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 Thirteen~

The following day Rick announced that he thought it was important that everyone, even little Sophia, learn more about gun and weapon safety and usage. There was some general discomfort and discord, and Hershel in particular was against the idea. He refused to allow Beth or her boyfriend Jimmy participate, but couldn't argue when Maggie insisted that she was old enough to make her own decisions – added to that, of course, was the fact that she was already vaguely familiar, at least with a rifle. Jimmy had volunteered to stay on guard and keep watch over the farm, and T-Dog had opted to stay behind to assist him. Given the nature of his injury, I'd agree that it would probably be for the best. He needed to rest and hydrate, and based on the slightly leery look Jimmy had cast in T-Dog's direction, I was curious to hear about their time together – after the fact.

Rick, Dale, Otis, and Shane looked over several area maps for almost an hour before a location was finally agreed upon for the lesson. It was important to travel far enough away from the farm that any stiffs the noise might draw wouldn't find their way to the farm. The location needed to be defendable but also private enough that we wouldn't chance being interrupted.

We piled into three vehicles – an old SUV, Otis' older truck, and Shane's black Jeep. I opted to ride in the backseat of the Jeep with Maggie while Daryl rode shotgun and Shane drove. We were the in the rear of the convoy, following behind the SUV Rick drove and Otis, who was in the lead.

After a few minutes of silence, I began to study Maggie curiously. Quiet. Shoulder-length hair. Bright eyes. A form most men would probably find very attractive. She didn't seem all that comfortable as she clutched her hands together in her lap.

"What did you do before all this happened?"

She jerked her head slightly and looked at me curiously for a moment before she exhaled. "I was going to school. Georgia Tech and majoring in Business Administration. Flunked out the semester before all this started and came back home to help out Daddy." She smiled wryly, a sad glint in her eyes. "I guess I should be grateful I did so poorly and had no choice but to come back home. Glenn told me how bad Atlanta got. I was sharing an apartment in the city then. I'd be dead, now."

I wasn't sure how she would react, but I pat her knee affectionately and then leaned back in the tiny seat. The soft top cover was on, and though I craved the feel of the wind I knew it was wouldn't be wise to have gone without it.

"I moved back home to Tennessee about six months 'fore all this started. Granny was getting worse and no one else would help take care of her. Had my own life, my own friends back in Chicago. I know it ain't easy giving that up for your family, no matter how much you love them."

She didn't reply and a few minutes passed in tense silence before Shane began to search for a radio station, quickly realizing that one couldn't be found.

I wanted to ask Maggie if the rumors about her and Glenn were true – there was something about her that made me want to gossip and carry on the same way I would have once done with Libby. But, I bit my tongue and caught Shane's gaze in the rearview mirror and ignored his grin and studied my fingerless gloves until we finally slowed to a stop in the area the men had decided on using for a training field.

It took about half an hour to set up targets, using a couple old bales of straw that Otis had hauled out in his truck. Shane hung some empty soda cans on fishing line on a branch; the wind would catch the cans and cause them to swing gently from side to side. Then Rick and Shane worked together to explain gun safety, showed everyone how to unload and load several different types of firearms, and then began to demonstrate the proper shooting stance.

Rick had in his possession three silencers, so three people could practice firing at once. Though there was an abundance of ammunition, everyone was leery about wasting too much. So every shot had to count, which meant that each person only got a dozen rounds or so.

"Hey." Carol studied the unloaded .25 caliber gun in her hand. She shot me a curious glance before she looked over at the grouping of vehicles, where Dale was entertaining Sophia by reading a Harry Potter novel to the girl. "Nice little Saturday Night Special. You keep that in your purse?"

"It was Ed's," she replied gruffly, palming the gun awkwardly. "My husband's. He always kept it in the nightstand beside the bed. He's dead." When I opened my mouth to give my condolences, she frowned. "Don't bother. He was an asshole. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he was an asshole."

"Couldn't agree more," Andrea piped up helpfully, leaning a hip against a tree nearby. She'd tugged an old tan-colored cowgirl hat on over her blonde hair and the look was decidedly rustic. "Don't gloss over the truth, Carol. He beat the shit out of her and her daughter. If I'd met him before the world changed, I would have brought him up on a lot of charges."

