"I…uh…." Carol stammers.

"You…uh…" Jefe leans forward looking smug or perturbed or maybe equal parts both. "What?"

"I just…I assumed…" Carol blinks. "I assumed you were a man," she admits.

"Why?" Jefe leans back again. "Because a woman, even one with a managerial background, can't lead a camp? Because a woman can't possibly shepherd a flock successfully through an apocalypse? No? That requires a gold-badge-wearing sheriff, or a big bad ex-military man, or a gun-wielding cowboy?"

"No, that's…no…I…that's not…Be…Because your name is Jefe!" Carol finally spits out.

And because everybody said the leader was a man. Didn't they? Maybe they didn't. They never explicitly said that. But they did call Jefe he. Didn't they? Although now that Carol thinks of it, pronouns might not ever have come up. Everyone always just said Jefe this…and Jefe that…

"My name is Isabella." She says the name with a pronounced Spanish accent, calling attention to every syllable, even though she didn't have an accent when she was saying any of her other words. She flips open the file folder. "They just call me jefe because I'm the boss. It's Spanish. For boss."

"In your case, shouldn't that be jefa?"

"Merle started it, and it just caught on. You think that redneck cared about the particulars of the Spanish language?"

Carol doesn't reply.

Jefe picks up a sheet of paper from the file folder. She lowers her glasses on her nose to better read it. "Carol Doyle," she says and then looks up at Carol. "Did you used to be a redhead?"

"I…yes, I did actually."

"It's always the redheads."

"Excuse me?"

"I understand you threatened my butler with a handgun?"

"No. No. Absolutely not. I heard a shot from the range, and I reacted instinctively and drew. I put it away right away when I realized it was just from the school lessons."

"Arthur has a heart condition, Ms. Doyle. It's not nice to frighten him."

"I'm sorry. I sincerely did not mean to frighten him." Carol's still reeling a little bit. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused. Everyone said there are no women in your inner or outer circle."

"Because there aren't."

"Why not?"

"You think if a woman leads a camp," replies Jefe, waiving the paper she's holding left and then right, "she has to choose other women to be in her circles? Or what? She's not a proper feminist?"

"No. I just find it…surprising."

Jefe drops the paper on top of the open file folder. "Maybe I just like to surround myself with attractive men. Have you met my second? DeShawn? He looks like a young Denzel Washington."

"So I noticed."

"Merle was decent looking when he cleaned up. Nice broad shoulders. Your sponsor's not hard to look at either. Those arms. And that voice, Ms. Doyle. All sex and gravel."

Carol's not sure how seriously to take this woman right now. "Be that as it may," Carol says. "I – "

"- Oh, it may be. I will allow it. Daryl could walk around in those cut-off sleeves until February, and I wouldn't protest."

Carol's thrown off guard and can't find words. She wonders if Jefe and Daryl have some kind of sexual relationship and if the mansion's where Daryl's been going at night.

"It's uncomfortable isn't it?" Jefe asks. "The sexualization of one's subordinates. And yet powerful men get away with it all the time, don't they? Why shouldn't I?"

"I'm not here to fight the patriarchy," Carol tells her. "I'm here to fight for Cody's life. He needs those antibiotics. The doctor recommends an immediate start. You've already delayed authorization for a night. You promised Daryl Cody would get them if he made it to the morning, and I think Daryl took you at your word."

"Daryl always takes me at my word. Because my word is gold."

"Then authorize the antibiotics."

"I told Daryl yesterday I would authorize them tomorrow if Cody lived. I didn't tell him what time tomorrow. If he assumed morning, that was his assumption. But I will honor my word. Cody will be started on antibiotics this evening if he makes it that long. I'm not trying to be callous here. I'm trying to be realistic. We could have lost a dozen people this past March if we hadn't had an adequate supply on hand. And we don't have much of the intravenous variety. And, in all honesty, Cody is still touch and go."

