She pauses, allowing her questions to linger, suspecting none of them have an answer.
"I know I'm kinda scary, I can't help that, and I don't want to. It's good, it works for me. It's kept me and Mikey safe these past few years. I grew up out there, among them, with nothing. I had to fight every second of every day to live. None of you had to do that. You went from a community to this farm. I'm not saying you've had easy lives, no one gets those anymore, but you haven't had the experiences I have. You're not used to killing, I am and I'm good at it. I'm not proud of it, but at times, like this one, I'm thankful that I am.
"Mikey needs this place, he needs you, and so do I. Be honest with yourselves, you need me too. I can teach all of you how to fight like I do, how to kill like I can. I don't want to leave here-"
Her attention moves down to Mikey.
"We don't want to leave here. We need this place, we need you guys."
She smiles at Mikey before looking back to The Family. She tries to read their faces, but none of them are giving her any clear signals. After a long moment Zee steps forward and turns to face them.
"She's right. She didn't have to help us today. We asked her to leave, and she could've just left, but she didn't. She killed those things to keep us safe, even after we pushed her away. None of us have the drive to do what she does, but we can learn, and she can help us. She could've just left, but she cares, so she didn't. She's not a bad person, she's just different."
A few moments pass with no reactions, the rest of The Family still absorbing all that's transpired. After a few beats Sweetie breaks the uneasy silence.
"I'm with Zee."
She glances to Rosaline, catching a sheepish smile upon the bloody warrior's face. Hawaii moves from the pack, standing next to his companion.
"It's clear that Rosaline protected us today. If anyone has anything else to say about it, now is the time."
Rad slowly shakes his head, even he can't offer any objections.
"Outlaw?" Hawaii asks.
"She saved my sister, I'm good with it."
Hawaii and Zee pivot to face Rosaline and Mikey.
"Welcome back." Zee says, her elation showing in full force.
"We need to be extra alert the next while, deep perimeter checks several times a day. I don't think there are any more out there, but we have to be careful."
"That's a good idea." Hawaii says.
"Good, now that we settled all that, I need a bath."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Patrick lay motionless on his side, his face away from Daisy, staring at the worn down wall. He's been on the floor in the corner of the room since the previous night. He hasn't spoken a word, but that's not unusual for Patrick, in general he doesn't speak much. This boy has experienced lifetimes of grief in his fifteen years on Earth.
Her hand gently brushes up and down on his shoulder, hoping to offer at least some sense of comfort. She can't imagine what it's like always feeling as if you're shrouded in darkness, having no family, no home, no sense of self. She'll never forget the heartbreak she felt when he told her that is what life is like for him.
This boy watched his father turn, his mother's body be ripped apart, and his father die at his own hands. In a rare moment, one of only two she's had with Patrick, he told her it were as though he was outside of his own body, watching someone else's story, and since that night he's never felt like he returned to himself.
The years that followed didn't get much better for Patrick. He scavenged to survive, often eating the remains of already dead animals, or any insects, or fruits, he happened to come upon. He felt a desperate hunger at all times, a pit that would never fill. These eating habits lead to sickness on more occasions than he could remember.
He encountered living people only twice in the two years he was alone, after the death of his parents, and before Daisy, Jack, and Norman found him. Both times he was physically abused, robbed, and left to die, and each time he hoped for the release of death. He survived both encounters, and he's still not sure how he was able to, or why he was cursed with having to carry on.
He'd considered throwing himself at the infected and letting them end him, but the memory of his father's lifeless eyes came rushing back to him, and he couldn't do it. He wouldn't become the thing that tore his world apart.
The days passed and Patrick's heart continued to pump, his brain continued to fire, his lungs continued to fill, and the darkness around him continued to close in. He needed some kind of escape, something to make him feel, anything to make life seem real.
The first time Patrick cut himself he'd done so with an old rusted knife he'd found. The act make him violently ill for days after, but Patrick didn't care, the sharp object penetrating his flesh was a grand release. He wept each time he did it, but not because it hurt. He wept because it made him feel something. He had longed to feel anything at all.
As her hand lightly runs back and forth over his shoulder, her eyes well, oceans of sadness behind them. She can see the stains of dried blood that have seeped out onto his pants, from his sleeve below his forearm. Her tears come faster and harder at the sight of it. He's never told her why he cuts, but deep down she knows why.
She leans over his body, just enough to see his face, and whispers to
