Winter hit them hard that year. Effie would stand in the window, watching the snow pile up in yet another blizzard, with crossed arms and thankful that she had stayed in Troy. It was one of the few things she thought she might have actually done right over the last year. In conditions like these even patrolling was hard and when the snow drifts started getting waist-deep, Jimmy relented and agreed to fewer patrols. Even tainted couldn't get through snow like that.

Effie didn't mind the fewer patrols as much as she thought she would. A few of the patrollers changed their chit chat to just saying hi since Effie took Claire back out on patrol. It was something about letting feelings get in the way instead of just being smart about it, one of them had told her later as he walked away with a shake of his head. She had just stood there, biting on her lower lip until she finally just sighed and went home.

Home.

Effie took a look around. It was livable and almost luxurious compared to anywhere else she had stayed since she left Tuscon. She had fixed up the shutters and plugged various cracks and holes in the walls and roof that had made it so drafty before. She had washed and hung the old curtains, fixed the wobbly table in the kitchen, oiled the rusty door hinges. The floor still squeaked something awful, but she didn't mind it that much. She had a place to sleep, to relax, to work, to think. It all almost made her feel welcome, like she belonged. It even had a small square of land in the back and Effie often toyed with the idea of turning it into a garden until she remembered that she wouldn't be staying that long.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Hey," Claire said when Effie opened the door, "I made some rabbit stew. I was wondering if you were hungry and wouldn't mind some company."

"Sure, come in."

Effie couldn't remember the first time Claire came by with a home-cooked meal, but it had quickly become a sort of habit. Despite becoming a routine, Claire always acted like Effie might have something else better to do and asked to come in. At first they'd just eat and Claire would do most of the talking while Effie would nod and listen quietly. But soon that didn't seem to be enough, and they'd sit down after their meal and read a comic book together. Just the other day, Claire brought over a beat-up, old box with "Scrabble" written across it in faded, white letters. The medic had heard it was a game about making words out of letters and gathering up points. Some of the letters were missing and a couple of days later, Effie handed Claire a handful of small, smooth stones with the missing letters etched into them. That was when Claire learned that Effie could carve into stone and even better into wood.

"You know what, Effie? I'm glad you stumbled into Troy," Claire said that one evening as she was leaving to go back home, her pocket full of smooth stones.

Effie never replied, but the comment kept her up that night and most other nights too. She had heard a lot about not having time and lines that shouldn't be crossed and rules she should remember. She'd reply with nods or shortages of her own; all anybody was interested in was how much time was left before she was gone. But Claire's comment was entirely foreign and Effie couldn't decide whether translating it or just keeping it foreign was better. She managed to always fall asleep before finally deciding.

But tonight it was just stew in the medic's hands so Effie patiently waited for the conversation she knew was coming.

"Is Jack still being an ass?" Claire finally asked, "I saw you went in there to buy some nails."

"I guess," Effie answered with a shrug.

"What is his problem?"

"Dunno. Don't really care either. Let him mind his own patrol."

"I messed up. Who doesn't mess up a few times? And I go back out there just like the rest of them, but now it's somehow different. I don't get it. They have no right to judge me, they weren't even there. The only person who can judge me is you."

"No," Effie replied, shaking her head, "I needed to decide whether we were safe out there on patrol together. I decided we were. I was right. That's just that. I'm not gonna lose sleep over the fact someone wants to be anal about it."

"You're right...It's just so irritating. I've lived here ever since I can remember and all that just goes up in smoke because I'm not perfect? Like I'm suddenly different somehow and not the woman they knew."

"Claire, it's no use worrying about what others think. Some will love you no matter what you do, others will be asses no matter what you do. You can't control it. Best to spend time on things you can control."

"Such as?"

"Such as filling up our empty bowls. The stew's delicious as usual."

Claire blinked a few times and Effie almost thought she saw her blush.

"Oh, thank you," she said softly as she ladled out more stew.


Claire plunged her hands into her jacket pockets as far as they would go as if that would protect her from the wind trying to freeze her to the bone. She remembered winters that were snowy and those that were windy, but she couldn't remember a winter that threw both of those at them with a vengeance. She watched a few townspeople shoveling the snow off the middle of the road and pathways. When they'd finish, they'd go back to their houses and the wind would pick up again. They'd come back in an hour or so to see the wind always had the last say.

