“What if its daddy?” Amy asked, looking the gun over.

“Especially if its your father.” Bette said. “And don’t point that thing at your face…and be careful.” 

As Bette left the car, she made her way to her father’s door. Just as she noticed the first of the infected, not twenty yards away, soon to be joined by others, she heard the distinctive sound…

Of a gun going off.

“Amy…” She said weakly. “Baby…”

The former Sheriff, despondent over his dead wife, would soon open his door to the daughter he thought he was through with—and the granddaughter he would never stop grieving for.

When Cherry and El Wray found their way back to the police station, they met up with the former Sheriff.  His daughter—who Helena couldn’t help but notice was really rather gorgeous—held a dead child in her arms.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Bette was making little sense, for she knew that she never should have given the gun to her daughter in the first place. “Why weren’t you careful?”

Helena walked over, helping Bette to lay the little girl on the ground. They covered her with a blanket, and Helena wrapped her arm around Bette’s trembling shoulders.

“Ok, does anyone have a vehicle?” El Wray shouted.

Bette raised her hand weakly. “I do.”

JT, the owner of the BBQ joint, stepped forward. “We’ve also got the Jesus chopper…Jesse James himself made it for me in his chop shop.”

Before they could get to the vehicles, they had to shoot a few zombies. El Wray was finally given the guns—all the guns—as an homage to his past as the fastest and best government assassin ever to

In the end, Bette rode with Helena.

“I’m Cherry.” Helena said, leaning back as Bette wrapped her arms around her waist. They, of course, took the custom Jesus chopper. It said, ‘in god we trust, all others pay cash’.

“you certainly are.” Bette found it strangely comforting to be in this woman’s presence. Maybe it was because of the small funeral rites they’d given her daughter, before letting her body go with the flames of the police station. Maybe it was because Helena smelled good (though there was that thick, intensely yellow-orange antiseptic soap somewhere in that mix of scents, something Bette found strangely soothing). Helena’s sweat smelled really good. Who knew why. Who knew why Bette was giving it such thought. Bette’s mind was elsewhere and probably would be for a few days. Bette was going to pretend that Helena hadn’t just shagged El Wray—for a whole 4 minutes it seemed—in a room at JT’s BBQ shack. Every once in awhile, jealousy would hit Bette over that old affair.  But eventually, she would find a pretty good reason to be fine with it.