[ xi. zero tolerance ]

october 25th, 2010

➸➸➸

THAT FOLLOWING MORNING DRIFTED by in a traumatic haze.

Astrid found herself sitting in a weary silence, her bloodshot eyes fixed pointedly on the ground. Dale Horvath knelt before her at her feet, hands moving deftly as he tied a wrap tightly around her swollen ankle. Pain rippled up her calf with his every attempt at a tender touch, but she gritted her teeth and held her agony at bay, forcing herself to find the ache bearable. After all, this injury was just a small part of the horrors that she and the others had endured in the last twelve hours. At least Astrid still had her life.

As Dale finished and helped her back into her boot, she glanced around at the carnage surrounding them. Bodies of the dead and undead were scattered through the ruined camp like discarded dolls. The stench of death hung heavy in Astrid's nose.

"I can't believe this happened," She whispered, her voice barely audible as she buried her face in her trembling hands. "Why did this happen?"

"Because they're running out of food in the city," A voice interrupted, speaking before Dale could. Astrid looked up from the wooden stump she sat upon to see Jim, his face smeared with blood, standing nearby with a pickax in hand. He and others had been tirelessly dealing with the aftermath of last night's attack—moving the bodies. And then ultimately choosing to burn or bury said bodies, depending on who they were, and what they meant to the group.

From somewhere over her shoulder, Astrid heard murmurs of such a discussion. A grime-covered Lori, Rick, and Shane were huddled together, determining their next move in regard to the fates of the Harrison sisters. In the shadow of the RV's awning, Andrea, still clinging to her sister's ghost, sat vigilantly beside Amy's lifeless form, and refused to let anyone from the camp's makeshift cleanup crew near her—lest they come with ill intentions. Astrid understood Andrea's grief and understood her hesitance for aid or comfort. Without her little sister, Andrea's world was crumbling around her, her little strength left to even sit upright teetering on the edge of despair.

Determined to provide some solace for the grieving sibling—a pain Astrid knew all too well—she made the quick decision on her own to approach Andrea. With a wince of pain, she rose shakily to her feet.

But before she could take a step, Jim grabbed her arm. "What're you doing?" He asked.

"I'm going to see Andrea," Astrid answered. She pulled lightly against his grip and wobbled despite herself.

"Do you need help getting over there?"

"Yeah, actually. If you don't mind—"

"I've got it," A gruff voice interjected, cutting Astrid off. Unsure of where he had even come from, Daryl Dixon had suddenly appeared by her side, his presence demanding attention. He stepped in between the two prior conversing adults and, with a stern look—as if daring Jim to protest his genuinely unnecessary help—he took Astrid's skinny arm in his own grasp. Disappointed, but wise enough to know better, Jim walked away without another word and returned to the bodies that still needed to be discarded. Astrid reluctantly watched the dejected man go.

Once they were alone, Astrid's head snapped back to the hunter. Instinctively her stubbornness flared in response, and she immediately tried to pull away from him, but Daryl's fingers curled into her elbow, his grip firm. Daryl began to pull her toward Andrea (of course he would have overheard her intentions), and hostility surrounded them as they began to walk—or hobble, more like it. Shadows seemed to cast themselves across the ground with their every synced step.

Astrid could not help but challenge Daryl's brusque demeanor as she glowered at him from the corner of her eye. "You didn't have to be so rude back there," She said.

Daryl did not meet her gaze, his icy eyes fixed on the dirt path to the RV. "You ain't seen me rude yet."

"No?" Astrid mused. "Then what was that?"

"That was jus' me," He grumbled.

She scoffed. "Whatever, Mister Tough Guy."

The rest of their walk was marked by a near-intolerable silence, broken only by the sound of their uneven footsteps. Astrid still clung to Daryl's arm, struggling to keep up despite the pain throbbing in her ankle. Gradually, though, her baby steps grew more confident as her stiff and bruised joint grew accustomed to the bandage that pushed snuggly in her supported boot—but even as she gained speed, she was in no rush to reach her destination, due to the severity of what held to meet it.

By the time she and Daryl finally reached Andrea, Astrid was able to stand on her own two feet. Still, Daryl hovered. His cautious gaze shifted between Amy's lifeless body in the dirt and the woman who stood upright beside him. "You got a gun?" He asked. Astrid nodded, taken aback by the abruptness of his question. "Don't be afraid to use it," He advised, his words laced with an unsettling intensity. Without another word, he retrieved a pickax that lay nearby and stepped away, returning to the horrid task of disposing of the dead that surrounded them.

