I sat in the passenger seat of the box truck, Olivia nestled between my legs and her head resting on my right thigh. The influx of people had increased her discomfort. A Hispanic man named Morales sat on the ledge between Rick and me, offering directions to the alleged survivor camp.
"Best not to dwell on it," Morales spoke up, inhaling deeply. "Merle getting left behind. No one is going to be sad he didn't come back." The conversation was heavy in the air, like something the four new individuals had been wanting to discuss since the one named T-Dog had confessed to dropping a handcuff key, leaving another member of the group cuffed to a pipe on the roof. I shifted uncomfortably at the dismissive nature of the conversation. "Except maybe Daryl."
"Daryl?" Rick asked, his southern accent thick with uncertainty.
"His brother." The alarm of the red Challenger grew closer, as Glenn flew past the truck, unrestricted thanks to an empty highway. Everyone had been desperate to escape Atlanta when the bombs started, so it was the other four lanes that were impassable. Glenn's cheers carried with ease into the somber atmosphere. "At least someone's having a good day." The rest of the drive was quiet, everyone was reeling from the near-death experience, along with the loss of what I could only assume was an unpopular acquaintance as Morales gave occasional directions. Rick guided the large vehicle up a dirt road; on one side a wall of rock and on the other, a quarry. We could still hear the alarm of the Challenger until it instantly went silent. Rick pulled the truck to a stop behind an old community van, dingy with age, and killed the engine.
Morales patted Rick's chest. "Come meet everybody." Andrea and Jackie funneled out through the rolling door first, followed by Morales and T-dog.
"Ladies first." Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath, it was clear neither of us was interested in meeting the others. I pushed open the passenger door and climbed out; Olivia was on my heels, clinging to my side as I rounded the hood. Rick hadn't moved yet. The gleeful reunion of families echoing around us clearly disheartening for him. I was surprised to see the modest-sized group that had gathered, and even more surprised to recognize yet another King County Sheriff.
"Rory?" Shane asked, taking two steps out from the red muscle car. His strong features shrouded with confusion.
"Officer Walsh." I greeted, tightness fermenting in my throat. "Two in one day. What are the odds?"
"What do you mean?" Shane asked, inching closer. "Two?" As if on cue, Rick stepped into view of the crowd. Shane's face fell to surprise as he locked eyes with his partner. Rick sucked in a deep breath before scanning the crowd.
"You…" He muttered, pointing at a dark-haired woman and a little boy just past the reunited families.
"It's Carl," Olivia whispered to me.
"Dad!" Carl screamed, not hesitating as he bound toward his father.
"Carl," Lori called after him, attempting to catch up. Rick enveloped his son in a tight hug and fell to his knees briefly before getting up and carrying the child to meet his wife, who had stopped mid-stride a few paces away. The group watched in awe as the family embraced. Everyone was so caught up in the dramatics that no one noticed the look Lori shared with Shane; one of surprise, with the slightest hint of anger. Shane nodded. He must have felt my gaze on him because he turned to look at me; like a child caught.
I sat in the middle of the small green tent that Amy had given me. It barely fit the two sleeping bags that had accompanied it. I had lost all my supplies in Atlanta; my medical bag, food…everything. I slid my fingers into my thick copper curls, tugging at the tight French braids as I sucked in a deep breath.
"Fuck." I exhaled, trying desperately to let go of my growing frustration. Instead, I found myself replaying the choices that had landed me in the unfortunate situation. I had been so careful, gone out of my way to ensure the run would go well. It hadn't been my mistake, it had been the mistake of these people; people I was supposed to trust. Heavy footsteps outside the tent, drew my attention away from my misery.
"Aurora?" Rick's voice was hushed, my name a question of uncertainty. I pushed off the ground and crawled out of the tent to meet him out in the open.
"Just Rory." I corrected, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my pants. "I figured you'd been catching up with your family."
