Following Deacon out of the Brave, Clementine discovered her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the blinding Florida sun bouncing off the white siding in front of her. Looking down, Clem saw the yard surrounding this building was overgrown, but not a full-fledged field. Tire tracks scarred parts of the lawn and car parts killed the grass where they lay.
Following Deacon around the side of the building, Clem thought it looked more like a tiny warehouse than an auto shop. There was a big white barrel positioned under one of the gutters, which had been crudely cut short so as to empty directly into the barrel. Clementine also noticed buckets and other containers sitting out, also likely to catch rainwater. It reminded her of when she lived in Spokeston.
Rounding the corner, Clem spotted a fine motorcycle parked on the grass. It was a big black bike with chrome trim and pipes, a small windshield in the front, large compartments on the sides, and was hitched to a small black trailer that looked more like a giant piece of luggage. What struck Clem most was just how much it seemed to shine in the sun, almost as if it was brand new. Turning away from the motorcycle, Clem noticed Deacon was heading for the front door.
"Hang on," whispered Clem.
"What's wrong?" asked Deacon.
"Since we're not telling Tanner what you said, I want you to do us a favor too," proposed Clem.
"Wuh… what?" stuttered Deacon.
"Don't tell anyone that the people staying in that RV are just two girls and a baby," demanded Clem.
"Tanner already—"
"I know he knows, but I don't want you telling anyone else."
"Why not?"
"Because, if someone wanted to hurt us—"
"I told ya, if you don't break the rules—"
"What if someone else here breaks the rules?" challenged Clem. "What if someone hears about this big RV we have full of stuff and knows it's just two little girls and a baby in there? For a bad person we'd just be… easy targets to hurt… or worse," concluded an uneasy Clem.
Deacon sighed. "I don't think anyone living here would be like that, but if it'll make you feel better, I can keep it to myself. But still, I think people will figure it out from the fact that you're ten years old. There's no hiding that when you talk to people."
Clem thought on Deacon's observation. "If anyone asks, I'm the only one who comes out of the RV because everyone in there knows that if people would hurt me, then that means they would hurt everyone else in there too."
"I don't know if they'll believe—"
"It's the truth," dictated Clem. "It's the reason I came out to meet Tanner, because I knew if he'd hurt me then that means he'd hurt Sarah and OJ too. So if people ask why I'm the only one they see coming out of the RV, that's why."
Deacon took a deep breath. "Okay," he conceded. "Really it's no one else's business anyway, but if you're so worried about it, I just won't mention who else is in there."
"Good," said Clem.
"And you won't tell anyone what I said about Tanner?"
"I won't."
"All right then, let's see about getting that tire fixed."
Deacon knocked loudly on the door and Clem waited for an answer. Taking a step back, she saw this side of the building had been graffitied. Near the top in red spray paint, someone had written 'RHONDA IS A TWO-FACED CUNT!' And beside the door in smaller letters was 'AND HOWARD IS A LITTLE BITCH!'
"Patty?" called Deacon. "Are you up?"
"Give me a damn minute!" yelled a voice as Clem's attention turned back to the door. Out stepped a young woman wearing a black leather jacket and sporting unruly short red hair. The rest of her outfit matched her jacket and she crossed her arms as she set her sights on Deacon, who was only slightly shorter than the woman.
"What's Tanner want this time Deacon?" asked the woman. "Because I told him, that truck his people use for the north wall is—"
"Tanner didn't send me Patty," said Deacon.
"Oh, is it Rhonda again? Because read the fucking sign." Patty pointed up at the graffiti over the door. "If that fuck-up you keep on your private island can't fix her piece of shit, then she's paying out the ass for me to do it. I didn't forget about her 'equal opportunity' scavenging run where she tried to leave me to die!"
"I'm not here for Rhonda neither," insisted Deacon.
"Then what? Someone finally teach you how to drive?"
"Someone new came down the road today and they were looking for help with a flat tire." Deacon gestured to Clem. "This girl—"
"She's a little kid." Clem scowled upon hearing that. "What she's doing out here with just you to look after her?"
"I want you to change the tire on my RV." Patty looked directly at Clem, appearing startled to hear the girl speak.
