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Eight: Hell is Empty, and all the Devils are Here

The syringe in his hand scares the fuck out of me. What the hell is he doing with that? In the dim glow of the single lantern hanging by a rusty nail, I can see that it is a dark liquid, one I definitely couldn't identify, even if I hadn't failed my chemistry class, way back when I was in high school. I back away, but I realize that the only way I can turn is back towards the dark corridor. Hell.

"G-get the hell away from me." I stammer, putting up my fists.

"It isn't what you think." Devil raises his left hand in surrender, still handling the syringe in the other. His eyes seem to glow in the dark, like those glow sticks I used to bring out in the woods when I was getting drunk with a few people.

"To hell it's not." I say hoarsely, cautiously looking over my shoulder at the darkness. The ghastly arms have retreated back into their cages, or cells, or whatever they are. I don't even know what is in there, but I can guess. "What the fuck are you doing in here."

"Paige, I'm not –"

I narrow my eyes at him, my voice beginning to break. Saliva sticks in my throat, and a few beads of sweat form at my forehead like droplets of rain clinging to a window. Devil slowly lowers the syringe onto a table that I hadn't noticed before that has a few vials on it as well, all with different colored liquids. I make note of each of them; the black one he sets down, another that is a lighter red, and a few others that range in a few pinkish colors. I look up at him again, my hair falling in my face. It is askew from the recent pulling. My roots feel like they were sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.

"Please don't try anything." Devil says, desperation in his voice as he tries to speak calmly. He knows damn well that I could blow up. But oddly, I feel pretty calm, other than the bubbling anger in the back of my mind, but the other part of me is curiosity. "Paige, we – we have to help these things. I have to help these things. We need a cure."

Suddenly, I put everything together. One plus one makes two. I rub the back of my neck where the grisly pair of hands had touched, then wrap my hand around my wrist where the other's had wrapped around. Trying to pull me in. Rotten hands. Walkers. Suddenly, I push Devil away by his firm chest, feeling the anger boil up again. "You're on a fucking farm, you idiot! What the hell are you going to do, cure them with peach juice and horse shit?!" my lip trembles like I'm a two year old, but I really don't care right now. With my yelling, the two rotten prisoners in the barred rooms make louder noises, more like yelling than anything else, and I realize why they are kept in this building. No one can hear them. I took a hell of a walk just to get out here.

"No, Paige. It's much more than that. Please. Come with me, I'll show you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I scrunch my nose up and narrow my eyes, feeling my thumbs curl under my fingers.

"Alright, then we can have this conversation here. But you're not leaving. Not now." He pulls out a chair that is slightly old and dusty, holding it out for me. I look down at the floor that is dirt-ridden and then at the gun tucked in Devil's pants. I sit down slowly, the chair creaking with my weight, and he turns a lever on the gas lantern that opens up the light so it floods at least half the room. I notice that it is bigger than I first anticipated. Maybe about the size of three or four of the bunk rooms in the cabins. The hooks hanging from the ceiling are rusty, and sort of swing side to side eerily as if by some ghost, but they look harmless enough. None of them have curing meat, and it's apparent that no meat has been smoked in this so-called "smokehouse" in maybe ten years or so. The smell of jerky and cured meats still hangs in the air, but it isn't as strong as the scent of the dead. Rotting bodies.

"Let me leave." I interject, my tongue tracing over my slightly crooked bottom row of teeth, then finding the side of my cheek.

"You can't."

"You're already the Devil, let's just add psycho zombie-groomer to the list." I roll my eyes, glaring up at him. He rubs his chin, the scruff making a slight noise like sandpaper on flesh. It's been a while since he's shaved, I can tell. "Are you and Alexa partners in crime in this? Are you like Bonnie and Clyde?"

He looks up into the corner of the room like the cobwebs are suddenly so interesting, then his voice spills out muffled. "No… she knows about it, but – she leaves it to me, mostly. We all contribute."

"Wait… all of you know about this? Shit." I push up on my face with my fingertips as if I am giving my features a massage.

"Yes. Everyone that has agreed to testing. The original crew, Pepe and his family, Mya, they knew from the beginning about my – studies. And eventually, whoever came along eventually found out, one way or another."

"But you didn't tell Rick." I pick up my chin off of my collarbone, glaring at him heavily. "Did you."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Camel told me."

He snorts. "Course he did. He wants you outa here more than anyone." Devil looks up. "It really isn't what it seems. These – these are people. And they need help. They're suffering, and we need to take care of these things once and for all."

"So, you shoot 'um in the fucking head, don't keep them in cages. These things aren't people. They're monsters. They die, and they turn into walkers, or whatever the hell you call them. There is no part of them that's human. They're dead."

"Paige, they aren't –" he pauses. "They aren't monsters."

"Whatever sick junk you wanna believe about it, but I know for a fact," I lean in closer, "That those people aren't people. They're – somethin' else. And when they change… they aren't them anymore. I know, I've seen it happen."

"I'm getting closer." Devil mutters under his breath, but I hear it. "I've been working on this cure for – months."

"I hate to burst your bubble – no, I love to burst your sleezy little down-under bubble. Ain't no cure. And it ain't gonna work, never. They're dead. Their brains die, and you should know that. Beth – she came at me, she didn't know me. And it wasn't her, Devil." I lean back in the old chair. "She tried to eat your girlfriend."

"Paige…" he says softer now. "Every patient that I ever treated on Espero that was bitten… scratched… anyone that would've turned, and anyone else. I gave them a drug, filled in with the saline. I gave each of them an IV. Waited for them to die."

"What kind of drug?" I curl my nails into the wooden arm rests of the chair. I'm still surprised the nail polish hasn't chipped much yet.

"A drug that enhances brain activity, even after death. It was never used in hospitals, and is rejected by some patients. It isn't even clinically safe, and was only used when a patient was suffering from severe brain damage. It's one of the things doctors don't tell you about.

