Carol pulled the needle through a patch on the knee of a pair of overalls and rocked in the chair on the front porch of the farmhouse. She glanced out across the field to the well where Glenn was helping Maggie to hand pump water into a drinking trough for the cows.

"Thanks for helping," Patricia told her. She sat sewing in another chair a few feet away.

"I used to make all of my daughter's clothes, before all this, to save money. Now I just get them off the rack for free."

"Sorry about my husband shooting your…gentleman friend."

Carol smiled. She couldn't wait to tell Daryl he'd been called her gentleman friend. "It's so beautiful and peaceful here. You don't have much in the way of fences, though." They had fences to keep the cows in, but not any to keep walkers out. "You don't get many walkers?"

"Many what?" Patricia asked.

"It's what we call them. The walking dead creatures."

"No. Not many. There weren't many people up here in this clearing to start. Just our neighbors, all farmers themselves."

"Well, I'd still put up some sturdy fences if I were you. Those creatures migrate sometimes, in packs or even herds. Our last camp was overrun. They ripped into and killed a dozen people. Including my late husband."

Patricia stopped rocking and looked at her with horror. "Really? They killed that many?"

"Well, yes. That's what they do. They feast on the living. You've seen it, haven't you?"

Patricia swallowed uneasily. "I've never actually seen one eating somebody. I've seen them try to bite people, but we haven't let that happen since the start. Otis said he saw it happen – saw Mr. Brown get bit. Hershel treated the wound, tried to help the poor man, but he faded away, and when he opened his eyes again…he was changed. Sick in the head, like the one who bit him."

"Those things are more than just sick in the head," Carol said. "And we all have the disease in us. We'll all reanimate like them when we die, whether we get bit first or not."

That was something Carol worried about sometimes. What if she had an unexpected brain aneurysm and died in her sleep and turned while Sophia was sleeping away? The change could happen in just a couple hours, from what they'd seen with Amy. She was glad Sophia had that little sword now and that she kept it on the floor just beside her trundle bed.

"So, given Hershel's age," Carol continued, "I'd be careful. Everyone should keep their doors shut at night, so they can't get out if they do die and turn."

Patricia stopped rocking and looked at her in open-mouthed horror. "What do you mean? How is that possible? And how would you know that?"

Carol told her about Dr. Jenner at the CDC.

"So there's no CDC anymore?" Patricia asked. "Anywhere? No one is working on a cure?"

Carol shook her head.

Patricia began rocking again. She had an uneasy look in her eyes as her sewing grew more rapid. Carol could tell she was gritting her teeth together.

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly. Maybe she shouldn't have told the poor woman. There were still people in this world who had hope for an end to the way things were. Maybe she'd been wrong to take that from her. But if they were going to survive, they had to be aware.

"And I'm sorry about your husband being killed," Patricia replied. She glanced back at the screen door. "But you met someone else? Fairly quickly?"

"Everything moves quickly in this new world. Except on the days when it's doesn't seem to be moving at all." Like today, Carol thought, as she glanced out again at Maggie and Glenn working together. "But stronger fences…I'd seriously consider them. Especially since you're running farm equipment and a generator from time to time. If they're anywhere near, the noise will draw them."

"I'll mention it to Hershel."

[*]

Carol brought Daryl lunch and found he'd finished The Missing Man. "You're a fast reader," she said in surprise.

"'S 'cause I skim the borin' parts."

"Just looking for the naughty bits?" she asked. "That's what I used to do with my mother's Harlequin romances when I was twelve."

"Pfft. Ain't no naughty bits in a murder mystery thriller. Well…there was this one scene."

"Oh, yeah? Described it to me."

"Pfft. Ain't for ladies."

Carol chuckled and cut his grilled cheese sandwich in half. He picked up one half and dipped it in the warm tomato soup before taking a bite.

Carol stood and said, "You haven't had a proper shower in over three days, and you've been in the woods. I'm drawing you a bath in the hall bathroom. Enjoy the lunch."

There was no power to the water heater in the farm house, so she added boiling water from the kettle and stirred the water with a wooden spoon to distribute it with the cold until the bath was lukewarm. She turned to find Daryl standing in the open doorway in nothing but those blue checkered boxers, watching her. "If you're comfortable with it, I'm going to help you," she said.

He ducked his head and smiled.

"Not that kind of help. Not here. Not now. But bathing won't be easy with that wound. You need to make sure you don't soak it, Hershel said, and that you don't move that arm much, so you only have one good hand for washing with right now."

