Chapter Thirteen
One Language
Shane Walsh pulled her on top. "Come on, baby. Show me how much you want it."
Delaney's shirt was wretched up above her tits. The air moved across her chest, tickling the erect buds of her nipples to the point of overstimulation. Her hands were against his chest. His hands held them tight against his pecs. The muscles tensed below her touch.
She moved her hips against his. Their flesh moved as one. His body and hers.
Her throat groaned.
The grasses whistled above their heads. Noise of the world passed them by. Their bodies protected in the cocoon around them.
Shane's lips parted. They always did. Breaths thick and steady through, as he watched the motions of the body before him. The ripple of muscles as they cascaded her torso, grinding back and forth. Blinking became nonexistent.
"Shane," she moaned.
He liked that. Hands moved up her arm onto her chest. They held her breasts within his palms.
"That's right. Say my name." He groaned. Thrusts began meeting hers. The power within each stroke sent her eyes rolling. The tips of her nails bit deeper into his skin. "I want to hear it all night. Just like that. I'll be your fuck toy. Any. Time. You. Want."
He groaned deep as she moved quicker against him. Words were like kindling to a sparking fire.
"How does that mouth manage keep going?" She murmured, bewildered at the heightened lust coursing through her veins. "Don't you ever tire of being so fucking charming?"
Shane sat up, keeping himself buried inside her wetness. His arm looped around her back to hold her in place. He looked ready to speak.
But there was more burning to be let out. "You make me so wet. It doesn't feel real." Her pace slowed. "It can't be real."
He instead became the pace they moved at. The hardness of his cock slipped in and out. Each thrust back inside her was a delirium she couldn't see straight from.
"Does it feel fake to you?" He grunted. "I want you. All day. Every day. That is real."
He then swiped her off his lap onto the ground to show her just how true he meant. The passion in his mouth was fire, a similar burn. They reveled in the heat they made.
Delaney rose from the grass with a headful of little dried bits of it. She stood, shaking out her hair. Shane did not move. He laid there, goofy grin still intact.
"You just keep getting better and better."
She rolled her eyes. "Can't say that every time, Shane. It's going to lose its meaning."
"Hey. I mean it. Every time," he said. He finally secured his belt against his waist. "Ain't had a girl surprise me more times than you."
"Is there a reason you brought me out here?" She asked, hiding her blush.
He chuckled. His lips pressed against her hot cheek.
"Yeah, baby. I grabbed this." He showed the pistol. "You need more practice."
That stole from the postcoital high. The last thing she wanted was to wield that weapon under his supervision. It was a high-pressure sport. His direction was pointed and serious. There was not fun when he brought out the gun.
He pushed the weight into her palm. She frowned.
He scratched the back of his neck. "I know it ain't your favorite thing, Lane. But I won't sleep until you know how to hold your own with one. We're gonna have a baby depending on us. I'll die before a thing happens to the pair of you, but if that happens, I need to know you can do this."
Disappointment was rampant within her mind.
"There aren't walkers here," she said.
"We aren't staying here," Shane replied sharply. "Believe me, they are out there. Somewhere. It's only a matter of time."
She sighed. The gun held to her side. The tip brushed against her thigh. "Maybe not. Maybe it is a paradise here."
Shane furrowed his brow. He reached forward. Each strong hand of his held the side of her face. The depth of his dark eyes grew to immeasurable profundity. The widening of his iris showed his soul.
"Trust me when I say this, Laini. This place will not stand. Whether it's the dead that take it, or the living. Look around. There is no place to hide." He loosened his grip to allow her eyes to scan around them. There was nothing but an old standing barn. It was not a fortress. She swallowed. "The perversions of men, they thrive, thrive, in a time like this. You're young still. You don't see it."
Her pride enflamed. How could he say that to her? She was not some stupid college co-ed. She was a woman.
"My daddy was a lawyer, Shane. I know the horrors of what people do."
