CHAPTER THREE // 67 & 68 days after the fall.
A NEW COMMAND I GIVE TO YOU.

Scarlett was lucky to have wound up with the Greene family. She was smart enough to know she'd be as cold-blooded as the monsters in the streets if it weren't for them.

I know you knew many of the Greenes, but believe it or not, there were still a handful of them you never got the chance to meet.

Obviously, there's Maggie. Tough and brave and the reason Scarlett even survived in the first place.

But the reason she could still walk after having her leg practically turned backwards was Hershel. I'm not sure how much you remember about Hershel. It's been a while and you were still pretty young, but he was stubborn and determined the same way Maggie is. But he also had this sort of transcendent wisdom about him that she doesn't, and it was particularly soothing to have around in a decayed world. You probably remember him constantly doctoring everyone up back at the prison, so you'll get a kick out of it when I tell you that he was actually a vet before the fall. He was just savvy enough to draw his expertise from that to help humans' own suffering.

Then there were Otis, Patricia, and Jimmy, who weren't technically related but still nothing short of family to the Greenes. I never met Otis, but I know he was the ranch foreman, and Patricia, his wife, had been a nurse until leaving to join him in living and working at the farm. Jimmy was only 17 and had been at a neighboring farm before the world died, eventually ending up there with them. From what I have heard and what I could tell, all three of them were genuinely good people.

And finally, there was Beth, who truly was a diehard fan of Scarletts. Her adoration became immediately evident when Maggie and Scarlett had first hobbled through door after having almost just been killed by the armed forces. They were covered in sweat, dirt and blood and the very first thing Beth had done was gleefully scream Scarlett's name and stumble backwards into a wall like the wind had been knocked out of her. Completely starstruck.

I'm sure it's hard to believe now, but Beth used to make Scarlett super uncomfortable. It was actually kind of hilarious. She was usually really shy and timid at the time, but never acted that way around Scarlett for a single second. She was so enamored with her that all she ever wanted to do was talk to her. She wanted to know everything. Every second Scarlett had spent in Hollywood, every detail of her on and off screen romances, every failed audition, and every celebrity she had gotten to work with. It was overwhelming, and the only reason Scarlett hadn't been driven away by the enthralled teenager at that point was because Hershel and Maggie were there to help reign in her obsession.

Maybe it had all been amplified by being 16 in the apocalypse. Maybe having someone like Scarlett Hawksley in her very own home was her only connection to how the world used to be. You know more about being a kid in this world than I do, so you can decide wether that adds up or not. Either way, Beth made her nervous.

So! The brigade! You're probably wondering about that.

It turned out that mass bombings had taken place in every major city across the country, including Atlanta. After that, the military then "removed" anyone within a 50 mile radius of those cities. Cruel, I know. I'm not saying it was right or wrong, but it was a desperate attempt to preserve the longevity of the human race once we realized that this "virus" wasn't going away anytime soon.

Scarlett's first few weeks with the Greenes were a blur. They didn't know she had been taking anti-anxiety pills and anti-depressants ( which she was only on so her aunt could more easily control her ) and she didn't think to mention it, so they were giving her some pretty hardcore pain meds because of everything that had happened to her leg. Point being, she was really groggy and out of it with all the adjusting to and withdrawals of different meds for a while. During her brief moments of lucidity, all she could comprehend was Hershel adjusting her splint and Beth being told to leave her alone and let her rest.

About six weeks in, Hershel cleared her to walk
( with a crutch ) and she'd been able to start helping out with little things. Light laundry, dishes, and cleaning— all in short increments. She was glad for the tasks, and that she could finally be at least a little of use.

Quite quickly the Greenes recognized that something about Scarlett was off. She operated in a constant fog. Whenever someone asked for her opinion, or asked her a question about herself, she seemed confused. As if no one had ever asked for her opinion before, or the question had been meant for someone else and she'd simply overheard. Maggie once told me that she'd spend hours just staring blankly at nothing in particular.

Long story short, she did not act like a normal 28 year old. But they could tell she was cognitively fine, making her an anomaly to both them and to herself. Neither party had figured out yet that the root of the issue was that she had basically been brainwashed by her aunt from the time she was three.

