Hola! I am baaack! Thank you so much to my reviewers, I forgot to thank anyone that reviews anonymously! Love you guys who do! I would like to say that there is a part in here I put in for Rainbowteeth8, my buddy, you know who you are, sweetie Anyway, this chapter is a little bit longer… and another thing, I do NOT by any circumstances own the song that is in this chapter! It is called Wayfaring Stranger by Ed Sheeran… he owns it, not me, ya'll! Thanks for the reviews!
Two: America at Its Best
"You sure about this?"
"Of course I am! When have I never been sure?"
I pull the seatbelt over my torso to protect my body from any type of random object I might run into, and gulp. I feel a trickle of sweat running down the small of my back, and my knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. "Oh, I donno… maybe when you decided to take me in. When you nearly got eaten nearly a thousand times doing something so stupid. Maybe a few other times, I can't think of any."
Petey laughs, his deep chuckle roaming in his chest and off the doors of the car. We picked a good one, with keys still in the ignition, and nothing but a few cracked windows. It's a 90's teal calypso, an ugly-ass little thing, but it has a full tank of gas, and I won't be sorry if I dent it.
"What do I do first?" I ask dumbly. I've lived in Tennessee all my life. I never had a license. I'm guilty for it, and so are a few others I know. While others were taking driver's training, I was off messing around with something else, and the bus to school was never a problem to me. Until the day the strange stories started coming on the news. The first time I saw one of them was at school while I was working on my thesis in the library. I was so close to graduating. Though I never made it. And I never got my driver's license.
"Paige… start the car." Petey raises one eyebrow, like he often does.
"Okay, okay. Don't make a fool of me, I'm just making sure." I turn the key in the ignition, and it grinds to life.
"Not bad for a 90's car, eh? Good choice, sis." His tan lips pull back in a grin. "Okay, now shift the gears."
"What?"
"Hoo, girl, you really haven't ever driven a car! Don't you pay attention when your folks drive?"
"No, because they're never around. Well, they were never around. Just – tell me what to do. I need to learn this, what if you're hurt and you need me to drive, or you throw yourself in the car bleeding and need me to step on it, but –"
"Alright, alright! Jesus! Don't make me sound weak! Okay, hand on the gear shift. D stands for drive, you probably at least know that, and that's the one you gotta know first. R is for reverse, but you probably don't want to start by driving backwards." He shows me the gears to shift the car, and tells me that when the car is in drive, I have to keep my foot on the break pedal to stop it from moving.
He leans back in his seat. "Mmkay, drive."
"What? You haven't even taught me anything!"
"Oh, yeah, the windshield wipers are right here." he presses a button and the wipers squeal and squeak across the dirty windshield. "You aren't going to learn if you don't learn from experience. You know the drive and park gears. Gas. Break. What are you so afraid of?"
I tighten my seatbelt and stare at the open road. "What the hell." I floor the gas pedal and shoot off down the road.
"SLOW DOWN!" Petey yells, but he's laughing. "This thing's got pretty good suspension, for an old thing!" he rolls down the window and sticks his head out, shouting like a maniac. "WOOOOOP!"
I roll my eyes and grip the steering wheel to gain control. "WHOOOO-HOOO!"
Snap, hiss, crackle. I jolt awake at the sound of the popping, pulsating fire. My eyes adjust to the slight glowing light to see a small figure sitting crouched on a log and elbows on knees in the casual stance. I realize that it's the young boy, shaving a large twig with a sharp pocket knife. The sizzling noise is him dropping the shavings in the fire. The large sheriff's hat shadows his face, but I can see that his features are smudged with grime.
He looks at me, his eyes rolling down to meet mine. His are a deep blue color, the kind you only see when you look up at the sky. They look like they're charged electrically by the glowing tinge of the flames, and his brown hair peeks out from the hat. We stare at each other for a long moment then he narrows his eyes.
"Hey." I say just above a whisper. He looks up, but goes back to shaving his stick and throwing the access pieces into the fire. "I'm Paige."