Andrea had a .38 caliber handgun holstered on her hip, but I'd only seen her fire it a few times during the practice. I gestured towards it and she hesitated briefly before she tugged it out of the secured holster and handed it over, handle first.

I pulled the slide back and ejected the chambered round into the palm of my hand, flipped the safety on, and then handed the gun to Carol. "It won't fire. There isn't even a round chambered, so you could pull the trigger and nothing would happen. Take it." She tucked the small .25 caliber into her boot and palmed Andrea's gun nervously. "Don't act like it's a fucking snake that's about to deliver a venomous bite, woman. It's no different from a tool in the kitchen. It has a purpose. There you go."

She straightened her shoulders and exhaled slowly as she stared down at the gun she clasped in her right hand. Andrea shifted her weight from foot to foot and frowned at me before she studied the change in Carol's appearance. She straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine, and lifted her head defiantly.

"That's it. That little piece of shit Ed had? Sure, it can do the trick. But you feel that? Yeah, that's what the weight of a gun is supposed to feel like in your grasp, Carol. It's supposed to make you feel small, like you're cupping a man through his jeans." Her eyes went wide in alarm and I giggled. "I knew that one would get you. Look." I stood beside her and lifted her arms, assisting her in copying the stance that Rick was teaching everyone. "Put your left hand here. That's right. This is just added support. There's some stability here and it will help keep your aim true. Once you can anticipate the recoil of your weapon you'll be less likely to need this – plus, you won't always be able to have your left hand free."

"It's heavier than I expected."

"It's not a plastic water gun. This is nothing more than a small piece of machinery, designed and manufactured for the sole purpose of firing with the intention of inflicting damage. To objects, to people. It's not to be taken lightly, that's why it's heavy. At least that's what my grandpa always said."

Her lips twitched and she cast another quick look towards her daughter and Dale and she frowned. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You can and you will." I put my hand over hers and slipped the gun out of her grasp and handed it back to Andrea, who hesitated for a long moment before she tucked it back into the holster. I tossed her the single round I'd ejected and she tucked it into her pocket wordlessly. Then I grabbed Carol by her shoulders, ignored the way that she flinched and drew into herself, and spun her so that she was facing Sophia. "You see that little girl? Of course you do. You brought that little girl into this world, didn't you? You nursed her when she was a baby. You kissed away the booboos and you baked cookies and sweets with her. That little girl is too small to take care of herself, Carol. When you brought her into the world, you did so with the intention of protecting her no matter what, right?"

"Of course, I-"

"And this isn't about Ed, what he did or did not do. This is about you. You and Sophia." I inhaled sharply and shoved her forwards, causing her to stumble before she managed to regain her balance. "That? That was a stumble. That was you regaining your balance and standing on your own two feet without any assistance. Now you need to be able to stand on your own and protect you and yours. Rick!"

I'd spied Rick, Daryl, Lori, and Shane watching us from afar, and Rick trotted towards us with his brows furrowed. "How's it going over here?"

"She's got fine bones. Keep it light and get her a couple of good knives. I saw the way she handled a chef's knife in the kitchen. She'll get the hang of it."

I expected some sort of snarky retort, but Rick nodded in agreement and led Carol over to where the target practice was taking place. Andrea watched me for a full minute before she snorted in disbelief. "I can't believe it. I've seen that fire in her, we all have, but that's the first time I've seen her take real action. How'd you know?"

Sophia, I saw, was sitting in the grass with her doll, enjoying the shade while Dale read about a young boy's wizarding adventures. "I have seen the lengths women will go to in order to protect their children. Carol needs that place inside of her jumpstarted if she's going to stand a chance of surviving. As for you, I saw your attempt at target practice."

"And? I didn't miss."

"You didn't hit single moving target, though. In case you hadn't noticed, the stiffs don't always stop long enough for you to line up your shot. Relax into it and drop your shoulders. Take a breath and anticipate. What? Aren't I allowed to know how to fire a gun?"

"Is there anything you don't know how to do?" she demanded sourly.

