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M E G A N

Tight, sticky bandages pull on the bruised skin of my back with every labored step I take through these woods. Luckily, my loose shirt doesn't irritate my fresh wounds as I was able to find a men's size large in one of the dressers back at the house.

More and more crunching twigs fill the silence between me and Carl. The boy and I haven't spoken much since we made the decision to return to the prison last night.

It might also be because we were forced to get a bit up close and personal in the bathroom.

Evidently, the boy is very fearful of something. I don't think it has much to do with having to see the group again. If one person has the nerve to shamelessly show their face after pulling something like we did, it's Carl Grimes.

His profound confidence in his decisions is one of the many things that frustrates me about him, yet it's also a bit admirable. I've never seen him as unsure as he has been about our decision to go back.

Despite my objections, the boy was adamant on still leaving nearly all of our supplies in the house, just in case.

To me, it seemed pointless to leave them there knowing that we'd be safe at the prison in a few minutes. Carl said we could always go back and get the supplies or even send someone else from the group to go get them.

I was concerned about unnecessarily traveling back into the dangerous town, but he said to trust him on this. And I do trust Carl, despite how I make it seem.

Although I trust in his decision, I know that I'm not getting the full story on why he wanted to leave the supplies. His fear and uncertainty about the trip back to the prison leaves me to think that he's considering an outcome that I'm completely oblivious to.

"Heads up," He whispers.

I whip my head around to see yet another walker approaching us. The weak creature hobbles slowly while I break our formation to walk toward it. I grab its bony shoulder and study it for a moment before putting it down with my dull knife.

The closer we get to the prison, the more and more walkers we come across. Some of them are hot to-the-touch, others even have visible steam evaporating from their burnt skin.

Returning back to our formation, I notice the boy facing a handful of the burning walkers all on his own.

While he struggles with the first walker, I grab the other one nearest to him and jab my knife into the back of its skull. By the time I manage to get my dull knife out of my walker, the boy is already done putting down all of the rest.

We send each other a brief look, once again making sure the other person is unharmed.

In another unspoken word, we continue on our path to the prison. The woods remain silent with nothing but our gentle footsteps.

The all too familiar scent of gun powder and warm ash fills the air within the trees.

I look up at the sky. Through the trees, I can see wisps of smoke swirling around above us. Nudging Carl's side, I stop walking and then squint to study the busy sky. The boy squints as well, raising his hand over his eyes to shield them from the blinding sun.

A feeling of panic instills in my chest when I realize that something is very wrong. I can't help but feel that Carl and I are walking straight into the aftermath of something horrible.

Without considering how much it will hurt, my feet take off from under me. My pack tugs on my back's gashes with every thud of my foot to the forest floor. My mind hardly thinks as I dodge trees and hop over broken, rotting branches. Instead, my focus is on the rest of the group and their well-being.

"Megan! Wait!"

All I can hear is the sound of my panting and rapid heartbeat followed by the boy's quick footsteps echoing from right behind me.

My feet come to a complete stop before I fully make it out of the tree line.

Just through the trees is the field proceeding the familiar prison. This sight being anything other than familiar. My breath hitches in my throat as I struggle to recognize the scene before me.

The fence adjacent to the main entrance of the prison folds inward, lying completely on the ground. My naive mind wonders where the rest of the group is hiding, considering one of the main walls is down. It isn't too long before my eyes trace to the military tank right beyond the broken fence.

Walkers aimlessly wander around what used to be our field for crops. Smoke rises from small flames that are scattered throughout the prison's crumbling, burnt structure. With the burnt patches of grass and the broken glass from the guard tower scattered across the gravel road, it isn't hard to tell what once was in flames as well.

This damage has to be a couple of days old. I'd be foolish to think anyone from our group was still alive, let alone still here.

Carl speaks at me but I can't hear anything he says as I try to process the thoughts racing through my mind.

