A Marriage

Chapter 1

Due to an unjust law, the Greene farm is in danger of being taken by the government after Hershel's death, since he passed without a male heir. In order to save their home and land, one of the Greene women must marry within 30 days. Hershel's final request is to family friend Daryl Dixon. Marry one of his daughters and keep the farm, and their home, in the family, and his wife and daughters off the streets. When Daryl agrees, and marries Maggie, they learn that there's someone else from Hershel's family who wants that land, and he's willing to do anything to get it.

...

Maggie Greene sat at the desk with her history book open, but the words meant little to nothing to her. She kept reading the same passage repeatedly but couldn’t quite absorb the words on the page. Rather than the material before her, Maggie’s mind was on her father, Hershel. She could deny his condition all she wanted, but he wasn’t long for this world. Every day for the past five days she’d been waiting for the worst to happen, and it was fraying her nerves. Every door to open, every phone that rang, frightened her.

“So, that brings us up to 1983,” Mrs. Palmer was saying. “When...Miss Greene?”

“Yes, Mrs. Palmer?” Maggie asked, pulling her attention from the window beside her, and the heavy, colorless sky that turned the world outside a dull gray.

“Is there something outside that’s more interesting in completing my refresher course?” the instructor asked.

My father’s dying, you smug bitch, Maggie thought, her lips pinched and her eyes turning stormy.

Of course, she didn’t say that. Mrs. Palmer was good at following rules, good at making sure others followed rules, but she was shit at empathy. She wouldn’t care about Maggie’s home life. She’d simply continue treating her, a twenty-eight-year-old woman like she was a child. No, she would only care about Maggie’s final scores.

“No,” Maggie said tightly. “I’m just thinking about the material.”

“I’d prefer you paid more attention to my lecture,” Mrs. Palmer said, a smirk on her deeply lined face.

Maggie caught a few of the other teachers rolling their eyes. It was strange, after four years of being behind the desk, and dishing out a little classroom humiliation, to be on the receiving end of it. She made the decision right then and there that she’d save such tactics for very rare occasions when students truly earned it.

“1983,” Mrs. Palmer continued. “The year HIV was discovered. Scientists around the world, humanity’s most brilliant minds, attempted to come up with a vaccine. What was the drawback? Ms. Peletier?”

Carol Peletier was a history teacher at Genesis High School 1, the same school as Maggie. She, too, had to take this summer refresher course if she wanted to keep her teaching license.

“The Stem 3 Vaccine was fast-tracked for human trials,” Carol answered. “It proved to be a disaster when the first recipients turned into walkers and the Centers for Disease Control was bombed by anti-government extremists after they intercepted a message to the White House about them. Rather than destroy the vaccine, and the first walkers, the bombing actually dispersed it into the air, along with many other diseases. The Stem 3 went airborne, propagated and infected everyone. Not every infected person immediately fell ill and turned but the whole human population became infected.”

“Correct,” Mrs. Palmer said with a look of approval. “Miss Greene, tell me what the Atlanta Protocol is and how effective it was in the fight against the walkers? How did it ultimately benefit the survival of mankind?”

“Then-President Ronald Regan ordered that the city of Atlanta Georgia, ground zero of the outbreak, be sealed off,” Maggie answered. “No one, healthy or sick, could leave the city. This slowed the progress of the walkers from leaving Atlanta at a much faster pace and attacking smaller communities. The government ordered walled settlements to be formed. The population was divided into populations of roughly 30,000, all walled in, a sort of replica of the Wall of Atlanta, and it was built in a honeycomb design. Those who were sick or already turned were killed off, quickly, easier to manage, while the rest were put to work building the walls. Those communities where the dead overpowered the living were walled in and unable to escape. This kept a sort of snowball effect from happening, kept unmanageable herds from forming, and kept enough people alive to manage the dead. The Atlanta Protocol was issued around the country and was instituted globally, though there were many poorer countries that completely fell because they didn’t possess the resources to implement the protocol.”

Mrs. Palmer gave Maggie a begrudging nod before looking to another woman in the class.

“Miss Espinosa, can you tell the class which countries have maintained enough living citizens to remain in contact with the United States, and other powers, globally?”

Rosita, a friend of Maggie’s who taught at the middle school, answered the question without hesitation.

“The United Provinces of Canada, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Japan, China, Russia, and the urban sectors of Australia. Every other country went dark. We haven’t heard from them since 1985.”

“Mr. Hartwell, are walkers in the other settlements still a threat?”

“No, ma’am,” an elderly man from Genesis Highschool 2, answered. “After roughly twenty years they wasted away to bones. Without access to food they’ve been starved out. There’s talk of Reclamation plans, of tearing down the walls of the ‘dark’ settlements and slowly expanding as the population grows, in the next year or so.”

