Chapter Eleven

The Place They Need To Be

Shane and Andrea emerged to collect Carol and Laini from the highway at the conclusion of the afternoon. Shadows shifted above their heads to going above the trees. The patches of darkness were getting deeper and darker the longer time passed.

The strength of Shane's limp had grown. He winced with each step up to the car. His two hands lifted up to help her step down off the vehicle.

"What happened to sticking close?"

"Were you worried about me?" She teased.

Her eyes drifted down his legs to the injured ankle. He shook his head at her concern. Although the strong stagger of his limp did not convince her to leave the worry alone. She threw his arm around her shoulders to ease the weight on the thing.

"You shouldn't be without a weapon to protect yourself. Rick shouldn't have let you go without a gun."

"I had a knife."

It was produced to the light of day. The large jagged blade looked like a ragged murderous weapon.

"That wouldn't do a lick of nothing if they grouped up, got you surrounded."

Andrea and Carol walked ahead of them. The body language read tense. Carol held herself. She looked away from the companion at her side, as it looked like Andrea looked sorrowful.

If only Laini had warned her not to look sorry for Sophia's death. How it must stab Carol's heart to see her beautiful daughter's disappearance be considered a lost cause before her very eyes.

"You even know how to use that thing?" His fingers pushed the blade down.

She shrugged. "Thought it was self-explanatory."

"It's not. You've got to know how to utilize it to your advantage. Hand-to-hand combat is different than pointing and shooting."

"I don't know how to do that either," she replied.

"That's why you've got me, baby." He said with a smile. "I'm going to teach you. Every gun we've got, you're gonna learn how to aim and shoot and be good enough to hit your target." He pulled the pistol up from his side. The black handgun was the same he'd worn in his uniform for work. His finger did not grip the trigger. She flexed her brow curiously. "Don't put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot. All you'll do is shoot something you don't mean."

He slipped it out of sight once more.

They continued the walk back to the farm. She wished Shane would have just driven out there to save his ankle the pain.

She felt the weight of his body grow against the back of her neck. "When we get back, you're resting that ankle. I'm getting something to wrap around it. You're going to break it."

He chuckled. "Startin' to get comfortable bossin' me around there, ain't you?"

It took her by surprise. The observation.

They'd turned into such a casual committed relationship before she realized that's what it was. She knew they weren't sleeping with other people, but as far as being intimate in the care of the other, that was left to each of themselves.

Shane did not wash her hair or make sure she ate or took her medicine. She did not ensure that he washed his clothes or went to the doctor if he was sick.

It was their own personal responsibility. Before.

Now, they were very different. Shane took care of her when she did not feel good or was tired. He protected her when she was vulnerable. She washed him in the shower and cleaned him up from the hardest night of his life.

He gave up his peach for her to eat. She cared about him ruining his ankle.

And she had the gall to be floored by his question of marrying him.

"'Salright, baby. I don't mind a woman who knows what she wants."

That was the thing. She did not know what she wanted. She just knew she didn't like being without him.

His lips pressed against her forehead. "You boss me around anytime you want."

"Then take care of your ankle," she grumbled. "I still got use of it."

"Hope you got use for more than just my ankle." He crudely smiled. "My mouth, for example."

They marched back to camp. Shane teased and flirted his way the entire way. It reminded her of the old Shane she'd find waiting for her on his front porch as she drove the drive of shame to hookup. Of course, then she'd lose an entire weekend with him because he was too difficult to leave.

It was that – despite her inner fears that were realistic and valid – she adored Shane.

Rick approached them as they neared. Something started to form on his tongue in the form of a request of Shane. Yet again. Another burden for Shane to hold on his shoulders when he had enough to carry himself.

"He needs to rest before he ruins his ankle for good," she proclaimed with a resounding in power she hoped would be too stern to illicit much back talk.

"Sorry, man. Under strict orders."

Rick bobbed his head awkwardly. "Course." He shifted.

"You can come talk to him over here. So long as he keeps his ankle raised," she said after a minute of gazing at that awkward wounded look on Rick's face.