"Then think of the worst one you've ever heard. Every story from this world will be worse. There ain't nothin' to stop them. Nothing stands in their way," he said. "I love that you see the good in things. I do. See the good in me. I trust myself. I know it won't be misplaced. But others? You understand. There are real things to fear. That's why we have to leave. We need walls. We need safety."
Delaney allowed Shane his gun training session. She did little to fight him. Her body aimed and shot. His direction adjusted her stance, her hold, the way she moved with the gun in her hand.
Nothing more was said on his words.
She did not want to give them credence. They were too awful to. But. That did not stop their roots from growing. The haunted things she'd heard about on campus, or over the internet, when she first began her college career. Some nights her father sat at the kitchen table staring at a glass of water like he did not understand it. The mess of what horrors did to a person's soul.
Her body was sick with revulsion. Shane saw it. He knew what would come. Once the hope of their old lives returning died, the true feral monsters would emerge. They would consume the world. Just as the dead.
Maybe even worse.
After assisting in the kitchen for a short while, she excused herself outside. Shane was there with a map in between Rick. They murmured about something. She did not care to listen.
One look at her fast approach caused Shane to rise from his seat.
He walked toward her before she met him. His brow low in concern.
"What is it?" He asked.
Her body yearned to be next to his. She wrapped her arms against the back of his neck pulling his body close to hers. The weight of his arms fell against her backside. They gave a slight cinch of support.
The soft exhale of a ragged breath left her mouth. It dampened the shoulder of his shirt.
"Laini, baby. Talk to me."
"I should've seen it sooner," she murmured. "What this world will become…"
"Hey." His arms held her tighter. "Don't think 'bout that now. I'm tryin' my hardest to find us a place. Carl needs some time to heal."
Rick cleared his throat from behind their backs. "Everything alright?"
Shane waved him off.
"I can't bring a baby here," she said quickly. "We can't – it would be cruel."
He rubbed his face against hers. "You don't mean that."
"Yes. I do." A rugged exhale left her lips. She pulled away from his chest. The arms fell back down to her sides. "What hope in the world is there, if we cannot rely on each other? How can a baby live in a world without hope?"
A wounded expression overtook his face. He allowed her to withdraw from his arms.
Hopeless. That was what this world was.
Who would they be, without hope, in a damned land? The monsters that hopelessness bred.
The farmhouse was an atmosphere she no longer belonged. Despair held her thoughts. She greeted the outline of light around an antique RV on the edge of the property with another woman of despair making atop it. A long rifle stretched a short length. Andrea's body laid on her stomach, searching the line of trees around the farm in constant vigilance.
Dale apparently relented the position to Andrea.
Anything to have a weapon in her hand.
Laini climbed atop the RV. She plopped down with a sigh.
The blonde did not acknowledge her presence. She kept her eyes trained on the distance. The silence was easy between them. Neither asked questions better left unanswered.
They let the Georgia wind speak for them. Its subtle chittering of leaves above their head, whistling of long grasses in fields for miles around, the swish of cow tails as they swatted flies.
Sunlight instead filled their minds. It glinted its glow off their beaded sweat. A shine unlike the refraction of diamonds. All more precious and shimmery. Especially in the yellow light.
Delaney stretched her legs in front of her. Andrea dropped the binoculars from her face.
"Tired of dishes?" She snarked.
"Tired of everything, more like."
Andrea lifted a single brow. "Everything, huh? What about a while ago when your leg was lifted high in that field over there?"
A startled chuckle burst from her lips. "What. You saw that?"
"You're lucky it wasn't Dale on watch. He'd never look at you the same again."
"Wouldn't be too long, seeing as none of us are going to survive this place," she said. "What's the point of caring? What's the point of any of this?"
A sardonic chuckle sounded of Andrea's voice. "You better figure that out. Quick."
Her eyes squinted against the sun. "Death. That's the point. All this world holds is haunted life and demented death. Nothing else."