I grinned. "There's a whole hell of a lot that I don't know, but I'm a quick learner. Go on; try to take a few shots on the moving targets."

Leaning against the trunk of a tree, I observed the training as everyone, even Sophia, took a turn. The small girl wasn't comfortable with the idea of using the small gun Carol tucked back into her boot, but she was given a thorough explanation and warning about firearms. She seemed to understand the importance of everything that he said, and promised that she would never stray away alone and risk getting hurt.

Otis appeared a bit miffed when he admitted that while he owned a recurve bow and had brought it for practicing purposes, he wasn't a good shot. Daryl had insisted everyone give it a try, and even the former police offers couldn't quite get the hang of it.

"Hey, Otis. What would you trade for your bow?" I inquired as I inspected it. I tested the draw and decided that it wasn't too much to handle and grabbed an arrow from the bag laying on the ground at my feet. I nocked the arrow, one finger over and two under the arrow, and eyed the straw target in the distance. Then I lifted the bow carefully, adjusting my cant so that I could target down the arrow shaft and drew back until I could settle my middle fingertip on the corner of my mouth. Knees bent slightly, feet shoulder width apart and shoulders angled slightly, I inhaled. "So? Food? Fuel? Running vehicle?"

I exhaled and released, lowering the bow after a moment to study the target in the distance. A little off center of the circle that had been drawn in orange spray paint, but a fair shot nonetheless.

Daryl walked towards the target, retrieved the spent arrow, and strode towards me slowly, all the while chewing on his thumb nail. "I, uh, I never thought about it," Otis admitted as Daryl tucked the arrow back into the bag that was sitting on the ground. "It's of no use to me. You should just take it."

"No. Won't hear of it. This is a valuable tool." I studied it again and lowered it to my side, clutching it in one hand. That's when I realized that several people were studying me intently. "You hold onto it until you decide what you'll trade it for, and then we'll talk." I handed him the bow and he seemed doubtful, but slowly nodded his head in agreement. "What do you think?"

"It's in good shape. Got some high quality arrows here. Reusable. Sharp. Would do the job," Daryl decided as he dusted his hands off on his thighs. "But it's not as accurate. Takes longer to fire."

"No different than you loading a bolt and taking aim, I'd think. I'm not saying it's an idea primary weapon, but the ammunition is possibly recyclable and it would be great for keeping watch. Silent. Effective." I tucked my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. "What about machetes and knives? Firing a weapon is a last ditch effort, or should be."

"Defense practice will help with that. Basics. We can do that back at the farm though." Rick glanced down at the watch on his wrist and frowned with uncertainty. "Don't want to be out too long, but I do want to swing near that tractor supply. Might be a good place to hit tomorrow if we can get a good lay of the land."

We left the targets set up where they were and put away our belongings and headed back towards the vehicles en-masse. As I climbed up into the Jeep, I spied Glenn and Maggie sharing a few quiet words and a quick, hard kiss before she rushed towards the Jeep. I turned my head quickly and pretended that I hadn't noticed, but she seemed nervous as she climbed into the back of the Jeep and quietly sat down. Glenn took his time walking towards the Jeep and stopped in his tracks when I slid into the passenger seat innocently.

"Comin'?" Shane barked as he slammed the driver's side door and put turned the key in the ignition.

I scooted the seat forward so that Glenn could climb into the backseat next to Maggie. I didn't expect him to scoot closer to her and slowly reach for her hand, and I sure didn't expect her to lace her fingers through his. But he did and she did, smiling quickly at one another before looking away.

Frowning, I slammed my door and leaned against it as the Jeep lurched into motion. The world, I knew, was moving too quickly to waste any time. Living through each day was no longer a given, and tomorrow's were always in question. Glenn and Maggie, it seemed, recognized that fact and were determined to live every moment of every day.

Libby came to mind; her wildfire spirit, her determination, her charitable heart. She fell into love hard and fast, never looking back. She would have whispered secrets into Maggie's ear and compared exploits.

I ignored the man next to me because I wanted to reach over and feel his skin, just to reassure myself that he was really there.

That, I knew, was the real difference between Libby and me.