He ignore me, then sets the stick down and sits criss-cross on the log, seeming to be studying me. He's pretty small, but I guess he's yet to hit puberty. Shame, because he's going to be handsome when he does. But for now, he's a little kid. Maybe eleven, twelve or so. I wouldn't guess anything higher. I see the dirt under his fingernails, and the smudges on his face. I wonder what he's been through. Certainly not all I have, but he has probably seen a lot of things a kid shouldn't.
"What's your name?" I try again, but he ignores me, still staring. His little eyes are so strange in that firelight, I wonder if I am still dreaming. I push my shoulders up against the back of the tire my hands are tied to. T-Dog and Daryl had the wonderful I idea that they could tie my hands to the loop in the tire so I couldn't stand up. Right, because I'm going to go anywhere. I can see Daryl dozing off at his lookout post. I wouldn't get two steps with the tire on me, anyway. It's spare weight.
I struggle to sit up, as I've slid down to a slouched position, finally settling on the fact that I can't sit back up all the way again without help. My chin presses into my chest as I pant from the effort. "Do you like that? Woodcarving and stuff?"
He continues to stare, his eyes studying me still. Like he is looking me over.
"I got a pocketknife that's good for that. Your buddy, Glenn, over there, he took it. But I'd let you have it."
He seems successive, but looks over to Glenn who is asleep on the ground. He is leaned against a small tree, his body slumped over on the ground. His breath rises and falls slowly, and he is surely asleep. The girl, Maggie, is asleep as well, leaned against his body, holding his arm like it is a teddy bear. His fingers twitch in his sleep.
His eyes narrow at me.
"Look, kid. I'm not here to hurt you or your people. It was a freak encounter. Just as soon as they let me go, I'll be gone. You'll never hear from me again. I didn't mean to cut that girl over there. Sorry if she's your friend. I'll apologize to her face tomorrow. But how about you help me up? This position's killing me."
Silence.
"Look… I'm not going to hurt anyone, swear. I have something for you if you help me up."
His eyebrows slightly move and then his eyes narrow again. "What?"
Cha-ching. He may be a serious little bugger, but he's in for whatever anyone has to offer. He looks over his shoulder and confirms that everyone is most likely sleeping, and Daryl is perched as the lookout. He is too engaged in "watching" for whatever may come, he doesn't listen to us.
I smile my most friendly smile, which is a little hard – I hate being friendly. "In my back pocket, I have something you might like. Come here."
His feet scuffle on the ground, and he hesitates. "What is it?"
"You have to come get it."
"If you don't tell me, I don't want it."
"Okay." We sit for another ten minutes staring at each other. Waiting for the kid to break. After another five minutes of silence besides a slight snoring coming from somewhere in the group, and the hiss of the fire, he moves again, his foot sliding on the ground. I wait patiently, staring up at him expectantly. He takes slow, subtle steps until he is about three feet closer.
"Well, what's it gonna be?" I raise my eyebrows and cock my head. He kneels on the ground.
"I'll take it."
"Smart kid. Okay, it's in the left – no right pocket, I think. But listen, you only get to keep it if you help me sit up, mmkay?"
He hesitates as I lean forward so he can get into my back pocket. I finally feel his small hand slip into my back pocket, feeling around until his hand slips around the small object, pulling it out. In the light of the fire, he stares in disbelief at the small package of mini jawbreakers, four in total; two purples, a red, and an orange. The paper crinkles in his grubby hand as he feels it to make sure it is real. It is. They've been in my pocket for the past few months. I found them in the glove box of the teal calypso, which I'd decided to keep. It had good mileage, and as Petey said, had good suspension. There was a small grocery bag of candy and sweet, maybe hidden from someone's wife or something, and Petey and I shared it. I saved them in my pocket, and had been waiting for the right moment. When I was depressed, lonely, the last meal I ate would be candy. But this was the perfect opportunity to gain trust. Even from a kid.
"Come on, your end of the deal, kid, remember?"
