August 2010
Shane's lucky in his search of the house. It's not unexpected, because it's not the first time he's conducted a search where people kept their old maps in the house somewhere when they got the new map for their glove box.
After he finds the maps and a bank statement with the address on the desk in the corner of the living room, he rolls the walker into the living room rug and tugs it out to the back porch. It pulls on his chest like a bitch, but the relief from the stench once it is gone helps. Then again, that might be the can of Lysol he finds under the sink before he washes his hands.
He's got the exact time and date now, borrowing a slim ladies watch from the dresser in the bedroom. It's a more expensive piece than the little plastic Timex on the body, but based on the care taken with the watch and his mental calendar, it's correct. One of them should have a timepiece, and he kicks himself for getting slack with the good one he wore on duty. It's probably back in his duffel in the Greene farmhouse.
August fourteenth, just after three in the afternoon.
He sighs. Less than three months since Rick was shot, and not long past two months since the world went to shit.
He's gathered a .22 rifle from the rack in the bedroom. The cop side of him abhors the unguarded gun. The practical side recognizes that it's probably used for pest control and needs to be near at hand. The Remington is a decent addition to their collection, especially with two more boxes of ammo.
He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, so he resumes his search of the house. He's finished the living room, so he starts on the kitchen, which is usually the gold mine for most households for anyone over fifty. He finds the junk drawer and laughs to himself, almost wondering if there's some roadmap for "put junk drawer here" in Southern households.
Sorting through it turns up useful odds and ends. Wire cutters, a screwdriver, two packs of batteries, a Maglite, and a roll of duct tape. He'll need that tape to shower later himself. He stacks the useful items on the counter and moves through the other drawers.
Nothing else really leaps out at him, until he opens the cabinet next to the fridge and finds the usual drinking glasses on the bottom shelf. Just above them, the shelf's been turned into a medicine cabinet. He gathers up the bottles, discarding the ones he doesn't recognize at all or that are of no use to him and Sophia, like the blood pressure medication he remembers Leon mentioning being on.
But that leaves him with assorted over the counter painkillers, Benadryl, and a bottle of Amoxicillin with four capsules left. Just over a day's dose, but it will get him started.
He moves on to the fridge, wondering just what he'll find and starts laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"How long has it been since you had a cold coke?"
Her eyes widen. "Since before schools closed."
"Well, at least she wasn't a diet drinker. Dr. Pepper or Sprite?"
"Dr. Pepper, please."
He passes her a can and takes one for himself, using it to down one of the amoxicillin and two ibuprofen. She drinks about half the can in a few gulps, which results in an impressive burp. She giggles, clapping a hand over her mouth, and he salutes her with his can.
While he's finishing his drink, he pokes around the cabinets near the stove until he locates the foil and saran wrap. He puts both boxes with the other collected items.
"I'm going to need your help to tape this over the bandage so I can shower."
She nods and eyes the counter. "Duct tape?"
"Yeah. Broke my arm once and had to tape trash bags over the cast to shower. Works like a charm to keep water out."
He sheds his shirt and unwinds the pressure bandage. There's some spotting appearing on the gauze now, so he'll need to change the dressing.
Sophia eyes it warily. "There's a box of first aid supplies under the sink. No medicine cabinet, but I guess you found where she kept it."
Shane stretches out a length of saran wrap, doubles it over, and holds it in place. She reaches for the duct tape, getting the plastic taped down as easily as the bandage before.
He lays his Glock on the counter. "Poke around the house if you want or just take a break and maybe raid the pantry for a snack if there's anything left. I won't take long."
It takes him exactly two seconds in the shower to rate hot water against the covered bandage as exceedingly painful. It makes his shower even shorter, because now he wants a good look at the wound.
Considering he might need a second set of hands, he gets halfway dressed first. He peels away the duct tape and then the medical tape, throwing it all in the trash.
The wound is starting to look inflamed, despite their best efforts. He can only hope that getting started on antibiotics will hold it off until he finds more. He digs out the homemade kit Sophia found. It's better than the store bought kit, with more tape and bandages.
He cleans and bandages the wound, taking some comfort from the fact that at least it's just seeping blood from too much movement and not pus.
When he returns to the kitchen to put the kit on the bar, Sophia has worked her searching magic again, adding more to their pile. She's eating out of a jar of dill pickles, which she pushes toward him.
"Pickles have vitamin K. They told us in health class that it helps blood clot."
He snags a pickle and takes a bite. "You okay, kiddo?" It's a stupid question in general, but her mood shifted while he was in the bathroom.
"I looked at the watch." She huffs a little sigh. "I missed my birthday."
He figures she means spending it with her mother. "Forgive the dumb question, but I can't remember if you're older or younger than Carl."