My stubborn eyes study the gruesome scene even more. The familiar guard tower that I thought I'd be able to reside in once again, gone. Nothing. The room in the guard tower where Carl and I stayed is nothing but crumbled pieces of stone and broken glass.

"Come on," The boy says, grabbing my wrist. I look back to him, essentially searching for his thoughts.

Instead, a pained, bothered look consumes the boy. It's like he can't bear to see what's in front of us. He continues to pull on my wrist. "Let's get out of here." He chokes out. "It isn't safe."

After gathering some closure about our former home, the adrenaline of what was once unknown slowly leaves my body. The pain from my actions catches up to me as I go to step out of Carl's grasp. My body aches with the sharp, stinging pain before I'm forced to give up.

I let the boy begin to pull me away from what's left of the prison. Normally, questions and assumptions would flood my mind, but this time I'm empty. My eyes stay glued to the gruesome sight as Carl puts my shaky arm around his shoulder.

He turns me away from the scene. Our faces remain centimeters apart as he walks me back into the trees. The boy's sad demeanor lingers as he shakes his head and looks to the ground.

Carl then meets my gaze, his sheriff's hat shading my face as well as his from only a few inches away. His troubled eyes threaten to spill tears and his lip twitches, holding in every emotion he can.

"Don't look back."

☆

The boy and I made the defeated, dread-filled journey back to the house.

In a way, we both struggle with the fact that leaving the prison is no longer a choice. Our choice. Everything was fine when we assumed that it would always be there for us to fall back on.

I guess this is my rude awakening into the customs of the new world.

Everyone else learned how the world works a long time ago. This is the first time I've been stuck in between a rock and a hard place. There were struggles lately while being on the road with Carl, but now he and I are officially on our own.

Sure, he's been out here for a lot longer than I have, but he had a whole group of people with him. In a weird way, this is something new for the both of us.

The boy's pack thuds on the hard-wood floor as we enter the house that I never thought I'd have to see again. He walks us over to the dusty couch and gently sits down, bringing me with him.

Before we left, I foolishly decided to put the cushions back on the sofa just to clean up the place. There was also some slight strategy in that if people looked through the front window, they would never know that other people were staying here.

I take my arm from around the boy's shoulders as I sink into the dusty couch cushions. I ignore the searing pain from my back and sit in silence, staring straight ahead at the wall.

"What are we going to do?" The boy's voice breaks out just over the volume of a whisper.

My creeping denial about our predicament diminishes as his broken voice bounces through the empty house. This is real, and Carl asking me for a plan just proves it. The boy has never willingly asked me what to do before.

Too void of emotion to respond, I choose to consider what few options we have in front of us. And I've learned in the past few weeks that options—in this new world—are measured by the amount of supplies one has.

Thinking of the supplies, my eyes drift down the hall where we last left our things. In front of the bathroom door sits the familiar red wagon.

Except this time, there's nothing in it.

I blink my eyes a few times, my eyebrows furrow as I gently squeeze them shut. Glancing over at the wagon once again, there's still nothing in it.

"Carl," I say in a calm manner.

"Yeah?" His muffled, throaty voice says as he gulps. The boy has been sitting with his head in his hands since we've sat down.

"Where did you leave our stuff?" My voice intensifies the longer I stare at the empty wagon.

"In front of the bathroom," He starts, lifting his head from his hands, knowing something is wrong. "Why?" The boys tired eyes drift to me and I let mine drift to him as well.

Instead of answering the boy, the seething rage building up in my body begins to fester.

The two of us sit in silence while Carl searches my face for answers that I have yet to give him. I look from the boy to the empty wagon, and his eyes trace my line of sight until they land where they need to be.

After a few seconds, the boy comes to the sudden realization. I watch his every move as we both quickly stand and stomp across the living room, into the hall.

The boy shakes his head, his hat exaggerating his every motion before he bounces on his feet and turns around, sprinting into the kitchen. He's out of my sight for no more than a few moments before I hear his footsteps retreat back toward the hall.

"The back door is wide open." He says, putting his hand on his forehead and taking a deep breath.

