Beth's eyes widen as the group that was sent out to check out the route to Fort Benning returns within a couple hours. The Jeep Cherokee carrying Glenn, Maggie, Andrea, and Rick isn't alone. Behind them is a small convoy of military-style vehicles, and it makes her feel like the world hasn't narrowed down to this one farm for the first time since school closed early for the summer.

Her sister wouldn't have led these people here if they didn't signify something good, so Beth watches closely from where she's supposed to be cleaning the chicken coop. Shane and the others seem so hopeful that Fort Benning would somehow survive all the chaos and destruction they described in Atlanta. Growing up in Georgia this close to one of the largest Army bases in the country, Beth understands the sentiment.

Shane and Hershel are standing side by side when the caravan pulls to a halt, with Maggie bailing out of the passenger seat of the Cherokee as soon as it stopped. Beth locks the coop door and begins to trail over because her sister's expression is way too troubled for the new arrivals to be entirely good news.

"Fort Benning is gone," Maggie states, voice gone soft and toneless in that way people use when they're giving someone the worst news and trying not to react themselves.

Behind her, the other three are out of the Cherokee, too, all looking just as grim.

"How the fuck did that happen?" Shane asks, and Hershel doesn't even react to the profanity.

Maggie waves a huge redheaded guy forward, who has a military issue rifle slung across one shoulder. His clothes have seen better days, and he looks closer to a character out of one of the action movies that Shawn loved than anyone Beth's ever seen in real life.

Offering a hand to Hershel, he introduces himself. "Sergeant Abraham Ford at your service, Dr. Greene. Your daughter tells me that your people have some experience and information about this virus that might be important to my mission."

Hershel shakes Sergeant Ford's hand, gaze going to Maggie and studying her. Beth hates that slump to her father's shoulders, which appeared after he'd accepted there was no more hope for the loved ones in the barn and he'd done his duty there. "I assume they told you the CDC is gone?"

"They did. It was our original target, but they aren't the only lab in the U.S. with the capabilities of utilizing the scientific knowledge of the man I'm escorting. Still, my people have been on the road a long time. Maggie said we might find a few days respite while we regroup before heading to D.C."

"We can provide that if your people don't mind camping out like our other guests here," Hershel says, making a gesture towards Shane's camp. Everyone there is gathered to watch the exchange with differing degrees of worry on their face.

The agreement is made easily, and more introductions are exchanged, but Beth doesn't venture any closer and no one summons her. Surprisingly, for a group on a mission, there are three children with the group. Two resemble Sergeant Ford so strongly she doesn't need to hear their names to know they're his kids. They're younger than Carl and Sophia, but school-age at least. The toddler is almost an amazing sight as he gazes around the farm with wide eyes and a bright smile.

Setting up camp and figuring out something from pooled supplies to serve as a massive potluck supper makes Beth remember similar events at church and miss the serenity of their old life. No matter what comes of Shane and Maggie agreeing to convince Hershel that Beth's immunity needs to be researched, nothing will ever be the same again. Every time people gather like this, memories will cling to the edges. Andre is lucky, she thinks, to be so young he'll only ever remember this world.

Once they settle to eat, Sergeant Ford shares more of his mission, and Beth finally understands why Maggie dragged Hershel and Shane off to Hershel's study and didn't reappear for an hour. None of them have spoken to her yet, and she can't figure out if they want her to stay silent or if they're waiting for her to make her own decisions here.

"You're absolutely certain a cure can be made?" Hershel asks.

It's the man introduced as Eugene, an awkward scientist with the oddly outdated hairstyle, who replies, his tone earnest. "Less of a cure than a vaccine to give those of us still living the antibodies so that neither bites nor our innate infections will turn us when we depart this world, Dr. Greene. We may not have been afforded the luxury of enough time to fully produce a cure for this affliction before the facility in Houston succumbed to infrastructure failure, but we obtained enough data to know the possibility is there."