"Kid—"
"My name is Clementine," she announced. "Don't call me kid."
"Look, why don't you go get your parents and—"
"My parents are dead," snapped Clem.
"Okay, forget that," said Patty, looking unnerved by that information. "But you're not alone, right?"
"No," said Clem.
"Great, so just go get whoever you're with and I'll talk to—"
"You can just talk to me," insisted Clem as she crossed her arms.
"Deacon, you wanna help me out here?" Clem looked over at Deacon, who seemed to be fidgeting before the woman.
"She…" Deacon paused and rubbed the back of his head. "They like her to do the talking."
"What kind of fucked up sense does that make?" asked a baffled Patty. "Sending your kid out to deal with shit instead of doing it yourself?"
"Maybe they don't want to deal with anyone who treats kids bad," challenged Clem.
"They don't want to deal with people who treat kids bad, so they send a kid out first to see if they do? That's like checking for wolves by seeing if something eats your sheep, it's completely backwards."
Clem glared at Patty in response. "Are you going to help us or not?"
Patty just stared at Clem in disbelief, puzzlement pouring out of the woman's bright green eyes. Eventually, she shook her head and sighed. "Just show me this RV so I can get back to sleep and forget about how much I hate it here." Clem went with Deacon as she heard Patty mumbling behind them. "It's not bad enough I have teenagers telling me what to do, now I got little kids dictating to me?" Clementine resisted the urge to say something and elected to just keep walking as the Brave came into view.
"Now, they—"
"Jesus, what the hell happened to this thing?" asked Patty as she moved towards the RV's dented grill. "You people ram it right through Tanner's great wall of cars?" Patty looked up at the windshield just in time to see the curtains be drawn closed. "Kid, you really think it's a good idea to be staying with people who hide behind you when they're scared? I mean, if they're not your parents, how well do you really know them even?"
Clem scowled in response. "Can you change a tire or not?"
"If your people don't know how to do that then I don't know how they plan to keep this thing running, especially when it looks like they run over dead heads with it."
Fed up with the woman's assumptions, Clementine marched right to the Brave's door. "Wait, hold up," insisted Deacon as he caught up to Clem. "Patty, would you just look at their flat already?"
"Fine, whatever. Seems like the least of this thing's problems." Clem went with Deacon to the back tire that was flat, Patty following right behind them. "Is it just this one or are they both flat?" asked Patty.
"Huh? It's just this one," said Clem.
"I mean is the inner tire on this side flat too?" asked Patty.
"Inner tire?"
Patty groaned and knelt down to examine the tire. Inching in behind the woman, Clem noticed there were actually two tires attached to this wheel, sitting side by side. "Looks like just the outer one; that'll save time." Moving in closer, Clem could see the other tire hidden behind the first one didn't appear deflated.
"Is this duct tape?" asked Patty as she checked the outer tire.
"We thought it might help," said Clem.
"Might help more if you thought to inflate it afterwards," said Patty as she stood up. "That tire is completely ruined now. You'll need a new one."
"We have a spare," informed Clem.
"Well why haven't you put it on? You couldn't find a jack somewhere?"
"No, we did."
"Then what?"
Clem hesitated to answer. "We couldn't get the lug nuts off."
"That's it?" Patty's dismissive chuckle just further angered Clem.
"Can you?" challenged Clem.
"Yeah, easily. Unless you bent the studs riding on that flat, then that wheel is probably fucked." Clem tensed up upon hearing that. "But since the inner tire wasn't flat I doubt that happened."
"So you'll help us?" asked Clem.
"It depends," said Patty as she crossed her arms. "What'll you give me?"
"Give you?" repeated Clem.
"Yeah, I'm not a damn charity, what's in it for me?"
"Patty, they already got everything you need, can't you—"
"Hey, I'm not part of one of Valkaria's clubhouses like you, I gotta work for my meals and I've been on unemployment lately," retorted Patty. "This kid's people roll this big ass thing up to my front door begging for help, then the least they can do is throw me a bone."
Clementine groaned. "What do you want?"
"I don't know, why don't I come in and—"
"No," dictated Clem.