He clasps his hand around the jawbreakers in the wrapper with a slight crackling sound, and he stands again. At first, I think he's going to walk away with my jawbreakers, my only means of comfort, but he takes me under the arms, and with a slight groan, pulls me to a sitting position against the tire. I can tell how happy he is. It has probably been so long since he's seen such a thing as sugar. Sitting criss-cross on the ground, huddling his elbows to his ribs for warmth, he holds his hand out and studies the candies.
"So… I like your hat." I smile, and I catch a smirk on his lips.
"My dad's." he finally speaks. His voice seems a little too old to be eleven, so he's probably twelve or older. Not much older, though.
"It's a beaut. Really. Nothing like mine." My eyes trail over to my hat that is sitting next to me on the ground, but obviously I can't get it to put it back on. He picks it up, studying the plaid. It's black tattered leather on the sides, and on the brim, and a large stripe goes through the middle that is a red Scottish plaid. The sides flop over the confederate style hat, and the tweed, I know, is soft to the touch. He studies it in his lap.
"It looks old."
"Was my great grand-dad's. I found it in a trunk before all – this happened."
He frowns again, his eyebrows a cliff over his eyes.
"Hey," I chuckle. "It's nice to meet you."
His face becomes softer, more child-like. Not that awfully mature face I saw on him before. "Paige, right?"
"That would be correct, sir."
He chuckles quietly, not quite a childish giggle, not quite a laugh. Then he stops. "What's in South Carolina?"
I'm silent for a long time. "Nothing important to you."
"I wanna know."
"So does that guy Rick, I didn't tell him, did I?"
He glares at me again, all friendliness gone. "Rick is my dad. He's – he's trying to protect us."
"Yeah, he's got you nice and barricaded here in the road, doesn't he?" I suddenly regret it, because I guess Rick is his father.
"He – he knows what he's doing." his face suddenly twists up, like he's going to cry. I feel a deep pain in my chest.
"Hey, hey. Man, don't cry." I hate it when kids cry. "Don't cry, it's all okay. I'm sure your dad will fix you guys up. I'll be gone by then, but he'll – he'll be dandy, okay?"
He wipes his eyes. "I'm such a baby. I don't wanna be a baby."
"Hey… no, you aren't a baby. You're strong. You've made it through this, right? You and me, we're both alive. Isn't that enough?"
He wipes his nose. "Yeah."
"See?" I try to reassure him. I don't really know how, because I don't know any of these people. But I do know that boys have a great love for their father. That means trust. So I try to keep up his hopes. He's kind of cute, in that young way.
There is a slight shuffle and someone in the rows of sleeping "campers" stands up. I can see from the dim firelight that it is blonde Beth. She steps over the bodies carefully and rubs her eyes, pulling her jean jacket close to her body. I slouch slightly and pretend to be asleep, and Carl hides the candy in his pocket.
"Carl?" she calls quietly. So, Carl is his name. He's jumped back onto the log and is busy shoving his dull knife he used before the shave pieces off the stick into his pocket. "What're you doing?"
"I couldn't sleep." I hear him say; my eyes are closed, my chin on my shoulder again.
"Well, neither can I." there's a long moment of silence, and I crack my eyes open a small bit. She's sitting beside him, her arm around his shoulder. She's actually pretty, under that dirt and grime. Her hair would be silken and soft if it weren't twiggy and dirty, and her figure is top par. I am guessing she is around my age. Carl huddles to her for warmth. "Do you want me to sing to you?"
He brings his knees to him chest and thinks for a moment. "It might help me sleep, right?"
She nods and lets him lean against her. She is sweet, probably a farm girl as well as Maggie. Though they look nothing alike, I think they might be sisters, maybe. "Close your eyes, and I'll sing to see if it helps. It's late, and you need to sleep."
He nods against her side. "I'll try."
She begins to sing.
