“The town’s not got enough money to pay me back for the food, shelter, and everything else that’s bound to go missing when this is all over.” If it was all over. Even if the undead were cleared from the town, there would be no way to tuck their memory neatly away. Sloan expected she’d be dreaming about the stench and the sound for the rest of her life, and then… Well then, maybe she’d become one of those things. It wasn’t a pleasant thought to have while she rocked forward and backward on a banister, but it was one she allowed to come and go without consequence. The less she fought it, the easier it would be to eventually ignore. 

Southby could play dumb all he wanted, but Sloan pressed forward with a demand for answers. “You’ve not gotta be clever for your boss to talk to you. If anyone’s heard something, it’s you, and I need to know what it is.” Pleading for even just a morsel of good news was beneath her, but Sloan towed the line with an unfeeling, “Please,” tacked onto the back of a demand that hadn’t been issued with even the slightest hint of friendliness. 

All she really needed was a hint, and Southby provided it by beating around the bush about why they possibly hadn’t heard from St. Clemens. It was logical enough – - the town had it’s own problems, though they were probably more equipped to deal with monsters than Janestown was - – so Sloan found it in herself to visibly relax, turning his words over in her head until she deemed them satisfactory with nothing more than a single nod. “Alright.” What more was there to say? She’d never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure.” Except she wasn’t, and the only person in the world who would know that was standing beside her on the patio of Harry’s General Store. 

Oliver Southby was never one to bite his tongue. His thoughts so rarely made it through any sort of discretionary filter before his tongue was speaking them. This time however, Southby didn’t want a fight & if he spoke his mind that was exactly what it would lead to. Sloan was being selfish. If they didn’t eat or shelter themselves, there’d be no goddamn inventory to make up for. They’d be dead. It was plain & simple. He knew there wasn’t much but the plain fact of it was, they’d either survive & one day repay the debt to sloan or they’d rot into the earth.

Southby was suddenly aware of how hot it was outside. His shirt clung to his back. Sweat trickled down from his temple & down his body under the shirt. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, working to keep an annoyed expression from fixing itself upon his face.  

You’ve not gotta be clever for your boss to talk to you. 

The statement puzzled his for a moment. Then it clicked. Deputy Day. His stomach lurched at the reminder that the Sheriff had passed. Southby looked away as Sloan relaxed. The bleakness returned & his lips pursed a moment before he spit into the dirt off the porch. “It will be.” Southby said quietly. He heaved a long sigh of a breath. “Day doesn’t want to be Sheriff. Don’t much matter now though.” Southby started, wishing to make conversation but not quite able to change the conversation completely. “Wish the goddamn saloon wasn’t boarded up.” If he’d sound morose before, he managed to do nothing but tack on a bit of angsty pitifulness by citing how much he needed a drink.

Jack resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck. More intent on keeping an eye on the other man. It was hard to tell who to trust. Who was worth trusting anymore. Charles had gone and fucked up all of his convictions and gut instincts to where he wanted facts not anything else. 

“Yeah I’ve seen ‘em.” Less detail the better. Folks would find out where he’d come from, but if he did it right they never needed to know why he’d left. Or who he’d been before he had. “No bites or scratches.” The one bit of luck he’d managed to hold onto and who knew how long it’d last. “I’m looking for a place that’s not..” Alone. Out there. With the army and the freaks. “well, alone I guess. I appreciate the kindness, but I can also help out.” He raised an eyebrow and touched the pistol at his hip. “Decent shot if not a marksman exactly.” 

Southby didn’t bother pressing or giving the other man a second look over. He’d yet to come across one of those things that could form a sentence, so in his book he was golden. “Glad to hear it to be right honest,” Southby said, raising the brim of his hat. He’d said they weren’t being picky but having someone join them that already had a pistol & a decent shot was a definite advantage. “Mostof’em done run off. We still got a few hanging around but they’re basically confined. Though, I use that word in the loosest possible context.” He clarified. “You by yourself?”