Even after two months of living with them, she still hadn't grown close to anyone. She kept quiet and to herself, despite Beth's fervent endeavors to know every intimate aspect of her life. Most of her days were spent lounging in the guest bedroom or on the front porch, reading old books to pass the time.

Which is exactly what she was doing when it happened.

     "Dad!"

     Scarlett's eyes drifted up from the worn ivory pages of the novel in her hands when she heard the alarm in Maggie's voice, brows knitting as she watched her jog urgently up the porch steps.

     Though she hadn't asked, Maggie handed her a pair of binoculars, a worried expression on her features as she hurried through the front door. "Here. Have a look yourself."

Grabbing her crutch resting idly against the rocking chair, she rose to her feet and moved slowly over to the porch railing; lifting the instrument to her eyes. In the near distance was a man wearing a sheriff's hat, haring towards the farmhouse with everything in him. His frontside was drenched in blood, and so was the little boy in his arms flailing like a rag doll.

     Her eyes widened and she pulled the binoculars away at once, shuddering silently. She had been completely sheltered on this little farm. They'd had someone who was bit come by and be sent away once, but besides that, the last time she'd seen anything remotely similar to the situation barreling their way was when the brigade open fired on her old set. She'd only ever seen mere glimpses of the sick ones when Otis or Hershel would capture them to be held in the barn.

     Within seconds, everyone was on the front porch, excluding Otis, who had left earlier to go hunting. A baseball bat was in Jimmy's hands and Hershel stood at the forefront of the apprehensive group; waiting until the man had almost reached them to call out. "Was he bit?"

     A bite, they had come to learn, from one of the sick ones was how the infection spread. It was a sealed fate.

     "Shot." the stranger corrected, his voice cracking despairingly as he slowed to a swift walk. "By your man."

     "Otis?!" Patricia questioned confusedly, rushing down the porch steps.

      "He said find Hershel. Is that you?" the man direly asked through his uneven breaths, his voice drained despite its volume being a hoarse shout. Hershel gave a small nod, already rolling up his sleeves to prepare himself.

     Scarlett was unsure if she'd ever seen someone look so desperate before. The man was soaked in sweat and the blood of the boy who was presumably his son, eyes wide with a different, far more unsettling level of fear than normal— like his heart was going to stop. Pure, unadulterated terror was written across his ashen features. He hadn't quit moving; he looked like he didn't know how to, even though the child was slipping slowly from his trembling arms.

     He readjusted his grip on his son's limp body as he cried out. "Help me, help my boy!"

"Get him inside! Get him inside!" Hershel ordered, everyone racing back through the door. "Patricia? I need my full kit. Maggie?"

"Yeah?"

"Pain killers, coagulates— grab everything. Clean towels, sheets, alcohol. In here."

Scarlett was amazed at how collected Hershel was, despite the bleeding boy and his unraveling father. His commands and movements were urgent, but they weren't frantic; he was more composed than ever. He swiftly peeled back the covers in the guest bedroom, everyone moving busily about as they retrieved items and prepped the space. The man gingerly laid the child down on his back against the soft sheets, releasing the hold he'd had on him for God knows how long.

"Pillowcase." Hershel ordered cooly.

"Is he alive?" the man asked meekly, in some sort of nightmarish daze. His horrified eyes wouldn't leave his son even as he backed laggardly away, still shaking and sweating profusely.

"Pillow case, quick!"

"Is-is he alive?" he asked again, louder this time as he stumbled over to the head of the bed to retrieve a pillow; Hershel speedily unclipping the belt from around the boy's abdomen that had been tied tightly there as a makeshift tourniquet.

"Fold it, make a pad. Put pressure on the wound."

Attempting to make herself useful, Scarlett seized the other pillow when the man just stood there in bewilderment; hands twitching and unable to listen to instructions clearly. Quickly, she yanked the case off, doing just as Hershel said before handing it over to the stranger. Without question he took it, pressing it down on his son's exposed stomach; the cloth cover growing red at an unnerving rate. Hershel adjusted the eartips of his stethoscope before setting the silver diaphragm on his chest; listening closely and feeling for a pulse with his free hand.

