Hi! Sorry for the delay in the chapter updating… I have pneumonia, ironic right? But, here it is… and sorry again for the delay in the update, and I hope you enjoy this! I hope the next update will be sooner! I would also like to thank Guest1019 for reviewing, thanks for the amazing review, honey! And again, thanks to Rainbow, you're the best!

Seven: Dog Patch

The black shaggy dog snaps, and I jump back before it can sink its teeth into the heel of my boot. Its black hirsute head with unkempt black fur in every direction goes lower, ready to pounce on me. The larger dog that looks like a Rottweiler shakes its muscled flanks as it jumps forward, retorting at me, spiked collar jingling around its stout neck. I back up against one of the orchard trees, losing my footing and falling back against the branches. I feel one of them scrape my back badly on the way down

"Easy, guys," a voice says, coming from the mouth of the shadowed figure. More rings of smoke puff up into the dimming twilight. The being blows, smoke protruding from what looks like a black hole of a mouth as it steps out of the darkness. The dogs still growl deeply as I take in who stands before me.

He is a particularly average man, maybe only as tall as Daryl, but his hair is a mop of brown and blond streaks that remind me of being sun-bleached accept for the gray that poisons the surfer look. He is dressed in a dirty flannel button-up that has the cuffs unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to about his elbows, halfway up his dense arms that are tanned and covered in a dark layer of hair. His chin has a scar on it, about the size of a thumb nail that has been peeled away, and a slight dirty layer of scruff has covered over it like a patch of rickety shingles. He smokes a Lot 826 Toro cigar; I recognize it because my father used to smoke the same exact kind. More rings of smoke dwindle up into the air as he blows it out of his mouth in puffs, his chest slightly heaving in a practiced manor.

Shaggy black dog continues to growl at me, but ceases snapping, backing off slightly towards the superior figure. The Rottweiler licks its low hanging jowls, turning its shoulder and stalking with stiff, wooden-like legs behind the alpha male. The head that seems too small for the body protrudes from around the knee of the cigar-smoker, baring crooked white teeth.

"I – I –" I start, still backing away with sludge from the squished plumb still in my hand. I wipe it on my pants and hold my hands up.

He laughs, showing a browned tongue from the tobacco, and his teeth slightly yellowed around the edges. "Huh, look what the cat dragged in…" he chuckles again, throwing his head back like a crazy man. The shaggy hound sits back on its haunches, tongue hanging out over a pair of sharp, wolf-like teeth. In fact, this one looks like it is descended from a family of wolves, but with more German shepherd features. The man bits down on his cigar and reaches for me, grabbing my ear. "Or should I say dogs…"

I stammer, still holding up my hands in surrender. He chews on his Toro for a moment as his dogs, or rather little minions, growl from behind his legs. I try to back away from his large, grizzly-like hand that grabs for me, but he catches on my ear. As he drags me with his cigar clamped between his upper and lower molars, tugging on my ear, he mutters with his clenched teeth as to not drop the cigar in his teeth. "Bobby, Jaws, heel." And the dogs follow their master, each at one of his sides like they are attached to his hips. The sky is almost black behind me as he yanks my ear, forcing me along as if I have a choice over resisting or letting him rip my ear off. His hand is so warm and thick, like sausage fingers almost, though I didn't think he was too overweight when I saw him.

"Let go of me!" I snarl, but he laughs, and I am tossed into a room that I recognize as the tack room that Tidan and I passed through on our way to the stables. It smells thickly of hay seed and manure, and the smell immediately stings my nose like the rusty smell of blood. As I try to catch myself on the floor, my left elbow cracks on the smooth concrete, and I howl in pain, my mouth opens though nothing comes out at all. The man, illuminated by the lamps that flicker during the night around the tack room puts his hands out, and his dogs circle me like they are vultures and I am the meal. Holding my elbow, I back against a shabby chair that looks like an antique my grandmother might have had. It is finished wood, and the seat and back of it are a woven wicker pattern. I realize how uncomfortable it is when I am dragged by the collar of my shirt up to sit in it. He takes a dusty roll of duct tape off the shelf with old pictures of some girl with a horse's head over her neck with a wreath of flowers and ribbons, and tapes my hands to the arm rests of the chair. He then tapes over my mouth.

Trying to speak around the tape, my voice comes out an unintelligible yell, though the words my lips won't form are quite fowl. The black shaggy canine, either the one he calls Bobby, or Jaws, snaps at me and I shut up. I have never been a fan of dogs ever since I was twelve and one of my trashy neighbor's dogs chased me home and sunk its teeth into my leg. Dogs certainly are not the biggest concern in a world like this, I am sure that I wouldn't want either one of his mutts sinking their teeth into me.

The man laughs, smoke swirling around his head like a hazy veil. The room starts to smell woodsy and like my dad did, what I can remember of him. "Bobby, stay." He tells the black dog, who sits and obeys, baring its teeth at me. Nice dog, I think to myself, hoping that it won't tear me to shreds. "Jaws," the man says to the Rottweiler, who is Jaws, "Heel," and he does so on the way out. I am alone in the cold, smoky room with no one but Bobby to keep me company. The mutt stares me down, and I stare back at it, keeping eye contact so if it tries to maul me, I'll know when.

It seems like hours before I hear the voices outside of my makeshift "cell". There are three men, I think first. "I foun' 'er out in the plumb orchards… pretty scummed up, if ya ask me, Pep… an' ya know, she's kinda a looker."

I roll my eyes, but even doing as much as that, the dog growls at me, panting afterwards. It is strange how bossy it could be, then would stick its tongue out like a moron. All dogs are the same. Morons. They'd run up to the person that was gonna shoot them. Nuzzle their hand on the person holding the whip.

"Leave it to me, I'll take a look at her. Make sure she has no bites, and then we can talk to her." I recognize Pepe's voice. Then, there is another that I hear. Devil's.

"How long is this going to happen? Finding stragglers on the property?" I hear his snuffle, and probably rub his chin like he always does.

"Hell, that's how we found Tidan… wanderin' the orchards 'round here… been a few months since then, I didn't think that we'd be findin' no one else out there… wonderin' how she got herself in myself, we got the place pretty secure now."