“I do have to worry about the store,” she mimicked his tone, albeit far more nasally and obnoxious than the earnest offering he had given. “Nobody out here’s gonna be worried about what happens to the store when this blows over. But I will be.” Watching months of inventory being eaten up was a casualty of being a hub for food and drink, but there was still some small part of Sloan that wished the Saloon could be cleared out so pressure would be taken off Harry’s. The whole thing was a goddamn disaster, speaking strictly from a business standpoint. “We’ve not got a lot – - we never have - – and I think some of these folks think that it’s gonna last longer than it will. This isn’t some kind of fort. I guarantee there’s not enough to last the town more than a month.” 

Southby could claim he was fine all he wanted, but Sloan couldn’t have given half a shit. She rocked back and forth from her perch and eventually raked her hands through the unruly nest of blonde locks at the crown of her head, “You’re not clever.” And he wasn’t fine either, but neither was Sloan. She kicked her heels outward in one final push before she settled her head against the nearest wooden post. “What’d you hear about Saint Cemens, Southby? You’ve gotta know something.”

Sloan mocked him, a sure fire way for anyone else to rile him up, but he merely leant his shoulder against the shop. “I know, I know,” Southby insisted. He quite wished he hadn’t said she didn’t have to worry, but at the same time he was keen to shove the butt of his gun into the shoulder of anybody who thought they could go on stealing provisions. 

“The town’ll pay you back for everything you’re giving up. We’ll make sure of that.” Southby assured her. Anyway you sliced it, prospects were looking grim for the town, but squabbling over what little they did have wasn’t on the Deputy’s agenda. 

You’re not clever.

“I know that.” Southby said, spitting off the side of the porch. Did she think he woke up daft to everything that had come before today or the month before that? Regardless, Southby followed suit & leant his head against the building. Somehow the crooked view made the circumstances feel less foreign. “Why do I gotta know something?” Southby asked. “Thought I wasn’t clever anyway. Probably couldn’t trust a word I have to say.” He pursed his lips then shook his head. If it were anybody else he’d have told them he hadn’t gotten word from Saint Clemens. The chances of anybody being alive in the bigger city were slim to none but he wasn’t about to mouth that off. Not given the fact that that’s exactly where Sloan’s folks had hitched a wagon for. “We’re not sending any word. Doubt anybody else has the people to spare either. Better to stay centralized for now until things start looking better.” Southby raked a hand through his hair. “Nothin’s movin’ ‘cause everybody’s scared. Can’t blame the boys up in S.C. for not sending a horseman with a letter. Too dangerous.”

“It’s not predicting the future if it’s just common sense,” she hissed. Southby could poke and prod all he wanted, but Sloan stood steadfast in her belief that no supplies would be coming from any of the surrounding towns any time soon. More than that, no trains carrying civilians would be making the way to Janestown either. Which meant her family…

Was something best left to speculation. She perched herself atop a banister – - the very same one her mother had chided her for climbing in her youth - – and regarded Southby with a hard stare when he asked about her mental state. It wasn’t the kind of look one would give to a friend, especially considering that Southby was probably the best friend and ally she had in town. “What do you mean? I am fine.” Doubling down was easy if it meant leaning back precariously before lurching forward as if to prove that she wasn’t afraid of anything. “I’m just concerned about the store.” She was entirely transparent, but put on a tight-lipped grin for the sake of argument. At least arguing about menial bullshit felt natural, considering the circumstances. “Can’t really account for what you’d rather hear, unless you want to talk about your feelings. How are you?” Better to deflect than to confront an issue head on.

“Whatever you say.“ A bit of hope still glimmered deep beneath whatever river ran through Southby’s mind, though he didn’t feel it was worth expounding upon. The closer he kept it to his chest, the better chance it faired to not being spoiled or crushed. It was far-fetched, but a hint of anyone else being alive was a good thing. The alternative was no more people, no more food & eventually the same fate that everyone else had met. 