Those two were helpless without each other.

She set Shane on the picnic table. His ankle was so swollen. He breathed through his teeth in a sharp hiss as it raised to the bench seat. Rick climbed in the other side of the table.

"Don't you move this ankle," she instructed Shane. "I'm going to find something to wrap it with."

A smile lit across Shane's face. His eyes crinkled at the corners with delight.

"Alright. I won't go nowhere."

She looked at Rick, unconvinced. "You won't tell him to get up, will you?"

"No ma'am," Rick said.

The doctor was just at the screen door when she approached. Her heart faltered, flickers of guilt through the steady beating, when she asked for a wrap for Shane's ankle. The man did not hold a grudge. He offered out a long black strap. A brief instruction on how to care for the sprained ankle was given.

Shane was in place when she returned. She pulled his boot off without asking. He hardly gave her a glance as he spoke with Rick, trusting her implicitly with his injury.

A black sock slid off Shane's foot. To the light of day, she saw the seriousness of his injury. The ankle was swollen twice its size. Some deep bruises were on either side of the foot.

"Christ, Shane." She shook her head. "This is worse than I thought."

He gripped his knee. It raised the ankle higher to aid in the winding wrap that was required to be around the injury.

"Ah. Looks no worse than the year you broke it. Remember that, Shane? Senior year. Game before the playoffs and he broke the damn thing," Rick recalled.

Shane's tongue went to his cheek. "Yeah. I remember."

Her lips frowned. "You sure it's not broken again?"

"Nah." Rick waved in dismissal at the idea.

Shane, too, shook his head. He lowered the ankle with great care. "It'd hurt a lot more if it was."

Laini tried to wander away off to camp, but Shane pulled her atop his lap. He held her close as Rick recited the conversation he'd had with Hershel. He'd asked for permission to stay on the farm longer than just in wait of Carl's recovery.

The hands that held onto her hips tightened at the idea. "We can't stay here, Rick. No way, man."

"A doctor. A farm, food, running water. You telling me you don't want that?"

"Where we gonna hide here? What walls are going to keep them things out? We can't protect open fields."

Rick shook his head. "The dead aren't here. They haven't found this farm. I've asked. There have been no attacks, no sightings here."

"Can't stay that way," Shane countered.

Laini swallowed. "Having medical care is nice. In case someone needs something. Down the road. In a few months."

To aid her in giving birth.

"Right," Rick readily agreed. He missed the clear undercurrent of her words directed at Shane. A message, perhaps reminder, that medical care in the apocalypse was going to be impossible. She did not know the first thing about having a baby, yet she understood the need for a doctor. "Carl might have a side effect of his injury. We don't know. He might need more help."

Shane glanced up at her face. He took a long thought.

"Alright. Throw him over your shoulder and carry him with then," Shane supplied. "But this place. This ain't it."

"Fort Benning is just a pipe dream, Shane."

"It's not. It's safety. It's got walls. Walls that those damn things can't knock down or crawl over."

Laini liked the farm, no matter how mind altering it was, but it was foolish to believe it would remain. They'd watched Atlanta light up from all the bombs being dropped by jets. They'd seen loved ones devoured by disease. The world they knew burned in one form or another in front of their very eyes.

The farm.

The farm would burn, too.

"You should go check on your boy." Shane's eyes flicked up toward the white farmhouse. "You should be there. If he wakes."

A sudden gentleness overtook Rick's face. It changed through the calm, determined face of a man ready to search the entire woods himself to find a little girl, back to the worn worried expression of a heartbroken father. He gave a weak nod.

Shane watched his best friend trudge up the yard to the porch. It didn't cease until the screen door slammed back in its frame.

"We can't stay here, Lain." Shane was serious. His brow was straight, low on his face. "This is not our place."

"I'm going to need a doctor if you want this child, Shane. So, you find a way to keep him first before you think about leaving. I want Hershel."

He tilted his head.

"I am serious."

"I know," he said. "So was I."

