After dragging Otis out of the forest, they laid him on the living room floor. Hershel knelt beside him, placing two fingers on his neck. His jaw tightened.
"There's no pulse," he said grimly.
"No… no," Patricia whimpered, kneeling beside her husband, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He's just—he's tired, that's all; he just needs rest."
"Patricia," It pained him to reason with his daughter after she had lost her husband and almost her brother, "he's gone. I'm sorry." He finally said.
But she didn't listen.
She stayed by her husband, not letting any of her family members touch her or Otis.
Later that night
A muffled scream shattered the eerie quiet of the farmhouse.
By the time Hershel and Maggie got downstairs, it was already too late.
Otis had turned.
And Patricia lay limp under the weight of his body while Otis munched on her arm.
Back to the past
I sat down on a chair across from Maggie and Shawn as they told me what had transpired after I left. I should feel guilt, but all I see is an opportunity. I shook my head of these thoughts.
But something is not right; that story doesn't end there, does it? But seeing their distressed and unwilling faces, I knew asking them was pointless.
Maggie crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen doorway, studying me with a strange mix of caution and curiosity. "I don't know if Dad would agree to help you or not."
"He's not here?" I asked, even though the answer was obvious, because if he was, I wouldn't have gotten a step inside the house.
Shawn sighed. "He's been going into town more often… the bar mostly. Comes back late, drunk. Since Patricia and Otis…" He trailed off, rubbing the stump where his hand used to be.
I nodded slightly. I remembered that behaviour from the show, but that only happened when Rick's group killed the walkers in the barn. So, did he really kill Otis and Patricia?
"The corps are starting to wither," Maggie added, glancing toward the window. "We still have some food stored, but… It's not sustainable. Not like before."
Beth stayed quiet. Her hands tightened around the brush in her lap, eyes darting from Maggie to me like she wanted me to go away. She hadn't said a word since I walked in. I could feel her fear—quiet, simmering, and not unjustified. I didn't blame her, nor did I care for what she thought of me.
I stood up from the chair. "I don't want much," I said finally. "Some vegetables. Dried goods if you have them. In return, I'll leave with medicine—antibiotics, bandages, painkillers. Could be useful if…something happens again."
Maggie studied me for a second too long. "We have medicine, there's a drugstore nearby. We'll take gas if you have any," Shawn said from the side.
Gas? I pondered on it, We do have that, but, "How much do you need?" I asked them.
Shawn tilted his head slightly, considering. "Five gallons. That should be enough to run the generator for another week."
That was doable. I can just go to Clementine's neighborhood, There were a lot of cars there, I'll siphon whatever I can from there, and add some from the Motor Inn if need be.
"Fine," I said. "I'll be back. Have the food ready."
As I began to move to the door, I stopped and turned to Shawn, "A can?"
Shawn gave a slight nod, stepping into the side storage room and returning with a red gas can—old but intact, its handle scuffed and worn from years of use. He held it out toward me.
I took it without a word.
Beth still hadn't moved. Her eyes tracked her brother's hand, then flicked to me. I saw it—worry, dread, maybe even a memory flash in her eyes, the kind she didn't want to relive.
"I'll be back before the rain kicks in," I said as I opened the door. The clouds outside were even heavier now, promising rain. I didn't look back, there was no need.
Beth embraced Maggie as I left the farm. Shawn glanced at his little sister, giving her a tired smile.
Clementine's Neighborhood
I drove till I was finally back to the beginning; the place hadn't changed.
Same broken fences. The same broken down cars, jam packed on the street, the empty houses with hollow windows that had started to give of an eerie feeling as if something was watching your every move.
It was unsettling to return, but I needed gas and Hershel family's favor.
I parked a few blocks down to avoid drawing attention, though walkers no longer lingered here, no meat left to chew on.
Clem never wanted to return here, and I didn't blame her.
I made my way past her house—still untouched.
The first car was an old sedan, flipped slightly on its side from an earlier collision. I crouched near the tank, pried open the cap, and fed in my siphon hose. Sucking briefly, I caught the metalic taste of gasoline, the gravity did the rest.
The canister began to fill, slowly. I crouched there, silent, scanning the neighborhood while I waited.
It was too quiet.
I moved on to the next car. Another older model, dusty but intact. The tank was nearly full, a miracle. As I siphoned again, the fuel gauge in the car revolved erratically—going from full to empty, then full again.
And then a white flash of light blinded me for a second. As my eyes returned to normal, I heard the sound of thunder from behind, it had reflected of the glass and blinded me.
Fuckin' Hell
A raindrop hit my forehead.
Then another.
I quickly removed the hose from the tank and closed it. I took the canister inside the open house behind me.
And then the quiet town finally felt alive, as the ran began to fall, I waited inside, and began to search the house for anything useful maybe another canister, I can fill up and take it to the Inn as well.
And I did find one, the same as the one Shawn had given me.
I sat by the window, watching the rain coat the street in silver. The neighborhood looked almost peaceful now; even the sound of the heavy rain sounded like music in the creepy neighborhood.