AN: I just want to work on this, and I'm sharing it in case someone else wants to enjoy it.

If you want to read it, then I welcome you! If you don't want to read it, then I wish you joy, happiness, health, and some other story that fulfills all of your wildest dreams. Take care!

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

If you decide that you want to read, and you enjoy, then please do let me know!

111

If someone had looked up any amount of information about Henton, Georgia, they would have found that it had a fair-sized population—mostly thanks to the inclusion of surrounding rural land—but it wasn't considered large by any stretch of the imagination. They would have discovered that most of that population was either living in poverty or, honestly, somewhere close to it—even though most of the people who lived "well enough" were comfortable with their existence. A life of living that way had taught them to be satisfied with what the hell they had.

They would have discovered that Henton boasted only a few restaurants—most of which were Mom-and-Pop places, and that extended all the way to the local Chinese restaurant and Mexican restaurant, which were owned and run by families that, at this point, had lived in Henton for generations.

They might have found pictures of a somewhat picturesque town square—or circle, depending on how particular the person describing it might want to be—and they would have seen that the town boasted a ridiculous number of festivals that were, on the whole, meant to drum up a little extra business for the town and to keep the natives from being restless throughout the year, in the face of a town that offered very little else for entertainment.

They would have seen that there were only a sparse number of people who practiced any one profession inside the town limits, meaning that there was a monopoly on most everything. They might imagine that the little law office in town—boasting lawyers to cover most any need, though necessity did require that there were mostly general-practice lawyers—didn't do too much business, but they would have been wrong.

What they would have been right about, if they'd speculated that far, was that the lawyers in that office saw very little out-of-town business, as a general rule. The people that came from out of town, often tried to avoid every single possible aspect of the law.

It had been almost time to leave. Everyone else had gone home early, as was the practice for Friday, but Andrea had stayed late—as was also her practice. She knew she was safe. For the most part, Henton was a safe little town, unless you were involved in certain activities, but Andrea always had a little extra insurance, so to speak, that made her feel safe. She often stayed after hours and after everyone else had gone home. The little law office was her property, and she handled the daily ins-and-outs of the business. They closed early, for all practical purposes, and everyone went home at two on Fridays. Andrea stayed late in case there were any last-minute emergencies.

This was supposed to be a normal Friday night. She'd close up, stop by for some Chinese food to take home, because they'd decided that's what they wanted, and then she'd spend the rest of the night with her family.

She hadn't been expecting the woman to knock on the door, frantically, like she was with the police, after she'd already locked up and had gone to just get her purse and tip the leftovers of a water bottle into the airplane plant that lived in their office, against all odds, really, since none of them cared for it beyond emptying the dregs of water bottles into it, when they remembered.

Andrea might have turned the woman away, given the hour, but she could immediately tell that the woman was desperate.

She was almost out of breath in the fashion that comes with being overwhelmed—not with physical exertion—and she was wild-eyed. She also had some pretty decent evidence of having had some sort of physical altercation, and not too long ago. Andrea was pretty good at judging basic injuries, and she doubted that the woman's face had gained the marks it had more than twenty-four hours before.

It was what the woman had said, though, when Andrea opened the door, that made her invite her inside and listen to what she had to say, despite the hour, her hunger, and her desire to go home.

"Thank God you're here—and you're a woman. I don't know what to do."

111

After a text to her husband, Merle, requesting that he handle at least calling Chen and telling him that Andrea would be by to pick up an order as soon as possible, and offering the woman a bottle of water, Andrea had listened to her story—or, at the very least, the Cliff Notes version of it.

"You care if I smoke?" Andrea asked. "I haven't had a cigarette in…"

"I don't care," Carol said, quickly, waving it away, before Andrea could even finish what she might say about how many hours it had been since she'd last stepped outside.

"Shit…" Andrea said, mostly to herself, getting up and moving to the back porch of the little law office—Carol followed her, as she went, without Andrea having to explicitly tell her that was expected of her. "That's a lot."