The day's lazy breeze barely lifted the stick of their sweat. Unabashed, the sun beat down against them with its might. Her shoulders felt warm beneath her shirt. Shane's forehead was red. Thick beads sat at the height of his forehead.

It only ignited his smile the longer she observed him. His arms pulled her close.

"I meant it," he said. "Marry me."

A voice suddenly cleared their voice. Loudly.

Laini startled and pushed off of Shane's chest. Her cheeks turned bright pink with heat.

Andrea cocked a brow.

It only amused Shane, who chuckled lightly.

"Teach me to shoot." Her hands went to her hips. "On my gun. I want to know how."

Surprisingly, he bobbed his head. "Alright. I'll teach you. Both."

"Both?" They repeated in unison.

"Yeah. I'd sleep better knowing there were at least two women in this camp who could hold their own. Should any thing happen," he explained.

Shane took them out to shoot. Andrea took it seriously. She tried hard and demanded harder and harder targets. On the other hand, it was Shane who took Laini's instruction seriously. He was over her shoulder. He'd adjusted every inch of her into perfect position with detailed reasons why she needed to be that way.

Then he drilled the questions. Why, how, why, how. It drove her crazy. He did not stop.

Andrea was a bit of her old self by the end of it. She walked with her chin in the air. Stomping through the underbrush on confident feet as they neared the farm once more.

Laini disliked the lesson. It triggered thoughts to the Atlanta camp or Otis. She'd never seen the man, but she pictured those same techniques being used on him. It coated her in its sticky ick. She shuddered to shake the sensation free.

They returned shortly after Daryl emerged from his search. He was by himself so they knew he hadn't found Sophia.

"How long should we keep hope?" Andrea voiced gently, to keep her voice from carrying too far to the rest of the group.

Shane rubbed the back of his neck. "If we ain't find her by the highway, she ain't ever comin' back."

"Daryl's sure she's out there," Andrea retorted.

Laini, again, heard the outsider's case being presented by the blonde. She casted a wry glance. One that Andrea did not miss.

"Dixon ain't been in law enforcement. He don't know the odds."

"Rick is sure, too," Laini pointed out.

His dark eyes looked at her. A tension in his expression. "Rick's – he's got other things on his mind. Things he's distorting with Sophia. He can't give up yet. He's holding on."

"Holding onto what?" Andrea shrugged. "Everyone he's got is here."

Alive, was what she meant to say.

They all had dead people on their backs. Lives they would never have.

Rick had more than most. His wife, his son, and his best friend were all alive. They were with him.

Shane thought a long minute as he gazed out at the farm. The rolling tranquility around them. It was a place unknown to them before, but now, it was safety. A place they breathed free without the constant panic of being eaten alive. Shane stared out at its beauty – probably not so beautiful now that he'd done something horrendous on account of that place.

He then clicked his tongue. "World's changed. It won't ever be the same again. We won't be the same." Laini's pulse quickened. She reached over and gripped his hand. She squeezed it tight to support him in that wave of whatever he felt – guilt, anger, resentment. "Rick's holding onto himself. The pieces he wants to keep all nice and pretty. He don't want to be a bad guy."

Andrea's brow quirked. "What's so wrong with that?"

"The bad guys. They're the ones who's going to run this world." Shane sighed. "And they'll eat up everyone else. For once. I'd like us to be the ones eating."

They passed by the RV. Daryl stepped down its steps. Carol's wails flowed on his tail. His sloped frown deepened as he turned around, as if to retreat inside to rectify it, but then he thought better of it. Instead, he stomped off to his tent on the edge of camp.

Laini stared after the man, concerned. The emotion through the narrow slit of his eyes spoke of grief.

She wanted to know what he'd told her.

Shane touched her arm and pulled her gently to camp; the man of their group forgotten in his self-inflicted isolation.

They ate their supper nearby the fire. Along with T-Dog and Glenn. Its warmth was delightful against her body. She leaned against Shane's shoulder adoring the waves of heat against her.

There came the time when he had to check in with Rick. Old habits, she supposed. He went to the farmhouse where Rick was posted up at Carl's bedside.

