Okay, so here is the next chapter… Thanks for the reviews!
Also, for those who care, I have a soundtrack posted on my profile if you would like to enjoy music along with each chapter, and if you have song suggestions, you can pm me. Thanks! ~Liz~
Five: As I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death
The sun rises before me as I sit on the fence that marks the pasture line. A few cows graze in the distance, but not so much that I can see much of them other than their silhouettes. I've been out here since twilight, looking out at the horizon, waiting for whatever I expected to come. Maybe a beacon of some sort. A sign. Some miracle.
It doesn't seem right to have found refuge now. As I stare out at the grazing, drowsy shapes like the images on a cruddy television screen, I don't say a word but my mind is racing.
"We don't have a large array of medication," Devil says. "What Pepe had collected by the time the fever hit is a shelf of antibiotics and sedatives. She doesn't need anti-bodies, she has a virus. Viral pneumonia is much harder to treat that bacterial pneumonia. There is a lot of drainage into her lungs, and the tube only respirates for her. If her lungs fill up, they will not be able to obtain air. The lung sacks are coated, and the virus thrives in this type of environment…"
"You've got to have something…" Rick says as Maggie cries into Hershel's shoulder. He gently comforts his other daughter. Hershel looks a little younger without his slight beard from lack of a razor. Maggie looks a little better cleaned up now, at least physically. "Some suction or something? Can't you – remove the fluid?"
"Sir, I'm a military doctor." Devil says, scratching the back of his head. "Not some magnificent surgeon. I'm sorry, but I can only perform emergency surgeries, the stuff that is enough just to save a life. That's what they taught me in the military… and opening up a chest is definitely out of my league. And we don't have the equipment, we just don't…" he presses his thumb and index fingers to the sides of his forehead. Alexa gently puts her hand on the small of his back.
"You're trying your best, Chester. You're trying your best." She rubs his arm as he sighs deeply, inhaling and exhaling louder than usual.
"I'll help her all I can. That's all I can do."
"We thank you for that." Rick says, nodding once. He looks a lot better too, clean shaven and not covered in grime.
"I'll put her on some pain medication. That might make her at least feel better."
But she doesn't feel anything. She is still unconscious, in that state of still-alive, but "stuck in equilibrium", as Alexa explained it to me. The state where she is still functioning but her body is doing it simultaneously while her consciousness is zippo.
"She will wake up, right?" I had asked Devil. He replied first with a sigh and then he hastefully said.
"If I take the tube out, probably. She's now taken on dysphagia, which technically means she has lost the swallowing reflex. And her airway is still obstructed. The fluid level around her lungs is dangerously high, and…"
That was when I pushed him away and came out here. The property really is beautiful here. the long, sprawling pastures and orchards, it is an ideal place to barricade one's self from the apocalypse. It must be like it never happened, here in this haven. Though it is only dawn, it feels about fifty or maybe sixty degrees, a warm front compared to what I've been muddling through for the past half a year or so. I bring my knees up to my chest and press my elbows into my ribs, wrapping my arms around my legs and linking my fingers at the kneecaps.
The sun peaks on the horizon as I sit on the wooden fence that is worn and weathered with age, slightly swinging my legs as I listen to the world waking up. Birds chirp their morning songs, calling back and forth to each other, and I hear blue jay's distinctive call from the sky as it flies across the sun's cheeks. The sun will always rise. Petey's words ring in my head from one ear to the other. He always would tell me, no matter what the morning brings, along with it also will come the sun. I sigh deeply and push my hair out of my face. It has dried by now, returned to its lightened blonde color. It seems like it was so long since I actually washed myself, the shower felt almost unreal. My skin feels like it has been rubbed raw, scraped off with the edge of a razor, and the hallows in my face and neck where I scrubbed almost sore are slightly red and throbbing, even much after washing.
The fence creaks slightly as the weight of another body leans against the old but sturdy frame. I don't look up, but I can see that it is the black-haired kid, Tidan, out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turn my head to look up at him, after maybe five minutes of not even acknowledging his existence.