I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world alone
And there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright line to which I go
And I'm going there to see my mother
And I'm going there no more to roam
And I'm only going over Jordan
And I'm only going over home now
And I know dark clouds, will gather me
And I know my way is rough and steep
And the beautiful fields that lie just before me
And I know my needs are rough and steep
And I'm going there to see my mother
And I'm going there no more to roam
And I'm only going over Jordan
And I'm only going over home now
Cause I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world alone
And there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright line to which I go
And I'm going there to see my mother
And I'm going there no more to roam
And I'm only going over Jordan
And I'm only going over home now
Her voice is so beautiful, it almost puts me to sleep. But Carl's face is still troubled and he doesn't look to be drowsy. "Beth, you're a good singer."
Beth blushes. "Thanks. I'm going to go lie down again." she ruffles his hair. "Don't stay up too long."
I can see that Beth is near close to crying when she shuffles back to her spot where she lay close to the white-haired man that must be her father. Her face breaks, and as she lays down on the ground again, she buries her face in her hands to cry. She may have lost something dear to her, the song brought out some memory or something, I don't know. But her sobs are soon silent as her chest rises up and down in fluid sleep.
Carl gets up and wipes his pants down, huddling in the cold. Before he can scuffle back to the others, I whisper.
"Hey, Carl," he turns around. "Thanks."
He turns back around with no expression and slides next to his mother, the woman named Lori. I don't know if he actually falls asleep, but I think I eventually do.
"Mmm… mm. Don't shake me, don't shake me." I mumble, my ragged, tangled brown hair falling across my cheek. I crack my eyes open slowly and realize how sore I am – and exactly where I am. I think I feel a dribble of drool on my chin, but there's no way I can wipe it off, so I pretend it isn't there.
Who is shaking me? Woman with the short grey hair. Well, it isn't entirely grey. It's got a little bit of brown, and black maybe, and it's short like I saw before, like the hair that's grown back on a cancer patient.
"Get off." I growl, shrugging my shoulder to get her hand off.
"We're moving." She speaks softly, kinda softer than the others, I think. I don't really mind her, really. She seems nicer. At least it isn't Daryl. I regret thinking it when he crouches down with a cloth in his hands.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Twat Chops." I grin sideways at me, and I see his jaw grit and his eyes technically bulge out of his head.
"Why, I oughta –"
The short-haired lady grabs his arm tightly. "Stop it."
"Off me, woman! Damn, you! Get outa my face so I can give our hostage proper attention."
I have a feeling that Daryl was a little too good to hit a girl, but he did think I was a boy the first time he saw me, but I don't say anything. He holds out the blue cloth and shakes it in my face.
"What's that, your ass-rag? Do you put that in your pants to catch the sweat in your crack?"
I'm suddenly half on the ground before I know what's hit me. Head ringing, face stinging, I cry out as he slaps me again, clubbing me again and again. So, maybe he is a chick beater.
"Daryl! Daryl, stop, STOP –" short-haired lady grabs ahold of his shirt and tries to pull him back, but he's raging at me. I sort of sink into myself as she attempts to keep him off of me, and my head rings where he hit me.
"Fine! Dumb bitch!" he pushes the woman off, spitting at my feet. Daryl throws the rag down at my feet and storms away, bobbing his body in that annoyed way that I always used to see my father do. The woman frowns, the corners of her lips pulling down like a depressed gargoyle, and she gathers the swatch of blue cloth in her hands that are red with the cold.
"I'm sorry about him." She says softly.
"You're apologizing to your captive?"
She says nothing, then bunched up the sides of the fabric and makes a suitable blindfold. I don't fight her as she tires it around my head to cover my eyes. I close them so the cloth doesn't end up irritating my eyes, because believe it or not, I've actually been held captive before. Not in this New World day and age, but in high school. A few rooks from the high school we were versing in basketball kidnapped me and held me in their sweaty locker room until after the game. In their defense, I was sorta dressed like a boy, and they thought I was one of the players on the team, because I ducked into the boy's locker room to tinkle, and they swiped me when I was walking out.
"Stay still." I recognize T-Dog's voice as I feel a cold blade cut into the rope holding my hands to the tire. At least they aren't blind-folding me and leaving. Something tells me Rick wouldn't allow that.