"That's not totally true," Andrea disagreed. "Shane and you happened in this world. That might never happened before. Think of T and Jaquai. They wouldn't have found each other either."
She pressed her lips together. Love wasn't enough reason. There was too much of the other stuff to belittle that.
A life without love could be forgone if it meant not being eaten alive. Or fearing a fever, a bite, a scratch.
Or another person.
Her eyes drifted down to her stomach. What would be the point in life for her child? To live fighting every day for life, felt unfair.
It was not the world she imagined she'd become mother in. A place where she could cuddle against their precious puffy cheeks soft as a cloud and smelling of divinity. A world where she would see her brother become an uncle, her sisters become aunts and life place into place.
"I wouldn't have the dear memories of Amy either. If it hadn't…"
The bloom of sadness again stretched over her heart. Sisters. She had those. And a brother. The memories she held of them were pleasant, but she wished to know more. Where were they? Did they survive?
Aletta was the eldest. There was no doubt that she survived. She was the toughest woman Laini ever met except maybe Andrea. They were a lot alike. Aletta was concerned of justice. Her heart was that of a lion, always willing to fight for what was right. It never beat her down to lose, because at least she tried.
Then came her brother Camden. He was crafty. His mind was so cunning that it was impossible to trick him. This world was still easy for him. He'd have ten weapons and systems in place to keep the house free of walkers. With his mind in employ, the family was gathered around a card table playing euchre.
Young Quinnie still lived at home. Her parents would keep her safe, if her siblings didn't.
Delaney was the only one away from home in the middle of the country without a soul nearby. Cell towers were gone. Phone lines, who even had a landline anymore? Radio was the only way to hear from a person, and there were so few radios equipped to reach a distance.
The longer she considered her family facing the same uncertain future, she yearned that they would hold on, for the chance to see one another again, if they could.
Imagine their surprise when they found her with a baby and a Shane!
The sudden twitching of Andrea's body brought her out of her thoughts. The present shuttered at the forefront of her eyes.
"Walker!" She called out. Her voice carried through the lawn of the farmhouse. It captured attention. Rick and Shane quickly stepped toward the RV. Andrea's hands dropped the binoculars to take hold of the rifle. "I bet I can nail him from here."
"Andrea! No. Put the gun down." Rick ran close, his hand up to stop her.
Delaney shifted. "Maybe see what their plan is first, Andrea."
They pointed in the direction that the walker emerged. It was a faint figure that blended in with the landscape. A blur to Delaney's eyes.
"You best let us handle it," Shane said.
Glenn and T-Dog rushed to the side. "What is it? Walkers?"
"Just one," Rick said.
Shane ran back to camp. The man spun around, seeking something. The other two excitedly did the same.
What were they looking for?
"Listen. Listen. Hershel has a way of doin' things. He doesn't like the guns," Rick said. "This is his land. We have to respect his wishes."
"Like hell we do," Shane snarled as he came back carrying a pointed shovel.
T and Glenn ran after Shane, who went to confront the walker head on. Delaney gasped. Her body hurt with fear. Why would he do that? That walker could kill him. Kill all of them!
Rick followed quickly after. He pulled the large revolver from his side. The weight pulled down his shoulder as it ran.
"Andrea?" Laini murmured. "Can you see it? Is it, does it look strong?"
Dale emerged from the RV. He apparently heard the ruckus from inside. His eyes caught a glimpse of Andrea leaning into the scope of the rifle. "Don't do it. Please. Let Rick handle it. You don't want to be this person."
Laini disagreed. If there was a single person who could save a life, they should do it. No matter what.
Her fingers tapped Andrea's side urgently. "They're getting closer."
"Andrea. Think about what you're doing," Dale continued.
"Back off!" Andrea yelled.
The group of men approached. They did not seem frightened of the walker. Rick's arm lowered the weapon.
"Oh my god." Delaney said.