"Yeah, I was." He nodded, a line of frustration creasing his forehead.
"I can only imagine how intense that reunion must have been." I offered a tight smile, unsure what to say. "What can I do for you, Rick?"
"I was wondering if I might trouble you for a favor."
"That depends on the favor." I meant the comment to be light-hearted, teasing even, but I missed the mark.
"I don't want to trouble you." He remarked, resting his hands on his hips, fingers curving slightly around his belt.
"I was only teasing." I clarified. "Besides, I guess I owe you one for helping me and Livs out, even after I tried to rob you." He offered a strained chuckle like the retailing of events was uncomfortable.
"It's my wound."
"You want me to look at your gunshot?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. I was relieved the request was so normal, mundane even. "I can do that."
He worked at the buttons of the uniform top, untucking the fabric. "I woke up…" He paused, the memory unpleasant no doubt. "It was infected. I got some antibiotics and it seemed to clear up."
"Any pain or discomfort?" I asked, waiting patiently as he draped the shirt over the top of my tent.
"Some." He admitted, lifting the white t-shirt over his head before setting it with the other. The bandage rested just below his left arm, blood-tinged and sweat-stained.
"Well, you definitely need a new bandage." I noted. "I don't have my bag." Rick produced a folded pad from his pocket.
"The last Dale had." I took the bandage from him and offered a tight grin.
"What no gloves?"
"Unfortunately, the camp is lacking medical supplies." He rested his forearm on his head, allowing me access to his wound.
"I have worked under worse conditions." I carefully peeled back the dirty dressing, placing it in his free hand. The wound itself was healing nicely, pink tissue visible inside the rigged edges of the wound. His body trying to right the unnatural opening. The skin around his wound was tight with a hint of pink. "There is some clear irritation here, which could be a result of not changing the bandage appropriately. Other than that it seems to be healing nicely. I really can't be sure though."
"Guess you aren't used to performing post-op check-ups." He chuckled.
"Not usually." A smile tugged at my features. "I'm more of a stabilize and transport kind of doc." I ducked back into the tent opening just long enough to grab a half-empty bottle of water and spare camisole from my backpack.
"How long were you a paramedic?"
"7 months." I turned my attention back to him. "This is probably going to be uncomfortable," I warned before slowly pouring the water down his side, catching the runoff with the spare shirt. His muscles tightened briefly, the temperature of the water a cool shock in the Georgia heat.
"Not long then." He flinched as I ran the damp cloth against his wound. "What did you do before."
"I was a Navy Corpsman FMF type." I peeled back the packaging of the bandage, satisfied to find it an adhesive pad.
"FMF?"
"Fleet Marine Force," I explained, pressing the pad against his cool flesh. Confusion was written across his brow. I gave a quick laugh. "I was a combat medic of sorts, assigned to a Marine battalion in Iraq."
"Well, maybe you should be making the decisions." His tone was joking, though the words filled me with discomfort. Rick pulled the white shirt back over his torso and began working on the beige and brown button-up.
"Yeah, no thanks." I shook my head, shoving the trash into the now empty bottle, careful not to make contact with the blood from the bandage. "I'd appreciate if that information stayed between us." He nodded in agreeance. "Thanks."
"Rory!" Olivia came bounding toward the small green tent, Carl right on her heels.
"Dad!" The two weaved in between the trees, laughing. Rick finished the last button of his uniform and turned to face the approaching children.
"Livs." I grabbed her by her shoulders catching her before she could plow into me. "What the hell?" Carl slung his arms around his father.
"We were playing cops and geeks." Olivia beamed, still panting from her run. "The geek almost got me."
"Cops and Geeks?" I questioned, raising a brow at the children. "Hardly seems appropriate given the circumstances."
"Seems like harmless fun to me." Rick shrugged, returning his son's embrace.
"Mom's looking for you." Carl pulled away from Rick, tagging Olivia on the shoulder. "You're it."