"But this drug… it enhance brain activity even after death, to spark things such as motor skills. I gave it to each of my patients, and if they accepted it – when they died, I would take them here. Test them, and continue to give them the brain-enhancing drug. A lot of them couldn't take it. Some of them became wild, so far from human and tried to kill me. They, of course, were put down. And some of them got weak and just – their brains went dead. They "re-died". After that…" he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "I tried everything. And I'm getting closer. Trust me, the ones I have left – they know what it's like to be human. They remember."

I seem to glare at him even more. "You can't teach a rotty how to be human again."

"Yes – you can. I can wake the part of the brain that can remember. They can regain their motor skills, I just need to complete the cure. It needs one more thing."

I roll my eyes. "Something you don't have, I guess."

"Actually I do. It's you."

Spit take. I slowly look up to him. "Um. What."

"In retrospect, it's you Paige. It's your blood type."

I stare into him instead of at him, as if I might bore a hole into him, or turn his body to a stone statue. "WHY. Do. You. Know. My. Blood. Type." I demand through clenched teeth.

He pushes up his hair slowly, then refuses to look at me. "When you banged your elbow… there was a small scratch… Tidan, I asked him to swab it for me, in hopes for what I was looking for. Your blood… it's exactly what I need to possibly complete the cure."

I've always known I have an extremely rare blood type. Emily told me once that it wasn't normal, but it was completely alright. She told me it was called HH blood type, or Bombay Blood group. Only a small percent of the population has it, which makes it unique. I always knew you were one of a kind, Em said, laughing. Of course you'd have the rarest type of blood. The memory makes me miss her even more, her soft smile, though rough-around-the-edges.

"My blood completes this "cure"?"

He nods. "As far as I know. Because of the rarity of your blood, and only a small percent of the population has it, I believe that there is a quality to HH blood type that can counteract the disease. The disease is more prominent in your blood type than any other. I know you're familiar with the chicken pox virus. You're injected with part of the virus that won't harm you to immunize yourself. This cure, if it works properly, should do the same."

Staring at him for a long time, I let his words soak into me. "I don't know what language you're speaking, but it sounds like bullshit."

"I wish it was." He sighs, rubbing his temples. "The world needs this. We need to return to normal. We can't keep living, holed up in this place. Even if it seems safe, it's not. It may be for – ten, twenty years, but nothing is safe forever. I'm not going to live in a – box, forever. Not like this. Paige, the world needs – hope."

"Ain't no hope, and you're crazy. There's no cure! These people die, they turn into walkers, then you shoot them in the head and end what is already ended!" I stand up out of the chair, sticking my jaw out, jutting from the side of my face.

"NO!' Devil growls back, his dark eyes flaring. "And I can prove it!" he rises from his own seat and turns the lever on the gas lantern so it lights the room almost as much as electric lights would. "Come this way." He beckons, and I follow him down the small corridor. I get my first look inside the cells for the first time, which are the size of small rooms. "Hey," Devil smiles at the first "patient", which is a small being curled up in the corner of the cell. It looks up, and I stare into its eyes. They are a filmed-over cool blue color, like I've seen on the rotties before, but they're nothing like I've seen before. There is something – say, different about them.

There is emotion in them. Something I have been yet to see in one of those – things' eyes. The tiny little thing looks up at me, lifting her chin to get a better peek. I guess she died at about nine or ten. It is hard to tell, with her sallow eyes, the bridge of her nose sunken in. She has been dressed in a papery hospital gown that's fairly clean, her hair around her face and stringy, greasy at the roots. Her expression is tired, like someone who has been going through chemo therapy. No wonder, if Devil says he has been experimenting on them for so long.

"This is Daisy." Devil says quietly, opening the cell door with a creak. Daisy, as he calls her, blinks her large eyes, leaning up more so I can see her better. Her face is gnarled and pieces of skin have rotted off, torn away or just shriveled, and her eyebrows droop over her eyes. Her lips have seemingly melted away so I can see her teeth on side where they droop. "Hi, sweetheart. It's me, Dr. Auwley."

She seems to recognize him, because she breathes raggedly, and lifts her small hand. The bone is exposed on the surface, and I can see the tendons and vessels that no longer are needed. Those eyes. Those eyes, man. They freak me out so bad to the point that I actually shiver. The hell? I've never seen any walker like this before.

"You don't need to be afraid." Devil says, trying to put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me." I mutter, shoving him away. He's still a creep. But my eyes train on the "girl" as she leans up, getting to her feet slowly. They are bare, and the rotting soles shuffle slowly on the dusty ground as she moves towards at us at snail pace.

"Behind me, behind me, now." Devil says, physically pushing me back and swinging the door shut quickly with a high pitched squeak, fumbling with the keys to lock the door. Daisy growls and her grayish arms emerge from between the bars, her drooping mouth open as she reaches for us. Fear settles in my stomach, but I back away far enough so she can't grab me. I don't care who you are, those things would scare someone lacking the fear gene.

"Sure, you've been "curing" them." I roll my eyes, ready to make a run for it.

"No, no… there's just this – slight problem. The subconscious mind is a strange thing. I've seen this happen in human patients, ones who get shrapnel brain injuries, or knocked upside the head. When they're unconscious, up until the point where they wake up, their brain can kind of – shut itself off, if you will."

"They're dead, they don't have brain capacity." I argue.

"You're right. That's why you have to access it. And that' just what I did. Or what I'm doing. You know the drug I told you about? The one I gave all of my patients through the drip? It enhanced their brain activity, like I said, even after death to get the little connective nerve tissues not really "working", per say, but more like "connecting". When they awake as the "corpse" form, only the stem of the brain is working. That's the part that gets them up and moving. It's the memories part that you have to access.