"Yeah, but it isn't a prison." I hear Devil speak again. "Not like we have barbed wire fences and fire-hour alarms. People can get in, isn't easy, but you remember how Tidan did it. Anyone else with a spry mind can sneak in." I hear the sarcasm in his voice this time.

"Well, I'd better go talk to her." Pepe says. "If you two want to bicker about this, be my guest then." He clears his throat, and I hear the door creak slightly as he steps into the room. It is still shadowed in here due to the only lighting being the oil lanterns hanging around the exterior of the room. Pepe strokes his moustache as he looks at me. "Paige?"

"Mmm! MM!" I try to talk, but the duct tape over my mouth restricts me. I give up talking as he crosses over to me.

"Lo siento, novio." He says, peeling away the corner of the tape and ripping the rest off slowly. I cry out as he rips the remainder off. I breathe hard through my mouth now as he tosses the tape aside. The black dog growls as the Rottweiler paces into the room as well, snarling in unison. "Oh, shut up, you sucio chuchos"

"Pepe," I yell hoarsely, swallowing to try and moisten my throat again. If my throat wasn't so dry, I probably would be yelling, but I feel exhausted. My elbow still rings with pain, vibrating with the memory of it hitting the concrete. "THE HELL, WHAT THE HELL!"

He tries to calm me, but I snap at him with my words. "WELL, are you going to fucking rip the duct tape from my wrists, or keep my tied to this chair like a prisoner!"

He considers for a moment. "I'm sorry, querido."

"Keep her tied down for a second there, mate." Devil says, stepping into the room, his muddy boots leaving smudges on the concrete. The other man steps into the room, now without a cigar, but I can see a fresh one sticking out from behind his ear like a pencil. Devil rubs his chin, his slight whisker shadows making a scruffle sound. His left eye still has a slight bruised shadow at the corner, and his lip still has a scab. I've avoided him since the day I attacked him. But he knows that I should at least be kept taped to a chair while I am in this spitting angry mood. When I am seeing red, I could take on three people and win, no doubt, even if I am only just over a hundred pounds.

"You know this girl?" the smoke ring man says, grinding his teeth together. "How the hell do you know this girl?"

Pepe strokes his moustache again. "Camel… don't be rash, amigo. There was a group… about a week ago… we let them in –"

"YOU LET MORE IN!" Camel yells, his voice ringing off the concrete walls. "We had an agreement! Ain't room for one more, Pepe, ain't room for one more! You let a damn group in!" he yells irately, "What did I say, what did I say!"

"Camel, I think it'd be best for you to calm down!" Pepe tries to grab him as I uselessly struggle at my restraints, though ineffectively.

"No, what you needa do is stop tryin' ta make this place a bed and breakfast, sir," Camel emphasizes on sir, being sarcastic. "Ain't no one you won't accept, an' you're a poxy bastard if you think these people'll be any help to ya! They'd just's soon shoot ya and take ya down before they thank ya! Soon as ya know it, they'll be movin' into the damn house with ya!"

"Ain't like that, Camel," Devil says. I'm surprised he is actually defending me. "They had a sick one with them… she was dying, and as my duty as a doctor, I had to help her. Wasn't right to leave them out there at the gate, they were friends of Petey…"

"Back there a damn second, 'Dr,' Devil," Camel does air quotes when he says "dr." and bobs his head. "First of all, you was a military nurse! Ain't no doctor! And this ain't your say, Ruggedy Andy! People die every day, why didn't you just leave 'em out there! They can fend for their damn selves!"

"I don't believe you're that selfish." Pepe says, still standing beside me while I struggle against the restraints. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I stop. I trust Pepe. He won't leave me out here like this, even if this Camel guy wants to. This is his property, not this hick's.

"Ain't your say, old man. I keep this place runnin', an' you wanna tell me we got room for more!" he lunges for him, but Devil's strong arm retrains him.

"They are more than welcome to be here, Camel. And it isn't your say. This is my property, and the folks needed medical attention. They were going to starve out there, and I don't believe you have the right to question my motives. You have been with us for ten years, but you do not own anything around here." Pepe says, and I do a silent cheer for him.

Camel paces back and forth, reminding me slightly of Rick. "So, you let 'em in, sure. And then what?"

"And gave the girl medical care." Devil says matter-of-factly.

"Well, what? Been damn near a month I been gone, she ought to be better by now then."

I grit my jaw, and Devil runs his hands together. Pepe pats my shoulder. "She didn't make it." Devil looks down, tilting his head, and then rolling only his eyes up to look at Camel. He chews on his cheek and touches the Toro tucked behind his ear as if to make sure it is still there. He snorts.

"So… tell them it's time ta leave."

"What would you like me to do, Camel? They have settled here. I opened up my home to them. What would satisfy you, keeping watch on them at all times and putting them to work? Espero has enough room for – twenty more people. And they're kind folk…"

Camel snorts. "That's what they want ya ta think. Turn your back f' two seconds, they're shootin' ya down and takin' over the damn place."

"Ain't like that." I spit at him. "I knew Petey, Pepe's cousin. He told me to go here. So get off your fuckin' high horse, and stop getting' territorial with your mangy mutts."

Camel glares at me with the eyes of a dragon, grabbing my face in his large hand, pinching my cheeks in with his thumb and other four fingers. "Girl, you talk back again, I will rip your sorry little ass off so fast that you'll –"

"Camel…" Pepe says, holding his hand out. "None of that on my property."

He takes his hand off of my face and picks up a lock of my straight blonde hair that is falling messily into my face, chuckling. "Feisty, yet pretty…Hmph."

"If you're gonna be two faced, at least make one of 'em pretty." I roll my eyes, drumming my cobalt blue nails on the arm rests of the chair that my wrists are taped to. Camel grinds his teeth and paces off in the other direction. "And my people aren't just stragglers. We've lost people, you local yokel, and we aren't going to lose anymore!" I can see the veins pop out of Camel's forehead as his face turns red, and Devil pretends to wipe his lips with the back of his hand. "Can you let me go now? It's fucking freezing in here."