Sympathy fills the boy's entire attitude as he realizes what his decisions did to us. To me. My eyes make sure to reinforce his guilty feelings as I clench my jaw and keep my gaze locked on him.

He breathes heavily, his eyes tracing from me, to the wagon, to the floor. Repeating the process a few times.

The two of us clearly have different reactions to finding out that our food and water are gone. That makes sense as it is clearly one person's fault yet it affects the both of us. Extremely negatively.

Freshly processing what happened back at the prison, my mind quickly turns to anger.

Not even an hour ago, the boy and I seemingly had a place to call home. A home that we willingly left in the first place due to Carl's selfishness and relentless coaxing.

Not even an hour ago, we had supplies. Supplies that we left because the boy knew we'd be back. He was preparing us to come back to this house. He knew that the prison wasn't reliable anymore. He knew not to get his own hopes up.

Yet, I didn't know the safety of the prison was something we were even going to have to hope for. I once believed that it would always just be there.

Now, we're without a secure home, without our people and without our supplies. All three being the consequences of the guilty boy's actions.

"Look, Megan." The boy says. His voice instantly makes my jaw clench and my fists tighten. "I didn't mean for any o—"

"Save it, Carl." I spit at him, making the boy not hesitate to close his mouth, as he was probably also prepared for me to lash out at him. "Just save it."

"I knew we shouldn't have taken those supplies." I huff out.

My left eye slightly twitches and I squeeze both of them shut, shaking my head and trying to calm down. I take a deep breath and open my eyes, looking to the boy.

His guilt-riddled expression makes me even more angry.

There's no reasoning with the consequences anymore. The boy's actions have officially killed us.

We're as good as dead.

☆

"Megan!"

The sound of my boots thud against the street as I keep walking.

"Megan! Wait!"

My footsteps never falter as I ignore the boy's desperate pleas. The sounds of his boots speed up as I continue to walk straight ahead.

He jogs up from behind me and manages to place his hand on my shoulder. "Meg—"

I immediately stop walking and look at him over my shoulder. The look in my eyes drips with pain, anger and resentment toward the boy.

He stops speaking immediately before he sighs, taking his hand off of my shoulder and stepping back. I clench my jaw and return my gaze to the long road straight ahead of us.

It's been a few hours since I decided to up-and-leave the house, headed straight for the middle of nowhere. For the past few minutes, Carl's been trying to talk me into stopping so we could rest. Prior to those few minutes, the boy followed me down this straight road in complete silence, letting me soak in my own anger.

Standing with my feet shoulder-width apart, I stare down the road ahead of us. Endless brown trees surround the lengthy path. The beaming gold rays from the sunset creep their way through the layers of the tall trees.

Without a word, I walk to the side of the road. The boy silently follows as I sit down, leaning against a nearby tree. He sits down against the tree next to mine, facing me as I turn to face the empty road.

I sit up and swing my bag from around my shoulder. Having never thought about checking what little supplies I do have left, I open the drawstring bag and look inside.

My hands find a half-empty bottle of water, a few packets of grits, Carl's flashlight and a stick of deodorant that I took from the prison.

The only sense of safety I've gotten today was along the walk when I checked to make sure both of my pistols were fully-loaded. That only lasted so long before I realized I've never really shot a gun, having basically not touched one since I was trained.

My shit aim combined with my lack of food and water humbles me any time I try to convince myself that I might actually have a chance out here.

I pull the strings of my pack, closing it tightly. Sinking backwards, I place my pack in my lap before leaning my head against the tree and closing my eyes.

My mind hardly thinks about how dangerous it is to be closing my eyes while being this exposed.

I open my eyes and pull my head off of the tree to see that the sun has now completely set. My legs and arms move from their stiff positions as I realize that I just fell asleep. I look around for Carl to find the boy sitting with his back against the tree as he digs around in the dirt with a twig.