He peered up at her shyly. She'd had him considerably more naked than he'd had her, but she'd never had him completely naked to her view, to stroke and rub from head to toe at her leisure. He was comfortable now around her in bed with no shirt, despite the lashes, but he always pulled his sweatpants back up when she was done with him. She didn't know if that was for him or out of concern for her comfort or simply out of the habit of the teenage-like mutual masturbation routine they'd developed.

"Old man's actually lettin' you get me naked? Under his roof? Even though we ain't married?"

"I doubt he wants to bathe you himself, and I'm sure he doesn't want one of his daughters doing it." Neither did Carol. She nodded toward the tub. "Come on in."

Daryl swallowed, crept in, and shut the door behind himself. Steam curled and rose off the water in the tub.

"No funny business," she warned him. "We're guests in this house and the water won't stay warm long, and you need to not move around too much right now."

She took a step toward him. "I'll help you out of these boxers."

He looked away. He was shy, she realized, to be completely naked before her, with the sun streaming through this upstairs bathroom window, instead of in the dim glow of the dampened light on his nightstand.

He seemed to hold his breath when she hooked her fingers in both sides of the waistband to his boxers and slid them down, squatting down as she did so, until she had slid them to his ankles. When she stood, she took her time, taking a good look at his half erection in the sunlight, feeling a tingle between her own legs as she did so, and wishing he were in better condition to fool around. His cheeks were flushed, whether with embarrassment or the excitement that was raising him to attention below, she didn't know.

She kissed his cheek and said, "You can put your hand on my shoulder to brace yourself while you get in the tub."

She helped him into the claw-foot tub, and the water sloshed up the sides when he sat and leaned back with a sigh. "Fuck, that don't feel bad."

"Fist warm bath in a while?" she asked.

"First warm bath ever."

"Really?" Carol sat down on the floor beside him and took hold of a wash cloth, which she dipped in the warm water and then began to lather with soap.

"Take showers. Bathed in lakes and rivers, but those are cold."

"Surely when you were a baby, though?"

"Well, yeah. Think my mama used to wash me in the kitchen sink, but I don't 'member that."

Carol began to wash him now, gentle on his wound, but he still hissed. That part over, she dipped the cloth into the water and returned it to his chest, gently scrubbing, enjoying the sight of his bare, muscular chest and arms as she did so.

"Could probably manage this myself," he said.

"You want me to leave you alone?"

"Nah." He closed his eyes. "Feels good the way you do it."

After she'd finished with his chest and abdomen, she said, "Lean forward so I can get your back."

He hesitated a moment but did. She was gentle on his scarred-over lashes, as though he could still feel that pain of years gone by, and, in a way, he could, she knew. But it wouldn't have hurt him physically if she had scrubbed. She used a cup to pour water over his head and wash his hair, and he practically purred while she worked her fingers through it, the way he did when they cuddled and she played with his hair or massaged his scalp.

When he sat back against the tub again, water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders and wound its way down, tracing the sinews of his chest. She admired the pattern they painted over his bare flesh. Then she rolled up her sleeves so she could dip her arms partially into the water as she washed his feet and then his lower legs and on up. By now, his former half-erection had hardened fully, and it was rising above the water in salute. "Gonna wash that, too?" he asked.

She began to, and he hissed and closed his eyes, but she didn't linger long on that part of him, as tempting as it was. She wrung out the washcloth, folded it in half, and draped it on the rim of his tub.

He opened his eyes and frowned. "That wasn't very helpful."

She chuckled. "I don't want to make a mess in the tub," she told him. "Then there'd only be cold water to rinse you all off."

"Gonna give me blue balls if you leave it like that."

"That's what my first boyfriend said. Not falling for it this time. You'll survive. You've survived worse." She nodded to his gunshot wound. She stood and helped him out of the tub and pulled the drain plug. Then helped him to dry off and step into a fresh pair of Shawn's boxers – red and black checkered ones this time. "Shawn must have been a very fit man," she observed. "Because these fit you perfectly."

"Pffft."

"It's a compliment. Take it. Lower your head." He obeyed and she dried his hair with the towel, which caused him to murmur in satisfaction again. By the time she had him back in the bed, his erection had subsided and he was looking worn out from just that little endeavor. She gave him a pain killer Hershel had left him – much more mild than the horse pill this time, but still likely to make him sleepy – and tucked him in.