"You left this in the bunker locker room." He extends his hand, which beholds my leather and plaid hat. His fingers are slightly pink like he's had his hands stuck in buckets of ice, and his fingernails pinken where he applies pressure on the tweed-like fabric. I reach out and take it from him, folding it in half in my lap.
"Thanks." I say, looking out at the pasture and orchards again. I really hate this kid. Whether he thinks he is charming or helping me, he is wrong, and I hate to be around him. Especially since our first meeting a few days ago was me yanking him half over the fence by his shirt and forcing him to let us in.
"No problem." He runs his red chapped hands through his shaggy sable hair that falls in a triangle on his forehead. "You hungry? Olive, Alexa, and Mya are getting breakfast around." I remember that Mya is the slightly plump one with her stippled black hair pulled back on the nape of her neck. She was the one that showed Carl the "electronic room" as they call it. Apparently, they gain their electricity from a hydraulic source, connected to the property, and when that fails, they own their own propane line. They don't have cable, of course, because it virtually doesn't exist. But they do have rows beyond rows of movies and video games, and Carl has become glued to the room for the past few days. I don't blame him. The kid's been living off of the group drama for his entertainment.
"Not hungry." I shrug, leaning my back on the pillar of the fence. It creaks again with my weight as Tidan inelegantly pulls himself up onto the fence as well.
"You didn't eat breakfast yesterday. Or lunch. Or supper." He lets one leg hang down the fence and rests his chin on the other knee that ineptly points up. He has pretty knobby knees.
"I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for someone that wants to listen to your phony concern." I turn so the back of my head is to him. He lets his breath out in a huff and we are silent again for a long time. It is strange how he just lets me brood like this. Any other number of these people here would at least try and talk to me. But he lets me sit here silently and stare off at the light that clicks on instantly in one of the bunker windows. I watch the silhouette of T-Dog climbing out of bed and rubbing his forehead, stalking over to the door; mostly likely to go and take a shower.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he says out of the blue. I find myself leering.
"I wouldn't sell my thoughts to anyone."
"That's a crying shame."
"I guess it is." I lean back now, pressing my palms behind me into the leveled grain of the fence post. "Did they send you out here to check on me? Are you just the messenger boy?"
He smirks, pressing his chin into his prominent collar bone. "I guess so."
"Shit, then, Messenger Boy… you got your ass fallin' out of your ears if you think you're going to talk somethin' abysmal out of me."
"Alright, Country." He smirks again, rubbing the side of his head. He has a trivial scruff growing on his cheeks in patches, along with a shadow from lack of shaving. Black patches are sprouting prematurely like he can't grow an even beard, though he probably has no intention of it. "Tell me what you got."
"I'm a closed book. The end. Now leave me alone." I turn away from him, the breeze blowing my hair across my face. It is soft and glossy, like a Barbie Doll's hair, but it has no particular part in it so it is all over. I usually have it pulled back in a ponytail to concur with my usual hat wearing, but not today.
"You can't just sit out here for hours alone and expect me to just walk away. You don't get to do that."
"Well, you don't even know me, so…" I trail off, biting the side of my cheek with my molars.
"I know enough."
"You think you do." I snivel and run my tongue over the edges of my slightly crooked teeth. "But you don't."
"Okay, let's try a new approach. Either you come in and eat some breakfast, or you can help me clean stables."
I taper my eyes at him until they are tiny slots of brown globes. "Stables?"
"Yeah, Pepe keeps a few animals on the property. So we don't just use up gas, we travel by horse. It's wasteful to leave Espero with a car to get more gas, so we go horseback. So, what'll it be."
I huff my breath up, blowing up a piece of my hair and plopping my hat on my head. "Someone get me a shovel."
Tidan leads me to a long stable with tack hung up on the walls and on the dusty shelves with old signs in Spanish that I can't read. I never really learned in my Spanish class like I was supposed to. I pretty much just slid by in the elective classes like that. The only class I really enjoyed was woodshop. Once I made my father a tool shelf, which he'd grunted a drunk "thank you" at and discarded. I at least took a knowledge of tools away from it.