"How long was I out?" I ask him, causing him to quickly jump. His eyes find mine. The boy seems scared to answer me, given my previous attitude with him the whole day.

"Maybe half an hour." He mumbled as he shrugs.

I roll my eyes and stand up, placing my hand against the tree. The boy stands up as well. We both swing our packs over our shoulders before we make brief eye contact.

I cut the eye contact short, not really feeling the teamwork today.

My legs carry me toward the center of the road again, my hands feel for my guns and my knife as they lie in each of their respective holsters. I walk along the dashed, yellow lines in the middle of the street, barely being able to see the faded paint.

Carl once again follows behind me, not having the gull to speak to me since he's the reason we're in this mess.

The echoing sounds of our boots hitting the concrete nearly hypnotizes me as I stare straight ahead.

Several minutes pass by before I break myself out of my trance-like state. A slight curve in the road
—hidden by a few trees—pulls us in the direction left of the straight line we've been going in.

My feet follow the dashed lines as the road begins to curve, luring us further into the trees.

Our footsteps suddenly slow down as we see a car in the middle of the curve. All of the other cars we've passed by were parked on either side of the center line, or even pulled off to the side of the road.

The blue SUV remains dusty and battered as it slants across both sides of the road. I look over to the boy, confirming the plan before we assume the usual routine.

He keeps watch while I search the cars for anything useful. So far, we haven't found anything. Anything we can use is usually inside a locked car. We haven't bothered trying to break into any that are locked because being quiet is our top priority.

This car slightly raises my hopes as it's clear by the dust and weather damage that someone hasn't driven it in a while.

The boy takes his gun out of his holster and nods to me before looking around. I ready my knife and remove Carl's flashlight from my pack before approaching the driver's side of the car.

I see nothing in the front as I briefly shine my light in the window before clicking it off. The back door on the driver's side, however, is already wide open. I swing across the open door to see no walkers in the backseat.

Shining my light in the backseat, my breath hitches in my throat. I place a knee onto the floor of the car, crawling a bit further in to make sure I'm not seeing things.

A large half-empty canister of water, several boxes of oats and a first aid kit sit in the back seat. Relief washes over me when my eyes find the familiar stack of supplies.

Soon after the relief, the panic sets in.

Whoever took those supplies from us has been walking the same path as us since the house; they're just a bit further ahead.

Whoever took these supplies could not have traveled far from this car.

Whoever put the supplies in this car is most certainly coming back for them. And soon.

"Carl," I call out, my shaky voice echoes throughout the empty road. I begin to pull myself from out of the back of the car. "I found our st—"

My sentence is cut short when I finally stand to my feet and turn to look at the boy.

A large, dirty man has Carl trapped within his grasp. One meaty arm is around his neck and the man's other hand holds the wide blade of a knife to the side of Carl's head. His sheriff's hat lies tossed on the ground next to their feet.

The boy struggles, using his fingers to pull and scratch at the man's arm around his neck.

The flashlight falls from my hand as I focus on the scared boy in front of me. My blood runs cold and my grip on my knife tightens.

"Look-ie, look-ie." The man sends me a sinister smile over the top of Carl's tussled hair.

I stare in awe at the scene before me, readying my defensive stance as the adrenaline pumps through me, relieving my exasperated system.

Carl let's out a groan. "Megan!" He says in between struggles with the grown man. "Run!" His airy voice lets out.

Before I can fully process what the boy is saying, I see his eyes locked on something behind me as he watches in terror. I turn on my heels, ready to sprint away.

Something blocks me from going anywhere as I'm now trapped in the arms of someone living.

"Well, well." The man remarks, I feel his voice vibrate my back that is pulled tightly against his chest. His arms squeeze me and his rough hand finds mine, pulling my knife out of my grip and letting it fall into the leaves. "What do we have here?"

I struggle against the man's grasp. His skin smells of sweat and his breath reeks of warm, old whiskey. The sticky sensation spreads across my arms as the cold sweat from the man makes its way onto my skin.