Astrid swallowed the lump in her throat as she knelt beside Andrea, and her eyes fell to Amy's blood-stained corpse. The life that once animated the young woman had been so violently snuffed out, leaving only a haunting empty shell in its wake. Amy's once-white shirt and blonde hair were soaked a deep red in her own blood. The gruesome wounds inflicted by the walkers—nasty bites on her neck and arms—festered in the warm sun overhead. Astrid's first instinct was to stitch them back up, but blood no longer ran in the cold girl's veins.

She reached out tentatively toward the dead girl. But as Andrea raised her voice, a plea to let her sister rest undisturbed, Astrid withdrew her touch again. "Don't," Andrea whispered. The single word was hoarse in her dry throat. "Just let her be, please."

Astrid let her arm fall to her lap, her hands trembling with a mixture of sorrow and helplessness. Words failed to rightfully capture their shared grief, but the truth echoed as she murmured, "Andrea, I'm so sorry."

"Today was her birthday."

The revelation struck Astrid like a bullet to her own chest, freezing her in disbelief. The cruel irony of Amy's death on the eve of her birthday seared into her like a melting iron. Astrid's bottom lip began to quiver, her heart breaking all over again. "Really?" She managed to ask.

Andrea nodded dazedly, all the while reaching into her back pocket to produce a small silver necklace. It had a bright blue mermaid pendant at its center. Tears welled in an older sister's eyes as she smiled painfully down at her tiny gift. "I was going to give this to her," Andrea confessed. "I found it in Atlanta . . . In that department store, actually."

Astrid held out her hand, and Andrea gently placed the necklace in her palm. She traced her fingers along the delicate chain. It was so clean against the backdrop of Astrid's gritty and bloodied skin. "It's beautiful," She murmured.

"Amy always liked this stuff," Andrea reminisced, her gaze distant as she spoke. "The fairy tales . . . The unicorns and dragons and gnomes . . . But mermaids were her favorite. So . . . So, when I found this, I knew it would be the perfect gift." She struggled to finish, her words beginning to choke, "I wanted to give it to her so bad."

Astrid passed the necklace back to Andrea. "You still can," She reminded her softly.

A weak smile graced Andrea's face, a flicker of resilience returning. "You're right," She agreed. "I can." The decision was settled between them. As Astrid gently brushed Amy's hair away, Andrea unclasped the necklace and carefully placed it around her sister's pale and mangled neck. After it was refastened, with delicate care, Andrea readjusted Amy's hair and framed it carefully around her oval face.

From a distance, Amy might have been sleeping. It was a gentler image, a final gesture of love. Together, Andrea and Astrid smiled down at the mermaid necklace.

"Happy birthday, Amy," The two tearful women whispered in unison.

Astrid felt Andrea's hand slip into hers, and she looked up to see tears shimmering in her friend's light blue eyes. The magnitude of the moment overwhelmed Astrid, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. Andrea soon wiped her own tears. "Thank you, Astrid," She whispered.

Astrid pulled Andrea into a tight embrace. After a lingering moment, she released her grip and rose to her feet, pain radiating through her ankle. "I'm always here, Andrea," She pledged. "You can come to me for anything."

With a heavy heart, Astrid turned away, her steps faltering as she made her way back toward the center of the camp. Her ankle protested each movement, but she pressed on toward the remnants of the previous night's fire. The remaining survivors stood together nearby in a half-circle of sorts, their faces etched with worry and uncertainty as they watched her slow approach. Lori, who, unbeknownst to Astrid, had observed the entire interaction outside the RV, broke the silence with a voice tinged with astonishment. "That's the first I've heard Andrea speak in hours," She said. "What did she say?"

Astrid shook her head. "It's nothing you'd want to hear," She responded. "She just wants her sister back."

Daryl, positioned at the opposite end of the group, across from the ashes, voiced his frustration and cynicism openly. "That girl is a tickin' time bomb," He grumbled. "We've got to do somethin'."

Rick, ever his own mindful presence, turned away from his wife to face the hunter with a glare. "And what do you suggest?" He asked.

Daryl's reply came without hesitation, his tone devoid of remorse. "Take the shot, clean through the brain," He stated coldly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Hell, I can shoot a turkey between the eyes from this distance. Let me do it."

Astrid's glare burned a hole into the side of his head. "How can you be so cruel? This is Amy we're talking about," She growled defensively. "Besides, Andrea isn't going to let anyone get close enough to her sister for that to happen."