Shane was going to be attacked because they were so cocky!
"What are they doing?" Andrea murmured.
"They're going to get themselves killed! Do something, Andrea!" Laini pleaded.
"Don't do anything," Dale urged.
The sweat beaded densely across her forehead. She squinted against the scope.
The men were so close. It could swing its arm and scratch them all.
Andrea's body tensed. Her finger looped around the trigger. It gave a heft squeeze.
The motion came first. Before the loud thundering pop that stung Laini's ears.
She held her head for many moments. The ringing, all she felt deep inside her thoughts. It wasn't until the ringing cleared that she heard another sound of top of it: Rick's horrified scream.
"No!"
A chorus of frantic cries echo out throughout the farm. The walker fell on its back. The men rushed to him. Their shouts were growing louder.
The porch door of the farm slammed in its frame. It echoed around the farm. Hershel's startled noises overrode everything. Except Rick's devastation.
"Oh my god." She shuddered. She rose from her knees. "Andrea. I-I think you killed Daryl."
Devastation crashed against Andrea's face.
Laini's hand loosely held the ladder. It did not really work. She fell down the last few steps. The moment her legs hit the ground, she ran out to meet them.
Rick and Shane carried Daryl in between them. His head lulled off to the side.
A shocked scream left her mouth. She dropped to the ground.
She killed Daryl.
Andrea ran past. Her palms clasped together, begging that he was not dead. Blood dripped from his head. His eyes were closed. The man was dead! Still, the frantic desperate pleads from her mouth filled the entire farm.
"You grazed him," Rick said.
"Damn Andrea!" Shane yelled. "You coulda killed the man."
"I thought he was a walker," she murmured.
He did not resemble man. His body was coated in dirt. And sweat. There was visible shine to him, like he'd been sweating the fever that starts the disease.
Laini's hands covered her mouth to silence her cries.
"Yeah. Look at him." Glenn pointed at him. "He's wearing ears."
Rick ripped the necklace from Daryl's neck. "Keep this to yourselves."
They continued to carry him to the house. Andrea pulled Laini to her feet. Their hands knotted together; the shudders of their sobs only held by the shred of relief that they had not killed a man.
"Hey. Hey! Look what he had."
T-Dog pulled out a stuffed doll.
The group paused. Their eyes doubled in size.
Sophia's doll.
They put Daryl in the farmhouse with Hershel and Rick. The disrupted dinner was still laid out atop the long dining table. Aromas of the roasted meal rumbled her stomach to life. It was beautiful. Picture perfect.
Yet there was blood dripped on floorboards in a straight line through to the back.
She and Andrea held each other, holding back their tears as they listened to Rick ask questions about the doll. "I can't believe I said that," she muttered, horrified.
The very horror she feared in the world, she embraced it and almost killed a man in the process.
"I thought I'd killed him," Andrea said. Her head laid against Laini's shoulder. "What was I thinking?"
"I told you to! This is my fault."
Rick walked out onto the porch to explain what location Daryl explained to him about the doll. Shane and Lori spoke to Rick's flared, excited tones. Shane disagreed. His tone was more forceful than usual. The emotions of the night were crashing ahead.
Andrea heard Dale's voice outside the screen door. The effect of his voice made her fingers tremble.
"He told me not to," she said. "I still pulled the trigger."
Delaney had her mind on someone else. She did not hear Andrea's rambling upset about Dale being right.
Murder. It rotated in her mind. She almost murdered a man.
"I need some fresh air," Andrea mumbled. "Wanna come?"
The invite fell into the silence of the farmhouse. Well, not silence. Everyone remained upset with the happenings of the night. But to Laini, it was all just noise. Her feet moved on their own toward that door. She heard the motions within the room. Hershel's steady but curt voice spoke over concern of his lost horse. The one Daryl stole earlier in the day for the search.
She hadn't understood it then. Not truly. She did now.