"Does that mean that you won't help me?" Carol asked.

Andrea laughed as she stood outside and lit a cigarette. She waved a hand and Carol's eyes scanned the area to see nothing but the streetlight between the businesses. The porch area was just barely big enough for both their bodies to fit comfortably. It had been built back there as a place for them to do what Andrea was doing right now—enjoy a cigarette, without being right outside the front door and without having to keep too close company with the garbage can.

"I would be a terrible person if I didn't help you, Mrs.…I forgot your name."

"Peletier," Carol said. "But—Carol, please. Peletier is his name, and I don't want it anymore."

Andrea laughed quietly.

"Of course you don't," she said. "And who the hell would, if he's done all that?"

The woman looked a bit like Andrea had burned her.

"Does that mean you don't believe me?" Carol asked.

Andrea hummed.

"I do and I don't," Andrea said. "And none of that is really your problem. It's complicated."

"Isn't everything?" Carol asked.

Andrea laughed, perhaps in spite of herself, and Carol laughed, too. Immediately, she winced, and reached her finger up to touch gingerly at the spot where a slightly healed area of her lip cracked back open. Some blood ran down her lip and Andrea reached in her pocket and came up with a tissue.

"Here," she said, looking at it before she handed it over. "I promise—it's not entirely clean, but…I only used it to blot my lipstick earlier. And I'm not sick and I don't have any diseases. It's not too dirty. Part of it's clean."

Carol thanked her, and her cheeks blushed as she dabbed at her lip with the used tissue.

"I don't mind," she said. She laughed, low in her throat. "That's probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me since I married Ed."

"Given you a used tissue?" Andrea asked.

"I'm not lying," Carol said.

Andrea felt her stomach tighten and twist. She nodded her head gently and took another drag on her cigarette. She offered Carol one, but the woman waved it away.

"Don't smoke?"

"Sometimes," Carol said. "But—not right now."

"I'm not a pusher," Andrea said. "Speaking of which—you're not on anything else, are you?"

"What?" Carol asked.

"Coke, blow, smack, crack, skag, crank, crystal…anything?" Andrea asked. "I don't give a damn about weed, but if you try to bring anything else into my house…so help me…"

"Into your house?" Carol asked.

"Where else do you think you're going to find to stay at this hour?" Andrea asked.

The woman, Carol, looked around.

The sun was fading. The days were getting shorter, and that was evidenced by the colorful display of the sky as it headed toward night.

"A motel…" Carol said, sounding rather unsure.

"I hope that the only motel in Henton would be a place you wouldn't dream about setting foot," Andrea said. "Otherwise, it really will have me rethinking taking you home with me."

"My car…" Carol said.

Andrea drew in a breath and let it out with a sigh.

"How did you end up here, Carol?" Andrea asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

Andrea had the distinct feeling that she wasn't being purposefully obtuse. She was clearly exhausted. The bruises on her face made Andrea wonder if she might have suffered at least a slight concussion. Her stomach had growled viciously a few times and, though she hadn't come out and said she was broke, her stammering offer to find a way to pay Andrea as soon as possible, made Andrea think that she probably didn't have any money and, what she had, had probably gone to putting gas in the car that got her here—and, perhaps, to acquiring the car.

She had fled an abusive husband in the middle of the night. She'd taken what she could carry, and she'd left on foot. She'd acquired the car as a gift, though she hadn't exactly explained what had led anyone to give her a car as a gift. Andrea hadn't seen it, but she imagined it probably wasn't anything to write home about—and it was possibly hot, anyway.

"I realized I was going to die. I at least wanted to die trying to live."

That was how Carol had explained it.

And wasn't that really the way it went for everyone? It might be different shit, but they were all trying to just fucking live.

"Henton, Georgia is nowhere," Andrea said. "It might even be worse than nowhere."

"I just drove," Carol said. She shook her head. "That's all. I just—drove."