"And that drug still flows in their brains. That was the key to access their humanistic side again. There were problems. I think you heard one speak to you. I've gotten that far. They can utter a few words, sometimes. But the other side – the cannibalistic side, it sometimes tries to overtake what I've accomplished. But like I said, the cure isn't finished. I need your blood type –"

"Are you going to tie me down and take my blood?"

"Of course not." He rubs his forehead. "As I was saying. To finish the cure, to access the brain to the full extent and once again make them "human" again, I need an anti-H antigen, aka, your blood. Because of its rarity, the CDC probably never experimented much with it, or gave it much thought. But the anti-antigen will counteract the drug in their system –"

"They don't have a fucking system. They're dead."

He sighs heavily. "I've gotten them to talk. They can regain humanism."

I remember the talking. The hoarse, labored breath, begging for help. I narrow my eyes. "Why'd it say help…"

He looks up. "Paige, we need this cure. The world needs this cure. You were going to discover this sooner or later. We can't just let rotting bodies overtake the world, we need to hold strong to our humanity."

"News flash. They already do own the world." I look in the other cells at a few other rotting bodies that look sick. Devil's been torturing living corpses in his search for his "cure".

"That's why we need to fix it."

"Well, I'm not your fucking donor. Find someone else."

"Paige – it's a one in a million chance, and – and God brought you here to help!"

"Don't drag God into this." I growl. "He hasn't helped me any in the past."

He stands there for a moment, silently. "Paige, you can't just go – blabbing about this. I'm begging…"

"Ain't no tattletale. But if this is gonna hurt my group – you best watch your ass." I turn toward the door, but as I open it, he shoves it closed with his strong arm.

"Keep this on the down low. And please, rethink helping me."

"Get outa my way." I hiss. All I can think about it getting out of here as fast as humanly possible. Away from all this shit, everything that seems so fake. But I guess I sort of knew something like this would be in the smokehouse all along. But why, oh why… I thought this was a place to settle, to make a home. Finally, I could stop running. Things are so complicated.

Cool night air hits my face like a slap as I step down from the threshold, which seems like a farther drop than it should. My ankles ring with pain for a moment before I realize the door quietly slams shut behind me. I can see now why Devil chose this remote little location for this purpose. It is farther out than anything else besides the small watch towers that stand guard at the four corners of the property, and it looks old and rickety. I know what is concealed inside the shell.

My feet sink in the mud like it is quicksand as I shuffle back to the bunker. I walk slowly, wavering from side to side like the wind is tossing me around. Just thinking, having my thoughts to myself for once in a while. I wish there was someone who would know what to do. I never wanted to tell secrets like some giggly, gossipy girls do. If I was trusted with a secret, I kept my honor, even if it is with the devil. But now, I suddenly turn to my side as if Beth is there again, walking at my side. For a moment, I think she actually is, and I see her standing there. Waiting for me to tell her what is the matter. But the mirage blows away with the breeze. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my arms to keep warm. It's particularly chilly now, and I long for a jacket.

The walk always seems longer on the way back. Emily always used to tell me "the two most powerful warriors are patience and time." Now, it seems like all I have is patience, time, time, and more time. I turn to my side, and like Beth, I expect to see Emily there beside me. She materializes, then leaves just as Beth did, of course. I miss my friends so deeply. Even if Em and I were so far apart in age, I never really had any other friends before we started apocalypsin'. I always kind of considered her the sister I never had.

The bunker is silent, as it was before. I crawl into bed and pull the covers under my head, only to remember my hat was yanked off my head. It doesn't matter. I'm never going back to that smokehouse. Nothing can come from that but badness, and disappointment on Devil's part. When they died, they became monsters, just as all of the other rot-heads. Nothing more. They aren't human. Devil's a slow jackass if he really believes there's a "cure". There is no cure, and he's smokin' up some damn crackpipe.

Petey turns onto yet another deserted road, slowly easing the teal calypso along. We're at about half a tank of gas, and good on mileage. Headed in the right direction, towards South Carolina, the heaters are going full blast. My eyes droop. I am exhausted. Already without my seatbelt on, I curl in a ball and lay my head on the seat. I feel the rumble of Petey's chuckle in the seats.

"Ain't asleep yet, baby bird?" he looks odd from this angle, tilted up and his head looks giant. I blink a couple of time in the darkness.

"Not yet. The nest is too uncomfortable."

He pats his leg. "Up here, little bird." I scooch up until my head is on his thigh and the steering when is right above my face. The soft rocking of his knee lulls me to sleep, and he drives with one hand and strokes my hair. "Hush little birdy, don't you cry. Petey's gonna buy you a… a…"

"Big fat pie…" I mumble, still half in my sleepy-land. He chuckles and strokes over my hair again with his incredibly warm, rough fingers.

"And if that big fat pie is bad… that will make Petey real sad."

"You suck at poems."

He pats my head. "Whatya you know…"

I smile and let him go back to rocking me with his knee and humming "Hush little baby" to me. it feels nice, and my heart swells. He looks kind of handsome from down here. His velvety skin, those wonderful eyes that flicker in the dark, and those strong arms that could hold me. Those lips that could kiss my trembling skin… those lips.

I wake. The room is still dark, but I can tell that it's morning. Even if it's early, I dress in my older pair of jeans with a rip in one knee and pull on my cleanest dirty shirt, a tank top with a raggedy red button-up over it. My red converse could use a day or two to dry the caked mud on them, so I wear my beat-up boots. The walk from the bunker to the main house seems like a million miles today, but the sun is shining and I have a lot on my mind, so I use this time to think. I even hum a little bit, but like I said, I barely ever sing or hum. Only when I feel like it, or no one is around.

"S'up?" T-Dog grins when he sees me. Strange, what happened to me last night, and I forgot that none of them have a damn clue. I give a half nod to T and look at the others who are in the kitchen. Tidan is nowhere to be seen, but Mya and Alexa are drinking coffee in the kitchen. Staring at me. They must know that I'm in on this big scam now. Devil is also not present, but now I know where he always is.