"You gonna let that roam free?" Camel scuffs the toe of his boot on the floor, his black dog trotting over to him. He pats its head and the Rottweiler pushes his head up on his other hand for attention. Pepe shakes his head and starts to peel away the edge of the tape holding down my left wrist. I lift my arm in front of me to feel the circulation come back into it, then do the same with my right arm out in front of me when it is free as well. Pepe helps me to my feet and ensures that I am alright.

"Camel, I will see you outside while Devil walks Paige inside." Pepe says, and I look up at Devil who is wiping the mud off his boot on the side of the musty wooden doorframe. I hold my elbow as he stands aside the doorway to allow me out first. I fail to look at him as I walk out of the tack room, into the faint light of the night. I can hear Pepe and Camel as we slowly walk back towards the porch lights of the house.

" 'S 'bout time ya stopped lettin' people in, ya see it all turns out the same way. How many crosses ya got on the land now? How many ya buried?"

"I don't believe this is any of your business. This is my property, and I appreciate everything that you do for Espero. You keep the fields and orchards running. But the business of my visitors is none of yours…"

"Sure, old man… sooner or later, this is all gonna backfire on ya. An' Imma be the one with the last laugh." I hear him spit, then the voices become mumbles and murmurs as we become slowly closer to the house and farther away from the stable and tack room.

"Did he touch you?" Devil finally says, his voice coming out of the darkness like a phantom.

"No." I say, still rubbing my elbow. "I banged my elbow on the floor when he threw me down."

He nods, though I can only see his silhouette. He grinds his jaw and his chin juts out even more than it does. All he needs is one of those big hats to look just like the Crocodile Hunter, or a man from down under. Not to mention I am at least a foot and a half shorter than him. "I'll have Tidan look at your elbow. I'm going to go check on the orchards… dogs like to take a shit out there, if you know what I mean."

I nod, things still strange between us. In the light of the porch, I can see that his eye is still bruised, better than I could see in the lanterns of the dank tack room. He has a blotted, reddish bruise on the side of his temple as well, above his top lip is a scab of where his nose bled onto his shirt after I hit him. Devil opens the door for me and we both step into the parlor of the old house.

"Paige," Lori says, automatically glaring at Devil. "Where has she been, she has been gone for hours."

"It's alright… she had a little run-in with Pepe's landscaper. He's been out for a month, she's alright, miss." He reassures, putting on his charm to calm her down. I've noticed that he tries to be his most polite when people are stressed. He ain't no dummy. "I'll just have Tidan look at her, and I'll fill you in later." Says Devil, clearing his throat as T-Dog's dark eyebrows furrow together. I am glad that Rick doesn't seem to be here, because I still have a few "things" to say to him.

"Paige…" Lori questions, but I shake my head.

"I'm fine, just banged up. I'll talk to you in a minute." I reassure her, letting Devil lead me into the white medical room. Now that the adrenaline has run its course in my body, my elbow is throbbing with pain.

"Wait here," Devil says, and I sit on the metal table that rolls. It seems strange, the last time I was in here was when Beth… I let my own thoughts trail off. It is hard to think about Beth. Who could blame me? It is the same with Petey. Hard to think about him, but hard not to. The way his dark cheeks had dimples when he smiled, how he always tried to lighten the mood. And the only reason I force myself to think of him is so I will not forget him. The same with Beth. But along with the nice images, come the gruesome ones, and those are what make me so disconnected. But memories are like a drug to me. All that I live on anymore.

"Hey," I am woken from my musing at the sound of Tidan's voice. I look up, noticing that I am swinging my legs against the legs of the table, and my hair has fallen into my face. It feels strange to not be wearing my hat – I think it may have flew off my head when I was running from Camel's two mutts. "You alright?"

"I'm still up." I roll my eyes. Why does it have to be Tidan looking after my injuries, anyone else would have been fine. Where is Alexa when you need her? I wonder if her head is alright. She hit it pretty hard when…

"Can you unbend your arm?" I try to hold my arm out in front of me, but zaps of pain ring through my hand all the way up to my shoulder. He nods and gently presses his curved fingers into my elbow. I wince and pull away from him. "Easy, easy… I'm not trying to hurt you."

I let him prod gently at my elbow again. "You hit it on something?" I nod. "God, no one should have a run in with Camel like that… not right. Not even sure he's sane himself…"

I look up at him as he starts to shake one of those break-n-shake icepacks that come in the first aid kits. "I thought that all the people I met were the only ones here."

"They are… you met them all, 'cept Camel. He's the landscaper for Pepe's property. You know anything about preppers, Paige?"

"'Bout as much as I know about lip gloss and eye shadow." I roll my eyes. "Go on,"

He chuckles as he shakes the icepack to make it cold. I remember trying to use one of those once, I could never get it to work. "Well, they recruit people early. You know, like people to take care of other stuff during the end of the world so they don't have to take care of everything on their own. Shepherds, apothecaries. Stuff like that. Well, Pepe has been prepping ever since before his son was born, and that's damn near sixteen years ago. Hold this here." he directs me to hold the ice pack on my elbow and rummages in a drawer, clearing his throat. "Sorry if I get this wrong, Mya told me all this… but he recruited her as the food and supplies manager, and him as the landscaper. He takes care of the orchards and all that, and making sure everything stays alright in the fields and all the land and that stuff… how's this feel?" he asks, patting my shoulder as I rub my elbow after removing the icepack.

"Numb now. So, continue." I say as he makes my elbow bent again and starts to wrap it in a brown bandage.

"Mm, oh yeah. So, he hired Camel to take care of all that. But he's an irritable man… doesn't like others in his domain."

He reminds me of Daryl. Especially the way that he talks, and how he won't let anyone into his space. I don't blame him. "So, his name is Camel? Where do Ponyboy and Sodapop stay?"

He chuckles and pats my elbow gently, which is now wrapped in the bandage and still feels slightly numb. "Camel is his nickname… not his real name, his real name is Scott Nicorette. He used to smoke Camel cigs, and Pepe told him he should stop smoking cigarettes. So, plainly, he started smoking cigars."

