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 Six~

Aloof, I stood in the corner of the bedroom and watched as Lori clutched her son's hand and silently cried, her lips moving as she spoke to him in quiet murmurs. He didn't respond, didn't flinch, didn't even squeeze her hand. But, she was determined to keep vigil.

Hershel had explained the boy's injury to his mother when Maggie had returned with Lori, and Lori had taken it all in stride. She'd thanked Hershel profusely and he'd seemed taken aback by the woman's obvious gratefulness, but had left me in the room with her should she have any further questions. She'd seemed oblivious to the fact that if Carl wasn't improving in the next few hours, he'd need serious surgery – or he'd die.

When she abruptly looked up and met my gaze from across the room, I felt cornered. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks red and wet. And she looked so broken that my chest ached at the sight of her.

"This surgery he needs. Can you do it?"

Lips pursed, I exhaled. "I'm not a doctor-"

"No, you're a nurse," she interrupted. "Can you help him with the surgery? Why aren't you doing it now?"

I slowly crossed the room and stood directly beside the chair she occupied near her son's bed. She never let go of his hand as she stared up at me, but I could see the fiery determination in her gaze. "It's not as simple as that. The supplies necessary aren't easily available."

"Then get them."

I lifted a brow at her tone and shook my head. "It's not as easy as that, Mrs. Grimes."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's Lori."

"Lori," I repeated softly. "Your son is currently in very critical condition. Hershel is doing all that he can. But, the supplies needed for serious surgery aren't currently at his disposal. But, Shane has a plan."

"Shane?" she whispered in confusion.

I followed her gaze and realized that the man in question was standing in the open doorway, a blue hat with the word Police written across it clutched in his hands. "The others are pulling up now, Lori. Otis is going to take me to that FEMA camp at the high school." I opened my mouth to object and he shook his head decisively. "Hershel said that at this rate Carl definitely needs surgery, and I'm gonna get those supplies."

I turned on my heel. "I'll go with you."

His eyes widened in surprise and he hesitated for a moment before he shook his head. "No. You need to stay here. Patricia is just his veterinarian assistant; you're an actual nurse. If something happens, you're the best qualified to make sure Carl's gonna be fine."

"But-"

"I'll be back. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Lips pursed, I studied the way that he stared at Carl's sleeping form and then the way his eyes darkened when he looked at Lori. There was more history between them than I could ever understand, and I couldn't help but wonder how long they'd known each other. Presumably a long time, since Shane and Rick had worked together.

"Shane," Lori whispered. He shoved his hat on top of his head and set his jaw. "Be careful."

I followed him out of the room and watched him shove the screen door open and jog down the steps of the front porch. He gathered his gear and checked his ammunition for his shotgun and his two pistols; meanwhile Otis was speaking in low tones to his wife.

I noticed the RV, a small SUV, and a black Jeep parked in the front yard, some ways away for privacy, it seemed. Rick spoke to Hershel in low tones in the living room area, and I overheard bits of their conversation. Rick was insistent that Hershel allow the group of people to stay until Carl was better, pleaded and begged, said that they would do chores and help fortify the farm in exchange. When Hershel caught my eye, he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

Rick, still a little pale from giving so much blood to his son, charged out the front door and pounded down the porch steps. He stopped to give Shane a gruff and short hug before he jogged across the grassy front yard to where the others were slowly piling out of vehicles.

"Your people are welcome to stay while the boy recovers," Hershel explained to me conversationally.

I lifted a brow. "These aren't my people. I just met them yesterday." His eyes widened and I was the subject of his intense scrutiny for a few moments before he shook his head in disbelief. "I get it. You don't know them, you don't know their intentions. You've got your own family to think of. Before you make up your mind on the matter, I hope you'll give them a fair chance."

With that, I pushed open the screen door and hopped down the porch steps, pausing only long enough to double check that Otis had a weapon other than his rifle. He pointed awkwardly to the machete sheathed on his hip and I jerked my thumb towards Shane.

"You two be careful and come back in one piece. Did Hershel write up a list of things he wants?" Otis handed the crumpled sheet of paper to me and I looked over it twice before I nodded in agreement and handed it back. "This will do. Take extras of anything you recognize to be pain medication or antibiotics. Might need them."