"Paige, guess what," Carl says, his hat covering his cast-downward face. "I did what you said and started drawing a portrait."

"Really?" I sit down beside him as Mya hands me a cup of coffee silently, without looking me in the eye at all, and retreating to her spot at the kitchen counter that must be safe haven. "Lemme see."

"Nah, not until it's done. And it isn't very good." Carl shrugs, picking at his eggs. I pat his hat and drink my coffee for a while.

"I need some fresh air." I say, passing Lori and Rick on the way out. I never really had time to process what Rick said about Lori yesterday. She's pregnant. Must not be very far along, I can't tell at all. I was never really good with pregnant folks though, every time I tried to say something it came out wrong, so I just try to steer clear of them. Or just nod and smile politely. And babies have never been my jazz either, but I can tell there is something off about Rick and Lori. I could always sort of tell. Maybe I'll get the whole story someday, but for now, I mosey on out to the stable.

"Hey," the man who I remember having dug Beth's grave is brushing the flank of the tall dark horse I remember being called Benny. "You're one of the new folks, aren't you…"

"Yeah." I bat my lashes at him and he blushes. He looks like a farm hand, easy to tell, with his curly blonde hair, dumb blue eyes, and slightly crooked teeth. "I'm Paige."

"Bill." He offers me his hand to shake, but it's covered in horse hair. "Sorry," he mutters, wiping it off. I shake it, and it's clammy and warm.

"This horse really is a beauty. I bet if you kicked him, he's lay out right in the orchards. Do you ride?"

He nods. "Sometimes, but a lotta work to be done around here. You?"

"Yeah. Can I take him for a spin?" I smile, putting on my southern charm. He blushes again.

"Sure, I'll get him saddled up for you."

"Thanks." I flutter my lashes again, just for good measure.

It really has been a long time since I've ridden a horse. I used to ride when I was younger, and my mom tried to get me into barrel racing when I was younger, and she and my dad weren't split. It's at least been six years since I've ridden, probably. I often helped out at my neighbor's stables for a little extra cash, but didn't ever do much riding. I was too into moonshinin' and stuff like that. At first, just like I'm a beginner, I pull back too much on the reign, and Benny snorts and tosses his head. I kick him to go, but he goes backwards.

"You sure you've done this before?" Bill calls from the other side of the fence.

"Positive." I say, loosening on the reigns. Benny settles and I nudge him until he's at a brisk walk. "How 'bout I leave him by the fence when I get back."

"Super." He says with a little less enthusiasm that the word, and I kick the steed harder. Riding always used to clear my head. Maybe this was a dumb idea, but – whoa! WHOA! WHOA!

"Slow – slow down, man!" I say to the horse, but of course, he doesn't listen. I bounce up and down like an idiot, trying to regain my balance, but I feel it slipping. I suddenly remember why I enjoyed a ride so much. Because you can't fight it, no matter where you're from, who ya are. I lean slightly forward, digging my heels down and slightly stand in the saddle. "Come on, boy, show me what ya got." I smile, looking behind me to see the satisfying trodden clumps of dirt fly up at the rear where we tread the ground.

I turn down the orchard path, where citrus trees hang low and their leave brush me in the face. I spit out a couple leaves, but manage to make it through without getting whapped in the face. Benny pants, the girth heaving as he breathes, and he lays out, chomping at his bit. I give him some slack, and I see why they call him the Jett. His ears flat, tail out, he looks like a rocking horse, his legs stretched out in front and back of him. It has been a long time since I've felt joy like this. This freedom, and this bliss. I whip the reigns and stand up more, feeling him move beneath me.

It seems like forever before I decide to slow down, feeling winded myself. I pull him slowly to a trot, and finally to a walk. The property is bigger than I thought it was. I'm so far out that I can hear water bubbling, maybe a small brook or stream leading to a pond or something. Sliding down from the saddle, rubbing in between my legs where it aches, I sit down beside a tree and let the horse graze. Sweat glistens on his flanks, but I can tell he is at his happiest when he's allowed to belt out like that. He likes running.

I pant and lay my head against a tree. All of this doesn't seem real; in this closed off part of the world, no rot-heads, no pain, no suffering. I've seen the cities. They're hell, and the walkers own them. But here, this is so – scarily untouched. I could sit here for days and not hear a peep from anyone. Then, those thoughts pop into my mind.

Petey… Beth… Even Em, though I'm not exactly sure if she's one of those rotties. I'd like to think she isn't.

But Beth… if Devil gave all of his patients the drug to stimulate their brains, why didn't is work on her? Why does it only work on a select few? I sigh. I'm thinking about this stuff again. But it's so hard to get those images out of your head. Daisy… or what once was Daisy. A kid. That could've been my sister, my own kid. And those other ones that grabbed me. "Help", that broken beer-bottle-chime in the wind voice beckons to me. "Help", it said. Walkers can't talk… sigh.

Before any of this apocalypse shit started happening, I would have talked to God now, probably. We were old friends. I don't talk to Him anymore. Not much since he stopped listening. Maybe he just stopped listening to everyone, I think. Too many people asking for stuff, maybe. So, I gotta go off my gut, make my own decision. But, it feels strange not to talk to anyone.

"Ya out there, Pete?" I speak up, my voice the first one I've heard in probably two hours or so. I look at my cracked watch. It's about four in the afternoon. "If ya are, it's me, Paige. I need some advice."

Of course, there is no answer, but I can trust Petey to listen, of all people. So, I pretend he is here, next to me. "So, I gotta make this decision, and – man, you know how I am with that kinda stuff. But it's a big one. If I decide no, nothing really happens, but if I say yes –" Benny snorts, still grazing. "It's really weird, P… I feel like this Devil guy – he isn't crazy. I mean – I heard one of them talk. They talked."

