[ xxxviii. the new world ]

july 5th, 2012

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ASTRID LANCASTER WOKE IN the dark.

As if she were ripped from the depths of a submerged nightmare, her senses cascaded back to her in a violent and unstoppable rush. Her life, her world, everything surged back into being.

Her eyes strained against the black void that surrounded her, seeking any semblance of light or form. Panic trickled in as she reached out, but her hand almost immediately recoiled at the expected touch of something soft and plush. Her mind registered the texture as velvet, but she could not comprehend why it appeared to encase her.

Where was she? Why was she trapped in this lightless space? Had she gone blind? Questions churned through her brain, each more terrifying than the last. Was she trapped in some strange limbo? Was she dead?

"The deal is done!"

Echoes of a fragmented conversation began to flood her memory. Faint whispers encircled her consciousness. The voices, so known yet terribly nameless, danced on the fringes of understanding.

"They always come back."

The daunting words, spoken by a woman, rippled within Astrid's skull. A phantom image flickered, dark hair with piercing eyes.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Recognition seared through the Lancaster woman as her own voice entered the void. She knew it was her voice. Just like she knew her own name. Her voice and her name. A surreal collision of past and present engulfed Astrid. Her existence disjointed, a kaleidoscope of disorienting sensations and snippets of a former self.

Abruptly, gunfire shattered the eerie calm, jolting her to a freshened state of alarm. A woman's cold eyes, still so vivid in Astrid's mind, dissipated into the ether, leaving an unsettling silence in their wake. The inner voices were now muted, leaving behind a hush that amplified the thunderous beats of Astrid's own heart.

The consuming silence intensified, and Astrid's fear grew. Tremors coursed through her, originating from her shoulders and rippling down to her feet. Her hands reached upwards again, probing for a crack, a shred of light, an escape. This could not be her new life now, trapped within her own consciousness. She had to be present, tangible, fighting for survival amidst the apocalypse. She had to be alive.

Astrid's palms suddenly struck against an impenetrable barrier, her muscles rebelling in protest. Where the hell was she? In a coffin buried in the earth? In a box, its confines stifling her every breath? What had truly happened following the gunshot that plunged her into this oblivion? She could not remember.

A gnawing ache coiled within Astrid's stomach, and her throat constricted. Each parched exhale was a battle against the desiccated air. Coughs abruptly wracked her frame.

Do not panic. Do not panic.

Suddenly, sharp, thunderous thuds boomed around Astrid, and she startled. Walkers.

Astrid probed the darkness around her once more, where her hand passed over a thin, rigid object that nicked her wrist. A crowbar.

As the deafening hits grew louder, a rage overcame the Lancaster woman. She unleashed a shout, "Go away!" In response, a feral snarl echoed back. Astrid clutched the crowbar now, steeling herself for what had to be done.

She understood that she needed to get out of her box of hell before the sound attracted more walkers. Raising her feet, she unleashed a barrage of forceful kicks against the solid barrier to her left, each impact threatening to splinter her very bones. Despite the excruciating pain that fluctuated through her body, she held surely to the crowbar, biting down on her lip to suppress the cries threatening to escape.

Each kick into the blackness yielded growing cracking sounds. Astrid hesitated momentarily, ensuring the truth of the sounds she had heard before resuming. The fissures widened with each strike, amplifying in resonance until finally, the lid of her tomb swung upwards, flooding her world with blinding sunlight.

As Astrid's eyes adjusted, she realized she lay within the confines of a car trunk. The force of the hood's release had repelled the nearby walkers. Though they quickly staggered back to their feet, their growls louder and more vicious than ever.

Springing into action, Astrid lunged out of the trunk, only to falter and collapse, surprised to find she was unable to bear her own weight. Agonizing discomfort shot through her body, rendering her powerless as the crowbar slipped from her grasp.

The walkers charged forward, but Astrid, though unarmed, still fought back, her hands clawing into the rocky terrain as she reached for the fallen weapon. She positioned herself on her back as she recollected it, letting the walkers topple onto her, impaling their own heads on the crowbar in her hands.

Yet as their bodies collapsed upon her, their dead weight bore down, robbing her of breath and blurring her vision. Meanwhile, the last living walker, who had managed to avoid the spike, growled monstrously in her ears, suffocating her hope. Astrid braced for the inevitable.