"How am I supposed to know what you got if I can't look at it?" asked Patty.
"You can ask me," retorted Clem.
"What if I don't want to change your people's tire without knowing what I could be passing up first?"
"Then you can just go back inside, because you're not coming in our RV," stated Clem in no uncertain terms.
"You know, this thing don't look so good," spoke Patty in a sly voice. "You really want to risk it getting worse just because you don't want me to see inside?"
"You really want to risk getting nothing just because you wanted to go inside?" argued Clem. "Because you're not coming in, and we'll just go if you're not going to help us."
Patty stared at Clem and Clem just stared back. As badly as she wanted to fix the Brave's tire she found the idea of letting yet another stranger into her home unacceptable, especially one she was quickly learning to despise. Eventually Patty just sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Fine, kid. Whatta ya got in there?" asked Patty.
"Well, we don't have much food right now," said Clem.
"Join the club, but a good meal will get you a tire change," retorted Patty.
Clem didn't like the idea of parting with what little food they had left. "What about diesel? Could you use that?"
"My motorcycle uses gas," said Patty.
"We've got one gas can."
"One can wouldn't do me much good."
"If you give us time, we could probably get more gas."
"Yeah, so could I. Gas isn't really what I need," mumbled Patty. "I don't suppose you got any bullets left?" Clem tried to think how to answer that question. "I'll change the tire for bullets," blurted out Patty.
"I didn't say anything," said Clem.
"You didn't have to, the fact that you were thinking about telling me or not gave it away. If you didn't have any you would have just said no." Clem grimaced, annoyed at how easily Patty had seen through her. "I'll take any shotgun shells you've got left."
"We don't have any of those," said Clem.
"What about nine-millimeters?"
"Well…"
"That's another yes."
Clem groaned, cursing herself for hesitating to answer. "How many boxes do you want?"
"Boxes?" repeated a shocked Patty.
"Um…"
"Five," demanded the woman.
"What? No!" refuted Clem.
"You want five boxes of bullets for a tire change?" asked Deacon in disbelief.
"I don't even have that many," lied Clem.
"Then why you'd say no a second ago instead of just saying you didn't have them?" Clem gritted her teeth as she struggled to think of a rationale. "This kid's people apparently have so much ammo lying around they trade in whole boxes of it. Five sounds reasonable to me."
"No it's not!" said Clem.
"Well tough luck, because that's my price, and I'm not changing your tire for less."
"Patty, that's—"
"Take or leave it."
Clementine hated herself for not choosing her words more carefully. They'd still have a lot of bullets left even if she gave up five boxes, but the whole purpose of stockpiling bullets was to avoid wasting time searching for another gun store that hadn't been pilfered. Looking up at the woman, Clem noticed she seemed every bit as unwavering now as she did a minute ago.
"Well, what's it going to be?"
"Um… well…" Seeing the impatient look in Patty's eyes, Clem realized something. "How many bullets do you have?"
"What? I'm not the one trading here."
"Yes you are," said Clem. "You need bullets really bad, don't you?"
"Hardly, I just figured I can make some extra bank doing this."
"Then why did you say you were on unemployment?" Patty was surprised to hear Clem repeat that. "That means you're not working, right? Like you can't go look for food because you don't have any bullets left for—"
"Kid, you don't know shit about me."
"I know the second you thought I had bullets you said you'd change my tire for them," said Clem. "And you didn't expect me to have a lot of them either. So that means you would have done it for just a few, which means—"
"Okay, fuck this, I'm going back to bed." Patty spun around and headed back to her shop.
"I'll give you one box!" Patty stopped and looked over her shoulder. "I'll give you one whole box, fifty bullets, just for something as easy as changing a tire."
Patty stared at Clem, who once again returned the stare. Part of Clem knew she was probably still paying a relatively high price, but it was much lower than Patty's first offer, and changing the tire was still something they desperately needed. The woman finally let out a long sigh and shuffled back towards where Clem was standing.
"One box, fifty bullets, for one tire change, deal?" grumbled Patty as she held out her hand.