For the longest time, I sit here, my head against the tree, and I close my eyes, drifting off slightly. When I wake, it feels like midafternoon, and I can feel the ground slightly rumbling. I wink my eyes and look up to see a small dot out in the orchard. As it gets closer and closer, I can start to see that it is another horse and rider, a chestnut colored mare that gallops with pride. I sit up and rub my eyes, Benny still only a few yard away from me, snorting and trotting in place. I watch the rider slow the steed to a slow trot, and finally to a walk. I get up and brush off my pant legs, that still feel stiff from the riding.

"Bill said you'd be out here," Maggie says, sliding down from the other horse. It whinnies to her, and sways from side to side, joining her friend Benny to graze after Maggie slips the bit out of its mouth and hangs the bridle on the saddle horn. Huh, with her Georgia heritage, she must be a horse girl too. But I never would have guessed that she would follow me out here. But she looks a lot better than she did yesterday, struggling with the basket of laundry. More energized, and less like she just wants to sleep. Sorrow still papers her body language, but being active is the first step, I guess.

"What're you doing out here?" I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and kicking at a loose clump of grass with the toe of my boot.

"'Bout to ask you the same question." She chews on the inside of her cheek, and I can see the faint mark where I got her with my knife what seems like forever ago, but in reality, it isn't. "I saw you take the horse out, and it wasn't that hard to sucker Bill into gettin' me one." She pushes her short hair back that has fallen askew from lack of being tied back with the riding.

I rub the back of my neck, peering at the two horses grazing in the untrimmed grass near a small pool of water that isn't even big enough to swim in, but probably has fish. "You doing alright?"

She rubs her thighs where the saddle beats on them. "Yeah… dad's doin' alright too. Are you – okay, too?"

"I'm – fine." I sigh, leaning my back against the big tree. "How'd Bill know I'd be out here?"

Maggie shrugs and sits cross-legged on the ground, her hands in her lap. They are slightly red from the reins, as are mine, but they have stopped tingling. I slowly slide down beside her, bringing my knees up to my chest and pressing my elbows into my ribs. My hair is falling out of its ponytail, and I blow it out of my face, though it just falls right back where it was before. I give up, letting the lids droop over my eyes. "Said this is where the horses often take ya…"

"You ride a lot?" I ask tiredly, feeling my body beg for rest. It doesn't seem like I got enough sleep last night, but I just couldn't sleep another second.

"We used to have a far. Beautiful place, lotsa space, and dad loves animals. We had lots of horses, and cows, stuff like that. He's a vet… for big animals mostly. Well, I guess he was a vet. Our farm was taken by walkers. We were forced to evacuate, that was where we'd come from the night you came." She rubs her cheek as if to feel if the mark my knife gave her is still there. I smirk slightly.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Maggie scowls, then purses her lips. "Got me some extra attention from Glenn, so I guess you're off the hook for now."

I smile. "Well, that's good then." Leaning back, I am silent for a long time.

"You've been… strange, today, Paige."

I lift my hand from over my eyes. "How so?"

"You're always weird, just – today, you're weirder."

"Oh, well thanks for the memo, I'll try to be less weird." I lean my head back again and put my hand over my eyes once more to shield the sun out. "I just – can't tell you… it's kind of… fucked up."

"Well, spit it out…" she waves her hand and cocks her head. "Are you hiding something?"

"No, no, hell no!" I lie unconvincingly. "Okay, Maggie – I needa talk to you about something."

She nods. "I'm listenin'."

I gulp. "When I was hanging laundry yesterday, Camel approached me and told me there were – strange things in the smokehouse."

"I doubt you listened to him…" she pauses. "Ya did?"

I nod. "I went out there last night – snuck in through a window because, you know, curiosity is better than boredom. It was really messy and stuff, and looked deserted, but – I went into this other part of it, and the only light was this one lantern. Looked like there was nothin' there, so I was going to walk across the corridor to the lantern, but I was – grabbed."

She narrows her eyes, looking confused.

"There are – walkers in there. He thinks he's curing them. He's fuckin' crazy, but Maggie – when I was grabbed, one of them… one of those things, it talked to me."

She looks surprised. "It said…"

"It told me help. Like – it knew who I was, or something. Apparently, my rare blood type can counteract the zombie infection, or so Devil says."

"Not if it's an act of God." She shakes her head.

I'm silent for a moment. "I don't really get – mixed up with God anymore." Her eyebrows furrow together like a caterpillar in the middle.

"Devil made me have a blood test. He said to see if I was compatible, if Beth needed a transfusion… he…he said I wasn't, because I'm O+, and she's – she was B+… he took dad's blood too, and – he took a few other's too."

"Shit." I rub my face. "He got Tidan to take a sample when I whacked my elbow. He scammed me."

She pushes her hair back. "Dad kept walkers in the barn. He said he was holdin' out for a cure."

"There is no cure."

"You said it talked."

I think for a second. "You can't cure it, they're – dead, Maggie."

"Yeah, but… maybe not. Maybe we're missin' something…"

We again are drenched in silence, besides the humming bugs around us, and the sounds of the horses. I am deep in thought for however long I am out here with Maggie, my dead friend's sister. Now that I look at her, I can see a few similarities. They both have that same look in their eye, and I can hear the sameness when they talk. But Maggie isn't Beth.

"I'll race you back to the stable." I suddenly say. God, do I feel like I'm in high school again when I say it. Even my voice sounds like much-too-excited young teen. She smiles and accepts the offer.

"I'm a champion, you know." She says, using the saddle horn to boost herself up onto the saddle. I do the same and hoist up onto Benny's back.

"Yeah, but I have the Jett." I smile, whipping the reins.