Her eyes flickered to the lonely campfire in the distance beneath a stretch of trees.

Daryl was out there on his own. Carol had emerged from the RV and not once looked out in his direction. She'd gone to her tent to finish whimpering softly. And he. He remained an outcast.

Laini grabbed a plate and marched out through the deepening dim of evening toward his space.

He sat there chewing on a long slender blade of grass when she approached. The campfire caught against the shiny tank of the motorcycle. It was parked close, alongside his tent. The whole atmosphere glowed with orange and yellow flickering light.

She pushed the plate forward. He glanced at it with his narrowed eyes.

"What do you want?" Daryl asked.

She sucked her teeth. "You going to take the plate or not?"

His lips pushed into a thin line. Finally, he grasped the extended plate and pulled it to his lap. He made a point to widen his eyes sarcastically.

"I want to know what you said to Carol," she revealed. "I heard her crying."

"I didn't do nothin' mean, if that's what you're accusing."

She laced her arms against her chest. "You went out today."

"So what?" He spat.

"Did you find her body? Is she dead?"

Daryl's jaw clicked shut. A ripple of anger and sadness moved through his face.

She watched it closely. "Shane says there isn't any way she's alive. Even in the old world, she'd probably be dead."

"Shane's wrong," Daryl barked. "I found proof. Someone made a tiny bed and ate a can of food. Not big enough for an adult. Only a child could've fit."

Delaney paused. "You think it was Sophia?"

"It wasn't no damn walker."

"You don't have to yell at me," she said. "I can hear just fine. And you don't scare me with it either. You want to be the lone wolf, fine. Do it your own way. Just don't lash out at the rest of us for trying to take care of you."

"Take care? Take care?" He repeated spitefully. It made him angrier the more he said it. "I don't need nobody to take care of me. I been doing it long before this group."

"Yeah, but unlike everyone else, this group might actually need you. Don't be a jackass and get yourself killed."

She stomped away before she said something worse.

Andrea was dead wrong. Daryl was not 'rough around the edges' he was goddamn sharp.

Night descended upon camp. The farmhouse fell quiet, still. Rick exited from Carl's room to get some sleep. They were all around in their camp to wish the last bit of well wishes before bed. T-Dog asked about Carl. He was glad to hear that Carl had spoke a few times.

"That's a good sign. He's prevailed," T said.

Rick nodded his head with a soft smile. "Yes, he has."

"How long does he have to stay in bed?" Glenn asked.

"He'll be up soon. Hershel says it isn't good for him to lie around. Might get clots. Just when he's strong enough, we'll get him up. Moving around."

Laini smiled.

A small flicker of hope inside their chest, thanks to Carl. His life mattered all the more. She reached over and kissed Shane's cheek.

"You did that," she whispered. "He's alive because of you."

Lori sat on a turned over stump flicking small pieces of wood into the fire. Her eyes burned against the side of Laini's face.

She did not need to turn and see it. That stare was familiar. She already knew it was Lori's dull eyes full of anger.

Later Shane marched to the tent and immediately walked back out. "Where's our cot?"

"Laini said you didn't want it," Andrea stated.

"No. No, we need it." He put his hands on his hips. "She ain't sleeping on the ground."

"I told them I didn't want it," Laini explained. She put her hands on his arm. "It makes my back hurt."

"That ground's gonna make you hurt a hell of a lot worse."

Rick sensed the change in his friend. He pulled out his calming tone.

"Shane, man. Take it easy."

He chuckled. "I am easy. I just want that cot back. Now I don't care about sleeping on the ground myself, but Laini needs it. She don't need to be on the floor like a dog."

Rick nodded. His eyes in direct contact with Shane's, like they had their own secret language buried there.

"Alright. Alright. You can have mine," Rick said. "Me and Lori don't mind. Do we, Lori?"

Lori stood up. Her two hands pushed many broken pieces of bark and dried twigs into the fire. The campfire sparked up with a momentary high. "No. Course not. I'd hate for her to get a sore sleeping on that hard grass. Get Shane's princess that cot."