"Were you kids trying to get your paws on our stuff?" The man holding me asks us in an ironic manner to taunt us. I thrash a bit, causing both of us to turn to the side. "Well, you can't have it."

"But you know what we'll have?" The man holding Carl asks. I see the man's jagged, yellow teeth peek out from behind his chapped laps as he chuckles at his own words.

The two of us share a desperate look, each of us frightened within the arms of the strange men.

"First, we'll have the girl," The large man says in a sing-song voice. He ducks down, putting his mouth closer to Carl's ear. "While you watch." My eyes widen at the man's words.

Everything Carl has said to me about the living being worse than the dead rings true. And in a few moments, it's about to become my reality for the rest of my short life.

The boy's eyes meet mine, his panicked look turns into one of pure anger.

Carl pulls at the man's wide arms. The man then pulls the boy up by his neck, causing his feet to nearly leave the ground. His legs almost dangle in the air as he kicks them, jabbing his hard boot into the man's leg over and over again.

"Then," The man holding me speaks out. "Dan here will have the boy all to himself." I can feel his chest rise and fall from behind me as he laughs.

His words light a fire in me. A flame of anger. The more the man laughs at the words, the more dangerous I become to him, he just doesn't know it yet. With every word leaving the mouths of these men, I feel less and less guilty when I think about having to kill them, given the opportunity.

I look over to Carl as he continues to fight under the man's death grip on him. He struggles to breathe, his face turning as white as a sheet of paper.

My sinister thoughts race as I realize it's up to me to do something.

Out of desperation, I reach my chin down to the man's arm, feeling that it's within the reach of my teeth. I swiftly take my feet off the ground, forcing the man to now hold up all of my bodyweight.

While he's distracted trying to hold me up, I reach down and sink my teeth into his sweaty, dirty arm. The taste being something I'll never quite forget.

He groans out in pain and his grip on me loosens. Although I plant my feet back on the ground, my teeth only tighten on the chunk of his arm.

It isn't a few seconds before the metallic taste of blood hits my tongue. It never even crosses my mind that someone else's blood is entering my system. All I can think about is how this is actually working.

The man finally begins to let me go. Instead of trying to maintain his grip on my torso, he tries to shake me off of him.

With one sudden jerk of his meaty arm, he roughly pulls on my teeth. This causes a shooting pain throughout both of my jaws as I finally let go.

"Little bitch." The man says, examining his arm.

Now that I'm free, my mind quickly tries to think of what to do next to get Carl free. I grab my pistol from my thigh holster, jerking it up in the direction of the guy with the now-bloody arm.

He starts to walk toward me, an angry scowl on his face. I cock the gun, stepping back as I do so. My firm hands hold the pistol in line with my eyes, aiming straight for the man's face.

The angry man stops in his tracks when he hears the click of my gun as a bullet lands in the chamber, ready to be fired at any moment.

Now is when I finally get to study the man that's been restraining me. He has a grey and white goatee. His face is battered with streaks of dirt. A few strands of his curly, grey hair fall down the side of his face.

"When I get my hands on you—" He starts before charging toward me.

My head flushes empty and I step back, flinching and squeezing my eyes shut, preparing myself to pull the trigger.

"Claimed!" A raspy voice calls out from behind the blue SUV. Two men make their way out of the shadows and onto the scene as the grey-haired man stops in his tracks.

"Shit." The man in front of me mutters, looking at me, now stepping back from aim of my gun.

"I said claimed!" The gruff, abrasive, southern voice echoes out. My focused eyes turn from the grey-haired man in front of me, confused as he backs down.

I turn to Dan, who continues to hold Carl. Although the boy is no longer struggling under the man's grasp, he's still standing there with a blade pressed to his temple.

That doesn't seem to be Carl's main concern as both he and the man holding him look at the two men who came from the woods.

"They're mine!" The man with the familiar redneck accent calls out. "Let 'em go!" He says, stepping toward Carl and the greasy man holding him at gunpoint.