The questions continued, Mrs. Palmer droned on, and Maggie was glad when she left the final class of the course. Now she could get home, though they’d have to wait in long traffic lines to do it. Rush hour was awful; she lived too far from the Genesis Department of Education, where the morning refresher courses were held, to ride her bicycle or a horse. Instead, she had to rely on the rickety old bus with leaky windows. She’d be glad when she climbed out of the bus and could start the trek home. If she was lucky, she’d make it in time to help prepare dinner, or deliver some of their canned goods for some coin or a good trade before it got too dark out.

Ninety minutes later she was home. Her little sister, Beth, had also come home from school. She was a sophomore at Flag College for Girls, and still in her black and red school uniform, with winter trousers and heavy, long-sleeved blouse. Despite the chill in the January air she was outside, checking the connection to their Wind Machine turbine.

When dependency on fossil fuels became impossible to maintain, humankind forced itself to invent ways to harvest wind, water, and solar energy. Necessity was the mother of invention, after all, and money lost importance in the face of the dead rising to eat the living. It was just now, after thirty plus years, gaining importance again, in coin form. Estimated world population at outbreak was over 4.6 billion. Population was reduced to just under 1 billion that was known. Maggie was thinking about such facts for her lesson plans as she waved at Beth.

“How’s the old girl doing?”

When the turbine was installed, new, in 1990, Maggie was a toddler. Most of her life the thing had ran with just a low hum as the fans inside generated wind that turned something or other Maggie didn’t understand, that powered the turbine, that produced electricity, that powered the fans, in an endless cycle. It gave their house electricity that didn’t require fossil fuels. Now, however, it was clunking and shaking and making an ugly grinding noise.

“I keep the filters clean,” Beth said. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I don’t think the filters are what’s wrong,” said Maggie. “It’s old and parts need replaced.”

“Whole thing needs replaced but they only give one per house every 30 years. No way we could afford to buy a new one.”

Maggie shook her head. “They make something that lasts only 25 years and leave you to struggle for the last five before giving out a new one. How’s Daddy?”

“Same as this morning,” Beth said, biting her lip. “I haven’t been in his room yet. Mama’s with him.”

“You’re scared,” Maggie said, rubbing her sister’s back.

Beth nodded.

“So am I,” she confessed. “Let’s spend time with him anyway. We’ll regret it if we don’t after he…”

Beth held Maggie’s hand as they went into the house. It smelled of cabbage, squash, and onions. There was no meat for their table since their father became too ill to work the land. They simply couldn’t afford it. The crops had largely been left in the fields where they rotted. Even Otis, who had tried picking up most of the slack for Hershel, was too old and out of shape to do that much work on his own.

Hershel’s breathing was audible from the hall. Beth squeezed Maggie’s hand tight as they went in to visit. He lay under the covers, looking small and pale, having lost much of his weight from lying in bed unable to eat, for the past six months. Their mother, Josephine, lay beside him, stroking his hair back from his face. She got up when they came in and smiled at them, putting away her bible in the bedside drawer.

“Maggie? That you?” Hershel whispered.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said. “I’m here. So is Beth. We just came to say hi.”

Their father was a shadow of the man he used to be, physically speaking. When he smiled at them, though, he was the same man who’d raised them up right in the same house he’d been born in, and that he would now die in. His eyes were squinted, filled with pain. Their vibrancy had been dulled from sickness, but the love he had for his children still shone through.

“My pretty girls,” he said weakly. “My lovely little ladies. Where’s Shawn?”

Maggie swallowed and took in a deep breath. She hated the idea of lying but she had no choice. Their father’s memory was shot, or perhaps he wasn’t able to handle the truth, and he blocked it.

“He’s still on deployment, Daddy,” Maggie told him. “He’s expected home as soon as possible. He can’t wait to see you again, either.”

“Good…good,” Hershel wheezed, giving in to a brief coughing fit. “Does he know how proud I am of the man he’s become?”

“Oh yes, he knows,” Maggie assured him. She suspected somewhere, in his heart, her father knew his son was gone, and that their parting words had been to argue over him joining the Security League.

“Rest now,” said Beth. She kissed him and as soon as his eyes closed she hurried from the room. She barely made it to the kitchen before she was crying. Their mother, Josephine, turned from the potatoes she was peeling to comfort her, while Patricia busied herself at the big boiling pot.

“He asked for Shawn again,” Maggie explained.

Hershel couldn’t remember Shawn had died during service in a hot battle with another settlement, three years ago. He sometimes asked for him and they had to lie to keep from upsetting him.

“Girls, I need one of you to take these canned peaches over to Mr. Dixon,” their mother said, pulling out a crate of the peaches she’d canned. “He’s willing to trade some meat for them.”

“I’ll do it,” Maggie offered.

“I’ll come with,” said Beth. “I need some fresh air.”