"This is where we keep the horses, and Margarita." He pats the curly gray head of a silver burro that snorts at the pressure of his hand. "Not worth much, but she can carry stuff. This is Benny the Jett." He pats the turned flank of seemingly gigantic black horse, which paws the ground with an intimidating hoof. I'm not afraid of horses. I'm from Tennessee, horses are my thing. He shows me a few of the other horses, such as one they call Mist, a small pony that apparently belongs to Olive named Alfie, and a few turkeys and ducks. Then he proceeds in handing me a pitch fork and leading me to an empty stall.
"Start scooping up this shit into the wheelbarrow." He says, scooping up a load of dung from the partner stall and dumping it in the bed of the wheeled apparatus. "When you want to go inside, just holler."
I grumble under my breath, my hair falling into my face as I shovel, shovel-full after shovel-full into the cruddy bed of the wheelbarrow. My neck starts to feel tight and my glands start to feel bloated, like there is a lump in my throat. My minds is foggy and augmented, enflamed with the thoughts of – whatever, everything. Everything is on my mind. I grab my hair and tug outward, feeling winded as I gasp and hyperventilate and weep. I realize that I am banging the pitchfork against the concrete stall, hot tears streaming down my face as I bawl. I hold it over my head and stab it at the wall, everything blocked out but my rage.
"Whoa, whoa!" Tidan's voice breaks the barrier of my subconscious. "Hold on there, Country, let's take this away from you." He wraps his smutty-gloved hands around the wooden handle and tries to pry it away from me.
"No, NO!" I scream, hollering at him. He looks a little intimidated, but doesn't concede defeat. "Let go! You fucking asshole, let go!" I hate him so much, I feel like I am so full of rage I could shove the pitchfork right through his middle.
He wrests it from my hand with surprising strength, and I fall with my backside against the soiled concrete, pushing my hair up as I gasp for air with my mouth open, trying to let the blubs out. Nothing comes forth but a few unintelligible gasps, and Tidan tosses his dirty gloves away from him, holding my shoulder. I slide to the ground with his hand staying on me as I sink into myself with my hands on the sides of my head.
"Look at me, look at me." he says, his voice distant and indefinite. Everything shaky comes into view as he touches my face. "You're okay."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I wipe my eye, mopping a dirt smudge under my eye. He pulls his long sleeve over his hand and wipes it for me gently with his clothed wrist. "I'm fine… I'm fine."
"Come on, I'll get you some juice. You want some juice?"
I nod. "Yeah, I'll take some juice." Tidan digs into his pocket.
"Here." handing me a crumpled but unused tissue, he offers me his hand. When I take it, it is covered in callouses and rougher than I expected it to be. He pulls me to my feet and I dust my jacket off. He checks the back of my pants for me to make sure I'm not covered in horse unmentionables, and he fixes my crooked hat. I wipe my nose with the tattered Kleenex and under my eyes.
"Thanks." I mutter as he picks up the pitchfork and lays it across the wall, propped against it. I follow him back into the house where a few people are eating silently at the table. My cracked wristwatch reads 7:30, a few minutes behind the bigger clock in the kitchen. It's actually a nice modernized kitchen with vanity appliances such as a dish washer, microwave, and oven. Olive is already in the kitchen, cooking up a storm again. She has been cooking us more than a normal amount for the three days that we have been here. Her eyes are sympathetic each time she watches us eat. If she was the last one to trickle in here before us, she must know what it is like to see a surplus of food for once in a long time.
"Paige, would you like some eggs?" she smiles softly, sympathetically as usual, holding up a pan of eggs. Carol looks up at me over her white mug of coffee and slightly smiles as well, a pinched beam. Lori is also already sipping a cup of joe, a gray blanket draped around her shoulders, and another one of the residents of Espero, a young girl named Vicki who constantly listens to music in her bunk on an old stereo is drumming her nails on the table and picking at a plate of sausage and eggs.
Tidan opens the fridge and gets out a glass pitcher of fresh orange juice, pouring me half a glass. I turn down the eggs and sit at the table as T-Dog walks in still half-drowsy. Instead of chairs, the table is set with long half-log looking benches that are finished off with a glossy stain, and a cushion, and Tidan sits beside me.
