Chapter Text
Maggie soon arrived back with The Good Man’s wife in tow - a woman named Lori, with windswept hair and desperate tears running tracks down her reddened face. Kalena only caught a glimpse of her before she was ushered into the spare room by The Good Man.
From there, all Kalena could hear were quiet sobs and hushed voices. She didn’t dare try and parse out the words being said - they weren’t for her to hear.
She sat in the kitchen: her, Maggie, Beth and Jimmy all seated around the polished wooden table in grim silence.
Kalena shifted in her chair, hands clasped together in an effort to stop herself from fidgeting with them. Every time she so much as blinked, Beth’s eyes would snap towards her, and her lips would part, words evidently on the tip of her tongue.
Kalena remained stubbornly still. She’d had enough emotionally charged conversations today.
Her finger twitched.
“Kalena.”
Crap.
“You’ve been fidgeting.” Beth’s voice was soft. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Kalena sighed, picking at her nails. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure, honey?” Maggie asked. “It’s been a helluva day.”
“Well- I just-” Kalena flushed. “Is there anything I can do? To help? I feel… weird, just sitting here.”
“You know you don’t have to, right?” Maggie placed a hand over Kalena’s. “You’ve been such a big help already, sweetheart, you don’t need to do anythin’ more.”
“I just…” Kalena ducked her head. “I wanna do something.”
“Okay.” Maggie’s free hand tapped her chin in thought, and after a moment, she turned to Kalena with a smile. “How about you take watch?”
“Watch?”
“I met Rick and Lori’s friends on the road - told them where to go. I was planning on stepping out to wait for them myself, but if you really want a job, you could do it instead?”
“I can do that!” Kalena hopped out of her chair eagerly. Maggie could’ve told her to start shovelling manure with her bare hands, and she would’ve happily accepted - anything to get away from the kitchen and its awkward, stifling silence that left far too much room for her to think.
“Alright!” Maggie smiled, matching her sudden energy with muted surprise. “Just give us a holler if you see anything coming - don’t worry about any false alarms.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kalena sped out of the kitchen as fast as her little legs could carry her, making her way out of the front door and onto the patio.
She settled herself onto a nearby chair - light blue paint peeling off under her fingers - and drew her legs up to her chest, resisting the urge to shiver. It was a cold night, cold enough that her breath produced white, wispy smoke every time she exhaled, and her arms were quickly lined with goosebumps.
It felt… calm. Instinctively, Kalena’s spine straightened, shoulders squaring back as she resisted the urge to get up and… what? Wander off? Pace? Just… stand there, like an idiot?
All she could do was wait. All she could do was sit there and wait like a good little girl, like a good little child.
Sweetheart, honey, darling. It made her sick. Kalena had crawled her way out of childhood one year at a time, all scraped hands and skinned knees. She was an adult, had lived twenty-two years on this god forsaken earth and she bore that knowledge with pride. No longer was she a useless little girl, hiding under her bed and stifling desperate tears. No longer was she a burden, something to be protected and worried over and cared for.
Except, all over again, she was. Kalena, sweetheart, a tiny little girl who swore too much for her age. Kalena, honey, a girl with beliefs bigger than herself. Kalena, darling, a little girl who needed to be coddled and cared for and watched over carefully, lest she see something too much for her small mind to comprehend.
If she were herself, truly herself, none of this would have happened. Otis would have listened, and in lieu of that, she could have simply accompanied him and The Traitor and ensured his safety herself. She wouldn’t be sweetheart, the silent little girl forgotten in the corner while the adults bickered and sent away the moment she raised her voice, no, she would be Kalena, the capable adult who was a real part of the conversation, who was listened to and respected and not treated like glass, liable to break at any moment, no–
Kalena let out a shuddering sigh, pulling her legs closer to her chest. Would, would, would. Is, is, is.
Her mother’s voice, cracked and weary, flitted through her head.