When she came back downstairs with Daryl's tray and empty bowl and plate, she found Glenn doing the dishes from lunch while talking to Maggie, who was leaned against the counter by the sink. They were smiling and laughing. Daryl hadn't mentioned to Carol Maggie's trip to the attic last night, but she could tell something was happening between the two. When Maggie saw her, though, she stepped away from Glenn.

Carol set the tray down on the island counter and asked, "Can I talk to you a moment, Maggie?"

"Sure." Maggie walked forward to the island counter to stand across from Carol and left Glenn to dry the dishes.

"I don't know if Glenn told you this already, but, if not, you need to know that my people ran into three members of a gang in town."

"Uh…yeah," Glenn said. "Didn't mention that."

Carol hadn't wanted to tell Beth about the gang. The teenage girl seemed sheltered from the horror of modern reality in this oasis. Beth had never left the farm since it all started, Carol suspected, whereas Maggie clearly had. Maggie seemed to be their head supply runner, and she at least had the sense to carry a rifle, even if her father sternly disapproved.

"A gang?" Maggie asked.

Carol nodded. "Three armed and dangerous men who asked a lot of leading questions about our camp and the number of women in it. Two of our people – Shane and Andrea – killed them."

"Killed them?" Maggie asked. "For asking leading questions?"

"No, not for that!" Glenn assured her. He looked at Carol as if begging her to explain.

"One of the men," Carol told her, "his name was Dave - reached for a gun. I think Shane assumed he would shoot him and T-Dog and then those men would try to rape Andrea. He probably didn't assume incorrectly, but they didn't realize Andrea had a gun, too. There was a shoot-out of sorts. Our people lived, and theirs didn't. Shane shot Dave and Tony, and Andrea shot Randall."

"Randall?" Maggie asked. She looked from Glenn to Carol. "I used to go to school with a kid named Randall. But I can't imagine him running with a gang of rapists."

"I'm telling you all this because there may be more of them," Carol said. "The ringleader didn't say they had a camp, or where it was if they did, but there could be more. And the men they left behind when they came to town could be just as ruthless. That town isn't that far away from your farm. You should be on your guard, just in case."

"Well, thanks for the heads up about a danger that may or may not exit to a degree you can't specify."

"You need to be smarter," Carol told her firmly. "You've been lucky. We saw most of our first camp slaughtered by walkers."

Maggie nodded solemnly. "Glenn did tell me that."

"At Fun Kingdom," Carol continued, "we took in a woman – Michonne - who was run off the road by three men trying to claim her for themselves. She had to kill them. Her boyfriend and friend were eaten alive by walkers. Our friend Dale was eaten alive by those creatures on the road. You people here…you seem remarkably nonchalant about the way things are."

"And yet here we are," Maggie told her coolly.

"Carol's just trying to be helpful," Glenn insisted.

Maggie glanced at him. "I believe she is." She turned to Carol again. "And I think our family should keep trading with your camp. We'll need more of what you've got, and you'll need more of what we've got. But as for this nondescript threat, I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

"Build real fences – not just for the cows - and arm yourselves better, for starters. We might be willing to trade you a couple of our guns for more fresh farm food." Carol glanced at Glenn, who was putting the last plate on the stack, then back at Maggie. "You don't wrangle walkers, do you?"

"What?"

"Try to move the undead creatures around, across fields, using some kind of neck clamps?"

Maggie looked at her warily. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Daryl said something, but he may have been hallucinating. He was a bit high."

"A bit," Maggie agreed. "Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but we haven't lost one person who wasn't taken by the head sickness at the very start. And we haven't had to kill one person either. So maybe you shouldn't be the ones giving us advice."

Hershel came in through the screen door and beat his boots off on the mat. "Bessie's doing better," he called through the living room toward the kitchen. "She'll be giving milk again in no time." He came into the kitchen and glanced from Maggie to Carol. "Everything all right in here?"

"Everything's fine, Daddy," Maggie said. "Carol was just telling us to be careful. There are bad men about in this world."

"There always have been," Hershel said, "ever since the world began. At times, I fear I've been one myself, but I have striven to be better, for the sake of my daughters."

"That's not quite the kind of bad I mean," Carol said, but she was done trying to convince them of their vulnerability. This was their farm, after all, and they could run it as they saw fit. Carol would just be glad when she could have Daryl home again, behind iron gates in a camp where everyone was armed.

[*]

When Daryl awoke form his after-lunch nap, Hershel removed the gauze and examined the stitches over the wound. "It's looking better. I think you can head on home this afternoon."