"My understanding is that if he isn't started now," Carol replies, "the chance of infection is very high. What's the point of waiting and possibly wasting the antibiotics later, only to have them be ineffective because they were started too late?"

"Your understanding is limited," Jefe informs her. "By the fact that you've been inside my gates for about a hot minute." She tents her fingers with her elbows on the desk. "Look, I appreciate your loyalty to your friend Cody. I appreciate that you've already manage to make a friend in your…what…mere 48 hours here?"

Carol remains silent. Her outsider status is duly noted.

"You're brave," Jefe tells her. "You're very brave to burst in here like this. Cody is lucky to have you for a friend. Every man should have a friend who has his back. But it's easier to make demands of the boss that it is to be the boss." She taps the desk with a well-manicured nail when she says be. "Because in the end, the boss will bear the blame if things go wrong. I will bear the blame if we use these antibiotics on Cody, and then when the next unforeseen outbreak of dysentery or e Coli or whatever comes, we're just this much short." She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "And then the head farmer dies. Or the head gardener. And I can't feed the whole camp. We're growing penicillin. We're working on it. We'll be our own drug suppliers in time. But we need Old World drugs for now."

"Then send out your supply runners to get more!"

"Where? Every pharmacy from here to Montgomery's been looted. And I'm not sending my men back into Atlanta. Daryl and DeShawn nearly got killed trying to get drugs from Grady Memorial. There's some crazy people running that part of town."

"I know where there's a veterinary school," Carol tells her. "A man I used to share a camp with mentioned it. People were looting pharmacies at the start, drug stores, hospitals, clinics –not veterinarian schools. But what's used on animals can be used on people, with adjustment."

Jefe looks Carol up and down. Carol thinks the woman is about to toss her out of her office when she says, "It's a valid point. You know the exact location?"

"I know the name of the school and the town and the precise cross street."

Jefe waves a hand. "Then let's have it."

"You will. As soon as Cody has his antibiotics."

[*]

Ten minutes later, Dr. S is starting Cody on a strong course of intravenous antibiotics. Bonnie hugs Carol beside her brother's bed in the infirmary on the first floor of the mansion. Then she puts her hand in Cody's and squeezes it. He's sleeping at the moment, and he doesn't squeeze back.

"You really pulled a gun on the butler and demanded to see Jefe?" Dr. S asks her as he untangles the IV line.

"I didn't pull a gun," Carol insists.

Dr. S shakes his head. To Bonnie, he says, "I'll be back to check in on him in a few minutes." Then he slips from the infirmary.

"Really, Carol, I can't thank you enough," Bonnie says.

"Why didn't you tell me Jefe was a woman?"

"I assumed you knew."

"I didn't. I didn't know there was a library, either. Can anyone come use it?"

"During library hours, sure. The rest of the time it's reserved for school or as Jefe's office."

"Who all lives here in this mansion?" There are so many rooms, but Carol wonders if it's just Jefe and her daughter, if the boss enjoys the division, the show of power and wealth.

"Well, Arthur, you know, the butler you waved your gun at."

"I didn't wave – "

"- And the cook. And the maid. And the mechanic. And the plumber. Dr. S. The master gardener. The electrician." Bonnie ticks them off on her fingers, restarting at her pinky more than once. "Monty. He's inner circle. He's the man you always see on horseback at the stream. The headmistress of the school, Ms. Swainson. A couple other men in Jefe's circles. And Dr. Eastman. Dr. Eastman teaches staff at the school."

"Sophia mentioned him."

"He was a forensic psychiatrist in the old world, so if you're ever looking for a head shrink, he takes appointments. And then there's the three orphans Jefe sponsors."

So the big boss is a sponsor, too? Carol wonders how much of the rations she keeps for herself and her family. Is she a three hundred percenter? Or a one thousand percenter? "I'm glad to hear she supports orphans," Carol tells Bonnie, "but I do hope they don't turn out to be bullies like her daughter."