“No point in botherin’ over ifs and buts, girl. You’ve rolled yer dice, and this is what you’ve got. Make do.”
Make do.
Kalena would have to make do.
She huffed, rubbing her cheeks forcefully and taking a deep breath.
Make do.
—
Her musings were cut short by the sound of crunching gravel - her head snapped up, and she caught sight of two bright lights, heading slowly but surely towards the house.
‘Give us a holler if you see anything coming’, Maggie had said.
Kalena hollered.
“MAGGIE!!!!!!” She yelled. “PEOPLE!!!!”
A muted clang, then footsteps. The door swung open, and Maggie stepped through, head flitting to and fro wildly. She paused as she caught sight of the headlights, and nodded to Kalena.
“Got a good set of lungs on you.”
Kalena forced a grin.
The headlights slowed their approach, then stopped entirely. A second of anticipatory silence, and then two thumps. A pair of figures began walking towards the house, footsteps light and wary. They paused as they made their way closer, seeming to finally catch sight of Kalena and Maggie, and the silhouette on the right raised an awkward hand.
“Uh…hi?” it He said. “I’m- uh- We’re from the group. We met earlier.”
“We did.” Maggie nodded. “You close the gate up the road when you drove in?”
“Oh…uh. Yeah. We closed it. Did the…latch and everything.”
Maggie smiled, and the men stepped close enough that Kalena could finally make out their appearances under the flickering porch light.
The man on the right - the awkward one - was of average height, dark hair hidden under a white and blue baseball cap. His nervous fidgeting was at odds with the smooth gun in his hands, which he held loosely, like he was unsure what to do with it.
The man on the left - the silent one - was taller, with dark skin and a tired look in his eye. He was draped in what seemed to be either a very ragged blanket or some sort of cloak, and his right arm was covered in a bloodied bandage.
The awkward man’s eyes drifted to her, and his brows lifted in surprise.
“Um…hello?” He said, tilting his head curiously.
“Don’t worry about her.” Maggie said, stepping between Kalena and the man in one swift motion.
“Okay. Yep, sorry, not worried. Not worried at all.” The man lifted his arms in surrender. “Um…”
“We came to help.” The (not-so) silent man sighed, placing his uninjured hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Is there anything we can-”
He cut himself off with a pained grunt. Maggie's head jerked towards him, then downwards as she finally caught sight of the wound on his arm.
“It’s not a bite.” The man said quickly, “I cut myself pretty bad, though.”
“We can have that looked at.” Maggie nodded. “I’m pretty sure everyone already knows you’re here, but I’ll let them know to come help you.”
“Oh! We have- um.” The awkward man reached into his bag and pulled out a rattling orange tub. “We have some painkillers and antibiotics. I already gave him some, but if Carl needs any…”
“Come on inside, all of you. I’ll make you somethin’ to eat.” Maggie put a protective hand on Kalena’s shoulder (just barely missing her bare arm - Kalena shuddered) and led her inside, gesturing for the two men to follow. They did without protest, and the door squeaked in protest as it swung shut behind them.
“Can we see him?” The awkward man asked, shuffling nervously. “Carl, I mean.”
“Sure.” Maggie agreed easily. “Kalena, kitchen.”
“But-”
“Tell Beth ‘n Jimmy to start making dinner. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Maggie gave her a stern look that brokered no resistance, and Kalena sighed and turned obediently towards the open door of the kitchen.
“Beth…Beth?” Kalena poked her head through the doorway and was faced with an empty kitchen. Beth and Jimmy were gone.
Kalena sighed. Whatever.
She pulled a handful of plates out of a nearby cabinet, and set them on the countertop, then repeated the process with the same number of cups. Four sets of footsteps echoed through the hall and Kalena turned to watch as Maggie and the two new men made their way into the kitchen.
“Sit down, you two. I’ll whip you up somethin’ to eat.” Maggie said, then pointed at Kalena. “You too, honey. You’ve done enough.”