"And you want to test everyone's blood here? Why is that?"

"The ability to produce antibodies to this virus is of the utmost rarity, I fear. It only exists in the blood of those with O negative blood, which is lamentably only 6.6% of the U.S. population before the virus hit. Out of those numbers, if we still had the entirety of the 309.3 million people, only an extremely small proportion of those people have the additional factor I am endeavoring to identify. Taking into account the drastic reduction in the U.S. population, I fear I am looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, but I must keep trying."

Everyone lets the information settle in, with Maggie and Shane exchanging a long look before he speaks. "Can you tell here and now if the person has that blood factor? Or is that something you needed the CDC or another research lab for?"

"I can loosely identify the reactivity of the blood in my mobile laboratory, but nothing further than that. There could be something additional, but it would at least provide a starting point. Without someone with the antibodies, we cannot produce a vaccine to allow others to produce their own antibodies. Vaccine science is complex, but I do not think our civilization has fallen so far we cannot manage that much, at least."

Shane squares his shoulders, a movement still hampered by his right arm being in a sling. "I'm O negative. I'll let you take a look at my blood."

When he announces that, Eugene's expression turns so painfully hopeful that Beth nearly speaks up herself, but she feels Maggie's hand close around her wrist with a quick, tight squeeze. "Later, Bethie," she whispers. "Let Shane be the guinea pig, okay?"

Remembering the blood transfusions, Beth tries to recall how long it takes for the human body to replace blood. She guesses they're in the range that Shane's body should still retain some of the genetic data from Beth, and it's probably what the meeting with Hershel was about. Shane is taking the risk they don't want Beth involved in yet.

It's both frustrating and endearing at the same time, but Beth concedes the point, for now.

Shane isn't the only volunteer, surprising the others. Daryl Dixon clears his throat as he comes closer than his spot on the outer edges of the group. "Can test me, too. All my family was O negative. Give you an extra chance."

That would have been kind of nice to know back when Beth gave two pints of blood for Shane, but she supposes no one actually went out and asked each person if they knew their blood type. From the disgruntled look on Hershel's face, Beth's father is considering the same lapse himself.

"Does anyone else want to volunteer?" Eugene asks. "Even if you do not know your blood type, I can ascertain that for you. It would be useful information to know even in our much-reduced circumstances."

There's a murmur among Shane's group, with several people stepping up. At a nod from Hershel, Otis and Patricia join the group that follows Eugene to his Red Cross marked Humvee. There's no one close enough to overhear now, so Beth sighs softly.

"Why aren't you two gonna let him take blood?" she asks, curious.

Both of them are O positive, just like Annette and Shawn were both A positive. Beth's the outlier in her family, a quirk of genetics where two Rh-positive people produced an Rh-negative child. It had made for a fun lesson in high school biology. Now it's just a risk, as Shane's surgery proved. Beth and Shane - and apparently Daryl - may be universal donors, but they're out of luck in the reverse.

"Just in case there's something that shows up. Just because he doesn't think it's carried by O positive people could just mean that he didn't get to test enough family groups," Hershel explains quietly. "We decided to see if Shane's blood carries the antibodies by transfusion. If they're detectable, then I'm going to question that young man like he's presenting his doctoral thesis all over again before he knows anything about you."

"And if they're not?"

"We get to know these people for a few days before we risk your secret, Bethie. That's not optional." The stern note in Hershel's voice brooks no argument. It's not often that he really puts his foot down about something, so she nods.

"If he finds something, I have to go with them, Daddy."

Hershel tucks an arm around her shoulders and draws her close. "I know. We'll all be going with them if there's legitimate hope. Maybe there's no cure like I wanted so badly, but if we can stop others from enduring what your mother and Shawn did, we will. I promise you that."