It feels nice to race Maggie. I feel that strange cloud always covering our relationship, ever since I met my group. It kind of erases that strange awkward feeling I had when I was around her. I lean forward in the saddle and let her horse's muzzle brush the back of mine, giving Benny some slack. He stampedes the ground and tosses his head, throwing his legs out in front of him. Somewhere, my hair tie falls out and my hair flies free, but it feels good, like silk on my back as the wind pushes it off my face. I feel like the apocalypse isn't even real again. Like I could be here all along, and the outside world is just like this. Kadaclop kadaclop kadaclop, go my horse's hooves on the ground, tearing up the grass.

We leave the horses by the fence, just as I told Bill I would, unbridling them and leaving the tack on the saddle horns. "Haven't done that in a while." Maggie says, brushing her hands together as we walk to the clothes line where dry clothes now flap in the wind. "Beth and I used to race down in the peach trees, back before this all happened. We were pretty closed off on the farm, though. The walkers came so suddenly… we never even thought about it…" she pushes her hair up off her forehead. I pick up the basket that has blown over in the night and start taking sheets and clothes down off the line.

"Back in Tennessee, it started out as weird shit on the news… I used to work in this little bait and tackle shop. Just a little corner store near the river that sold rotisserie hot dogs, fountain drinks, and bait and tackle. There was a little TV set, tiny, old with a squiggly line goin' down the middle. But I saw the news stories there, what they walkers were doin'. I thought it was a ton of tabloid junk…" I shrug, putting the clothespins in my mouth as I fold the laundry and put it in the basket to be put away. Maggie tosses a few half-folded sheets in the basket and cocks her head to the side.

"Dad always wanted to believe there was helpin' them. He kept 'em in the barn…" she clears her throat. "My brother… my mom… he was holdin' out for a cure… like Devil, I guess. Now he sees that there isn't."

I hadn't been under the impression that Hershel had believed that this was just an epidemic. Like the black plague, small pox… the world eventually finds a cure, or gets through it. People learn to fight it off. They adapt, as the world tries to repopulate. I think of Lori… what Rick said about her… she'll be showing soon…

"I'm gonna take these into Vicki." Maggie clears her throat and lifts the now full basket. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, got a major case of saddle-ass, but yeah, I think I'll be okay." I rub my ass and she chuckles softly, more color in her cheeks. I was a little worried about her yesterday. I can't expect her to just move on and forget. But it's a step up from the shaking, quivering lip. I'd call it a level up.

Rubbing my hands together, I walk as slowly as I can to the house where I find Alexa wiping the counters with Windex. I smile and pick up a rag, helping her.

"Thanks, hon." She smiles out of the corner of her mouth, avoiding eye contact.

"Where's Devil?" I ask, and she ceases wiping for a moment, her auburn hair falling out of its ponytail into her face.

"He's out…" is all she says. I nod once and leave the house, letting the door bang shut behind me on its own. The walk to the smokehouse seems much shorter in the light, and my boots don't sink in the mud like my converse did last night. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm not stumbling in the dark to find something I've never even seen before. Even so, I am slow to make my way through the undulation of grass that is about to my waist, and I take my time to get there.

Window's been patched up where I kinda broke in last night. I slowly approach the door and try the handle. Deadlocked. I knock lightly with my knuckle. "Devil?" I call quietly, then louder, "Devil? It's Paige."

There is no answer, so I stand there waiting with my hand raised. I knock again. "Let me in, Devil."

I hear a lock click and the door swings open. I hold out my arm. "Take all you want."

The rotty is eerily still as Devil buckles the restraints on the table. It is metal, like the one in the white medical room in the house, but this one has leather restraints that look like they are made out of belts. The walker that he has chosen is a women, maybe about my age, and she, like little Daisy, is in a thin hospital gown with a green and blue print of little flowers connected by perforated lines.

"Who's this?" I finally say, still hovering beside Devil as he buckles her in with the same like of buckling a child's car seat.

"This is Millie." He says, patting her arm gently as he finishes. It is easy to tell that these aren't just walkers to Devil; he "knows" them. Maybe even has relationships, as far as you can have a relationship with someone who's dead. "Olive's little sister. They came to us, maybe a month or two after the apocalypse struck. She was bitten, here." his hand hovers at her leg where there is a faded human pallet embedded in the rotting skin. I had no idea that this was all so complex… Olive's sister.

"So, this – drug that you used, she accepted it?"

"Yes. She wasn't the first I tried it on. But she's one of the first who accepted the medicine. I've been testing her for the longest. Seems fair that she should be first to get a transfusion." He shrugs, placing his hand on her head. Her hair looks like it was probably once the same sun yellow as her sister's, but it has faded to about dull honey, and her scalp looks like it is starting to peel.

"Does Olive – visit, often?"

He shakes his head. "No… she prefers not to. She doesn't like to see her sister this way. But she trusts me, and she does things to keep her busy. It helps."

I nod, and sit in the chair that Devil holds out for me. I've never been in this building before. It is connected to the smokehouse where the actual "patients" stay, but this is a small edition to it, like a tiny little medical center, just big enough to be considered one room.

"This is where I do all of my testing." Devil says, snapping on a pair of white latex gloves that make his hands look even bigger, and he snaps a blue latex tie over my upper arm. I think it's so my veins will pop out. I'm not for sure though, hell, I ain't no doctor. "The smokehouse is, well, too unsanitary for these purposes… but this wasn't a big enough part of the building to keep them. So, Bill, Pepe and I cleared out the smokehouse of all the clutter and junk and fashioned some – means for protection. Pepe would only allow this is he knew I was safe… good man, he is…"

"He is." I say softly, looking down at my arm as he pokes around for my veins. I think about how gracious Pepe was to let us stay here, even if certain cigar-smoking, dog-wrangling, wife-beater-shirt-wearing people weren't. "I traveled with his cousin Petey."

"Oh, Petey. He was Pepe's favorite cousin. He used to tell us about him, he always said "he'll be here, jut you wait. He knows where to come." We all joked about it… but in some sorts, he did come."