Clem hesitated to shake Patty's hand, still feeling she was accepting a raw deal, but relented when she realized the angry woman likely wouldn't take any less at this point. Clem reluctantly shook Patty's hand, who haphazardly gripped hers before pulling her arm back.
"All right, go get them," insisted Patty.
"Change our tire first," insisted Clem. "Then you'll get the bullets."
"No, you'll go get them and give them to Deacon," dictated Patty. "Blue coats like him hang on to goods to make sure there's no bullshit double dealing."
"Is that true?" Clem asked Deacon.
"Yeah, just go grab them and I'll hold them until she finishes." Clem headed for the door, which cracked open the second she approached it. Slipping in, Clem found Sarah waiting inside, ready to shut the door immediately after entering.
"I need—"
"I know, I was listening through the door," whispered Sarah before heading for the cupboard. She grabbed an unopened box of nine-millimeter handgun bullets and handed them to Clem.
"I'm sorry I didn't get us a better deal," whispered Clem.
"It's fine Clem, let's just get the Brave fixed so we can leave."
Looking at a worried Sarah, Clem leaned in and hugged her. "I'll be right back," whispered Clem.
"I'll be waiting for you."
Clem unlocked the door and slipped back outside. She approached Deacon and offered him the box.
"Open it up first, I want to make sure your people aren't trying to rip me off with a bunch of empty shells." Clem grumbled to herself as she opened the box and slid out the carton, revealing the unspent rounds neatly arranged inside. They glimmered in the sun, almost like pieces of gold waiting to be spent.
"How… how do I know those aren't duds or something?" asked Patty.
"Where would I get a whole box of duds?" asked an irritated Clem.
"Patty, the box hadn't even been opened until now," reminded Deacon.
"Fine." Deacon closed the box and slipped it into his pocket. "Deacon, give me a hand carrying my tools." After a brief return to the shop, Patty returned with her toolbox in hand and Deacon dragging a jack right behind him.
"Just bring that right over here." Deacon hauled the jack towards the tire and Patty rolled it into position. Clem watched as the pair jacked up the Brave just as she and Sarah had done. Patty took a small tire iron from her tool box and tried unscrewing the lug nut. Clem felt a tinge of satisfaction watching the woman struggle to no avail to move her tire iron.
"Deacon, lend me your discount man-strength for a minute would ya?"
"Discount?" repeated the young man as he gripped the tire iron. The pair strained against the lug nut and again Clem found herself taking a little sadistic pleasure in Patty's failure.
"Okay, screw this." Patty suddenly marched back to her shop, leaving Deacon to awkwardly tug at the tire iron for a few seconds before he realized she had stopped.
"I thought it was easy?" taunted an annoyed Clementine. Patty didn't respond, disappearing around the corner of the building without a word. Looking to Deacon, Clem saw the young man was gasping for breath. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay." Deacon took a breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I guess she can't help us," concluded a disappointed Clem.
"Well, there's another mechanic here, but…"
"But what?"
"Well, typically he doesn't bother with anything that isn't important to Valkaria," said Deacon. "And I don't think they need bullets right now."
"Well what do you need?" asked Clem. "Because—"
"Clear a path." The pair looked over to see Patty marching back to the RV with a long piece of pipe carried on her shoulder. "Deacon, you're blocking my way." Deacon stepped away from the Brave and Patty threaded the pipe onto the tire iron, turning it into a very long handle for the tool.
"Do you want me to—"
"I got it." Patty threw her weight against the pipe and much to Clem's shock, the pipe moved.
"What?" Clem watched as Patty pulled the pipe off and started unscrewed the nut with just the tire iron.
"This thing must have been machine tightened," mused Patty as she removed the lug nut. "Oh well." Patty moved the tire iron and then replaced the pipe. Again, a quick push from just Patty was enough to crack the nut. "Deacon, make yourself useful and move the iron to the next one."
"Okay." The young man took care to remove the tire iron while the pipe was still threaded on the handle and positioned it on the next lug nut. Another quick shove and another one was cracked.
"I… I don't get it," confessed Clem.
"Get what kid?" asked Patty as she loosened another nut.
"How are you doing that?" asked Clem.
"Um… by pushing," explained Patty as another swift movement cracked yet another nut.