"My ear's are burning," Jefe says as she struts into the room.

Carol flushes and immediately regrets her words.

"How is my daughter a bully, exactly?"

"Well, Carina made fun of Sophia's shirt to the extent that Sophia wanted it cut up for scraps."

"If that's all it takes to hurt your daughter's feelings, she needs to toughen up, Ms. Doyle. It's a tough world."

"A tough world benefits from a little kindness," Carol tells her. "And kindness doesn't cost anyone anything."

"Oh, yes it does," Jefe says. "These days, if you're not careful, it can cost you your life. I think you know that. After all, when you had an objective in mind, you weren't very kind to poor Arthur, waving that gun in his frightened face."

"I wasn't threatening the butler!" Carol insists.

"Well, whether you were or whether you weren't, I'd like the location of that veterinarian school now."

[*]

Daryl comes home before dinner tonight, while Sophia is outside playing with Ivan on the tree swing and one of the ears of corn from the root cellar is boiling on the electric hot pot. Carol is chopping an onion when he sets down a brown, Budweiser beer bottle next to the cutting board. A sprig of two-pronged white wildflowers with a bright yellow base peep out from the neck of the bottle. They look like upside-down pairs of white pants with a yellow belt.

"Flowers?" she asks in surprise. Ed never brought her flowers, except the first few times he hit her, back when he would still apologize for losing his temper, before he decided she was the one who should apologize for making him angry.

Daryl leans back against the cabinet, takes a toothpick from his mouth, points to the wildflowers, and says, "Dutchman's britches. Grows wild in the woods around here."

"Well…thank you." She says it cautiously because she's unsure of his intentions. Is he going to make a pass at her, like DeShawn did the second night Nadia was in his cottage?

"Native Americans and frontiersmen thought they were good for syphilis."

She stops chopping. "I don't have syphilis."

"Good, 'cause it don't actually work for that."

Carol resumes her chopping. "So…why did you bring them, then?"

"Just trying to say thank you. Bonnie told me what you did for Cody. Waving that gun all up in Jeeves' grill, demanding to see Jefe."

Carol sighs and lays the knife on the cutting board. "I did not pull a gun on the butler. That part was a misunderstanding."

"Well, whatever you did worked. Cody's awake and talking now. Doc says he thinks he's gonna pull through."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You got some balls for a lady." He pushes off the counter, wanders to the other side of her where there's more space, and leans back against that corner there.

"So does Jefe, apparently," Carol says. "You didn't tell me she was a lady."

"I didn't?"

"No."

"Thought you knew."

"I did not. I assumed she was a man."

"Kind of sexist of you," he says with a smirk.

Carol turns to look at him. Her eyes roam his bare arms up to the shoulders that are covered by his leather angel vest. "She had a lot to say about you." She turns back to the onion. "Or certain parts of you, anyway."

"Hell's that mean?"

She doesn't risk answering that. "Ryan says you'd be inner circle if it weren't for your bad attitude."

"Who the fuck's Ryan?"

"One of the sponsees. I met him at the stream doing laundry. You don't know everyone here?"

"I know who I have to know."

"He lost two little girls, apparently. I felt badly for him."

Daryl clearly isn't interested in Ryan. "What's for dinner?"

"White bean corn chili."

"Never heard of it."

"Well, you're about to sample it. In thirty minutes." She looks him over again, at the dirt on his upper arms, the blood spatter on his pants. "You better get washed up. I'll boil you some water to mix with the cold in the bathroom sink."

He looks down at his pants. "Just deer blood. Got a whitetail."

"Congratulations."

"Ain't cause for congratulations. Still ain't nowhere near meeting my monthly quota. And now I gotta take time off from hunting to go on some run tomorrow to some damn veterinarian school."

"Sorry about that. That was my idea."

"Well, it's good thinking. That's one medical place that might not of been looted." He pushes off the counter. "Gonna go for a smoke on the porch. Holler when the water's ready."