As the rest of Rick's group arrived near the front porch, Shane and Otis jogged toward an older model pickup truck and climbed inside. Rick quickly explained Carl's injury and prognosis and the importance of the supplies that Shane and Otis hoped to retrieve. Dale seemed particularly perturbed by the whole situation and asked if someone else should go with them to retrieve the supplies, but Shane waved them off and the truck did a quick three-sixty, slinging dirt and gravel, and went tearing down the drive.

I glanced at my watch and set a timer for three hours. Based on the distance to the school and Otis' proclamations that the roads were clear, if they weren't back in three hours I thought it safe to assume that they wouldn't be returning. Hershel stepped out onto the porch and Rick quickly made introductions, careful to praise the man and compliment his family, home, and farm. I spied Hershel's eyes narrowing as Rick praised the man so thoroughly, but he didn't dare interrupt.

In fact, at the end of Rick's short, heartfelt speech, Hershel cleared his throat and addressed the group with a small smile. "I pray that God finds it in His power to keep young Carl safe and sound. We are doing our best. I also pray that Otis and your Shane return safely, with the supplies we need. Until then, keep young Carl in your prayers." Andrea snorted and shook her head, arms folded defiantly over her chest, but Hershel persevered. "I welcome you to my home, and hope that you will be comfortable here until Carl recovers."

"Is there anything we can do to help out, Mr. Greene?" Carol implored quietly.

If Hershel was surprised by her forwardness, he didn't let it show. "Actually, yes, ma'am, there is. The garden around the back of the house needs weeding. There are tomatoes, peppers, beans – could use some picking, and that would give your people some fresh food. It isn't much, but-"

"That's more than enough, Mr. Greene. Sophia, come on." She tugged on her daughter's hand and I watched the two disappear around the side of the house. After a moment's hesitation, Glenn trailed along behind them.

T-Dog, I noticed, appeared quite uncomfortable with his surroundings and stood with his arms folded over his chest, lips pressed tightly together. The bandage on his forearm was dark and I slowly walked towards him. He frowned at me when I motioned to his arm, but reluctantly held it out for me to examine.

As I pulled the bandage away, I grimaced. "This doesn't look good." I turned his arm to the left and then the right, studying the long, jagged wound. "The bleeding's stopped, but I don't like the colorization. It's red, draining improperly, and you look a little off." I looked over my shoulder to find Hershel standing on the porch steps, staring in my direction. "Do you have any prescription antibiotics? He needs a round of them."

Hershel shook his head. "I'm afraid that what I have I already gave to the boy. I do have some over the counter medication. It could help reduce the inflammation and would help with the pain. I'll get it for you."

I watched him disappear into the house and studied T-Dog's arm again. "When they get back with the supplies, we'll take a look at this. Keep hydrated and be sure to let me know if you start exhibiting any strange symptoms."

"You mean if I start eating someone's face?" he inquired wryly as he tugged his arm free.

"No. I mean high fever, vomiting, diarrhea, hallucinations – that sort of thing. If you exhibit those other symptoms, I'll just take a hatchet to your chubby little face." His eyes widened, but then he slowly grinned. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I looked around at their vehicles and tried to envision how they planned to set up camp. "Please tell me that someone grabbed my pack."

For the next hour and a half, I helped set up their camp. I knew that at least a couple people would use Dale's RV, and wasn't surprised that they had multiple family-sized tents available as well as screen houses, meant for placing over picnic or eating areas. We set up the tents and decided on an area under a large tree that would be ideal for the cooking and eating area, setting up the screen house there. Daryl helped by stringing up two thin ropes between two trees as a makeshift clothesline, and then disappeared with the promise to bring back dinner.

Rick wandered down to the campsite when we'd finished, surveying the spacious area thoughtfully before he sat down next to the rock-rimmed pit we'd dug in anticipation of using it for the fire. "Carl's sleeping, but his fever's spiking."

I used a stiff bristle broom to sweep off the tarp that was laid out on the ground connecting the tents and the RV and the eating area. It wasn't quite like a carpeted floor, but people could go barefoot if they wanted. When I realized that Rick had been speaking to me, I paused, chin resting on the handle of the broom, and studied him.