I am pulled to my feet with a grunt, and someone plops my hat onto my head, surprisingly. I recognize the weight of it, and the slight tweed smell wafting. With hands behind my back, they are tied again with another piece of rope, and someone leads me. I am told to wait until I'm told otherwise, and I shiver alone for what seems like forever. Then, there are crunching footsteps on the gravel and leaves, and I hear a throat clear.
"I'm sorry you had to sleep like that last night." Rick says. At least I think that it's Rick.
"Hmph, I've slept worse." I shrug to the man I can't see, remembering my many nights sleeping in truck beds and trees. "Why am I blindfolded?"
"We're on the move again."
"So…"
Another particular whitetrash voice speaks. "'Cause we can't have you hollering over to your group, tellin' them where we're taking you."
"Why don't you just let me go?" I roll my eyes mentally, since I can't actually do it under the blindfold. But there is no answer, as I am loaded into what feels like a car, but I can't be sure, it might be a rocket ship or something. Of course it's a car. Everything is very silent for the longest time, but I finally feel the car rumble to life under me. There is a static radio sound, but it soon disappears, and is silent again. I feel my fingers and toes go numb after about – well, however long – and I feel the tip of my nose going cold like someone touched an ice cube to it. After it seems like hours of slowly turning into an ice block, I speak up.
"Whoever is driving this thing, can I please have my blindfold of, at least?"
A few murmurs, my blindfold is removed, and I let my eyes adjust to the light. By the amount of it, I guess it is about sometime around nine or ten in the morning, and Glenn's eyes stare back at me.
"Thanks, bro." I swish the saliva around in my mouth and swallow to settle my parched throat. He nods once and looks down at Maggie, who is asleep against him. I've been shoved in the back seat, and I wondered whose knees were pressed against mine, and I guess they're hers. Her eyelids flutter gently; she's still pretty even though everyone is dirty as hell. Everyone's skin is maculated in a layer of dirt and soot, hair tangled and unwashed. But I shouldn't say anything – I don't look much better.
Glenn is silent as Maggie's fist curls against his chest after a moment. I choose to speak again. "Guess you got stuck riding with the fugitive."
He nods once and I look to the front seat to see who is driving the car. It's an ugly green color, and the back is awfully small, but whatever. T-Dog is driving the little thing – it makes me miss my Calypso.
"Time is it?" I lean my head back casually on the window, though I feel my hair might get frosted to it if I stay like this long.
"9:30." Glenn says, and T-Dog grunts in unison under his breath. Maggie continues to sleep, and sort of mumble in her sleep, saying a few intelligible words, then going back to mumbling nonsense.
"She always do that?"
"What?" Glenn lowers his dark eyes to meet mine.
"You know… talk in her sleep like that."
He nods. "Far as I know, yeah."
"You think that's hot?"
"Kinda." He smirks. This guy might be alright. He's a little handsome. No offense to Asians, but I think that sometimes they just look the same as each other. But occasionally there are some that are exotically beautiful, different looking, a little more American looking. That's him. He looks like he might've been the kind to play World of Warcraft, but all the same, he's not bad looking. I watch the truck in front of us rumble down the road for a while, the taillights staying in the dim light like a shallow glow, and I think I drift off again with my hands still behind my back.
Maggie kicks me on the way out of the car. I startle awake, and am blindfolded again from behind. "Out you go." T-Dog says, lifting my stiff body out of the car. More car doors slam, and I wonder where we are. My feet shuffle on the ground as he pushes me forward, leading me. I am forced to my knees, and I feel so disoriented that I sway a little.
"Hello? Someone tell me what's going on?"
There is no answer. I start to worry. "Hello?" no answer again, and I hear car doors shutting, engines starting. "Hello? Hello! Where are you going?"
The sounds of a car and a motorcycle, maybe, fade into the distance and I thrash around, waiting for someone to come and get me. "Hello! No, no, don't leave me, don't leave me! DON'T LEAVE ME, YOU SORRY BUNCH OF ASSHOLES! CARL! CARL, REMEMBER OUR TALK, REMEMBER! DON'T LEAVE ME MAN, DON'T LEAVE ME! COME BACK! I'LL GIVE YOU MORE JAWBREAKERS, MAN! PLEASE! SOMEONE, COME BACK!" I let my thrashing torso fall onto the hard ground. I whisper. "Come back."