"But how? Why does putting that pipe on the tire iron make it where you can suddenly unscrew the nuts?"
"Because it adds leverage." Patty knelt down and checked the tire again. "Let's jack it up a little more before we try to take that tire off."
"What's leverage?" asked Clem.
"You know, when you use a long lever to move something heavy. Just like we're doing right now." Clementine watched as Patty and Deacon worked the long handle for the jack, slowing raising the tire off the ground. "Longer the lever, the more force you have, and the easier it is to move something."
"But… why?" asked a baffled Clem.
"I don't know kid, I'm not a damn scientist," said Patty. "I just know a long handle makes lifting shit easier."
Clementine was dumbfounded by such a simple solution and could only watch in stunned silence as Patty worked to remove the tire. Banging on the tire iron with a hammer and jumping on it did nothing, but giving it a longer handle let one small woman single-handedly remove every lug nut with minimal effort. With the nuts off, Patty removed the flat tire and placed the spare one on the wheel.
"Now, you know this is just a spare tire, right?" asked Patty as she started screwing the lug nuts back on.
"What do you mean?"
Patty sighed as she turned to Clem. The woman grabbed the flat tire and pointed to a section near the edge. "See these letters and numbers? You want another tire with the same ones."
"What's wrong with the tire we have?" asked Clem.
"It's a spare tire, it doesn't last as long as a regular tire."
"Why not?"
"Man you ask a lot of questions," Patty mumbled to herself. "Spares are usually cheaper and flimsier, probably so you would have to buy a new tire anyway."
"Then what's the point in even having a spare?" asked Clem.
"The point is a spare is better than a flat," said Patty as she screwed another lug nut in place. "You're lucky only one of these two tires went flat. If they both had gone, or one of the front tires that are only singles went flat, you might have wrecked the studs that hold the wheels on, and then you'd really be fucked."
"I guess we got lucky," realized Clem.
"I'll say. I mean, how far did you drive on that flat?"
"Um… pretty far," admitted Clem. "We spent almost all afternoon driving south, and only found this place today."
"Yeah, it shows. That tire is just a chunk of burnt rubber at this point." Looking down at the flat, Clem couldn't help grimacing. It looked much worse then when they tried to remove it yesterday, now sporting horrible tears that ran across the entire surface as if someone has deliberately tried to shred the rubber.
"You shouldn't have so much trouble getting these lug nuts off again, seeing as I can't machine tighten them. And if you ever have to replace another tire, just remember to use a little leverage," explained Patty as she tightened the last lug nut. "I'd find a new tire that fits and swap it on first chance you get."
Patty stood up and moved to the jack. She twisted the handle and the tire moved the very short distance back to the ground. "So, we're good right?"
Clementine examined the wheel. Now that the spare was on, Clem could see that it was indeed frailer looking when compared to the second tire tucked in behind it. But Patty had done everything Clem had asked and given her some useful advice as well. "Yeah, we're good."
Patty gestured to Deacon, who handed her the box of bullets. The woman held her prize up to her ear and shook it, smirking at the noise the rounds made. "You know, this RV looks like it could use more than a tire change," noted Patty as she examined it. "I could help give it a tune up."
"You could?" asked Clem, surprised by this offer.
"Yeah… for more bullets."
Clem scowled at the woman. "We'll be fine."
"You sure about that? I mean, shouldn't you actually ask everyone hiding in there first?" Patty pointed at the Brave. "Because if they like it in there so much that they send out a little kid to do their talking, they might want to think about having someone look it over before it winds up a wreck on the side of the road."
"We're fine," repeated an irritated Clem. "Now go."
"All right, but I'll be right here if they change their minds." Patty grabbed her jack and pulled it out from under the Brave. "Deacon, give me a hand with this crap."
Deacon collected Patty's tools and the pair headed back to her shop while Clem headed for the Brave's door.
"Did she change the tire?" asked Sarah as Clem slipped in. "I couldn't hear her too well this time."
"Yeah, it's done," reported Clem.
"I heard the part about her saying she'd give the Brave a tune-up for more bullets," said Sarah. "I think we should do that."
"No way."
