She had to do something about it.<br/><br/>It was going to be right there, staring at her, mocking her, until she did something about it.<br/><br/>The line of nails had seemed inconspicuous enough, upon first glance; Abigail was fairly certain that neither man had noticed its existence, but it wasn’t long before she found it difficult to think of anything else. It wasn’t that she minded, exactly. Focusing on an irregular line of old, rusted hardware was preferable to focusing on the brutality of the past few months and, more recently, their very narrow escape.<br/><br/>The nails had clearly been some sort of rack for balancing farm equipment so it could lean against the wall with some added stability, but the third one from the left had rusted too much in the damp and had broken almost to the wall. It wasn’t balanced. She should do something, something to break off the third nail from the opposite direction. But it would have to be broken in the same spot, the ‘almost to the wall’ point. Maybe it would be easier to –<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Can you talk some sense into him?”</span><br/><br/>She had been barely paying attention, but the subconsciously-stored words of the background conversation floated to the top of her mind as she took a step toward the old cop and her little brother.<br/><br/>Instead of answering, Abby took the gun from Jacob’s outstretched hand, long fingers wrapping carefully around the cold metal, expression even more apprehensive than usual. Guns had always been a conflicted subject for the elder Clinton, but she couldn’t deny the usefulness… as long as they were<span style="font-style: italic">careful</span>. Always, always careful.<br/><br/>She noticed the dark look on the retired sheriff’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Mayberry could be – well,<span style="font-style: italic">had</span>been – somewhat traditional in the way that many small towns were; the gold standard was still a man that worked with his hands (and when he wasn't, always had a beer and a football in them), while his woman popped out babies and pot roasts from her respective ovens. Needless to say, the luxury of ass-backwards, old-world theories had been one of the first things to dissolve; if you had four limbs and a heartbeat, you did anything and everything to survive. There wasn’t time to judge based on genitals or sexuality or color… as long as it wasn’t Purple.<br/><br/>“Safety’s here,” he said gruffly, reaching over to demonstrate, “Let’s see you load it, then. And wrap those logs, boy, before they rot clear away.”<br/><br/>She pushed a few wisps of half-bleached hair back, letting the constant humidity plaster them into the ones that remained in her neat ponytail. Her fingers moved hesitantly and slowly, but Jacob didn’t need to correct her as she emptied and reloaded the pistol, both of them pretending that she wasn’t trembling.<br/><br/>“Where would we even<span style="font-style: italic">go</span>?” she asked, her tense alto sounding strange in the old barn that usually echoed with the lower harmony of two men. “No one’s been able to find any other big groups, not since the people from Rivergreen left for the base.” The neighboring town had been a settlement almost as large as their own, and heading west to Fort Wood had seemed like such a promising move that many of Mayberry’s residents had joined them; those that remained had ignored the tell-tale chorus of wails, punctuated only by the occasional scream of desperation.<br/><br/>“Wood might still be the best bet,” came Jacob’s gruff response as he continued to stare distrustfully at her hands on the weapon.<br/><br/>Abby’s voice rose an octave. “But - !”<br/><br/>“We take a different route, obviously,” he barked, pulling his tattered brown coat closer around him. The bird-like woman’s keen stare lit (as it usually did) on the square of vivid color that contrasted with the faded shades of the rest of the garment. She knew it was the spot where he’d worn his old police credentials, but she still hated how out-of-place that single fucking square looked. She’d burn the whole jacket to a crisp and bury it, if she could. Jacob seemed to sense the animosity towards his clothing and leaned casually to the side. “We circle north, then west, once we’ve gotten through Cameron county.”<br/><br/>Abby could appreciate a route that took them along the outskirts of a basically-known danger zone, but she still gave her head a short, sharp shake that dislodged the fine strands of mismatched hair again. “That’ll add almost thirty miles to - ”<br/><br/>“SH!” Jacob’s eyes widened and he held a finger to his mouth, staring aimlessly at the ground in a way that meant all of his focus was on sound. Every single one of Abby’s sinewy muscles felt paralyzed as she held her breath, eyes suddenly hyper-adjusted to the shadows that bordered the fire. The weight of the pistol in her hands no longer felt like an uncertain chaos-factor; now, it was a reassurance.<br/><br/>Her wide eyes cemented onto Curtis as a faint, choppy groan came from somewhere beyond the wallboards. The hallmark visceral cadence banished all traces of reassurance, and most of the blood from her face.