Relieved that she won't have to fight her father just to do the right thing, Beth hugs him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder and breathing in the scent of the inexpensive cologne he's worn as long as she can remember. All her life, she's been taught to trust that the Lord will guide you if you just have faith. The last few months have tested her ability to believe, but maybe, just maybe, they've finally got a sign that the world is not beyond redemption.

The confidence in which the wounded deputy volunteered gives Eugene a surge of hope he hasn't had since Pam died. He has no idea why the man needed so little persuasion to volunteer, but he isn't arguing. Maybe it's a lingering idea of public service, since wounded or not, the man strides alongside Eugene with all the firm swagger he's long associated with law enforcement and military.

"I must apologize," Eugene babbles as he unlocks the back of his mobile lab. "I did not manage to absorb your name during all the introductions."

"Shane Walsh."

At least he's not offended by Eugene having to ask for a repetition, climbing into the back of the Humvee when Eugene indicates and taking a seat. Shane extends his uninjured left arm on the armrest, looking patient and relaxed.

"May I ask what happened?" It will satisfy his curiosity and provide small talk if the deputy is the chattery type. There's less possibility that Eugene will make some sort of gaffe and offend Shane like he tends to do with the more masculine types among his fellow Southerners.

"Hunting accident." Shane shrugs his uninjured shoulder. "Hershel's farmhand was out stalking a deer while my partner and I were looking for a lost child in the same woods. He got two for the price of one."

Eugene can't help laughing even as he jabs Shane's finger to test the blood type first. It doesn't matter that Shane knows his blood type and Eugene's never met a first responder who got it wrong. Being precise is more important now than ever.

"At least they patched you up rather than putting you in the freezer with the venison, I suppose. Dr. Greene was able to make all the necessary medical repairs?"

"Can't say that I ever thought I would end up a veterinarian's patient, but yeah, he did a damned good job considering the damage the bullet did. Him, Maggie, and Patricia. Maggie says humans are just another mammal."

Maggie is likely right, Eugene supposes. He wonders if there's any way the obviously experienced medical personnel could be convinced to travel with them. His training has enough biology to scare the hell out of him when he's had to play medic, and he doesn't have Rosita's nerves of steel for the tasks. Maybe Pam wouldn't have gotten so sick if they hadn't lost their only truly trained medical person before they'd gotten across the Texas border into Louisiana.

Once the O negative is confirmed, Eugene cleans Shane's skin with an alcohol wipe and draws a vial of blood. If he's lucky, and by some miracle, they've stumbled across someone like Pam in the middle of nowhere, Georgia, he can always draw more later for further testing. Shane watches him closely as he prepares both the microscope slide and the petri dish.

"How soon do you know anything?"

"It's fairly quick. The blood from the dead ones is frighteningly virulent even outside the host. There were viruses we knew of before, like Hepatitis C, which could live outside a host for at least three weeks. A study released just before the outbreak showed that HCV could remain viable in a syringe for over sixty days in the right circumstances."

"And how long is that for this one? Not that it matters all that much, I suppose, as we're all infected."

"This one has a lifespan of about a month, so long as I keep the specimens in the right conditions." It's a disgusting process, replacing the specimens regularly, as Eugene likes to also test them at different stages and under different circumstances. Even as long-lived as the virus is, almost preternaturally so since it isn't as environmentally sensitive as others Eugene has seen, it does have a limit to its lifespan, thankfully. "Cold prolongs its lifespan, as does lower humidity."

"So we should have been better off down here?"

With the sticky heat of the July evening making Eugene sweat through his shirt like always, he acknowledges that it would have been nice for that to be true. "Unfortunately, by the time the heat is enough to end the virus, we would be quite dead along with it."

Eying the activity on the microscope, Eugene frowns. There's a very mild reaction, like the sort he's used to seeing as someone's antibodies from an infection fade away. Stiffening, he meets Shane's gaze, and he knows from the other man's expression that Shane expected him to see something. "Were you bitten, deputy, or scratched?"

