Cody glances down at the fuel gauge as if calculating whether they'll make it all the way to Copper Creek Pastures. That's where he said he's driving them.
Carol sits beside him in the front seat of the sedan she found a couple months ago. She glances at Sophia in the rearview mirror, who is sitting in the backseat, hugging her dark green backpack like a stuffed animal. Also in the rearview mirror, out the back window, she can see Daryl lowriding on his dead brother's motorcycle, his tanned, muscular, bare arms outstretched to grasp the handlebars. "So what does a sponsored person do, exactly?" she asks Cody.
"Uh…you know. They serve their sponsor. Do his washing. His cooking. His cleaning. And…other things."
She wonders if those other things involve sexual favors, after the way Garrison was looking at her, but she's not going to ask that in front of Sophia. If her sponsor has any expectations in that direction…well, she'll have to cross that bridge when she comes to it. If she decides it's not a trade-off she's willing to make, she'll say no, and they'll leave and take their chances on the road again. And if he won't let her leave, she's still got her handgun and two rounds of ammo. She can always shoot him in his sleep and sneak out by night, the way they did in Terminus.
She glances again at Daryl in the mirror. He leans right, accelerates, and the motorcycle roars past just inches from her window. He swerves the bike abruptly in front of the sedan.
"Show off," Cody says.
Daryl now leans right and roars violently around the passenger's side of the farm truck, which Garrison is driving, then weaves in front of it, and then leans left to go around the driver's side of the blue pick-up. He keeps pace with the blue pick-up and says something to DeShawn through the open window before roaring in front of the entire caravan.
"Merle loved that motorcycle," Cody murmurs. "He never let Daryl ride it, you know."
"When did Merle die?" Carol asks.
"Get murdered," Cody clarifies. "About two weeks ago. Took Daryl awhile to find his shell. But he had to do that, you know. Had to put him down and bury him. Then he came back to camp and got us so we could track those assholes." He glances in the mirror at Sophia and then, to Carol, says, "Excuse my French, ma'am."
Sophia's just watched three men killed and heard another one tortured and killed. Swear words aren't going to hurt her. But there's something strangely comforting in his apology.
Cody reaches down and turns through the static on the radio, and then turns it off.
"Are sponsors always men?" Carol asks. She gets the impression this camp has a highly patriarchal structure.
"Well, there are no women in Jefe's inner or outer circle. So they can't really afford to sponsor anyone."
"But there are women who get one hundred percent rations without working for a sponsor?" Carol's figuring out this system. One hundred percent rations to the commoners like Cody, 150 percent to the outer circle (of which Daryl is a part), and 200 percent to the inner circle (of which DeShawn is a part). And as for the sponsored – she supposes they get whatever their sponsors are willing to share with them.
"Yeah, you know, if they were here before the sponsorship system started. They just work for the community. I mean, we all do. You will too, once Jefe assigns you your tasks, but not full-time. You'll also work for your sponsor."
"How long has this sponsorship system been going on?"
"Jefe started it last winter to make sure we didn't take in more people than we could handle."
"Was Jefe the original owner of the farm?" She's glad Cody is driving her. He's an easy one to ply for information.
"The farm manager. The family that owned the farm, you know, they all died at the start. But Jefe cleared the place of thrashers. Saved a bunch of the farmhands. Saved some of the animals. Secured the camp and grew it."
"Is Jefe a kind leader?" Carol asks.
"Kind?" Cody's brow furrows in confusion. He sits up a little straighter at the wheel, and like a man defending his country, says, "Copper Creek Pastures has sixty-eight people. And we've only lost two in the past nine months."
[*]
Copper Creek is more like a stream than a creek. They cross it on a cobblestone bridge that looks like it was built in the 18th century. Two men and a woman stand fishing in the stream, into the water up to their knees, and a fourth man, mounted on a horse and wearing a brown Stetson, patrols the stream with a rifle on his shoulder and a silver revolver on his hip. Cody waves to him as they pass.
Sophia turns around in the backseat to look at the mounted man and then sits forward again. "Are they prisoners?" she asks with a hint of worry in her voice.
"What?" Cody asks. "No, they're fishermen. He's just keeping guard in case of thrashers. It's not a chain gang."
"Oh. Good."
Carol turns back and smiles at her daughter. Sophia's clearly nervous about what they might be getting into, even though she wanted to come. And she's right to be, after all they've been through.
They follow the caravan down a dirt road for about a quarter of a mile to a great black iron gate, which is emblazoned with a golden, cursive C. A man stands guard at the gate, rifle in hand, in a crudely built wooden stand. He climbs down the stand's ladder when he sees them, shoulders his rifle, and unlocks and swings open the gate.
They drive through, continue on the dirt road, and then swerve to a stop outside a barn. "We have to check in," Cody tells her as he turns off the car.
Carol gets out of the car and makes sure Sophia is close by her side. DeShawn and Garrison are exiting their vehicles, too, but Daryl just continues on his motorcycle up the narrowing dirt path.
