August 2010
Months of being hyper aware brings Shane awake instantly when his name is called. It takes him about five seconds to reconnect the dots.
"Everything good, Sophia?" he asks, easing himself to a sitting position and ducking his head so he doesn't crack his skull open on the metal of the top bunk.
"Yes, sir." She's holding out a silver pouch that smells far more delicious than anything he's had in days. "It's a chicken fajita camping pouch. There were a bunch in some buckets so I put them all in our bags, plus the other food. But the directions say these just need water, no cooking."
She's solemn, waiting on his approval, and he wishes he beat Ed just a little worse than he did.
"Smells great. Kind of like an MRE, right?" He's seen the pouches in the camping aisle at the store, but preferred to cook when he camped.
She giggles. "They taste better."
He shovels a big bite in his mouth and nods while he chews. "You're right there. What all do we have to carry?" he asks, figuring it'll make her less nervous to explain.
"This is your bag." She nudges a decent sized hiking backpack. "It was here, laying on the top bunk. I put half the water in yours and half in mine, and it's the heavy part. There's enough food for both of us for ten days if we eat three meals and longer if we don't.
"Plus a change of clothes each. I couldn't get the blood out of your clothes, so I put some of the hunting clothes in your bag."
He's actually kind of glad she couldn't and wishes he was aware enough to tell her not to try before he slept. The other bag looks like a gym bag of some sort, and he's grateful the bag she's designated for him won't have a strap across his chest.
"Sounds like good planning. Any necessities other than food, water, and clothes?" He's mulling what they'll need if they can't find the others quickly.
Sophia unfastens the top of his bag and pulls out a gallon ziplock bag with a little smile. It contains the remainder of the first aid kit supplies, a roll of toilet paper, a Bic lighter, box of matches, and bottle of bug spray.
He laughs, although it makes his chest ache. "Good thinking. That the only toilet paper?"
She shakes her head. "I've got two rolls in my bag. Plus more matches, bug spray, and sunscreen. I've got another baggie with some of the silverware. I wrapped one of the kitchen knives in clean dish towels."
"Taking the kettle too?" It's tied to the strap of her bag.
"It wouldn't fit in my bag. I put the pot and a couple of the bowls in there."
"Good planning. 'Fess up. You were a Girl Scout, right?" She's so carefully formal he's not sure how she'll take the teasing.
"I just thought of what Mama would pack." Her expression turns sad. "Do you think they'll keep her safe?"
"You didn't get to see it, but looked like she and Daryl were keeping an eye on each other." As much as he personally doesn't care for the redneck, if he and Carol both got off the farm, Shane doesn't see Daryl abandoning Carol. That type of man's the 'til I die' kind of loyal.
Sophia thinks that over, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and nods at last. "He won't forget her."
That alarms Shane. Even in his rage-fueled moments, he couldn't say Rick forgot Sophia. But can he really defend him when he left her in the first place? From a child's point of view, that's got to be unforgivable.
He tries, if nothing else to soothe Sophia. "He set up a search grid for you. Things got a little crazy because Carl was shot while we were searching that first day."
"Carl was shot?"
Based on the alarm in her voice, that didn't soothe her.
"He's fine now. It was an accident, and we found someone who could take care of him. He was exploring the farm and kicking up a fuss about not helping search for you."
"And probably getting into trouble, knowing Carl."
Shane thinks about finding him with the gun and agrees wholeheartedly with that. "Yeah, just a bit."
He's finished with the pouch, so she takes it and the spoon to tidy up. Although he thinks she's been fairly thorough in packing what gear can tide them over until they find more supplies or the others, she's a kid.
He gets to his feet, testing out his body's range of movement. He feels the raw ache of the wound in his chest, but he doesn't want to risk suturing it closed even if he can find supplies to do it with. One of the other deputies got stabbed once, insisted on stitches, and then ended up with a rat bastard of an infection they like to never have cured.
He shuffles to the trunk he got clothes out of earlier and goes through the personal effects of the cabin owner. A locked box at the bottom yields to careful prying with his knife, and he laughs. "Guess I won't have to look too far for a gun for you, Sophia."
She comes over to peer in the box. "Is that even a real gun?"