Kalena didn’t protest, slipping into the nearest chair and resting her elbows on the table. The two men slid into their own seats, and while the stoic man seemed content to sit there in silence, the awkward man began to fidget.
Maggie made her way to the countertops and began pulling pieces of bread, meat and vegetables out from the cabinets below. Kalena bristled at the amount of food she procured - that much for a pair of strangers? - but she kept her mouth shut.
“Sooooo….” The awkward man started. Kalena shot him a sidelong glare. “I’m Glenn… this is T-Dog… what’re your names?”
Maggie snorted.
“I’m Maggie.” She said, “And that there is Kalena.”
“Pretty names.” Glenn said, shooting Kalena a glance. “You, uh… sisters?”
“Friends.” Maggie said shortly, slicing a large hunk of meat into two more digestible pieces.
“Oh… that’s cool.”
They were saved from the painfully awkward atmosphere by the arrival of Patricia, who dropped a large white bag onto the table with a decisive thump. She turned to T-Dog (and honestly, the hell kind of name was that?) and gestured for him to show his arm.
“Show me the damage.” She said, “Let’s see what I can do.”
T-Dog obliged, pulling the layer of cotton away from his arm with a pained expression. Underneath was a bloody, jagged cut framed by a sickly black bruise, damaged veins sprawling out from the sliced skin and creating a dark mosaic down the man’s arm.
Kalena pursed her lips. Even her barely-trained self could tell that it was infected, and badly. She was impressed the man had been able to move the arm at all.
She felt a light tap on her shoulder, and turned.
“Kalena, sweetie, would you mind bringin’ this in to Hershel, Rick and Lori? I think they could use something to eat.”
Again. She was being sent away again.
“Sure.” She said, tone light. She took the plate from Maggie and stood up, and only let her eyebrows furrow and her lips drop when her face was turned away from the group. Behind her, Patricia pulled out a curved needle and some black string, and Maggie began peeling the tape away from T-Dog's arm.
Make do.
Kalena left the squirming men and the stone-faced women behind.
—
As she made her way towards her the guest bedroom, she could hear the faint sound of voices echoing from the room. She slowed her stride, uninterested in whatever The Good Man and his family had to say.
Kalena paused at the sound of something animalistic - gasps and grunts and quickened breathing - coming from the open doorway. She softened her steps, peering through the frame cautiously as she took in the state of the room. Her feet ground to a halt as she caught sight of the squirming boy, legs kicking and head snapping to and fro as he convulsed on top of the mattress.
A seizure. She’d encountered them before, both in theory - during her mandatory First Aid lessons - and in practise - during the unfortunate birthday party of a nine-year old girl, in which her epileptic brother had been overwhelmed by the flashing lights of one of her gifts, and had collapsed, much to the distress of the young partygoers. In that instance, Kalena had been lucky. The boy’s mother was clearly prepared for such an occurrence, and so Kalena’s only job had been to keep the children away and assure them that everything was alright.
This boy’s mother was the polar opposite.
The Boy’s mother - Lori - collapsed into the Good Man’s arms, watching helplessly as her boy writhed on the bed, arms jerking violently back and forth as his chest heaved with the force of his seizure. The Good Man held her tight, pulling her to his chest and tucking her head under his chin. Their faces were pinched with pain, tears carving silver lines down their cheeks.
Finally, The Boy went limp, rolling onto his back with his eyes closed. Hershel rushed into action, placing a hand on his forehead and only shifting slightly as the boy's mother rushed forwards to cup his cheeks, gentle yet desperately.
“His brain isn't getting enough blood.” Hershel said. “His pressure’s bottoming. He needs another transfusion.”
“Okay, I'm ready.” The Good Man rushed to volunteer.
“If I take any more out of you, your body could shut down. You could go into a coma.” Hershel told the man. “Or cardiac arrest.”
“You're wasting time.” The Good Man stretched out his arm, face set in a stubborn mien.
“I can do it.”