"What was that…" he whispers when Mya and Olive start up a conversation to cover it up. "That – little incident, in the stable barn."
"Nothing." I say, setting my glass down on the table as quietly as possible. "None of your business."
"Hey, I think I deserve to know. You can't just have an entire – damn episode and expect me to let it go and forget about it. You can't just say nothing. Do you do that often?"
"My mental status is none of your business." I say a little too loudly, and Carol and Lori both simultaneously look up from their mugs. I slowly scoot away from him and bring my feet up on the cushion, resting my chin on my knees as I sip my orange juice.
Devil walks into the kitchen with Alexa's tiny hand in his. I don't know if they have something going on or what, but they are awfully close. Whatever it is, they are a great medical team. Dr. Devil looks exhausted, like he's gotten no sleep, and his colleague/girlfriend/wife/I don't know looks concerned with his condition of sufficient rest. His square chin grinds as he rubs the scruffle on his face and runs his hand under the water faucet, scooping water up in his palms and washing his face.
"Mya, decaf please." He puts his hand up on the regular coffee she tries to pour him, his sigh in his throat this time. "Tidan, Beth needs a new saline bag."
"I'm on it." He gets up, and though I regret it, I follow him down the hall to the white room. The blinds to the window are half open to let in a little morning light, but other than that, the only lights in the room are from the dimmed machines. Hershel and Maggie still stay at their posts, but Glenn has joined them now. The tube is still as disturbing as ever. Protuberant from her neck, and I can hear her breath grate in the back of her throat like the sound of claws on a chalkboard. I observe that the IV bag looks nearly sucked empty, and Tidan replaces it within minutes.
"How is she?" I whisper hoarsely. His eyes sway over to her, then back to mine, but he brushes past, saying nothing. Staring at her seems to accomplish nothing, so slowly, step by step, I make it to the side of her bed.
Maggie looks up slowly and grabs my wrist, mildly applying pressure with fraught sorrow in her large brown eyes. Hershel's eyes do not train away from his younger daughter's, but he acknowledges me with a slight touch to my fingers. I have been visiting Beth for the past two nights. The routine are as follows.
I walk into the room and touch her cheek gently. I have never felt a kindness for anyone before her. Not this kinship of a friend like this. I only knew her a few days before we raided the store, but we grew close in those days. Her head on my shoulder half the ride here was enough to make me feel a rapport towards her. She is the closest thing I have ever had to a girl-friend. I never had one before. I know, everyone has friends, but I tended to hang out with the nerdy guys, or a small group of cast-offs. i had always wanted that one friends that is a skirt-wearing, nail polish-loving, soft-spoken type of friend that would understand me no matter what I did.
After I touch her cheek, I will softly lean down and speak in her ear so softly so only she can hear. Something along the lines of "I know you can hear me, Beth, so please listen.", and then I will sit down and take her pale blue hand. I will kneel, and bow my head. "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil. For Thou art with me." I don't know why I remember the psalm. I was dragged to church many times by my parents, and I often would sit and block out the sermon out of boredom. But when I was young in Sunday school, I was forced to learn a small book of psalms and prayers and present them to the class. We also were to draw pictures to go along with them, and I distinctly remember spending all of my time drawing the picture for this particular psalm. I drew it out of crayons, and it was a magnificent picture of Him, surrounded by light and with a giant staff. I had drawn myself behind him, holding onto his robe. A rather elaborate picture of a seven year old who was dressed in a fancy Sunday dress and floppy plaid hat that was too big for her head. But it stuck out to me. So I recite it to her.
I will wait for her to respond. When she doesn't, I pick up the necklace off the side table. It is a sterling silver chain, which Devil took off before he performed the tracheostomy. I remember that she's worn it since the first time I saw her, along with her diamond earrings. They seemed so out-of-place in this world, but so is Espero. The charm on the chain looks like a diamond heart that lies slightly cockeyed in my hand when I lay it flat. It is beautiful, and once I set it down, I feel her forehead. She is always hot.