"Yeah. Small .22 pistol. Lot of folks use them for target shooting because the ammo's cheap." He checks out the Walther P22, going through the motions of verifying it's in good shape. He'll need to fire it to be really sure, and he'll do that before handing it off to the girl, but it seems to be a solid little gun.
Best part is that there's three boxes of ammo for it, which is more than he has for his Glock right now.
"We'll still have to find a holster of some sort for you. None of that cramming it in your pocket or waistband. It's a small caliber gun, but it'll take down the dead just fine since their heads are half rotted already."
"Okay. Want me to put the ammunition in my bag?"
He hands the boxes over and she trots off to wiggle them in with her gear. Despite telling her she can't pocket the gun, he does just that in one of the pouches on the hunting pants. It's unloaded and he's not the one needing to avoid learning bad habits.
There's a decent but small hunting knife stored between two sets of clothing, and he takes that out, looking to see if Sophia's actually wearing a belt. She isn't, so he sets the knife out to pack for now, until he can find her something to put it on.
There's not a lot else worth carrying for the weight, but he does open the deck of cards to make sure they aren't nudies and pockets those when they're standard fare. Since Sophia's already packed the dish towels, he eyes the two cotton T-shirts left in the trunk and the single bandana and snags them all. He stuffs the T-shirts in his bag, figuring they can become bandages if nothing else.
"It's gonna be hot as hell out there, so maybe we should tie your hair back a bit. Keep it off your face and your vision clear," he suggests.
She takes the gray bandana and eyes it for a minute before folding it diagonally and fastening it over her blonde hair. "No sweat in my eyes, maybe."
"Good call." He closes the trunk and picks up the knife. "Let's see if we can strap this on your bag until we can find a belt for you."
She goes to the shelves that hold the kitchen supplies and returns with a roll of twine. "Probably should take it with us too, right?"
"Yeah." He cuts a length of twine and secures the knife's sheath to her bag so that she should be able to draw the knife.
The metal tea kettle catches his eye. She's right that having it is a good idea, but it could be noisy. He goes and takes one of the pillow cases off a pillow and brings it back to tie around the kettle with another length of twine.
"Your bag gets too heavy, you gotta let me know, okay?" If he were at full health, he's not sure he would let her carry what's over half the weight, but he's got to limit the pull on his chest for a while.
"I will. But I'm stronger than I look."
She's left two cups of Tang on the table since the water's packed and quietly points them out before heading behind the curtain. He's glad to see she's planning ahead, since it's a lot harder for her to pee in the woods than it would be if it were Carl with him. He drinks both cups, downing the packet of Tylenol she left out as well.
He thinks about the group, and whether or not they'll find another base to search the area. They can't stay here on the off-chance they might be found, especially since he knows he has to find some antibiotics and better medical supplies. There's a pocket sized notebook and a pencil stub on the shelf with the dishes Sophia's leaving behind, so he grabs it and opens it to a new page.
"SP is safe. Going west as planned. KC goal if not found."
That should be clear enough if Rick or Daryl finds it, he hopes, without putting too much information out there in case an unfriendly group does.
Sophia reemerges and looks at the notebook and reaches for the pencil. She draws a jaunty little cartoon bear under his terse words. "There. I draw those on everything, so if Mama sees that, she'll know what it's about."
He nods and visits the little toilet corner himself before pulling on his boots and lacing them up, grimacing as the position pushes against the wound. He checks it carefully, but it hasn't bled through the gauze pad yet, so they can wait to change bandages later and spare supplies for now.
"Alright, Sophia. Let's see about finding us a way back to what remains of civilization."
She shoulders her bag, settling the big strap across her chest. The fact that she angles it to put the knife close by gives him hope that keeping her alive and safe won't be the uphill battle he thought it would be fifteen days ago.
With his Glock holstered and the magazines returned to his belt, he eases the backpack on and tests the pressure. It's not ideal, because it does pull at his chest, but at least the wound's low enough down he should be able to handle the pack.
He goes to the window shutter and eases it back, assessing what he can see of the yard. "Let me open the door and stay inside until I tell you it's clear, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
It was hot in the cabin, like any place in the middle of August, but at least it's not a damned heat wave like they can get sometimes. He keeps his hand on his gun, eyeing the yard revealed by the open door, but nothing moves. He doesn't hear anything either, so he ventures out and circles the cabin.