But then, in a swift and unexpected turn, the walker above her fell silent, and all weight upon her vanished without a trace. Perplexed, Astrid's dazed gaze darted towards the heap of bodies now rotting beside her before locking onto the human figure standing near her feet. Squinting against the sun, she met the curious stare of a tall, gear-clad man. He was devoid of any noticeable weaponry save for a simple walking stick.

The man extended a hand toward her, but Astrid, still on her knees, remained rooted in place, her breathing ragged. "Why?" She managed.

Observing her condition, the man's furrowed brow hinted at inner concern before his attention flitted toward the abandoned car and back to Astrid. He must have made the connection. Without uttering a word, he reached into his bag and retrieved a water bottle. He placed it within her reach.

Astrid thought little of threats nor poison as she grabbed the bottle, wrenched off the cap, and eagerly guzzled the cool liquid down. The freshness of the water caused goosebumps to crawl across her skin. Each drop that hit her empty stomach felt like salvation, and she drained the entire bottle.

A chocolate granola bar dropped beside her next, and the man finally spoke. "You needed saving," He asserted. "Couldn't simply watch another precious life go to waste."

Astrid's lips pressed together in a frown as she tore open the wrapper. Swallowing almost half the bar in one gulp, she wiped at her lips. "What if I'm a killer?" She posed.

The man laughed, his teeth bright. "Aren't we all killers?" He asked back.

Before she could respond, he suddenly tossed another item her way. A package of bandages. She caught them easily, her fingers grasping the sterile wrapping. "What are these for?" She wondered, raising the package slightly.

"Have you seen your head?"

Shaking her head in answer, the man bent down and retrieved one of the car's side mirrors. Extending it toward her, Astrid accepted it, and her gasp of surprise accentuated the revelation that awaited her.

Bruises painted her pale skin, but it was not the purplish-blue hues that sent shivers down her spine. It was the crimson hue she saw instead—her face caked with her own dried blood. As her fingers gingerly explored the stretch of red, sifting through her stiffened, bloody hair, she uncovered a scabbed gash that traversed her brow to the nape of her ear. Confusion etched her features. What had happened to her?

"Jesus," She said.

"You don't know how you got that?" The man probed, a tinge of bewilderment in his voice.

Shaking her head, Astrid confessed, "Not a clue."

Pursing his lips in contemplation, the man finally held his hand to her again. Carefully, Astrid allowed him to pull her upright. "I'm Morgan," He introduced.

"Astrid," She replied.

Morgan's stare drifted back to the abandoned car behind the Lancaster woman. "So, what were you doing in there?"

Astrid shrugged her shoulders. "Not entirely sure about that either," She murmured. "I think I was put in there."

"Do you have a group?"

"I think I used to. Once. We were in a hospital. But after that, it's all a blank. Don't even know how long it's been. All I know is I have to find them."

Understanding seemed to unfold across Morgan's face. "I'll help you," He volunteered. "I'm looking for others, too."

"Your group?" She guessed.

Morgan's expression faltered at her genuine question. "Not quite," He admitted. "I've been searching for a man I met long ago. In the early days, we crossed paths. He was trying to find his family, so we eventually parted. We reunited briefly but got separated again. Recently, I've got new leads on his location, so I'm going after him."

Astrid leaned in. "Leads? What kind?"

Morgan delved into his padded jacket and retrieved a worn piece of paper. He silently held it out to her, and as she took it, she realized that it was an expansive map that detailed the eastern portion of the country. Unfurling it, curiosity and confusion clouded and muddled, until her eyes caught a small handwritten note in the bottom right corner.

Sorry I was an asshole. Come to Washington. The new world's gonna need—

"Oh, my God," Astrid gasped. She recoiled slightly as she met Morgan's concerned stare with her own widened eyes.

"What's wrong?" He demanded.

"Rick Grimes," She breathed. It was a name of so much familiarity and warmth. "I know this man."

"You do?" Morgan's surprise echoed hers.

Astrid nodded and passed the paper map back to him as a tiny, barely-there smile illuminated her face. Suddenly, another rush of memories—welcomed ones, this time—flooded her mind all over again, painting portraits of faces and names of those that she instantly knew. A newfound clarity washed over her then, affirming her purpose in the weeks to come. This man, Morgan, had unknowingly transformed into her lifeline. They shared a common objective, now, that entwined them together. Without words, an indelible bond had been forged between two ordinary strangers. Morgan was destined to guide Astrid to those that she loved—to the man who had become her home.

He was going to lead her to Daryl Dixon.

~~~~~~~~~~