I sob, the tears catching on the fabric of the blindfold, the cold air around me like a wall of ice pushing on my chest. My breath comes in huffs, my nose running. I hate how I can't wipe it! I try and yank my hands from the bindings, but there is no use. I have no knife to cut them, and I don't even know where I am. They are probably all driving far away by now, on their merry way out into that world full of those rotting corpses. I am forced to wait here until a few of them wander along and dig into me like Old Country Buffet, if I don't die here first.
"Please, you heartless, numb, cruel bitches must have a little heart, how can you do this to a human being. I thought we were all allies in this world." I rasp, suddenly wishing for the comfort of my musket pressed against my back. The weight of my hat on my head. The comfort of being alone that was oh so horrible, but also oh so familiar. I feel the deep tearing in my chest, the cutting effects of what I have become.
Curling in a ball, I sob until I am overcome with such pain that I have not a sound, not a word, phrase, whisper, cry. Nothing. Then, I hear the voice.
"Are you through crying?"
I lift my head, my head turned in the direction of the voice. "Who's there?"
"It's Rick, Paige."
"GOD DAMNIT, YOU ASSHOLE! YOU ASSHOLE! BITCHIN' ASSHOLE, DAMN! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME HERE! HOW DARE YOU! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO YOU, AND YOU LEAVE ME OUT – WHEREVER THIS IS, IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE! HELL ON EARTH, RICK, HELL ON EARTH, I WILL CUT YOU SO BAD IT WON'T EVEN BE FUNNY –" suddenly, I don't feel like I can't cry anymore; somehow my body finds it in me, and I break down sobbing. "Rick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for attacking your friend, or whatever she is, Maggie, I was – it was an adrenaline rush. I've been alone so long, God, I couldn't even keep track of the days, and – Rick, I'm – I'm just not sure, I'm just not sure!" I sob into the ground, my back corrupted in a sway at the back as I kick on the ground, helpless like a fish out of water. "I – I saw the rotty, I was hiding from your people in the woods! I was afraid, and I tackled her, God please forgive me, Jesus, hell, forgive me."
His hand pushes the blindfold up onto my forehead, and I see that we are on the side of a deserted road, the middle of God knows where, and there is a slight dew set eerily on the road. The only vehicle I see is an older model red truck parked a way down the road, but enough not to be swallowed by the fog. His face is grave, and he studies mine, which is most likely horrible, puffy, red, I can feel that it is wet. "Are you alright?"
"Alright!" I snap, sniffing, but my nose still runs in the cold. "You left me out here!"
"I was here the entire time." His slight accent drawls, and I cough, still laying like a slug on the ground without any means of getting up. "I was waiting for you to break down."
"Sicko." I scowl.
"No… not like that. I'm no sadist." I know he's not. I trust his eyes. Petey taught me how to read people's eyes. "I wanted you to calm down a little. See that you're still human."
Damn you. Why are you so smart? No wonder you're a leader to these people. They need someone like him. And I see why he's gotten them this far. "Of course I'm still human."
He nods. "How about we talk. I'll cut you free, and you can run if you want, Paige. I'm not going to keep you captive anymore, alright? We can walk and have ourselves a little talk. How does that sound?"
"Sounds pretty shitty of you to act like you're Mr. Blithe-Sunshine-Rainbow, but seeing as my other choice is run into the fog like a fucking idiot, I'll walk with you."
He cuts my bindings with a knife, and my arms feel cramped and I crack my shoulders. I immediately notice as he helps me to my feet that my rifle is slung over his shoulder, but I don't say anything. We start to walk slowly down the deserted road away from the truck. I swing my arms dumbly, to wake them up because they are actually quite numb.
"Tennessee…" he says after we walk a few yards.
"Yeah, American at Its Best." I say, repeating the state motto that my dad always used to say when I said I hated my life and step-mom.