Now, I gently tuck her hair back behind her ear and turn to leave. Maggie continues gripping my wrist, and I look down to her. Her face struggles to be strong, though her lip quivers, and I wrap my arms around her back, comforting her. Hershel gently rubs her back as I hug her for a few moments, listening to the machines beeping. He takes Maggie in his arms, away from me, and I leave the subdued room.
After discarding my coat, I lie down in my bed again, curling in a ball to get some much needed sleep. I still smell like the stables, but I don't mind at the moment. I fall asleep with my hat over my eyes, arms folded across my chest, and my legs curled up under me in the fetal position.
I wake up to the sound of arguing. Muffled yelling, but arguing all the same. I slowly rise, not bothering to make my covers back up and slide out of bed. My bare feet are chilly on the floor, and I pull on a pair of socks that lie on the floor, pulling my jacket over my shoulders. Outside of my bunker is a little warmer, and I can hear a movie playing in the electronic room. I stop in the doorway, observing Carl passed out in one of the comfortable chairs, the middle part of Lonesome Dove playing. I pass the room and head out into the cool, damp Carolina winter air that is probably close to sixty five degrees, getting closer to the voices. I catch bits and pieces of the conversation, here and there as I progress nearer.
"I just don't think…"
"Maybe we should…"
"There's a chance she…"
"She wouldn't make…"
"What about…"
I realize that is Devil and Alexa speaking behind the bunkers. His tall frame casts a shadow on the concrete enforced wall as he runs his fingertips backwards through his hair, his chest heaving as he paces back and forth. Alexa holds out her hand as if she might catch him and hold him back like a slingshot, but the words escape her thin lips.
"I think we should take out the tracheal tube…" he says, doing a pushup on the wall then continuing to pace again.
"I think it would be best. You've exhausted the other options. She wouldn't survive the surgery, and if she did, there is always the risk of infection. We don't have the complex drugs we need. We can't keep her out with the pain meds much longer. We need to savor the morphine as much as we can. I don't mean to be… harsh…" she trails off.
"No, no…" he says with belated breath, his accent a little muffled. "I know… so, we take the tube out."
I step into view. "So, you'll just let her drown in her own bodily fluids?!" I cry, a little louder than I planned to. But it's too late, I already have.
"Honey…" Alexa reaches out towards me like she did to Devil, but retreats.
"No! How's she going to recover if she's uncomfortable?!"
"It's never comfortable to suffocate yourself!" Devil suddenly yells, his voice breaking. I stand there for a few seconds then grit my teeth, running for him with my teeth clenched, yelling at the top of my lungs. I fling myself on top of him with all my might, swinging my locked fists at him like a school-year brawl.
"HELP HER! YOU SAID YOU'D HELP HER!" I scream, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I hit him. I feel nails on my back, probably Alexa's as she tries to pull me off, but I am stronger. Then, I feel stronger arms on my back, many of them, and I am ripped off of Devil.
"CALM! DOWN!" Rick yells at me as I try to tear out of he and T-Dog's arms. T-Dog locks them behind my back and twists my arm. "Paige, you just need to CALM. DOWN."
I start to sob as Devil rises from the ground, wiping the blood from his nose. I know that he let me beat him. He could have easily pushed me off; he was in the military, and his lanky muscles ripple like individual massifs. But he let me. For whatever reason. Carol runs to me and takes my arms, comforting me as I cry, feeling my head spin again.
"Shh, shhhh." She comforts, stroking my hair as my hat falls off into the dust. Tears torrent down my cheeks, leaving streaks in the dust that has settled. I fall to the ground, sobbing so hard that nothing comes out of my mouth.
"Take her inside." Devil suggests, touching his eye to feel the swelling. I still do not understand why he didn't fight me off at all.
Carol and T-Dog lead me inside to the table where they force me to sit. Carl looks at me with wide eyes, picking at a plate of apples and oranges. He leaves them to take a spot from my side.
"Carl, go back and watch a movie or something." Carol suggests, still rubbing my back. Carl shakes his head.