The medic took extra time to stomp out her boots once inside the church. She looked up at the old cross standing where the altar used to be. It was there because no one knew what to do with it. It made Claire wonder what had happened to them - was it God that left them or were they the first to leave? Neither option made any sense to her.

"Is that you, Daisy?" she heard Martha call out.

"Yeah," Claire replied, tearing her gaze from the cross and walking over to her mother.

She sat down and waited for her mother to be ready to listen. Martha was always on the go, in a rush, a million things on her mind. Claire never knew how much of it was actually the consequence of running the town and how much was for show. Timothy was a good man and helped Martha out more than she wanted, but he never seemed to be in much of a rush anywhere. Claire would laugh that Martha could take a run around the whole town and come back to find Timothy hadn't moved an inch. He had the time to ask how the kids were doing or if the strawberries in the garden were already ripe. He had a memory for that kind of thing and people always appreciate being remembered. Martha stuck to the books, reports, and calculations.

"You have the monthly medical report?" Martha finally asked, outstretching her hand.

Claire handed it over and waited.

"I don't like these numbers," Martha said as her eyes skimmed down the page, "Normally I'd asked if this is right, but I know you counted three times."

"Four."

"Damn it. We don't have any old sheets or clothes we can use for bandages?"

"With a winter like this, everyone's wearing every last scrap of fabric they have," Claire said, "With traders and patrols few and far between and with a rise in injuries, things are tight."

"What do you suggest?"

"We could rummage through supplies and see if anything can't be repurposed," Claire replied, folding her arms over her chest, "but I don't think that will help much."

"Patrol?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"I was thinking maybe the clinics in Pine Creek?"

Martha froze for a moment as if she was waiting for Claire to burst out laughing and tell her it was a joke.

"We rarely patrol northeast of here. God knows what you'll find there."

"It's our best shot at the moment. From what I remember, the tainted were cleared out in the end and it's too remote to get any new ones. Besides, I won't go by myself."

"Can I have a day to think about it?"

"I know that means 'no'. Talk to Timothy about it. I'll come by tomorrow to finish off convincing you."

"All right, all right," Martha said, raising her hands up, "I know when I'm beat. But, really, let me get comfortable with the thought first. I worry about this whole town, but I worry about you ten times more though I can't show it."

Claire smiled and nodded.

"Good. Listen, I need to stop by the Masons now. Care to walk me out?"

Claire nodded and watched her mother begin to arrange the mess on her desk. There was a potted plant that sat on the edge of it, long dried and dead though still an odd shade of green. Claire never understood why her mother didn't just throw it away, but never really asked about it.

"You know dear," Martha said as she filed some papers away, "I don't think I ever told you how proud I am of you."

"Proud?"

"You had that one patrol go wrong, but you didn't let it define you. You pushed through it and came out the better for it."

"Oh," Claire said, "um...well..."

"You generally seem to be different," her mother continued.

"Different?"

"It's like you're less scared of things than before. It's like you hold up your head a little higher."

"You really think so?"

"Mhm. Tim also noticed it. He thinks it might have something to do with Effie."

"Effie?"

"Well, she is your friend, isn't she?" Martha asked as she packed a few things in her bag, "You two spend a lot of time together and she's a cougar of a woman, they say. Maybe a little of that is rubbing off on you."

"Oh," Claire said and watched her mother pull her coat on, "Maybe it is."

"I think that's nice. As long as you don't get reckless. I don't need another dead hero."

Claire still remembered the day they dragged her bloodied parents in through the gates. Martha was crying, holding Patrick by the wrist and yelling at him to stay with her. They had tried to pull her away, but she wouldn't let go. She sobbed out something about an ambush, about getting cornered, about him coming to save her like the stupid hero he thought he was. She kept begging him to hang on for two days and he did. The third day he stopped listening and Martha stopped crying. Claire remembered her mother holding her hand too tightly when they turned her father into ashes. Claire didn't understand any of it. They had always called him Lucky Irish; he didn't seem to be all that lucky then.

Martha hugged her daughter goodbye and went off towards the corner of town. Claire just stood there for a while next to the church door. How long had it been since Effie showed up in Troy? Could a few months make that much of a difference? And why was there a difference that needed to be made? Wasn't she fine just the way she was? Every question brought up another one and soon she began to pace. Pacing around one of the main streets made little sense, so Claire decided to pace right on up to Effie's house. By the time she got there, her hands had already balled into fists and she pounded on the door. She didn't even let Effie say hello.