"Anyone 'cept you," Daryl pointed out. "You could end this."

"Like hell I will," Astrid muttered in response. "You couldn't pay me a billion dollars." And it was the honest truth. Astrid would never in a million years do something so monstrous to Andrea. If someone had to put Amy down, it should be her sister. Andrea needed to face that choice on her own as it would be her pain to forever bear. They could not rob her of that agency, no matter how agonizing it was.

Daryl rolled his eyes, his irritation at Astrid's refusal evident. But before he could retaliate, their attention was diverted by frantic yells coming from the other side of the camp. One by one, Astrid and the others' gazes shifted sharply, and they all witnessed the madness that erupted as Jacqui sprinted away from Jim, fear etched on her face. Her panicked voice carried across the smoky camp, delivering dire news. "A walker got him!" She exclaimed, her voice trembling with terror. "A walker got Jim!"

Fear tightened its grip on Astrid as she looked at the accused, her eyes taking in his truly sickly appearance for the first time. In fact, Jim did not look good at all. He stood there, a pale shadow of his former self beneath the bright Georgia sun, his body silently being ravaged by the infection within. Instinctively, Astrid began to back away from what she perceived to be another threat, allowing the other men to approach and assess the situation. Daryl, pickax still resting on his shoulder, took the lead.

"Let us see!" He demanded.

"Get away from me!"

Jim, feeling cornered and overwhelmed, lashed out in self-defense. Picking up a nearby shovel, he began to swing it wildly at anyone who dare get too close. Mayhem subsequently ensued as the gathered men worked quickly to restrain him. As Jim took a dirty swing at Rick, T-Dog struck the frantic man from behind, effectively knocking the shovel aside. As T-Dog then launched to hold Jim's now empty arms back, Astrid watched in horror as Daryl lifted the man's sweat-soaked shirt, revealing a grotesque, infected bite on his hip. It was still bleeding. Oozing with pus. Gasps of shock filled the air at the grizzly sight, and all the men immediately recoiled, leaving Jim standing alone, his eyes wide with panic. He looked like an animal caught in a trap.

"I'm okay . . . I'm okay . . ."

Rick was first to eventually reapproach the infected man, their words muffled and hidden from the onlookers. At last, Rick directed Jim towards the RV for temporary shelter, the sheriff's protective gaze never leaving the man until he was seated. Shortly thereafter, Rick returned to their group, and a heavy silence settled over them, fractured only by Astrid's voice as she dared break the stillness. They could not ignore this problem.

"So, what do we do?" She asked.

Glenn's nervous murmur reflected a collective unease. "We've never had an infected in the group before," He said.

Daryl's response was cold and undaunted. "We put a pickax to his head," He shrugged. "We have zero tolerance for walkers—or walkers-to-be."

Rick, likely driven by a familiar sense of duty, disagreed brashly. "We can't kill him. There may be a cure," He insisted. "What about the CDC?" He voiced, throwing in a first option that did not immediately resort to death. "I heard on a broadcast that they were taking people in. Maybe their scientists could help Jim, give us a place to stay."

Shane's hand absently stroked his stubbled chin. "Yeah, well, we all heard a lot of things before the world went to hell, Rick," He muttered skeptically. "I just don't know. I say Fort Benning is a better option. At least there we know there's food, and shelter, and military protection."

Lori stepped into the conversation to point out the logistical challenges. "Fort Benning is one-hundred miles in the opposite direction," She reminded them. "With Jim with us, I think that kind of travel is out of the option for now."

"The CDC is the best chance for him, the best for all of us," Rick argued boldly, almost surely. "By the looks of it, Atlanta fell early. If there's any form of government left from that city, it would be there."

"I don't get it. Why can't we just kill him now?" Daryl demanded. His frustration had, once again, reached its boiling point (Astrid was beginning to think it was like clockwork), his anger amplified by the recent events with Amy. Before anyone could respond nor attempt to talk him down, the hunter forcefully launched backward and away from the group and charged towards Jim all on his own, pickax raised high. Panic spread among Astrid and the others in the violent explosion, and they all sprinted to intervene, forgoing their own internal struggles, but it was ultimately the Lancaster woman who reached Daryl first. She lurched forward and wrapped her fingers tightly around his bicep, desperate to hold him back.

Daryl ripped easily free of her touch. "Get off me!" He boomed.