Better phrased like that than admit he never really asked, because she was only on his radar because of Carl.
"I'm a couple months older."
"Thirteen, then. We get you back to your mama, I bet she'll do something special." He finishes the pickle and grabs another while checking out her additions.
There's another flashlight, a small can opener, a fireplace lighter, a bag of six tea light candles, a package of baby wipes, and an assortment of packeted food like tuna pouches and granola bars.
"There's other stuff, but things like canned food are really heavy and we need the water more."
He nods. If he was in better shape, or they had a vehicle, more food would be an advantage.
"We'll eat before we go and save the easier to carry stuff."
"Did you figure out where we are?"
"Yeah." He grabs the state map and opens it, tapping the nearby town. "That's Senoia. It's the town closest to the other farm. The address here is Highway 54, so we're over here."
She looks between the highway and the other town. "So 85 is the one I got lost on?"
"That would be it. We both wandered a bit."
That's an understatement. He estimates at least eight miles west of there they started, depending on exactly where they are on Highway 54.
Sophia traces the route to Columbus with a finger, pausing on the big city. "If they aren't there, if we don't find them, where do we go next?"
Shane studies the map for a minute. "Back home. My home, anyway. Rick's a homebody. He'll go for known territory by winter."
There's a vague memory of Rick leaving someone behind in King County that also fits in his mindscape of why Rick would return.
"Makes sense. And you know everything there, being a deputy."
He nods. "We'll find a place to hole up, leave a message at locations I know he'll go to, and wait. Just like you did at the cabin."
Rick won't be looking for him, but he just can't picture a scenario where come winter, Rick doesn't scurry for known territory like a bear needing to den for the season.
Reassured by the plan, Sophia smiles. "Do people sometimes lock up old cars in sheds if they don't have garages?"
He freezes with a pickle halfway to his mouth. Next to the big pole barn, he remembers seeing a ramshackle old shed. "Yeah, they do."
"I found a mechanic shop receipt that says they left the car in the shed and the keys in the flower pot. It's old, but I was thinking maybe they still have the car."
Shane stuffs the pickle in his mouth and strides over to the desk to snag a set of keys with a rainbow seventies motif VW bug car as the keychain. He disregarded them on initial search with no vehicles in the yard. He dangles them at her and grins.
"You are a damned genius, kiddo."
She laughs and he slips his shirt back on. He eyes the packs and decides to risk not carrying them for now as he picks up the Glock.
"Let's go inspect a shed."
She follows him gamely, knife in hand. He notes absently that she's more confident of the weapon now, so at least the gorey lesson was worthwhile. They step around the covered body on the back porch and step cautiously outside.
Nothing disturbs them between the house and shed, although they get curious looks from chickens. It's padlocked with a big old Master Lock, and he checks the keychain. Sure enough, in addition to car and house keys, there's a key for the lock.
"You unlock it and pull the door while I cover, okay?"
Sophia takes the keys and does as instructed. He doubts anything is inside, but he's not taking chances.
Once the door's open, he starts to chuckle, then laugh. Emboldened by his amusement, Sophia steps around the door and starts giggling.
"It's pink!"
And holy shit is she right. Inside the shed is a vintage Volkswagen Beetle. He's seen them painted a lot of interesting ways, even Mary Kay pink, but those were pastels. This Bug is Pepto Bismol pink.
He holsters his gun and grins, sticking his hand out for the keys. "Too bad the walkers aren't scared away by crazy colors."
She giggles even more as he enters the shed, unlocking the door and easing into the driver's seat. It's a stick shift, which he expects since most were. It starts right up with that smaller engine sound unique to the Beetle, sounding more lawn mower than automobile.
If the gas gauge is accurate, it has just over three quarters of a tank. Depending on gas mileage and detours, he thinks that'll get them all the way to Columbus. He puts the car in gear and eases out of the shed, stopping to motion Sophia into the passenger seat.
They circle the farmyard a few times while he listens to the engine and feels how it shifts through the gears he has room to manage. Everything seems reliable, so he pulls to the back porch.
"Hop out and go let me in the front. It'll be easier to load things up from there."
She disappears into the house and he circles again, nosing the car right to the front porch before killing the engine and popping the latch to the trunk.
Sophia grins when she opens the door. "I forgot the trunk's up front. Like Herbie."
"Too bad it's not painted like Herbie."
"Could be worse. Could be painted like tie dye. I saw one like that once. Made my dad rant about hippie drug users for hours."
That doesn't surprise him from what he knew of Ed, but mentioning him doesn't seem to bother Sophia so he doesn't comment.
"Let's see what we can load up useful. I doubt she'd begrudge someone needing help." Most of these country farm ladies would all but give away the farm to help someone in need.