"Neither." Shane holds up a hand before Eugene can speak. "I had a blood transfusion during surgery. Two full pints, thirteen days ago."

Eugene runs the calculations in his head. The human body can replace a lost pint of blood in fifty-four days on average, but when patients are given blood transfusions for medical conditions such as anemia, the boost given can last up to two weeks. It makes sense that he's seeing faint activity similar to Pam's blood, and he swallows hard, feeling a surge of joyful relief.

"Is the person who gave your blood willing to be tested?" It comes out as damn near a squeak, as if Eugene were fifteen instead of thirty. If he were a praying man, there isn't a deity known that Eugene would not be praying to right now.

"Maybe. Are you one hundred percent certain you can create a vaccine for this shit?"

"Nothing is ever one hundred percent certain," Eugene tells him solemnly. "And it may take months of work, but I will swear to the highest of probabilities that the research will work if we can just find the right donor."

"And what are the risks to the donor?"

"No more than the risk to any other blood donor." As protective as Shane's tone is, Eugene surmises that the donor is someone very dear to him. He supposes he can't blame Shane for wanting to protect his loved ones. "If you're worried about exploitation or experimentation, I would assess that risk to be fairly low. As rare as this occurrence is genetically, no one would ever risk the health and safety of a person carrying the salvation of our species in their veins."

"What if there's no government left standing for you to work with? Can you figure this out on your own?"

Shane shifts toward Eugene, all the lazy ease gone from his stance. This must be what suspects felt like when Shane still wore a badge, Eugene thinks, facing an interrogation. He feels like he should confess to wrongdoing, although what he would manage right now, he has no real idea.

"Not all labs would have had failsafes like the CDC. As long as the building can be secured and some sort of electricity produced, in the right lab, I can do my work. I cannot promise results by time period, not working solely on my own, but it would not be the first time a scientist engineered a vaccine or essential medication under less than ideal conditions. Insulin was first gleaned from ground sheep pancreas long before modern medicine, and the first true smallpox vaccine that wasn't cowpox inoculation was developed in the nineteenth century."

Trembling with nerves, Eugene forces himself to jut out his chin, reminding himself of his hard-won education and experience. "I can develop the solution to the crisis plaguing us all, Deputy Walsh, but I cannot do it without someone like the person who saved your life."

It takes what feels like an eternity for Shane to stop staring at Eugene as if he can see right into his soul, but finally, Shane nods and stands. At the back of the Humvee, he turns back to look at Eugene. "Anything happens to her, Dr. Porter, and I will personally make sure you regret it for an excruciatingly long time."

Eugene will never be ashamed to admit that even the prospect of being devoured alive doesn't scare him as much as that statement, but Shane's gone before he can reply. Taking a deep breath, he looks at the others waiting to be tested, wondering if any of them overheard the conversation. It doesn't matter, because defying the astronomical odds, Eugene's found another needle in the haystack.

Science will overcome what it unleashed on the world, and this time, Eugene will stop at nothing to keep whoever their savior is safe.

A/N: My apologies for the two month delay in getting an update for this story. I've had a file for chapter 8 in my folder since March 29, and it has been as blank as can be for all of that time, to my intense frustration.

However, apparently, my Muse thrives on a diet of spite and outrage, because I got targeted here on FFN by a Rabid Beth Hater, who went through non-Beth stories leaving complaints that I should never write for Beth. They didn't even have the courtesy to actually review the stories that supposedly were better for not being focused on her. By now, y'all probably know that I respond to snotty ultimatums about as well as a walker is going to go vegetarian, so when the pitiful excuse for reviews added Eugene to their list of hated characters, this chapter spawned at last. Expect some Beth short stories to start appearing in between other updates... much like my Daryl & Olive Oyl series.

For the record? The author's favorite characters to write for are Eugene, Beth, and Shane. If any of the three disgust you, I will advise a reader to do the mature thing and find a new author to follow.

My fingers and wrists hurt... this chapter flowed hard.