Under Sloan’s scrutiny, Soutbhy swallowed & looked at his boots. “You don’t have to worry about the store. Everybody knows we gotta ration what we have & if you catch anybody getting handsy with the food, all you gotta do is call me or Day.” He’d have been happy to correct the situation given the circumstances. “Well, since you asked, I’m fine too.” Southby looked up, answering with the same bullshit answer she’d given. “Now that we’re defining fine as some sort of grey area between shitty & fucking losing it. Doing just fine.”

Mind if I have a word with you about that supply line due tomorrow? 

And just like that, she remembered where she was. Pencil in hand, Sloan tap-tap-tapped the ledger in held close to her hip and roped herself back to reality. Feeling wholly the part of a chastised child, the shopkeeper slowly turned on the heels of her feet and angled her gaze in the direction of Oliver Southby.  “What about it?” There would be no supply line coming – - both of them certainly knew it - – but Sloan wasn’t quick enough to realize that she was being distracted until the offending party was halfway out the door. 

It took nothing for Sloan to be ushered out of the store. Just a gentle push was all she needed to embrace the outdoors, but the porch that once played host to locals and travelers felt too exposed. Too open. The threat of something emerging from some unseen corner made her hair stand on end and her skin prickle. Not that she would ever been foolish enough to let that much slip. No, that would be too weak – - too expected of a woman who had just been left to man a store by parents who were eager to make their way to a bigger city. 

Nothing more than a scowl was offered in Southby’s direction, “We both know there’s not a supply line coming any time soon, so what d’you want?”

“You predicting the future now? Got a crystal ball hidden somewhere upstairs?“ Southby asked. He may have been antagonizing her, but a grin had worked its way over his expression halfway though. “There’s still a chance, plus...” Southby shrugged. “Just didn’t want to see that guy get his head bitten off. Feel like I’ve seen enough of that for a lifetime.” Southby shrugged, leaning against the store with his palm. It seemed beyond pointless to ask if she was alright. None of them were - all things considered. “How you doin’? All things permitted.” Southby asked. “& don’t go gabbin’ about how you’re fine because that’s exactly what I would say & I need to hear something other than fine or good.”

In some strange way, the undead bothered her less than the wholesale invasion of privacy that was keeping an entire town inside Harry’s General Store. The former was clearly more of a threat – - and Sloan would’ve been lying if she said that she’d not lost sleep over the stench that lingered in desolate corners - – but the latter impacted the proprietress on a more personal level. Call it selfish, but she didn’t like the thought of playing the part of an unwilling host. Undead be damned. 

Maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet – - the desecration of Saint Clemens, the death of the sheriff, the goddamn dead bodies shambling after an unfortunate herd of buffalo - – but Sloan wasn’t eager to examine her feelings on the state of the world. If she didn’t acknowledge the problem, then perhaps it would cease to exist or work itself out like so many skeletons collecting dust in her closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Unlike the townsfolk who occupied the basement, the bedrooms upstairs, the rows between shelves of dry goods that would only last so long if the supply line to Harry’s was cut off. 

Cold as she was, Sloan had anguished over her inventory in an attempt to figure up just how long a town could be fed from the supplies of one store. The results had unfortunately indicated that a significant portion of Janestown would be tightening their belts in the days to come. Even on her third turn about the store – - ledger in one hand, the nub of a broken pencil in another - – she could find nothing of significant comfort between cans of beans and torn sacks of flour.  What she did find, however, was another soul on what might’ve been the same mission. Taking inventory, poking around, looking for any sort of scrap that could get someone through the day. Whatever the motivation, there was still a twinge of anger that plucked at her heartstrings at the idea of anyone thinking they could walk into her store – - her home - – and touch or take whatever they wanted. So, of course, she had to say something, even if selfishness was a luxury one couldn’t afford when dead bodies were banging on the doors of the Saloon or eviscerating entire herds of beasts.