     They all waited in anticipation for Hershel to declare life or death. "I got a heartbeat. It's faint."

     A weak smile of relief flickered briefly across Scarlett's features, the man letting out a tiny fraction of the breath he'd been holding; nodding slightly as he took the information in.

     "I got it, step back." Patricia informed, wedging herself in front of him and taking over holding the pillowcase down on the boy's bloody abdomen.

     "Maggie, IV!" Hershel called.

     "We need some space." Maggie told him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle nudge away from the bustling area surrounding the bed; holding up the clear IV bag in her fingers since they didn't have a stand.

     "Your name?" Hershel asked.

     The man blinked, clearly still in shock as the world spun rapidly around him; reeling from the lack of control. "R-Rick." he managed to get out.

     "Rick?"

     "I'm- I'm- I'm- I'm Rick."

     "Rick, we're gonna do everythin' we can, okay? You need to give us some room." Hershel's voice was the perfect combination of sympathetic and stern, but when Rick didn't move an inch, it hardened. "Now." Still nothing. Hershel's gaze moved to Scarlett.

     "O-okay." she took a breath, scurrying over to him and placing one hand on his back; gesturing the other out to the door. "Rick, why don't you come with me?"

     She had to give him a couple of encouraging pushes, but he began to reluctantly shuffle out of the room. His head turned to look over his shoulder as he stumbled on his feet, watching his son until the last possible second, eventually crossing through the threshold. Scarlett stood uneasily by his side in the living room, unsure of how to handle him as he stared blankly ahead. Did she speak? What would she say? Did she give him space? What did he need?

     "What's his name?" she eventually decided on, her voice so quiet he barely heard her. She had no idea if it was the right call— it felt like there was a chance her question could ignite a total meltdown.

     But no meltdown came. Instead, he laggardly turned his head to her; looking at someone other than his son for the first time since he'd been shot. Since he'd set him on the bed and placed his life in the hands of strangers. The faraway look in his eyes dwindled briefly, the question seeming to bring him back to earth a little. Still, his voice cracked when he spoke. "Carl. H-his name is Carl."

     She was thankful when a harsh shout coming from outside stole his attention, both of them peering out the window to see two men jogging hurriedly in their direction. One of them was Otis.

     Scarlett hobbled behind him as he slowly staggered out the screen door and onto the front porch, removing his hat just as the man who was presumably his friend reached the steps. He had scruffy black hair and a tight shirt that hugged his muscular build; jawline sharp. He blinked up at Rick, the heartbreakingly pusillanimous look on his face asking a question he was too afraid to speak aloud.

Otis asked it for the both of them. "He's alive? He's still alive?"

Though she didn't know him all that well, Otis was probably one of the kindest people Scarlett had ever met, and she knew whatever had happened out in those woods, a little boy getting hurt was something he'd never ever do willingly. If Carl died, he surely wouldn't be able to live with himself.

     Rick said nothing— he couldn't. Instead, he looked shakily to Scarlett; the one person out on the porch who could answer that question for him. His stare was blank, but she could still tell what he wanted her to do. How does one give such news in a way that doesn't provide false hope, but isn't defined only by gloom and doom?

     Where was someone to give her a line when she needed it?

     "He's alive." she finally decided on. "They're working on him now. They're gonna do everything they can."

Rick, still in that same stunned state of inertia, inattentively swept the back of his hand across his forehead in attempts to rid it of some sweat. Instead, he merely smeared Carl's blood across his worn features.

     Outwardly suppressing the urge to cry, his friend took one more step up to reach him; muttering to himself and to Rick as he rummaged quickly through his pack until he found a pink rag. "Okay, it's okay..." placing one hand on the back of his neck, he used the other to gingerly wipe the cloth against Rick's sanguine features; who only looked confused by the action as he turned his head aside. "You got blood, man. Okay..."

     Scarlett's blinked— what a pure act of friendship it was. What a loving deed. It felt odd that she was there to witness such an intimate, gentle moment between the two friends; but it was still, in some way, beautiful.

     The man placed the bloody rag into Rick's hands, who mumbled incoherently when he looked down at the object; realizing his quivering arms were stained the same bright red. His lip began to tremble and his face became overcome with heartache.