I actually laugh slightly, but laughing hurts too much so I stop. "So, he's a smartass."

Tidan shrugs, and I hop down from the table. "Sorry he sicked his dogs on you. He doesn't really like newcomers. He thinks that we shouldn't let others in because we don't have enough room. We have at least three more rooms in the bunker, but he just – wants to be selfish. Don't get bothered by him."

"He thinks we should leave."

"Well, if it's any connotation, I don't. I know you've all seen a lot out there, and I know how you feel. I was out there too, but I was alone."

"Yeah," I nod once. "I was too. I'd only just found Rick and his group."

He looks down, his dark hair falling in a triangle on his forehead as it always does. I wonder how old he is, because his face looks young, but be is growing a slightly uneven graze of scruff on his cheeks. "We all have our stories."

"Some end better than others." I say curtly before I exit the room, leaving him there. Carol and Lori are waiting for me when I enter the kitchen. I look at the large clock. It's about eleven o'clock at night. T-Dog is still leaned against the counter by the coffeepot.

"What the hell was that?" Lori demands, pulling me by the arm. "Where were you, what happened?"

"Let go of me." I roll my eyes. I really hate nothing more than when people bombard me. And they have been lately. Whatever happened after Beth… it wasn't myself, and everyone has been trying to keep me in their sight since. "I'm fine, I didn't do this to myself, if that's what you think."

"That isn't what we think at all. Paige, please. You've been going nonstop for the past couple of days. Running around, staying with Beth. Why don't you go rest?" Carol says with concern in her voice, also layered with annoyance. Well, I don't care if they think of me as a burden on them. Espero is big enough that I can get away when I want to.

"I don't give a damn what you think anyway. I'm going to the bunkers, if you wanna babysit me there, be my guest." I say shortly, brushing past them. I don't have time for Lori and Carol. I need to talk to Rick. I've been meaning to ever since the funeral. I pace outside, swinging my good arm for the time being, letting the other one hang aimlessly with the slight bend that the hardened bandage supplies. It is completely dark now, and the stars dot the sky; which is strange, because it is usually quite cloudy at night.

The bunkers are nearly silent, and I find Vicki sprawled out on the electric room sofa, sound asleep. I take the liberty of covering her up with the blanket laying on the floor because she is shivering, and then I check in each room to make sure everyone is asleep. Carl is turned toward the wall in his bed, his back facing me, and I suspect he is already asleep. His hat is set aside on the floor, and his clothes leave a trail to where he undressed and got into his pajamas that are too big for him. I close the door and check in the other rooms. Hershel is sound asleep, the sounds of his muffled snores echoing on the concrete block walls. I cover him up with another blanket and leave him to sleep. In the room across from his, Glenn is asleep with Maggie's head on his arm in an uncomfortable position. It doesn't matter because he is asleep, so I close the door again and go to the showers.

I leave my clothes in a pile on the cold tile outside of the shower and let my hair down, swaying across my back. Hanging my bra and fresh underwear on the hook outside the shower, I stare at myself in the full length mirror that is already fogging up from the running shower. I am pale, and covered in gooseflesh; my hair is parted in a zig-zag, unevenly dispersed on each side as it always is, so that isn't different. My cheeks used to be fuller – I can remember that much about what I used to look like. Now they are sallow, and I can trace my cheekbones without sucking in my cheeks, and my chin is also more prominent. I run my pinky over my lips that are dry and cracked. I don't really pay attention to those because I don't really have a use for those.

I can count each of my ribs. Even Mya's meals haven't helped me gain back much weight. I used to a hundred and six, but now I ain't so sure. Maybe about ninety or so. I've always been pretty skinny, living off whatever my father dragged home when he was sober. With my parents being divorced and all, I was left with dad almost year round, and went to live with my mom in the summer. Mom's was paradise to me. She lived in Florida, and she had a pool, with a big screen net over it so the bugs couldn't get you if you swam at night. It was always really hot, even at night, and I remember floating on the blow-up pool bed at night, staring up at the stars. Those were my favorite times, summertime at my mom's. And then she met Brian, and everything changed. She was going off on vacations with him over the summer, gallivanting off in Greece, or Kenya, or wherever her and her new husband wanted to go, leaving me with my drunkass father who figured I could fend for myself. But I thank my mother for that today, in some sick way, because if she hadn't forced me to harden up with my daddy, I wouldn't be who I am today. I probably wouldn't have even had the gumption to survive.

Running my hand over my flat stomach, I can hear a gurgle of hunger. The last thing I ate was that fruit in the orchard a few hours ago. I shrug off the hunger and trace the scars on my arms. Most of them are from the backlash of a bowstring, or the kick of my gun, but I got used to it. My shoulder is pretty stiff from my rifle as well, but that was just another thing I had to grow accustomed to. Sometimes you gotta do things you're uncomfortable with at first, but those are usually the things that become second nature to you.

Even as I stare into my own eyes, they don't look the same. They were a deep, chocolate brown color before the apocalypse. Now they are vicious, malevolent. More shrewd, like I could take out a human being, and that scares me, so I stop looking into my eyes. Instead, I stare at my breasts. I have always been pretty full in that area, but now that I have lost weight, they seem to be a little smaller. I've noticed more room in my bra lately. But that doesn't bother me, because again, I will never have a use for them. They could shrivel up and wither away, for all I care, I wouldn't miss them. I doubt I would even notice, they are just there.

Being fed up with the sight of myself that isn't really myself, I tear away from the mirror and slink into the shower. I wash with the usual soap that is in here, a bar of green and white marble soap and average shampoo and conditioner. Letting the water gush over my back, I groan with satisfaction. One can never fully appreciate the beauty of a shower until they haven't taken a real one in months. Bathing in the river or stopping at a puddle to slick your hair back just doesn't cut it. And when you go days with your hairline receding with dirt and greasy locks, it feels like a gift to be clean for once. I wash every speck of dirt off of my body and even decide to shave my legs. After I dress in only my underwear, I search for razors and finally find standard orange and white ones in a cabinet. I put each leg up on the toilet and shave them. I cut myself a few times, but I dab the slits with toilet paper until they stop bleeding and pull my nightshirt over my head. It is the same gown I dressed in the first night I came here, so I figure it must be mine now that no one has claimed it. My skin is still wet under it, and it feels uncomfortable, but I pull on a pair of socks and comb through my hair, letting it fall wet over my shoulder. It always looks curly when it is wet. It makes me look younger, mom always said, but I always preferred it straight.