Like an echo of yesterday's afternoon, Rick Grimes was at Astrid's side in an instant. His revolver was trained on Daryl's temple, causing him to halt in his tracks and stop mere inches from reaching Jim. Rick cocked his gun, and his finger curled menacingly around the trigger. "We don't kill the living," He hissed.

Daryl lowed his weapon. Tearing his glare from the infected man, he turned back around, and the barrel of the revolver shifted directly onto his sweaty forehead. The hunter did not flinch beneath the threat of a bullet, his gaze shifting icily between Astrid and Rick as he released a sick chuckle. "Funny," He muttered darkly at the sheriff. "Coming from a guy who just put a gun to my head." And with that, Daryl thrust his pickax into Astrid's unexpected grasp and effectively stormed away from the group without another word.

Astrid swallowed the lump in her throat. Tempers were at an all-time high. The heat and the paranoia and the exhaustion of a day spent without sleep had begun to get to them all—but especially to Daryl. No one dared to call him back into the feeble circle to reconvene; it was clear that they were all better off on their own for the time being.

Silence stretched out before the fractured group, an uncomfortable abyss punctuated only by the sound of collective harsh breathing. Astrid Lancaster remained rooted in place, bewildered, a blood-soaked pickax now dangling from her grip, as she watched Daryl Dixon disappear into the dense woodland foliage, his fiery figure slowly fading from sight.

➸➸➸

"WHAT ARE THEY GOING to do with me?"

Jim's panicked voice echoed through the confined space of the backroom of the RV. After Daryl's violent outburst, he had been relocated somewhere safer—somewhere that the paranoia of a bite victim could not be openly acted upon by the survivors again. Astrid, somehow, found herself in Jim's company after she let it slip that she felt she was of better use to aiding him than hauling bodies. With her busted ankle and his infected hip, they made quite the pairing.

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Jim," Astrid reassured him. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Don't bother with that," Jim said, his voice weak and stern, all at once. "I'd rather face the truth of what's happening to me than try to ignore it."

Jim's frail figure leaned against the worn pillows of the bed, each movement as he attempted to readjust himself causing him visible agony. His face flushed with the heat of his rising temperature—a fever provided only by the bite. Beads of sweat had begun to drip down his pallid complexion, and Astrid grabbed a nearby cloth in their shared space. Dipping it into a cool cup of water, she placed the soaping cloth on his forehead, hoping to provide him with some relief.

"Jim, you're going to make it," Astrid soothed.

A disbelieving chuckle escaped Jim's cracked lips. "Another lie," He noted dully.

"I'm not lying," She corrected, locking her gaze with his. Bloodshot eyes stared back into her own. "There has to be a cure out there, somewhere."

An air of resignation settled upon Jim, his gaze distant and tormented as he looked toward the window. Life continued on outside, out of his reach. "I overheard the discussions . . . The plans made for the CDC," He revealed. "But I'm not sure I will make it to the city. I was surprised that I even made it through last night." His voice continued to drop the longer he talked, shifting into a mumble, as if speaking to himself. "It was stupid. It was stupid to keep the bite a secret, I know that, but I just thought . . . I don't know. I thought . . . I thought maybe I would be different. Immune." He scoffed at the word. "It was a stupid thought."

Astrid's heart sank as the man's plagued tone touched her. She imagined herself in Jim's shoes, and she relented, "I think that anyone in your place would have kept the bite a secret. Even I probably would have, given the circumstances. Please, don't blame yourself for making that choice."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I don't even care about my choices anymore," He admitted. "I don't care about anything. There's no point in caring when my time on this earth is almost up."

"Stop talking like that," Astrid commanded. "You can't . . . You can't just give up, Jim. You're going to make it to the city, do you understand? No infection is going to get in the way of that. No person is going to hurt you."

"That's a lie," Jim muttered, bitterness seeping into his words as saliva dabbled on his chin. "It's the biggest lie of all. I whispered those same words to my wife and my two boys—I repeated them a hundred times. But it didn't matter. Those things still came up . . . Out of nowhere . . . Dozens of them . . . They just pulled them right out of my hands."

"Jim . . ." Astrid's voice trailed off. She had not meant to reawaken such a haunting memory.

But Jim continued, tears glistening in his cloudy eyes as he drew in a shuddering breath. "The only reason I got away at all was because the dead were too busy eating my family," He confessed. "No one will hurt me, Astrid . . . because there is no one I love left to be hurt by."