Rick eye's widened as he watched his wife pull the cot from their tent.

"Here." She tossed it into Shane's arms.

"There is another one around here," Rick said to calm his wife, yet again misreading her action as something other than plain jealousy. It was despicable how obvious she was. In front of everyone, including her husband. "We have Carl's. You can use that."

Delaney kept her tongue bit between her teeth to keep it controlled. Otherwise, the red in her soul would have spilled over.

She followed Shane into their tent in search of privacy. It did not prevail. Every sound of camp was still just outside a thin layer of nylon. Her eyes stared at the tent flap. A moment passed with a deep breath. It only built her rage.

She turned on Shane. "That bitch is going too far."

He nodded. "I'll talk to her."

"When has that helped?" Her hand pointed out the zipped door – the only one they'd have for a while. "When will it matter? She's not letting it go, Shane. Whatever her problem is, it's sticking." She shook her head. Angry and embarrassed.

She was not a coed campus princess that refused to sleep on the ground. She'd given it up in good faith that it would reach a person that liked it better. Needed it.

Her face was red as she rubbed the heel of her palms against her cheeks. "I don't know. Maybe we should involve Rick. He might get through to her."

The intensity grew in the cramped air. She felt the displeasure ripple off Shane's shoulders like steam.

He shook his head. "I can handle it." He knelt to her level. Gentle caresses touched the side of her jaw. "She's scared for Carl. It's making her lash out. It ain't about you, baby."

She hid her face into her sleeve. "That cot hurts my back. I left it in the RV. I did that. Not anyone else."

He sighed. His hands touched the elevated ledge of the sleeping cot. They'd shared one in the tent camp outside Atlanta. It held the start of their entire complicated relationship. A slip of canvas over a metal frame not six inches off the ground.

"I can't stand the idea of you sleeping on the ground. You're – you have my baby in you. It's my job to make a place for you. And the floor of a tiny fuckin' tent is not where you need to be."

"If I am sleeping on the ground, it's because you're on the ground right next to me. The only place I need to be is with you," she said.

Shane's face lifted to a smile. The lazy grin that was so beautiful. It raised the darkness of his eyes. She adored the flicker of glee that took the corner of his eye when she flirted with him, like it lit a fire inside him to be so adored.

The man's hubris was staggering. Only made worse by her attention. Or support. Or smiles. Everything she did made the man wild.

He leaned over and stole a kiss. "I'll never be sick of you. You hear me, baby? I am yours the way you are mine."

"You better be," she growled against his lips.

A crude curl came to the corner of his mouth.

His hands dropped from her waist. They rounded and cupped her stomach. The non-existent bump that held their growing child.

She inhaled. "I'm scared. To bring this baby. Here. This world is…God awful."

"Don't think that." He shushed. "Nothing is gonna happen to the pair of you. I'm here. I ain't going anywhere."

Why did she want to believe him? Why did she feel the softness overtake him, like a filter over a photo, where his edges smoothed to gentle curves, a steady soft feeling to his touch against her chest.

He was so handsome.

The man was rugged, handsome in the face, with a devious smile that lit with excitement when he was met with an obstacle. It was delirious, addicting. She drank up every moment under that gaze. It was a guilty pleasure to illicit the reaction – one he equally loved.

They were a pair, too addicted and delirious for sense. Each incapable of repelling the other.

"I'm in for a world of hurt, aren't I? This baby is gonna be an exact copy of his daddy."

A dark-haired beauty with deep brown eyes, big and innocent, with a side smirk and dimples. She could picture a little infant with a head full of hair stuck in every direction, like Shane's in the morning. The hint of curls at the edges, precious and soft.

"Aw nah, it's gonna be a spittin' image of her mama. Pretty blue eyes and that smile I can't stop kissing. She'll have that button nose. And get all pink in the face when she's mad…Nah." He shook his head. "I want a girl just like you."

She leaned forward. Her forehead pressed against his.

They shared the same breath, air of his lungs into hers, the life shared with the life they created.

For once, becoming a mother didn't seem so frightening.