The bunker still looks deserted, and I try to be quiet as I slip into bed, even though every step I take sounds like a plane crashing on the highway. The bed creaking sounds like a million screams in a horror film, but I finally settle down. But sleep won't come.

I sit at the side of my bed and pull on the pair of red Converse that I swiped from the WalMart we ransacked. They feel taut and stiff against my feet, but only because they are new. In the backwash county where I used to live with Dad, I wore suckers like these out like no other. We all used to, the kids that lived down there. We wore 'em until they fell apart off our feet. This pair will do for a while, and will make do for extras when my boots are wet, which happens to be a lot more often now that we are in rain country.

When my shoes are laced up, I stand and walk a couple of steps to start the stretching of the canvas. They actually aren't too bad, because they aren't the kind that come up over my ankles. They remind me of Beth, as I stare down at them. I wonder where Maggie put her green ones. They might be under her bed, along with her bag, and the nail polish that I safely tucked away again. In the dim light, I hold up my hands to inspect my cobalt blue nails. It is strange to see the unbefitting splash of color, but I sort of like it. I decide that it is my new favorite color. It sort of fits me, however I have never been the kind of girl to paint nails. But maybe I am not the same girl anymore.

Trying to be silent, I close the lead door to the bunker, trying to ease it back into place, but it squeaks anyway. Figures. I trot out onto the large lawn and stare up at the stars. I can see the constellations my grand dad showed me how to find. Orion, Cassiopeia, Leo, Lupus. There once was a time when I knew them all. The moon looms over me like a phantasm specter, watching me. I don't care if it sees where I go. It isn't like it can call out to anyone. And I won't go far. I never go far.

The ground squishes under my feet as I pass the stables, and eventually pass the orchard, where I wander in the dark until I find my hat on the ground, overcasted by silver moonlight. I head out into the field that sways with the night breeze. This is as far as I have gone on the property. I can see the faint shadows of the tower that sits in the north-east corner of the property. The grass is about a little past my knees, and it is just right. I sit down crisscross and bury my head in my hands. I really miss Tennessee. It ain't what it used to be now, I know that damn straight. But I miss the way it used to be. I didn't spend a whole lot of time at home, but I spent a lot of time hanging out by myself. By myself, the words ring in my head. Oh, the feelings of by myself. Sometimes I would sit at the end of the dock with my feet in the water, letting the minnows nibble at my toes. I did a lot of thinking there, at my little dock. And then, weird shit started to happen. My daddy showed up at the creek-side, grabbing me and dragging me home.

"What're you draggin' me for?" I questioned, scowling at the man. I never liked him, but being seventeen at the time, he was still legally in charge of me. I had planned to find my own place in the world the second I turned eighteen, but obviously, I couldn't ever get around to it.

"Time ta leave," my daddy said, that crazed look in his golden eyes. "World ain't safe, we gotta leave?"

"You're drunk," I pulled away from him, glaring. "Leggo of me."

"We needa get outa here, Paige. You gonna have ta trust me on this, now. Ya can smell ma breath, darlin', I ain't foolin' ya."

"Get off." I pushed him. "Leave me alone!"

He had driven off, anger in his eyes, as he always did.

I realize that tears stream down my cheeks, my wet hair hanging over my face as I wrap my arms around my knees. My sobs are louder than I ever wanted them to be. But I don't care. Who will hear me out here? That is why I came here, farther out than I've ever been. I bury my face in my knees and sob for what seems like forever. Then, I force myself up, feeling the urge to move again. Restlessness is an old, unfortunate friend. I spent plenty of nights that I should have been sleeping roaming the woods, feeling that need to run. So, I do. I run past the bunkers again, and then past the house. Down the long, spiraling road that we drove down to get here. I run until my feet are on fire and the gate blocks my path. And then, I think about running away again. Leaving Espero, leaving hope. If there really is hope here at all. If there is, I sure as hell haven't come across it yet.

I take off my shoes and socks and tie the laces together, carrying them like they are two cherries on a connected stem. I am used to bare feet. When I am trying to be quiet in the woods, I will often take them off, so the worn-down gravel don't bother the soles at all. The soft grass is a nice change, though. My toes squish in the sod as I walk in the purple darkness to the scarlet oak tree. I sit beside the cross and stretch out my legs. I sit like this for a while before I take a deep breath and speak.

"The people who are gone… then always seem to have all the answers, don't they…" I sigh, leaning against eh bark of the tree. "You'd know what to do… I know you would. Hell, you'd be painting my damn nails while you told me exactly the right thing, what to say…"

I rub my forehead slightly, pushing up my hair and letting my hat fall backwards on my neck. "I don't know what the hell to do, where the hell to go. I don't really got anywhere, Bethie… not anywhere to go. I thought maybe I'd belong here, huh? But it just doesn't… feel like I do, you know the feeling?"

The wind blows.

"Yeah, I bet you don't. You always got Maggie… and your daddy. I ain't never had my daddy around." I'm surprised my child-like horrible-grammar voice comes out. I wonder why. It just happens to pop out every now and then, when I am feeling certain things, when I am – "I'm at the end of my rope, honey… I just… don't know anymore. Where do I go, where do I find answers? I know it's cliché, but I just don't know who I am anymore. I looked in the mirror today, and I knew, that girl ain't me… she was some other girl, and I didn't like that girl."

I sigh and tap my blue fingernails on the cross. "I guess we'll both know in good time, then… and I'll have to decide where I wanna be. Maybe next I'll head off to North Carolina next, and then maybe off to Virginia. I donno… I just don't feel like I belong here… Petey, his cousin… he's great, man… and I can tell he wants me to stay here. And Beth, you woulda liked this place. It's a beaut." I pat the cross once again and rise to my bare feet, heading off towards the bunkers again. I suddenly feel exhausted as I sink into the bed. My own bed. And this is my room. My home. But maybe I might be better off by myself.

