These Things: The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)
Disclaimer:I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) The Walking Dead, but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.
Rating: This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.
"I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge, These Things
These Things
~Chapter Three~
"Thank you," I managed hoarsely as I sipped the water gratefully. Dusk wasn't long off, and I wondered what the group planned to do for the evening. I'd remained in the same spot for over an hour, ignoring them as they plodded along, working together to repair a busted hose on the RV and siphon gas from nearby vehicles for their use. "And for what you did – with Libs."
The man grimaced slightly when I handed him the bottle and I realized that my arms were still covered in blood, though it had dried. My stomach twisted and threatened to cause me to retch, but I fought back the urge and inhaled slowly.
Squatting in front of me, the man didn't seem so intimidating. "My name's Rick, Rick Grimes.
I giggled nervously, appalled by the fact that he could be so normal and civilized under the circumstances. His eyes darkened slightly and I bit down on my lip. "Iva St. John. That is – that was Libby Polk. Thanks for what you did. I don't think I could've done it."
He rocked back on his heels slightly. "T-Dog tells me that you tried to warn our people about the incoming herd of walkers. I appreciate that. We all do. But, what your friend did to save Sophia… That's something we'll never forget. She was a hero."
My lips twitched. I wondered what Libby would have thought about someone calling her a hero and decided she would have basked in the glory. "Thank you for trying to help me save her. If I'd had the facilities…"
"You're a doctor, then?"
"Nurse," I supplied instantly, tilting my head to study the man. "Are you a lawyer? You sure ask a lot of questions."
The blonde from earlier laughed and tossed me a semi-clean towel. "I was a clerk at a law firm. Close enough. Here. You should try to clean up."
Idly, I rubbed at my hands and arms, but focused on Rick Grimes intently. "Do your people have a camp nearby?"
"No."
Squinting, I studied the dirt and dust on his clothes and decided he probably hadn't had a camp in a while. "So you're just the nomad type?"
He frowned. "We're trying to find a place, some place that's safe. We thought we could drive to Fort Benning and we blew a hose on the RV." Libby had the same idea and we'd been angled in that same general direction when – we'd been heading in that direction. "What about you? Do you have a camp nearby?"
I shook my head. "It's been just the two of us for some time now." Had, I reminded myself, chest aching. "We've been in a few camps and it never lasted. Either the stiffs would get past the security we could erect or selfish pricks would hide their bites and scratches and turn on us in the dead of the night. No place is safe anymore."
"And where were you two headed?"
"Home. Tennessee," I whispered, mentally imagining the smell of Granny's house.
Rick stood up and offered me a hand, slowly pulling me to my feet. My vision swam for a moment and I ignored the vertigo as I examined the small safe area that they'd created by circling their vehicles tightly together like an old wagon train heading west. It wouldn't be enough to stop one of the stiffs, as they could get through or around just about anything, but it offered relative safety for the night.
His group was gathered together like a tight little family, clearly familiar with one another and ready to protect each other against any threat. I stared at the little girl, Sophia, and then eyed the brown-haired boy next to her for a brief moment before my brown eyes skirted over the group at large. Nine adults, two children; three women, six men. It was staggering to see that they'd survived for so long.
"You can come with us to Fort Benning," Rick offered gruffly.
"Now wait just one minute." Dark brown, slightly shaggy hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders, tapered waist, firm body. I took in the man's appearance clinically, brows furrowed as I studied the flat slope of his nose, his slightly-too-big ears, his square jaw, the angry tilt to his lips. "Ain't no offense meant, but we don't know shit about this woman, Rick. We gotta protect our people."
I wondered if the tension I sensed between the two men was as palpable as it seemed, but said nothing in my own defense when Rick took a step towards the other man. "You saw what she and her friend did, Shane. They risked themselves for us, people they didn't even know. What more do we got to know?"
"She saved Sophia," the boy sitting on the ground offered weakly.
Shane, as he'd been referred to, dragged a hand through his hair and glowered at me. "We can't just trust every single person we come across."
"He's right," I offered softly before Rick could retort. Clearly, I'd taken both men by surprise. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine. I'll leave first thing in the morning. I'd leave now, but dusk is settling. I don't want to find my way in the dark."
Andrea, I learned her name was, led me into the RV and insisted I clean up with the soap and towels and water she'd left for me. Shakily, I stared at my reflection in the oval-shaped mirror in the tiny bathroom and then deliberately used the rough towel and bar of soap to scrub my arms and hands until I felt nearly prepared to enter an OR.
Shock, I decided as I studied my reflection again. You're in shock. Libby just died. You just watched her die. You're in shock and you're not yourself. But I felt detached, almost normal. It terrified me that there was a possibility that I could ever be fine after losing my best friend.
I slumped out of the RV quietly, observing the large group thoughtfully as they pried open cans of food and passed them around quietly. Their redneck security system, I noticed, wasn't half bad. Someone had strung up a long rope in all four directions, each rope holding cans that would jingle against each other if they were disturbed. I didn't notice Andrea anywhere and tilted my head back to see her perched in a lawn chair on the roof of the RV, along with Dale.
"I grabbed your bags," the gray-haired woman offered quietly, drawing my gaze to where she sat next to her daughter. My pack was beside her, appearing as though it had been untouched, and the pack next to it was Libby's. Libby's things were inside, and it made me half sick to my stomach to know that she'd never root around inside of it again, convinced that there was one last protein bar hiding inside. "There's some jerky if you're hungry."
In spite of the fact that I was determined to head out on my own in the morning, something inside of me felt compelled. So, I crossed the distance to the packs, yanked Libby's open, and pulled out the six cans of food we'd discovered just hours ago. I sat them on the ground next to me and froze when my fingers clasped around the bottle of wine – it was unbroken, sealed, ready for a celebration.
Crouching, I turned and shoved the canned goods into the other woman's arms, ignoring her startled expression as I did so. The noise level dropped significantly, and I avoided looking around as I began to re-pack the bags, searching through Libby's dispassionately, ignoring the clothes I knew would never fit and retrieving the jeans and socks and shirts that I could wear. My fingers closed over the fabric-bound photo album she'd managed to retrieve from her purse before we'd abandoned our vehicle, and then the leather bound journal I'd seen her doodling in from time to time. Slowly, I reorganized my pack and tucked her things inside, ignoring her pack and the rest of the items inside.
"We can bury her in the morning."
Startled, I glanced up at the stern face of the very same man that had been so against my remaining with the group and looked down at my pack. "Where is she now?"
"We didn't want any of the walkers getting to her, just in case they got close enough. We put her in the back of one of the abandoned cars. Thought she'd remain undisturbed."
Struck by the thoughtfulness, I nodded my head and tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind my ear. "Thank you. I don't have a shovel, though, and-"
"We've got the tools. We can help."
He crouched next to me and I wondered why he seemed so large, intimidating. "Fine. Okay. Then I'll be on my way."
His dark eyes studied me and I felt as though he could see straight through me, but after a minute he stood back up and walked back over to where Rick was sitting in an old camp chair, a can of food in his hand. The men had a quiet conversation with one another and I discreetly watched them for a few minutes, partially due to curiosity.
Rick stood up and thanked me kindly for the food I'd provided and then insisted I keep all but two of the cans for myself and we settled down quietly around the soft light created by an old camp light in the center of the group.
Using my pack as a pillow, I leaned against the side of one of the vehicles and tried to slow my racing heart. In the morning, I knew, everything would change yet again.