If it weren't for the way three heads snapped towards her in an instant, Kalena wouldn't have even noticed that she was the one to speak. Her voice sounded miles away, overpowered by the sudden hurried pounding in her ears. Her mouth was filled with cotton, and yet, as Hershel raised a placating hand, it opened and she spoke again.
“I've done it before.” She said, and it was the truth. Back when she'd been herself, her mother had talked her into participating in a blood drive. Kalena was willing to admit that it had been more of a bonding exercise than a charitable one, and the thing she most remembered was the way the free chocolate cookies had smudged on her favourite jeans.
Regardless, she had done it then, and she supposed she could do it now (if not for the dying boy, then for Hershel, whose last thoughts had not been of fear or worry, but of pride - for the Good Man and his choice).
The Good Man’s eyes were wide, and his wife’s hand flew to her mouth, but Kalena kept her eyes on Hershel - the one with the final say.
“You shouldn’t have. You’re nowhere near old enough for that, Kalena.”
“It was an emergency.” She lied, quickly turning to her next sentence before anyone could question her. “And it’s an emergency now. I can do it. I’ve got good blood.”
Hershel’s face flipped through several emotions in the span of a few seconds, from worry, to sternness, to rejection, then consideration. She could hear the storm brewing in his mind, the internal war between the rules and the current situation. He glanced at the boy, and his eyes settled. He sighed.
“Do you know your blood type?” Hershel asked her.
“It’s O-negative.” She said.
“Are you sure?” Hershel asked, hands already reaching for his kit. “I need you to be completely and utterly sure, Kalena.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Hershel ran a hand down his face. “Alright. If you’re certain. Arm on the bed, please.”
“Thank you.” Lori said, hand still cupped around her mouth. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, you don’t know how-”
“Don’t worry about it.” Kalena shifted, cutting her off. “Seriously. Don’t.”
“I won’t be able to take much.” Hershel warned, swiping a disinfectant pad across her inner elbow. Kalena tried not to shudder at the cool sensation. “She’s only little, so she can’t give as much as you have. You may need to give some more yourself, afterwards.”
“But it’ll help?” The Good Man asked.
“It will.” Hershel rested his palm on her hand for a moment, warm and fatherly, before pulling out a capped needle and inserting it gently into her vein. Kalena shifted slightly at the sting, and glanced away.
“This means a lot.” The Good Man whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. “I hope you know that, Kalena.”
The sound of her name coming from his mouth made her want to squirm, an uncomfortable feeling settling deep into her gut. She turned to look up at him, eyes narrowed.
“Like I said,” she sighed, “don’t worry about it.”
—
She’d endured the rest of the drawing in stoic silence, staring firmly away from the Good Man and his wife. Hershel had set up an egg timer, and the moment it began to ring, he sprung into action, sliding the needle out from under her skin and handing her a glass full of orange juice he’d procured from… somewhere.
Kalena was sat by the living room window now, eyes locked on the dark space through the trees. She was only worrying herself, she knew. She could be doing… something right now, something helpful but she just… couldn’t muster the will to move.
She had run out of things to think about that weren’t Otis, and now her mind was full of concerns. She hadn’t done enough. Hadn’t planned well enough, hadn’t done all she could, she should have snuck onto the van with them, should have given Otis a proper weapon, should have murdered the traitor where he stood–
Something in the distance blinked, and Kalena’s spine shot ramrod-straight.
An incoming light - two. Evenly spaced and approaching with significant speed.
“Otis.” Her mind supplied. “Or not.”
Only one way to find out.
She stood up and rushed out the front door, hopping down the porch stairs in one light jump and ignoring the way the gravel dug sharply into her socked feet. She squinted at the bright glare of the headlights as they came closer, racing over to the side of the car as it slowed its approach.
The door opened, and The Traitor stepped out. Kalena reared back, stopping dead in her tracks. They stared at each other for a cold moment, wary.
No.
He–
“Kal!”
Kalena’s head snapped to the side, and she came face to face with a grinning Otis.