Daryl was glad the old man wasn't making him wait another day to leave, but he also thought it might be because Hershel wanted to get Glenn the hell out of the house. Daryl didn't think the old man had figured out his daughter had fucked Glenn in the attic last night, but he'd probably seen Glenn shooting her puppy dog eyes. Hershel Greene wanted this little group – and their guns and Daryl's foul mouth - out of his farmhouse.

"Keep the wound covered to help prevent infection," Hershel told him. "Change the bandage once a day or if it gets dirty. Y'all have gauze and antibiotic ointment in your camp?"

"Yeah. Plenty."

"Good. Wash the area with soap and water every time you change the gauze. Past dry gently. Then apply a thin layer of antibiotic ointment before you put the new gauze on. Keeping the wound moist will help with removing the stitches later. You can shower or bathe, but don't soak the wound. No wading or swimming until after the sutures are removed. Limit your activity until the stitches are out. No shooting. No hunting."

"But you said that was nine days! Ain't waitin' that long. Got to get a deer."

"If you're trying to load and cock and shoot that crossbow of yours before the stitches come out, you're bound to pop one. If you shoot a rifle, the kickback could also cause you to pop a stitch. Then you'll be more likely to get infected, and you won't heal properly. You may also be scarred for life."

"Pfft. Already scarred for life."

"Yes, I did observe that. Nevertheless, it's not wise to be doing too much activity before your stitches come out. And that includes sexual activity. Take it easy in that department as well."

"Well don't tell Carol that!" Daryl exclaimed.

"I've already told her that. I'm not saying you can't show affection, but anything that involves rapid movements or causes you to move that arm around too much or that ends up applying weight to the wound could retard the healing process. Just take it easy." Hershel stood and began snapping closed his little black bag. "By God's grace," he continued, "Otis managed not to nick an artery or cause any permanent damage, but recovery is still going to take time. Real life is not like the shows you watch on television. People can't get shot and then just go hunting two days later like nothing happened. That's not how it works. I don't care how tough you think you are. But it seems you've got yourself a good woman who cares for you, and I suspect she'll look after you for the next several days. You ought to thank the Good Lord for that. God knows most of us men don't deserve such a thing. I suspect you're no exception."

Well, the old man was right about that. He sure did like to hear himself talk, though.

"I assume you have Tylenol back at camp. Take 1,000 milligrams – that's two of the extra strength or three of the regular - every six hours or so for the pain, up to three times a day total. That's more than the usual dose, but you'll need it."

"Thought you were a veterinarian, not a people doctor," Daryl muttered.

"People are animals, too, just higher ones, and I've been playing doctor to everyone on this farm for some time now."

"Ain't gonna let me go home with the other half of that horse pill?"

"No. Definitely not. Keep taking the antibiotic for nine more days. Is that all of your antibiotics?"

"Nah. We got like twenty bottles from that CVS we looted. Not clap-strength antibiotic, but good enough."

"Well, we might want to trade for a few of those bottles. Jimmy got himself badly cut putting up some barbwire fencing for the cows last month, and we went through what little was left of ours. We'll negotiate when I come to remove the stitches."

[*]

Carol climbed into the driver's side of the pickup with a secret thrill. She hadn't driven a vehicle since before the Outbreak. She hadn't driven often while married to Ed, either, because they had shared one car. Part of that was economics. Part of it was that Ed didn't want her to be "out gallivanting around" while he was at work. She'd been allowed to drive the car one day of the week, on one of his two days off, so she could go grocery shopping and run errands. Sophia rode the bus to and from school, and if she wanted to go to a friend's house, she either had to ride her bike or get the other parent to pick her up and take her home.

Daryl slid onto the bench seat beside her on the passenger's side, winced slightly, and rested his head back against the headrest. Glenn closed the door for him, and then he hopped into the bed of the pick-up, with the loot they'd gotten in trade. He waved to Maggie, who stood on the porch watching them take off. She waved back.

Carol turned the key in the ignition, and the truck made a grinding noise.

"Gotta give 'er a little gas first," Daryl told her. "Gotta get 'er primed 'fore you can turn 'er on."

"Sounds like someone else you might know," Carol teased as she pumped the accelerator twice gently.

"Stahp."

Carol smiled, turned the key, and the ignition caught. As they drove past the barn to pick up the dirt road, she glanced at it. There was a chain and padlock around the outdoor handles, which was a little odd, Carol thought, for a farm that had no real fences to keep people out in the first place.