"Morning," T-Dog grumbles as I pass him in the kitchen. He is drinking coffee as he always is in the morning. I nod once at him, and his dark eyes follow me as I walk into the parlor, my still slightly damp red canvas shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. I find Carl drawing in a notebook with a Bic pen.

"Hey," he looks up at me for a moment, and goes back to drawing. "What's up?"

"Nothin', whatcha drawing?" I smile, patting the top of his hat. He holds up a picture of a boxy robot.

"Not very good." He shrugs, then goes back to sketching with the pen.

"No, no, this is good. You should start drawing pictures of people, those are so much easier. At least I think. So, Carl, you know where your dad is?"

He nods. "Out by the fence with Pepe and Tidan. They needed to patch up something, and Pepe asked for Dad's help. Why?"

"I needed to talk to him. Never mind." I ruffle his hair, and on my way out, I mumble. "Try drawing a portrait, Carl Man, you might surprise yourself."

The sun is shining today, there are no clouds but a few puffy white ones that dot the maritime of blue. It is oddly calm today, but I guess not so odd. There is always a blue sky after a storm, and it has been raining for the past few days. And it is pleasantly warm again, maybe close to eighty. Tidan told me it isn't usually like this, because of the cooler winter breezes that flutter by here, but it feels more like a windy summer, with slight chills. All the same, I leave my jacket inside and go with a t-shirt I've had since I was in Tennessee. It's a plain gray shirt, which cuts off at the elbows. The starch from the clothing line is a little too stiff to my liking, but one can't be too choosy these days.

I make my way out to the fence where Pepe, Rick, and Tidan are. They seem to be talking about the electric fence that is about three hundred yards away from the wooden fence that they are leaning on. There are a few of the horses in the distance, grazing happily in the tall grasses where I sat last night. Many cows also graze amongst the equestrian animals, along with a few fat goats. I stay a healthy distance away from the three of them, only standing close enough for them to notice me. Tidan is dressed in a t-shirt as well as I am, but it is looser and has a collar that curls up slightly. He wears a beat-up looking cowboy hat that seems a little unbefitting on him. I pat my own hat down as Pepe clears his throat, rubbing his 'stache as he smiles at me.

"Hola, oso gomoso. Is there something that you need?" he smiles, his mustaches corner to corner on his cheeks, crow's feet forming at his eyes.

"I needa talk to Rick." I scuff my toe on the sodden ground as a tan horse with a larger-than-life body sticks its head over the fence and snorts through its sunburnt, spotted pink nose. Tidan gently pats its snout and takes his hat off, ruffling his hair and then returning it. I can see his muscles press against the fabric of his shirt as he huffs a breath, feeding the horse a few weeds it can't reach on the opposite side of the fence. "Can I borrow him for a sec?"

"Por supuesto, Rick…" he clears his throat. "Tidan, let's go get those sacks of cornmeal out from the tack room and put them in the cellar."

Tidan nods, following him to the stable. I wait until they have disappeared before I begin talking.

"You got a lotta explaining to do." I say, crossing my arms and staring down at the toes of my new Converse, which look way too white. "You best start."

Rick leans on the wooden fence and clears his throat, snuffling and rubbing his hand down his face. It really bugs the shit out of me when people don't say anything when I talk to them. I'm only five and a half feet tall and probably a hundred pounds if I lean real hard on one foot. I can't be that intimidating. But maybe it's the way I say things. Someone once told me I was edgy. The woman I once used to know, Emily Ross. She was a mutual friend of my aunt before we starting apocalypsin'. I always liked her, the way that she held herself, the way that she could act so professional and then bunker down and drink a keg of whiskey. But she always told me the honest truth, and once when I was yelling, she told me it wasn't the things I said, it was the way I said them. It made me like her even more. I wonder if Em ever got out of Tennessee. I hope she did. I'd be sad to see her as a rotty.

"Well, ain't ya gonna say anything?" my bad grammar comes out again, the voice I used to talk in when I was getting drunk by the creek. "You've got a lot of talking to do."

"Paige…" he sighs, his tired voice coming out a mere whisper. "What do you wanna –"

"I wanna know everything. I wanna know why you kept all this shit from me, an' I don't want a shit crack-pipe story of how you didn't trust me or whatnot, because if you wanna talk about trust, you go ahead and spit in my face, because I didn't trust you neither!" I whirl around at him. "Why did Beth turn, and I wanna know. Tell the truth, Rick."

"It's complicated." He sighs, rubbing his scruffly face again. "Really, Paige, if you'd just calm down,"

"I'm calm. I can be calm, damn it! I'd be calmer if you'd just – fucking spit it out! We checked her for bites, least three times! Hell on earth, Rick, she wasn't bitten! Not even a scratch! I made sure that not one walker touched her or your boy. I made sure. And I'm standin' there like a fucking idiot, waving my gun around and shooting at Beth, who all the sudden just fucking woke from death. That ain't right, Rick, that just ain't right. Tell me what you're keepin' from me."

He looks up at my demanding tone. Emily was right. It is how I talk. It must make people uncomfortable, intimidate them or something. "Keep an open mind about this… you listen to me, Paige," he grabs my shoulder, anger in his deep blue eyes that match Carl's. "We went to the CDC, seeking refuge… food, shelter. And we found it there, for a short period of time. The man there, Jenner. He was the only one left, and when the generators started shutting down…" he rubs his thumb and other four fingers on his temples. "We had to get out of there. And before we did, he told me something key, he told me that everyone is – infected. Everyone has the walker virus, Paige. Not just the ones bitten, scratched. Everyone."

I let his words sink in, then speak up. "So, you and me… if I die, I'll turn?"

"If anyone dies, they'll turn."

