. Told me he had gotten bit right after being the one to find the medicine I needed, and he made them leave him behind to turn. When I found out he was dead, after convincing myself he would make it, honestly, I wanted to kill myself. I even tried it once. Sean — uh, one of our doctors — put me on antidepressants, and eventually I moved on. Still have a few left, too, for when I'm feeling low. I know a lot of people hate them, but they did me right. Or maybe it was my own strength. But either way, if you need some, you're welcome to them."

Patricia had stopped crying now, composed once more. Her hand had returned to Sarita's, and she looked down to the girl's missing hand, and then to Beth's missing fingers. She sighed, and awkwardly accepted the offer, with a "Thanks."

Sarita's face flashed of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I got kind of off-track… My point is, I just want you to be ready to move on. Don't give up hope, but don't cling to it. And if it does turn out that Otis, or any of the other people from your group are gone, you'll be okay. I promise you that. We're all here for you, and we all love you. Look at these girls," Sarita said kindly, directing Patricia's attention to Beth and Mika, who smiled warmly to the old girl. Patricia smiled and leaned forward to kiss them both on the forehead. "We're all here for each other, and that's the way it's going to stay. If you can make it through this, you can make it through anything."

Later that night, after dinner, Malcolm had went outside to the back porch, as he often did at night. Beth noticed and followed him, curious, leaving Mika under Patricia's watch. As she stepped onto the wooden porch, she slowly and quietly closed the door behind her, but Malcolm heard her anyway.

"What's wrong?" he asked tensely, not expecting someone to have followed him out.

Beth raised a brow and smiled at the brunet. "Nothing," she said. "Why would there be?"

"I dunno," the man said, relaxing. "No one ever comes out after me, so I just thought something might've happened."

"If something was wrong, I wouldn't be slippin' out of the house all calm like that."

Malcolm chuckled and they shared a smile. "I guess you're right." The blonde stood beside Malcolm, joining him in his pondering. He went back to his original position of watching the neighborhood and treeline, and Beth followed suit. "Do you need something?" he eventually asked.

Beth looked into his eyes, and they stared at each other for what felt like days. Beth had nearly forgotten Malcolm had even said something when a walker could be heard approaching, stepping on leaves noisily. Malcolm chuckled as they broke eye contact and scratched his neck, embarrassed at how awkward that had just gotten. "Wow," Beth said.

"Wow what?" Malcolm asked as he slipped a machete out from his toolbelt.

"That was weird," she laughed.

Malcolm coughed, "Yeah," he said as he jumped off the porch and began approaching the walker, "I guess it was." He grabbed the walker by the shirt and pulled it near him as he jabbed the knife into its skull. Almost instantly, it fell limp and the toned man pushed it off of his blade, blood pouring sickly out of the hole in its forehead. He backed up, wiping some blood splatter off of his face and headed back towards Beth, who was grimacing at him as she rested her arms on the railing. "Never get used to the smell, do you?"

"No," Beth said in detest. She shivered and rose from her slouched position and turned to sit at the bench she had sat in with Mika the day before.

Malcolm sat next to her and noticed how cold the blonde was, her skin cool to the touch as she clung to herself, and impulsively wrapped an arm around her before he realized she had become still from shock. He looked to her, and she remained looking forward, her eyes quite large.

She turned her head to his, and their eyes met. "Thanks," she said softly.

"Are you okay?" Malcolm besought.

Beth eased slightly. "Yeah," she stated as she made a curt nod. "It's just really awkward."

Malcolm laughed, finally settling Beth, and issued her a quick, "Sorry," as he removed his arm from around her.

Beth smiled back to him. "I didn't say I didn't want it," she said coyly as she moved his arm back into place, causing them both to burst into laughter.

Malcolm moved closer as their laughter died, and their eyes locked. They slowly began inching towards one another, their lips coming closer and closer. Then, rustling was heard from the bushes and two walkers, one a small girl, appeared from the brush. The almost-kiss was awkwardly broken as Malcolm pulled from her and headed towards the walkers. He took them down with relative ease, and when he turned back, she had gone. He sighed as he headed back inside for the night.