"Why not? We got plenty more, and we haven't even used our guns except to practice with since we got those bullets."
"Yeah, but we might need them, and I really don't want to go through all that again to get more."
"Didn't you say there was a gun shop in Titusville?" said Sarah.
"Yeah, but I never got around to checking it out," said Clem. "I don't know if there's anything left in it."
"Well we're gonna have to go back that way for food anyway, right? I'd rather we get the RV fixed first."
A knock came from the door. "It's me." Clem cracked the door open and let Deacon back into the RV. "So, that went well, right?" asked Deacon.
"I gave up a whole box of bullets for a tire change," grumbled Clem as she locked the door. "All because I didn't know a longer handle made things easier to turn."
"At least we got it fixed," said Sarah. "We should go ahead and let her work on the rest of the Brave." Sarah looked at Deacon. "She's a good mechanic, right?"
"I guess so," shrugged Deacon.
"You guess?" asked Clem.
"Well she's only been here like a month, and I don't know anything about fixing cars," said Deacon. "But like she said, me or another blue coat would hang onto the stuff until she did what she said would do, and if she didn't she wouldn't get anything."
"Still, I don't want to give up more bullets," said Clem. "It's hard finding them anymore."
"Wait, what about those extra rifle bullets?" suggested Sarah.
"What extra rifle bullets?" asked Clem.
"Remember, when you just grabbed a bunch of different types of rifle bullets and only one of them worked for my rifle?" reminded Sarah. "We can't use those, so let's give them to her." Sarah moved to the cupboard and started pulling boxes of ammunition from it.
"Oh yeah, we never threw those out," realized Clem. "How many of those do we have?"
"Seven boxes from four different types of bullets," counted Sarah as she set out the last box. "You think that's enough for her to work on the Brave?"
"I don't know, but I'll go ask her." Deacon approached the bullets. "Mind if I take one of each to show her?"
"Go head, we can't use them anyway." Deacon carefully collected a single box of each ammo type and headed back out the door.
"I'm gonna go check on OJ," said Clem.
"All right, I'll wait for Deacon to get back."
Clem headed into the bedroom and found Omid tugging on the top of his crib. Clem was surprised to see the boy pull himself off the ground and try to lift his leg over the crib's rail.
"Whoa, where do you think you're going?" Omid ignored Clementine's question and kept trying to lift his leg high enough to climb out of his crib, prompting Clem to grab him. "Don't do that, you're going to hurt yourself. You can't even walk on your own yet."
"Muh-muh," said OJ as Clem lifted him out of his crib.
"Boy, you're getting really heavy," noted Clem as she adjusted her grip on Omid.
"Bah-bah," said the boy.
'You're hungry," realized Clem.
"Bah-bah," repeated Omid.
"Okay, I'll get you something to eat."
Clementine brought Omid back into the living room and handed him to Sarah. Clem dug through the closet but there wasn't a lot to choose from; a few less than appetizing canned goods, bags of uncooked pasta, a few leftover flavor packets to mix with water. They still had peppermints and freeze-dried ice-cream, but those were treats, not meals. Clem collected their jar of peanut butter and opened it. She was sad to see it was nearly half-empty now, but figured it was healthier for Omid than hard candies and ice cream.
"Here we go." Clem got a spoon and fished out a small dollop of peanut butter. "Open wide." Omid turned his head away as Clem offered him the peanut butter. "Oh come on OJ, you like peanut butter."
"Bah-bah," insisted Omid.
"You can't drink bottles forever," said Clem as she tried offering the child the spoon again.
"Bah-bah," repeated Omid, sounding annoyed.
"Just have a little peanut butter and then I'll make you a bottle." Clem pushed the spoon forward only for Omid to clumsily swat it away.
"Come on Omid, don't be like that," prodded Sarah.
"Bah-bah!" demanded Omid.
Clem sighed. "I'll go make him one." Clem ate the peanut butter on the spoon and then returned to the closet. She scraped the last bit of formula out of one of the containers and started mixing it with water from the sink.
"Is that container empty?" asked Sarah.
"Yeah," said Clem as she started shaking the bottle.
"That means we only have two left now," realized Sarah. "That's like only a month's worth."