I stare out into the sun, and after a while of that, whenever I blink I stare at the white splotches in my vision that are like the sudden flash of a camera. "If anyone dies they'll…" I sink against the fence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

He stands still above me, rubbing his forehead. "I didn't mean to keep it from you – hell, I didn't mean to keep it from anyone –"

"You've said enough." I say, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Pointin' Daryl's gun at her head, none-the -less… fuck." I bury my head in my hands, and I close my eyes to see. The abyss of great darkness seems to be my friend these days, that spiraling, dismal place where I go to feel something again. I let myself go to that place, blocking out the sun, blocking out the swaying fields and orchards around me, the sounds of the horse whinnying in the distance, the goats bleating. I block out all light for however long I need, and then open my eyes to Rick still standing over me. I rise to my feet, feeling so shaky that I have to point my finger at him and push it against his hard chest. He pushes it away, but I don't care.

"Come to think about it, where is my gun, Rick? And my knife? Where did you happen to put them?"

"They're off for safe keeping. We're not going to touch them. We thought it best for the group if –"

"Group? Rick, this ain't no group! I hate to fuck your bubble, but this is – some sick form of a group! We're waltzing with the Devil here, if you wanna sit around here with your wife and son and play house!"

"YOU LED US HERE!" Rick yells, his brows lurching together as he gets angry, jabbing his finger at me this time. "You just got a problem with everywhere else? Is nowhere good enough for you! Maybe that's your dilemma, Paige! You don't want stability! You want to roam around like a wild animal, aimlessly walking around the earth until you kill every walker to your satisfaction! Well, if that's a lifestyle to you, then let it be! But you are not the leader of this group. No matter how hard you try, you are not the leader! And these are not your people, they are mine! I look out for them, and if you would like us to have your back, don't make life hell when we're trying to create a stable environment!"

I stare at him, making a face before I speak again. "You don't know the meaning of being a leader – what the hell is wrong with you, you hypocritical bastard of a –"

"NO!" he yells, his voice surprisingly full of authority. "For once in your life, Paige Swift, just think! Don't talk. Think. I am the leader of these people, and they look to me. They don't need any leadership from a misguided woman who can't keep her sanity. Look, Paige – Lori's pregnant, and we're – desperate. We gotta stay here, we – we need this stability."

I stare at him for a second. "Don't expect me to follow you, Rick." I swallow heavily, licking my front teeth. "Expect me to respect your decisions, but I can make my own."

I turn around to see Tidan smiling, making his way back to the fence. "You two need anything? Everything alright?" obviously the little shithead didn't hear any of the yelling. No wonder, the walls of the tack room are so concrete, they are most likely soundproof, inside and out.

"Just peachy." I push past him, knocking him in the shoulder as I do so.

"Here, let me help you with that." I take the large basket of laundry from Maggie that she is struggling with. Her arms shake with the weight I have lifted out of them, and she brushes her hands off when I set the basket by the clothesline that is strung between two large trees. She probably shouldn't be doing much hard work, especially considering that she just lost her sister. I can understand how it feels to lose someone. I know how it is. But Maggie isn't alone like I was.

"Thanks." She wipes her hands on her capris. "Everyone's been followin' me around like lost puppies."

"Well, don't mind me. I'll just do this laundry, and you can go inside and wash up." I hold up a large sheet, one I recognize as the kind that the bunkers are supplied with. The gray, black, and navy blue print.

"It's fine." She says, though her hands are shaking as she struggles to pick up a pair of Glenn's boxers and hang them up on the line. She drops them back in the basket and pushes her short hair back.

"You need some rest." I pat the small of her back. "Go and take a nap or something, get a bite to eat. I'll get the laundry. You don't have to do this, you know."

She gives me a solemn smile that is really only a small tug of her lips, and touches my shoulder before making her way back to the bunkers. I clamp a few clothespins in between my teeth and pick up Glenn's clean, still-damp boxers, and hang them on the line. They flap and flutter in the breeze, and soon, I have the sheets up on the line as well as the clothes that have been washed recently. Some of them are Vicki's clothes, all girly prints and shirts with band logos, like Falling in Reverse, and Green Day. I never really was a fan of music, really. Whatever I could hum was good enough for me since I spent most of my time alone. But I've not been in the humming mood for quite some time now.

"Thinkin' 'bout hookin' up?"

I jump at the voice, and peer around the fluttering sheets. Eerily, I don't see anyone, so I make my way all the way around the clothes line, No one is there, so I go back to the other side again, startling at Camel who is standing beside the basket that is half full of clothes, smoking one of his Toros. "What the hell do you want?"

He nods once, clamping his cigar in between his teeth. "Those're Tidan's drawers." I look down at the pair of soggy underwear in my hand and my cheeks burn pink. He laughs.

"Something other than that you want? Possibly to sick your ugly mutts on me, or chase me off the property?"

"What, Jaws and BobbyJo? They ain't gon' harm no one. Lotsa bigger things to worry about these days, don't you think, girl?"

I roll my eyes, hanging Tidan's underwear next to Glenn's. "Why don't you go talk to the crickets, maybe they'll listen."

Camel scratches his chin and belches. "Aw, girl… 'mon now… let's not hold no grudges."

"Whatever." I lick my dry lips and hang up a pair of jeans. "I don't have much likin' to you, Camel, so why don't you go on and bother someone else."

He chuckles and leans against one of the trees that stabilizes the thick line. "Ain't you a doozy… you must make some man real proud, that damn mouth of yours. That boy with the arrows, he your Cupid?"

I literally make a gag face. "Not in a million years." Camel reminds me too much of Daryl already. The similarities are repellent. The way they talk, the way they walk, wipe their nose with the back of their hand. They could be related. But Daryl at least might have a little soul in him. This man, Camel, he's just no-good, rotten, sour-as-milk whitetrash. Which reminds me, I haven't seen much of Daryl lately. I wonder where he has sulked off to. Maybe somewhere to make more arrows, though I know we haven't seen action in days. He probably has a good three left. "I'm trying to do a "lady job", so if you wouldn't mind, I don't much appreciate people staring me down while I try to hang bras and underwear up."