"I'll sit with her." He nods once and gives her his pinched line of a smile. Carol retreats, and T-Dog does as well, though sullenly, and Carl puts his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. "Fine."
"Here." he hands me a napkin and I wipe my nose.
"Thanks."
Today, Alexa removes the tracheal tube from Beth's throat and stitches the incision closed, replacing the tube with a mask over her mouth and nose. Her heart rate will rocket to oblivion, and then slow down so much that is may only be twenty beats per minute. The little bleeps sound like a deep sea fishing vessel, lost on the high seas in a storm. Maggie and Hershel hold her hands as she finally opens her eyes slowly flutter open, disoriented as they agitate chaotically.
"Hey, hey." Maggie says softly. "Don't be afraid, Beth, we're right here." to understate, Hershel gently rubs her hand. I stand a good distance away from the bed, afraid that if I get to close, I will ruin everything. Her heart beats slower, then faster, then slower again as she breathes like she is trying to catch her breath after sprinting ten miles, though she has the oxygen mask on. Devil stands close by, taking his place by the bed.
"Beth, honey, I'm Doctor Auwley. Don't be afraid. You're in South Carolina, in my employer Pepe's home. You're safe."
She gasps for breath, desperately trying to respire. Maggie holds tightly to her, rubbing her arm. "You're gonna be okay, Beth, it's me, Maggie."
"Maggie," she cries, reaching for her, her face scrunching up with fear. "Daddy?"
"It's alright, dearest. I'm right here." Hershel says in his slightly mushed southern accent that flows like honey, rubbing her hand. "You're alright."
She gasps harder, her eyes darting. "Calm down," Alexa gently rubs her leg as she goes limp again, her chest rising and falling unevenly. "It's just the sedatives. She should be in and out of it." Alexa inquires, failing to look at me. I suddenly take her hand.
"It's alright, Bethie, I'm here now." I say softly, rubbing my other palm on her wrist. "You're safe here now, you're safe."
She slightly smiles at me under the mask. "Paige…"
"Shh, don't strain yourself. Keep the air comin' in." I touch her forehead gently. She is still extremely warm. "There ya go. Keep breathing."
She smiles uncontrollably. "You're here."
"Of course. I know, I'm not the greatest, but yeah, I'm here." I smile back. "Just rest, kay?"
She nods, squeezing Maggie's hand and closing her eyes. Devil presses his stethoscope to her chest, listens to her heart and lungs. Shaking his head, he walks away.
I sleep by her bed tonight. Glenn takes Maggie into his room, trying to get her to sleep in an actual bed, and I convinced Hershel to go to bed as well. I've had enough sleep in the middle of the day today. I'll stay up with her.
I bide my time in watching the heart monitor. It is the kind with a straight plasmid line that wavers in a graph-like triangle each time her heart beats. I count the beats in my head.
456… 457… 458…459…... 464465466….. 467… 468.
I doze off a little, losing track then starting over again, I rub her hand and count the beats to stay awake. I won't fall asleep. I will stay up with her.
For some reason, I remember falling asleep at night once in the back of the teal calypso. Petey is in the front seat with his knife open in his hand, the seat leaned back almost as far as a dentist's chair when they clean your teeth. I am lying parallel to the back seat, my limbs stretched way out so I can regain feeling in them. Petey is still awake, because I know if her were really sleeping, he would be snoring like an old man with the gout, trying to start a lawn mower with his foot with a dragon shoved up his nose. Tonight he is silent.
It is strange, because he is never silent. Only when he is thinking, but then again, he thinks out loud. I close my eyes and let sleep sink in as he thinks.
"Hey," I smile at Beth as she opens her eyes blearily again. Her face looks a little woozy, her eyes glassy and her face looks as white and gray as a ghost. It still preserves that blue tinge, and I can hear the disconcert in her throat. She blinks drowsily a few times like her eyelids are weighted down by heavy piles of dust. Her breath forms a slight fog on the plastic mask each time she exhales shakily, then dissipates for a moment before reappearing. I check my watch. It's about three in the morning. Well, Alexa did say that she would be waking up and nodding back off at weird times. Apparently, they're downing the medications they've been giving her.