"Probably less, he eats all the time." Clementine handed the prepared bottle to Omid, who immediately popped it in his mouth. "If we go back north, we can probably—" Omid tossed the bottle on the ground.
"Omid! No," scolded Sarah.
"Bah-bah!" cried Omid.
"I just made you one," said Clem as she collected the bottle. "Now stop being bad." OJ swatted the bottle away as Clem tried to offer it to him. "Omid!"
"Bah-bah!"
"Maybe there's something wrong with it?" asked Sarah.
Clem unscrewed the lid to the bottle and smelled the formula, grimacing as she did. "I think it's spoiled," realized Clem.
"That's… never happened before, not with formula." Sarah's realization was enough to make Clem dart back to the closet and grab one of their two remaining containers of formula. Pulling the plastic wrap off, Clem sniffed the air around it.
"Well?" asked Sarah.
"It doesn't smell bad." Clem retrieved their spare bottle and hastily mixed another batch of formula. Before screwing the lid on, she sniffed the finished mixture. "This one still smells okay." Clem presented the new bottle to a squealing Omid. He seemed resistant at first, but then accepted the offering. The girls watched anxiously as he suckled on the bottle, afraid he'd reject it at any moment. But he didn't, draining the bottle at a fearsome pace.
"This one is still okay." Clem looked at the container of formula, then rushed over to it. She carefully placed the plastic she pulled off back over the opening and put the lid on, pressing down on the edges to make sure it completely sealed.
"You should put it in the freezer too," said Sarah. "Even if it's not cold, it's like air tight, so it should help keep it from going bad a little longer."
"It will?" asked Clem.
"I don't know, but it couldn't hurt," said Sarah. "Just be sure not to put it in the fridge part since we keep our raincoats in there." Clem quickly stored the formula in the freezer, then placed the second container in there as well.
"We got to wean him," said Clem as she took the now empty bottle from Omid. "And soon."
"We've got almost nothing he likes to eat, other than the ice cream and peanut butter, and he can't eat that all the time, and won't apparently," realized Sarah as she tried to burp Omid.
"I know." Clem placed the empty bottle in the sink and collected the spoiled one. "I'm gonna go pour this out." Clem cracked open the door and bumped into something.
"Hey." Opening the door a little further she saw Deacon sitting in the grass.
"How long have you been out here?" asked Clem.
"A few minutes," said Deacon as he stood up. "It sounded like your baby was having trouble and… I didn't want to get in the way."
"He was just hungry." Clem poured the spoiled formula onto the grass. "And we're running out of things he likes to eat."
"I'm real sorry to hear that," said Deacon.
"What did Patty say?" Deacon didn't answer, opting to just look down at the boxes of bullets in his arms. "I guess she said no."
"Well, she said unless you had a rifle to offer her too, these things were useless to her," recounted Deacon.
"We don't have a rifle for those bullets, that's why we want to get rid of them." Clem sighed.
"Well, if you still got handgun bullets, she said she'll take more of those."
"How many more?"
Deacon winced. "She said a dozen boxes for a full tune-up."
"That's pretty much all of them!"
"Yeah, I thought that sounded really high," admitted a sheepish Deacon.
"I don't know what good having her look at the RV would do, we still wouldn't have any food, and OJ still isn't weaned." Clem took a breath. "We should just go. If we leave now maybe we can be back in Titusville by tonight."
"Titusville?" asked a shocked Deacon. "You came from Titusville?"
"Yeah."
"I hear that place is overrun, I mean like really overrun by those things."
"It is," said Clem. "We got our flat tire trying to get away from there."
"Then why would you go back?" asked Deacon.
"I don't know where else to go to get food, unless someone here will give us some." Deacon didn't answer, but the apologetic look on his face made it clear Clem shouldn't expect any help. "I thought so." Clem approached Deacon and collected the boxes of bullets he was holding. "Thanks for being nice to us Deacon, even if no one else was."
Clem carefully toted the bullets in her arms and nudged the door open with her shoulder. "Hold up." Clem looked over her shoulder at Deacon. "I think I know someone in town who might also want those bullets, and they should have some extra food they might be willing to part with."