A man with wire rimmed glasses and a clipboard strolls up to DeShawn, who jerks his thumb back toward the blue pick-up he's just stepped out of. "2009 Ford F-150. One-third of a tank." The man scribbles on a sheet of paper and then DeShawn hands him the keys.
Clipboard Man slips the keys in his pocket and asks, "Loot?"
"Four backpacks with some food and ammo and booze and such."
"And we got four rifles," Garrison says. "Didn't count the ammo in the magazines."
"I'll inventory it all when I stock it, and then I'll let you know what your finder's fee options are later," Clipboard Man replies. "Can you bring in the guns?"
Garrison and DeShawn each grab two rifles from the farm truck and disappear through the open door of the barn. There are no animals inside. Instead, the stalls are stacked with boxes and the barn is lined with metal shelves full of supplies. There are three large black metal gun safes, and DeShawn enters a combination into one and turns a big golden three-pronged handle to open it. Carol guesses the inner circle gets the codes. She wishes she could tell which numbers he was pressing from here.
"Make and model and year?" the man with the clipboard asks, and Carol turns her attention back to him. "Cody said the car was yours. Make and model and year?"
"Uh…" Carol glances at the car. "It's a Pontiac. I don't really know cars."
"I'll check it later. Gas?"
"It's running on fumes now," Cody tells him.
"Your name?" Clipboard Man asks Carol.
"Carol."
"Last name?"
She hasn't been asked that since the quarry camp. In a split second, she decides not to say Pelletier. She reverts to her maiden name. "Doyle."
"Age?"
"Thirty-nine."
He looks up from his clipboard at her hair as though he doesn't believe her.
"It grayed prematurely," she assures him. "When I was thirty."
"Keys?" he asks, and Cody, who has them because he's been driving, sets the keys atop the clipboard.
Carol looks anxiously at her keys being handed over.
"They'll keep your car down here with the other vehicles," Cody explains to her. "Only farm truck are allowed beyond this point."
"And motorcycles?" she asks suspiciously.
"Well," Cody shrugs his big broad shoulders. "Daryl, you know. He does what he wants. But you can come down here and check your car out whenever you want. There's always someone on duty."
So she's free to leave at any time, she supposes. That's good to know. But she's not getting far with almost no gas in the tank.
"The girl's name?" Clipboard Man asks.
"Sophia Doyle," Carol replies. Sophia looks at her quizzically but doesn't say anything.
"Age?" he asks.
"Thirteen," Carol answers.
"How many walkers have you killed?"
"Uh…I have no idea. Thirty, forty maybe?"
He looks up from his clipboard through his wire rimmed glasses and watches her eyes like an interrogator. "How many men have you killed?"
Should she lie? Do they let in people who have killed men? She gambles on the truth. "One." Although she feels like she killed dozens, leaving all those people behind at Terminus, trapped in cattle cars.
He seems unfazed. "How did you kill him?"
"I shot him. With my handgun."
"Why did you kill him?"
"He was crazy. He lunged at us with a knife."
"How many walkers has the girl killed?"
"One," Sophia answers.
He looks at Sophia now. "And how many men have you killed?"
"None," Carol answers firmly. Her daughter has been spared that much of her innocence, at least.
A walkie talkie on Clipboard Man's hip crackles and a male voice with a slight Hispanic accent says, "Daryl's already up at the big house. Jefe wants DeShawn here in five minutes to plan for tomorrow."
Clipboard Man unhooks the walkie and replies, "I'll send him right up." He turns back to DeShawn, who is strolling out of the barn. "Did you hear that?"
"On my way."
"Drop me at my trailer," Garrison insists, and both men climb into the farm truck with the red cab and head off.
"What's happening tomorrow?" Clipboard Man asks Cody.
"Uh, you know. A raid. On those guys who killed Merle. You want to join us? I'm recruiting."
"No, I rather value my life." Clipboard Man heads for the pickup truck and begins to take the slain men's backpacks out of the bed.
Cody looks at Carol with an apologetic smile. "I guess uh…I guess I'll show y'all to Daryl's place? Since he's in a meeting. We'll have to walk."
[*]
Copper Creek Pastures is a busy place. They pass people at work in the fields, in the henhouse, in garden plots,. They all seem to know Cody and wave to him as he passes, and he waves back, but he doesn't pause to introduce Carol to anyone. She counts over a dozen trailers as they walk. A horse pulls a manual plow in one field, driven by a farmer, as three cattle graze nearby. They pass a barn with multiple stalls near a ranch-style house that looks like a dormitory. She sees children, too, some helping alongside their parents (or sponsors?), some free playing. That's reassuring. It can't be a bad place, with laughing, playing children. Of course, she supposes even Nazis loved their children.
As they walk up the dirt path, the distant mansion house comes into view. It's a long, brick building with eighteen front-facing windows and a covered balcony extending before a pair of French Doors on the partial third floor. The penthouse suite. Jefe must live there. Carol wonders how many other people inhabit the mansion. A half-circle, dirt driveway curves around a dead fountain, where there are parked two motorcycles, three pick-up trucks, some fancy limousine-like car, and an armored vehicle with a machine gun mounted on top.