     "I'll take it from you." his friend quickly retrieved the item, his heart still thudding in worry for Carl. He looked meekly over to Scarlett, his lips parting to speak, but no words coming out. A hint of confusion shot through his brown eyes as he surveyed her for a moment, but soon he was following through with what he originally wanted to say. He gestured to Rick's hands. "You got anywhere we can..."

     She nodded quickly and pulled open the door. "Through here. I can get extra soap if you need it."

     He gave a hesitant nod, the same strange cast in his eyes as he glanced at her appearance once more; soon helping Rick inside the home. Otis, head hung in unspeakable shame, followed in shortly after them. It didn't take long for the man— who Scarlett had come to learn was named Shane— to hurriedly scrub the blood as best as he could from Rick's arms, and soon he was requesting to see Carl too. She led them back to the room, all three men entering with sluggish footsteps of shock and heartache; Scarlett opting to stay in the living room this time and give them privacy.

The guest bedroom door had stayed shut for hours, leaving demons of the imagination to concoct awful scenarios about the tragedies that could be unfolding right behind it for those confined to the living room outside, which had resembled something of a hospital waiting room. Scarlett recalled how Otis's hands had stayed clasped in prayer so hard his knuckles turned white; lips moving in silent twitches, eyes screwed tightly shut, head resolutely bowed. She wasn't the praying type, but seeing such faith from him had nearly caused her to give it a try.

Eventually everyone had emerged from the room and a plan had been formulated. The little boy was stable for the time being, but if Carl were to survive, Hershel needed to be able to retrieve the remaining bullet fragments within him. He needed supplies, and a lot of it if there was going to be any chance of the 12 year old pulling through.

     Otis and Shane soon set off for an old FEMA shelter that had everything they needed— a FEMA shelter that was overrun the last time they had checked. Rick remained by Carl's side, giving ungodly amounts of blood and desperately trying to hold himself together. Once Maggie learned Rick's wife, Lori, was out there, oblivious to the fact her son was clinging to a slipping life, she had saddled up Nelly to go retrieve her and alert the rest of Rick's group to the situation. Lori hadn't left Carl's side since the minute she arrived.

     Now, they were all waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for Otis and Shane to return, unable to face the idea that perhaps they wouldn't.

     Scarlett sat on the front porch, posture perfect as it always was even in the odd grooves of the wooden rocking chair. A novel was sitting open in her lap, but she wasn't reading. Instead, she stared out ahead beyond the porch railing, the serene farm blanketed by the ebony of nightfall; shafts of bright moonlight hitting the grassy land.

"Hey." A familiar southern voice broke the quietude. Scarlett looked up at Maggie, who was sending her a small smile and ambling out the screen door; sinking into the identical chair beside her. The college girl brought her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "Crazy day, huh?"

"Very crazy." Scarlett nodded.

Only the faint sounds of crickets and the melody of a gentle zephyr rolling through a nearby wind chime filled the space between their words. Quietude was foreign to Scarlett. Before the fall, there was always something to film, a call to take, a contract to sign, a ride to catch, an award to win. But here, there was stillness. Peace. Yet she didn't feel much different, even though her once busy world had gone dark. She still felt blank and void and trained to submission— unfeeling all together.

     There was a long lapse of silence before she decided to speak. "Can I ask you something?"

Maggie shifted in her rocking chair to face her, seeming pleased by the simple question. "Shoot."

     "Why did you help me?" She elaborated when Maggie knitted her brows. "The day that the brigade open fired on us. We were being shot at and you still risked your life to save me. A stranger."

     The Greene girl only gave a light smile. "A new command I give to you. Love one another as I have loved you. That's John 13:34. My Daddy always told that to Beth, Shawn, and me." She paused, reflecting. "I knew I couldn't save everybody that day. I knew I had to get out. But you were right there. What kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try?"

     Scarlett had no response. It was the opposite of how she'd been raised, the opposite of anything she'd ever been told. There had never been a big emphasis on love in her childhood— it was more about drive and ambition. But she liked John 13:34 and everything Hershel had taught his kids. If this is one of the biggest lessons they'd been given from him, it was no wonder they had turned out to be such genuinely good people.