“Looks like rain, and the temperature’s dropping fast,” Patricia informed them. “Take your hoods and umbrellas. Otis will hook up the wagon if you like.”

“That’s okay,” Maggie said. “We can bike. It’s only a couple of miles across the way.”

“Well, wear your galoshes anyway,” Patricia insisted.

“Yes, Mama,” Beth teased, earning a wink from the older woman.

“You sure you ain’t hoping to catch sight of Daryl’s neighbor, Private Simmons?” Maggie teased.

Beth smiled; a little color came into her face, before telling her to shut up.

They had a laugh and put the peaches in the big wire basket on the back of Maggie’s bike. It would be nice to have some venison on the table, something they haven’t enjoyed in nearly a year. He made good money but he never tried to give anyone anything. Most people were too proud for charity, and those who weren’t would never leave him alone, and would expect it all the time, but he was always willing to trade.

The road was thankfully dry but they’d have a hard time making it back if it turned to mud in the rain. Maggie and Beth pedaled hard, hoping to get there, trade, and get back. They wouldn’t eat the meat tonight, but tomorrow night would be good. It was their mother’s fiftieth birthday, and Maggie wondered if Daryl needed the peaches, or if he was just coming up with an excuse to do something nice for their mother without it looking like charity.

Daryl’s house wasn’t one that would be considered nearly good enough for a high-ranking officer in the Security League, but he refused to leave it. It was just a tiny little thing painted dark blue with white shutters. It wasn’t even half as large as their farmhouse but it was surely a lot easier to heat and maintain.

“Do you think he really needs these peaches?” Beth asked.

She kept casting looks at the house across the street, a small white one with green shutters, no larger than the one Daryl lived in. All the houses in this part of town were small, made for lower-ranking members of the SL. Noah Simmons was nowhere in sight, and Maggie could see Beth’s disappointment.

“You reading my mind?” asked Maggie. “No, I don’t think he needs them. I think he’s just being nice.”

Daryl opened the door almost as soon as they knocked. It couldn’t take long to get across that tiny living room, Maggie figured. He let them inside where the TV was broadcasting the Genesis Settlement evening news.

“Evening,” he said. “How’s Hershel?”

When Daryl was a boy he often went hungry. His father was a drunk who refused to work, as was his brother. His mother committed suicide when Daryl was only ten, so, Daryl would come work for Hershel and earn money, which he’d let Hershel hold for him to keep his father and brother from taking it from him and drinking it up. They’d also feed him. Maggie could remember growing up with Daryl working the farm. When she was little she’d had a little crush on him that hadn’t lasted long. All she could remember as he always had a bruise somewhere. A black eye, a busted lip, always from his father’s angry fists.

“Not well, being honest about it,” said Maggie.

Daryl shook his head and they saw genuine regret in his eyes.

“If it wasn’t for your father,” he said softly, “I’d have turned out to be a drunken good-for-nothing like my father and brother, instead of the man I am today.”

“He knows you think highly of him,” said Maggie. “He thinks highly of you, too.”

His house was usually well-kept, whenever they came to make a trade, but tonight Beth and Maggie noticed a basket of laundry on the kitchen table, some dirty dishes in the sink, and the one little bedroom was a mess. They went into the kitchen and saw two large packages of white paper, wrapped up neat.

“They were giving away beef to the officers at Headquarters,” he said. “Figured you ladies would rather have a couple of nice roasts rather than venison.”

“Beef?” Beth said, eyeing the meat with wide eyes. She’d only ever eaten it once in her life. “But…that’s half a year’s worth of trade!”

“Six jars of canned peaches can’t make up for that,” Maggie pointed out.

Daryl only shrugged. “It ain’t like I paid good money for it. There’s more than I can hope to eat so you girls take it. Jo’s birthday’s tomorrow, right? Give her something nice.”

They looked uneasy so he took the crate of peaches and nodded at the meats. “I wouldn’t say no to one of you ladies coming in tomorrow while I’m at work and turning some of these peaches into a cobbler.”

Maggie picked up the meat, nodding. “I’ll do just that, as soon as I’m home from work. Thanks, Mr. Dixon.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Maggie,” he said. “You can call me Daryl. You’re old enough to call me Daryl too, Beth.”

Maggie felt her own face heat, slightly, under his steady gaze, which lasted a few moments longer than it normally did, before he looked to Beth, instead.

“If you’re interested in a part-time job after school, I could use somebody to come in and clean and make my supper. Can’t afford to pay much but--”

“I’ll take it,” Beth said, cutting him off in her eagerness.

Maggie knew Beth wanted to contribute to the household income since their father could no longer work. Even if they could operate the equipment themselves, Maggie would have to quit teaching, Beth would have to quit school, and their father wouldn’t have wanted that.