To my surprise, Dan listens to Daryl and steps back from Carl, raising his hands in surrender.

The boy and I watch in awe as a member of our own group now associates with these men who threatened to terrorize us. We both stand in silence as Daryl reaches out and the man slowly reaches in his holster and hands over Carl's gun.

Once we realize that we're nearly free, we both look at the scene in front of us.

Whatever relief I feel to know that Daryl made it out of the prison is soon overshadowed with concern. My mind fails to string together any sequence of events that would lead him to flock with these types of people.

Daryl then walks over to Carl, studying the gun in his hand. It's the pistol that Rick first gave to me when he agreed to let us stay in the prison. The one I let Carl have since he was a better shot.

Recognizing the gun, he hands it over to the boy. Carl reluctantly takes it from him.

"Now, I better never see the two of you poking around our shit again." Daryl harshly says as he points at the two of us, before beginning to walk away. "Now get outta' here!"

Although this reaction is somewhat unexpected, neither Carl nor myself could've predicted anything leading up to this moment.

"What, you're going to claim 'em and then just let 'em go?" The big man, Dan, asks Daryl, raising his arms from his sides.

"It's just two kids." He says to Dan. "I claimed 'em and I say that they're free to go." He says through his teeth, getting in the man's face.

I slowly start to see what's happening. He's saving the two of us. By pretending he doesn't know us, he's making sure we won't be asked to join their group, not that we would want to after what they attempted to do to us.

He also must know that his group wouldn't let him leave and come with us very easily.

"Let's go." Daryl grunts in Dan's face.

"You heard the man." The man with the grey hair says. "Let's head out." He shouts, dangerously loud considering we're out in the woods, exposed.

The man, Dan, moves from Carl's side as he and the rest of his group go toward the SUV. Within moments, a few of the men gather our former supplies and start to walk away, with the exaggerated slam of the car door.

Daryl lingers behind the men as they head toward the woods. Once they're out of sight, his gaze watches both Carl and I as we stand still, glued to the same spots.

He doesn't say anything as he looks toward each of us and nods, before disappearing after the men into the darkness of the woods.

☆

"There's a reason he didn't stay with us." Carl groans. "We have to trust that he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, Carl." I mutter. "There's also a reason that he was with those people in the first place—a reason that we know nothing about." My voice threatens to raise in these empty woods. "And I say that we find out."

I sit up from the dirty road, uncrossing my legs as I push my hand against the blue SUV we're leaning against.

The boy and I haven't felt but a few moments of relief from the recent situation before I suggested that we go after Daryl. Carl thinks that it's a bad idea.

I begin to walk in the direction of the trees that Daryl and the men disappeared in just a few minutes prior. Shuffling echoes from behind me and the boy's boots frantically stomp against the pavement.

A tight grip on my wrist stops me from walking too far. I spin around to find the boy's confused and angry expression.

"Why do you want to follow him? Them?" The boy says, his head shakes from side to side as he speaks. His cold hand never lets go of my wrist.

"Carl, don't you get it?" I spit. "This is all we have. He is all we have." My words cause the boy's face to soften slightly. His fixed expression soon turns into one of remorse.

"It isn't safe, Megan." His stern demeanor takes over. I rip my arm out of his grasp with a harsh tug.

"Take a look around." I roll my eyes and motion with my arms. "We're not safe no matter what we do!" My feet take a few steps toward the boy.

"In the past few minutes did you just happen to forget what those men almost did to us?" Carl spits back, he steps forward, meeting me in the middle. "To you?"

My cold eyes remain fixed on his concerned ones. I've been doing a decent job at pretending like none of it ever happened and that we were never in that situation. The faint metallic after-taste of blood lingering on my tongue is pushed to the back of my mind.

"We're not going after them." His volume raises louder and louder. I avert my eyes from his and look toward the dead leaves on the ground. "We have to trust that he knows what he's doing."

"That's exactly it." I sigh, a sarcastic laugh makes it's way out of my throat. "I do trust Daryl. That's why we need him."

