"I'm not sure we're planning on sticking around quite that long," Eleanor says, matching her tone to the wry smile that's now on her face. "At this farm, or in this world."

Tailing the wheelchair, Eleanor finally tucks her gun into the waistband of her cargo pants. This woman seems sincere, but so have many others they've met on their travels. Hence, it remains handy.

"How about bacon?" she ventures as they proceed indoors. She doesn't sound too hopeful.