"Why here?" Andrea asked. "How'd you end up outside my office?"

Carol shrugged and shook her head. She swallowed, visibly. The light was fading fast, even as they stood there. Andrea saw the light from the nearby streetlight catch in Carol's eye and glitter off visible dampness. Carol didn't make eye contact with Andrea for a long moment. Then, finally, she did.

"God?" She breathed out. "The gas tank's on empty. It has been for a while. I don't know how many miles are left before there just aren't any miles." She laughed quietly. "I've got probably five dollars left, and whatever change I can find under the seat. There's a couple quarters in the cupholder. I just saw your sign. I saw the light was on. I figured—I'm going to need a lawyer." She held Andrea's eyes. "I'm going to need help. I'm not used to asking for help, though."

Andrea felt a little like her chest was trying to stop her heart, with as hard as it was squeezing.

"Nobody sent you?" Andrea asked.

"What?" Carol asked again.

"I swear to you," Andrea said, "that if you're lying to me…if somebody sent you, if you're with somebody, and I find out that this is all some kind of act to…to…whatever? I swear to you that you're going to need a hell of a lot more than a lawyer."

Carol stared at Andrea, and then she smiled—something that surprised Andrea.

"I absolutely believe you," Carol said, without even a touch of irony in her tone. "And I promise you that…I'm so alone, right now, that nobody will even look for my body when you're done with me…except for Ed. And you'll be doing me the greatest favor you can, if you help to make sure that he can't find even that."

Andrea believed her, then, entirely.

"Shit," she said. "You need more than a lawyer."

"I need help," Carol said.

"That's a start," Andrea said. "Listen—before…anything…what you need is a meal and, from the looks of you, a shower. Some sleep wouldn't hurt, I'd imagine. And I'm starving, and everyone at home will be, too. Come on…and don't make me regret this."

Andrea started back through her office, this time stopping to get the purse that she'd never retrieved earlier. Carol followed behind her.

"I don't want to impose," Carol said. "Really…I didn't come here for charity."

"Good," Andrea said, leading her out the front door and locking it behind her, "because we don't do charity. Go get whatever you've got with you. I've got to make a call." She held a hand up and dialed her phone. Carol went to her car and retrieved what few things she probably had left in the world—two small bags. She stood to the side and waited while Andrea made the call to ask Merle to pick up the food—or send someone to pick up the food—because she was coming straight home. They had company, and she'd explain later.

"Would it be better if I just follow you?" Carol asked.

"Got enough gas to make it?" Andrea asked. "I live outside the city. We're rural."

"I don't know how much I have," Carol said.

"Better to leave it here," Andrea said, glancing at the car that, honestly, looked like it might not even have enough life left in it to get to her house, despite how much gas was in the tank. "I'll send someone to pick it up."

"I don't want to put anyone through any trouble," Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"Trust me, there are plenty of people who need something to do around here," Andrea said. "This is my car. Sorry for the mess. Just move whatever's in your seat to the back."

Carol got in Andrea's car, and Andrea got settled. She bucked up, and Carol followed suit.

"I don't know how to thank you…" Carol said.

"Don't," Andrea said. "Listen—if nobody sent you here, and you're willing to get in the car with a perfect stranger at night like this, and let me take you to my home? You're pretty desperate."

Carol hummed. It was a sound of reluctant agreement.

"I don't know how I'm going to pay you," Carol said. "But—I'll find a way."

"You will," Andrea said. "For now, don't worry about that, though."

"You don't think they'll tow the car, do you?" Carol asked. "I'm going to be honest, I can't afford to pay to get it out, if they do."

"It won't get towed," Andrea said. "And if it does, I know a guy."

Carol laughed. It sounded a bit nervous.

"It sounds like…you seem to…maybe know a lot of guys," Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"You have no idea how true that shit is," she said, glancing in her rearview mirror and smiling to herself as she saw the Harley fall in line behind her on her way out of the square.