"He saved my ass off the street." I say as Devil wipes a cold wipe down the crease of my arm. Millie seems to be watching with interest, that creepy human/zombie look in her eyes. Occasionally, she appears to try and struggle at the leather belts, but then she remembers, if she even can remember as Devil claims she can, where she is. "Petey wasn't just this – guy. He was the best guy."

He uncaps a sterile needle and tauts my skin before poking it in. I watch my scarlet blood spiral into the tube and towards the bag that awaits the savory juice. "Here, play with this. It'll keep your arm from tensing up, or going numb." He hands me a cushiony rubber ball, and I squeeze it in my hand.

"So… how many people actually came here? Followed the signs, came lookin' for help…" I ask as I continue playing with the ball. "And if Camel doesn't like people too much, why are there signs at all?"

"Not Camel's place to pick a fight. And beggars can't be choosers. He can put up as much of a tizzy as he wants, but he knows he'd just as soon as be out on his ass before Pepe gives him a quarter for him quarrels." He leans back, running his fingers through his hair backwards. "If it were up to me, I'd be flushing Camel's Toros down the toilet, but he's been here longer than me, so…"

"Why'd you retire from the army?" I ask out of the blue. "Why not stay?"

He shrugs. "I'd done my duties, 'sides, they wouldn't let me back in because I lost limb. They can't letcha back in if you lose an appendage." Lifting up the leg to the left side of his pants, he shows me a prosthetic foot that I hadn't even noticed before. "Pepe recruited me and a few others after that… and I met Lex while preparing for the apocalypse." He slightly chuckles. "So, I guess we do kinda have a Bonnie and Clyde deal."

I smirk and stare down at my arm, still watching the bag fill with my bodily fluids. Devil avoids eye contact. "So, why did you change your mind…"

I copy him, looking into my lap. "The rotty said help."

"Yes?"

"Rotties don't talk, for one. If there is an ounce of humanity, I better be the damn one to trigger it."

He applies pressure to where the needle was after sliding the tube out, holding the tube in his other hand as he multitasks by taping my arm. I feel a little woozy, but I concentrate on squeezing the ball. "I'm almost positive this will work. The components to your blood are what I've been searching for."

"I also just wanted to see if you were crazy, and if I was right… plus, I think I can spare a little blood. If Beth or Petey were one of those walkers, I'm sure I would do it for them too."

Devil takes some sort of manual pump and starts to hook it up to Millie's arm through another tube. She patiently waits, that hallow look in her eyes, occasionally growling and pulling on her restraints again. When he is done setting the transfusion pump up, there is a full apparatus on her arm, and the automatic pump starts transfusing my blood. "There ya go." Devil says, patting her head. Her lips are slightly drooping, like Daisy's were, and her eyelids seem to be too low as well. Her mouth hangs slightly open always, as if she can't close it.

"We done here?" I ask, still feeling dizzy.

"For now. Thank you. I can't thank you enough."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll walk you back to your room. You should probably lie down." He says, and after waiting about an hour so I can actually walk, Devil helps me up, taking my arm as I stand. "Since you've never given blood before, you'll feel sort of dizzy like this for the next hour or so. You just gave a pint of blood…"

I let him help me walk, leaning on him slightly for support as we make our way back to the center of the property. It is a beautiful day; I can hear all of the birds chirping, the leaves rustling in the treetops. Horses snort and whinny in the stable a few hundred yards away, and I can see Carl playing with one of Camel's dogs. It's the black one, BobbyJo, and he plays a game of fetch with a flying disc Frisbee. The shaggy dog comes real close to catching it, but misses each time he throws. Lori is sitting on the porch with Olive, Alexa, and Carol, and T-Dog is sprawled out in the eaves of the porch where it's nice and shady.

"Paige!" Carl calls, tossing the flying disc to me. I fumble, still disoriented, though I don't end up catching it. Devil leans down and picks it up, tossing it back. "You were supposed to catch." Carl smirks.

"Sorry, man." I smirk out of the corner of my mouth.

"I'll play with you." Devil smiles, letting BobbyJo gnaw on the Frisbee that hangs limply out of his hand. "Paige was just going to the cabins."

I nod once and ruffle Carl's hair, observing his sheriff's hat laying on the ground a few feet away. "I'll come out and toss it around with you later, if you want."

"Okay." He shrugs, tossing the disc to Devil, who half watches me to make sure I'm alright to walk. He wouldn't want his precious blood donor getting hurt. I amble down by the stables, feeling the hot sun on my back as I meander to the field of corn that is not far off from the pasture where the cows graze. I weave in and out of the tall corn stalks and find a nice cool spot to lay, slowly easing myself to the ground. The soil is nice and cool dampened here, and I put my hands behind my head and stare up at the blue sky, watching a crow flap overhead. Again, I think about how strange this untouched paradise is. It's just like a secluded ranch.

I close my eyes, letting the nature overtake me. The sounds of her are suddenly so calming, I think I could fall asleep here. Rsst. Snap. Shhhhht. I crack open one eye to the sound of the stalks rustling, only closing it again when I feel the warm body slide down next to me. Tidan sits with one leg straight, the other bent, and his elbow resting on his bent knee. His dark hair is pushed back to the sides, off his forehead, and he smells like sweat and cologne.

With my eyes still closed, I whisper. "You sampled my blood."

He is silent but I can hear his breath. He huffs on one hand, but on the other, it is a sigh. I sit up slowly, my head still spinning. "You knew the whole damn time, but you let it go on!"

He rubs his face with his florid hands, his fingernails turning white when he applies pressure to his skin.

"You don't get to do that. You don't get to do that, and come follow me here expecting warm and friendly talk."

I feel him lay beside me amongst the tall-looking cornstalks, his head about the same level as mine, maybe a little lower. I feel like Jack and the Beanstalk down here, with the corn towering over us like trees.