Tears welled up in Astrid's eyes, her vision blurred as she could not help but be pulled back to her own harrowing experience in the city with her brother. She, too, had managed to escape only because the dead were preoccupied with Dominic's corpse. It was a grief she would carry, forever. She wiped her tears away and offered what little comfort she could. "I'm sorry," She whispered.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Jim insisted. "It wasn't your family. It was mine, and I couldn't protect them. My boys—James and Matthew . . . They looked up to me when everything fell apart. I failed to keep them safe when it mattered most, my own flesh and blood. My boys . . ." He exhaled deeply, his eyes finally refocusing on Astrid. "No parent should ever outlive their child."

Astrid barely fathomed to comprehend such a tragedy. If she had been a mother in this life, and then lost that child, her own creation ripped from her grasp by mangled claws, she would have never been able to forgive herself. She could not imagine living like that, and only now, understood how profoundly heavy it was, the load of guilt and regret that Jim carried.

"I can't begin to understand your pain," She admitted, her voice heavy with empathy. "I know it won't simply fade away."

"It won't," Jim agreed. "Not until I'm gone with it." He gave her a fragile look. "This is my fate, Astrid . . . My consequence. It's what's meant to be."

"No, it's not," Astrid protested fiercely. "You don't get to decide that. You don't get to think that you deserve this."

Jim did not argue with her. The sureness of his belief remained etched upon his perspiring face. Raising a feeble, trembling hand, he wiped at his pale, sweat-drenched neck. "I'm so tired," He murmured softly.

Silently, Astrid reached up to feel his forehead again, and the searing heat of his skin burned against the back of her fingers. She sighed dejectedly, watching as Jim's complexion grew even meeker, his strength fading before her eyes. She could not bear to remain in this room of sickness and sorrow any longer. With shaky legs, feeling the dull ache in her ankle from lack of movement, she forced herself to stand. She mustered a bittersweet smile for Jim before turning away from the back bedroom, making her way down the hall and out into the blinding brightness of the sunlight.

As Astrid descended the RV steps, she nearly stumbled over the lifeless form of Amy Harrison sprawled near the entrance. Andrea Harrison remained motionless at her dead sister's side, lost in bleak thought. Hovering the scene nearby was Dale Horvath, and upon catching sight of Astrid, he swiftly approached the Lancaster woman and pulled her aside the back of the RV, his voice a mere whisper to avoid detection.

"Astrid, there may be a problem here," Dale confided.

Her gaze still locked on the Harrison sisters, Astrid asked in an unmeasured tone, "What is it?"

"I think that Amy's time is almost up," The elder man disclosed. "And given that you're the only one that Andrea can bear to allow near her sister—" He broke off momentarily, unsure of how to proceed. But Astrid now already knew where his question was going. "I know it's a lot to ask, but could you wait with them? Until it happens? In case . . . In case Andrea can't do it?"

It. In case Andrea could not shoot her own little sister in the head.

Reaching into her waistband, Astrid retrieved her gun, its steel presence heavy in her hand. She stared at it for several bated moments, realizing that she had never been tasked with taking a life before it had already succumbed to the infection. She had killed walkers, yes, but not those who had yet to imminently become them.

Yet, against her own trepidation, Astrid found herself nodding. She could do what was asked of her in this moment. Not for Dale—but for Andrea. "Yes, I'll stay with her," She decided.

Dale's grip tightened on her shoulder, conveying his gratitude. "Thank you," He whispered. With that, he pivoted on his heel and returned to the blazing pyre of bodies on the camp's opposite edge. It had grown bigger since Astrid had last seen it.

As Astrid reemerged from behind the back of the RV, she surveyed the fallen and defeated group of survivors that lingered. Those who were not engaged in the cleanup sat in the gloomy shade of surrounding trees, lost in a somber contemplation of the previous night's horrors. Amidst the hushed stillness, she suddenly caught the sound of wrenching sobs. Turning her gaze, Astrid discovered Carol Peletier relentlessly pummeling her deceased husband's lifeless body with a pickax. Tears streamed down the woman's reddened face as the shackles of past abuse crumbled away with each sure hit. Daryl Dixon stood not far behind Carol, acting as a guardian of sorts—yet despite the sight of such gore before him, he was staring at Astrid.

Inclining her head toward Daryl, she received a small nod in return. It was a solitary gesture of equal acknowledgment, a gentler respite from their vicious fight earlier in the afternoon. As Daryl turned away again to continue aiding Carol, Astrid finally returned to Andrea and sank to her knees beside her.

Before she could utter a single word, Andrea spoke. "I overheard Dale," She confessed softly. "About asking you to be prepared for when Amy comes back."

