Age of zombies

[25] Daisy's Story

The air inside Daisy's farmhouse was thick with the warm glow of gas lanterns, their soft light flickering against the wooden walls. The place was simple but sturdy, built for practicality more than comfort. The smell of canned stew wafted through the room, filling the space with a sense of normalcy that felt strange after everything we'd been through.

It was the first hot meal we'd had since the world had gone to shit, and despite the tension still hanging in the air, there was something comforting about it. We sat around a rough wooden table, Daisy at the head, spooning the stew into bowls while Yabe and Ethan quietly helped set things up.

Daisy leaned back in her chair, letting out a satisfied sigh as she took a sip from an old metal cup. "Ain't much," she said, glancing at the food, "but it'll do. Better than starving out there."

"Better than the shit we've been eating," Ethan muttered, stuffing a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. His eyes widened a bit as he chewed. "Damn, that's actually pretty good."

Yabe smiled softly, her voice quiet as always. "It's nice to have something warm. Thank you, Daisy."

Daisy shrugged, waving off the thanks as she took another bite. "Don't mention it. Can't say I'm a chef or anything, but you learn to make do with what you've got."

The room fell into a comfortable silence as we ate. It felt strange, sitting here in this quiet farmhouse after all the chaos of the last few days. The warmth of the food, the soft light of the lanterns—it almost felt normal. But the tension was still there, lurking just beneath the surface. We knew we couldn't stay here forever.

After a while, Daisy broke the silence, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms behind her head. "Y'all probably noticed I ain't exactly got that classic Texas twang," she said with a smirk. "I get that a lot."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, looking up from his bowl. "You're not from Texas?"

"Nah, I'm not a native," she said, shaking her head. "My mom was the Texan. Born and raised on this very ranch. Family's been here for three generations, and she wasn't about to leave it behind for anything. I ended up picking up a lot of her ways."

I glanced around the room, taking in the rustic furniture, the faded family photos on the walls. It was clear this place had history, a kind of stubborn resilience that felt as solid as the wooden beams holding the place together.

Daisy took another sip from her cup, her expression growing a bit more serious. "My mom was tough as nails. She raised me here all by herself after my dad ditched us when I was three."

I frowned, leaning forward slightly. "He just left?"

Daisy nodded, her jaw tightening a bit. "Yeah. He wasn't exactly father of the year, if you catch my drift. Took off, no explanation, no goodbye. My mom never talked much about him, and I didn't really ask. I figured he wasn't worth it."

Yabe's soft voice broke the quiet again. "That must've been hard for you... and your mom."

Daisy shrugged, though I could see the flicker of pain in her eyes. "Yeah, it was. But like I said, my mom was tough. She didn't take no shit from anyone, least of all a deadbeat husband. She poured everything she had into this ranch, made sure I never went without. Taught me how to survive, how to fight for what's mine."

She paused for a moment, staring into her cup as if lost in thought. "When she got sick last year... well, there wasn't much we could do. Cancer's a bitch. And treatment... treatment ain't cheap."

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in. I knew what she meant. In a world that was already cruel, something like cancer could take everything from you long before the zombies did.

"She fought it as long as she could," Daisy continued, her voice quieter now. "But there's only so much fight in a person when you don't have the money for the right treatment. She passed away right here, in this house. Couldn't even afford to give her the kind of care she deserved."

There was a heavy silence in the room as we all absorbed her story. I could see the mix of anger and sadness in her face, though she hid it well behind her tough exterior. It was clear that she wasn't the type to dwell on her pain, but the scars were there, deep and unhealed.

"I'm sorry," Yabe said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy. "That must've been so hard for you."

Daisy nodded, her expression hardening just a bit as she shrugged it off. "Life's hard. Ain't nothing you can do about that. You just keep going, you know? My mom loved this place, and I'll be damned if I let anything take it from me. Not the government, not the apocalypse, and sure as hell not some biker gang."

Ethan let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "You're a hell of a lot tougher than me, I'll give you that."

Daisy chuckled, though there was a bitterness to it. "Toughness don't mean shit when the world's falling apart. But I'm still here, and I'm still standing. That's all that matters."

We fell into silence again, the weight of her words settling over the room like a blanket. I could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the weariness of everything we'd been through finally catching up to me. But there was something about Daisy's story that stuck with me—her determination, her refusal to let go of this place, even in the face of everything.

"This place," I said after a long pause, "it means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Daisy looked around the room, her eyes softening for the first time since we'd met. "It's all I've got left. My mom gave her life to keep this place running. I owe it to her to do the same. There ain't nothing in this world that's gonna make me leave."

Yabe nodded, her voice soft but firm. "We'll help however we can, Daisy. You saved us, and we won't forget that."

Daisy smiled, a genuine, tired smile that softened the sharp edges of her face. "I appreciate that, sugar. But we all got our battles to fight. Just stick around for now. We'll figure things out as we go."

We finished the meal in silence, the warmth of the food settling in our stomachs. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a small glimmer of hope, even if it was fragile. Maybe, just maybe, we'd find a way to survive this nightmare after all.

Q: How would you comfort a person?