—St. John's Dairy
The fire crackled softly again under the indigo sky at the dairy, a faint hum from insects accompanying the calm. Madison and Alicia sat at the far end of the firepit, skewering marshmallows on twigs and roasting them slowly. The melted sugar bubbled and darkened, the smell oddly comforting in contrast to the tension simmering among the others.
Carley sat beside Lilly on one of the wooden benches, her posture relaxed, but her eyes flicked to Lilly's downcast expression.
Both women bore the expression of people who had fought hard and lost, tired faces set like Olympians receiving second place, close, but not close enough.
Carley glanced sidelong at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "So… you finally know how I felt?" Her voice was low, teasing, but there was a hint of sting buried in the words.
Lillyy didn't even look at her, her eyes fixed on the firelight dancing across the logs, "Shut up," she muttered, her tone flat, devoid of any fight.
Carley chuckled bitterly, then turned her gaze to the flames.
Nearby, Clementine sat on the old swing under the gnarled tree by the farmhouse. The chains creaked with every gentle sway, the shadows of leaves fluttering across her oval face. Her mind wandered back to that moment inside his room, the moment she shouldn't have even dared to imagine, let alone commit it.
The sweat trailing her forehead, her right hand moving in a slow rhythm, and excitement fluttering inside her, the fabric of the sheet between her fingers… only for it all to shatter with the harsh sound of a beeping monitor.
She'd almost gotten caught in a moment she didn't fully understand. Clementine's hands gripped the chairs tighter. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she shook her head rapidly, trying to cast the memory out like a pesky fly.
She was too young. He said it himself.
Just a little while longer, she thought, as a small smile appeared on her lips.
Back by the fire, Lilly's gaze finally lifted from the flame as her thoughts wandered, far away from this dairy.
"I'm going to the farm tomorrow morning," she said suddenly, her voice distant.
Everyone's eyes snapped to Lilly, "What?"
—Greene's Farm
Under the night sky, outside the farmhouse, Glenn and Dale busied themselves arranging the haphazardly parked cars into a more acceptable pattern instead of just letting them be sprawled out just as they were.
Inside the house, the air was heavy with anticipation.
Rick and Lori sat by Carl's room, their fingers laced tightly in prayer. Their whispered prayers echoed in the quiet room.
At a small distance, Shane leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Daryl sat on a wooden stool, chewing on a toothpick, his crossbow leaning beside him.
Carol gently rocked Sophia in her arms on a wooden chair. The little girl had fallen asleep hours ago, her fingers curled in her mother's shirt. Carol's eyes stayed fixed on the door to the house, as if willing it to open with another good news of today.
Inside the kitchen, Maggie and Shawn moved around the counters, preparing a simple stew, whatever they could muster in such a hurry. Andrea stood nearby, stirring the pot while Amy chopped potatoes with clumsy precision. Despite the domestic calm, none of them spoke. The tension in their shoulders and the occasional nervous glance toward the hallway told more than words could.
Then, finally, the sound everyone had been holding their breath for, a creak from the door at the end of the hall.
Beth emerged first.
Her face was pale, her eyes dull with fatigue and a shellshocked glaze. Her hands held onto a bucket filled with blood, gauze, and gloves. Her expression was somewhere between horror and relief. She stepped aside, making her way toward the bathroom.
Hershel took her place, getting out of the room.
The old man looked exhausted, his shirt damp with sweat. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped his brow, eyes flickering up at the faces turned toward him.
Wesker followed.
His gaze was sharp, methodical. Even now, as the group stood tense, awaiting an answer, he was counting heads.
Rick, Shane, Daryle, Glenn, and Dale—No, he's useless, He thought, his mind calculating. His eyes shifted past the hallway, through the lit kitchen doorway, Andrea—Amy? He blinked at the sight of the blonde girl beside Andrea. She's still alive, she's supposed to be dead, he wondered. Well, I shouldn't be surprised. He shook his head.
Then, his gaze found Maggie. She stood in front of the two, by the kitchen entrance, leaning against the frame, her eyes soft and fixed on him.
She smiled.
And without hesitating, he gave her a small nod in return.
Rick was the first to break the silence, stepping forward quickly.
"Is he alright?" he asked, voice dry from hours of stress.
Hershel gave a tired, relieved nod. "He's stabilized."
Lori gasped, one hand flying to her as the breath she'd been holding escaped her. Rick let out a harsh exhale and wrapped his arms around Hershel. "Oh god. Thank you," he whispered.
Lori stepped closer, eyes wide with tears. "I don't have words."
"I don't either," Hershel said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Wish I did."
He turned then to the man behind him. "But if it wasn't for this man—" He gestures at Wesker with a tired but genuine gravity in his tone, "I don't think the boy would've made it."
All eyes turned.
Rick studied Wesker for a beat longer now, finally seeing him clearly, out of the blur of anemia he had hours ago.
He could tell Wesker wasn't a man of many words, but rather of action. Rick gave him a small nod of respect, and it was returned in kind.
Wesker, not wanting to linger, changed the subject.
"You might wanna see him," he said, motioning toward the door behind him.
Rick and Lori didn't hesitate; they rushed past him, nearly stumbling in their urgency to see Carl
Wesker watched them disappear into the dim room.
Hershel sighed, letting his tired shoulders slump as he leaned against the doorframe.
And then—
Two arms wrapped around Wesker from behind, gently but without hesitation.
Maggie.
Her head leaned briefly against his back, her arms closing around his waist in a silent embrace.
Wesker didn't move, letting her do as she pleased..
The others turned to witness the moment. Even Hershel narrowed his eyes at the display. Maggie quickly took a step back, realizing the eyes on them, she brushed her hair behind her ear with a shy, tired smile.
"Thank you," she said, her voice low, soft. "Truly."
Shawn, giggling low from the kitchen, his laugh reaching Andrea and Amy's ears.
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Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
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