He takes a long drawl on his cigar. "You seem like a pretty smart girl…"

"Get out of here." I scowl at him. "Stop creepin', and go bother someone else. Better yet, go cow tippin' for all I give a damn, just get out of here." It makes me pretty uncomfortable with hi hovering over me like this with his smoke rings hovering in the air around his face. The sleeves are ripped over his shirt, and when I say ripped, I mean that it was most likely a long-sleeved button up at one point, but the sleeves have been unevenly tugged off. "I don't need you stinking up the clean laundry with your smoke."

Just against my wishes, he blows a particularly large amount of cigar mist out of his mouth. "Sorry."

"Gonna tell me what you want?" I shake out a wrinkled blue shirt that looks like it belongs to Carol and hang it up, my voice muffled with the clothespins in my mouth.

"Oh, yeah… I was sayin', you a smart little rascal, ain't ya…"

"If this is going to turn into a rape, do it fast, because I really don't have the energy to fight you."

He looks a little surprised, shaking his head. His dark hair flops from side to side as he does. "That really what you think of me?"

"You left me with a real great first impression." I roll my eyes. "What do you want."

He hmphs and rubs the back of his neck. "I heard you an' Rick arguin' earlier like a couple a magpies, quarreling in the damn trees… heard ya say something about bein' infected."

I suck in my breath. "Whatever."

"There are lotsa things you don't know, Paige… lotsa things. And strange things happen here. Espero may seem like an innocent little bitch of a place, but it ain't."

I narrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean…"

"You might wanna check the smokehouse later, an' you didn't hear nothin' from me, girl." Camel blows a long puff of smoke in my direction, turning to stalk back towards the stables. He turns half way around before he is not in earshot. "And it ain't no shit that I don't want any a ya here. I wouldn't be too sorry if I ran your little ass right off the property, all the way ta Hell for all I give a damn. Pull that fuckin' cob outa your ass, might do ya good in life."

The rest of the day, I spend pacing at the wooden fence, staring out at the tiny building that is the smokehouse. Part of me feels as if Camel is just trying to scare me away with bullshit stories, but the other part of me is curious. After pacing until nightfall, I lace up my shoes tight and start out towards the bitty smokehouse as nightfall covers my shadow. The sun is almost entirely set as I stalk out in the weeds, pulling burs out of my shirt as I struggle through the dark. After stomping in the mud a few times and covering my pants in water and mud splatter up to my knees, but with a few muttered swear words, I get past it.

There is a small dirt path off of the overgrown field, and I follow it to the small, dark smokehouse. It has boarded up windows with no lights squeezing out through the boards, but there is a rusty deadlock on the door. I pick up the bolt, and it basically falls apart in my hands. It's been here a while, and is basically all lime and rust. The pieces crumble and leave brown stains on my hand, and I make a face and let the corroded clump fall to the ground with a thump. I pull at the handle on the door, but it is dead bolted. Knowing I am wasting my time, I start back towards the field, Camel has bullshitted me, probably because he really wants me duct taped to a chair. Then, I notice the small window on the side that is not boarded up. Maybe curiosity killed the cat, but I pull up on it, and it opens. I climb into the small room.

I am in a small room that looks like an office. There is an extremely cluttered desk with so many papers on it that the surface isn't even visible. I shuffle my feet on the floor and pick up one of the many yellowed papers cluttering the floor. I hold it close to my nose as my eyes adjust to the dark.

CDC LOOKS FOR CURE, OUTBREAK IN NEW YORK

The headline reads on the old, crinkled paper. I toss it aside. I remember all of the papers, I received enough of them myself. I never believed any of the "stories" until I saw one of them for myself.

I stayed at the dock for a few nights. I didn't want to go home, knowing my father was probably off drinking, which meant he would be home soon enough to yell shit at me. While I fished at the side of the creek, I saw a few figures wandering in the backwoods, not too far from my range of sight.

"Hey!" I called, waving. "Over here!"

When there was no answer, I jumped down into the water with my muckers on, and waded to the other side to greet them. Usually, the people that wander through here are either people I know, neighbors, or people that are lost. I stomped off my boots into the woods and called to them again.

"Hey, you guys, you lost?" when there was no answer, I noticed that they only looked up at me when I yelled, and something was – off. They were seemingly limping, kind of, and they were a little messy. Then, I saw their faces. One was a woman, one a man, their faces looking sunken in, lips chapped and bloody, gums blackened and grotesque. The woman grabbed for me, a high pitched whine escaping her drooping lips. I suddenly knew something jacked up was going on, so I ran. They followed me, so I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up a blunt stick and whacked them.

I push a few papers aside as I make my way to the next door. The knob is cold, and my palm is sweaty as I turn it, opening the door with a slight squeak noise. The only light in the next room is one of the gas lanterns that are placed around the property. It glows eerily at the end of the dark corridor, and I take a deep breath and step into the darkness that leads to the only glowing light. I'm not really afraid of anything. I never have been, growing up with my father as a dad. But something just doesn't feel right here. it is almost completely silent, other than the slight hum of the hanging lantern. When I am about half way down the hall, I pause and take a deep breath.

"Gaar, ROOOOOOW!" I scream as a hang comes out of nowhere, grabbing at my hair. I have no idea what is happening, but something is yanking my head against the wall. I realize that my head is being slammed against cage bars, like a prison cell over and over again. I scream as the raggedy hand pulls at the roots of my hair, pulling my hat into the cell along with whatever lives in it. I push away with my hand on one of the bars, trying to catch my breath. The hand pulls me back against the bars.

"He-elp. Help." The dank whisper comes, and then "Hrrrrs! ROOW! GTT!"

I yank away, panting against the opposite wall, but another hand grabs for me as I realize that it is another wall of bars. I scream again, trying to pull myself away as the pair of rough, benumbed hands hold onto my hand. "Get off, GET OFF, GET OFF!" I scream, a sob in my voice as my voice goes up a few octaves. I finally break free, turning to run towards the lantern and sob my eyes out. Instead, I bump into a tepid, broad chest that huffs a quick breath as I look up.

"How'd you get in here?"

Sorry that update took so long! Please R & R please!

Oh, and please take a look at Rainbowteeth8's story, and hayleyjune13's story! They are both Walking Dead, and if you like this one, you will surely enjoy them both!