"Then, why South Carolina?"
"While I breathe, I hope Ready in soul and resource." I smirk. Petey was the one who must have said that to me a million times a day when he had his dream of making it all the way to South Carolina. "That's their state motto. Seems ironic that that's where I was headed."
"Why's that?" he rubs his chin with his fingers as if he is thinking.
"Mmkay, look, see… I was headed there because – before I was alone, you know, I had a friend with me. He said that he was headed there because he had a cousin who was a prepper. You know what a prepper is? It's someone who thinks that the end of the world is coming, right? And before all this shit broke out, he talked to him, and he told him to come down there when weird stuff started happening. He's got oodles of stuff – supplies, ammo, probably weapons. Surplus of food, I reckon. And these rotties, see, they were attacking me. I was being closed in on, he shows up, yells "get in!", and 'cause I was desperate, I dove in. He screeched away like a reckless hooligan, but he said I could come with him to his cousin's in South Carolina, where he had all the stuff necessary for survival. Because he's a prepper."
Rick stares at me. "Oh."
"Yeah." I scuff the toe of my boot on the ground.
"I never caught your last name, Paige."
"I never said… Paige Swift." I thrust out my hand and shake his vigorously.
"Rick Grimes."
A smile tugs at my lips. "You're alright, Rick. Better than Bubba Cleofus Joe." I snort, and Rick laughs a little through his nose.
"Daryl is alright, as long as he's contained."
"You say."
He stops walking and says. "Can you shoot?"
"Course I can't, I have a gun for nothing." I roll my eyes. "Gimme my gun, I'll show you." I nod to a stray corpse lolloping out of the dark like a diseased animal. It grunts each time it takes a step, ragged clothes swinging, teeth gnarled, skin falling off. The works.
"The noise –" he starts, but I roll my eyes.
"Silencers." I pfft out of the corner of my mouth and look into the accurate sight. Pulling the trigger, I blow the sucker's head off with only a tiny kick from the gun that I'm used to. It goes down, and Rick nods approvingly.
"Where'd you learn?"
"Grand dad taught me. I've been shooting since I was at least ten." I smile almost gloatingly, but he doesn't seem to mind.
"Excellent." He smiles a warm smile, but his face is filled with worry, as always. "Come on, let's get to the truck before that walker draws more."
He leads me back to the old red truck, and I slide into the passenger side. "Rick?"
"Yeah?" he drives with his wrist on the steering wheel, and his hand draped over it casually.
"Your people are good, you know."
"I know." He nods.
"And if I'm going all the way to South Carolina… I don't really see anything in going alone if I know you're struggling out here."
He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. "I see."
"You can come. If you want." I say quietly, and he smiles, pulling the truck over to the side of the road. He stares at me, and I suddenly wonder if he is mad. "Food. Supplies. Medicine. Shelter."
"It's our best bet." He takes my shoulders. "Are you positive that this place exists? You're positive?"
"Pretty much, yeah." I nod. "It's legit. We'll have to cypher gas out of some cars before we leave, but since I'm alone I wouldn't mind sharing with you. Your people are good. And I'd rather not spend my life alone fighting the dead." I grin sideways at him.
His jaw tightens as he grips my shoulders. "Thank you."
I nod again, for what seems like the millionth time. "As long as – dippity doo da stays alright…"
He chuckles. "He'll be under control, Paige." He clasps my hand in a friendly encounter. "Thank you."
I stare deep into his worried, blue eyes. "That your wife? The tall one?"
"Yes… my wife, Lori," he sighs. "And my son, Carl."
I smile out of the corner of my mouth. "Carl's good… your group is good."
"I know. They are."
We are quiet for a moment, but not really awkward. "That was a smart thing you did, Rick. Letting me cry myself out like that, yeah?"
He smiles. "I know exactly how teenagers work. I've dealt with a lot in my days as a deputy."
"Ah, deputy. You were an officer. Well, I guess you still are. Oh, and Rick?"
"Hm?"
"Don't you dare ever tell anybody about my crying, alright?"
Rick chuckles.