There's nothing anywhere to be seen or heard, so when he reaches the door again, he taps for Sophia to come out.
She steps into the sunlight, blinking as her eyes fully adjust, and reaches up to slide an outside latch into place that's up near the top of the door.
"How often did you leave?" he asks, curious when she's so careful to lock it up.
"Just twice since I found this place. Once to dump the bag from the toilet and another time to pick some of the muscadines off that vine over there."
She points toward a trellised arbor that's overgrown with muscadine vines, fruit hanging off them heavily. It gives him an idea. "How about you go snag that other pillowcase?"
It connects for her too and she grins before going into the cabin. They can't carry many with them, between the weight and them spoiling, but the pillow case is half full when Shane ties it onto his backpack. Sophia snags two last bunches passing him one and keeping the other for herself.
"Which direction do we go?" she asks. "It kind of looked like a trail that way, but I wasn't sure if it would go to a road or not." She points to the north, which does look like an ATV has accessed the property just enough times to wear small ruts.
"And do you remember which way you came from?" He's not entirely sure if he came from the east or south, because either angle fits how he stumbled to the well pump.
"From behind the muscadines. I didn't even really see the cabin until I got up to them and realized I knew what they were and they were safe to eat. My grandma had them in her yard and made jelly from them."
That puts her wandering in from the east. "How long were you here?"
She thinks it over. "All but the first four days. The first night, I slept in a house. There were noises in the night and I hid in a pantry. But there wasn't much food and no water, so I couldn't stay there."
"I think Daryl found that place." Damn the redneck was so close to the girl's trail. "You eat some sardines?"
The face she makes is all the answer he really needs. "Yeah. A kid my size lived there before, so I took some clothes. When I was wearing shorts, my legs got all scratched up. They're boy's clothes, but they fit."
It fits with his foggy observation last night that she was dressed differently than when she fled the highway.
"And after that?"
"I found a tree I could climb the second night, but I was getting pretty hungry. Found some mushrooms the third morning, but they didn't look like the ones you said were safe to eat, so I kept going. Kept the sun on my shoulder like Mr. Grimes said, but I think I was already too turned around."
"Glad you listened and didn't risk the mushrooms." That is not a death he wishes on anyone, especially not a kid. "Let's get started and take the trail. It might go further in the woods, but more likely, it'll lead to a road or a house place where the owners of the cabin lived."
She falls into step beside him, moving quietly. Then again, when he thinks about it, the girl's always moved silently as a little mouse compared to all the other children in the quarry camp. Years of avoiding Ed Peletier's temper, he bets.
"What about the third night?" If she found the cabin on the fourth day, that's one more night elsewhere.
"A shed on a property like the first one. There were walkers in the house, but they couldn't get out. There was water there, at least, and I was thirsty enough to drink from the well pump by then. Didn't get sick though."
"Well water's usually a safer bet than creek water, but you did good to be extra careful at the cabin." The more he compliments her, the more steady her smiles become when she looks his way.
Now that he's got a good idea of her time out in the open, he tries to think about how far she might have traveled. If she's certain about going in a single direction, she might have covered three to five miles a day. The abandoned house Daryl found was west of the Greene farm, and Sophia unfortunately kept on a path steadily away from where they were.
Figuring somewhere between five and ten miles west of the place the redneck discovered, he pulls up a memory of the maps they used for the search grid. There aren't a lot of roads west of the highway, but there's a few. Once he can find a road and something to identify it, he remembers enough to get started.
Sophia's got to be the quietest kid he's ever spent time with, because she walks beside him, seeming at ease with walking in silence. The sunlight's dappled through the trees, keeping them from really overheating, thankfully. She finishes the muscadines and tosses the stem, eyeing the ones he's carrying but not eating with a little frown.
"Alright, I'll eat." He pops one of the big fruits into his mouth to show he's paying attention to the unvoiced criticism.
She looks away then, but he catches the little smile.
He's not sure what lies ahead, or if he can even keep his promise to find her mama. But from what he's seen so far, he thinks everyone who ever underestimated Sophia is in for one hell of a surprise.