His shoulders were hunched forward; his face was drawn in despair. He looked defeated.

"Shane and Otis ain't back yet."

I glanced at my watch and saw that they had an hour and fifteen minutes before the three hour mark. "They've still got time. FEMA camp – it's probably overrun. But, Shane seems capable."

"No one more capable, I don't think." He squinted up at me and I began to sweep again. "In my line of work, you get to really know people when they're in a high pressure situation. Most people crack – you don't."

"All part of the territory, I suppose. You and your boy – you didn't need my help getting here. As fast as you were going, you could have outrun any stiff you came across. But, I didn't want you to have to worry about one of them managing to get close enough to either of you two."

"Well, I appreciate it. You've done a lot for us already. Sophia, Carl… You bandaged up T-Dog, too." I noticed he didn't comment on the fact that T-Dog's wound was likely seriously infected, but I didn't interrupt. "I know you were planning on heading out this morning, before things all went to hell. But, I hope you'll consider sticking around."

"At least until Carl is in the clear, right?" I inquired, prompting him to smile. "All things considered, I had planned on it. I couldn't in good conscience leave until I was certain he was going to be fine. Not when there's a chance that I might be of some use. Once that time comes, I think we can go from there."

He nodded in agreement and we came to a quiet understanding. The way he watched me guardedly left me with no doubt that he didn't fully trust me, but I certainly didn't trust him or the rest of his group. When the world had ended, that natural human instinct that we'd forgotten about as we evolved had reared its head once again: it was every man for himself.

Rick excused himself to go sit with Carl and Lori and I finished sweeping off the tarp before I leaned the broom against the side of the RV. The door swung open and Dale hopped out slowly, peering around curiously before he noticed me standing nearby. A smile slowly transformed his face.

"When they rolled out the tarp, I picked up your pack and sat it inside." Saying so, he reached in and grasped my pack by one strap and dragged it out to hold it within my reach. "Here you go."

The weight was a familiar one, and I thanked him quietly and set about unpacking the small, lightweight, tent that was packed carefully inside. One of the men from a camp we'd stayed at had given it to me in exchange for a couple jugs of water, claiming that it was an expensive, high-quality tent. Given that it was only large enough for one person, included two connecting poles and several straps, I hadn't expected much. But, the bargain had been worthwhile. Altogether, poles and straps and tent included, it only weighed four or so pounds. And once I got it set up under the shade of a nearby tree, just far enough away from the other tents to have a degree of separation, I was certain I'd be at least reasonably comfortable.

I was struck by the sudden realization that I wouldn't be sharing the tent with Libby any longer when I went to unroll my thin sleeping bag. Dejected, I tugged it free from the weatherproof lining of the top of my pack and unrolled it, pushing it across the tent so that I could shove my pack in beside it. All of my belongings, I realized, fit inside a space not much larger than a dog house.

I zipped up the tent, dusted my palms off on my legs, and stalked back towards the fire pit area. Carol smiled at me as she focused on rinsing and peeling vegetables before slicing them to place them in a large bowl. "Thought stew would go the furthest," she supplied, leaning forward on the old cooler she used as a seat.

Daryl reappeared with two large rabbits – thankfully he'd field dressed them so it took no time for him to dump the hunks of meat, bones and all, into the cookpot. He dumped several armfuls of firewood nearby and I crouched beside him, helping to arrange the firewood so that it would catch quickly and burn for a long time at a steady heat.

A few minutes later, Carol positioned an old grate over the fire pit and sat the cookpot on top of that, adding a few small leaves. "Peppermint?" I inquired, and she nodded. "That might add some interesting flavor. The squash looks good considering the time of year." She stirred the rabbit around with a long wooden spoon and soon the smell of browning meat filled the air. "I haven't had rabbit in a few weeks. They always wriggle out of my snares."

Sophia settled down on a small chair near the fire, a doll in her hands. I watched her for a few minutes and thought it was curious that she talked to her doll and played make believe, but perhaps all children were the same way. The group, I decided when Andrea pulled up a chair next to me, was complex at its core.