"Is that a tank?" asks Sophia, pointing in the distance.
"Sort of," Cody replies.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, when they're about three acres from the big house, they reach two servant's cottages separated by a half acre of grass and a huge walnut tree. Cody walks up two stone steps to the porch of the first little white wood house. There are three sections to the one-story cottage, the deeper, larger centerpiece where the porch is and two small narrow wings stretching out. Carol and Sophia follow Cody up the stairs. There's a single rocking chair on the porch, an open cooler beside it, a fishing pole leaned in the corner, and the pelts of three squirrels dangling by their tails from the porch rail. Carol wonders what her sponsor keeps those for.
Cody tries the front door, and its unlocked. "Come on in!" he says.
Either this is a safe camp, Carol thinks, or there are brutal consequences for theft. She puts a hand on Sophia's shoulder and guides her inside after Cody, glancing down at the discarded gray fish skins in the cooler as she does so.
In this center section, with no division between them, is a sitting room and a kitchen. The sitting room boasts a brick fireplace with a narrow wood mantle, a hutch, a coffee table, and a burgundy floral loveseat that looks like something Carol would find in her grandmother's house. A matching, equally gaudy armchair rests in the corner, near an open door leading to a small bathroom, where she can see a pedestal sink and toilet and the hint of a shower curtain.
The kitchen has a small, square wooden table surrounded by four straight-back chairs. There's a narrow stovetop with a small oven underneath, a single sink, a little bit of counterspace, and a few cabinets.
A closed door leads to one small wing of the cottage. She can only guess it's a bedroom, because the other door is open to the other small wing, and Carol can see a full-size unmade bed inside, a roll-top desk, and a black leather vest with angel's wings draped over the back of the wooden chair before it.
"The bathroom works, you know," Cody says. "We're on a septic system here. And we have gravity-fed wells, so you get water too. But there's no power in this cottage anymore. So you'll only get cold water. You have to boil it. Daryl has one of those portable battery pack thingies for jump starting cars, you know. You can plug small appliances into that. That'll probably be one of your chores. Taking it up to the big house to get recharged when it drains. The big house has some power still from solar panels, you know. Anyhoo, you two get comfortable. I suppose Daryl will be back eventually."
And then he just leaves them there.
"He says you know a lot," Sophia observes.
Carol smiles. "You know, he does."
Sophia smiles back. She wanders into the sitting room and sets her pack down by the loveseat, and then she walks over to the hutch. "Daryl has lots of knives."
"Don't call him Daryl when he gets here," warns Carol, setting her pack down beside her daughter's.
"But I don't know his last name."
Carol walks over to the hutch and sees an oil lamp is in the middle of the first shelf surrounded by at least twenty knives in sheaths, and there are more knives lying on the second shelf, neatly arranged, it seems, by size. Garrison wasn't kidding. She reaches out and runs a fingertip over one of the sheaths. Squirrel hide. That's what he uses those pelts for.
Sophia wanders to the kitchen next, turns on the sink, and marvels at the way the water runs. It's been months since they've seen functioning plumbing. "Turn it off!" Carol insists, not wanting to waste water, no knowing how much they have, and Sophia does, quickly. When Carol joins her, she sees the sink is full of dirty dishes. The battery charger thingie sits on the floor by the corner. There's a toaster oven on the counter and a small crockpot. An electric, single-burner hot pot sits atop the stovetop, with its cord dangling down the front of the oven beneath. There's also an electric gridle. The gridle needs some serious cleaning.
Carol looks inside the cupboards, which have some canned and bagged food, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of vodka. She doesn't dare touch any of it. In a bowl on the counter sit two brown eggs. Real eggs.
"Think we'll get to eat one of those?" Sophia asks longingly.
"I don't know," Carol admits.
Sophia finds a deck of cards on the shelf underneath the coffee table and asks if Carol will play. Carol's a bit nervous about allowing Sophia to touch Daryl's things, but she's not sure what else they're supposed to do until he gets here, so she sits down on the area rug on one side of the coffee table and tells Sophia to deal.
Sophia sits down, opens the deck, pulls out the solid-blue backed cards and shuffles. "Five-card stud," she says.
Glenn taught her and Carl that, at the Greene family farm, and Carol feels a sudden pang. Maybe they got out. Maybe they all got out…but she knows that's not true. She saw Hershel and Otis set upon and ripped into and Jimmy go up in flames. But she didn't see the rest die. Maybe they found a camp somewhere, or built one themselves, with Rick at the helm. Or Lori. Oh God, she thinks. The baby. If they lived, there's a baby now.
Sophia deals two cards down and then begins to deal the three cards up. When she lays the first card up in front of Carol, Sophia stares down at it with a slightly open mouth. Carol follows her gaze. It's a two of hearts, with the hearts covering the nipples of an otherwise stark naked, big breasted, sultrily posed woman.
"You know what?" Carol says. "Let's put these cards away and clean up the kitchen."