Her hand grips around mine as she tries to speak. Her throat muscles exert as she tries to speak. "Paige…"
"Yeah, I'm right here." I smile slightly, smoothing down her arm. "Whatever you need, I'm here."
There is a short moment while I just watch the steam from her breath coat the mask then disappear, then she speaks again. "I shall fear… no… evil." She says hoarsely, gripping onto my hand in her half-consciousness.
I feel tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes. "For thou art with me." I stroke her hair off her forehead, tears daubing down my cheeks.
She closes her eyes again, and does not wake again. When the morning gray streaks through the window, Maggie takes her usual post with a cup of coffee in her hands. She is dressed in a sweatshirt with sleeves that would fall over her hands had they not been rolled up to her wrists, and she is wearing a pair of capris that look maybe a size too big for her legs. I don't look at her for what seems like the longest time, and I just stare at Beth's distressing features.
She slowly reaches out and touches her cheek, gently stroking down it with the backs of her fingers. "Once when we were younger, we had this pet chicken named Wobby… he hated me, and he was always clucking after me and biting the backs of my legs. I was deathly afraid of him, even if I was thirteen. Even though she was eight, she loved old Wobby. Dad brought him home for her in a box." She slightly smiles, pushing her hair out of her face with her thin fingers, her fingernails turning a slight pinkish-white color when she applies pressure on her skin.
I am silent as she continues the story. "So, Wobby was this furry-footed chicken that was ornery and was always clucking around, rulin' the roost… and Beth loved him like it was her pride and joy, her jewel. And when I turned fourteen, my step-mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday supper." She actually smiles, slightly chuckling. Maybe at something from later on in the story, wherever it is going. "I told her I wanted chicken…"
"Yeah, so?" I look up, wrapping my fingers around my hat that is in my lap.
"We usually ate the chickens that we raised, so she set aside one that would be used for my birthday dinner. But in the heat of the moment… I switched the chicken that was meant to be killed for dinner, and threw Wobby in the cage instead. They looked similar, and I was fed up with him chasing my all the way down the drive… so we ate Wobby for my birthday supper."
"Did she ever find out?"
"Oh yeah. She went out to see him the next day, and upon seeing it wasn't ol' Wobby, she put two and two together and realized that she'd just eaten her chicken." She smiles, a slight leer on her face. "She blamed her mom on it so many times, though she insisted that is must have been an honest mistake. But it wasn't until she was about fifteen that I spilled to her that I switched the poultry." She pats her sister's limp hand, staring up at the glowing line on the monitor, watching her heartbeat. It slowly falters, becoming slower and then quicker again. So quick that it seems like it will kill her, beating out of her chest like this. But it goes down. Then up. Then right.
"She's good." I say softly, watching her pale lashes brush her cheeks.
"She is. We fought a lot, when we were younger, but once we got older and were separated for a while…" she sighs. "I feel like I spent all my time with Glenn, and – "
"Look, I don't know about really anything before I met you people. I mean, all I know of you is what I learned since I joined your group. But Beth loves you, and I think she understands." I put my hand over Maggie's and pat lightly. "And we gotta stay strong. We gotta stay together. Hold our heads high."
She nods, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. I can tell that she was just about to cry. "Thanks, Paige."
"Yeah." I say softly, standing up and brushing off. "Think I'm gonna go get something to eat."
"I'll come get you if she wakes up." She says, and I catch the slight shine of the scratch on her cheek that is where my knife sliced her skin, the first time I made human contact in months. I guess that is forgiven.
The kitchen is deserted, and I get myself a glass of water from the faucet, watching out the window as Tidan struggles to yank the lead on Margarita the donkey. She plants her feet in the ground, and I draw my attention away from the window again, instead listening to the music that comes from the bunker. I follow the sounds of the tonal voices and musical chords. Of course, as I suspected, it is Vicki listening to her music again.