Hope. It was a delirium they all chased. The one form that kept them moving on in a world that showed bones of an old life they once lived.
Daryl laid stretched atop a pale checkerboard quilt in an old wooden bed frame. His head was wrapped tight with gauze. Like a helmet.
Hershel brushed passed her in the hall without a word. He dismissed the concerns of his family. Their excited voices were calmed with his reassurance. He gathered them back at the table to eat their meals.
"He's going to be fine. Just a scratch," Hershel declared. His hand hands held onto Beth's shoulders.
Laini remained perched on the edge of the doorway. She shifted, creaking the wooden floors beneath her feet, as she considered what to do. There was no crafted conversation in her head she prepared. All she knew was that she had to see him. The quaking of her body would not settle.
His eyes lazily glanced around the room. They caught suddenly against her in the doorway.
He lowered his shoulders down. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she replied quietly.
"I am. That doctor said so." His eyes narrowed.
He made no effort to dispel the awkward tension between them. His arm looped behind his head supporting it as he stared.
She took a step inside. "What I said. I didn't mean for you to take it literally."
The humor baffled him. His narrow focus somehow narrowed thinner.
"You joking with me?" He asked.
"Trying." She shrugged. She wiped the water still leaking from her eyes. "Sorry."
Daryl shifted atop the mattress. The thing was so old that it squeaked. He paused. A hot redness touched the tops of his cheeks. "Were you cryin'?"
She nodded. Acknowledgement only made the tears come faster.
Her throat cleared away the bottled emotion. "Yeah. Yeah, I was. I didn't want you to be dead."
"You don't have to do that." He seemed awkward. "It was just a scratch."
"Lucky Andrea hasn't got too much practice," she murmured.
He scoffed, still baffled by the encounter. "Yeah. Lucky me."
Laini felt the bubbling heat of guilt ascending her throat. Her intention when she entered that room was to spill her guts. Now, it found another way to escape. It choked her throat. Nothing, not breath or swallow or word could pass it.
She raised her chin and met his gaze. He bristled with the change in her stance. Something triggered his sense that it was different. His arms raised him higher in the bed.
"Don't be pissed with Andrea. If you want to be mad, it should be at me. I pressured her to take the shot," she admitted. "I-I thought you were a walker. The guys ran off in a huff. I worried one of them would get hurt. It was my fault." Tears, again, filled her eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Her tears were a strange magic to him. It softened his expression.
The riling feral racoon became a placid possum, dumbfounded by the emotion of guilt.
"Not like you shot me on purpose. 'Sides." He pointed to his bandaged head. "I'm alright."
Tears slipped in quiet waves down her cheeks. "You could have died."
"Ah. It wouldn't have mattered. Ya'll be alright without me."
"You're important. Here. To this group." Her mouth continued to move without thought. "We need someone like you."
He shied away. "Yeah. I don't know 'bout all that."
She stepped further inside. "You believe. You believe when most of our hope is gone. You're risking your life to bring back a little girl who would make us all have reason to keep going. Someone like that is special." Her hand steadied herself against the post of the bed. She lowered herself onto the mattress' edge.
He sat fully up. A struggled expression on his face.
"I was wondering the point of it all tonight. This world is a savage wasteland. What is the point of living in a place that only promised death?" Her eyes glinted as she looked at the torn look on his face. Torn with confusion, discomfort, unfamiliarity. "Then. Andrea shot you. And I thought of what it would do to us. Or how little hope there was for that poor girl out there, if you were gone."
Daryl was a reminder of how precious life was. Even in the land of the dead. She broke when she saw his head lifelessly bouncing as he was carried from the field. Her part in destroying a man who'd only given aid to a group that did not have his loyalty. Especially after the way they treated his brother.
He had reason to let them burn. But he did not.
That mattered.
People mattered still. Life, in its purest form, was a language they all spoke. They could all speak it. The language of the new world could hold pieces of those phrases they shared.