"Do you think I'm some charity case that needs your pity and attention?" Claire asked, "Is that it?"

"What?" Effie asked.

"I'm asking if you think I'm some loser who needs your attention. Do you think I need to change and be more like you?"

"Oh, okay," Effie said after a while, "Let me get my coat."

"What do you need your coat for?"

"I want to look for whatever it was that bit you in the ass on your way here."

Effie crossed her arms over her chest while Claire just stared at her long and hard.

"I don't know whether to laugh or slap you," Claire finally said.

"Do whichever you feel like doing."

Claire stared at her for another long while and finally felt her hands starting to relax. With a short, forceful sigh, she turned on her heel and walked away.

She found herself back on the steps in front of Effie's door that same evening. She scratched her head a few times while she ran over apologies that all sounded useless in her head. She raised her hand to knock on the door when she heard music coming from the house. The guitar played a soft yet sad melody and soon after, an equally sad voice joined in. Claire stood transfixed; even if she told everyone in town, they probably wouldn't believe her. A part of her wanted to run home, a part wanted to open the door and make the music stop, but most of her just stood there listening. The song suited Effie; it suited the battered house, the freezing snow, the chilly wind, and the world that had completely gone down the drain. The only thing that felt in any way out of place was Claire.

The medic took a step back as if the door burned her without even having been touched. The wood beneath her let out a loud creak and the music halted. Claire held her breath and waited. A few moments later, Effie opened the door and just stood there, looking at Claire calmly. The medic said nothing and to the unknowing passerby, they looked like two life-like statues that winter had frozen over to later admire.

"You wanna come in?" Effie finally asked slowly.

Claire nodded and walked in, her gaze firmly fixed to the floor.

"What brings you by?" Effie asked as she leaned against the closed, front door.

"I...I...I didn't know you played guitar."

"You heard that? It's nothing really. Just a couple of songs I learned."

"They were beautiful even if they did sound sad."

"Yeah, well, you know me - I'm not exactly the life of the party."

"Well I can't really say there's anything to be ridiculously overjoyed about either nowadays. Where did you find the guitar? It's beautiful."

Effie gripped the doorknob behind her tightly as she watched Claire approach the guitar and run a gentle finger down the guitar neck and strings.

"Home," Effie said softly.

Claire turned her gaze to the patroller and immediately pulled her hand away from the instrument.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right," Effie said with a shake of her head, "My dad taught me a few chords and my mother taught me to carry something of a tune. The rest just kind of came out itself. I figured you were going to ask."

Claire felt her face grow hot as her gaze once again darted to the floor for a few moments.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"You didn't. It's a fair question," Effie said, pushing herself from the door, "You wanna, um, hold it or something?"

"Me? Oh," Claire replied, switching her gaze between the guitar and Effie, "I don't want to break it."

"It traveled across the country. I think it can handle you."

Effie quietly picked up the guitar and handed it over to Claire who held it gently like a newborn baby.

"Come on, nobody holds a guitar like that."

"Yeah, you're right," Claire replied with a small grin.

The medic held the guitar properly. It was lighter than she had expected and it felt like it was just waiting to play a song. She looked at Effie who nodded and the medic ran her right thumb down the strings, getting a mixture of different sounds that made her grimace.

"I can teach you how to play a little...if you want."

"Really?" Claire said, her eyes growing wide, "I haven't scared you off with that performance?"

"Everyone starts at the beginning," Effie said with a shrug, "Ain't nothing to be scared of."

Claire put the guitar down. She wanted to burst into laughter; all her life she had been told the world something to be scared of. Everyone had to be useful, brave, and selfless because that was the only way the last of humanity had a chance of survival. The chosen and the brave went out on patrols or became traders; they were courageous and stupid enough to be free. They were the heart of every settlement, pumping life in and out of the walls that no one normal would ever want to leave. The rest were too old, too young, or too scared; they were the ones who stayed in town and played roles that they had made up for themselves so as not to be thought useless. People needed a carpenter or a cook just like they needed a medic her mother had told her on more than once occasion. They couldn't all be heroes, but at least they would all be alive. She turned to see Effie watching her closely, silently waiting.

"Effie?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to take me out on patrol. Teach me everything you know."


Author's Note: Thanks for all the support on this new project. The next chapter will step on the accelerator a bit:) I always enjoy your reviews!