     Their attention was stolen by a pair of headlights and the crunching of gravel beneath tires.

There were two of them, hopping out of their car and stopping before they could trot up the porch steps; sizing up the farmhouse. One of them looked nervous, one of them beyond the point of exhaustion. The nervous, doe-eyed one held a long gun across his chest. But the weapon looked funny in his grip— as if he was too innocent to be in possession of such a thing. His dark hair peeked out from beneath his dirty baseball cap. The other one had dark skin and a bald head. His eyes were half-closed and he looked sick; a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his shirt doused in an unholy amount of sweat for this time of night.

"So do we ring the bell? I mean it looks like people live here." the nervous one queried.

"We're past this kinda stuff, aren't we?" the other panted, both of them starting up the porch steps. "Having to be considerate?"

"Did you close the gate up the road when you drove in?" Maggie smirked with the lift of her brows, chin still on her knees.

"Uhh... hi." the boy with the baseball cap answered, neither of them having expected her presence. "Yes, we closed it. We did the latch and everything. We..." he trailed off when his eyes traveled to Scarlett, furrowing his brows as he shifted his weight on his feet. He blinked several times and pointed calmly to her. "Oh my God. That's... you're Scarlett Hawksley."

She smiled weakly. "In the flesh."

"Look, we came to help. Is there anything we can do?" the other voiced, though he too had a flicker of disbelief towards Scarlett in his enervated stare. Maggie rose to her feet, eyes shifting nervously to the bloody, makeshift bandage secured with electrical tape on his forearm. "It's not a bite." he assured them. "I uh... I cut myself pretty bad, though."

     "We'll have it looked at. I'll tell em' you're here." she told him.

     "We have uh, some painkillers, and antibiotics." the sweet, youngest one rifled through his backpack; pulling out a gallon ziplock bag full of medicine.

"Come on inside, I'll make you somethin' to eat." Maggie opened the door for them, both nodding gratefully as they entered. She turned to Scarlett. "You comin'?" The blonde woman stared vacantly at her for a short moment before Maggie added, "Up to you."

There was another beat before she said, "I think I'm gonna stay out here a minute longer."

"Okay." she nodded with a reassuring smile, starting to walk through the door before looking to her a final time. "Scarlett?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad I helped you that day."

Otis never came home.

     Scarlett had stayed on the front porch practically all night to avoid the devastation rattling through the Greene household, but even from outside, she could hear Patricia's unending wails. She told herself she was giving them the space they needed by keeping her distance, but truthfully she just didn't know how to handle their sorrow.

     On a happier note, Carl had survived, and a full recovery was anticipated. Shane had made it through whatever horrors Otis hadn't, and returned with all of the supplies needed to save the little boy's life.

     Scarlett was clipping blood-stained sheets to a clothesline when the roar of a motorcycle stole her attention.

     Her gaze drifted to the caravan heading down the winding dirt road that led to the vast property. At the rear was a rickety RV with an orange stripe on it's side, a mint green car in the middle, and the motorcycle with high handlebars. Within minutes, they were parked and standing by the front porch; all agog for news on little Carl when Lori and Rick came waltzing outside. The group waited, staring expectantly at the couple; fearful and hopeful all at once.

     When neither of them said anything, a man with a gray beard in a bucket hat and Hawaiian shirt spoke up; mouth agape. "How is he?"

     "He'll pull through." Lori nodded with a smile, soon glancing at the Greene family; eyes flickering to Scarlett too. "Thanks to Hershel and his people."

     "And Shane." Rick added, looking to his friend in gratitude. He had not stopped praising him since he had returned with the respirator. "We'd have lost Carl if not for him."

     Scarlett's gaze wandered to their hero, the man standing with his hands on his hips; Otis's old flannel and dirt-stained jean overalls practically falling off his body from their looseness. He had shaved his head almost the moment he got back. She found it slightly odd that the very first thing he had done was drastically change his look upon returning last night. It seemed like a new haircut would be low on his list of priorities, but maybe it was his way of coping. Whatever had happened to Otis, he had witnessed it.