My mind races with anticipation, knowing that Daryl and the men are getting farther and farther away the longer that Carl and I stand here to bicker. We don't have enough time for this if we're going to find him.

"Don't you trust me?" His angry stance suddenly diminishes. A hurt, confused expression washes over his exhausted face.

"Carl," I start, taking a few steps back. His eyes never leave mine. "Where has trusting you ever gotten me?" My voice being a mix of both angry and defeated.

The boy stays silent and his eyes remain locked on mine. There's no telling what thoughts are running through his tortured mind.

"When we left the prison—" I start.

"Hey," He cuts through my words. "That was your choice too." His sharp, angry voice says as he sticks a pointed finger in my direction.

"What choice did you leave me, Carl?" I shake my head as my shoulders rise.

"No one forced you to leave with me." He spits, taking a few steps toward me, almost completely closing the gap. "You've been giving me shit all day about everything that happened. You seem to forget that you chose to come with me."

"Carl?" I clench my jaw and a soft, defeated exterior makes its way to the surface. "What would've been there for me at the prison if I wouldn't have went with you? If you would've left?" I ask, getting to the point.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion and his angry expression hardens, until he fully absorbs the extent my words. The boy then takes a quick breath and his face immediately softens.

"You were all I had back at the prison." I finally admit, both to myself and the boy across from me. "If you would've left, I would've been alone in there." My defeated voice sounds out and my hands shrug from their position at my sides.

"So, no—I didn't have a choice." I clench my jaw, staring at the boy.

"You could've tried stopping me." The boy starts. I let out a loose laugh, one of resentment. "You could've tried harder to convince me. But you came with me. This is on the both of us." His pleading eyes never leave mine.

"This is on you, Carl." My aggressive voice says. "You're the one who had everything to lose back there. I didn't, all I had was you. That's why I'm here right now. You are why." I say, taking a few steps toward the boy.

He shakes his head, a disturbed expression crosses his face, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"You chose to leave behind the people who loved you." I start, before he could get the chance to speak. "I had no one. You had a group who cared for you. Your family. You had your dad and a baby sister." I notice his jaw clench at my words.

"Half-sister." He spits and cocks his head to the side.

I suck in a breath and look at the boy. Dripping in dread, his tense stature remains hanging on my every word.

It is now that I realize I might not ever get the boy to recognize how much he took for granted.

"This is all on you." My lip threatens to quiver as I look the boy in the eye.

I give him one last look over my shoulder as I turn on my heel. Headed for the trees, I brush the tips of my fingers against my gun before reaching over and picking my knife up off of the ground. It lies right in the leaves where the man dropped it.

Another rough tug on my forearm stops me from going further into the trees.

"We're not going after him." Carl's voice demands to me.

I turn to meet the boy's gaze. If he thinks that I'll listen to him after everything he's singlehandedly gotten us into, he's living in the land of make-believe.

Letting out a humorless chuckle, the anger begins bubbling inside of me. I drop my eyes down to his death-grip on my arm before looking back into the boy's stern eyes. A near-sinister chuckle leaves my lips as their corners gently rise.

"Fuck you, Carl." I spit, stepping back and thrashing my arm out of his grip.

"I'm done following your lead." My head shakes with a sarcastic smile as I throw my blunt words at the boy.

Once again turning on my heel, I take one last look at the dumbfounded expression on the boy's face. His angry eyes study my every move.

I pull my eyes to the shady trees as my feet make their way toward the woods. With a few determined steps, I'm out of sight from the blue SUV and the grieving boy standing firmly in the middle of nowhere.

And with a few more steps, I'm officially beginning my journey into the new world, completely alone.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
6291 words

A/N

Honestly I'd be mad at Carl too but I wouldn't chase after Daryl :p

miss Megan is in for a rude awakening xoxo

also I WILL be making the next two chapters shorter bc I really can't deal with how long they are

☆vote if you breathed while reading this ☆