Sophia packs up the pantry, which is probably nowhere near as full as the lady normally kept it. Shane figures she probably lived off it until she died, without means to go to the store.
He appropriates the bathroom linens and a few quilts and sheets. They may not need the quilts in the August heat, but if they get wet or otherwise chilled, they'll appreciate having them. A thorough search of the two bedrooms turns up a quality leather belt and a pair of ladies leather work boots.
"Hey, Sophia! What size shoe you wear?" It's a long shot, maybe, because the woman's smaller than even half-grown Sophia.
"Seven."
Well, it seems they're in luck. He carries them into the kitchen and sits them on a chair. "Try those on."
He clears the bathroom next, taking toiletries and the gallon jug of bleach. That gets him a puzzled look from where Sophia is testing out her boots.
"Bleach can be used to sanitize drinking water when you can't boil it."
She absorbs the knowledge with a serious look before returning to her tasks.
Mentioning water takes him back to the fridge. There are two large plastic juice bottles inside and while the juice is probably bad since they've been opened, they can be used for extra water. He sets water on to boil after pouring the juice out.
She's setting the last of her cloth grocery bags near the door when he checks the freezer.
"Well, hot damn. Tell me you like bacon." He pulls the frozen pack out and sees her grinning.
"It's frozen though?" She looks so hopeful.
"With my work schedule, one of the things I figured out was what really didn't need to be thawed out first."
He rummages in the freezer and finds a bag of hashbrowns with peppers. This would be best with eggs, but he's not going to try to find where the hens are hiding eggs if they're free range.
It doesn't take long for him to get supper cooked, especially when he realizes there's unexpired and unopened cheese in the fridge. Sophia's wandered through, shooting him puzzled looks, but adding her own extras to the collection by the door.
"What's wrong?" he asks as he plates the food. There's more than they can eat, but he saw a small ice chest on the porch they can carry leftovers in. He slides drinks on the table.
"I didn't know you could cook." She takes a seat and tries a bite, smiling. "It's good."
Shane thinks back to the quarry and how none of the men cooked anything except for the Dixons at their own fire. "I know I didn't show it much before, but yeah, I learned how to cook from my Grandma Jean."
"I only know a little bit from my consumer science class."
"Your mama hasn't started teaching you?" By the time he was thirteen, he could cook enough meals to keep himself fed while his mama worked the evening shift.
Carol just struck him as the type that would pass on her skills. She was certainly the primary reason they ate decent tasting food at the quarry.
"Beginners make mistakes."
It takes a minute to make the connection, which he kicks himself for. Ed Peletier and his never-ending list of damage he dealt out to the ladies he was supposed to protect.
"Can't promise much if we're on the road, but you can ask me about stuff that ain't defense."
She flashes him that trusting, happy smile before helping herself to a strip of the bacon he set as a side in addition to the bacon in the main dish.
"You gonna be okay sleeping in the car?"
"Yeah. At least I won't be alone."
"Gonna be a lot of just riding. Might check the bookshelves and see if anything is worth reading." He remembers seeing her read for pleasure, and while he can't see the elderly lady having similar reading preferences to a teenage girl, surprises happen.
She nods and they finish their meal in silence. He gets up to pack away the leftovers and fetch the ice chest. Like many homes with freezers, this one has several plastic bottles filled with water and frozen, which he layers on the bottom. He adds a package of frozen meat in case they do find a safe place to cook in the next two or three days.
But the rest of the space the leftovers don't need he fills with tubs marked as frozen fruit. They can eat as it thaws and not need to cook it.
When he returns to the house from the back porch, Sophia's already loading bags into the trunk. If she already estimated ten days on the hunting cabin food, this will stretch them out to a month, he thinks.
By five, they've packed everything they can pack and he's moved all the still viable frozen food out into the big freezer. Unplugging the fridge will reduce the pull on the propane, so if they or Rick's group happens back by, maybe they'll get some food oit of it.
"Gonna stop by the barn to see of the boat has any gas we can drain," he tells Sophia.
She nods, climbing into the passenger seat for the ride over. He pats the .22 in his pocket and reminds himself to test fire it before they leave. It doesn't take long to drain enough gas from the boat to top off the Bug's tank and fill two five-gallon gas cans. That's an extra tank of gas for the Bug.
Sophia joins him in the barn. He fires a couple of shots with the Walther to test it out, amd when it proves to be a decent little gun, he has her fire a few too. Glad to see she shows the experience she claims, he passes it off to her to thread the holster onto her belt where she already has her knife.
"Time to get on the road. I want to figure out where we are before dark."
As they leave the farm down a winding gravel driveway, he can't help but feel a sense of dread. He's banking so much on understanding Rick's way of thinking, but what if he's wrong?