Her favorite composer, Ray LaMontagne, blares in the speakers of the old CD player she keeps in her room, and I stalk past, thinking about what I will say to yell at her to shut it up, but I actually kind of like it. It is low, with a lot of acoustics and harmonies. Throatily tones that dig deep into my soul.
Now you act so surprised
To hear what you already know
And all you really had to do was ask
I'd have told you straight away
All those lies were truth
And all that was false was fact
Now you hold me close and hard
But I was like a statue at most
Refusing to acknowledge you'd been hurt
Now you're clawing at my throat
And you're crying all is lost
But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt
But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt
Well the truth it fell so heavy
Like a hammer through the room
That I could choose another over her
You always said I was an actor, baby
Guess in truth you thought me just amateur
Was it you who told me once
Now looking back it seems so real
That all our mistakes are merely grist for the mill
So why is it now after I had my fill
That you steal from me the sorrow that I've earned
Shall we call this a lesson learned?
Shall we call this a lesson learned?
I stand outside the door and listen for what feels to me a long time, until I fear tears fill my eyes. I slide against the wall and my bottom twumps on the ground as I cry with my forehead pressed into my knees. The lyrics seem to flow around me.
Well the truth it fell so heavy
Like a hammer through the room
That I could choose another over her
You always said I was an actor, baby
Guess in truth you thought me just amateur
That you never saw the signs
That you never lost your grip
Oh, come on now
That's such a childish claim
Now I wear the brand of traitor
Don't it seem a bit absurd
When it's clear I was so obviously framed
When it's clear I was so obviously framed
Now you act so surprised
To hear what you already know
And all you really had to do was ask
I'd have told you straight away
All those lies were truth
And all that was false was fact
Now you hold me close and hard
But I was like a statue at most
Refusing to acknowledge you'd been hurt
Now you're clawing at my throat
And you're crying all is lost
But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt
But your tears they felt so hot upon my shirt
The sobs come harder and harder now, and I wet the knees of my jeans. I gasp for air and sit like this for however long it takes for me to regain myself.
Blip…. Blip…. Blip….. blip..blip..blip..blipblipblipblip…blip….blip…
"Come on." I say softly as Hershel and Maggie's eyes stay trained on her face. "Come on, Beth,"
A few others are in the room as well. Lori and Carol, along with Rick and T-Dog stand like trained sentries at their guard posts. Daryl stands there as well, but more separated from the group. Once we gain eye contact, and keep it for a moment. I see something deep in his eyes that is maybe sorrow, remorse, pity. Pity for what? Our eyes train away from each other as Maggie continues rubbing over her sister's hand. She has tears forming at the edges of her eyes as Glenn rubs her shoulder gently.
"I can't stand to see her like this. In pain, not even…" she trails off and lays her tired head to her father's shoulder. He comforts her, his face just as momentous as his daughter's. I slowly kneel by the side of the bed.
"Beth," I whisper with my forehead pressed to the sheet on the bed. I say the rest in my head because it is only for her, no one else should hear what I have to say. It's me again, Paige. I know you're fighting, but you have to keep doing it. You have to keep going onward. You're not going to leave me, do you hear me? You are strong. And you are pretty, and smart, and you can beat this, I know you can. Please, please.
We are all silent as the monitor seems to go slower and slower as if it is rolling down a slope.
Blip. Blip. Blip….. blip… blip…. Blip… blip…..blip. Beth gasps a strenuous lungful of air.
The lustrous line has a tiny little plasmid orb going through it, but there are no more tiny trios of lights, and no more blips. The tiny indentation in the light searches for something, anything, to make it go up and down again, like a sailboat gliding across the calmest waters. The room is silent.
The mask over her face no longer has steam from her breath, and the hiss of inhalation is no longer audible. Like it was never there. Maggie's mouth hangs open in shock, suddenly bursting into sobs so hard that she makes no sound at all. Hershel doesn't move an inch as he realizes his daughter is not with us any longer.
I am sorry… a little bit of a depressing chapter, but thanks to those who have stayed with me through this… I would really love more viewers, to encourage me to write more, so if you could, please spread the word! Thanks! And RIP Beth…