 “You just pilfer through things that don’t belong to you when you’re bored? Is that what this is?”

Southby had tried. He really had. He’d tried to come up with other viable locations to host the town, but given the sorry state of just about every other building, Harry’s had been chosen & he couldn’t fight it if it made sense.  He’d known Sloan would be put-out by the added burden, but it was what it was & the survivors had moved their camp from the cramped jailhouse to the general store.

The night they’d moved in was the best night’s sleep the man had gotten in two weeks. Granted, it had only been a few hours, but it hadn’t been plagued by ghoulish nightmares of the undead or random starts of his heart. When he’d woken, he & the watchmen he was replacing spoiled themselves with a cup of coffee each before Southby took over the patrol. Just like that, more time had slipped by & his shift was ending.

Just like with the Sheriff’s office, Southby didn’t get tired of being in Harry’s. Most folks felt cooped & sought out reasons to be outside, Southby on the other hand felt quite at home. That was probably why, his eyes had flicked up when he saw Sloan’s blonde head go by one of the shelves. He’d been leaning against the counter, his revolver broken down into four pieces as he cleaned it. His focus returned to his work, but it lasted only a number of seconds before he was glancing up again. He pieced the gun back together, watching as Sloan moved on the other person in the aisle. Mind your business, Southby reminded himself, jamming the cloth into his pocket. Something in the way Sloan moved though wouldn’t allow him to turn face. Instead, he holstered the gun & moseyed an aisle closer.  

“You just pilfer through things that don’t belong to you when you’re bored? Is that what this is?”

The annoyance was clear in Sloan’s voice & Southby grimaced. The poor fool on the other side of it probably hadn’t meant any offense. People were on razors edge recently & the shopkeeper didn’t appear to be immune from being taunt as a bowstring. “Mind if I have a word with you about that supply line due in tomorrow?” Southby interrupted, walking between the shelves. He looked from Sloan to the accused. “Sorry for interrupting,” He added, before nodding his head towards the back for Sloan to follow, hopefully giving the guy enough time to scurry off somewhere else & avoid confrontation. 

He’d sworn the town looked closer, but he’d trekked at least the better part of a mile before reaching the limits. Wherever the things that used to be people were, Jack hadn’t run across them. The merest whisper of good luck, though he wasn’t about to say as much out loud. Doing that would be as good as welcoming them in with open arms. 

Jack noticed the light before the man sitting next to it, sheathed in shadows. Signs of someone living in this town. Good call too since he wasn’t gonna be able to get much of anywhere else fast. If this place had been deserted (not out of the question all considered) he’d have been doomed. 

Luck had never been Jack’s strong suit though, and he knew it. 

Which is why when the figure bolted around behind a post, Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Well. In his tracks. Stopping dead might not be the kinda phrasing one used these days. 

“Not my intention. Didn’t quite see you until…” He gestured at the man running to take cover. “I came in on a train but it ran out of fuel some ways back. Seemed like this place was a better call than…out there.” 

Southby pulled his head from the beam & brushed off the shoulder he’d been leaning against it with. He looked the man over, looking for signs he’d been bitten or contracted the illness they were facing but saw none. “Definitely don’t want to be out there on your own.” Southby looked past the man, over his shoulder, in order to look for signs of another joining them; be it another survivor or one of the undead.  The night, however, appeared to be empty. 

“I take it you’ve seen those things?” Southby inquired, an eyebrow rising. “In any case, we ain’t discriminating on who we take in seeing as we’re sorely outnumbered. So long as you ain’t been bit or scratched by one of those things - & you ain’t here to cause trouble - we’re using the general store as a bit of a camp. You see, those things - they’ve already been here. We still got some holed up in odd places so don’t cause a racket & things’ll probably be just peachy. Given the circumstances.”