"I never wanted anyone to hurt you. No one did, we just want to get rid of these things, one at a time." He says, his voice hushed amid the swaying corn trees. "I never wanted to hurt you, ever."

I lean up slightly. "Then why…"

He pauses. "Paige, I saw my mom – my little sister, my best friend… I saw them turn into – walkers. Rotties, whatever you call them. I saw it happen. And I was the one to put them down. I was. And I saw their faces, those faces were my family. I know they're in there, and I wanted to help Devil find a cure. It's out there."

"Don't say retarded stuff, Tidan." I huff, leaning up and sitting with both knees up. "But if there is a cure, you don't have to ride the Wah-mbulance and more because I gave Devil some of my blood today. Not even two hours ago."

He angrily gets to his feet, stalking off with a loping grudge in his step, muttering to himself. I don't care. I never really care anymore.

The hot sun still beats down, but the abundance of corn shading me feels nice. Every day here seems to feel like spring, or summer, maybe that's just because of the coast. I sort of like it here, it fancies my liking. I get to my feet, brushing the dirt off my already-dirty pants and dither my way up to the house, squinting in the sun. Carl is drawing in his notebook, sitting in the eaves of the house where T was earlier.

"Hey," I say, and he looks up, smiling, and then looks down again. "Still drawin'?"

"Trying." He shrugs. "What're you doing?"

I shrug. "I donno. Just walkin' around I guess." I sit beside him, and we talk for a while. About his life before we came here. About a little girl named Sophia that used to be his friend, about school. We talk for a long time, and I lay my head on the checkerboard eave of the porch, stretching out my legs.

"I'm gonna go check out the rest of the yard and stuff, okay?"

He nods, absorbed in his drawing again. I make my way around to the back of the house and feel the slight breeze on my skin, listening to the jays and chickadees in the trees. Kerchip, kerchip, kerchop. The faint sound tightens my eardrum reflex, and I look to the east side of the yard. The hot sun beats down on Tidan's back as he shoves the hoe into the garden, picking at a few nasty weeds. He wears a pair of sturdy work gloves, and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. For a moment, he takes off his cowboy hat and wipes his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, going back to plowing. He spots me as I come over to the garden that is full of cultivating vegetables.

"Hot one today." I say softly, and he stops hoeing, leaning on the handle of the long garden tool. There is a spot of sweat on his chest, and he pulls his shirt in and out, airing it out.

"Hottest in a while." He says, sniffing, wiping his face again and succeeding in getting more dirt on his face. Swat gleams in his pores, and the dirt mixes to make a sordid concoction.

"Hot summers where I come from." I say, looking down at the damp, dark dirt that the toes of my boots are submerged in. "Shame I had to leave. From Tennessee…"

"New Mexico." He retorts, spitting in the dirt. "Pretty hot there, too." As he breathes, the muscles of his abdomen and chest press against the blue fabric of his shirt that has a tear starting in the collar. "Look, Paige…" I look up. "I really didn't want to hurt you. And I didn't mean to walk away earlier."

I shrug. "People tend to walk away from their problems when they don't know the answer. I happen to be your problem, Tide…"

He leans on the hoe again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you walked away from me because I was the problem." I shrug again. "Simple as the sun risin'."

He snorts. "You think you're my problem…"

"I ain't nobody else's."

He smirks again. "You sure are a character, Paige…"

I roll my eyes. "That's what they tell me."

He takes one glove off and rubs his palm with the fingers that are still clothes in the gray fabric. "Look, I didn't… I didn't mean to take that blood from you. Devil asked me to, and I – really want this cure."

"Seems like a lota people do. If there even is one."

"I have a feeling there is. God wouldn't just – kill all these people and leave us hanging…"

I grind my jaw. "Me and God don't really mix anymore…"

He cocks his head. "Why not?"

"'Cause when he stopped listenin', I stopped followin'."

He nods understandingly and scuffs the toe of his boot on the toe of the other one. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

I shake my head. "Isn't what all people aim to do…"

"No, Paige you don't get it! See! No one gets it!" he throws his arm over his shoulder in a "why bother" manner and scratches his face, getting more dirt mixed in with the sweat.

"No one gets what?"

He huffs another sigh. "I like you, okay? I know it's stupid, and I know you don't care…" he trails off, leaving me standing there like an idiot. The birds still chirp around me, and I hear one of Camel's dogs bark in the distance. Somewhere, a cow lows and a horse whinnies.

"You think I don't care…?"

He looks up, not with his head, but only with his eyes. "I know you don't."

"Tidan…"

"What…" he mumbles, the sun beating down harshly.

"Kiss the hell out of me." I demand harshly, my teeth gritted. "Please." The son of a bitch yanks me in close to him, and he leans in with hands on my upper arms. What the fucking hell am I doing! I lean in and our lips connect. I want to say that fireworks go off, doves fly behind us, and romantic music plays. But this is the apocalypse, and the closest thing we have is a little brown bird fluttering by me. His lips are warm and moist, and I can smell that woodsy sweat smell on him. I hand slowly moves to the back of his neck, which is damp with sweat as well, and the ends of his hair are soggy as well. His face smells like soil, and his mouth tastes like Big Red gum. I lean slightly backwards, and wrap my arm around his neck, bending at the elbow to pull myself closer to him. My lips move against his like silk, and my nose squishes on the side of his. Warm, sanguine fingers find my hair, tangling in the straight locks that flow down my back.

Slowly, we let go, and he just looks at me. I shake my head, full of lust, and yank him down again, forcing him to yet again kiss me. The hoe falls from between us, laying in the garden amongst cabbages, squash, and carrots. I feel like I am going to swallow him, but Tidan is right, I don't care.

Well, well, well? What did you think? If it is thumbs up, or thumbs down, please comment! Thank you, loves!