algor mortis | rick grimes

07

The sky had opened up sometime in the early morning, bathing the Greene farm in a warm rain that showed no signs of stopping. Amelia had been planning to go into town but found herself unable to rationalize it. Trifling with the weather was hardly a fight to pick now of days if you could help it.

As a result, she found herself restless. More than once, she glanced out the window at the camp set up by the trees. A multitude of queries passed through her mind— were they warm enough? could they keep dry? If it were her house, they'd be inside by now. She thought she'd been subtle enough about it. Hazarding a glance now and again when she passed by.

"Quit worryin' about them." Hershel said sternly from the dining room, as she passed by with her face turned unthinkingly toward the window.

"It's raining awful bad." Amelia commented in return.

Hershel chuckled, "Little rain never hurt nobody."

The old farmer's opinion was clear. He didn't care about these people more than he had to; once Sophia was found, they'd be gone, "People die of exposure all the time." She kept in step to the kitchen. Enough of her nights on the road had been spent in the rain to warrant a little worry. It wasn't pleasant in any way. All she had to quiet the worry was knowing they had the RV to cram into if it became dire.

It was lucky they waited on bringing Carl out to the camp, if he'd been out in that she would have put up a significant fuss. She went to work, fixing herself a sandwich. "Have the stock been fed yet?" She asked Patricia absentmindedly as she picked some leftover chicken and condiments out of the fridge.

"Yeah, did it early." Patricia responded from where she stood at the sink. She cussed internally, wishing to have some sort of objective. Scarfing down the remainder of the sandwich, she added the plate to Patricia's pile with a soft apology.

Her next directive was to check on Carl, tapping lightly on the doorframe as she poked her head in. Lori lifted her head from where she had it resting at the bedside, offering a gentle smile. "Sorry." Amelia said, dropping her voice upon noticing the frail boy was sound asleep. "I just wanted to check in."

"I think we're alright." Lori replied looking down at her son's pallid face. "He's itching to get out of this damn bed."

Amelia chuckled, "I would be too." She glanced down the hallway to make sure Hershel wouldn't walk by to hear her ask, "Are you guys alright out there? It's pissin' rain."

"Our tents keep it our pretty well, and the trees stop a bit of it." The brunette explains, "Earlier in the season, it might not have been alright but for now, we're good." It was always odd to speak to someone, knowing more about them than they would ever expect you to. It was immeasurably lucky for her husband to have found her at the end of the world. The odds that the people Rick would find in Atlanta would be travelling with his family were about as big as a speck. Considering that, Amelia couldn't decide if she envied her or not.

She couldn't have imagined she would have gotten far with Craig on her coattails, as awful as it was to think. He'd never give an inch in an argument, his way or the highway. Craig would have gotten them into some situation with no way to get them out of it. Considering it generously? They might have made it a week. A post apocalyptic divorce didn't sound so bizarre when she looked at it that way.

Even still, she couldn't imagine how tough it must be to bring your marital issues into the end of the world. "If there's anything I can do." Amelia said, rubbing her hands together, "Let me know, alright?"

"I will. Thank you, Amelia. Really." Lori said earnestly, brushing her hair behind her ears, "For everything."

"Of course." Amelia smiled, leaving the woman to her solitude. She trekked back to her closet with a heavy sigh. Pushing the door open, it swung enough for her to slide through before it collided with her cot.

The space was small but it was her own. The Greene's had their reservations about giving up Shawn's room and Amelia had none of her own in obliging to leave it in tact. There was room enough for the cot and a small milk crate at the bedside. Few belongings as she had, she still managed to keep the space a mess. The crate was littered with books and candles while the floor was a mural of dirty clothes that had yet to be beaten down at the creek.

Amelia stepped over the clothes to sit on the cot, letting the door stay open to flood the room with a little light. With a sigh, she reached for the beaten up notebook that sat amongst the pile up on her makeshift bedside table.

Flipping it open to a well worn page, her eyes raked over the list. All the locations she'd visited and had yet to visit in her search for Erin. Many of them had a growing accumulation of tally marks. She couldn't help but backtrack to likely locations, fearful that checking once wouldn't be enough. Staring at the list, with its smudged ink and worn corners, it was finally beginning to sink in. She couldn't hope to have the same luck Rick had in finding someone at the end of the world.