[*]

Daryl hums the whole time he eats the white bean corn chili. He says fucking fantastic at least four times. It makes Sophia giggle, and it makes Carol feel good to be complimented on her cooking skills. She could listen to him say fucking fantastic all night, and not just because his voice is all sex and gravel. Jefe wasn't wrong about that.

Sophia helps Carol clear the dishes while Daryl lounges back in the kitchen chair finishing his water.

"Can I borrow your knife for school tomorrow?" Sophia asks her mother, glancing at the gutting knife strapped to Carol's belt. "They said my knife isn't big enough for tomorrow's lesson."

"Need your own knife," Daryl tells her. He scrapes back the chair and stands. "Come on. Pick one."

Sophia follows him over to the hutch where all of his knives – besides those currently on his belt - are arrayed. Carol finishes up the dishes and listens in as he pulls each knife out of the sheath to tell Sophia what he likes about them.

"Hear that?" he says, and slides the knife he's currently holding back in its sheath and out and in again.

"The rasp?" Sophia asked.

"Got a border of metal on the sides. Keeps it sharp."

"So you don't have to sharpen it?"

"You still got to sharpen it, just not as often. See, these are my sharpening stones. I like this one best. It's a wet stone. Got to use a bit of water. Show you how later."

Carol smiles as she dries the last plate and slides it into the cabinet.

When Sophia makes her selection, Daryl gives her a pick to scratch her initials in the squirrel hide sheath. She shows it to him when she's done.

"S P?" he asks. "Thought your last name was Doyle."

Sophia glances uncertainly at Carol, who has walked into the sitting room. "Doyle's my maiden name," Carol explains. "Pelletier was Sophia's father's name."

"Divorced?"

"He died," Carol replies. "Near the start."

"Sorry." He looks at Sophia. "Bet you must miss him."

Sophia doesn't reply to that. She clips the knife sheath onto the waistband of her jeans instead.

"French," Daryl says.

"What?" Carol asks.

"Pelletier. It's a French name. Was your husband a French chef? That why you cook so damn well?"

Carol scoffs. "No. Ed was certainly not a chef. And the only thing French about him was his language." She puts a hand on Sophia's shoulder. "Thank Mr. Dixon for his gift."

"Thank you, Mr. Dixon."

Daryl snorts. "Mr. Dixon. That was my granddaddy's name. Call me Daryl."

"My mom won't let me. She thinks it's rude for kids to call adults by their first names."

"Yeah, well, I'm your sponsor. So I reckon I get to tell you what to call me."

"Yes, sir," Sophia tells him.

"Oh, Jesus. Sir." He pats his front pocket. He draws out his pack of cigarettes, slides one between his lips, and mutters around it, "Pick out a knife for yourself, too, Carol. If I can call you that. 'Stead of Mrs. Pelletier. Or Ms. Doyle. Or ma'am." And then he lights up as he slips out the door.

Carol does pick out a knife. She takes her time. She supposes if he has favorites, he keeps them on him instead of in this collection here, because he didn't put any limitation on her choice. She takes one that has four silver knuckle rings on the grip that she can slip her fingers through. Good for punching as well as stabbing, she thinks.

Once again, he doesn't come back for over an hour, after Sophia and Carol are in bed. That beam of his flashlight slides under their door. Carol wonders if he's gone up to the big house to have sex with Jefe. But if they had a thing, why would he come home and sleep in his own bed? Maybe Jefe doesn't allow men to spend the entire night in her bed. Maybe she's the wham, bam, thank you, mam type. It seems like she might be.

If that is what he's doing at night, Carol doesn't like the idea, but she's not sure why. What is it to her, who he sleeps with? Besides, if he's getting that itch scratched, that's less stress for her, isn't it? There's less chance he'll ever come on to her. She should be relieved by the possibility.

The beam slides away from under the door, and his footsteps retreat to the opposite wing.