“I’ll have a key made for you, and I’ll leave it under the welcome mat,” Daryl said. “You can come in between three and five, which is about when I get home. You’ll need to be waiting for me outside the gate when I come home so people don’t get to talking. I’ll pay you five coins a week. Sound good?”

“Five silver coins a week sounds great!”

Beth threw her arms around him in a hug and thanked him. Coins were hard to come by, and Maggie only prayed their mother didn’t object, thinking it was charity.  Maggie nodded at the door and Beth preceded her from the tiny house, practically skipping down the short walk to the gate. As soon as they were outside they hopped on their bikes and waved bye to Daryl. Beth still hadn’t caught sight of Noah and it was dark before they even got half way home.

“You think he paid for this meat?” Beth asked.

“I’m sure he did, as a present for Mama,” said Maggie. “Five silver coins a week for light housework? I’m a teacher, and I only make ten gold coins a week.”

“He’s being nice to us, period,” Beth speculated. “He knows Daddy doesn’t have long, and he knows we won’t take charity.”

Maggie was inclined to agree.

Dr. Stookey was at the Greene house when Beth and Maggie arrived. They forgot the meat in the basket and rushed inside, panicked, only to be greeted with the sound of his easy laughter from their parents’ bedroom. Maggie supposed the wheezing sound was what her father’s laughter had been reduced to. She looked in to find him smiling while the doctor listened to his chest. God, it hurt seeing what had become of her father. He’d been so big, so strong, now he was just old, frail, and dying.

She sent Beth back outside and grabbed the beef to put in the refrigerator before she went to stand beside Patricia.

“Dr. Stookey?” Patricia asked, as the doctor came down the steps. “Would it be possible to look at Otis’ foot? It’s acting up again.”

“Sure thing, Miss Patricia,” he agreed, kindly. “Sure thing.”

“I can trade you--”

He was already waving her off. “No trade necessary, but I sure wouldn’t mind a bowl of that cabbage and squash I smell cooking.”

“How about some buttered cornbread to go with?” their mother offered.

“That’s very kind of you, Miss Josephine. I thank you.”

Patricia and Josephine went to the kitchen while Maggie hung back at the side of the door, watching as Dr. Stookey talked to her father, mostly going over the heart medicines he’d need in the wake of the massive heart attack he’d had.

“Bob,” her father wheezed. “I have a letter…for Daryl Dixon…on the dresser. I ain’t showed it to…Jo…yet.”

Maggie tensed at the sound of her father’s voice, and the way Dr. Stookey reached into his bag and took out a pre-filled needle. Hershel waved it away.

“Put that away. Save it for someone it’ll actually help, Bob,” said Hershel.

“Daddy?” Maggie asked, coming to stand beside the doctor.

“It’s okay, Maggie,” Hershel said weakly.

“Do you want me to get the letter for you?” Dr. Stookey asked, putting away the syringe, as Hershel asked.

“Give it to Jo,” he said, nodding, and breathing harder than ever. “I just remembered about Shawn…my boy’s dead…”

“Yeah, I know,” Dr. Stookey said sadly. “I’ll give the letter to Miss Josephine.”

“She needs to give it to Daryl as soon as I pass. It won’t be long.”

Maggie bit down on her lip. She wanted to think her father was wrong. He’d make a miracle recovery. She knew it wouldn’t be so. A person knew when their time was upon them, and her father knew his time was ending.

“I’ll see it’s done, Hershel,” Dr. Stookey said. “I give you my word…Hershel? Hershel?”

Maggie’s heart started to pound in her chest. There was silence that lingered; heavy silence that crushed her. A few moments later the doctor reached over and closed Hershel’s eyes.

“He’s gone…” she whispered, feeling Bob Stookey’s hand on her arm.

“It’s a mercy,” he said softly. “He was in a lot of pain, very sick. I don’t know if heaven’s real, but there’s no man more deserving of it than Hershel Greene. I’ve gotta tie his hands and muzzle him, now. You don’t wanna see that.”

“No, I’m gonna help,” Maggie said, with determination. “He’s my father. I’ll get his hands.”

Bob nodded and put a muzzle over Hershel’s head, while Maggie took the leather gloves from the bag and secured them to each of his hands before cuffing them together. They both took the body into the only guest room and secured him to a chair, tying him down so he couldn’t move, until the funeral home could come and collect him in the morning.

“I have to tell them,” Maggie said, tears streaming down her face.

“You won’t have to do it alone,” Bob said.

Together, they headed toward the kitchen, where Beth, Josephine, Patricia, and Otis were talking and getting the table set.

“Mama,” Maggie said.

Josephine turned to Maggie, took one look in her eyes, and sighed, sitting heavily in her chair. No other words were needed. Maggie hurried to kneel beside her, along with Beth, holding her close as they wept together, mourning their loss together.

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