Astrid pressed her lips together but did not try to deny the statement. She carefully unholstered her gun and set it on the ground between them. "Do you want me to do it?" She questioned. "You don't have to watch this part, Andrea."

Andrea shook her head slowly. "She's my sister," She disagreed. "I have to do it. For her."

A heavy silence descended upon them, both sisters fixating their gaze on the innocent corpse lying before them. She was just a kid, too. Astrid's attention shifted to the silver and turquoise mermaid necklace adorning Amy's white and unmoving chest, a stark symbol of a life born and extinguished on the same fateful day. How could the world now operate with such cruel symmetry?

It was not long after that Astrid felt a slight tap on her knee. Initially, she disregarded it. But as a scratchy and hollow breath followed, the faint pushing persisted, and she finally glanced down. Astrid's eyes widened, horrified. Amy Harrison's cold fingertips had brushed against her clothed leg, the stains of her own dried blood marring her bitten nails. Leaning back slightly, Astrid's hand inched toward her gun as the dead before her awoke, but Andrea's firm grip on her shoulder halted her. "Wait," Andrea ordered. "Don't startle her."

Astrid watched with bated breath as Amy's head jerked sideways and then snapped back. Her throat had begun to emit low growls, and her once-blue eyes had opened, now bloodshot and tinged with an eerie gray. Slowly, the undead Amy scanned her surroundings above, as if she might be able to recognize them even in this cruel afterlife, before finally settling her empty gaze on Astrid and Andrea.

Abruptly, a hand shot out from behind and gripped Astrid's shoulder. A gasp of surprise escaped the Lancaster woman's lips, and the sudden action caused Amy to begin stirring more aggressively in the dirt. Bewildered, Astrid spun around on her knees, now coming face-to-face with Daryl who crouched mere inches away.

"Get away from it," He ordered. His fingers dug into her arm as he attempted to pull her to her feet.

"Stop it," Astrid snapped, wrenching herself free from his grasp. "I have to be here, Daryl. For Andrea and Amy. You need to go."

Daryl released his grip, frustration etched across his face. He exhaled a weary sigh before gradually stepping back, though Astrid could sense he remained close, ever watchful, ready to intervene if necessary. She sensed the others—Rick, Glenn, and Shane—nearby, too, weapons likely loaded and ready.

Returning her focus to Amy, Astrid lurched in surprise. Amy had begun to sit upright and now clutched Andrea's blonde hair in a vice-like grip. Astrid marveled at the older Harrison sister's composed response. Andrea merely smiled at her undead little sister and tenderly stroked her stiff, bloody hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," She whispered, her voice filled with regret. "I always thought there would be more time."

Amy's growls deepened, the face of an innocent young girl gone, and replaced by a monster with a primal instinct to kill. Astrid tightened her grip on her gun, her index finger inching toward the trigger, but before she could act, Andrea beat her to it. With tears streaming down her face, Andrea tore Astrid's gun away and into her own grasp. "I'm here now, Amy, and I'm sorry," She apologized. "I love you."

And with a final, choked sob, Andrea placed Astrid's gun against Amy's head and pulled the trigger.

With a startling crack, Amy Harrison fell to the ground, lifeless. She was gone, and not coming back. Astrid's heart thudded dully in her chest, and her ears rang shrilly as black blood began to pool around them. Rising unsteadily to her feet, her hand flew to cover her trembling mouth. Tears had begun to slip down Astrid's heated cheeks, and a loud sob escaped her withering lungs as the finality of death crashed down upon her, all at once.

Loss was not a familiar companion to Astrid Lancaster. She had lost her brother, yes, yet witnessing Amy's transformation into one of those abominations had inflicted deep emotional scars upon her soul. She could not unsee what the world was becoming around her. Last night's horrors, the weeks of struggle before she had met these people—they all cascaded upon her with merciless force.

Another guttural sob erupted from Astrid's lips as she tightly wrapped her arms around herself, desperately clinging to the fragments of her shattered resolve. Fat tears streamed down her face now as she stood alone in the center of the camp. Though she could feel the pressure of countless eyes upon her as she cracked and crumbled, she avoided meeting a single gaze. The raw and unrelenting grief enveloped her, becoming an inescapable vortex.

Astrid wept for her dead brother, for her parents, for Jim and Amy. She wept for herself, for the crumbling façade she had painstakingly built over time, now on the brink of collapse.

And she feared for the day that it finally gave way.

~~~~~~~~~~