     The friendly Hawaiian shirt man pulled Rick in for a tight hug, a short-haired woman doing the same with Lori; breathing words of relief into her shoulder. Everyone in their group began to go about and greet one another, sharing embraces and smiles of triumph at Carl's state.

     "How'd it happen?" the same man asked.

     "Hunting accident. That's all, just... a stupid accident." Rick replied.

     Scarlett, barely relying on the support of the crutch tucked beneath her arm anymore, turned at a tap on her shoulder; Maggie the culprit. "C'mon. We should introduce ourselves." she then looked over to Beth, who was nervously twiddling her fingers, and jerked her head for her to join. The 16 year old hunched her shoulders to make herself small and followed her sister's wishes.

They first approached T-Dog and Glenn ( who they already knew ) and a blonde woman they were both giving out hugs too.

"Hi, I'm Maggie. This is my sister, Beth." the brunette offered a halfhearted smile, the grief of Otis, who she'd known since she was a child, still fresh.

The blonde shook both of their hands and moved to Scarlett, pausing before her arm could reach her; lips parting into a faint smile. "Wait... you're—"

     "She's Scarlett Hawksley! I know!" Glenn couldn't let her finish, mildly giddy as he rocked back once on his heels; sending the woman an excited grin.

Yesterday he'd been exhausted, and then the news of Otis had arrived, and all anyone could think about was Carl. But a wave of joy had come with the new day. The sun was shining and Carl was living and he was reunited with his friends, and now that he was under less stress, apparently he was a little starstruck after all.

     "If you'd of told me a few months ago I'd be in the boondocks during the end of the world with an Oscar winner, I woulda told you you were crazy." T-Dog added in a laugh.

Scarlett mustered up a tight-lipped smile, feeling awful standing side by side with the grieving sisters and the focus being turned to her meaningless accomplishments before the fall. They had just lost a dearly loved one, and here they were discussing something so unimportant. All they should be discussing was Otis, and speaking words in his honor and legacy.

"Well, I'm Andrea." the woman eventually still shook her hand with a genuine smile. "It's nice to meet you."

     "Nice to meet you too, Andrea."

     The short-haired woman came next, who moved so meekly to each person and spoke so softly they could barely hear that her name was Carol. She politely introduced herself with her arms tucked submissively over her chest, eyes flickering demurely to each new person. She didn't say anything about it, but her nervous gaze still lingered a moment longer on the actress than the sisters; the look, though minute, was evident in her eyes.

"Who do we have here?" the Hawaiian shirt man strolled up, a warm, open grin.

     "I'm Maggie." another kind smile came from the Greene girl as they all turned to face him, slinging an arm around her little sister and offering the other for him to shake. "This is Beth."

     He waved dismissively at her hand before outstretching his arms, Maggie raising her brows in surprise when he enclosed them both into an embrace. Beth didn't attempt to mask the discomfort on her features. "Name's Dale. I'm a hugger. Especially to those who helped save my friend's little boy."

     "I can see that." Maggie chuckled as he pulled away.

     His eyes widened and sparkled in delight when they shifted to Scarlett. "Hey! You're that actress!"

    "Hi." she forced out awkwardly. The hug he gave her was hearty and tight for it to be coming from a complete stranger, but she didn't mind.

     One more person stood at a distance, not eager to introduce himself. The soles of his shoes were glued to the ground beside his bike with it's engine still warm, a large crossbow in his hands. A dirty rag hung from the back pocket of his jeans, wearing a tattered button up with the sleeves torn off. His eyes were squinted in the direct sunlight from where he was standing with his brawny shoulders drawn back.

     Scarlett observed him from over Dale's shoulder, and he did the same. His dirt-sullied face held no sort of remotely readable expression, and she was sure he probably couldn't decipher the hollow look in her own eyes either. All she could go off of was his standoffish posture and obvious aloofness.

Dale pulled away, and from the time it had taken for him to grin at Scarlett and remove his hands from her shoulders, the unsociable man had already sized up Maggie and Beth too and was sauntering away.

cam speaks!  

keeping my options open😩
it's keeping me up at night🎀✨
#scaryl or #scarlick

thanks for reading everyone! love u all!

word count   5,209